#except the harvest lady- who we knew was not the god of harvest because she was giving us names and we where like... noo.. thats not right.

[ravenmoodle]

had a cool dream- cool dream things happened.

V important you know we pissed off the god of the sea so much he grumpily pretended he was drowning.

[beautifulterriblequeen]

B2:S - Chapter 5

Much of this series will be about the differences and additions in the novel version, and how they contribute to my understanding of story canon. But there will be character appreciation, the odd theory and headcanon, and suchlike as well.

Here be lots of Viren deets, Best Boy Soren deets, some writing/continuity stuff, worldbuilding appreciation and half of a theory, Detective Rayla, Moon Temple geeking, Claudium and dark magic, and more!

Spoilers for Book Two: Sky below.

(I know for darn sure that I wrote up a post for chapter 4, but I can't find it anywhere so I guess Tumblr ate it and I'll have to redo it at some point, but today is not that day)

Viren, my evil dude, my bad guy, coming in clutch with the worldbuilding and backstory again! If you want to know decades of information, you gotta talk to Viren. Or read his scenes, at least. Here, he seems to not sleep much when he has a big problem to analyze his way through. Solutions trump pretty much everything else in this guy's life, and he's had a really hard week with a lot of new and complicated problems. Of course he's getting sleep-deprived trying to find his way through them all.

Harrow put so much trust in Viren when he made him High Mage! He just threw himself extra hard at that Lady Justice blindfold, didn't he? Didn't really want to see what Viren was doing in his magic study, so he left Viren to his devices. And Viren has a lot of devices.

Also, this is fascinating: Viren made the secret passage to his "less official study" in Katolis Castle! And he was inspired to do so by the way his own mentor kept the Puzzle House. What else could a Puzzle House be, except a place with secret passages? Yay! secret headcanon that "the Puzzle House" is just "Katolis Castle" from Kid Viren's perspective tho

So either Viren built all of those passageways, or at least the ones to his dungeon. Which means he has to have, or know where to get, a stash of those glowing blue Moonshadow crystals. Hmmm.

I can't wait to learn more about Kpp'Ar and young Viren, btw. From this description of Viren and all his literal secret ways, it feels like another parallel between Viren and Runaan, with the whole "secretive paths, members only, insider knowledge" type stuff. Only the really cool members of this cult club get to know the secrets, and guess what, kid, you're cool now but you can never tell anyone, okay? Our secret.

Yeahhh, that'll never backfire in any way for either of them.

Kpp'Ar calling puzzles and secrets "man-made magic," though. Yes sir, knowledge is indeed power.

This chapter mentions Runaan by name, from Viren's perspective. Generally that would imply that Viren knows his name, even though assassins do not share their names, and Runaan didn't seem to give his to Viren in the first book. However, there was a scene in book one where the last paragraph switched perspective from Viren to Runaan - a technique that's very common in visual media like movies and shows and gives you that "ohoho they left the room and didn't notice this, but you do!" vibe. Using Runaan's name there in book one, where Viren couldn't see it but readers could, helps them keep track of the assassin's story arc while maintaining Viren's racism.

So in book two, in which Runaan has no onscreen scenes (alas), using his name in a scene that calls back to the events in book one helps us remember what happened in that dungeon cell. It would be a bit muddier to recall the specifics if Viren kept thinking about Runaan as "Elf." So I'm cool with the perspective nudge because it serves a narrative purpose: clarity. But I'm also enjoying the angst of considering that, somehow, Viren learned Runaan's name either during or after the coining spell. Mwa ha ha haaa. (Obligatory "Keep my pretty name outta your mouth" goes here)

Okay, back to Viren's scheming! He took the mirror because it was human-sized in a dragon lair. He knew it didn't really fit there, and that made it interesting, so he stole it. But he realized it was really powerful when Runaan wouldn't tell him squat about it - the assassin's instinct to protect Xadian secrets from human hands meant that Viren was holding a very powerful Xadian secret. And that just made him want it all the more. Ah, Runaan, if only your relationship with lying was, like, the exact opposite of what it is. Nyx could've spun Viren a believable tale in 2 minutes flat.

Also of interest: Viren considers his cursed coins to be a final fate. He expects Runaan to remain in his coin forever. With the Chekhov's coins still extant in the storyline, we can assume that they'll come up again eventually, but Viren has no current plans to do anything with his elf money except carry it around.

It's worth noting that Viren admits that he got impatient when he trapped Runaan in the coin. Runaan's first fate in Katolis was supposed to be death at Soren's hands, but Claudia "saved" him from that. His next fate was to become spell components, but Viren's frustration with his stubbornness "saved" him from that fate, too. So now he's in a coin, where no one can chop him up at all. Yay? No, boo!

We get one last line about Runaan before Viren shifts gears: he makes a point of noting for us that Runaan's shackles are still locked shut. However much of Runaan made it into that coin - body, soul, hair care products - he was magicked there, pulled right out of his restraints.

The creepy black liquid that Viren pours right into his eyes is the last of a powerful potion he got from Kpp'Ar, and its recipe is ancient! Humans used it back in the age of Elarion to see through the illusions of the world. And we get a delightfully creepy bit of description about the preparation of this serum, which makes it abundantly clear that it's a Moon magic-based concoction, harvested from eyeless vipers on a moonless night, with the threat of irrevocable madness ("madness" by whose definition, though) if it's done wrong-

Hang on. Hold up. This is a Plato's Cave reference. OH MY GOD.

No no I'm fine, this is brilliant. Sorry, sorry, I couldn't figure why there was so much description for a potion prep that Viren didn't even have to perform himself. But now I get it. I see the light. HA. I should make a separate post for this, it's amazing.

Anyway, for reference, the humans who used this serum were called the Oracles of Ophidia, and Ophidia is a taxonomy group that includes all modern snakes. Can you say "creepy ancient snake rites"? I can! Woo!

Viren activates the serum with a spell, but apparently he's never done it before. He's not sure if it's supposed to be hot and bubbly, and he worries that it's been tainted by moonlight.

Oh, I do hope so.

The magic potion hurts, a lot. Viren will do just about anything, to himself or anyone, to do what he believes is necessary. He just risked madness and blindness to find out what this mirror does! Viren. Can you just. Take a nap or something. Have a Snickers.

This chapter gives us a fun clue that I don't remember from the show: when Viren's vision clears and he can see, his reflection has white pupils and the room reflected in the mirror has inverted colors. You know where else has inverted colors?

You know who else got white pupils for a hot second?

Okay, now it makes sense! Viren and Lujanne were both seeing into the realm beyond life and death. Him with his moon magic potion, and her with her moon powers on a full moon night at the Moon Nexus. Which is Very Interesting! Is it a direct hint about Aaravos's location, or just a separate cool detail? Orrr, does it look like a direct hint because Aaravos is actually trapped in the world beyond life and death, but it's actually separate and we'll see something about white pupils again later on?

Viren really does have self-esteem issues, we all picked up on it with his rant at his reflection. He throws a fit when he catches himself wondering if he's actually worthless. In the book version of his tantrum, he shoves the mirror and hurls a candelabra instead of flipping a table. He didn't need to shove the mirror to set the fire, but it's in here. Foreshadowing that perhaps, if push comes to shove, Viren will choose himself over Aaravos? Giving Aaravos time to peek through and see that the coast is clear?

Soren, my boyyyyy. He has a rough night at the Moon Nexus because two sides of him are fighting with each other. He struggles to understand Callum's friendship with Rayla, and he also fantasizes about chopping off Rayla's head. One of these is a pretty ordinary thing to do. The other is Soren's internalization of what he needs to do to gain his father's approval. If he brought his dad a chopped off elf head every week, he'd probably feel a lot more confident because Viren would praise him a lot more.

Okay, okay, omg, is it just me, or does the "Moonshadow Madness" story, as it's told in the book, seem like Soren just doesn't know what a monsterfucker is? He thinks an elf bite puts humans under a spell. But vampires are sexy, and some people want them to do more to them than just bite them. A passionate kiss under the moonlight could look very bitey, especially if one of the participants has horns and you're already culturally trained to hate them. No yeah, I'm already headcanoning an actual human-elf kiss that got misunderstood by an observer long ago.

it's Lujanne isn't it, we all know, because what is a love spell but a sweet soft illusion, I mean how else does she get supplies for her Caldera, I ask you, and also Corvus was totally sent to investigate once and he told Soren at camp what he saw

And then back to magefam angst: Soren pretending that his sister's nose-tapping is stupid, even though he actually thinks it's cool, just because their dad thinks it's stupid. Viren, istg. Let your kids like harmless things. It's so cute that Soren taps his nose back at her, though! Like they have their own sibling code. I hope we get to see the nose tap again, especially now that they've chosen different sides. It could mean so much, that they're not too far apart yet.

Rayla knows what buttery pancakes smell like. I love this. Do Moonshadow elves have butter and pancakes, does Rayla eat a stack of eight giant pancakes in the morning? Orrrr it is just illusion food? I don't care, let Rayla have pancakes! Everyone loves pancakes. Pancakes will save the world. this message brought to you by the fact that I can't eat pancakes rn, send help

I love that Rayla is both sus of the pancakes and hungry, and that combines into a very motivated "I will get to the bottom of this" attitude. She kind of goes into Poirot Mode when she inserts herself into Soren and Ellis's conversation about Ava, explaining about the wolf's illusion leg and segueing into her claim that the pancakes taste sus. Claudia confirms she used dark magic, and Rayla is furious. It's different than the show's version in that it puts Rayla in detective mode, as the only Moonshadow elf in the scene, and boy does she take that role seriously. Also, she doesn't actually swallow the dark magic pancake bite. It ends up on the ground just like Lujanne's grubs from that earlier meal. These poor kids are so nutrient-starved. You guys gotta eat!!

Rayla's determination and prejudices and the fact that she super knows Harrow is dead all dovetail to make her try repeatedly to persuade Callum that Soren and Claudia are Not To Be Trusted. It's nice that the book keeps taking the time to point out that Rayla is Well Intentioned But Flawed, just like Callum and pretty much every other character in the show. No one is Right All The Time, no one Knows More Than Everyone Else.

Callum loving the sound of Claudia's unique voice is so wholesome. When you like someone, it only makes sense that you like all the things about them that they can't change - like the sound of Claudia's voice. Her choices with dark magic, not so much!

Claudia seems to have the same concerns Soren does about Callum's relationship with Rayla, but she comes out and asks him. The inherent possession implied in "your elf" is interesting, though. Elves are not people to Claudia. They're enemies who can be disassembled for the magic inside them. So maybe more like robots than living beings, if she knew what a robot was. Maybe she heard Soren's "Moonshadow Madness" story and realized he totally missed the kissing implications - but she didn't, and now she's genuinely worried that Rayla could kiss Callum under a full moon and enchant him to do her will. Good thing it's only a half moon, then!

Okay, Callum nervously making a puppet hand and then not knowing what to do with his hands and freaking out about itching and moving and pointy elbows is such a ND mood. The sudden stress of knowing that someone else is noticing your existence and maybe you're Not Existing Right, amirite? Ugh, poor Callum.

The Moon Temple! Omg it's so pretty in the description! Made to be beautiful and useful, full of knowledge but also allowing light and life inside (butterflies and vines). Lujanne, when can I move in, please? Also, it's all the more angsty because Lujanne is the only one who gets to see this beautiful place, but it has lots of chairs and shelves and tables, and it was meant to be used by lots of people. :(((

Claudia knows some of the runes on the walls. She isn't in a hurry to copy the rest of them down or anything, either. Her spellwriting is very precise, and she's a skilled mage. Her father would have made sure she was aware of the dangers of drawing sloppy runes, as much as he made her aware of the dangers of doing dark magic wrong. And the whole point of dark magic is that it's easier to learn than primal magic. Claudia supports her dad and their shared knowledge and life path. She's not gonna go nuts over an elf library she can't translate.

Side note: Between Claudia knowing some Moon runes and Viren building a secret passageway and a dungeon and lighting it with the same blue crystals that Lujanne and Ethari use for light--and Claudia exclaiming that she loves ruins--I wonder once more if there are really Moonshadow ruins somewhere in Katolis, which Viren has found and looted. Father-daughter relic hunting trip, maybe while Soren is away at camp? Omgsh that would be so wild!

Callum out here having a Viren moment with his "I feel powerless unless I've got magic that lets me help" vibes. God. I love their complicated mirroring. One of the hard differences between them is that Callum is very sure dark magic is bad because you have to kill stuff and take its power to cast spells, and he doesn't want to be a person who kills and takes like that. The line he walks to be nice to Claudia on their tour of the Cursed Caldera because he likes her, while telling her that he doesn't want to do her magic, like, ever, is so fine that it might as well be a shifting shadow on the ground. It's a very fitting conversation to be having during the half moon, with its tricks and little white lies.

Callum being out of the castle and his comfort zone, having to deal with the fact that the Claudia he loves is not quite the Claudia who's chasing him down across the kingdom, but of the two of them, he's the only one with a problem with this.

They say that if you really want to get to know someone, you should spend time with them outside their comfort zone - in heavy traffic, with a small baby, taking care of a new pet, trying a new skill, following unfamiliar directions, etc. While the castle is familiar territory for them both, Callum's never really found his comfort zone yet, while Claudia is pretty comfortable with her growing skill set. The creepy part starts to kick in when Callum begins to realize that Claudia's comfort zone encompasses a whole bunch of stuff that seems like it should make her uncomfortable... but it doesn't. But that'll be for a future chapter!

[aliypop]

For All Time Always

Wordcount: 2,514

Warning: Some angst

A/N: I just wanted to write some Soft Astrid and Loki because I was inspired by @lokislittlesigyn headcanons for snuggly Loki, so I hope you enjoy. Because oof the fluff

"And that is why..." a loud crash coming from the palace hallways, "And that is why..." Odin tried to start back up again as his gaze motioned to the commotion of sound, "If you'll excuse me," he sighed as Amidala nodded along with the rest of the realm leaders, hoping that her children weren't the cause of the interruption. Several guards stood in front of the treasure room as Thor, Loki, Astrid, and Isabasia stood there scheming a way to get in. "We'll do get help." Thor smirked, lifting his brother as Loki pouted, "What exactly is get help?" Loki asked, his crown nearly being smooshed by his brothers. 

"Well, I'll say help my brothers dying and-" 

"And then Wha- AAAAAAH!" 

CLASH!

Astrid giggled as Isabasia smiled, "Oh, we have something similar, except I do this!" Isabasia turned herself invisible as she carried Astrid past the guards and threw her right next to Loki, who she landed in his lap, "Seems Astrid and Loki are close enough to kiss each other!" Thor teased as Isabasia joined in with him,

 "Disgusting..." both Astrid and Loki slid away from each other as their hands both brushed against each other, 

" I'd rather kiss a frog!" Astrid growled as Loki began to croak, jumping on her shoulder, his mucus-covered green skin grossing her out. Astrid flung him across the room as he transformed back, holding a blue cube in hand. 

BANG!

"That was very uncalled for!" he growled as spits of green fizzled at his fingertips, "Oh yeah! What will you do? Turn into a snake and stab me!" Astrid snapped, blasting him with her magic, both Thor and Isabasia no longer present to witness the situation before them. The two still fighting before they heard the clearing of throats, both Astrid and Loki found their parents disapproving glares at the mess they had made.

"You vile snake!" Astrid laughed, finding a note amongst her dresser. The two were now in their mid-teens, the age where romance was not to be taken ever so lightly. Sitting in the garden reading was Loki, who had stolen Astrid's mothers' amulet, the one to be awarded to her on the day of her official engagement to Thor, 

"You two tongued wet weasel..." Astrid smirked, sitting amongst the lavender plants that Frigga loved so dearly, "That's a new one. I'll have to write it down," he focused on his book as she walked over, taking a seat in his lap, causing him to gain color in is ivory tone. His eyes focused on her brown skin. And the curl of lips, the way her hair was unraveling from her self-made braids, he wanted nothing more than to make her his, and he'd do everything in his power to do so.

 "Loki..." 

"Loki..."

"Loki!"

"What?" 

"Is something on your mind." Astrid asked as she laid her head on his shoulder, basking in the Asgardian sun as the Fall was soon coming to the realm, "Whomever wins your heart shall be ever so lucky." he sighed as Astrid turned to face him, his alluring eyes gleaming, as he soon looked away blush creeping up to his cheeks as Astrid only hummed, 

"Why do you say?" Astrid asked as Loki scratched the back of his neck, "Well... uh... well... Because they will." he stammered. Astrid laughed, being that she had never seen Loki so lost for words, his hands wrapped around her waist stabilizing her so she wouldn't fall over. No longer concentrated on his book. His eyes were all focused on her, 

"You are worth more than any jewel ever."

"Is that why you stole my mother's amulet..." Astrid asked, searching through his pockets as he swatted at her hands playfully, "What if I didn't take it..." he smirked, flipping her over on her back, her dark curls kissing the grass flowers surrounding her. "Then what was the note on my dresser for," she questioned as Loki gulped, 

"To catch your attention..." he looked down, 

"Loki, you always have my attention." she wrapped his arm around her waist as she wiggled into his chest, taking in his scent, as he rolled over to get a better angle as to what Astrid was doing, 

"You oaf, you're going to squish me!" she groaned as Loki chuckled, her heart fluttering at the sound,

"What was that?" 

"I said get off..." 

"No... no, you called me an oaf. Which means you should apologize." he winked as Astrid averted her gaze,

 "I'm sorry-"

"As you mean it." he grinned.

"My humble prince of Asgard, Son of Odin, Rightful King of Asgard, I deeply apologize." she laughed as pushing him away the two rolling down a hill, Astrid landing on top of him, 

"Now tell me why this lack of me not having your attention." she asked, bringing the topic back, "You've been paying attention to Thor lately..." he sighed as Astrid placed her thumb on his cheek, "And smiling at him, and... As your best friend..." the hurt in both their eyes at the sound of that phrase,  Loki and Astrid were past best friends by the people of Asgard and Vanaheim, sure they slept in the same beds together since they were ten and had always made the other smile since they were eight, but always there for each other to talk, they were soulmates the very thing that Frigga told them about,

"I just don't want to be forgotten..." 

"Loki, how could I forget you. You're my best friend, my reason I love you."

"Astrid..."

"Hmm..." 

"Don't say things that make me want to kiss you..." he stared at her lips. As she pulled him by his crown, their lips meeting, the bliss as sweet as honey and as beautiful as any song.

"Be mine..." 

"I can't..." 

 The fall winds blew on Asgard as the stars shone, the village peppered with vending carts and lights. Thor was taste testing ale for the Harvest Festival, which brought most of the realms together.

 Taking a sip of mead from her goblet was Astrid, her eyes focusing on the decorations that the Vanir made the only thing reminding her of home, 

"Does your mother know you drink..." soft hands touching her waist, 

"No, she doesn't," Astrid giggled   lips to her ear, "What would your mother say if she found you so full..." Loki winked. Tilting her chin up, 

"She'd say absolutely nothing because you are not to tell her..." Astrid gave him a burst of laughter sweeter than all the honey of Asgard, just like her kisses.

 "Oh but, I might..." he leaned in closer to her, their foreheads touching,

 "Then I'll tell Odin you took me away from Thor..." she whispered, stealing a kiss from him.

"You cheeky Minx.." he laughed.

"Maybe I am." she giggled, stumbling a bit, not use to the high levels of alcoholic intake of the Aesir. 

"A small tip... though," Loki whispered, helping her stand

"What's that..." Astrid asked

"Gold isn't Thor's complementary color. It's red." he laughed as she smirked, "Perhaps, I wore this for you," draped in greens and golds stood Loki, who couldn't get enough of her, although they both knew that what they were doing was wrong. It felt right after all Thor was still allowed to drink, fight, flirt and be an acclaimed sex God by the talks of Fandral and Lady Sif, who told Astrid all of his stories to keep her company when her mother and father were fighting. So she figured why not have her fun too. 

Astrid stood on top of the table singing, all the while Thor looked at her almost in the glance of a disruptive child,

But the trees dance, and the waterfalls stop

when she sings, she sings Come home

When she sings, she sings Come home

Astrid hiccuped as she sang amongst the Asgardians, her mug of ale sloshing around as she later dropped it. "ANOTHER ...That is how you do it here..." she asked Loki as he nodded, "ANOTHER FOR EVERYONE!" she shouted as she threw her cup down, drunkenly kissing Loki as her sights saw Thor leave with Isabasia sister, who couldn't even say hello to her. 

Isabella smiled, her brown skin complimenting the crimson red dress that Ashton had made from the purest of silk farmed from Egypt, her hair down wearing the crown of her mother, and eyes looking away from the crowd, 

"You look beautiful, like ..."

"Like what..." 

"A flower that only blooms in the gardens that only the rivers know." Thor took her by the hand, twirling her into his arms much as he did when they were younger, but they were older now, sure not enough to rule, but enough to know that they were in love. Isabasia placed her hand on his cheek leaning in to kiss him, 

"Your mother must be worried. It is getting late..." Loki smiled, helping Astrid down, "I've got a better idea..." she smirked. Drunken giggles filled the halls of Asgard as royal guards walked by. Holding her shoes and sliding down the floors were Astrid and Loki. As giggles turned into erupt fits of laughter. A guard stopped in his tracks, causing  Loki to turn into Thor, picking up Astrid. Loki turned to the guard, 

"Who goes there."  he demanded, looking at "Thor" and his assumed mistress for the night.

"You see, my fiance... She had a lot to drink and is tired."

"Very tired.." She giggled, letting a yawn out.

"Of course, my lord, but why the throne room?"

"It was her request," he winked, kissing her neck as Astrid bit her lip. 

"Grant me this night before I return," Isabasia asked her voice in a needy tone, the two passing the throne room as the guards standing there rubbed his eyes, watching as they later went up the stairs. Leading to his chambers,

"Astrid .... You'll learn to love him, just as Frigga learned to love Odin..." Amidala smiled, placing her crown on her daughter's head, "And maybe you'll forget all about this foolish Loki..." she snarled at his name as she went to cover the ungodly bite marks on her neck, "And grow up for the better..." she mumbled under her breath, 

"Besides ... it's coronation day, which makes it  official for."

"My engagement to Thor the most miserable day of my life..." she said under her breath, her dress covered in the finest of jewels, of reds and yellows, placing the emerald earrings in her ear from Loki. She sighed, remembering how his touch felt on her skin, the way he treated her,

"I almost forgot one more thing..." 

"What's that..." Astrid asked as her mother took out her gold and red amulet necklace from its box, "Your grandmother gave it to me the day of my coronation engagement, and now I pass it to you."  she smiled, her heart content on Astrid making an even better name for their family,

almost everyone in the nine realms flooded the throne room of the palace. While Thor gloated and boasted down towards the Throne, Astrid kept her eyes on Loki, who had a look of disinterest on his face towards his brother, who was also treating Mjolnir as a party trick. Frigga, who stood next to Amidala, only laughed at her child's immaturity while Astrid was slowly shutting down her mind remembering what she and the prince of Asgard did the night before. She could still feel the lingering sense of his tongue and the pleasurable ache from his every thrust, but her heartfelt glee of every praise he had ever given her.  As Thor kneeled to his father, Loki gave a quick wink to Astrid, who blushed back. Odin stood up, cheers still, radiant, while the warriors 3 waved at Astrid. Who wanted to crawl in a ball and die. 

"Thor Odinson... my heir... my firstborn so long and trusted with the mighty hammer Mjolnir forged in the heart of a dying star," Odin said while Astrid looked up at Frigga, a tear in her eye. Loki wanted to do everything in his right to take her away, but he knew that after tonight she would no longer be his. 

"Do you swear to guard all nine realms?"

"I swear."

"Do you swear to preserve the peace?" Odin looked over at Astrid, 

"I... Swear," she responded.

"Do you swear to cast aside all selfish ambition and to pledge yourself only to the good of the realm?"

Thor glanced at Loki, "I swear!"

