#forbidden west is also beautiful something just came up in the middle of my first playthrough last year and I ended up not finishing it 😭

[corusgames]

so I’ve officially (essentially) finished my first playthrough of ghost of tsushima 😭‼️ I still have some material to post (and I’m working on getting the rest of the vanity collectibles off of Iki so I’ll probably be playing with its photo mode for a while). (because holy hell do I love this photo mode).

anyway I’m debating going back for a trillionth red dead 2 playthrough. that or resuming/restarting fordbidden west (or posting old captures from it), which I unfortunately interrupted and have yet to get back into. I plan on testing the waters of ghost of tsushima’s legends too! & would honestly love to find folks to play with if anyone’s interested.

update before post: I am currently enjoying some good ol’ inclement weather and the assignments that I have due despite the conditions, so I might not post much more than my drafts and some scrapped together old stuff this week!

[onceupona-chaos]

Belladonna Noctunis

Notes: One-shot, because spy Elain is living in mind rent free and I needed to get this out of my system 😂 As usual, forgive me for any English mistakes, it's not my first language. I just wanted to have some fun and try something new. Be kind!

Warnings: Language, violence and NSFW (mention).

After three days traveling without so much stop to sleep, the gloomy, seedy tavern looked like Flynn's particular paradise. Even with the dirty, wooden floor and the cobwebs on the corners, he'd never been happier whilst he took a long drink from his cheap beer.

Flynn had never been to Night Court territory before and although he found the rumours about the unparalleled night sky to be true, it was difficult to admire anything when you were too busy trying to not get caught. Either by guards or by the evil, bloodthirsty creatures that lived in that area.

But The Night Court was the perfect place for someone who didn't want to be found. The vast land had miles and miles of forests dangerous enough to make the bravest warriors hesitate. Even the Lord of Bloodshed would think twice before stepping into those places. Of course, the border shared with Day Court made it all easier as well.

Flynn let out a long sigh. Two more days in the back of a horse was all that separated him from his payer. The job hadn't been easy. It was the most challenging he'd done so far. But he and Akir had managed just fine.

Since Akir was the one who got the short stick, therefore the messy part of the job, it was only fair Flynn received the money. Still… whatever the prick was doing right now, it was better than being in this hellhole.

Most of the customers had already headed upstairs, the lucky ones with some company. Only a few other males remained in the tavern, sleeping miserably in their chairs, probably too drunk to even take a step, when exhaustion began to settle over Flynn, heavy like a blanket.

He was finishing his third beer, about to raise his hand to call the bartender to ask for one of the rooms upstairs, when a flash of purple and gold caught his attention.

He didn't hear her enter the room. But right there, taking a seat at the other side of the bar, was undoubtedly the most stunning female he'd ever seen.

In a lilac gown that did nothing to hide her curves, especially her backside, her golden-brown hair braided was thrown over one shoulder, exposing her pointy ears, a five petal withe flower behind the left one.

Beautiful, with pink lips that were begging to be kissed… She was every male's dream. Flynn didn't try to hide his eyes glued to her, scanning slowly that perfect face and traveling through the delicious curves of her body. She would be even more beautiful between his sheets, that was for sure.

Given that the bartender was almost drooling when he served her a glass of wine on the house, he probably was thinking the same thing.

Under the scarce faelights, she glowed so at odds with the dark tavern. It was strange, he admitted, that a stunning lady like her frequented such a place. But Flynn didn't pay so much attention to that. Not when doe-brown eyes found him already staring and a little, sweet smile curved her lips before she sipped from her glass.

It was everything he needed to approach her.

He made a point of lowering his voice before saying, "If I knew I would find the most beautiful female I've ever seen in the Night Court, I would have visited these lands sooner."

If it was possible, she was even more stunning from up close, with her soft, creamy skin and large eyes. And her scent… almost made him dizzy.

Her face remained neutral though, as if she had heard that many times before. Which probably she had. "A traveler, are you?"

He smirked, "I'm whatever you wish me to be, gorgeous."

At that, she let out a low laugh. Totally unimpressed as if he had told her the funniest joke she'd ever heard. And strangely that only made him want her more. He wanted to know what would take to make a classy lady like her give in, to make her crawl into his bed.

Every ounce of tiredness suddenly gone.

"If this is how you approach someone where you came from, I have pity on those females," she remarked.

"No one has ever complained. Maybe you just need to try something new." The words left his mouth before he even realized.

Flynn didn't know if it was the stress of the last days or the two months since he had sex. But he could already imagine every filthy thing he would do to her, every place he would fill her.

She didn't respond, only raised her eyebrows in disbelief. It was the sweetest thing that look on her face.

His voice dropped an octave, "Maybe you need an actual male to treat you the way you deserve."

A small blush stained her cheeks, but she just crooked her head and studied him. Her eyes assessing him from head to toe in a way that made him feel bare.

The female narrowed her eyes at him and grabbed her glass, standing from her seat, "What makes you think you are an actual male that can give me what I want?"

Her tone was quiet and low as if she was telling him all of her secrets. And damn him if he didn't want to know them all.

She moved toward a table in the corner, her hips swaying in a way that he couldn't help but watch.

A heartbeat later he joined her.

They talked for a while. The flirting, the innuendos slowly blending into meaningless conversation.

Usually Flinn wasn't one who would talk to get someone into his bed. He would rather pay to have what he wanted than having the job of talking nonsense. But for her… well, it wasn't everyday a pretty thing like that crossed his path. And he doubted she would appreciate it if he offered her money in exchange for a good time.

But also... maybe it was her easy smiles or her open expression, but she did have something that made him want to keep talking, keep the conversation alive.

The fact that she wasn't boring also helped to ease his impatience.

So there he was, talking about a particularly charming incident that happened to him at Solstice when he was younger. It had ended with him lost in the middle of a deserted beach named Prateada, completely naked.

He hoped she would get intrigued as to why he was naked in the first place, the perfect cue to smoothly shift the conversation to a more heated direction.

But the female tilted her head back and laughed. Strangely, he took satisfaction from it. Everything about her was sexy and lovely in the same, perfect measure. Gods, she was killing him. He wished things could go a little faster.

"So you're from Summer, then." She mused, propping her chin over her first.

He shaked his head, "My friend is from Summer, gorgeous. Actually he lives close to that beach, but he didn't come to rescue me, the little shit." Her laugh was a song to his ears and hopefully a promise of what it would come next. "But I'm from Day."

She asked, "Oh? And where is this friend of yours?"

Flynn didn't miss the suggestive edge hidden in her tone."Why? Interesting?"

She bit her bottom lip, and a delicious, deep pink colored her cheeks as she whispered, "You know what they say... three is a party."

Gods above.

His blood heated and his cock ached in his pants.

She was really just sitting there, pouring sweet nothings into the conversation, batting her eyelashes and making his head spin.

The delicate flared of her nostrils told him she smelled it, too. His arousal.

Flynn locked his gaze with hers and drained his drink to the edges, her eyes tracked every bob of his throat.

"Unfortunately for you, my friend had an urgent matter and had to head home. But two can make a party just fine."

She merely hummed and took a sip of her wine. "Sure about that? You do look tired."

"My journey has been tough." He added after a heartbeat, his words full of promise, "It takes more than that to make me tired, don't worry."

She nodded to herself before grabbing their glasses. He made to help her, but one look from her froze him in place. "Sit. I'll take care of you, tonight." And with that, she was gone.

Cauldron boil him alive.

His pants were getting tighter by the second. Flynn took a deep breath, shaking slightly in anticipation.

A beer was placed before him a few moments later and this time she didn't bother to sit across the table, pulling a chair to sit by his side. Her sweet scent hit him hard and he tried not to look too much at her cleavage as he drank his beer, but failed spectacularly.

"I heard the people in Day are very… concerned." She started, her delicate scent enveloping him. "After what happened in the High Lord's palace."

His eyes shot to hers, meeting those doe eyes of hers. Flynn kept his face careful blank, even though a wave of smugness went through his body. It wasn't everyday a plan was executed with such perfection - and right under the High Lord's nose. He knew he shouldn't be talking about it. But changing the subject would only make things more suspicious so he had to play along. "They have reason to be. No one saw who did it."

Flynn took another long sip from his beer, eyes still fixed on her. He didn't know if that scent of hers were messing with his senses, but we could swear even his drink was sweeter, his head lighter.

She inclined her body a little, getting closer to him as if she was about to reveal even The Mother's secrets. Her eyes flickered in a way that should be forbidden.

He felt chills going down his spine.

"It is disturbing, though." She went on, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear, careful to not mess with the flower. "They say the palace wing where one of his lovers was killed is the most guarded one."

He chuckled, too lightheaded. "Perhaps the west wing guards were off duty that day."

Her grin turned wilder as she nodded. "Well… maybe they should be fired, don't you think?"

With that gods' damn scent of hers filling his nose, he couldn't take it anymore. He was too drunk in desire, the corner of his visions turning black. He couldn't even breathe right anymore.

He murmured, "Here I was, thinking you were a good girl."

His heart was beating fast when he dropped his head, aiming at last for those plumb, pink lips.

He wouldn't even make it to the room. No, he would exposed that beautiful backside right there, bent her over the table and fuck her hard, just the way he liked it.

Flynn was already sweating, his mouth was inches from hers - when he felt the air get caught in his throat.

Frowning, he pulled back and gasped slightly at first, swallowing hard as he tried to pull air into his lungs. But it was like his throat had become too tight all of the sudden.

Still trying to ease that feeling, he undid the first bottoms of his tunic.

But it was like there wasn't enough air in the world anymore.

The female didn't show a hint of concern as she stood just to sit on the table before him. Wine in hand, she just observed.

Sweat was pooling in his forehead, his own hands and feet going numb.

"You proved yourself to be a better company than I've imagined, Flynn," she said.

Realization hit him like a punch in the gut.

He knew he hadn't given her his name. His guard was down, but he wasn't so careless, so stupid. Or so he thought. A small, secret smile bloomed on her face. "Although I do think it's interesting that you know in which palace wing his lover was killed when this is private information of the High Lord."

His eyes went wild. Shit.

"You-", he gasped, looking between her and his drink as his numbed hands covered his throat. His vision darkened further, but he still looked at her, at that adorable, fucking flower behind her ear. And utter panic almost made his blood stop cold in his veins.