"Then on this day, I Odin All-Father proclaim you..." he paused almost as if he were sensing something, 

"Frost giants..." Odin growled as everyone evacuated the palace. Both Thor and Loki followed Odin as Sif, the warriors three, and Astrid drew their weapons fighting the frost giants. Amidala looked at her daughter in disgust. Fighting wasn't originally what a princess was supposed to do, but here she was fighting beside warriors and Loki instead of making sure her "beloved" was okay. 

After the events of an almost coronation, the royal dinner slowly sizzled down. There stood Thor, who was standing behind Astrids chair. 

"I know..." he glared at his soon-to-be queen, 

"You know what..." she asked, still eating, refusing to meet his gaze. 

"You've been cheating on me for my brother..." his tone cold as Astrid dropped her fork, 

"It's not what it-" Astrid tried to say. 

"You sneak into his chambers at night, the glances, how long has this been going on!" Thor asked as he flipped the table over. Astrid growled, "Just about as long as you've discovered yourself to be so mighty!" she stood up, her red gown flowing behind her, "You never acted as if you needed me... wine, fighting, and sleeping around with my sister have always been your main concern!" she walked away Thor grabbing her wrist,

 "I am your king..." he snarled. 

"You are but an immature quibbling titmouse... Who will never be king." she laughed, "And, you'll only get yourself killed if you go to Jotunheim..." she freed her wrist, charging off to change into her armor. Heimdall sighed, watching as Thor, Sif, Loki, and the warriors sat at the Bifrost bridge on their horses, as the sound of trotting came among them from afar was a Vanir woman in her mother's old armor. 

"Astrid..." Loki looked up at her.

"Loki..." she squeezed his hand, As he kissed it. The two sitting on the couch of their New York penthouse overlooking the city, boxes still packed as they sat cuddled up together, his arms around her waist, as her body pressed against his, the two watching I love Lucy, a collection borrowed by Wanda.  "Yes, darling..."  he asked, "Do you ever thank the Gods..." she hummed, wearing one of Loki's sweatshirts that said Low Key on it.

"All the time..." he kissed her head, "Especially for having you in my life." Astrid giggled, "Oh, Loki." 

"Let's try get help!

CRASH!

"I'm okay!" 

Both Astrid and Loki looked at each other as they sighed,  "NARFI LOKISON, VALI LOKIDOTTIR!" 

"Uh oh..."

[mermaidsneedwater]

second chances | chapter ten

series page

The Talk

Pulling up in front of the quaint house, you sat in your car and took a breath.

Stepping out of the car, you walked up the stairs of the front of the house and knocked on the door three times.

With no response, you knocked again.

“I’m coming!”

As the woman opened the door, her eyes widened at the sight of you.

“Y/N? I wasn’t expecting you!” Jaebeom’s mother said happily. “A welcome surprise nonetheless, please come in.”

“Thank you.” You smiled.

She headed to the kitchen as you sat in the living room.

“You’re pretty lucky you’re here, we just harvested the strawberries from the field, let me give you some to take home.” She called from the kitchen. “Do you want anything to drink? Tea? Coffee?”

“Nothing for me, please don’t trouble yourself.” You replied.

You walked to the fireplace where photos of Jaebeom stood in the frame.

Fondly inspecting the photos, you grabbed one frame in particular, the day you and Jaebeom had gotten married. The picture showed you and Jaebeom holding hands, pointing to your marriage certificate on the steps of the court house.

“He was so happy that day.” Jaebeom’s mother said from behind you. “I remember when he called me to tell me about you for the first time.”

“Really?” You asked. “What did he say?”

“He told me that he’d found the girl he was going to marry.” She reminisced. “I told him he was crazy, but he proved me wrong.”

“I miss him so much.” You said softly, setting the frame back.

“I know.” She said. “But God needed him up there.” Jaebeom’s mother pointed up to the ceiling, holding a hand over her heart. “And I know he’s watching over us.”

“How do you know?” You asked.

“Because the big guy always has a plan. Even if we don’t know it, he does.”

Her unwavering faith amazed you.

“So, how have you been?” She asked, changing the topic. “Are you seeing anyone?”

“Me? No.”

“You know it’s okay for you to have a life after him right?” She said, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Jaebeom wouldn’t have wanted you living this way, you’re so young Y/N. You have to live, not simply exist.”

Your voice broke as you spoke the next words, letting the tears fall as you finally confronted what was holding you back. “I’m scared. Scared that I’ll forget him. That by moving on with someone else, it’ll mean that Jaebeom was just a relic of my past. And he meant so much to me.”

The older woman pulled you in for a hug, stroking your hair. “He won’t ever be forgotten because people like you and I, who loved him, keep his memory alive. Honey, Jaebeom was your husband. There is a part of your heart that will always be with him. That doesn’t mean that you can’t love anyone else. Just because you find love elsewhere, doesn't mean that your love for Jaebeom is any less.” She pulled back from you, running a hand over your cheek. “Life has given you a second chance. You need to grab it before it’s gone.”

“You really think so?” You asked, pulling away as your face became red and puffy.

“I know it. You made my son so happy Y/N, and for that I’ll forever be in your debt. And even though he’s not here, you’ll always feel like a daughter to me.” She said softly, smoothing your hair. “Jaebeom would want you to move forward in your life.”

Taking in her words, you knew what you had to do.

“I have to go. There’s someone I need to see.” You said quickly. “I have to talk to him.”

“Go! Go now!” Jaebeom’s mom encouraged.

Hugging her goodbye, you raced to your car. Before starting up the car, you dialed Chaeyoung’s phone.

Answering sullenly, she spoke. “Yes?”

“You were right, okay?” You said, drove onto the main road. “I’m sorry for being so frustrating.”

“What was I right about?” Chaeyoung replied, pretending she didn’t know.

“That… I shouldn’t have pushed Yugyeom away.” You admitted. “It took a little bit, but I know now that it’s okay to be in love.”

Unable to stay indifferent with you, Chaeyoung squealed, “Oh my god! You love Yugyeom?! I have to tell Bambam. I called it didn’t I? Did I or did I not call it?!”

“Yeah, yeah.” You said rolling your eyes. “I love you Chae.”

“I love you too hon.” Chaeyoung said. “Now go get your man!”

+++

It was a completely random guess, but you figured that if you knew Yugyeom as well as you thought you did, he’d be at the bar he’d taken you weeks before. As you parked your car by the street, you were shocked to see his car parked adjacent to the bar. He was there.

Stepping in through the front door, you were shocked to see a crowd. It was a stark contrast to when you’d visited the place with Yugyeom.

Looking through the crowd, you tried to see if you could spot Yugyeom. Reaching up on your tippy toes, you scanned the tables and the bar, looking for any indication of him.

The bartender glanced at you, examining your worried expression before reaching out to tap your shoulder. “Are you okay Miss?”

Startled, you fiddled with your necklace. “Yes? I think. Actually, no. Is there a speaker system or something I can use?”

“Um, we have a microphone with the karaoke machine…” He suggested.

“That’s fine, may I please use it? I really need to say something.”

“I don’t usually allow that, but I’ll make an exception for you, it seems pretty serious.” He commented, stopping the music and handing you the microphone.

As the music stopped abruptly, you watched as the audience booed, cursing out the bartender.

“Hey, hey, hey! Be nice, the little lady has something to say.”

Handing you the microphone, he helped sit you up on the bar so you could speak to the crowd.

“Um, Hi, I’m Y/N. I’m sorry that the music got cut.” You started, you felt your heart thumping loudly as you spoke to the large, very drunk crowd. “I just, I’m looking for someone, and I have something I want to say.”

Looking into the sea of faces, you were confused as one head remained turned away from you.

“Yugyeom… Where are you?” You called out.

There was silence in the bar.

“Please, I know you’re here.” Your voice broke.

The crowd watched as a tear slipped down your face. Saddened by your reaction, you were surprised to hear a couple people start shouting his name.

“YUGYEOM! YUGYEOM! YUGYEOM!”

“C’mon man don’t be so heartless!”

“YUGYEOM! YUGYEOM! YUGYEOM!”

“If you don’t talk to her, I will!”

Upon hearing that, Yugyeom whipped around. Spotting you, he walked up to you and helped you down. Holding your hand, he spoke firmly “Let’s talk outside.”

The bar cheered as the two of you exited, the bartender resuming the queued playlist for the drinkers to listen to.

Dropping your hand, he turned to you trying to remain detached. “You wanted to talk, go ahead I’m listening.”

“I-” You started out, struggling to spit it out. “I’ve missed you. So much.”

Unable to continue his indifferent front, he finally looked down to meet your eyes, saying softly “Me too. But that doesn’t change anything.”

“Yugyeom, you have to understand.” You started, determined to convey what your heart felt. “When you told me you loved me, I was shocked, and taken aback, and scared.”

“And that’s because it’s been a while since I’ve felt this way about someone. I didn’t think it was possible to feel it for another person.”

Yugyeom now looked up, his eyes widened. “And how do you feel?” He pushed you, itching to hear the words for himself.

“I love you, okay?” You told him. “You make me happier than anyone or anything in my life. It took me a little bit, but I’m not running away or fighting it anymore. I’m yours.”

Yugyeom spoke with disbelief. “Really?”

“Yes. Now will you please kiss me?”

He grinned, cupping your face softly and gently pulling you in for a kiss. Overwhelmed with emotion, you could feel the outpouring of Yugyeom’s love for you. He held you carefully, scared you might break in his arms if he was too rough with you.

As his soft lips moved against yours, you finally realized what you’d been missing out on.

Leaning his forehead against yours, spoke against your lips “I love you Y/N.” He pulled away only to chuckle “I can’t believe you’re finally mine. You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this moment.”

“Since we talked in the car?” you teased.

He looked deep into your eyes, cradling your cheek “Since you first bumped into me at that party.”

“I love you.” You told him again. You were surprised when he picked you up and spun you around.

“Say it again.”

“I love you.” You whispered in his ear once more.

And with that, there was no more doubt, longing, or confusion. There were only new beginnings, possibilities and second chances.

I can’t believe this is the final chapter! Thank you everyone for your support and love for this fic. I will always hold this one dear to my heart as it was my first full fic. Thank you for going on this crazy ride with me and I hope you all enjoyed the story :) Happy New Year! Let’s all take 2021 as a second chance for a better year.

[matildaofoz]

The Harvest Pt.1 (Warlock!Michael x Reader)

A/N: Happy Halloween, Witches and Warlocks! Here it is, part 1 of The Harvest, the one night of the year were predator and prey come to revel under the Blue Moon. 

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Cursing and the promise of more to come in Pt. 2

Tag List: @prophecy-is-inevitable​ @jimmlangdon​ @drasangel​ @leatherduncan​ @sexwon131​ @rocketgirl2410​ @9layerdevilfoodcake​ @vulgarprayer​ @michaellangdonstanaccount​ @michaellandgons-sunshine​ @iwillboilyourteeth​ @michael-langdon-owns-my-soul​ 

I hope I tagged all of you who showed interest, if not - I’M SORRY! Forgive me (and shoot me amessage so I can add you for Pt.2)

Fair Maiden,

you are hereby cordially invited to attend the annual celebration and Warlock tradition that is The Harvest.  

Upon the last night of October, you will partake in the ancient tradition as a guest of honor, taking place at the Langdon Estate.

All further necessary arrangements will be divulged to your person at an appropriate time.

We look forward to welcoming you and remain until such time

Sincerely,

Ambrose Holt,

High Warlock

The hand holding the parchment sank into your lap after you finished reading its contents out loud to your mother and stepfather. Confusion and a hint of fear flitted over your features and you began to worry your lip as your eyes skimmed over the contents again in an effort to make sense of them.

“That damned Son of a Whore, Ambrose Holt!” your stepfather cursed, beginning to pace the length of the drawing room.

“John Henry Moore, hold your tongue!” your mother hissed, taken aback by his foul language. Her eyes followed him around the room as she scooted closer to you on the chaise longue to take a look at the letter herself.

“It's all my fault! I never should have taken the two of you back here with me. I was foolish to think that something like this wouldn't happen,” he seethed, running his hands through his dark hair. He stemmed himself off the fireplace mantel, his mind racing at the significance of the letter.

“We'll tell them she won't attend, it's simple,” your mother retorted, placing one hand atop your own still clutching the piece of paper. The look on her face told you that she wanted to believe her own words more than anything.

“Darling, that won't be an option. Once you are invited you have to attend, you do not decline a High Warlock's Summon. This is a direct attack on me in the most barbaric way and I’ve dragged you both into my mess.” A humourless chuckle rumbled from his chest at the admission. Your mother’s hand squeezed yours tightly, lips drawn thin as she watched her husband. This was beyond a nightmare. He needed to come up with a plan, a way to halt the events that had been set in motion but begun a long time before he met you and your mother.

“I need to pay a visit to an old friend,” he muttered under his breath suddenly as he pushed himself off the mantelpiece and rushed for the door.

“Where are you going?” your mother threw after him but he was already out in the hallway.

“I’m going to see Behold Chablis. Don’t wait up for me!” he shouted before the front door slammed shut and the two of you were left in silence.

“It will be alright, Angel. Don’t you worry,” your mother said. She forced a smile and you weren’t sure if her words were meant solely for your own reassurance.

You remained silent, looking down at the letter, an uneasiness settling in the pit of your stomach. If your stepfather sought the council of another warlock when he had sworn of his brotherhood for over a decade, it was a bad omen of things to come. Your eyes traced the elegant penmanship on the page. The Harvest. Whatever it was, it made the skin on the back of your neck prickle.

The letter had arrived that afternoon while you were busy tending to the garden with your mother. John Henry had taken custody of the letter, delivered by a private courier and paled as he saw the High Warlock Council's sigil etched on the envelope beneath your name.

Before your mother's marriage to the Warlock, you had believed the supernatural to be but flights of fancy, parables adorning the pages of children's fairy tales as a way to keep them from misbehaving, whispered his hushed voices over a candle under the guise of a full moon to scare each other. All that changed with John Henry's entry into your life at the age of 12. While he was himself a Warlock, a fact he kept hidden from everyone around him except for you and your mother, he had come to condemn his kind several years before. He felt his brethren had strayed from the righteous path of magick, meant to guide, heal and better the lives of those through who's veins it flowed in favour of a darker, more sinister purpose. At the centre of it, he believed the Langdon's were to blame. They had corrupted those around them, slithering their way even into the High Council itself and changing the fabric of the ancient brotherhood.

He told you what he thought you would need to know when you were old enough to at least partially understand, for your own protection should such a time arise. You were not of his blood but you were his daughter and he had sworn that he would protect both your mother and you. The arrival of the letter had made it clear that the time had come and he wasn't sure he would be able to make good on his promise to you after all.

He did not come back that night and after you mother had retreated to their bedroom, you too went up to your room to ready yourself for bed. However much you willed it, sleep did not come easy. In the darkness of your room, dimly illuminated by the moonlight pouring in from the windows, your eyes were drawn to your writing desk were you had placed the letter. The words kept running throughout your head and the more you thought about them, the less you felt you understood them. With a huff you turned onto your side, squeezing your eyes shut tightly in an effort to stop the thoughts running a mile a minute. It must be past midnight by now and you were no closer to falling asleep. The last day of October was just over a week away and even though you couldn't possibly know what the night held in store for you, you'd be damned if you showed up unprepared. You may not be magically-inclined but you were well-versed in the art of reading. John Henry's library was just down the hall, the myriad of manuscripts and tomes softly calling your name in the dead of night.

“Oh, curse all this!” you muttered under your breath, throwing the blankets off your body and tiptoeing across the room to the door, evading the creaking floorboards that would alert your mother. She was a terribly light sleeper. The air around you was frigid, your nightgown doing nothing to keep out the chill that crept up your legs and over your bare arms. You edged along the wall to your desk, placing the knitted shawl hung over the chair around your shoulders.

Quietly, you inched across the hallway, stopping for a moment to look at your parents closed bedroom door. Silence. Taking it as your cue, you flitted to the door on the far end of the corridor, hoping to God that he hadn't locked it. Gingerly, you pushed down on the handle so it wouldn't squeak. The door swung ajar. Unlocked. With a small satisfied grin, you pushed through the opening and closed it behind you silently. A relived sigh escaped your lips as your eyes struggled to adjust to the dark room, any moonlight blocked out by thick curtains. You had only been in John Henry's study a couple of times, to stand at the threshold as you told him that dinner was ready or to venture in to bring him a cup of tea while he poured over manuscripts behind the large mahogany desk. While he did believe wholeheartedly that a lady should be educated beyond learning to play the piano and housekeeping, he had made it clear that the books in his study were off limits.

“There is nothing in my study that a young lady such as yourself need concern yourself with. The less you know, the better,” his words rang in your ears. You wagered he would be eating his own words right about now, considering the events of the afternoon. You scoffed, as you inched your way across the plush carpet under your bare feet, to where you believed his desk was. Your eyes were beginning to make out the silhouettes of the furniture and soon enough your hip bumped into hard wood. You winched at the the small pain and your hands began to feel out for the box of matches you knew he kept on the desk somewhere. He could easily light the candles or the fireplace in his room with a snap of his fingers because he had shown you. However, he preferred not to, saying it made him feel more like any other man who was not gifted with his supernatural inclination.

“Ha!” you exclaimed as your right hand came upon the match box, your left coming up over your mouth to stifle the sound. Several seconds went by with you as still as a statue as you waited to hear your parents bedroom door creak open. When no sound bar the pounding of your heart reached your ears, you let out a breath, cursing yourself. You couldn't risk being found out when you hadn't even begun to gather any information. Without wasting any more precious time, you swiftly took out a match and light it on the rough side of the box. The flame came to life before your eyes and all you could see was the bright light for several blinding seconds. Your eyes roamed over the desk now bathed in the small flame and you found the candle holder. You took off the glass cover and held the match to the wick, lighting the candle and placed the cover back over the now burning candle to keep it from being blown out. Hooking your finger into the holder, you ventured over to the wall of books, suddenly discouraged from your task at the sheer volume of knowledge stacked into the ceiling-heigh bookcases tat adorned the wall. This was going to be much more tedious than you had anticipated. Your eyes began skimming over the spines, half of what was on them not making any sense to you.

The Seven Wonders, The Musings of one Augustus Bromhold, Lupercalia throughout the Ages, The Warlock's Pocket Guide to Necromancy. You continued along the shelves, some of the books so old that in the dim light you couldn't make out the writing and some didn't seem to have any on the spines at all.

A Complete History of Warlock Traditions

At the title, your mind went back to the letter. The Harvest had been described as an annual tradition so surely, in a book entitled 'A Complete History of Warlock Traditions' it must be mentioned. You peeled the tome from the confines of the shelf and went to sit in the armchair stood next to the cold fireplace in the corner. You placed the candle on the small side table and and opened the book at the back, hoping to reveal the glossary. Having found what you were looking for, you flipped back to the page and began to read, teeth softly gnawing at your lower lip.

The Blood Harvest, an archaic ritual celebration held on the 31st of October was outlawed by the High Warlock Council on 4th April, 1763. Still referred to by outliers of the Warlock Brotherhood simply as The Harvest, in an effort to conceal the brutal nature of the dark rite of passage ritual, it is rarely observed to this day. The High Council has prosecuted the outlawed celebration and of those who oppose the rule of law and remain faithful to the ritual to this day. 

Celebrated annually before its outlaw, the ritual invoked the divine duality. Warlocks and human women, dressed to represent The Horned God and Triple Goddess respectively, partook in the ritual sacrifice on All Hallow's Eve to appease the supernatural beings that stalk the living on the night of the undead. Often cited to bestow great powers on the Warlocks who successfully complete the ritual rite of passage with one of the women selected, it is now widely regarded as nothing more than bloodshed, sacrificing those unfortunate and unknowing females to a slow and painful death at either the hands of the Warlocks if they so choose or the creatures invoked as formidable foes to the young men as a way to prove their supremacy over the dark forces and step into adulthood.

A cold shudder ran down your spine as your eyes read over the passage, letting the book sink into your lap. How was it possible that a High Warlock invited to you to an outlawed tradition by the High Council itself 100 years ago no less? Unless, it was no longer outlawed...John Henry's knee-jerk reaction to the letter no longer seemed so cloak-and-dagger.

A sudden creaking of floorboards on the other side of the door made your pulse thrum in your neck. Had your stepfather returned or perhaps you had been too loud and your mother had heard? You would've heard either the front door or the bedroom door open but then your mind was still swooning from your discovery. Gingerly, you placed the book on the side table next to the candle and inched to the door. Your breath caught in your lungs as you listened, on ear pressed to the cool wood. You could hear someone, something on the other side. The sounds of scratching against the wood made you shrink back, one hand coming to rest over your chest, your heart beating erratically. Your other hand reached for the door handle and you collected your wits about you before you pushed down the handle and yanked it open. You were greeted by a mass of fur and dark eyes that shot up to your face, equally as surprised as you were.

“Oh heaven's, Rosie!” you hissed, trying to calm yourself down at the sight of the family dog that must've heard you wandering around and decided to see for herself what you were up to in the dead of night. She tilted her head slightly at the mention of her name, looking past you and into the study that was off limits to her, her nose sniffing at the foreign scent of the room. If it wasn't for your incessant insistence that the St. Bernard was despite her outward appearance, nothing more than an overgrown lap dog,your parents would have kept her outside almost exclusively. With a lazy curiosity, she stepped over the threshold past your legs to inspect the new-found territory. You quickly walked past her to place the book back in its place on the shelf and took the candle holder in your hand, before turning around to see that Rosie had plopped herself down on the carpet in the middle of the room, watching you through her friendly heavy eyes.

“Rosie, you know you are not allowed in here. Well, technically neither and am I so where does that leave us? Come on, let's not leave any trace of us being here,” you berated her half-heartedly, grabbing her by he collar in the hopes that she would grace you with compliance. She looked up at you with an expression of indifference, seeing as your late-night musing must've roused her from her slumber downstairs as she came back up on all fours with a huff to trot out the room in front of you, waiting at the threshold.

“I don't know about you, but I could use some fresh air, what do you say?” you whispered in her direction, her presence calming your frazzled nerves somewhat. With one final glance around the study, you exited, making sure to shut the door as quietly as possible, leaving no trace of your trespassing. Should your mother, wake you could put the blame on Rosie for rousing you to go outside. You'd make sure to bring the candle back up with you, when you came back later. With a nod of your head, you silently bade her to follow you down the stairs and out the front door.

The midnight air was as welcome to your burning skin as it was chilling, serving to ground you and you pulled the shawl tighter around your shoulders with one hand, the candle in the other dimly illuminating the air around you. You watched the lit wick flicker slightly, growing and wavering in intensity, shielded only by the glass from the wind. Ever since this afternoon, your world had begun to tilt on its axis, threatening to plunge you into the unknown, to blow out that candle and yet there was no glass cover to keep you from being engulfed by the darkness that surrounded you. Rosie began to make her rounds around the front of the house and you became lost in your thoughts of what would happen but a week from now. John Henry had tried to shield you, believing it was safe to finally return to his birthplace with you in tow. Now it seemed, all those years of shielding you from his past would come to haunt your present.

Rosie's low growl beside you pulled you out of you reverie and your eyes snapped into the direction she faced, teeth bared and snarling. You struggled to see the source of her sudden defence through the candlelight blinding you of your surroundings and the dense mist that settled over the ground at night. Beyond the stone walls along the gravel road, you could make out a cloaked dark form and for a moment you thought it was John Henry who had come back from his visit to his old warlock friend. Yet the tall figure stopped about 100 yards away in the middle of the road, an ominous feeling creeping up your legs and spine at the sight. Your house was nestled in the countryside, the next estate and their occupants miles away. You stood, frozen to the spot as you waited for the figure to move. Around them, the fog grew thicker, spreading outward like pipe smoke blown against a glass pane, and engulfing both you and Rosie, who began to growl beside you.