Only four petals remained.

"Belladonna Noctunis, in case you're wondering. I grow it myself." Her face was harder, any trace of amusement gone. "It wasn't enough to kill you."

The world got darker around them and Flynn noticed it wasn't only because of that damn flower she'd put in his drink. He tried to look around, but he couldn't see past that darkness, that veil of swirling shadows. Where the hell were the bartender or the drunks, he had no idea.

He was still gasping for air, his throat almost completely closed, when a male stepped from a shadow behind her as if he was hidden somewhere in between them. Enormous wings peeking over his shoulders. Ilyrian.

A shiver shook his body as shadows curled around the male, his eyes blazing between them. His voice was deep, but soft as he asked, "Are you ready to go, El?"

That wasn't a common power, Flynn knew that much. He had heard stories about it for centuries, but it was like his brain was as numb as his entire arm now. He couldn't quite place who those people were, not when he was in desperate need of air, his legs getting too heavy to even lift a foot.

A smile bloomed in her face at the sound of the male's midnight voice. "Yes."

Flynn's eyelashes were becoming heavy, sweat running down his face as he still tried to make sense.

The male walked toward them. "Do I need to make him speak more?"

She shook her head. "No, I already have our confirmation. And you owe me fifty golden marks, by the way. I know where the other one is, too."

Shit. Flynn tried to stand at Akir's mention, but his own body wouldn't obey him.

The male gave her a smile as well. "Of course you do," he murmured, chuckling. "You are the sweetest little minx."

She turned to the male, something sparkling in her eyes before asking, "Will you take care of him?"

The male stared at Flynn, his hazel eyes cold. No softness in his voice, no amusement curving his lips. No trace of any emotion now. "He will be our personal present to Helion. They both will."

Fuck. Fuck.

"Generous of you, my love." She was still smiling at the male when she took his scarred hand in hers.

But the way he'd say the High Lord's name, with such casualness as if he knew him… even with his mind and body almost giving up, Flynn saw through his panic, the pieces of a puzzle clicking slowly into place.

That remarkable, perfect face of her… and those shadows… They actually knew the High Lord of The Day Court, because they were members of the… what was the name, again? Inner Circle.

He had heard the tales that travelled through Prythian of how the powers of fate united three brothers and three sisters, including the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court. And the Generals.

Which means… if the male was the Shadowsinger, if they were the High Lord and Lady of The Night Court personals spies...

The last thing Flynn saw was the face of the Kingslayer herself looking down at him - and then the Shadowsinger touched his arm and the world vanished into shadow.

[terramythos]

TerraMythos 2021 Reading Challenge - Book 9 of 26

Title: The Priory of the Orange Tree (2019) 

Author: Samantha Shannon

Genre/Tags: Fantasy, Epic Fantasy, Third-Person, Female Protagonists, LGBT Protagonists

Rating: 10/10

Date Began: 3/12/2021

Date Finished: 4/12/2021

1000 years ago, the world burned. Draconic creatures terrorized the land, led by a horrific evil known as the Nameless One. But then something happened that sent the monsters into a seemingly endless sleep, and the world has rebuilt in the centuries since.

But the Draconic evil begins to stir in its slumber, and the divided nations of the world have little chance to stop it. Eadaz is a mage from the Priory of the Orange Tree, sent to spy on the northern queendom of Inys. Legend has it that as long as the royal line continues, the world will be free from the Nameless One. While it's a long shot, Ead guards the young Queen Sabran closely to preserve the peace. However, as she and the queen grow closer to each other, Ead has to decide where her loyalties lie. Meanwhile, her close friend Loth is secretly sent into exile by the royal spymaster due to his controversial friendship with the queen. Supposedly sent as an ambassador to the newly Draconic kingdom of Yscalin, he soon finds himself out of his depth, entrusted with a deadly secret.

In the isolationist Eastern country of Seiiki, Tané wants nothing more than to become a dragon rider. The dragons of the East are old, wise, and revered as gods-- eternally opposed to the Draconic legions of the West. However, the night before the choosing ceremony that will decide her fate, she breaks isolation and discovers a young man from the West on the shore. Rather than report him to the authorities, she and her friend smuggle him to the island of Orisima, the only place Westerners are permitted. Niclays Roos, an old man exiled to Orisima by Queen Sabran, soon finds himself caught in the conflict. He believes if he finds an elixir for eternal life, he will finally be able to return home. When he's forced to shelter the forbidden Westerner, Niclays' entire way of life is upended-- but he is soon granted the opportunity to escape his exile.  

'My grandmother once said that when a wolf comes to the village, a shepherd looks first to her own flock. The wolf bloods his teeth on other sheep, and the shepherd knows it will one day come for hers, but she clings to the hope that she might be able to keep him out. Until the wolf is at her door.’

Full review, minor spoilers, and content warnings under the cut.

Content warnings for the book:  Some sexual content. Blood, gore, violence, traumatic injury, suicide, and death. Torture and execution. Miscarriage. Body horror (kinda). Drug use.