Michael watched as you left the house, your nightgown billowing in the frigid night breeze, revealing glimpses of the smooth skin of your legs. When Ambrose Holt had told him of the letter sent to John Henry's stepdaughter, he knew he needed to see for himself what would ultimately be the downfall of that heretic Warlock who had come too close to undoing all of what his family, his father had set out to achieve. To restore the warlock bloodlines to their former glory and to retake what he and many others considered to be their birthright. It was foolish to think that mere humans could achieve what his kind had over millennia, he scoffed at their hubris in the face of such mundaneness. John Henry had forsaken his kind and had tried to smother their power, their supremacy.  He should've remained in his self-imposed exile, Michael mused as his eyes took you in, still unaware of his gaze on you, smiling at the way the breeze plucked small strands of your hair out the loose braid you wore to bed, the way it flushed your cheeks a rosy red. You would make the perfect Goddess to his Horned God.

He could whisk you away right now when you offered yourself so freely, unattended in the middle of the night, your pet of a dog wouldn't stand in the way one bit. Patience, he chastised himself as he walked closer along the road with calculated slow steps, his black cloak swishing around him, his hood drawn down into his face. He had waited this long to take revenge on John Henry, he could wait a week more, even though you made it hard for him when your eyes finally spotted him, raking over him at the sounds of that wretched beast beside you. Underneath the hood, he grinned, satisfied by your reaction. He could smell your fear even from here, so deliciously terrified at the site of him, frozen on the spot. He had you precisely where we wanted you. With a barely cognisant flick of his wrist at his side, the fog grew ticker around him and his invisible fingers reached through it to graze along the backs of your legs and up your spine. Oh, he was going to enjoy this years Harvest more than ever when the prize was you and all you embodied.

You felt the fog move against the base of your neck, distinctly like fingers on your skin. The candle in your hand began to flicker and blew out, leaving your in darkness, only the pale moonlight as your guide. Your eyes grew wide as you were plunged into darkness and before them, the cloaked stranger disappeared into thin air, swallowed by the mist. Rosie's growls stopped and she shook off her guard, back to her usual self. You met her gaze, you heart still pounding furiously before you hastened back to the house, nearly tripping on your way up the stone steps. Rosie trotted after you, nudging you up the stairs. Even though she didn't seem half as bothered as you, she rarely moved this quickly. You pushed open the front door, Rosie slipping inside past your feet. You threw the door closed behind you, your back pressing into the wood as you struggled to catch your breath. For a moment, you stood in darkness and silence before heading up to your room, not caring if your mother would wake at the ruckus you made. You prayed that John Henry would be back by the morning with answers. The candle holder out of his room stood forgotten on the hallway table.

[imamotherfuckingstar-lord]

Harvest Moon, pt. 5

Steve Rogers x Reader, Summer AU

A/N: Every chapter will have a designated song to it, so please take a listen! Will be linked below. I don’t own any Marvel characters.

Summary: For five summers, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes and you had been a trio; spending the summer at a lake with your families. While Bucky tagged along, there had always been a special bond between Steve and you. Every summer the lake had been something to look forward to until you stopped going and life moved on. Now as adults, Steve and you return at the same time, for different reasons. Can you rekindle that friendship or was it just youthful summer magic?

Masterlist

Chapter Five: (They Long to Be) Close to You

The bar was exactly how he pictured it would be years ago when he was 13, but what took him by surprise was Patsy Cline crooning from the jukebox – it was making him feel as though he was a kid again, walking by this place with Bucky and you; the three of you always trying to sneak a peek in. Or at least that’s what he was telling himself – the truth was, that song always reminded him of you. It was the same song you had made him listen to a long time ago, declaring it was your future heartache song. The song had embedded itself into Steve’s memories and he often found himself seeking it out in the most tiring times in his life – like after his first real break up and his mother’s funeral.

Bucky was saying something as they walked toward the counter, but Steve’s eyes wondered to the only other patron. It was the woman who walked by the cabin earlier, he recognized you and gave a quick smile in your direction before following Bucky to the bar. The two ordered drinks and decided to play a few rounds of pool, but every so often Steve’s attention would go back to you sitting alone. After the second round, he couldn’t help but say something. 

“That’s the woman from earlier, the one you said hello to.”

Bucky glanced up from his shot. “She’s here alone?”

“Seems like it,” Steve said, noticing that you were getting up from the booth. It was abundantly clear how inebriated you were by the way you struggled to stand still as you flung your bag over your shoulder. He watched with concern as you slapped a few bills onto the table and started toward the door, holding onto the tables and chairs as you made your way out. “She’s fucking smashed.”

“It would be weird for a pair of dudes to go after her, huh?”

Steve understood Bucky’s hesitation, it would look a little unseemly if they went after her, even walked her back to her cabin but the good intention was all there too. He looked to his friend who seemed to come to the same conclusion and nodded for him to go ahead. “I’ll buy out the tab and catch up.”

Leaving the pool table, Steve rushed out the bar and looked to his left and then to the right, where he saw you two stores door walking into the ice cream shop. He walked calmly passed the late evening crowd, a few families getting dinner in town, and came to the shop. Staring inside, he saw you talking to the woman behind the counter, you seemed agitated and the woman looked a little nervous. Throwing the little cautious he had left to the wind, Steve walked inside.

…

“You don’t understand, I need to see those photos, please.”

“Lady, like I said earlier, I don’t have access to them.”

Not even 24 hours had passed since your arrival and you officially had hit the lowest of the low – accosting a waitress over some photos…but it wasn’t just some photos, it was a specific photo. Tears welled in your eyes as you explained again, in your drunken slur, that you just needed one picture.

“I just need one picture, please. I can look for it, I promise I won’t cause any trouble. ” you cried out, fully aware of the audience surrounding you – the place was packed and even though the Carpenters was playing loudly in the background, everything seemed so quiet. The pain in your voice was evident and the waitress had a look of empathy in her eyes, but it wasn’t enough.

“I just need my picture back!  I just need it back, it’s the last time we were happy! Please,” you yelled, slamming both hands on the counter. The woman flinched and reached for her cellphone, but then someone said something behind you.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, she’s clearly had a little too much to drink next door.”

Lifting your hands off the counter, you turned to see the blond man from the bar; there was something so familiar about him – his eyes, but you couldn’t put a finger on it. It might have also been the fact that   the room was suddenly spinning. He asked if you were okay and if you remembered him from the cabin.

“My friend and I were sitting out when you walked by, we were also in the bar…”

“I just want my picture back…. that’s all,” you said, jaw unclenching as you turned back to the waitress. Shame was written all over your face as you quietly apologized and brushed passed the man to leave the shop. Outside, your emotions got the best of you and you began to cry – you felt like a child who had gotten separate from her family, lost in a crowd of strangers. Tears fell down your face and you stumbled over to a light post, holding on to it with one hand. It was getting dark; people were walking around. You wanted to feel embarrassed, but you had nothing left inside you, it had been that way for a while. Nothing made you happy, mostly you were just sad. Friends stopped calling to go out, work became mundane, even your own mother kept her distance – it was true, evident now, as you stood alone in a crowd of happy souls, drunk and emotionally gutted; you were a half empty girl.

“Miss, you okay?”

You looked up from the ground and wondered how drunk you were, because the face in front of you seemed to morph into someone you used to know – which would seemed absurd considering the man talking to you was about your age and the man you remembered would be much older today.

“Mr. Barnes?”

It was uncanny how much this man looked like Bucky’s dad, except this guy had much longer hair. In fact, you were sure he was one of the guys from the bar – god, everything was such a blur.

“Excuse me?”

You felt stupid and quickly apologized. “Sorry, I’ve had too much to drink and obviously living my best life. I…better go.”

“No, don’t go,” he said, holding back a smile. “You called me Mr. Barnes, no one calls me that. That’s mostly reserved for the old man.”

Your heart raced as you really looked at the guy in front of you and it seemed to sober you right up – this wasn’t Mr. Barnes but it was someone you hadn’t seen  in nearly 15 years. It was so surreal to be standing in front of the ice cream shop with Bucky, two full fledge adults.  

“Bucky?”

His face softened and he shook his head with a huge smile. “What are the odds, huh?”

Unable to hold back, you laughed and when he reached out for a hug, you held him tight. “Holy shit, I can’t believe this.”

It was strange because the last time you saw him, he was fifteen – you were fifteen. You gasped at the thought, as he pulled away, and before you could ask about Steve, Bucky spoke to someone behind you.

“Punk, you won’t believe who the drunk chick is.”

Turning your back to Bucky, you found yourself staring into the eyes of the man from inside the ice cream shop, the one in the bar that smiled at you and you knew then why you had felt at ease with him.

Your looked at him, nerves building up in the pit of your stomach so badly you would have thought you were having an anxiety attack. His blue eyes went wide as he too realized what was going on and as he stepped forward toward you, your voice cracked as you spoke his name.  “Steve?”

 .....

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[chelsfic]

Any chance for a sweet and spicy Arranged Marriage!Drac with Dracula and Agatha (or reader if that is more preferred) and it’s all snark and sexy tension but then really eventually they’re 🥺🥺🥺??? Pretty please and thanks????? ❤️❤️❤️

Did you say “spicy” because I read that as angsty start to a new multi-part fic???? Oh dear...uh...sorry!? 

P.S. I’m combining your request with another plot bunny I had which was inspired by Naomi Novik’s book Uprooted.

“But I’m leaving for the convent next week! I’ve as good as taken my vows already. I shouldn’t have to participate in this barbaric...this--this absurd--”

“Agatha, please,” her mother sighed with the frustration of a woman who had spent the last twenty years losing arguments to her brilliant daughter. “You know as well as I do that the Count demands this sacrifice of the village in exchange for our protection. He’s passed you over every other year. You will be fine. And in one week you’ll leave your old mother behind you and start a new life of devotion. But now you must do your duty for the community.”

Agatha shook her head in disgust but offered no further argument. In calling upon Agatha’s sense of duty her mother had hit a vulnerable spot and she knew it. Agatha was a good girl even if she was too smart for her own good.

***

Agatha stood with the other young women lined up on the village green awaiting the arrival of their lord, Count Dracula. It was night, of course, for the Count was never seen outside of his castle except after dark. Everyone in the village knew what he was even if they feared to speak the word out loud. Well, Agatha was not afraid. Vampire. That’s what he was: a foul beast of hell and nothing more. Something to cause disgust not fear and reverence. But the elders of the village did not see it this way. Dracula had brought peace, prosperity and protection into their little corner of the world. For that they gave him their fealty...and his choice of their daughters at each year’s harvest day.

Every year Count Dracula took a bride. It was speculated that the Count wished to find a woman who could become like him. An immortal fiend, Agatha thought sneeringly. But every bride he’d chosen so far had failed in some mysterious way. The girls were never heard from again. Yet the village elders continued to offer them up. In exchange, the Count did not include the village as part of his hunting grounds. What was the life of one lowly female compared to the well-being of the whole village?

Agatha shifted her weight from foot to foot and tossed her long wavy hair over her shoulder in annoyance. She’d stood in line every year since she was fifteen and every year the Count had stalked up and down the row of eligible women and girls eyeing each one from head to toe and always selecting someone else. She knew her mother was right. The Count had never looked twice at her before. She would be safe...and then she’d be free. Some might not consider the life of a nun to be one of freedom...but for Agatha it was everything. She longed to pursue her studies of divinity and lore beyond the boundaries of this tiny village. She just had to make it through tonight first.

The Count entered the village green with his usual flare for drama. He melted out of the shadows and into the ring of torches, appearing as a column of shadow in his long black cape. He stalked through the crowd of villagers who parted around him with fearful cringes and obsequious bows. 

When he finally reached the edge of the crowd and stood before the line of trembling women he spoke in a saccharine, affected tone, “Hello, ladies! And thank you for coming! Your village...your families thank you as well, I think.”

There was a halfhearted round of applause from the crowd. Everyone was on edge waiting for the Count to make his selection. Everyone prayed that he’d choose someone else’s daughter. 

“Well, now, let’s see…” the Count began walking slowly down the line, pausing to inspect each girl individually. With some he would exchange murmured words but for the most part he took in their forms, leaning in to inhale their scents, reaching out to feel the meat on their bones. Agatha vibrated with repressed fury at the indignity as she waited her turn.

When he finally paused in front of her she forced herself to remain still, willing her body not to shiver under his penetrating gaze. She forced her eyes upward to meet the dark depths of his and greeted him with cool politeness, “Hello again, Count Dracula.”

Dracula smirked, clearly impressed by her bravery. The other girls could barely meet his gaze. 

“Hello, Agatha. Still unmarried, I see. Waiting for me, are you?” Dracula teased with that insufferable smug expression. 

“Someone a little higher up, as a matter of fact. I leave for the Convent of St. Mary’s next week.”

The Count arched a brow and his lips curled in amusement, as if her life’s dream and vocation were a funny joke to him.

“We will see, won’t we?” he replied mildly. He stepped forward, invading her personal space and dipping his face down to her throat, inhaling her scent. “Oh, Agatha your bouquet improves every year. I can almost taste that passion, that desperation for learning and advancement…”

Agatha stayed silent, fearing she’d already given him too much to possibly entice him. Please, God, let him pass over me so that I might devote my life to you.

When he finally moved on to the next girl Agatha could breathe easy again. She kept her eyes focused on the ground in front of her and tried to center her thoughts. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. This was it, her final trial before freedom. 

Dracula reached the last girl and then stood back, assessing the entire batch of females and shaking his head from side to side with a thoughtful frown on his face. Agatha watched him like a hawk. He towered over most of the figures in the crowd, his body was lean and his movements belied an inhuman physical power constantly beneath the surface. He was classically handsome, she could admit. But she felt nothing but burning anger and sinking fear when she looked upon him--this creature who murdered without consequence and who held her fate in his hands like a fragile bird.

Please, God…

Dracula clapped his hands together merrily and grinned in anticipation as his voice rang out, “I’ve made my decision and I thank you, citizens of Brasov, for your tribute. You will enjoy another year of prosperity and peace; another year of safety thanks to your sacrifice. I have chosen...Agatha Van Helsing for my new bride!”

Agatha collapsed to the ground as her knees gave out and her head spun. She could hear the relieved sighs from the girls around her and the scattered applause from the villagers--but it sounded miles away. She was in shock. Her vision swam and her stomach plummeted. This could not be. She was so close. So very close…

She looked up, pleadingly, seeking a friendly face, a savior...but instead she was met by the hungry, predatory gaze of the Count. He held her, captured, in the bottomless dark of his eyes as a wolf’s smile slowly spread over his lips.

[the-overgrowth]

Retrospective: “Faybane” #1

This is where it all started, on July 8th, 2016. Although probably a bit earlier than that, but this is the earliest thing I can find that’s actually written down, so that’s what counts. And back in the day I didn’t let ideas marinate the way I do now, I just started writing pretty much as soon as I got the idea.

Anyway, the document was created at this point in time according to Google Docs, and was last modified in October 3rd, 2016. It’s only 3 chapters long, plus one incomplete fourth chapter, and the whole thing is about 17k words.

Which is a lot for 3 chapters. I would say something about how I’m less wordy now, but the latest draft is like 107k words long, so, like, I will always struggle with shutting the fuck up, methinks.

Also, the reason this is called “Faybane” is because that was the working title I used, and the name of this document. I thought it’d be the proper title but like. It’s bad lmao.

Anywhomst, let’s get into it!

Some background info for those who are new or need a refresher: this WIP became a thing after I read and was disappointed by A Court of Thorns and Roses by SJM, as well as The Iron King by Julie Kagawa and some book by Holly Black, was it Tithe?

ACOTAR was the biggest culprit. I feel that this is important to keep in mind as we go through this mess.

We open on Sidra in the forest with a bunch of men she calls a hunting party. It’s clear she doesn’t want to be there, but since she’s the only decent hunter among them and it’s her sister’s wedding today, she has to make the kill to feed the people attending said wedding.

This is, as the kids say, big stupid, and seems like a very ill-prepared celebration? I guess it makes some sense for them to want fresh meat, but this fresh? What if they didn’t find anything? What if they didn’t manage to kill anything? Is the whole thing cancelled? Stupid.

We find out they’ve been hunting a boar and that this dude named Liam, our Gaston replacement, previously wounded the animal but didn’t kill it, causing it to flee and force the hunting party to follow. It’s up to Sidra to make the killing blow, which she does with an arrow straight into its head. This was back when Sidra was still YA Heroine Extraordinaire and the time period was Vaguely Medieval, I guess.

They begin taking their quarry back home and Sidra thinks about how she normally doesn’t hunt this close to the “Faewilds” because animals closer to the border are said to be bigger and more violent. There isn’t an actual border, people just had to rely on intuition and not wander too far into the forest.

She also mentions a girl named Wilda, who disappeared fairly recently and everyone suspects it was the fae. This isn’t relevant now, but Wilda will return in later drafts, I think.

Everybody, especially my family, knew that I was one of the best archers in town, whether I used a bow or a crossbow.

Shut up, Not!Feyre. Nobody likes you.

I should mention that at this point I didn’t bother googling how big wild boars get and just assumed they were the size of like, a thick medium dog. Which is, if you know how big boars are, very incorrect. Four men pulling the animal seems realistic enough, but then Liam just lifts it up on his own? Not buying it.

Sidra laments how much she hates Liam and we find out that he apparently tried to assault her and she stabbed him? And apparently she’s not happy about his marriage to Sinéad but can’t do anything about it because “Father’s word is law” and Sinéad herself laughed it off when Sidra tried to warn her?

Yeah, gonna call bullshit on that one. No idea why this was here or what purpose it serves, the reason Liam doesn’t exist in the latest draft is because I never figured out what his purpose was so I axed him entirely. 

Current!Sidra would just kill him the moment he showed an interest in Sinéad, and Current!Sinéad would 100% believe her sister about something like that.

Some bloke named Connor strikes up a conversation with Sidra, seemingly worried about being this far away from human civilization. Liam teases him about it and calls the fae “knife-ears”, because I still had brainrot back then and liked Dragon Age and had zero original ideas in my head.

The men make jokes about having sex with fae women and Sidra seems so disturbed by this that she nocks an arrow. This isn’t the first time she makes references to feeling unsafe around these men, I have no idea why I wrote it this way aside from being edgy, I guess.

My village was mostly populated by men, and even though I wasn’t one of the pretty girls there, I knew these men weren’t picky, even with all their talk about beautiful fae women. I’d heard that fae women would kill their men after sleeping with them. I had no way of know it was true, but a part of me hoped it was and that Liam would some day soon get “lucky” and encounter a female fae, so she could end his misery.

Edgy, dude.

They eventually arrive and Sidra goes inside her house, which is a simple cottage with three rooms. I think her family are all farmers? It’s kind of confusing. She goes into her and Sinéad’s bedroom, where Sinéad is preparing for her wedding. Also, she’s blonde.

“Sid! There you are!” she said cheerily. “Killed a boar, huh? Good on Liam for taking all the credit.”

If you know your man is trash, why are you marrying him?

Apparently Liam seduced Sinéad with sweets and baked goods. I mean ... fair enough. Considering how Sidra complains about being hungry and skinny and going without food if she doesn’t kill the boar because this year’s harvest was minimal, I’m assuming y’all are starving.

We find out Sinéad’s mother doesn’t let her do anything around the house or farm, to preserve her “soft and white” hands and pale complexion so she could be married off easily. This makes zero sense, you’d think these medieval men wouldn’t have the same beauty standards as Victorian England, plus having a mouth to feed that doesn’t even help feeding itself is just nuts. 

But remember, this isn’t Sidra, this is Not!Feyre. She needs to be sad and put-upon and a victim. She explains how she was never pretty to begin with and thus nobody considered her to be worthy of marrying off, which then meant she was put to work and became even less attractive because now she was so cool and badass that all the men were intimidated by her.

Yeah, in a village that already doesn’t have a lot of young women? I’m not buying this, lmao. But go off, Not!Feyre.

I’d been the one helping around, instead. Hunting, mostly. Sometimes I’d chop wood or work the farm. Marrying out of the house seemed impossible. Marrying up was practically a dream you forgot upon waking. Had I been pretty from the start there would’ve been a foundation to work from, but I was a lost cause even before my skin became tan and my hands grew veined and calloused. I had freckles which people mistook for mud and dull brown eyes, a long nose that had been broken one time too many and a mouth that made it look like I constantly felt a bad smell no matter what facial expression I made. I’d always been of rather short stature and had brown hair and thick eyebrows, which in combination with everything else made my parents call me their “little goblin”. The scar on my face didn’t help me either: men didn’t like it when their women were more battle-hardened than they were.

Oh god please, don’t go off! We don’t care! Stop going off!

Also what fucking parents call their poor kid a goblin? Yikes.

Sinéad convinces Sidra to get prettied up and Sidra is all “oh I bet all the men will just fall over themselves for my favor now huh” which is just the most annoying fucking thing, prompting Sinéad to respond:

“Well, winter is coming and game is scarce. If they want to survive, marrying the best hunter in the village might be a good bet.”

Yeah! This is correct! I refuse to believe people wouldn’t be into Sidra! Not only does everyone apparently know she’s the best hunter in town, but Sidra herself confirmed the men here outnumber the women and aren’t very picky.

This is fucking stupid. I’m glad I axed it. In my defense, I was very much trying to emulate the YA shit I’d read so far.

Sidra’s grandmother enters the stage. She’s very old in this draft, but otherwise unchanged.

She was a short and wrinkled old lady with extremely bad vision and an even worse grasp on reality. Or maybe an extremely acute grasp on reality, depending on whether you believed her stories or not.

Sidra changes out of the dress again to go out and help her father prepare the boar, all while sulking.

I didn’t envy Sinead, nor any other bride. Despite what most people thought of me, I wasn’t some poor ugly girl longing for the love of a man and the security of marriage. Did I enjoy the idea of having somebody care for me? Sure. But it wasn’t on my list of priorities. I was still trying to figure out what actually was on that list. Not that it mattered. The prospects for a poor village girl were very finite.

Womp womp.

We get some confusing and barely related stuff about Sidra possibly becoming a royal hunter for the king and also about where the village is located in relation to the Faewilds. She speculates that maybe the fae aren’t real, but the way she and everyone else talks about them makes it pretty obvious that they are? This was supposed to build mystery, I guess.

We skip forward to the wedding and Sidra is moping again.

“How are you feeling?” Father asked and squeezed my shoulder. 

I wasn’t sure why he was doing that. I assumed it had something to do with the wedding and the fact that despite there being fewer women than men here, I was still not asked to dance. Though this didn’t really bother me, so I just shrugged.

“It doesn’t bother me. Anyway I will continue to mope and feel bitter about this thing that doesn’t bother me.” Hunny ...

At least Current!Sidra has the self-awareness to admit she’s sad and lonely.

 [Father’s] marriage to Sinead’s mother was never out of love, more out of necessity. It was easier when you had a big family.

Except for when this “big family” is 3 people who work and 2 people who are just being fed, right? See, I knew back then that having a big family helps when you have a farm, but I also needed to make Sidra Special so Sinéad had to sit on her ass to highlight how pretty and feminine she was or whatnot.

Bleh.

They talk a bit about Sidra’s mother, who passed away five years ago, and Sidra reminisces about how she used to tell amazing stories. It’s all very ... whatever, and serves only to make this point for the hundredth time:

I wasn’t like Mother. I wasn’t full of life and spirit like her. I wasn’t loved and respected by the entire village like her. I was just her disappointing child whose existence they’d rather forget except when they wanted something killed.

Right after this there’s a really abrupt scene transition. Nothing about the wedding coming to an end, nothing about her going to bed, it’s just ... some while later?

Sidra’s father comes back home from ??? and tells Sidra he saw a stag somewhere, but it was hours ago so she better get a move on.

I’m not sure what either of them thinks this will accomplish? Like ... what is she gonna do with it when she kills it ... Carry it home? On her little boney ass? Hmm? I guess I didn’t think of that because I had meta knowledge that she wouldn’t get it home either way, so who cares about logic, right?

Sidra kills two rabbits while stalking the deer, and despite telling us earlier that she doesn’t venture far away from human civilization and the boar hunting being the farthest she’d been and that she wouldn’t go this far alone, she has no issue dwelling very deep into the forest this time.

Like. Henlo? Can we have one logic please and thanks you? Granted, she keeps stopping every now and then to Feel Things Out, but this really goes against how careful she was before and at no point do we get an explanation to her sudden boldness. Plot reasons, I guess.

She nearly stumbles into fae territories and finally decides to head back, except when she starts returning, she sees the stag she’s been tracking. It’s abnormally huge and has a “dark brown” coat that she finds odd, but of course she’s too stupid to connect the dots.

She sneaks up on it and honestly? This chapter ending still slaps.

A scream of pain left the creature and I saw it topple. But though my arrow hit a deer, a man fell to the ground.

DUN DUN DUN.

And yeah, the ACOTAR roots rear their ugly heads again. I liked the idea of the protagonist shooting a fae disguised as an animal, but I decided to cut out the middleman and just have her obliterate Val right in chapter one. Don’t worry, he doesn’t die.

[cayenne-twilight]

Hi! Could you write something about Sophia and Anton's daughter (let's call ber Iris) if she knew her father? Bonus for baby Katia! Thank you!

The little girl sat on her mother’s lap, dressed in pajamas. Her mother brushed her vibrant purple hair, a trait she had passed down from herself.

“Ow mama, stop,” the girl pouted. “You’re pulling.”

“Sorry, Iris,” Sophia said, pulling the brush more gently. “If you quit rolling around in the fields, you wouldn’t have these tangles.”

Admittedly, Dropstone did have the most charming landscape. That was why she chose this particular area to settle, after all. Well, that was part of the reason at least. The pond near town center, the rolling fields, the mountains in the distance, beaten paths winding between sparse clusters of trees; it was all very lovely. A change of scenery.

“That better be it, mama,” Iris said, pulling her hair over her shoulder protectively.

“Thank you for being patient,” Sophia smiled.

“You have to tell me a real good bedtime story to make up for the yanks,” Iris said.

Sophia hoisted the girl onto her bed and tucked her in, kissing her cheek. “Hmm, would you like a fairy tale from the storybook?”

“Nuh-uh. I’ve heard all of those over and over again. How about a brand new story?”

‘I should add a public library to my list of projects,’ Sophia thought. “I suppose I can make something up, but I can’t guarantee it’ll be as good as the old stories.”

“No matter, just as long as it’s fresh.”

“Here goes nothing then,” she brainstormed for a moment. “Did any of your stories have vampires in them?”

“Vampires?” Iris’s eyes widened. “This better not be a scary story. You’re supposed to be putting me to sleep, not keeping me up all night, remember?”

Sophia petted her hair. “No, love. This was a good vampire. He lived in a big castle in the forest, and he liked to throw balls with lots of music and dancing. The decorations and tableware were made out of the most brilliant gold. After all, vampires can’t touch silver, you know. His hair was golden, too, and he had a flowing cape that swooshed around as he danced. He was awfully charming, and lots of ladies wanted to dance with him.”

“But don’t vampires have to drink blood?” Iris asked.

“This one had a penchant for um… grape juice, and it kept him satisfied.” Sophia started the story from the beginning.

It would be a lie to say that the drive to Herzen mansion wasn’t daunting. The surrounding town of Folsense may have been welcoming with its warm glow and interesting brand of night life, but this maiden’s destination was detached from the outside world. The road took her through a shadowy thicket, gangly trees arching over her on either side. She tried to imagine what this trail must look like on a sunny spring day, but she couldn’t quite put the image together. She arrived at the massive building’s doors, parking her car. The maiden grabbed her clutch purse and pulled her faux fur coat tightly around her torso as she scuttered inside, taking care to not trip over her heels.

A short, bespectacled man with a downward hooked nose took her coat and pointed her towards the main hall. She was amazed at the sheer size of it. Sure, her father had a countryside mansion of his own, but she could probably stuff most of it into this room alone. She couldn’t imagine what it must be like upstairs or inside those turrets visible from outside.

“And what might your name be?” The young man approached her, a champagne flute in each hand.

She accepted the drink. “Sophia. And you?”

“Anton. Anton Herzen.” He winked.

So this is Duke Herzen’s son. He was certainly handsome-

“Whoa, mama! The girl has the same name as you?” Iris said.

Sophia laughed. “Yes, what a coincidence.”

Sophia and Anton made small talk over fine hors d’oeuvres, seated in the cloister above the main hall.

Anton popped the last piece of a finger sandwich into his mouth. He gestured towards the couples dancing below. “Care to join them?”

They walked down the stairs arm in arm, getting into position to waltz as the live orchestra flipped their sheet music to the next song. They met eyed and smiled. The first hum of strings cued them, stepping back and forth to the rhythm. They swirled across the floor, performing spins at the proper moments.

“So tell me what it’s like, being a Herzen,” Sophia said.

“Being a Herzen? Why, it’s nothing to write home about, save for the family wealth perhaps.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes. Father’s got himself occupied with some silly new business venture. I gather he’s going after pharmaceuticals now, which rubs me the wrong way considering that he doesn’t even know how to alleviate the common cold.”

“Pharmaceuticals? That is odd. He already owns the gold mining company, doesn’t he?”

“That’s just it. The miners have discovered some sort of hallucinogen trapped in the rock, and now they’re searching for a way to harvest it and rework it into anesthesia or anti-anxiety medication.”

“I can’t imagine there being a safe way to do that,” Sophia said.

“There must be, and I hope to God father knows of it.”

With the end of the song, they returned upstairs to continue the next course of food.

Iris yawned. “Now I mean this as constructive story-telling criticism, but this is getting a bit boring. What about the part where the guy is a vampire? Or was that a surprise for later? *Gasp* Maybe the girl will find out he’s secretly a monster and will have to decide whether she’s afraid of him or if she’ll love him anyways!”

“I should’ve thought of that,” Sophia said. “Maybe you should be the one telling stories.” She booped Iris’s nose like a button. “At least I’m succeeding in making you sleepy.”

“What’s Folsense like?” Sophia asked.

“It’s lovely. The lights are beautiful at night, and I’m not just saying that because of the cabaret.”

“I’d love to take a walk there one of these days. Would you be so kind as to give me a tour?”

“Yes, of course. I know Folsense like the back of my hand, and it knows me. Well, except for the people I pranked last Halloween when I ran around convincing them I was a real vampire. That reputation still follows me among the less social townsfolk.”

“I would love to have been there and seen it. Halloween must be a blast in a mansion like this, what with the gothic architecture and spooky forest.”

“I’ve never thrown a Halloween party before, but now that you mention it, it would be surely be smashing.”

Anton took a long drink of his red wine and spoke again, “Where are you from?”

“I live pretty close to London.”

“London? But that’s so far off! It must have taken you, what? Two hours to get here?”

“It’s really not as long as it seems.”

“But it’s already so late! If you left early you’d still only get home in the wee hours of the morning.”

“I could stay at the Folsense hotel-”

“Or you could stay here.”

“You have vacant rooms available?”

“If you want a vacant room, that’s all right too.”

“I don’t.”

Sophia decided it would be best to skip that part of the story.

Anton was still asleep when she woke up the next morning. She put yesterday’s clothes back on and took the chance to explore the castle. Sophia ducked in and out of unlocked doorways, looking for something like a living room or dining room. She found the sheer number of unused spaces odd, thinking that she would surely use them for something more useful, or at least make each room more unique. She stumbled upon the dining room where the Duke was taking his breakfast.

“Nigel, fetch the kettle, would y- DEAR GOD girl, who are you?” the shock faded as soon as it set in. “You wouldn’t happen to be one of Anton’s-“

Sophia laughed nervously. “No, no, nothing like that. He just let me stay the night because I live so far away. Really.”

The Duke’s eyes narrowed as he dabbed the jam from his whiskers with a napkin. “Leave.”

Sophia thought about Anton still asleep in his room. “Um… right. I’ll be right out.” She smiled fakely, trying to remember how to get to the front door.

She gently cracked open the door to Anton’s bedroom. “Antoooon,” she stage-whispered.

He opened his eyes and pushed himself up. “Eh?”

“Your father wants me out. When can I see you again? Maybe we could meet in Folsense?”

“Ah, sorry about him. Are you free next Saturday? We could meet in front of the museum around noon, perhaps.”

“Sounds great! See you there.” Sophia left him, walking through the hallway into the main hall and down the steps to the front door. She retrieved her purse and coat, leaving for her car. Sophia drove home through the rolling hills and fields of the countryside in a dreamy state of highway hypnosis.

“She fell in love with the guy,” Iris stated.

“Yes.”

“And his dad doesn’t want them to be together. It’s a story of forbidden love! Do they have to meet up in secret and serenade each other through the window from outside?”

“Don’t worry, Iris. The Duke isn’t a bad guy, he just cares about his son in his own way, I suppose.”

Sophia and Anton would meet up periodically about town, but although it was good fun, they couldn't do this forever. Anton led Sophia by the hand into the mansion and up to his office.

“Father.”

“What is it Anton? I’m busy.”

“I’ve come to say that I love Sophia whether or not you agree with it, and that she will be coming over no matter what you think.”

The Duke sighed. “You’re right; I can’t stop you two, no matter what I think.”

To Duke Herzen’s distaste, Sophia ended up practically moving in. He appeared to be in denial, engaging young Freidrich in conversation or turning to his legal documents whenever they were in the same room. The young couple tried to keep to themselves, which one would think to be easy in a house of that size, but he seemed to turn up at every corner as if watching them.

Sophia sat down next to him in his library one day. “I didn’t take you for the type to read Poe for fun.”

“Well here I am. Do you read him?”

“Oh of course! I love that surreal macabre stuff. I’ve actually been curious about the mines below the castle; isn’t it a dangerous setup?”

Duke Herzen closed his book. “There were reports of coal being collected when they first built the foundation. I had the idea of digging deeper. I see how having a gaping pit under your home may seem precarious, but I trust in the beams and supports holding us up.”

“Anton mentioned some sort of gas discovered down there…”

“Did he now? That was meant to stay confidential.”

“Oh don’t get mad at him for it, it was but a slip.”

“Still, I’m sure this could become the next big thing in pharma. I need to find the men to research and rework it, but after that it’ll be smooth sailing. I didn’t think you’d be interested in this sort of thing.”

“I can’t deny that I have my concerns, but admittedly this is all very curious.”

Duke Herzen reopened the novel. “Look after him, will you?”

“The vampire’s dad was very cold at first,” Sophia said. “But his heart started to warm up as he got to know the maiden. Soon enough, he began confiding in her. The maiden and the vampire lived together in his castle until one terrible day, tragedy struck.”

“Aww come ooon. I thought this was gonna be a sappy feel good love story. No tragedies,” Iris whined.

“Okay fine. No tragedy.”

“There’s more of it seeping out and diffusing into the air than we thought,” Duke Herzen said from his sickbed.

“What does this mean? Have you lost all hope in stopping it?” Sophia asked, masking panic.

“There’s not much we can do but leave it alone and move somewhere else. Not that I would make it much longer anyhow.”

“Oh don’t say that rubbish.”

“You can’t change the fact of the matter, my dear.” He smiled weakly. “I’ll leave it up to you to lead the evacuation.”

“But so many people don’t plan on leaving. What of them?”

“We can’t force anyone to go.”

“That’s awful- don’t they know-”

“Whatever they’re thinking, their minds won’t change.”

“Awful,” Sophia muttered again.

“I’m staying!” Anton yelled. “I know the risks, and I know that I feel responsible for this town, so I can’t just leave it.”

“You idiot!” Sophia retorted. “There’s no future for Folsense, so stop acting like you’re immune from this gas unlike everybody else.”

“And here I was thinking you’d stay with me.” He turned away.

Sophia grimaced.

“How about we just go to bed and talk this over like normal people tomorrow morning?” he sighed.

Tomorrow morning Sophia was gone. She got up before the sun and kissed Anton’s sleeping head. Lugging her trunk down the ornate staircase, she took a final look around the home she called her own, around the hall where he and she shared their first dance. Nigel handed Sophia her coat, he was staying as well. She stepped out into the crisp air where birds were only beginning to chirp and walked through the woods to the station. They really weren’t all that spooky in the daytime. Charming, really. Friedrich helped her pull the luggage up from the platform.

“Is it really okay? To leave him here, I mean.”

Sophia scanned the rooftops of Folsense once more. “I don’t know, Friedrich. I don’t know.”

She didn’t tell him the train was today. She didn’t tell him that they didn’t plan on coming back once this all “blew over” because she suspected it wouldn’t. She didn’t tell him about the baby.

The train hissed and whistled, pistons coming to life and shoving the wheels along the tracks. This was it. Her last look at Folsense. Her last chance to be with him. The town disappeared before she could notice, replaced with a view of rolling fields and sparse trees. She took a deep breath. This was it.

Sophia snapped back. “The vampire and the maiden threw a grand big wedding and invited all the townsfolk. At first they were wary of the vampire, but it turned out to be a jolly fun evening. They lived together happily ever after, and even had a little daughter who hated having her hair brushed. The good vampire protected the town for the rest of time, no matter what, so all the people could be safe and happy like them.”

“Wow, it’s like I was there, mama,” Iris giggled. “You should start writing this stuff down.”

“Oh hush, dear. It’s far past your bedtime.” Sophia kissed Iris on her sleepy head and left the room. It’s like she was there again.

[punkpoemprose]

December 10th- A Royal Portrait

Universe: Canon (Post Frozen 2, post Anna’s coronation, but before a KA wedding)

Rating: M-E (This teeters on the mature/ explicit line, read at your own risk)

Length: 3412 Words

A/N: I was in a bit of a rut, so I stole this lovely idea (with permission) from @kristanna who continues to do God’s work on her tumblr every day. The premise here, is of course, Anna sitting for a tasteful boudoir portrait that she sends to Kristoff while they’re apart. Not giving anything away here, but this is mature to say the least. There are also feelings and I actually did research. I apologize for nothing some things!

She thinks about changing her mind. She’s behind the dressing screen, completely naked, and Kristoff is up in the mountains, and no one ever sees her naked except for him. Not even her lady’s maids. She wasn’t particularly shy in any sense, but since she’d started seeing Kristoff there was something in her head that said that the only person that should see her naked was him. Or rather, that the only person that she wanted to see her naked was him. He’d never restrict her so. In fact they’d had an unpleasant conversation about just that point before he left for the mountains to lead the ice harvest. With Elsa living in Northuldra, the need for an Ice Master and Deliverer, someone to lead the harvesters into the mountains and ensure their safety, was more important than ever.

He’d heard that some royals, Queens and Kings in particular, often took lovers, most favored men and women of the court who attended to the regents needs when their spouse was ill fit for the task or off elsewhere. He’d brought it up with shaking hands and a downcast face, unable to look her in the eye as he told her that just because she was betrothed to him, just because they were to be married and soon would be, didn’t mean that he would stop her if she decided she needed someone else.

Her heart still ached. He’d been so nervous, so heart broken at the idea, but willing to submit to the mortifying ordeal for her sake. Even after she explained to him that it was something she’d never want, he’d seemed anxious. Sometimes she worried that he’d never see himself the way she saw him. In private quiet moments, he was so self-assured, so certain of their love, but when it came to the time they spent “entertaining” the aristocracy, or when they held court at the castle, he started to doubt himself. It hurt her in ways she couldn’t begin to explain, and she thought they maybe exile would be the best treatment for whomsoever mentioned the idea of most favored to him. It was a relic from a time where Arendelle’s rulers married for power instead of for love. It was a “tradition” that had died off with her Grandfather.

But his nervousness, even after being told as such, was enough to move her to action, to make her think of an entirely different conversation she’d had just a few weeks before.

When she had been officially crowned Queen of Arendelle, despite ruling since Elsa moved to Northuldra, there had been a weeklong celebration where other royalty from far and wide had come to celebrate. Anna had found herself very much enamored by a contingent of Princesses sent from surrounding Kingdoms and other countries and continents that considered themselves allies of Arendelle.

On the eve of their returns to their own homelands, they may have all spent the evening in Anna’s parlor getting a bit too wine drunk and giggly, sharing secrets and brilliant plans and becoming all in all, great friends. Kristoff had happily surrendered Anna for that night, and she knew that it brought him great joy to see her happily making friends and catching up on many years of doing so. He’d even managed, elsewhere, to become a bit comfortable with some minor nobility of Arendelle and with a man who was betrothed to the Princess of Corona. They’d found a comradery of sorts as she was, of course, one of the giggling women in Anna’s rooms.

They’d all at one point discussed the topic of photography, specifically boudoir photos which were evidently all the rage. Some girls had rather excitedly discussed their own personal sessions, sending them to their lovers, betrothed, and husbands, while others had mentioned that they themselves preferred the idea of having a painting done, and discussed their experiences with it. Anna had, of course blaming the wine, collected the name and contact information for a painter they’d recommended rather than a photographer, finding that she rather liked the idea of the tasteful nature a portrait leant to the whole matter.

She hadn’t expected to call upon the painter however, not until after her discussion with Kristoff.

She let out the breath she’d been holding and peeked nervously around the corner of her dressing screen to where a young woman stood smiling.

“Oh it’s fine to be nervous,” she said gently, “Most people are. If it helps, I’m very discreet.”

She had a soft French accent. Anna had been fortunate that she had been in the country doing some work for other clients when she’d reached out. It had only taken a day for her to come to the castle, and that meant that while Anna had planned to wait quite some time, she’d be able to gift the painting to Kristoff sooner rather than later.

Anna sighed, “It’s not so much that I’m worried about that… it’s just… Kristoff is usually…”

The young woman nodded, “Anna… if I may call you Anna?”

She nodded at that, “I wish more people would. Not that I dislike being Queen or anything, it’s just I like being more personal…” she laughed at herself then, “Well usually not this personal.”

That earned her a small chuckle from the other woman who nodded and continued.

“Anna, I often find the people I paint become more comfortable talking about the recipient before we paint. Maybe you’d like to slip a robe on and tell me about him?”

She found that idea very much to her liking and decided that she had been given an excellent recommendation after all. She’d be writing a discreet letter of thanks to a few Princesses after her session.

She did as she suggested and walked out, laying on her couch in her robe as the young woman did some preliminary sketching.

“So what is he like?”

Anna grinned, “He’s… he’s perfect really. I’ve never met someone so brave and funny in my life. He’s just, well he’d do anything for me, and I just… he gets insecure sometimes and I knew I had to do something for him…”

The woman nodded along, “I imagine it’s difficult being the Queen and having the man you love be of common birth. Others have married like you have, and there is always much love there, but it’s hard to navigate the climate of the court, is it not?”

Anna sighed, the young woman seemed to understand. “You seem to be doing well with it yourself, the court I mean,” she mentioned, knowing that the story others had told her about the young woman implied that she too was a commoner, and that was, of course, part of the reason she was so trusted and highly in demand by many an aristocratic lady looking for a particular sort of gift for their beloved.

“Yes, though I’ve been lucky to only have to work with those I want to work with. Some people, especially those who don’t think highly of people who aren’t of noble birth, aren’t really worth trying to talk to at all.”

Anna laughed at that. She’d met the type.

“But a word of advice for your Kristoff,” she said, turning from the canvas with a smile, “The court is but another mountain to climb to reach happiness.”

Anna gave the woman a wry smile, “How did you know he climbs mountains.”

The woman laughed, “Oh I always do my research, like I said, too many rude royals in the world, I have to know for sure that the person I’m painting for is going to be fun to speak with, and your love story is,” the woman held her hand to her chest and grinned broadly, “Well I’d love to hear more. I’m sure the gigglings of a few Duchesses don’t do it justice.”

Anna shrugged off her robe, feeling confident, and lazed on the couch as the woman excitedly started scribbling with her pencil on the canvas.

“I’ll start at the beginning. I was… unfortunately engaged to someone else…”

***

Kristoff was exhausted. He placed Sven in his stable and pulled from, a pail that Anna had sent along with him, a few carrots to give the reindeer.

Anna.

He thought of her with a heavy heart. He hated how they’d left things. He hated how he often let insecurity get in the way of their relationship. He loved her, and she loved him, and he knew in his heart of hearts that they would only ever want one another. She’d never so much as looked at another person with the love she showed him, and he’d heard a nasty whisper in court and completely lost sight of it. The truth of the matter was that Anna wanted to marry him, the people of Arendelle and most of its aristocracy wanted her to marry him as well. They were after all, marrying for love, but there were many who saw the other potential benefits of their union and they were a fairly well-liked couple as far as all went. Many were pleased that Arendelle’s new Queen was marrying for love like her father had before her, continuing the fairly new tradition of Arendelle’s monarchs wedding commoners for love instead of other aristocracy for political gain.

He’d been listening to the wrong voices, and it broke his heart to think that he’d upset Anna as a result. If it weren’t for the fact that he’d never be able to make it back to the capitol and back before he needed to be out on the ice in the morning to lead the harvesters in their work, he’d hitch up Sven again and head back home, hell he’d even walk there, if only to tell Anna that he was sorry for not believing in her the way he should have.

When he walked from the stable and found, carefully placed directly in front of the doorway into his cabin, a wooden crate.

He lifted it from the ground and brought it in with him, noting the horse prints in the snow in front of his cabin, but also seeing that Anna’s horse Kjekk was nowhere to be found, he realized that while it could only be from her, she must have sent it with a courier or guard to be deposited on his doorstep. He was both grateful to have something from her, and sad to see that she’d sent something along to him when he should have sent an apology to her. If only he could call the wind spirit to him the way Anna and Elsa could call it to themselves and send letters back and forth. He would love to send her even the simplest sorry.

He set to making himself something to eat before opening it. He wanted to know what she’d sent along, but also felt that he needed to punish himself by waiting before he was given the joy of opening something, she’d given him. Anna was too kind, always. She was feisty and opinionated and said what she thought, but she was also forgiving and compassionate, and he was certain that she’d taken what he’d said to heart in a way that made him feel like breaking.

He managed to down some flavorless mush of porridge and realized, just how used to palace cooking he’d become. He’d never complain about any food, knowing what it was like for those who had too little to eat, but also it was one more reason he longed to return home. He wanted to tell Anna that he loved her and that he trusted her and that he knew that what they had was real, and then he wanted to stare lovingly into her eyes while he ate something that tasted better than unflavored porridge. It was, of course in order of priority, though he thought that maybe he could do both at the same time if he just tasted her. She did love having his mouth on her.

He set the bowl down in annoyance when he felt his cock jump at the thought. He was supposed to be feeling bad about what he’d done, not horny.

He huffed and stood, moving towards the box she’d sent along, wishing again, that he’d not been so foolish and had taken the time to love her like she deserved before he left. The week could not possibly come to an end soon enough for him.

The lid had not been nailed onto the crate, which he was grateful for as he was sore and tired and didn’t have the energy to go and find something to break the seal with. He pulled it open carefully, the wood only giving a slight resistance to his efforts due to it being a bit damp from the snow.

Once he had it open, he smiled softly, seeing that there was something wrapped in brown paper, about the size of a book, and that with it there was a letter. She often read to him, and him to her. He thought that perhaps the wrapped parcel was a copy of whatever book she was reading while he was away, for him to enjoy as she did.

It was thoughtful.

He picked up the letter first, breaking the wax seal with a smile as he saw that she had pressed a small flower into it. Anna was excellent with details and small gestures in a way he found amazing. He was not great at planning out romantic gestures, his many failed proposal attempts highlighting that well enough.

She’d sprayed the letter with her perfume. As soon as he opened the envelope it filled the air around him. She’d once told him it was made from rose and bergamot, but to him it just smelled like Anna, and as he pulled the letter from its envelope and found himself inhaling the smell of her, reading her handwriting, his manhood decided that despite his exhaustion it was not giving him a break.