Clocking in at just over 800 pages, The Priory of the Orange Tree is a long, detailed story. I tend to label things Epic Fantasy when they have world-changing stakes. While Priory certainly fits that criteria, it's the first fantasy book I've read in a while that really does feel like an epic. It stars a huge cast of interesting characters from many walks of life, all of whom find themselves caught up in a world-spanning conflict. It captures the sense of a standalone, grand adventure that shorter fantasy novels of today don't typically reach.

With a book this long, it would be easy to ramble on forever about everything I liked. However, I'm going to try to keep it short and simple.

One of my favorite things about this story was the sheer depth of the world. Lots of people compare this to The Lord of the Rings not for its tropes, but the attention to detail regarding the countries, politics, history, religion, and so on. I'm inclined to agree with this assessment. The world felt alive and multi-dimensional. I could pinpoint many parallels to our own mythologies and histories-- particularly drawn from Europe, Asia, and the Middle East. There's also a clear love of language in the story via its beautiful prose. I like to think I know English pretty well, but this book taught me quite a few new words! Might fuck around and call sunsets "rutilant" from now on.

I thought all four leads were interesting. Ead is kinda the "main" lead of the novel, although Tané overtakes her in the latter half. Everyone had different personalities and backstories, and I genuinely enjoyed all of their arcs. Niclays in particular would be an easy character to hate; of the four, he's the most selfish and does some real questionable shit. At the same time, it's hard not to sympathize with him. He's a sad, unjustly exiled elder who's lost the one man he cared about, and finds himself in a desperate situation. These types of characters are interesting to me; a glimpse of what anyone can become given the wrong circumstances and cruel treatment.

With stories like this, one of the most satisfying payoffs is how the different characters and stories come together. It was interesting to see how their paths converged and diverged over time, and ultimately how everything tied together in the end. I also appreciated the character relationships. I liked that Loth's close friendships with both Sabran and Ead were intimate yet platonic without some awkward love triangle.

From some story specifics... I'm a sucker for the bodyguard romance trope, and seeing it done with women in a mainstream novel gave me life. I thought the romance between Ead and Sabran was really sweet; I didn't see how it would work early on since Sabran was a little insufferable, but she had hidden depths (oh god, another weakness of mine). I also really liked the idea of traditional European and Asian dragons being diametrically opposed, and that being a core theme of the story. Intelligent and/or talking animals are another thing I adore in spec fic, so I dug characters like Aralaq. Kalyba's ongoing relevance and gradual exposition was also neat; I love minor world details that turn out super relevant later.

Also, the entire final battle/ending sequence was SO good. Really creative and action packed. Action scenes often blend together for me (and can be logistical nightmares) but Priory's climactic ending was just awesome. I don't want to spoil specifics, but it reminded me of many beloved epic battles in modern fantasy. Avatar the Last Airbender, How To Train Your Dragon, and Pirates of the Caribbean all came to mind. 

My main criticism with Priory is that often, the plot relied on convenient coincidence to get the characters out of a jam or otherwise advance the story. I can excuse a minor contrivance or two for the sake of a smooth story, and the scope of this book is big enough that it'd be hard to avoid. But some are nuts. For example, Loth gets rescued from certain death by a giant ichneumon while traveling through the mountains. We later learn the ichneumon is Aralaq, a friend of Ead's, and he just happened to be in the middle of nowhere, far from his home, and stumbled upon Loth. Loth, who ALSO happens to be Ead's best friend... which Aralaq presumably doesn't know?

Another is the MAJOR SPOILER regarding the rising jewel's location. I didn't hate the twist itself, but there was so little build up to it. I wish there were more early hints to justify it, because with setup it would be a pretty cool development. These things didn't ruin my enjoyment of the story, but the borderline deus ex machina (machinae? machinas?) did take me out of it a bit. It’s possible I missed stuff so I’ll give some benefit of the doubt. 

Overall, though, The Priory of the Orange Tree is a fun, world-spanning adventure. Like any long book, it's an investment to get into. However, if you're looking for a standalone, feminist fantasy epic, this is certainly a good place to start.  

[skeeter-110]

A Twist in the Tale (That’s Old as Time)

Once upon a time, in a faraway land, a young prince lived in a shining castle. As punishment for his actions, the young prince is transformed into a monstrous beast by a mysterious enchantress. Only condition is if he can learn to love someone and earn their love in return, the curse will be lifted. The prince - now turned Beast - felt doomed for eternity; until he met a little boy with a heart of gold.

AKA: a Beauty and the Beast Irondad AU

|| Chapter One || || Chapter Two || || Chapter Three ||

Chapter Four: Be Our Guest

Peter slowly opened his bedroom door several hours later, peering around it to make sure no one was around.

Once he was completely sure that the halls were bare, Peter slowly began to leave his room and walked down the hall towards the main lobby. All he wanted to do was to find the kitchen, quickly grab something to eat, and return to his room like he never left.

Thankfully, it wasn't too hard to find the kitchen. Once he got to the lobby, all Peter had to do was follow the voice of Happy and Ms. Potts and soon he was standing in front of two large doors.

"Splendid to see you out and about, Monsieur. I am Happy, head of the household." Happy greets, bowing before Peter. Peter went to go shake the clock's hand, only to have Rhodey run right in between them. "This is Rhodey." Happy introduces reluctantly.

"Un plaisir." Rhodey says, shaking Peter's hand.

"If there's anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable." Happy offers, before getting burned by Rhodey when he tries pushing him out of the way.