Kristoff, my love,

I miss you terribly. My bed was cold last night without you and without the promise of you not so surreptitiously sneaking into it tonight, I find my heart, along with…other parts of myself… aching for you.

Kristoff paused for a moment closing his eyes. He could scarcely believe that Anna had sent him something so raunchy. Though if he was being truthful it wasn’t so much that he thought that she was incapable of writing such a thing as he was surprised, she’d entrusted it with someone instead of simply arriving unannounced and telling him about it herself. She used to do such things, but her inability to simply take off and follow him without warning was the one downside of her new position as Queen.

He opened his eyes and looked back to the letter.

I’ve sent you a small gift, I hope you enjoy it as much in the receiving as I did in the sending.

Love always,

Your Anna

P.S. Yours and only ever yours.

He smoothed his fingers over her signature, his heart leaping at her postscript. She was impossibly perfect.

She was sometimes insecure too, mostly around points of change, but he did his best to always help her through. That she was doing the same for him, was enough to make his heart skip a beat. He still wasn’t sure of what he’d done to deserve her.

When he set the letter down and lifted the brown paper package from the box, he was surprised to feel that it had much less heft than a book normally did. He found quickly too, pressing the paper, that the back was hollow under his hand.

He undid the twine securing the package and found that written on the brown paper was again, an echo of her letter “Yours and only ever yours”. It made him even more curious, and while he had many thoughts about what it might be, he had never expected what the removal of the paper revealed.

He cursed quietly under his breathe as he gazed upon what he now realized was an unframed canvas. It was no larger than a book, and the amount of detail and expression it contained was unparalleled to anything else he’d ever seen, even in a photograph.

It was a painting of Anna, smiling a bit shyly, reclined on the couch in her bedroom. She was rendered splendidly, the artist perfectly picking up upon the little blush on her cheeks, the half-lidded look through the thickness of her lashes, the slight shine on her lips.

The fact that in the painting she was completely naked, her freckles meticulously added with the tiniest detail, was not lost on him. He knew each of those freckles well, and not a single one was out of place. He’d touched those freckles, counted them, committed them to memory and caressed and kissed and licked each and every one of them in the process of loving Anna.

His heart raced. She’d sent him a beautifully painted portrait of her entirely naked body.

His fingers brushed against the surface of the canvas. She’d posed for it. It wasn’t a last second thought to send him a novel or snack or piece of clothing he’d left behind. She’d sat and posed nude for a painting with the express intention to send it to him.

His and only ever his.

He leaned the beautiful thing on the box it came in and couldn’t help himself but to undo the ties of his trousers, sitting back in one of his rough kitchen chairs as he took himself in hand and stared at the perfectly captured details of her body.

The air around him smelled of her as he ran his hand up and down his shaft. This was what she wanted, and he knew it. She was almost certainly in her bed, laying on the side where he slept, touching herself to the thought of him.

He groaned into the silence of his cabin, “Anna!”

What he wouldn’t give for her to climb out of that painting. It was beautiful, a masterful recreation of her every curve, of the slight slope of her breasts, the blush on her cheeks that extended down her chest. It was all so perfectly Anna, but he would give anything for her to be there, for her to bend over his table and let him show her just how sorry he was for ever thinking for a moment that she’d want anyone but him.

He’d been a fool, but she had been wicked and kind in her forgiveness.

His palm pumped faster and harder as he thought of her touching herself for him, as he thought about her posing for that painting for him, as he fantasized about having her right there bent over the table.

When he came, he closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her, letting himself forget, if only for a moment, that he wasn’t at home with her, warm and snuggled at his side.

He was going to make love to her when he got back. She deserved more than a quick bout of apology sex. He was going to kiss every freckle again, double checking that portrait for accuracy. He was going to show her why he knew that he could be secure in the fact that she never wanted anyone other than him, and he was going to show her with his hands, with his mouth, and with his cock until she looked as absolutely debauched as he felt.

He was a mess, and as he opened his eyes, gazing upon the portrait, he knew that he owed Anna all that and more as a proper thank you. He’d put it back in it’s box in the morning and keep it with loving care under his bed until the next occasion presented itself that he’d be back.

The week absolutely could not pass quickly enough for him. As he straightened and cleaned himself, he thought again of her posing for that portrait, just for him. His sweet Anna bare and blushing, likely there for hours, just to give him something special.

This time his heart leapt at the thought. He laid himself in his bed and blew out his lantern, warm with the thoughts of her love, and how he would show her his appreciation.

[perfecttimeseleven]

PERFECT TIMES ELEVEN EP. 3 TRANSCRIPT

ACT ONE

SCENE FIVE

(REMINGTON and JAY are still seated at the living room table. REMINGTON is leaning forward with his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, bored. JAY is leaning back in his chair, staring at the ceiling, frustrated.)

REMINGTON

I can’t do it. All the voices are too loud, and the “Joyce” one is quiet as shit. It’s like, I‘m listening for “Joyce”, right, but out of nowhere another voice is like “Birds!” and I’m all like “Fuck!”

JAY

(fed up, without looking at REMINGTON)

Try again. It might help if you say “Joyce” along with the voice.

REMINGTON

Can’t you demonstrate? I really won‘t judge.

JAY

(still not looking at REMINGTON)

No.

REMINGTON

C’mon, just take off your little ring there — I’m guessing that’s the accessory you use and just...do your magic.

JAY

No.

(REMINGTON lets her head fall onto the table, exasperated. Jay lifts up a foot and is about to kick her hair when REMINGTON suddenly raises her head again.)

REMINGTON

Were you about to kick my hair?

JAY

Maybe. Maybe not.

REMINGTON

Better have been maybe not. My hair is my best feature. You should get it. I mean, you have lots of good features — like girl, you’re fucking hot — but your hair is pristine.

JAY

Thanks?

REMINGTON

You know what I don’t get?

JAY

(lowering her foot)

A lot of things.

REMINGTON

(ignoring JAY)

Why animals attack me. Is that…normal? I get that it was the sign I needed help with this, but…

JAY

You’re not special. Animals sense the “perfection” in us. In the whole several-human-reincarnations-in-a-row thing. Stay away from zoos.

REMINGTON

Hm. Come on, show me how to do the thing —

JAY

(betrayed)

No!

REMINGTON

Please! I’m really stupid. You’re smart and beautiful and experienced in this and beautiful. I’ll owe you one. Plus, your sugar daddy Dr. Morello’s gonna be pissed if we spent all this time sitting here and accomplished nada.

JAY

Oh, God, please never string those words together in that order again —

REMINGTON

And then he’ll dock your pay from nothing to less than nothing.

JAY

Oh, that makes so much sense. How would he be a hypothetical sugar daddy if he doesn’t pay me? That’s the opposite —

REMINGTON

Do you want your nonexistent salary to suffer, you sadistic bastard?

JAY

If I do it, will you stop talking?

REMINGTON

Probably will.

(JAY takes off her ring and places it on the table. The moment it leaves her hand, she winces.)

JAY

(in pain)

Aghh!

REMINGTON

(shocked)

Shit. Do I call 911?

JAY

(forcefully)

No. Just...watch this. Focus...

(pauses)

Here, this voice’s word is Clara...and then...say the word if it helps...

(pauses, gripping the table with both hands)

Clara...Clara...there. I’m in.

(With a painful movement, JAY grabs her ring. The moment she touches it, she relaxes.)

JAY

You’re welcome for that. Don’t fucking say a word.

(pauses)

Your turn.

(REMINGTON takes off her bracelet and places it on the table. 6. Love is a Constant.)

VOICES

HARVEST, OCEAN, CREATE, CHANGE, FIGHT, ART, FAMILY, FREEDOM, JOYCE, TRADITION, BIRDS.

HARVEST, OCEAN, CREATE, CHANGE, FIGHT, ART, FAMILY, FREEDOM.

REMINGTON/VOICES

JOYCE.

VOICES

TRADITION, BIRDS.

HARVEST, OCEAN, CREATE, CHANGE, FIGHT, ART, FAMILY, FREEDOM.

VOICES

TRADITION, BIRDS.

HARVEST, OCEAN, CREATE, CHANGE, FIGHT, ART, FAMILY, FREEDOM.

REMINGTON/VOICES

JOYCE.

VOICES

TRADITION, BIRDS. HARVEST, OCEAN, CREATE, CHANGE, FIGHT, ART, FAMILY, FREEDOM.

REMINGTON/VOICES

JOYCE. JOYCE. JOYCE. JOYCE.

JAY

Remington? You good? Did it work?

REMINGTON

(strangely tenderly)

Joyce?

(Suddenly, REMINGTON lunges forward and hits JAY's hand. JAY drops her ring onto the table. Almost immediately, she freezes.)

JAY

(also incredibly tender, but even more shockingly because this is JAY we’re talking about)

Clara?

REMINGTON

(overjoyed)

Joyce!

JAY

(gently)

IS IT REALLY YOU? DO I DECEIVE MY MIND?

NEVER IN MY DAYS DID I THINK I WOULD FIND

A KIND OF LIFE AFTER DEATH, NEVERTHELESS YOU!

REMINGTON

Yes, Joyce! It’s me!

JAY

Clara!

REMINGTON

DO YOU RECALL THE EVENING WHEN WE FIRST MET?

JAY

OH, YES, I RECALL!

REMINGTON

AT THE GATE BETWEEN OUR GARDENS, RIGHT AT SUNSET?

AND YOU WORE THAT DRESS, CRIMSON,

JAY/REMINGTON

WITH THOSE BUTTONS LIKE FLOWERS?

REMINGTON

Yes!

JAY

I WAS TOO SHY AT FIRST TO EVEN TELL YOU MY NAME.

REMINGTON

YOU WERE SO SHY!

JAY

BUT WHEN YOU SMILED, MY FACE FLUSHED UP, AFLAME.

YOU MADE ME FEEL AT EASE.

REMINGTON/JAY

WE TALKED AND WROTE FOR HOURS.

WE’VE LIVED, WE’VE DIED, AND NOW WE’RE HERE!

NOT QUITE TOGETHER, BUT, MY DEAR,

WE CAN SEE LOVE IS A CONSTANT!

WE’VE LIVED, WE’VE DIED, AND NOW WE’RE HERE!

UNSURE WHERE THIS IS, BUT I HAVE NO FEAR

SINCE I KNOW LOVE IS A CONSTANT!

REMINGTON

I RECALL ALL THOSE SUITORS WHO’D COME TO YOUR DOOR,

AND

REMINGTON/JAY

WITH EVERY PASSING YEAR THERE’D SEEM TO BE MORE.

REMINGTON

I WAS BAFFLED WHY YOU STILL CHOSE TO SPEND YOUR AFTERNOONS

WITH ME.

JAY

OH, WELL, I WAS FORCED TO MARRY AFTER YOU PASSED.

A RICH MAN, OLD, BUT WITH MONEY AND CLASS

WE HAD NO CHILDREN. HE PASSED AWAY. I LIVED OUT THE REST OF MY DAYS LONELY.

REMINGTON/JAY

WE’VE LIVED, WE’VE DIED, AND NOW WE’RE HERE!

NOT QUITE TOGETHER, BUT, MY DEAR,

WE CAN SEE LOVE IS A CONSTANT.

WE’VE LIVED, WE’VE DIED, AND NOW WE’RE HERE!

UNSURE WHERE THIS IS, BUT I HAVE NO FEAR

SINCE I KNOW LOVE IS A CONSTANT!

LOVE IS A CONSTANT, OH,

OUR LOVE IS A CONSTANT, OH,

OUR LOVE IS A CONSTANT, OH,

OUR LOVE

LOVE IS A CONSTANT, OH,

OUR LOVE IS A CONSTANT, OH,

OUR LOVE IS A CONSTANT, OH,

OUR LOVE

LOVE IS A CONSTANT, OH,

OUR LOVE IS A CONSTANT, OH,

OUR LOVE IS A CONSTANT, OH,

OUR LOVE

LOVE IS A CONSTANT, OH,

OUR LOVE IS A CONSTANT, OH,

OUR LOVE IS A CONSTANT, OH,

OUR LOVE

REMINGTON/JAY

I’D FORGOTTEN HOW MUCH I TRULY MISS

OUR TALKS, LONG AFTERNOONS, YOUR TENDER KISS

OH, WHAT I’D GIVE TO LIVE WITH YOU AS MY WIFE.

CLOSE YOUR EYES AND EMBRACE ME, MY LOVE

FORGET THESE HIDEOUS BODIES WE’RE TRAPPED INSIDE OF

OH, HOW I’VE YEARNED FOR YOUR TOUCH ALL MY LIFE.

VOICES

OOH, LOVE IS THEIR CONSTANT...

(Someone is knocking at the door between the kitchen and the living room. It’s DAISY.)

DAISY

Remy? Jay?

(DAISY knocks again.)

VOICES

OOH, LOVE IS THEIR CONSTANT

DR. MORELLO

Are they still in there?

DAISY

I’m pretty sure. Hang on. Guys?

(DAISY knocks a couple more times, louder.)

VOICES

OOH, LOVE IS THEIR CONSTANT

(DR. MORELLO and DAISY enter to see REMINGTON and JAY embrace.)

DR. MORELLO/DAISY

Janette!/Remy fuckin’ Ratatouille!

(DR. MORELLO immediately notices JAY’s ring and REMINGTON’s bracelet on the table. He grabs JAY’s ring and shoves it in her hand. DAISY takes REMINGTON’s bracelet and does the same. JAY instantly snaps out of her trance.)

JAY

Holy —! God! Remington!

(pushing REMINGTON off of her. REMINGTON stumbles a little, almost falling off the table.)

REMINGTON

Shit!

JAY

What the hell was that?

(JAY quickly slips the ring onto her finger, evidently very embarrassed. REMINGTON regains her footing.)

REMINGTON

Eh, who cares. Let’s pick up where they left off —

DR. MORELLO/DAISY/JAY

No!

DR. MORELLO

Remington! Jay! Get down from the table immediately. Sit down!

REMINGTON

(noticing DR. MORELLO and DAISY for the first time)

Oh, shit. Hello. Sorry.

(REMINGTON and JAY make their way down back to their chairs. DAISY nudges DR. MORELLO.)

DAISY

See, I hate to say “I told you so”, but I told you so.

DR. MORELLO

Kids, what happened here?

(There’s a pause.)

REMINGTON

I think we got possessed. By dead lesbians.

DR. MORELLO

Oh.

REMINGTON

The word is most definitely Joyce now though. She’s, uh, she’s got Joyce.

JAY

You know how one of my voices is, uh, named Joyce? And how her word is Clara? She’s Clara.

REMINGTON

I guess Joyce and Clara knew each other back in the day...both in the literal and, uh, biblical sense...

DR. MORELLO

There’s really no need for profane hand motions. Go on.

REMINGTON

And then, well, we ended up in a situation when both of our accessories were off —

JAY

You mean your accessory was off and then you slapped mine out of my hand.

REMINGTON

Clara slapped it out of your hand. Anyway, then we got possessed.

DR. MORELLO

Okay.

REMINGTON

Yeah. Um...what do your big doctor brains think about that?

DR. MORELLO

I...I have never seen anything like this before...but I’m guessing the explanation is actually quite simple.

JAY/REMINGTON

What?

DR. MORELLO

The word a voice says is its most recurring thought manifesting itself as an imprint on the soul. Now, a person has to be quite important to someone if they’re, quite literally, all they think about. And for that to be something going both ways...these ladies certainly had an exceptional bond.

DAISY

Star-crossed gal pals.

DR. MORELLO

Yes. Soulmates, if you will.

JAY

Hold up. “Soulmates” as in Clara and Joyce were just one in a billion, or “soulmates” as in my soul and Remington’s soul?

DR. MORELLO

We have no way of knowing right now, but from what I think — well, this is quite a rare case, especially the fact that an echo of a previous life was able to take over the current host...I’d conclude that, yes, you are “soul-mates”, quite literally.

REMINGTON

So! How ‘bout it, eh, soulmate?

JAY

(ignoring REMINGTON)

That can’t be a real thing, can it?

REMINGTON

Only one way to find out!

DR. MORELLO

Now, seeing as you have actually uncovered some important information, you may have recreational time for the rest of the evening. I need to look deeper into this. Uh, there’s some video games in the cabinet. I’ll be in my office upstairs. Also, I was going to come in here to let you know we’re having pizza for dinner. It should be coming in half an hour.

DAISY

And I made sugar cookies.

(DR. MORELLO leaves dizzily. He looks like he has a headache.)

REMINGTON

Swell! Some quality soulmate time?

JAY

Someone get her away from me.

(DAISY looks back and forth from JAY to REMINGTON. She’s a smart kid. She knows when she should leave people alone.)

REMINGTON

Oh, I get it. You’re too good for me.

DAISY

I’m...gonna head out.

(DAISY exits.)

JAY

Listen, kid, you don’t know shit about me. I don’t know shit about you. It’s better if it stays that way. I don’t know what he’s talking about with this soulmate shit, but I do know that you don’t want to get involved with me and my life.

REMINGTON

Oh, ha. ’Cause you’ve got some kind of “issues”?

(JAY is silent.)

REMINGTON

Wow. Damn, I didn’t know someone could be this angsty in real life. With your wearing-all-black deal and e-girl hair and ear piercings and shit? Ooh, I bet you pierced them yourself with, like, the finger bone of a shark you strangled or something.

JAY

Sharks don’t have fucking fingers. And no; I got them pierced at a mall Claire’s when I was 11.

REMINGTON

(finding this funny)

Off brand, but okay —

JAY

Yeah. Fucking loved Claire’s. Still do. What about it?

(There’s a pause.)

REMINGTON

(quietly)

Nothing. Claire’s is valid. You’re a lady of fine taste.

(REMINGTON and JAY are silent for a moment.)

REMINGTON

They called our bodies “hideous”. Did you hear that?

JAY

Yeah, that was uncalled for.

(They both chuckle a bit awkwardly.)

REMINGTON

Sorry for earlier. It was my fault.

JAY

(tensing back up)

Yeah, it was.

REMINGTON

You could’ve told me listening to your voices...hurt.

(pauses)

How does that even work?

JAY

Didn’t tell you ‘cause I knew you’d ask that.

(pauses, before sighing)

I’m...in a peculiar situation. See, once the voices started to manifest in my soul’s earlier hosts, they...joined groups, or organizations. Similar to this one, but more serious. Cult-ish, almost. They’d dedicate their shitty lives to preserving the goodness of the soul to continue the line of human hosts. One organization like that a good half of my voices was involved with — it was large and thriving and would track down new hosts.

REMINGTON

That’s cool, but why does that...cause pain?

JAY

See, look past the single word a voice presents itself as and you “unlock” the memories of that person. Over time, the more you listen to them, the more they become an interactive collection of memories — almost a voice that reacts to your thoughts.

REMINGTON

So you can talk to them?

JAY

I guess.

REMINGTON

Wack.

(pauses)

Still don’t get why that causes pain.

JAY

We’re humans. We’ve got a limited view of morality that’s shaped by our society. Our perception of “good” or “bad” is probably different than what ultimately is considered by the universe as “good” enough to give a soul a human life. And...some of my voices have views of good or bad that are...incredibly outdated.

REMINGTON

(knowingly, slyly)

Ohhhh.

JAY

What?

REMINGTON

Your voices probably tell you to...ah...hee hee.

JAY

(more frustrated)

What?

REMINGTON

To, ah,

(pauses)

Pray the gay away —

JAY

God.

REMINGTON

They detect your sinful lusty thoughts about the incredibly attractive woman sitting across from you and go “oh, no, dear Janette —“

JAY

Oh God.

REMINGTON

Yeah, don’t pretend I didn’t hear that! “Oh, Janette, you mustn’t! Thinking about holding hands before marriage was already stepping on the line, but this? Oh! Unacceptable!”

JAY

No.

(pauses)

Though in a weird way, you’re on the right track.

REMINGTON

Ha!

JAY

Not like that.

(pauses)

It’s a lot of things, combined. See, I, ah,

(sucks air through teeth, evidently uncomfortable)

don’t fully identify as female, I think. I mean, I use female pronouns, but...I don’t know. I don’t fucking know because I don’t have room to figure out who I am. Don’t even have my fucking brain to myself. It started when I was a kid, but, throughout the years, it’s just gotten worse and worse and now — they just...scream at me. And it’s fucking loud. It’s so fucking loud.

(7. Bad Luck.)

JAY

IF I THINK I’M SOMETHING OTHER THAN WHAT I’VE TOLD THE WORLD I AM,

I’VE GOT TEN VOICES TELLING ME OTHERWISE.

IF I DON’T EXACTLY STRIKE MYSELF AS A WOMAN OR A MAN,

EACH ONE OF THEM DOESN’T HESITATE TO PULVERIZE

WHATEVER CONCEPTION OF MYSELF I HAVE AN INKLING OF

THAT DOESN’T FIT THEIR TINY MIND.

YOU’RE LUCKY YOU HAVEN’T FREED YOUR VOICES YET.

YOU MIGHT NOT LIKE WHAT YOU FIND!

THESE TEN SUCKERS HAVE WASTED THEIR YEARS

LIVING LIKE BEES IN A HIVE,

TRAINED TO MAINTAIN THE SOUL’S PURITY.

WHAT A TERRIBLE WAY TO STAY ALIVE!

THEY’RE STUCK UP, SHITTY PEOPLE —

REMINGTON

EVEN JOYCE?

JAY

EVEN JOYCE.

YOU KNOW, IT FUCKING SUCKS TO BE A "CHOSEN ONE"

‘CAUSE IT JUST MEANS YOU NEVER GET ANY CHOICE!

THEY SAY "JAY! YOU’RE PART OF A LEGACY!”

“JAY! WITH YOUR HELP, WE’RE GONNA GO SO FAR!”

“JAY! THIS IS YOUR DESTINY!”

“C’MON, JUST PLAY YOUR TINY ROLE IN PRESERVING THIS SOUL.”

“JAY! YOU MUST STAY CLEAN AND PURE!

A HUMAN REINCARNATION WE GOTTA GUARANTEE!"

WELL, SORRY YOU GOT A HOST SO IMMATURE —

IT WAS YOUR BAD LUCK TO GET STUCK WITH ME.

AS A KID, I’D DO ANYTHING TO REBEL.

I’D STEAL SHIT AND I WOULD LIE.

I WAS A BIT OF AN ATTENTION WHORE, IF YOU COULDN’T TELL

AND I BET YOU CAN GUESS WHY.

TO PISS OFF THE VOICES, OF COURSE, JUST FOR FUN!

I’D NEVER REALLY BEEN FORGIVING.

THEY CALLED ME "ABOMINATION" SO I GAVE THEM ONE.

BEING AT WAR WITH YOURSELF’S A NEAT WAY OF LIVING.

OH, AND WAY BACK WHEN I WAS FOUR,

MY FATHER LEFT MY MOM AND ME.

HE THOUGHT I WAS A FREAK OR A BURDEN OR A CHORE;

MOST LIKELY, SOME COMBO OF THE THREE.

MY HOUSE GOT SET ON FIRE A FEW YEARS BACK

BUT THERE’S NO TIME FOR THAT STORY.

SUMMARY: MY MOM PERISHED IN THAT ATTACK.

IT WAS DEPRESSING AND A BIT GORY,

SO EVERYONE GOES

"JAY, WE’RE SO SORRY ABOUT IT!"

WELL, I DON’T NEED YOUR BULLSHIT APOLOGY!

AND DO YOU REALLY CARE HOW I FEEL? I DOUBT IT.

DREAM ON, YOU CUCK. YOU’RE FRESH OUTTA LUCK.

"JAY! YOU DIDN’T DESERVE IT!"

WHAT’S SAD IS I DON’T AGREE

NO ONE’S GOT THE GUTS TO ADMIT IT WAS JUST

THEIR BAD LUCK TO GET STUCK WITH ME!

I’M NATURE’S BAD LUCK CHARM.

STAY AWAY FROM ME, STAY AWAY FROM HARM.

UNLESS YOU’RE LOOKING FOR YOUR LIFE TO GET WORSE,

LEAVE ME ALONE.

I’M NATURE’S BAD LUCK CHARM.

STAY AWAY FROM ME, STAY AWAY FROM HARM.

YOU GOTTA TRUST ME ON THIS; IT’S LIKE A CURSE

SO LEAVE ME ALONE.

I’M NATURE’S BAD LUCK CHARM.

STAY AWAY FROM ME, STAY AWAY FROM HARM.

UNLESS YOU WANNA END UP A CORPSE IN A HEARSE,

LEAVE ME ALONE!

I’M NATURE’S BAD LUCK CHARM.

STAY AWAY FROM ME, STAY AWAY FROM HARM.

YOU GOTTA TRUST ME ON THIS; IT’S LIKE A CURSE

SO LEAVE ME ALONE!

"JAY! YOU’RE PART OF A LEGACY!”

“JAY! WITH YOUR HELP, WE’RE GONNA GO SO FAR!”

“JAY! THIS IS YOUR DESTINY!”

“C’MON, JUST PLAY YOUR TINY ROLE IN PRESERVING THIS SOUL.”

JAY! WHAT A FUCKED UP KID! ON THAT, EVERYONE CAN AGREE!

JAY! OH, I’M SORRY YOU DID,

BUT IT WAS BAD LUCK TO GET STUCK WITH ME.

(gesturing to REMINGTON, imitating her)

"JAY! DON’T YOU WANNA HANG OUT?”

“JAY! C’MON, LET’S GET TO KNOW EACH OTHER!"

(to REMINGTON)

CAN’T YOU GET MY SIGNS OR DO I HAVE TO SHOUT

“MOVE ON BECAUSE I’M JUST A WASTE OF YOUR TIME!’

"JAY, WHY ARE YOU BEING SO RUDE?"

I’M TRYING TO PROTECT YOU! CAN’T YOU SEE?

ANYONE AND EVERYONE I LOVE IS SCREWED!

IT’S ALWAYS BAD LUCK TO GET STUCK WITH ME!

IT’S ALWAYS BAD LUCK TO GET STUCK WITH ME!

IT’S ALWAYS BAD LUCK TO GET STUCK WITH ME!

[lavenderlight]

1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 9, 11, 12, 13, 14, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 29, 31, 33, 34, 35, 36, 39, 40 >:)

Ahdgkhh okay here we go!!!

1: Which TES games have you played?

All 5 main series games, ESO, and Blades!

2: Favorite TES game?

Oblivion........ like the other games have traits I like more, but also cons. Like... if I had to pick a game to just play with only the Unofficial Patch, it’d be that one.

3: When and how you got into TES? I was at a game store with my brother and we saw Oblivion with all these award “amazing game” stickers on it on clearance. So picked it up. I wasn’t impressed right away (remember picking dark elf tho) so put it down. My bro played it and said “omg you have to get out of the tutorial dungeon that sucks but the rest of the game is so good!” So I made a bosmer and did and there rest is history. TES has been a special interest of mine and a big comfort series for a decade now!  4: Favorite race Bosmer! Dunmer are a close second though. Thanks Morrowind. 5: Favorite province Valenwood........... love it............ Cyrodiil too because I’m basic. 6: Favorite character Ahdjgh hard to pick because there are so many! Off the top of my head, Dagoth Ur/Voryn Dagoth, Indoril Nerevar (what a shock, I know), Serana Volkihar, Glarthir, The Adoring Fan (don’t @ me), The Jemane Brothers, Marcurio, really all the characters from ESO’s main quest and the ending side quests who help you 😭😭. 7. Favorite faction

Thieves’ Guild, minus Skyrim’s. Skyrim’s Thieves’ Guild was awful eww.

8: Which province you would like to live in

If the lore and history and stuff weren’t a thing, Summerset because it’s aesthetic and has nice beaches. Realistically, probs Cyrodiil because I’m basic and I like how it’s a melting pot of various races and cultures!

As much as I love Valenwood, wouldn’t be able to handle the Green Pact

9: Which deity/deities would you worship?

Dibella - because I like how she’s the divine for the arts, and actual true love and beauty in the world (feel like she’s the divine most likely to say gay rights and trans rights). That vibes with me.

Makes me sad that both in the games and in the fandom, she’s reduced to “ha ha slutty sex goddess”. 

10: Favorite Divine

Dibella because see above.

11: Favorite Daedric Prince

Oh boy... hajdg I love Daedra (except Molag Bal - eww)!!! So it’s hard to pick. Just rapid fire listing some favs: Sheogorath, Meridia, Azura, Barbas (does he count?), Hircine... 

12: Favorite enemy

Dagoth Ur

13: Favorite dungeon

Hmmm, I feel like I’m forgetting some, but I enjoyed Nocturnal’s trial dungeon in Skyrim because I like sneaking and it was all based on that.

14. You have awakened and you are a Cliff Racer. What do you do?

Hunt and kill anyone who dares to step outside Seyda Neen lol

15: What would you do if you contracted vampirism?

C u r e

16: What would you do if you contracted lycanthropy?

C u r e

17: Are there any characters you have crushes on?

Not rly because I’m ace.

 If so, who?

18: Favorite Great House

The Sixth House. The Tribe Unmourned. The-

Honestly all of them are whack and have... issues. When I played Morrowind, I didn’t join any of them lol. Telvanni is at least entertaining and very out there which makes them cool. So I guess them?

19: Favorite TES music

Ahaha... I sold my soul to Jeremy Soule... I have so so many... :’)

“The Road Most Travelled”, “Peaceful Waters”, “Stilt Sunrise”,  “Auri-El’s Ascension”, “Sunrise of Flutes”, “Harvest Dawn”, “All’s Well” “The Streets of Whiterun”, “Secunda” (this is one of my all time favourite video game songs!), “Sovngarde”, “One They Fear”

Then from ESO which has other composers too: “Northpoint Nocturne”, “Moth, Butterfly, and Torchbug”, and “Grazelands Dawn” (mostly because it’s a remix of “The Road Most Travelled” 🥺)

Oh, and this song from the Morrowind dlc because the remaster of “Nerevar Rising” from 2:54 onward. (which how could I forget “Nerevar Rising”? Ugh it gives me feels! The Oblivion and Skyrim main themes are very near and dear to me too)

Also really enjoyed this song from Clockwork City - captures the melancholy vibe and I like the clock noises in it.

20: In your opinion, what is the scariest thing in TES?

I can’t stand spiders so anytime anything having to do with them shows up... I play with mods that remove them and in ESO,  I have a list of dungeons and places to avoid. If I have to do one, I make someone go with me and kill them for me lol.

The Lighthouse Quest in Skyrim was also mega spooky. As for lore, soul trapping and the Soul Cairn really freaks me out! I can’t bring myself to use soul trapping because it bothers me :( I headcanon that when a soul gem runs out of charge, the soul is freed because it’s the only way I can sleep at nigh leave me alone lol 21: Favorite main quest Morrowind, hands down. I will infodump and discuss that game’s plot forever. 22: Favorite side quest

I really like the Daedric Shrine quests, they’re always fun. Also love the silly little short quests like in Morrowind when you have to help the guy get his pants back, or in ESO where you gotta find the lost dog in Valenwood and pet it.

Oblivion has loads of side quests I loved... the missing dunmer painter, Hackdirt, that quest with the ladies who are killing men, the Floating Bowl quest... the mystery at Chorrol Castle....

23: Most frustrating experience in a TES game

I get mad any time the sneaking mechanics in ESO don’t work like the main games. Because I always play an archer-thief lol.

That one fabricant machine puzzle in Tribunal.... oh man........ I had to look it up.

And also the final boss for Clockwork City was annoying. Don’t go to the Clockwork City!

24: Funniest experience in a TES game

Other than moments intended to be funny, I sometimes laugh whenever I miss a jump and end up dying from fall damage. It’s so ridiculous.

Dagoth Ur’s “What are you doing?!” when you first attack the Heart always gets a chuckle out of me too. He sounds so... upset and disappointed in you? Lol

25: Most badass moment in a TES game

The ending to ESO’s main quest was a rly big power fantasy moment for me.

Also more mundane, but I felt really cool and powerful when I got to the point in Morrowind where I could one shot kill cliff racers lol

26: Saddest experience in a TES game

The ESO side quest, “The Soul-Meld Mage” in Coldharbour. After that one, I had to step away for a bit.... man. It hurt my heart and I still feel so bad. That was a case in the game where I really felt impacted by how cruel and awful Molag Bal is. Like I *knew* but that quest played with my emotions and made it personal.

27: Favorite area/region

Valenwood from ESO. I spend all my time there, and sometimes go to Summerset or Vvardenfell lol.

28: Least favorite character

Vivec.

Also don’t like Maven-Black Briar. :I

29: In-game food item you want to eat the most

Sweetroll! 

Also this one recipe for a beef dish I found in Valenwood sounded good.  Maybe also the Sunrise Souffle mentioned in Skyrim?

30: If you could try skooma, would you?

No. Don’t do drugs, kids.

31: If you had the skills and resources to do a perfect cosplay of any TES character who would it be?

Probs Serana

32: Have you read any of the novels?

No, but I’ve been thinking about it!

33: Favorite class to play

Thief, or a thief-similar class like agent or rogue.

34: Which type of magic would you most like using?

Alteration seems the most useful for everyday life lol. But illusion would be fun.

35: Favorite weapon

I use bows all the time!

36: Favorite spell

Levitate from Morrowind - it’s so much fun to use!

37: Favorite artifact

Nerevar’s Moon-And-Star Ring. It’s cute lol and I like the lore behind it!

Also enjoy the Wabbajack because of how silly it is, and Dibella’s Brush of Truepaint.

38: You have awakened to find you’re in Tamriel. How do you react?

Because yeah I love TES but also the world of it is scary with gods and monsters constantly trying to kill you lol

39: Thoughts on ESO so far

I really enjoy the world and writing! But I’m still cranky over some moments where it’s an MMO and not a normal TES game :I

I also hate that we can’t have NPC companions.  You really gonna give me a clockwork nix-hound named Snuffler and not let me travel with him? For shame.

40: Character you’d most like to hang out with

Nerevar, because I’m very awkward and shy and bad at peopleing and I would hope he could teach me how to improve lol.

But to actually hang out and chill, Marcurio would be pretty fun lol

[fableweaver]

Arc of the Dragon Keeper

Iounn stood wearily alone in the command tend bent over the map that displayed their armies. It was now into the month of Sons, the height of summer passing to the hot dusty days just before autumn. They had wiped out five more tribes of the Orcs in two separate battles that had lasted weeks each and were still faced with fourteen other tribes. Three held siege at Dun Glas, Eight roamed individually over the moors, two held siege in Dun Eald, and one was headed towards Nyrgard. Sten had taken a force to chase the one headed to Nyrgard, but it had split many of their forces that they needed to fight the other tribes.

The ones in siege were not a problem, they attacked little and seemed content to sit on the cities and wait. Little did they know they would have to wait at least a year to starve out the cities. Having the warning they did the cities had time to build up fortifications, giving the Orcs the hard task of the siege. For now, the generals and Kings were fine letting the Orcs hold the cities in siege, it kept those tribes from moving, and only a few hundred (mostly women) were needed to hold the city. If need arose, they could send messages by crow to get aid.

The larger problem was the eight roaming bands of Orcs. They never united and pillaged the countryside. While settlements were scattered all over the moors meant that the Orcs had to travel far just to attack a single farm, it also meant defending those farms was impossible. The only benefit seemed that while the Orc’s attacked one farm they might miss another in a valley over just because the farms were so scattered.

With autumn approaching, and the need to harvest fields for the winter, the strain of chasing down the armies of Orcs was becoming apparent. They just didn’t have the manpower; they were always outnumbered. Even with the Griffins hunting down the Orcs from the sky and dropping the Dwarvish munitions, the toll of battle was dwindling the Duanish and Nyrgard armies. Iounn stood over the map wracking her brain for a way to draw the Orcs together and failing. She knew too that even if they were to draw the Orcs together, they would never be able to defeat such an army.

“You’ll drive yourself mad,” Hors said mildly startling her. Iounn turned to see the dragon child sitting on the corner of the table, having come in silently.

“It all just seems so hopeless,” Iounn said tiredly. “What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know,” Hors answered. “But we are doing all we can.”

“It isn’t enough,” Iounn answered. “We need to get the Orcs all in one place, but if we do that, they’ll wipe us out.”

“What news from the other Kingdoms?” Hors asked.

“Bad,” Iounn answered. “Hyria and the Mark have moved east to aid in the war against the Lirian Orc army. Sten has sent a messenger to King Lonna but he has little hope of that messenger arriving in time. Here in this corner of the world their troubles go unnoticed until they strike further south. It is looking like we are on our own unless there are more of the Phay to aid us?”

“The Merrow, Dwarves, Griffins, Selkie, and Giants were the only ones of the Phay to remain in Miread after the march,” Hors answered. “The Selkie cannot venture far from the sea, too much of their essence is tied up in it. It seems the Orcs do not venture close to the sea except the time we drove them too it.”

Two of the tribes they had destroyed had been driven to the coast only to be destroyed by the Selkie army that had waited there. Sadly, that had been the only aid they could give, and many of the Selkie had died since they lacked armor and weapons. Even if they were to repeat the process Iounn doubted the Selkie could help again given thousands had died in that battle.

“That leaves the giants then,” Iounn said heavily. “We need to wake them.”

“We need someone powerful in the Elder Magic to sound the horn,” Hors answered.

“Is the King of the Dwarves not strong enough?” Iounn asked. Hors swished his tail seeming to think.

“I don’t know,” Hors answered at last. “Even if she were, we would have to travel all over the northern mountains to wake each Giant.”

“And gather all the Orcs in one place,” Iounn said wearily.

“That I have idea how to do,” Hors said. “But let us ask Runi, maybe she can help us figure out how to wake the giants since her people live in those mountains.”

Iounn nodded and Hors leapt up onto her shoulder. Iounn went to her tent first to find the horn. As she left her tent, she almost ran into Kree. Iounn stopped, she was no longer afraid of the feelings she had with Kree, she had accepted to be friends with her and found it an easy and good relationship.

“Where are you off to?” Kree asked with a cat like grin.

“To the dwarves,” Iounn said holding up the horn and explaining their plan.

“I’ll come along too,” Kree said seriously. “Maybe I can help.”

Iounn nodded, knowing she could not refuse Kree where she wanted to go. They went through camp, the tents a mix of the two armies of the dwarves and men. Runi’s tent was much like the King’s made to look like any other large tent of the army. Guards stood nearby so not to draw attention but still close enough should anything happen. They had not had any assassins from the Orcs, but it was best to stay cautious.

Entering Iounn found Runi with her captain Hákon, who seemed he had been in the middle of a lesson over tactics. They stopped and turned, Runi bowing her head to Iounn.

“Lady Iounn,” Runi said pleased.

“Runi you are king, do not bow to me a Baroness,” Iounn said and then blushed. “In all respects Majesty,” she added embarrassed at having lectured a king; it was hard for her to remember given Runi seemed so young and like her daughters. Runi blushed as well and nodded, and Hákon cleared his throat.

“What brings you here Lady Iounn?”

“A decision that should have been made a long time ago,” Iounn said relieved to move past the moment of embarrassment. “We need to gather the Orc armies and slaughter them. The only way to do that is to wake the Giants.”

“Impossible,” Hákon said. “We have lived with the slumbering Giants since the Phay marched and have tried to wake them many times. I do not think even the March will wake them.”

“We woke one,” Iounn said holding the horn aloft. “A mage crafted this with High Magic and Elder Magic. The dwarf Darin played it and woke a giant. We believe that if someone of greater power played it, they could wake the Giants.”

Hákon frowned but Runi answered.

“I have power,” Runi said.

“Untrained,” Hákon growled. “And still new.”

“The best kind,” Hors said. “In the Elder Magic the youth have the greatest power ironically. The power of chance and unbridled energy.”

“I can do this Hákon,” Runi said before her captain could object more. “And I will, understand?”

“Yes, my King,” Hákon said as he sighed and bowed.

“You do well as my captain protecting me Hákon,” Runi said warmly and Hákon grumbled as he blushed. “So how will we wake the Giants?”

“That is the trouble,” Hors said as he leaped onto the table strewn with maps and papers. “To wake the Giants, we’d have to go into the mountains, and wake them one by one.”

“That would take years,” Hákon said.

“What about through the aether?” Kree asked, Iounn unsurprised she could speak the Phay language. “If we ring the horn through the aether would that not wake the Giants?”

“No, the song already rings through the aether,” Hors answered. “It has not woken them. I believe they are too tied to Miread for that to work.”

“Then through the earth,” Runi said and Hors looked at her with his head tipped to the side. “We have tunnels through the mountains leading many places, with my power I can ring the call through the earth to the giants.”

“Were those tunnels not sealed so the Orcs could not access the cities?” Iounn asked.

“They were sealed around the cities so the Orcs could not enter,” Runi answered. “The rest are untouched, mostly abandoned form our mining and routes. They go everywhere through the mountains and touch many giants.”

“It seems the best option,” Hors said. “We are close to the mountains right now; are we close to a tunnel?”

“About five days,” Hákon answered.  

“Then we should set out,” Hors said. “It could take the Giants sometime to get to us.”

“Maybe Liath can guide them when they wake,” Iounn said and Runi frowned.

“I do not think he went into the mountains for that,” Runi said. “He did not say so, but I believe he went seeking Goloria.”

“Why did you not mention that?” Hors asked.

“I wasn’t sure,” Runi answered. “And we had still been communicating by the Griffins then.”

“What is Goloria?” Iounn asked.

“A weapon,” Runi answered. “It is a giant’s sword of stone it lays in the mountains forgotten since none can wield it but the Giants.”

“And?” Iounn asked sensing there was more.

“And that is the only weapon the Giants have,” Hors answered. “They have never made weapons; they fight with their fists and feet. None is needed given their size. Goloria is a stone sword the Giants found in the ages of the Phay. It was a weapon wielded by a deity of the lines, lost in battle against another long ago. It fell to Miread from the aether, and the Giants found it.”

“Let me guess then, the one that wields it is the king of the Giants then?” Iounn said.

“No,” Hors said as he grinned. “The Giants never knew it was a weapon, they fight with their fists after all.”

“If they don’t think it’s a weapon why is Liath seeking it?” Iounn asked.

“They think it is a god,” Hors answered. “I believe he is seeking it thinking it would wake the Giants.”

Iounn tried not to laugh but Hors looked like he was ready to.

“Well that is good all the same if he finds it right?” Iounn said. “He can come back with it and we can tell him it is a weapon.”

“If Liath could lift it,” Runi said. “Goloria can only be lifted by the eldest of Giants, those the size of a mountain. And they can barely lift it at all. It has never moved from the crater that it made when it first fell to Miread.”

Iounn could not imagine the size of the sword let alone of a creature that could move and was larger than a mountain.

“Well then he’ll come once we ring the horn,” Iounn said tiredly.

“Only Goloria has power,” Hors said. “If Liath has gone to pray to the sword, I fear he might wake it.”

“And if he does?” Iounn asked, tired of the vague words Hors was giving.

“Then it might return to its master,” Hors said. “A deity that should have died in a battle long ago, but I suppose is rightly named. He is Koschei, He Eternal, master of the Everlands. He was a deity of greed and stole whatever he could to fill the Everlands with beauty and wonder. Until he stole the eye of another deity, La-Lu Aunidaras, She Makes the Winds and Waters, a deity of a world of water. When Koschei stole her eye, the sun that warmed the world she presided over, it froze, and the world died into a world of ice.

“Blinded La-Lu sought Koschei out and they battled, destroying several worlds and magical places, until La-Lu won knocking Koschei’s sword to Miread. She sealed him away in the dead places their battle had made, since she could not kill him. If he were to gain his sword again, he might break free of the seals that bind him.”

“And?” Iounn said. “Destroy all of Miread?”

“More likely go to seek revenge on La-Lu,” Hors said. “To do that he would probably kill her lover the Sandman. If that were to happen the lines may become too treacherous for the Phay to march, the death of a deity is no small thing.”

“What happened to La-Lu?” Kree asked and Hors shrugged.

“She died,” Hors answered, “their battle took its toll on her. The Sandman slumbers mostly now in mourning, though he would hardly admit it.

“Then why seek revenge on a dead deity?” Kree asked.

“Because it is the only revenge he could get,” Hors answered. “And he is that petty.”

“This was a wonderful story Hors but is his sword really likely to free Koschei?” Iounn asked.

“Yes, but I don’t really see how we could stop Liath if he has gone to Goloria,” Hors said. “Unless we ring the horn in time.”

“There is little time to waste regardless,” Runi said. “We should go now and see if we can wake the giants.”

“If we do how are we going to gather the Orcs in one place?” Kree asked.

“I’ll take care of that,” Hors answered and Iounn knew the secretive tone well.

“How?” Iounn asked hardly but Hors did not meet her eyes. “Hors, you will tell me what you are planning right now.”

“Just like a mother,” Hors said wryly. “Very well, I plan on baiting the Crippled One. He’ll gather the armies for us. It seems to be the only force to unite the Orc armies it seems.”

Iounn frowned, wanting to argue, knowing it would be dangerous, fearing Hors would come to his end, but could not because she knew this would be the only option.

“Very well but I will go with you in spirit to face the Crippled One,” Iounn said and it was Hors’ turn to chew on her words.

“Just like a mother,” Hors said as he sighed. “Very well, I suppose I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“No,” Iounn said. “Now let’s get going while we still have the light to travel by.”

They left the tent and went seeking horses and supplies. Iounn sent a message to Dylan where they were going, and he sent two knights to accompany them. Runi also called on five of her own warriors to accompany them.

With the horses saddled and ready they left camp with the afternoon sun above. Summer was a time when wars often happened for the lands of men, but the Orcs seemed ill suited to the long days of the summer. They only attacked or fought at night and in the northern moors these were short. A cloud hovered over many of the Orc armies, a casting by the Crippled One according to Hors. It made finding them easy at times, but the clouds only seemed to linger over the gatherings of several tribes. Singular armies did not have the dark clouds, making them harder to track over the moors. These smaller ones were less likely to be traveling or attacking during the day, but they traveled far and fast at night, attacking small farms and killing everything.

They rode over the summer moors, drinking in the wild beauty of the wild moors in the height of summer. Gorse bloomed with heather, the air thick with wild wind and the smell of drying grass. Storms and rain were less frequent, and the sky went on for ages in a un-broken blue of a robin’s egg.

They rode following Runi and Hákon as they rode over hills and through valleys, following a dirt path used by shepherds. It was slow, the path twisting with the land rather than cutting through it, and when night fell, they took their rest in a ravine. Iounn was glad to have the Daunish knights and Dwarven warriors to guard them, the Orcs roamed far in the night. They slept and the morning dawned without sign of any attack. They ate and broke camp, riding out once more.

It took them five days of hard riding to reach the foothills and the entrance to the underground tunnel. It appeared as little more than an average cave, the entrance a dark hole in the lee of several tumbled over boulders covered in gorse bushes. A carne lay next to the entrance, and what appeared to be an old burnt out candle.

“What is this?” Iounn asked but Runi shrugged she asked the Daunish in the trade tongue.

“An old offerin most like,” one of the Daunish said looking at the little shrine. “Ta the spirits o the caves, the old ways still be strong in these boarder lands.”

“The Daunish made offering to the Dwarves?” Iounn asked surprised.

“Nawt,” the guard laughed. “It be an offerin ta the gnomes, the earth spirits.”

Iounn nodded though she doubted such spirits cared or even existed. Though she did have a dragon child riding on her shoulder so Iounn supposed she should put more faith in such things. It was hard to believe something exited if you couldn’t see or touch it.

“This is the route you used to get here?” Iounn asked.