"I am a little hungry." Peter admits.

"You are? Hear that? He's hungry! Stoke the fire, break out the silver, wake the china." Ms. Potts excitedly commands.

"Remember what the master said." Happy reminds, muttering it under his breath as if just that sentence was going to summon the Beast.

"Oh, pish tosh. I'm not about to let the poor child go hungry." Ms. Potts brushes off completely.

"Alright right, fine. Glass of water, crust of bread, and then-" Happy sternly complies, earning a look of disapproval from Rhodey.

"Happy, I am surprised at you. He is not a prisoner, he's our guest. We must make him feel welcome here." Rhodey scolds before turning towards Peter. "Right this way, Monsieur."

"Well, keep it down. If the master finds out about this, it will be our necks." Happy warns as Rhodey leads Peter to the dining room.

"Of course, of course. But what is dinner without a little music?" Rhodey asks, slamming the door in Happy's face right after in order to muffle his objections.

As soon as Peter sat down at the table, a whole production started up.

The china was out setting themselves, music and singing started up, and what felt like hundreds of dishes were placed in front of Peter for him to eat and drink. All of the dishes and cups danced around, doing a bunch of tricks and completely entertaining Peter.

For the very first time that day, Peter actually forgot about the reason he was even there in the first place. For the first time that day, Peter's mind was filled with fun and excitement rather than grief, fear, and sadness; it also helped that his belly was filled with delicious food now too.

For the first time that day, Peter couldn't stop his smile or his giggles as he clapped along to the music that was beginning to die down around him.

"Bravo! That was wonderful!" Peter claps once the whole performance came to a close.

"Thank you. Thank you monsieur. Good show, wasn't it?" Happy says before yawning. "My goodness, look at the time. Now it's off to bed, off to bed." Happy tries to corral.

"I couldn't possibly go to bed now. It's my first time in an enchanted castle." Peter excitedly tells him.

"Enchanted! Who said anything about the castle being enchanted?" Happy nervously laughs, Peter giving him a somewhat unimpressed look in return.

"I figured it out for myself." Peter chuckles before standing up. "I'd like to look around if that's all right."

"Would you like a tour?" Rhodey gladly offers.

"Wait a second. Wait a second. I'm not sure that's such a good idea. We can't let him go poking around in certain places; if you know what I mean." Happy tries to stop.

"Perhaps you'd like to take me. I'm sure you know everything there is to know about the castle." Peter tells Happy, knowing that flattery was going to get him at least somewhere.

"Oh, well, actually, I- Yes, I do." Happy stutters out.

And that was how Peter found himself walking down one of the castle hallways, looking at all of the armor that was put on display down it.

Happy was going on and on about the Baroque period, or something like that. Peter wasn't listening as he wandered off towards another staircase. Peter just began to climb said stairs when both Happy and Rhodey quickly ran in front of him and blocked his path.

"What's up there?" Peter questions, his curiosity once again getting the better of him.

"Where? There? Oh, nothing. Absolutely nothing of interest at all in the west wing. Dusty, dull, very boring." Happy says, trying to deter Peter from going up there. Unfortunately, he only managed to fuel Peter's curiosity even more.  

"Ah, so, that's the west wing! I wonder what he's hiding up there." Peter ponders, trying to look up and around Happy and Rhodey to see anything.

"Hiding? The master is hiding nothing." Rhodey disputes.

"Then it wouldn't be forbidden." Peter says simply, pushing through the two household items standing in front of him. Happy and Rhodey quickly ran up a few more steps, once again cutting Peter off.

"P-Perhaps... uh... perhaps Monsieur would like to see something else? We have exquisite tapestries dating all the way back to-" Happy tries to offer, gulping when Peter continued to climb the stairs.

"Maybe later."

"The gardens. Or-Or the-the library, perhaps?" Rhodey chimes in this time.

"You have a library?" Peter asks, finally interested in one of the options.

"Oh, yes. Indeed." Happy confirms, letting out a few relieved giggles.

"With books!" Rhodey adds, hoping to continue making the library sound interesting.

"Scads of books." Happy says, going back and forth with Rhodey as they began to lead Peter back down the stairs.

"Mountains of books."

"Forests of books."

"Cascades."

"Cloudbursts."

"Swamps of books."

"More books than you'll ever be able to read in a lifetime." The two of them continue listing off, getting so into it they didn't even realize when Peter stopped at the bottom of the stairs. They just kept walking down the hall towards the library, talking about all the books they had.

Peter slowly crept back up the stairs, hesitantly stepping down the hall in the west wing. Fear settled into Peter as he continued to walk towards the only door in the wing, May's voice ringing in his head.

'One of these days, your curiosity is going to get you in trouble.'

That made Peter stop in front of the door, unsure of if he should open it or not. On the one hand, he really wanted to see what was so forbidden - it had to be something good considering this was an enchanted castle - but on the other hand, May was right. And if he got caught right now, who knew what the results would be.

Eventually, Peter's inquisitiveness won and Peter yanked on the door, having to lean back with his full weight in order to pry it open. Peering into the room, Peter's eyes widen when he saw the destruction inside.

There was furniture laying destroyed all over the floor, ripped-up fabric and curtains were barely hanging by a thread off of the walls and ceilings, and most of the paintings were ripped to shreds.

As Peter walked further into the room, one painting, in particular, caught his eyes. It appeared to be of a man, but it was hard to tell since it was all shredded up. Making sure to be gentle, Peter pushed some of the painting together, realizing it was a picture of a prince. Before Peter could wonder too much about who the man in the painting was, a pink glow coming from the other side of the room shone on Peter, gaining his attention.

Walking towards the table the glow was coming from, Peter could see that it was being caused by what appeared to be an enchanted rose floating in a glass bell.

Once again Peter's need to constantly figure out the science behind everything got to him and he slowly began to lift the glass bell that was protecting the rose. The rose remained floating in the middle of the table, Peter reaching out to touch it to see if it would dip.

Peter's fingers didn't even have a chance to brush against the petals of the flower before the Beast was appearing right in front of him, stopping him in his tracks.

Peter quickly took a few steps back, gasping in fear when the Beast ran towards him and slammed the glass bell back over the rose. The Beast whipped right back around after he was sure the rose was safe, making Peter shrink in fear.

"Why did you come here?" The Beast demands to know.

"I'm-I'm sorry." Peter stutters out, his voice audibly shaking.

"I warned you never to come here!" The Beast yells, his booming voice causing Peter to run and cower behind one of the tables that weren't completely destroyed.

"I didn't mean any harm." Peter tries to defend.

"Do you realize what you could have done?" The Beast roars, swinging his arm out and destroying the table Peter was hiding behind.

"Please! Stop!" Peter begs, tears streaming down his face as he pressed his back against a fallen wardrobe.

"Get out!" The Beast screams, swinging his arm again and shattering the wardrobe into a million pieces, almost as if it were made out of glass.

Peter let out a tiny yelp once he saw the Beast's arm coming towards him, quickly turning around and running out of the room while the Beast continued to roar behind him.

Not even looking back once, Peter quickly booked it down the stairs, barely managing to grab a coat as he ran past Rhodey and Happy.

"Where are you going?" Rhodey questions once he realized that Peter was heading for the doors.

"Promise or no promise, I can't stay here another minute." Peter tells them both before opening up one of the front doors; snow blowing right into the main lobby.

"No, wait, please! Please, wait!" Happy pleads, only to be ignored completely when Peter slammed the door shut.

Peter quickly hopped onto Phillippe - who, thankfully was still there - snapping the horse's reins before he was even fully settled, not wanting to spend another minute at that castle.

They didn't get too far though. Between the blizzard that was happening, and all of the animals that were around them, Phillippe began to get spooked and stopped in the middle of the woods.

As soon as they stopped, they were surrounded by wolves, growling and snapping at them.

Peter gasped and quickly whipped Phillippe around, making him run the other way. It soon became a race, with Peter trying to lose the wolves as best as he could and the wolves doing whatever they could to catch up.

One wolf managed to get right beside them, jumping up and snapping at Phillippe. Peter was barely able to pull Phillippe out of the way, turning them towards a different path in the woods in another attempt to lose the wolves.

Looking behind him, Peter saw that they actually managed to lose most of the wolves. He almost even let the relief sink in. That was until the ground started to give out from underneath them.

Looking forward once again, Peter realized that he led him and Phillippe to a frozen lake, and they were quickly sinking into it. Gritting his teeth and trying not to think about the cold water that was up to his chest, Peter pushed Phillippe to go further into the lake, realizing that the wolves weren't doing too good of a job swimming.

They managed to get to the other side of the lake, climbing up back onto the path. As soon as they got back on the land, Phillippe began booking it, giving Peter false hope that they were in the clear.

They only got a few feet before even more wolves ran in front of them, scaring Phillippe and causing Peter to get thrown off his back.

Peter screamed and fell face-first into the snow, laying there for a bit before he regained some of his senses. Lifting his head, Peter saw that Phillippe's reins got caught in a tree, making it hard for him to fight off all the wolves.

Looking around, Peter found a large branch that had fallen from a tree. Grabbing it, Peter quickly began swinging at the wolves, knocking one that was on Phillippe's back, off.

Unfortunately, that only seemed to make the wolves even madder, all of them growling and coming towards the small boy. Peter tried fighting them off, swinging the branch once again, but one of the wolves managed to grab the branch and pull it out of his hands.

Another wolf managed to jump up on Peter, snagging his coat in its mouth and pulling him right back down to the ground. Peter twisted and tried as best as he could to pull his coat out of the wolf's mouth, stopping when another wolf began to come towards him.

"No!" Peter screamed once he realized the wolf was about to pounce on him, quickly flipping and pushing his face into the snow to try and protect it. Only, nothing happened.

A yip could be heard before a loud and familiar roar, making Peter look up to see that the Beast was there and had the wolf in his hand. The Beast quickly threw the wolf down, leaning over Peter protectively and snarling at the group of wolves that were still getting closer.

The Beast quickly lunged towards the group, running away a bit to make sure the fight stayed away from Peter.

Peter watched with wide eyes as all of the wolves began to lung, scratch, and bite at the Beast. The Beast finally managed to get all of them off of him, throwing the last wolf at a tree while the rest of them ran off.