“No, we had to close that one after us,” Hákon said. “This one is an old raiding tunnel.”

“How did you know it was here?” Iounn asked.

“We studied the maps of the old raiding tunnels before we came,” Runi answered.

“Could the Orcs be using these tunnels to escape from us?” Iounn asked, worried there could be a band of Orcs hiding in the tunnel.

“I doubt it,” Hákon answered. “The Orcs avoid our tunnels unless trying to attack us, they know the dangers of the tunnels since it is our home ground. Also, these tunnels are raiding tunnels, they were made for only dwarves to use. To make sure the Daunish never followed us or attacked through the tunnels they were made short and narrow, only tall enough for a dwarf or sheep to pass through easily. We also made them into a maze that only the dwarves knew how to navigate.”

Iounn nodded though she doubted that would have deterred the Orcs. She followed Runi and Hákon into the cave, only to nearly hit her head on the rocks. She crouched down but found even so she would have to crawl on her hands and knees of she wanted to go through the tunnel. She imagined then it would take some time just to get an army through such a small narrow opening that it would never be worth the effort.

“You can stay behind Lady Iounn,” Runi said, the only one able to stand in the tunnel. Even Hákon had to duck a little.

“No, I want to see this,” Iounn insisted. “But the two Daunish knights should stay behind.”

The men agreed, only the Dwarvish knights following them in. They made slow progress as Iounn struggled through the narrow tunnel. Runi now carried a light that came from a stone she carried, an invention of the Dwarves. It seemed like ages as Iounn crawled through the tunnel, getting stuck occasionally and having to have one of the dwarves behind her give her a shove. They stopped to rest and then kept moving, Iounn losing track of time without the sun to aid her. She wondered how these people could live underground their whole lives, the dwarves seem perfectly comfortable in the narrow tunnel.

At last they reached a cavern, Iounn able to stand and look around. It was a natural tunnel, the earth and rocks a tumble around them with a small pool of water in the middle of the cavern. It was no bigger than a large cabin room yet seemed smaller to Iounn’s whose head just barely missed the uneven ceiling of the cave.

“Here should be good,” Runi said looking around before turning to Iounn. “May I have the horn?”

Iounn nodded, still winded and tired from her journey, and handed over the horn. Runi took the horn and turned to the earth wall. Planting her feet, she put the horn to her lips. She blew out, a single melodious note issuing and then changing. She played the song Iounn had heard her late husband sing, the song Darin played to wake the giants. Only this time it was far more recognizable than Darin’s, and the sound carried deeper into Iounn’s chest. Runi played far longer than it seemed possible to hold breath, stopping at the last note.

She lowered the horn, Iounn expecting a rumble of earth or an earth tremor, but nothing happened.

“Did it work?” she asked softly, afraid to break the silence.

“Yes,” Runi said. “How well remains to be seen. Now we can only wait.”

“How long?” Iounn asked.

“Hard to say,” Runi answered. “But we’ve done all we can now.”

“Then we should move along to the next part and bait the Crippled One,” Hors said.

“Surely we should wait for the Giants to arrive,” Iounn said horrified. “If we gather all the Orcs without the Giants to aid us, we will be wiped out.”

“I do not believe we have the time to wait for the Giants to arrive,” Hors said. “Time moves strangely in the lines, I do not know how long it will take the Crippled One to communicate to the Orcs, let alone how long it will take them to gather. The March is approaching.”

“Can we not just let it pass then,” Iounn said. “Is it so dire that the Orcs be defeated before the Phay arrive?”

“I’m not sure Miread could take the strain,” Hors said. “The Crippled One brought these creatures here from another world, they are like the Phay in that they did not come from Miread. The Phay have tied themselves to Miread, being reborn here has strengthened ourselves to this world. So have the Orcs, by wounding the world as they do, they are like a tick on the back of Miread. But Miread has always had a delicate balance with the aether, parts of it touch into the lines, the dreaming places of the Phay and other natural occurrences in Miread.

“I’m not so sure Miread could remain in balance with the aether with two races from the lines existing in it. It might tip the scales, much like how Kur and the Serpent King could not exist in this world together, so they battled. We might be able to exist for a time, but if one of us wishes to stay her, the other has to go. I fear that battle will be harder and harder to win over time.”

“And could the lands of men hold a war that long?” Runi asked.

Iounn sighed knowing they were right, the faster you could end a war the better. But such a gamble seemed reckless to her, if the Giant’s didn’t show up, they would fail.

“I also do not think my plan of baiting the Crippled One will work if the Phay March,” Hors said. “After the Phay march either the Crippled One will be defeated or he will have devoured the Phay. After that I doubt he will care about my bait if he’s consumed the Phay. And if we defeat him there will be no force to gather the Orcs. Then there will be no point in calling the Giants, or the aid of the Phay. It will be down to hunting each clan into eradication.”

“Then maybe we should wait at least some time,” Iounn said. “How close are the Phay to marching?”

“The last ring of the song is not for several more months at least,” Hors answered. “But that all depends on Eileen, she could find the song before then.”

“Will there be warning?” Iounn asked.

“I may sense it before it happens,” Runi said. “But not by much time.”

“We need someone with the sight for that,” Hors said.

“You mean to see into the future?” Iounn asked and Hors nodded.

“Runi, do any of the Dwarves have the sight?” Hors asked.

“Not for centuries,” Runi answered. “It is not common among the Dwarves.”

“The Griffins then?” Iounn asked and Runi covered her mouth, smothering a laugh.

“The Griffins have never been adept in the Elder Magic,” Hors answered dryly. “Few Griffins can even use it, those powerful in the Elder Magic are a very rare thing for them.”

“Who is the sight common with then?” Iounn asked.

“The Banshee mostly,” Hors answered. “And the Trolls have their fair share of those with the sight. Though maybe a witch of the moors who has the Elder Magic may have the sight, it would be weak in comparison to a Banshee or Troll; but it might be enough.”

“Then we should go,” Iounn said and they all nodded. They started to make their way back through the tunnel, Iounn once again forced to proceed along on her knees. It seemed longer than before, the walls tighter and the earth darker. Once they were out of the cave Iounn had to stop to rest, putting her head between her knees and taking deep breaths until she felt better. Once she had some water and food and everyone else was rested, they set out again back for camp.

Four days after they left the caves, the morning was heavy with a mist from the moors. Iounn worried about ambush, especially as they were wending their way through the hills, the shepherd’s path they traveled unclear ahead. So, they rode cautiously, until after a bend in the path they came on a crossroads of sorts. It was a little dyke between three hills, the path branching off in three directions, a twisted old apple tree hunched over the path.

Under the tree stood a figure, hooded and cloaked but small and hunched. They rode over cautiously, but it did not seem like an Orc ambush given the figure seemed human. They reached the figure, seeing then it was an old Daunish woman, cloaked and hooded against the heavy mist.

“Hail old one,” one of the Daunish guards said as they drew near. “Are ye well? Do ye need aid reaching yer destination?”

“I have reached it,” she answered. “I just hope I am not late, or early?”

Iounn felt Horse emerge from her hair, holding out her arm so he could perch and be seen.

“You are right on time,” Hors said. “You have the sight.”

“As it is,” the old woman answered. “I be Grandmother Meredydd.”

Hors introduced their party his tail twitching.

“We should rest here, it is safe,” Hors said. They dismounted and took out their trail rations everyone sitting under the apple tree.

“So, your sight told you to meet us here?” Iounn asked.

“I saw us meeting,” Meredydd answered. “The when were tricky bit, I was almost early.”

“So, then you came to tell us the Giants will come,” Iounn said.

“They will, but I cannot tell when,” Meredydd answered. “I’ve seen a great battle o the dark creatures with the Griffin and men, Giants looming over all as they all battle. The battle lasts all through the day and inta the night. The stars be veiled behind clouds n smoke er else I could tell when the battle will be baint?”

“But you can tell us where,” Hors said and Meredydd nodded.

“Ta the south, in a place called Troll’s Pasture,” Meredydd answered. “An old home o the Trolls sos legend goes. Unce they had feasted there, dreamed n drank, many ages ago.”

“You can see it,” Hors said amazed.

“My dreams have been long of late,” Meredydd answered.

“I am sorry,” Hors said solemnly.

“Why?” Iounn asked, wondering why he would be sad over having long dreams.

“For one with the sight the longer, and further back their dreams reach, the closer they be ta death,” Meredydd answered. “This be the last time I will play a role in all this, at least in this life. I met ye here partly because ye were on my way.”

“Ye be on yer last journey,” one of the Daunish guards said.

“Last journey?” Iounn asked.

“In the old days fer the old ways the old when close ta death would walk inta the moors,” Meredydd answered. “I am old n the old ways be mine. I will walk inta the moors n lay down til I baint walk no more. The earth will claim me, n my spirit will walk the lines ta Tir Aesclinn.”

“We thank you then for your aid,” Hors said. “And may you walk in peace under the trees.”

“N ye elder,” Meredydd said and she stood. “I will be along then.”

“Wait,” Iounn said. “You can see into the future; do we win the battle? Do the Phay march? What will become of the Kingdoms?”

“So many questions lass,” Meredydd said with a sad smile. “Sadly, I’ve seen all, both failure n success, n all that be betwixt. What comes will be yer task, n ye face it all the same.”

Iounn frowned knowing a mother’s answer when she heard one.

“We thank you for your wisdom,” Hors said. “Go now in peace.”

“Thank ye,” Meredydd said. “Good-bye.”

She said the last like she were, just going for a stroll and would return shortly. She walked off into the mists, disappearing into the hills like a shadow.

“We could have learned so much more from her,” Iounn said bitterly.

“No, she told us what we needed,” Hors said. “Any more would only make the path ahead less clear not more. And she has little time left.”

“It seems barbaric, dying alone,” Iounn muttered.

“Some souls seek it,” Hors answered. “For peace and the clarity that comes from within. Who are we to deny a person what that without own beliefs or desires?”

Chastised but unwilling to admit it, Iounn went to her horse so they could set out again. They arrived back at the camp the next day, finding it unchanged from when they left. Finding Dylan in his tent they relayed the events and the coming of the Giants.

“Troll’s Pasture is not a place I’d expect a battle,” Dylan said. “At least one of our choice. Legend was it was a place the Trolls once gathered, a rare thing as legend says.”

“The Trolls are solitary,” Hors confirmed. “They rarely gather, only for feasts and weddings.”

“Well that place was said to be theirs,” Dylan said. “And matches them. It is an ancient bog, one that has not changed ever. It is mostly mud and a few twisted trees, a home to snakes and rats.”

“I expect the Trolls loved that,” Hors said. “All the same it is a gathering of the lines, a perfect place for me to lay the snare that the Crippled One will throw his armies into.”

“We should choose one that is a good place for us to battle,” Dylan said. “An open pasture or valley.”

“What is good for us is good for our enemy,” Hors said. “And we need it to not seem like a trap. You will ride a small army into Troll’s Pasture, seeming to be traveling through it, then the Orcs will think they have the advantage. Then the Griffins and Giants will attack.”

“No one travels through Troll’s Pasture,” Dylan argued.

“Except an army hunting an elusive enemy,” Hors answered but Dylan shook his head.

“Even with the Giants and Griffins the men on the ground will be slaughtered,” Dylan said. “I won’t agree to this.”

“Then ask only the volunteers willing to die,” Iounn answered.

“I have already asked that of them thousands of times,” Dylan said loudly. “I will not lead my people to slaughter, I will not be that King.”

Silence lasted for several moments until Runi spoke.

“My people have been at war with these creatures since the Phay marched thousands of years ago,” Runi said. “Every dwarf has been born with the knowledge they may die in battle.”

“And ours have only just faced this,” Dylan said. “Yes, we have faced war before, less than a generation ago we faced it. But not all of us, some have been shepherds in the hills, just as their fathers had been and their fathers, the people facing this horror now have never know death like this. And they face it fighting and die when they deserve to live, my people deserve to live.”

“And I am not denying that,” Runi said kindly. “I am saying that you are right, we will not ask this of you. We dwarves will be the force on the ground that will lure the Orcs into the trap.”

“Runi…” Iounn said kindly but Runi faced her with hard eyes.

“As I said, we have fought them for thousands of years and will fight them again. We are the ones better suited to fighting them grounded and in one position. The Daunish and Nyrgard forces can come in to box the Orcs in on their horses and with their archers. Then the Griffins can rain munitions and the Giants aid in what way they can.”

“This is no on solid ground,” Dylan said. “The bog is muddy and full of water.”

“Earth is earth,” Runi said. “We’ll make due.”

“Very well,” Dylan said.

Iounn wanted to argue but Hors dug his claws into her shoulder. She sighed and nodded, and they went on their way of planning for the coming battle. The next day Iounn left with only Hors out into the misty moors, before dawn so no one could stop her.

“You are sure about this?” Iounn said.

“I have to lure the Crippled One into this battle,” Hors said. “We have to get there before everyone else.”

“Why?” Iounn asked.

“I just think it will work better,” Hors said as he shrugged.

“And how do you plan on laying this trap?” Iounn asked but Hors merely shrugged. Deciding to let Hors be a cat about it, Iounn let the subject drop. They rode on through the moors, Hors guiding her since he seemed to know where the Troll Pastures were. Iounn supposed Daun was one of the Kingdoms that had remained mostly unchanged over the time the Phay had been away. Other than Xin, Daun seemed the most connected to the old times. It was fitting of course, both kingdoms were the ones in the far corners of the Nine Kingdoms.

They reached the Troll Pastures ten days after they had left the camp, after riding hard and long through the days. The Troll Pastures were indeed how Dylan and the others had described, a bog of mud and twisted low trees. Crows were the only birds here, no other creature seemed to be stirring through the mossy muddy ground. Iounn had to dismount to carefully lead her horse over the swampy ground, dark mud soon coating her up to her knees.

She followed a winding path of grasses that marked the only safe spots to walk until they reached what appeared to be a knoll sitting over the bog. The hill stuck out in the low wide landscape; it was the size of a cottage with a giant twisted tree sitting on top of it. Iounn noticed the tree was much like a seat in shape, in the crook of the twisted tree someone could have easily sat at their leisure.

“Mór Ríoghain’s throne,” Hors said. “The Troll Queen, this was where she liked to hold her court.”

“She lived here?” Iounn asked looking around for a palace.

“No, the Trolls preferred to wander,” Hors answered. “She only held court here occasionally. Mostly the Trolls wandered the moors, they had no houses or belongings.”

Iounn nodded though she couldn’t really imagine such a life. There were the Rhodin yes, but they had wagons, even the nomads had belongings they carried. What made the Trolls any different than beasts then?

“This is also a meeting of the lines,” Hors said, not noticing Iounn’s puzzlement.

“So, we will call on the Crippled One here then?” Iounn asked.

“Yes, it would be safer to call him rather than enter the lines,” Hors said. “I only hope he comes.”

He jumped down to the ground and walked over to a stump that sat before the hill. Sitting down he curled his tail around his claws and raised his head. Several moments passed, Iounn waiting for something to sound or happen.

“Well?” Iounn said hesitantly after nothing had happened.

“I sent out the call into the aether,” Hors answered. “It should work, I know his true name after all.”

Iounn nodded, not sure exactly what Hors meant by the name but was willing to wait and see. She hobbled her horse and brushed it down in the meantime, she was never very good at waiting unless she had something to do. Her chore finished, she ate some trail bread and water, but still nothing had happened.

“I don’t think it worked,” Iounn said.

“Time moves strangely in the lines,” Hors answered. “Be patient.”

Iounn sighed and sat down, deciding she would take a nap. She dozed off, the darkness of sleep giving way to a haze of color. Before Iounn could step into the dream, a sharp prick on her arm woke her. She woke to Hors standing on her chest, his eyes bright.

“Do not dream,” Hors said. “The Crippled One is near, it is dangerous.”

Iounn nodded, too afraid to say anything. Hors nodded once and returned to his post, staring up at the great tree. Deciding she would do the same Iounn joined him, finding a dry clump of grass to sit on.

She didn’t have long to wait, the air around the tree began to ripple and change. A darkness now sat on the throne of the Troll Queen, no shape or form other than a void.

“Pathetic little dragon,” the Crippled One growled. “Here to plead mercy for your kin?”

“You would not grant it if I asked,” Hors said. “You seek to eat them; I cannot convince you that it would never fill you or stop your hunger.”

“It will,” the Crippled One growled. “If not mercy, what do you seek?”

“To know your plans,” Hors said. “Why call the Orcs down from the mountains to attack the lands of men? Why are they scattered across the moors without reason?”

“There is reason,” the Crippled One answered. “Not that I would ever tell you my plans.”

“Really? It looks more like you have no control of them,” Hors said, his tail flicking.

“I have total control of my armies,” the Crippled One growled and Hors laughed.

“Then why scatter them? Why not gather them into one mighty force to crush us all?” Hors asked.

“You cowardly little whelp,” the Crippled One growled. “My plans are vast; I know of every little move you will make!”

“Then tell me what we are up to?” Hors asked mockingly.

“You are gathering!” the Crippled One said loudly, “I see you mustering your forces and armies. You mean to make a stand here, against my army but… Ah well I see now, I just need to crush your forces before they gather here.”

“And how will you do that?” Hors asked.

“I see the dwarves have moved out first,” the Crippled One said. “I will start with them and feast upon the souls of the fallen. Then the men are next.”

“It won’t work,” Hors said. “We will defeat you and your armies.”

“No cur, it is I who will feast,” the Crippled One said. He vanished into the aether, leaving the air feeling stale and dead.

“Did that work?” Iounn asked.

“By the time he gathers the Orcs the Dwarves will be dug in here,” Hors answered. “Hopefully it looks as if he is moving his armies here before the rest of our forces are gathered.”

“How did he know all of that?” Iounn asked.

“He must have a weaver telling him the goings of the world,” Hors answered. “Spying from the lines only lets him know a little. A weaver can see more at one time than a spirit peering out into Miread.”

“Weaver?” Iounn asked.

“It is a power of the Elder Magic,” Hors answered. “The ability to sense the threads that tie the world. The threads are events moving along in the woven tapestry of time. Those threads are woven together into the fabric of the present and into the past, but there are those who can sense the threads as they move into the fabric.”

“So, like a seer, like Meredydd,” Iounn said.

“No, the sight is different,” Hors said. “The sight lets your see into the future, often living in those times as it is hard for the mind to know the when of things. A witch with the sight sees and lives different times, never the past and rarely the present. A weaver feels the threads, they cannot foresee events or prevent disasters. It is a lot vaguer of a sense, more useful in sensing the present over the world than predicting events.”

Iounn nodded, not sure what it all meant but decided it was beyond her.

“Should we return?” Iounn asked. “I don’t want to wait here; this place gives me goose bumps.”

“Very well,” Hors said leaping back onto her shoulder. “Let’s meet with the Dwarves.”

They did not have far to ride, though the dwarves were on foot they had already covered half the distance to Troll Pastures. Iounn met with them just as the sun was setting over the moors, the sky a burning red. She met with Runi and imparted the news of the meeting.

“So, the bait has been laid,” Runi said sounding tired.

“Now we just have to wait for the Giants,” Iounn said.

“We received word of the Orc movements,” Hákon said pulling out a map to show Iounn. He wordlessly pointed to a place on the map not far from Troll Pastures.

“We’re there?” Iounn asked.

“No, we are here,” Hákon said moving his finger to the left. “There is one of the Orc tribes.”

“They are that close!” Iounn said.

“Seems so,” Hákon said.

“We need to alert King Dylan then,” Iounn said.

“He knows,” Runi said and Iounn frowned. “Lady Iounn, if he sends reinforcements the rest of the Orc armies might not come. We will have to defeat the early coming army on our own.”

“And can we?” Iounn asked shocked.

“We shall see,” Runi said. “It will be tight, but I suspect we will be able to get to Troll Pastures before the Orcs with some time to prepare bullworks and trenches. The Orcs have never been good at fighting in anything other than hand-to-hand. We’ve been fighting them since the Phay Marched, but they have never evolved much in that time.”

“Do not rely on that,” Hors warned. “The Crippled One is paying attention to them now, and the army to the east has managed to defeat the lands of men.”

“We will keep that in mind,” Hákon said but even Iounn was not fully convinced. She bowed and took her leave to rest in the tent the Dwarves provided her.

“You will want me to keep alert for trickery of the Orcs wont you?” Iounn said to Hors once they were settled.

“Yes, and I am glad you have Runi’s ear, she will listen to you,” Hors said. “I fear the dwarves have been fighting the Orcs too long and believe they know their enemy.”

“They may be right,” Iounn said.

“And I hope they are,” Hors said. “If not, our plan may fail.”

“But the seer…”

“Saw a possibility,” Hors said. “What she saw is not set in stone. And there was little detail in the first place.”

Iounn sighed a nodded, knowing a hard path of battle and death lay ahead.

[deanothecheynosaur]

The Bear and the Nightingale (2017)

Yay first one! (Whether you read the long synopsis or not, the ranking is at the bottom)

Funny story before I get into it: so my boyfriend's brother bought me this book in paperback for Christmas. I had not started reading it yet, but I was checking my Kindle to see how many books I read in 2019 and saw that I had purchased this a while back, never got around to reading it, and forgot I had it. So I'm taking back the paperback as soon as his blizzard is over (which oddly fits the book) and bought the second and third on Kindle. I have another gift card, but I need all three books to be in the same format.

Short synopsis:

Vasya is a young girl in a small village northern Rus' who can see things others can't. Everyone thinks she's a witch. The frost demon Morozko watches and protects her to keep himself strong enough to contain the Bear. An epic story about the clash between the old religions & the domineering Christianity & about the sexism of the time.

Long synopsis:

Moving on. Our story opens in Northern Rus' in the remote village of Lesnaya Zemlya bordering a large forest with the family of Pyotr Vladimirovich, his wife Marina Ivanovna, and their children Kolya (Nikolai Petrovich), Sasha (Aleksandr Petrovich), Olya (Olga Petrovna), Alyosha (Aleksei Petrovich), a bun in the oven, and their nurse, Dunya (Darya Nikolaevna). There's some important backstory though. Marina is the daughter of Ivan I Grand Prince in Moscow and his third wife, a mysterious woman who wandered out of the woods with no family, no history, and many suspected she was a witch. Marina knew it would be her last child and it would be a girl like her mother. This is set during the late 13th century, after Genghis Kahn died while the Tatars were still dominating the area. But Marina was right. She died in childbirth delivering Vasya (Vasilisa Petrovna). Throughout the book, there are hints that everyone but Sasha blames Vasya a little for Marina dying.

Vasya grows up naughty and ugly, with huge green eyes, black hair with a hint of red, a mouth too big for her face, long limbs, and too skinny. Olya calls her "little frog." Vasya does whatever she wants: Dunya is old, Pyotr is a busy man between being the Lord of the area and a farmer, and she has no stepmother. One evening, Vasya gets lost in the forest and sees a one-eyed man sitting against a gnarled black oak tree she had never seen before. He was uber creepy. But then another man shows up on his horse, refers to the one-eyed man as Medved, and tries to talk to Vasya. She gets scared and runs, but neither man pursues her. After she gets home (still freaking out), Pyotr decides it's time to remarry before Vasya gets unmanageable. He takes Kolya and Sasha with him to Moscow to find himself a wife and Olya a husband. It's mentioned several times throughout how a character cleans the ice out of their horse's hooves or mane, which I think is a great addition because it really solidifies the time period by how important horses were to everybody. Once they are settled in Moscow, Sasha spends time with other devout Christians (he prays a lot) and discovers that there is a renowned holy man (Sergei Radoneshsky) at a monastery three days north of Moscow. Pyotr lets him go alone to meet the man. Once Sasha gets there, he decides he wants to be a monk at this monastery and goes back to Moscow to ask his father. Pyotr agrees on two conditions: 1. Sasha cannot join the order or speak to Father Sergei until after the next harvest; 2. Sasha will be disinherited. Which honestly I think is fair.