The Beast looked over his shoulder towards Peter, making the small boy gulp. The fear of what the Beast would do to him quickly left when Peter saw him swaying and fall back to the ground.

Peter almost took that as his opportunity, ready to hop back on Phillippe and leave this place for good. But something was nagging the back of Peter's mind, stopping him from leaving the Beast here to freeze in the snow; especially because he had just saved Peter's hide.

Running back over to the Beast, Peter sadly sighed before taking his coat off and wrapping it around the Beast's shoulders; although the small piece of cloth didn't really do much around the Beast's gigantic shoulders.

Peter struggled, but he somehow managed to get the Beast draped over Phillippe's back, reluctantly making his way, once again, to the castle.

Tag List: @spideyspeaches​ @lost-lunar-wolf​ @joyful-soul-collector​ @hatakehikari​ @thatcrackheadsadbitchtm​

[whereflowersbloom]

Shadows and thorns.

Part III

‘Let them talk’ Those were the words that echoed in her mind, over and over, and in many different ways. In panic, fear, delight, thrill, in many others she couldn't put a finger on. When she reached the castle, panting, she took a deep breath and tried to find composure. ‘Let them talk’, with his his deep, smooth voice her mind screamed, and she closed her eyes tight to expel the thought.

As a daughter of Azarath, Rhachel has been told all her life she must do everything to fulfill her duties. Including marrying a High Lord or Prince and bear his children. It also meant leaving her homeland, wed a man she did not know, she may not even like. That was her destiny. Wed Wallace West that was the arrangement. Not Prince Damian Al Ghul. Never in her six and ten years of life she had experienced so many emotions in a short period of time. She closes her eyes, telling herself to get a grip. No matter her name, her title, she will always be a Roth, brave, noble and true. There’s no reason to be afraid.

“I was growing concerned about your absence.” Constantine muttered quietly, his blue eyes asking silently for the reason behind her noticeable absence. His presence had caught her asleep at the wheel. She couldn’t tell him the truth.

“You worry too much. I was at the stables with Melchior.” she replied, unable to control her shaky voice, her bottom lip quivers as she tries to force a smile. She wasn't fine. She was struck to the bone with a feeling, the very same one that she felt when she first laid eyes on the prince. It burned and delighted her all at once. She was filled with breathless wonder and overwhelming sorrow that both brought tightness to her chest and a lump in her throat. “I thought he might be agitated in this foreign land.”

Constantine raised a brow in disbelief. “Be mindful of your words and actions. This place is a bloody pit of vipers.” John breathed to her ear, only she could hear his voice, firm and wary. It took her several minutes to tranquilize herself. Entering the grand dining hall, the guests were engaged in raucous conversations, men laughing and drinking wine of the finest quality, couples dancing. She finally found a place to sit with other noble ladies, as far as possible from the royal family’s table. Away from him.

Rhachel averted her gaze to look at Wallace a few tables over, drinking and laughing with his friends. He hadn't spoken to her since the feast started, she couldn’t blame him, though she may have purposely made herself unavailable. She observed him, everything about him emanated masculinity, strength and youthful arrogance. Prince Damian though was completely...no. Those intrusive thoughts again.