A minor character that sets a lot of major things in motion is the Metropolitan of Moscow, Aleksei. Took me a minute to figure out that that means he's a bishop. Anyway, basically his job is really to deal with problems that might hurt the future of the current family ruling. Initially, he lines up marriages: Olya to a lesser prince that could have a claim to the throne of he married higher, and Pyotr to the Grand Prince's mad daughter, Anna Ivanovna. She saw demons everywhere except the church, so she wanted to be a nun. Of the two arranged marriages, the latter was less necessary in the initial context but crucial to rest of the plot. On their way back home, they run into a strange man, slight in stature but moves too quickly to see with pale skin, curly black hair, and icy blue eyes. He admires Pyotr's horse and Kolya is a dick to him about it, so the man has a knife to his throat. To save Kolya, Pyotr must give a necklace with a bright sapphire stone in it to Vasya to keep with her always. Kolya forgets the encounter altogether and wonders about the white scars on his neck... Pyotr is nervous about he necklace, so he gives it to Dunya. Dunya doesn't want to spoil her, so she decides to keep it for a while. Then she starts having one of several dreams in which she is confronted about keeping what is not hers.

After Sasha and Olya leave to be a monk and marry, respectively, Vasya spends less time with people. We soon learn that she can see creatures, the spirits from the old fairy tales Dunya told. Except they're real. Vasya is not crazy, and neither is Anna, but Anna is too Christian to be cool about it. Plus, Anna is a mean stepmother, strongly preferring her own daughter, Irina Petrovna. Vasya soon befriends the domovoi who lives in the oven and protects the house. Vasya doesn't realize her family can't see these creatures, so she talks to the vazila, the spirit of the horses who guards the stables. He says that she and Anna are the only people who can see them. Vasya thinks the stables are safer, so she visits the vazila often. He teaches her to speak to horses and understand them.

Then our friend Aleksei the Metropolitan does his last bit of manipulation. There is a priest in Moscow who is very good looking and gifted at painting icons. Aleksei is concerned that this will cause too many disruptions, so when the priest up in Lesnaya Zemlya dies, he sends the pretty priest, Father Konstantin Nikonovich, up there to take his place. I've never hated a fictional character so much in my life. Vasya is talking to the rusalka, a river demon who lives off of consuming the fears and desires of various animals and humans, killing them in the process. She goes for men a lot. Vasya unfortunately stops her from killing Father Konstantin. He immediately dislikes Vasya, thinking her too bold and not pious enough. Anna is obsessed with Konstantin because priests are her favorite and this is a hot one.

As time goes on, Vasya gets less and less like a lady should be, which infuriates Konstantin, but he's also having impure thoughts about her, which infuriates him in other ways. Anna and Konstantin try to convince everyone that if they continue to leave offerings for the old spirits, they will go to Hell. But shortly after, the village faces all the hardships. Freezing cold. Food shortage. People dying from the temperature. Wolves eating livestock. And then the crops flood. What survives the flood in the spring burns in the summer. Konstantin tells everyone that God is testing their faith, meanwhile Vasya is trying to sneak offerings and keep people alive. She also learns how to ride horses. Pyotr betrothes her to a Lord/horse breeder from a few towns over, Kyril Artamonovich. He's an oblivious ass. When he finds out she can ride, he calls off the wedding and leaves. Konstantin convinces Anna that Vasya somehow will get Irina killed, so when Pyotr leaves town, Anna tries to get rid of Vasya, either by death or by hog-tying her and taking her to a convent. Anna tells Vasya that she can stay if she finds snowdrops (the flower) in the forest (it's midwinter). Vasya takes off to find some, deciding worst case scenario, she would rather die in the forest than in a convent. She ends up at the gnarled black oak from her childhood, and the one-eyed man is still there. He tries to grab her, but the same man on horseback swoops in and saves her. He takes her back to his "house" to rest. She shortly finds out that he is Morozko, the god of winter and death. The one-eyed man is his brother, Medved, the Bear, the god of fear and suffering. Morozko has had him bound for a few hundred years, but with the offerings decreasing, Medved's strength is increasing. Morozko is known to be a trickster and a lavish gift-giver. Among other things, he gives Vasya a horse called Solovey (Russian for Nightingale), a young bay colored stallion who is not quite as mortal as your average horse. He also gives Vasya some snowdrops so that she may go home, but when she arrives, things are not how she left them. This is where we hit the climax, and I'm not giving away the ending. 😉

I'm very into folklore and old religions, I love forests, and Russian history is so long and colorful that it's been a fascination of mine for a while. Plus, ice stories interest me, maybe because my birthday is frequently cold and icy. So this was a great book for me to read. It's also clear how well-researched it is, as well as spelling things so that an English speaker would still be saying it with the Russian pronunciation.

On a scale of 1-5, I give it a 4.5. It would be higher but so many characters were unlikeable.

[dog-day-morning]

THIS AIN'T LEGAL

Have you ever heard of absolute immunity? Federal officers who violate the Civil Rights of American citizens in an attempt to do harm with recorded video evidence of the violation in action or officers who willingly falsify a police report of a violent attack in order to frame the victim while the antagonist sits before a judge and jury perjuring herself with alligator tears before an all white jury with her blonde locks, and blue eyes, damn devil, and goes free while an innocent child spends 17 months behind bars. To say that Amerikkka is unjust is an understatement. Too many times Black people are dragged into a court that's already biased, having to face a judge, and jury who may have a vested financial interest in the private prison industry, but let's be real. The school to prison pipeline is not a myth, it's a bloody bruise on the face of Lady Liberty. Liberty, and justice for all never applied to the indigenous people of Amerikkka or any of the ADOS, and FBA citizens whose roots are entrenched in the Earth bleeding from a wound the wicked do not want to heal. The above mentioned scenarios actually happened to one of your own Amerikkka, and a child from the Middle East. It's funny that Amerikkkans appear to want peace seemingly always, but you're forever raising hell outside of your jurisdiction? Joe Biden is deporting Haitian refugees out of the country ASAP, while transporting inland, and giving amnesty to Afghan refugees, and South Americans even so far as to offer them free secondary education, and housing. The culture of Amerikkka is against a Black man ever rising up to experience the American Dream in a Taliban like Aristocracy or Totalitarian society that started centuries before Biden became president. He's not the answer to our problems nor is he the root of the issue. Amerikkka is a canker sore, and a blight that impedes the progression of a once dominant, but humble people. No one needs to preach of racial superiority and use terror tactics in order to justify a calloused approach to validate this viral disease that affects everyone with a modicum of common sense, decency, and compassion. Amerikkka was a Nation before Amerigo Vespucci set foot on these shores. Alkebulan was inhabited by some of the most brilliant minds, and still is before Scipio Africanus named the dark continent after himself, an albino. Ohhh the irony, and moral hypocrisy. Timbuktu, and the city of Alexandria were well established kingdoms in Alkebulan where Greek, and Roman scholars went to gather much needed knowledge because they were dumb as hell. Egypt is a mystery that none can determine for now. When the prophecy is fulfilled by the Father whom the Prophet Joel spoke thereof He would pour His Spirit down upon all flesh, the truth will set you and I free. And it shall come to pass afterward, that I will pour out my spirit upon all flesh; and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions. What's impeding us from this prophetic word? Keep your thoughts to yourself. That's a luxury I haven't had since the age of stupid. Not wanting to call you out on the sins of your fathers, but you are just like him. I hope, and pray the Father fulfills His will in time before our hearts wax cold, too late. Amerikkka’s public enemy will not be our Black sons or daughters that are trying to follow the rules of man whose lawlessness has revealed itself to be an entire race of people. You create the laws, and break them leaving everyone with a bad taste in their mouth except those who profit from our pain. Chris Rock said this years ago. “The white man is the only one who profits from everyone's pain, especially a Black man’s.” you see how they treat us, and you have no inclination of what your future will hold for your people in the aftermath of the Zombie Apocalypse. I hate this form of pop culture rhetoric. There will be souls inhabiting these bodies that were once dead, and decomposing. God will deliver the dead from the sea, and He will deliver the dead from death, and hell.

Isaiah 26:17-21

17 Like as a woman with child, that draweth near the time of her delivery, is in pain, and crieth out in her pangs; so have we been in thy sight, O Lord.

18 We have been with child, we have been in pain, we have as it were brought forth wind; we have not wrought any deliverance in the earth; neither have the inhabitants of the world fallen.

19 Thy dead men shall live, together with my dead body shall they arise. Awake and sing, ye that dwell in dust: for thy dew is as the dew of herbs, and the earth shall cast out the dead.

20 Come, my people, enter thou into thy chambers, and shut thy doors about thee: hide thyself as it were for a little moment, until the indignation be overpast.

21 For, behold, the Lord cometh out of his place to punish the inhabitants of the earth for their iniquity: the earth also shall disclose her blood, and shall no more cover her slain..

When our Lord Christ Jesus does this work how do you think those who've hated, and betrayed us for a season of sin will react in the oncoming horror set before mankind? God has placed us on the Earth for a purpose, not to suffer. I can't put the blame on Joe Biden or those who came before him for what this nation or planet has done, and is doing to us; psych!!! The God of our fathers will judge you according to your works which has wrought death and destruction. The wrath, and judgment Joe Biden, trump, and their people will incur, and experience is worse than any Stephen King novel or Jordan Peele, and M. Night Shyamalan movies can induce in your alleged, fragile psyche. I've told Jacob, and warned the gentiles of God's incoming judgment, but no ones willing to heed the words of an idiot savant. I'm guilty of many things by way of my woeful condition. I'm compelled to elaborate these truths to you as they become relevant at a particular hour. Watch out for your young children who may be a pain, but they're innocent, and they're yours. The world sees us as prey, a potential payoff for an organ harvest, and fodder for the wickedly unjust. This woman that they have been searching for these last 5 or so days in a National Park has this Nation all a buzz. Who is she? Do you know how many women of Jacob go missing everyday without any press from the media? We can blame them, but are they at fault? Hell yeah!!! Continue to read. Our people have been limited by those who control the information, the social media platforms, infighting within our own tried Black media organizations that have blessed us over the years who are left open to attack by oppressive censorship that purposely restricts what they can, and cannot reveal to the Black masses. I was amazed to find out in 2017 that Coretta Scott King, and her family successfully sued the US government over the assassination of MLK Jr.; that was in 1999. The Atlanta Black Star might have covered the litigation process, but I didn't hear a peep from anyone I knew or even hear about it on any news media platform, especially from the major media news networks. That's how they've Silenced the Lamb with threats, and bullying tactics. We've come too far to go back to Egypt. The only time I wanna hear mention of going to Egypt is if my Church takes a sabbatical to the Motherland, and my Apostle takes the trip with us to seek the truths that have been denied us. Reference Joel 2:28. Those who stay committed to this ministry will see beyond the veil. If you placed all of your faith in me or Apostle Johnson you have overlooked the reasons God led you to this Church, Elders, Evangelists, Prophetesses, Deacons, Ministers, and the entire Church family. He nor I can do anything without the will of the Father, and I’m stuck on dufus. Get yo tail back to Church ASAP!!! We place our faith in men who have let us down many times. Apostle has done much for me, but Jesus has done everything. God will do a good work in all of us. I want every man, woman, and child in this ministry to reap what they have sown; don't leave. When the sky turns black, and the heavens roll back, peeling back the clouds, that's when you will see or hear the Son of God coming for His faithful. Apostle has taught us of the temporal mental mindset many times. Evidently it’s true as many of us have forgotten his teachings. My mind went off on a tangent, excuse me, where was I ? BET is owned by Jews, who used to own us. They run the entertainment industry that Buck breaks our men, and you wouldn't believe what they do to black women, and children who are all looking for a way to display their talents in order to get wealth, and their name up in lights. Leroy has the talent, all Mr. Epstein can offer you is a bogus contract that rips you off in the end leaving you po, broke, and lonely with a busted a-hole. Those who beat the system at their own game wind up 6 feet deep. Why do you think they murdered Michael Jackson, Prince, Sam Cooke, and James Brown? Michael owned half of SONY BMI. Prince owned all of his Masters that his

siblings sold for pennies on the dollar. Sam was going to start his own label, and brother James who had a label, but the IRS falsely audited him several times forcing him to sell his label keeping Soul Brother number 1 from becoming the first billionaire recording artist decades before JZ did. THIS AINT LEGAL. All that glitters isn't gold people. Ask Mr. Goldberg who runs several porn studios in Silicone Valley California. They run the majority of that particular industry as well as recording, movie and TV production studios while controlling the financial institutions. The majority heads of the Department of the Treasury including the current, Janet Yellen have been Jewish. Not trying to be a dissenter, but someone’s getting screwed. It's the middle class, and our fat, Black… ? William Randolph Hearst made the movie Reefer Madness which was a propaganda film not because hemp was a gateway drug to other crap, hell a pack of cigarettes has killed more people than ten thousand blunts. Smoke a blunt, and 30 minutes later you wanna eat. Smoke crack, and 30 minutes later you're sucking d**k. Hemp can be used in a vast amount of ways that would’ve crippled Mr. Hearst’s other industries. You can use it as fabric for clothes that's stronger, and more durable than cotton. The hemp plant had more useful potential than the soybean, and peanut combined!!! Marijuana isn't a drug at all, it's an herb. The Egyptians used it to cure many ailments including cancer. If I were still on Instagram Mark Suckerberg would personally shut my page down himself… again. That's why I no longer use white run social media websites. Mr. Hearst's only interest in getting the government to make hemp illegal was to keep his financial, investment interests ever increasing. In the end it turned out to do more harm than good. Now that the government has managed to tax the herb, they've made it legal. Why in the hell are Black men, and women still serving draconian, archaic prison sentences for minor marijuana drug offenses that don't make sense to a mongoloid retard?!! Like I said: “THIS AINT LEGAL.” Babylon the Damned will fall on its pancaked derriere soon enough. Pray to God the Zombie Apocalypse runs right past your abode or get some pads from your son's football uniform in order to appease the dead in Christ who may want a ham sandwich or your daughter Becky. This too shall pass. Try lamb's blood? The closer I get to death or that visitation with someone I've been wanting to see for a long time because I can't see, the more these things come back to my remembrance. This is enough for today. Whatever God reveals to me in the next few days hopefully I’ll relate some of that information to you. I thank those for judging me as a simp, punk b**ch, p**sy a** n**gah, punk a** n**gah, sorry a** n**gah, faggot, and everything you project or judge according to your flesh. I have no secrets so what am I trying to hide? Get your house in order Jeff, your life may be required of you, and ya boy in the wheelchair. Still someone else's identity Yippie Yai Kai Yay mother!@#$%& 9/21/2021

[gurguliare]

omg, huor/rian? -vardasvapors

It was sometimes difficult to know that his brother was angry. Happily, Huor put an end to all doubts by flinging himself on the hearthrug with a cry.

“Ha!” went the cry.

“Ha,” agreed Húrin. He set down his penknife, and after a little thought his pen. Huor was drawing moon-letters in the ashes. “I was right, you look better in blue. Did she make that for you?”—meaning the wreath around Huor’s neck.

“Yes, she was all posies today,” Huor said, slowly. He removed his hat, which had irises tucked in the chin-band, and set about abusing it. There were wildflowers clinging to his beard. “She could do nothing but pick flowers and plant them.”

“You’re not good for much.”

“If I’m not, I lay it at her door…” He caught Húrin’s eye and frowned, dogged by his own unfairness, and launched on a long explanation: her mother thought them young to wed; she wouldn’t say so, for respect of Húrin, but she thought it, and they were. And Rían said, yes, of course, and spent a day dismantling turf…

Húrin had heard as much before, though never, it was true, from Rían’s mother. Morwen behind the portiere had neither changed nor lost the limping rhythm of the loom; but she was listening, anyway, for he was listening.

He had married her the autumn after his father died, and he had been four years younger than Huor now, and lord of Dor-lómin. Neither he nor his young wife had parents to give warnings. “Why is Rían in haste?”

The tail of Huor’s braid lay coiled on his back from many heartsore shrugs. “I don’t know.”

So saying, he folded his hat in two and let it flop back to its proper shape. The brim stayed pinned beneath one palm, like a dog submitting to have its paw held. He had a tender way with hounds and birds, but Húrin thought this had made him rather proud; he could be impatient, not with the animals, but with beast-tamers less patient than he. At times he turned the same unkindness on himself: why can I not be gentle, and bring my blood to heel? And so on. Húrin understood better, now he was father to two children, one living. Still such stern sight had no place in his brother.

“Let us say that she loves you, and waiting’s a grief to her. I can just conceive of it. But you wait out of love for her which warns you to feign wisdom, like an old man. I see no harm in that. Shall I speak to Rían?”

“Showing me for a youth, unfit to court her?”

“Isn’t that the object?”

“Yes!” A glare. Huor looked afraid to laugh, as if it might do his lady dishonor; his lip did tremble. “She’s young,” he said to himself, “and it falls to me to practice wisdom, if she must be so brave.” Very soft, he said, “I think of them, and their ladies who made a game of the mountain’s face… from green to red, and sparkling with frost. For them it was never wrong to wait.”

“Never and never. I hope that in a hundred years, when we are dead, our enemy all crushed beneath our weight, they may descend and gaze around. A new untarnished land, with green things growing.” He smiled at Huor, saying to himself that the future wasn’t so far off: but their sunlight was less than this sunlight, and the white cities they might raise less gorgeous than this low-timbered hall. “Is that what you have in mind for Rían?”

“It sounds as if you’d have me marry.”

“Brother, I must thrust you from my house. All means else failing—”

“What would you do with me gone?” said Huor, seriously. Then: “I have her lute. I forgot it was still on my horse when I rode off, I’m afraid in a hurry.” If he heard Húrin’s hand strike his brow, he gave no sign of it, except to stiffen a little. “Will you bring it back to her? Tell Rían we have your blessing. It makes no matter, but maybe she’ll taste the bitter less.”

Through spread fingers, Húrin considered his poor inventory—more often abandoned than taken up—and the ink now drying on the reed.

*

Rían’s mother greeted him warmly and, after he spoke her fair, tasted her beer and let her exclaim over his handsome mule, directed him to the creek bottom that dipped between the homestead and the fields. If she had asked why he had come in place of a servant, he would have said, the men are dead of weariness from threshing-season, or if not from the harvest then the raids; I of all of them can best be spared. But she was circumspect in everything.

Rían sat in a ring of toppled cups, and she was writing something down. At the sight of her, stylus in hand, he felt a jolt of guilt, having thrown over his own clerk-work for a leisure-errand—although it was his business to pay calls to malcontents. With her back to a birch slenderer than her back—with knees drawn up, feet planted, and hair curling from its net—while her maid lay snoring on a bead-fringed sheepskin, she rather than he had the air of a lady holding court; but her head snapped up at his coming, and she stared straight ahead, and almost past him, so that he felt he headed a host. “At ease, cousin,” he tried. Then her eyes found his. She nodded and rose in a bow before he could prevent her, and smiled broadly when she left it, remembering her charm.

Pretty Rían, a child in long skirts; he could guess what his brother meant, that she had begun some work and not finished it yet.

“‘Mistress cousin,’” she quoted, and showed him where to set down the lute. “‘Lady sister.’ But name me sister, if we must choose degrees.”

“You’ve disowned Morwen?”

She was losing interest. “Why come tonight? Huor—”

“Huor is hale,” he said lightly, dismayed by her insistence. “I thought I had better return the thief’s spoils for him.”

“Ha! foes!” snapped the serving-girl, and rolled over; it was no serving-girl at all, but his kinswoman Aerin. She must have crept late from Indor’s house for a drinking party, although, as Húrin had cause to know, she was not much charmed by songs of old. She narrowed her eyes, shook the sandy hair from her face, tugged the veil from her hair, and thrust a plump finger at him: then lay back down, doubtless to gather strength. Not yet dusk, but in a sky like fallen clouds, the leaves on the bough had lost color, and patterned themselves after the fox’s gray beard; the gurgling from the creek should have drowned all frogs and nightjars, but that their singing carried, bounded higher on the stream. His daughter’s laughter never sounded louder than near water; but already he had forgotten the laws that made her life.

Because he had no better plan, he lay down beside Aerin, on his back. “But do I have a case to judge between you and sir thief?”

Rían knelt in the heather and said, “Please forgive me if I am churlish, which I must be, to have driven off everyone but Aerin.” (“Thank you!”) “I’ve had evil dreams.”

Húrin bit his tongue. “Of Huor?” he said after a time, trying to be grave, and to restrain the bitter feeling, so common since Lalaith, that all this was a waste; her terror like his cheer, poured out on stone, because neither of them knew what would come.

“Huor! No, god forbid! Of you.” She touched her brow, kneaded the skin, and bent her head. Had she been his sister in truth, he would have pinched her. And she was right that it was wearisome and hurt to hold off from things which were needful; he was glad at some hour or another every day, but it was hard, to go from his house to his friends’, his house to his brother’s, from Dor-lómin to the fortress of the elves, and back again to make friends with his son.

“That’s strange,” he began. “Though I were the fondest of brothers, I couldn’t begrudge him to you. I wish you every happiness. When your mother consents, we will set a day in spring, when the trees vie with the flowers of the earth, and there are showers enough to dress the thatch with jewels. If it should snow, we’ll hold the dancing indoors, and burn the great hall down.”

Rían nodded. As he talked on she grew thoughtful: she tapped her stylus to the tablet, and said, “In my dream, you sit in a great chair.”

“There. I am presiding at the feast. Sador is carving me the very chair. If I seem grave, he has left me a long splinter.”

“I’ll marry Rían,” Aerin announced. “All the unwedded maids of Dor-lómin; I’ll marry them and keep them, when you ride off to war.” She spoke almost without moving her lips, her chest rising and falling in starts, her cold fair face impassive. “What do you say?”

Rían whispered something in her ear; Aerin convulsed in laughter. Húrin pretended to avert his eyes and said, “Now, tell me. Is there something my brother should know?”

“That I beg his pardon,” said Rían; “I am sorry for him. Every year he must fight, facing what I know nothing of, though he has you and God, my lord, bespeaking him. I think of him often—I hope he’s not too afraid. I don’t remember a moment of my journey here, from Ladros. So maybe it’s the same for him, that he goes to fight and doesn’t remember. I wish he were younger! Then indeed I could wait happily, while we would play at being children.” She bit her knuckle.

If he could only see all, from sea to sea, and rule over a land that answered him: he thought he would have ordered it better. That would have been best, to know that wherever his kin went, he could follow them in mind, and understand their passing. Here she was before him, and he strove to follow her. Did she think she wasn’t a child, or that the girl had died in the wastes, driven forth from her home? She sounded, it was true, older than her years, not like a woman grown but like a daughter of elves, clear-spoken before the milky eyes could see.

“He pities you as well,” Húrin said. He got up in a crouch, for the dew was creeping down his back, and he wished too to take her hands.

Rían gave him a glad mistrustful look: face red in the cheeks from talk of Huor, and teeth bared by her drawn-up lip. She put her hands on his, saying, “Feel how cold. I have drunk too much, even with Aerin here to warn me. If I sleep early, will I still have a headache tomorrow? Will you tell Huor not to expect me before noon? My turn to visit, but alas—”

“I’ll tell him.” He might have said, grandly: Don’t punish him too much for loving your mother, but she had nothing of the kind in view. Without knowing it she took a step back and another. She was drunk, and proud enough after her fashion, and had grown used to the new wealth of time, now that Huor was home; that she feared Huor’s death in war had little to do with how they spent their days together. She picked up the lute and put together a bare chord; she played just well enough to scaffold her towering voice. If he had had the sense to bring his harp, they might have made music together, although his mount would have been overburdened, and his knees ached from bending in the cold.

“You may as well escort me home,” Aerin said, standing more steadily, by leaning on his back. “If you have what you came for, lord?”

“Maybe,” he said. “Anyway I’m the better for having come; for it’s not every day I hear a song from Rían, bard of Dor-lómin.”