Damian was gentle, alluring, tempting. Yes, he was all that and much more. His hair shone softly with the color of the night sky. It was shorter and not nearly as curly as Wallace’s red locks. He had prominent cheekbones, high on his face, and lips as inviting as any Rhachel had ever seen. Lips that could that make her soar the sky, with the lightest brush against her skin, whispered kind and inviting words. Perhaps the most striking of all his features were his eyes. They were a vivid shade of green, resembling emeralds, that sparkled with intelligence and depth and darkened with desire and mischief.

~~~

Damian sat gracefully with his face leaning against his hand as he tried not to look as bored as he felt. He just came back more than a couple of minutes ago yet, he was already bored, which made his mind wander to Rhachel Roth. He closed his eyes, remembering, feeling the sudden urge to see her and hear her daring, charming voice. The white Raven soon to be his if her guardian agreed to break off the betrothal to the West heir. His eager eyes searched for her in the dining hall, until they found her.

She was staggeringly beautiful in her long gown, a lovely garment of lavender silk whose bodice was chased with dainty silver filigree and some precious stones. The neckline was low enough to bare the swell of her cleavage, and it hugged the deep curve of her waist so that every man, lady could see her body had developed, completely, wonderfully. She was only sixteen he had heard, but she had already possessed a woman's figure. His thoughts already ran wild with what that young figure may look like under all those silks.

A bold idea emerged in his mind, as a boyish smirk appeared on his face. Impatiently he rose from the table, not caring to give a proper explanation to his grandfather or Lady mother. He walked confidently across the dinning hall, towards a corner of it, where she was sitting with other ladies he couldn’t identify for the time being. His mind deliberately set on asking the Azarathian princess for a dance.

The white haired girl was too occupied, thinking of ways to avoid the audacious prince when she heard the ladies at the table tattling, ‘he’s coming’, sighing in awe. She didn’t have to look up, she felt his peculiar and magnetic presence. She silently prayed for Azar to give her strength to remain collected. She raised her head to meet his gaze.

"Lady Roth.” Damian said expectantly, voice rolling over the words like silk. “Would you honor me with a dance?” He bowed gallantly and stretched his right arm to her.

Her eyelashes fluttered as nervousness seeped through her veins. The table went silent, numerous sets of eyes focused on her. She had to reply. She couldn’t decline his offer, it could be seen as an offense. She nodded faintly. “Of course, Your Grace.” she whispered weakly. She hesitated for a minute, but reached for the hand he offered to her cordially, letting his wrap his warm fingers around hers and draw her into the dancing crowd.

“Your Grace. I do not understand your intentions.” She cleared her throat and spoke nervously, gazing at him as she frowned.

He surprised her, when his other hand, found her waist, bringing her body closer to his. He started to twirl them gently around the room, attracting the attention of other couples dancing. Rhachel had tried to shut down her heart. Explaining the feelings Damian Al Ghul had awakened within her with that one single heavy word that filled her with anxiety and dread. No, she wouldn’t dare pronounce it.

"I cannot help but feel that we are fated to meet more than once, my princess of thorns.” He confessed solemnly and Rhachel flinched. "When I first laid eyes on you. I wished to speak to you. The gods allowed me that moments ago at the royal stables, but I fear I cannot get enough now.” His words knocked down her walls, and she suddenly felt very vulnerable. "Rhachel, May I call you by your name?" He breathed urgently and huskily close to her ear, she went weak at her knees and could barely remain standing.

“It’s not appropriate, Your Grace.” She breathed, turning her head away slightly. Her name sounded so poetic on his tongue. Her mouth was suddenly dry, and she had to swallow in order to wet her lips.

Damian ran fingers ran through her moonlight hair, feeling it soft as silk against his calloused fingers. He bent forward, taking a deep breath of the lavender she seemed to have bathed in. The touch was electric, sending a warm tingle coursing through her frame. A fluttering sensation which spread its wings like a butterfly, journeying in a flight until it settled somewhere in the lower part of her belly.

“They say that before the tournament ends. The King will announce your betrothal to Lady Troy.” The words slipped out of her mouth unconsciously. It was not something she had intended on bringing up. It was not her concern who the prince married, shared his bed with, fathered children or anything he did. Yet the thought of the distinguished Amazonian princess on Damian’s arm or any woman, made her stomach clench.

“They don’t get a say in my betrothal. It is for me to decide who will be my bride.” He raised his voice, declaring indignantly, resolutely, with an air of authority he wore like a second skin. His face had hardened. Certainly, she could see Damian Al Ghul becoming a wise, righteous and admirable ruler of Nanda Parbat.

“Besides, I already have another lady in mind. She’s thoughtful, assertive, bewildering as lovely. She has brought indescribably joy into my life.” He looked at her with a playful, confident smirk, as he spun her in an exhilarating waltz.

She cleared her throat. “This all sounds scandalous, Your Grace. It seems to me you wish to kiss this lady.” she had whispered, feeling emboldened by his words. The suffocating feeling grew strongly inside her, constricting her chest tightly. All she wanted to do was to push him away, right there, in the middle of the hall. Run away from him.

“Rhachel.” He pronounced her name slowly, tenderly, pressing his body against hers. "Did you feel it too? When you first saw me, were you struck breathless, as I was?" He was dangerously too close. She could perceive his fervent and overwhelming desire emanating from his figure. Yes, she wanted to say. A million times, yes. Yet, she buried her yearning for him. It was forbidden, even if they wanted to cancel the betrothal. She can’t.

He expertly twirled her across the room. To describe Damian as ordinary would be a terrible injustice. He was holding her steady, knowing exactly when to turn and when to slow down. He was in complete control, he has mastered the art of dancing.

She then closed her eyes, and breathed in deep. When she opened them, she looked down at her feet, gathering courage before saying. “I cannot give you the answer you wish to hear, your Grace.” Delight and sorrow seemed to blend together in her heart, brewing a poisonous mixture.

“You can’t or is it fear stopping you?” He grasped her tiny wrist carefully, calculating his force, he did not want to hurt her, his brows knitted questioningly.

Rhachel smiled at Damian, beginning to take a liking to this enigmatic prince, but her smile faded as he stopped dancing and she broke away from his arms. It felt strange to suddenly be separate from his body despite only embracing for a short while. Rhachel shook her head, denying her own feelings. Her dream was, she knew deep down, a mere fancy, a remnant of a desire that would forever remain unspoken. “I have to retire to my chamber, Your Grace.” She muttered quietly, broken. A lump forming in her throat, teary eyed.

“Call me Damian. At least grant me that wish.” Damian didn’t want let her go. He debate to take her in his arms, keep her close and safe, taste those pink lips. Her soft pearl like skin. The scent of her essence, it was mysterious, floral and pleasant. He wanted her urgently. His desire for the princess went beyond reason. “Please” he never pleaded but for her, he’d put his pride aside, just to hear articulate his name with her melodious, soft voice. “Good night, Damian.” She whispered only to him, dropping into a curtsy, unable to hold his gaze, before leaving for her chambers.

“Rhachel Roth, I will make you the next Queen of Nanda Parbat.” Damian promised to himself, he clenched his fists and remained where he was. Determination and fire running through his veins.

New update sorry it’s so slow. 😭😭😭😭 @lunastar92 @xxitzmikoxx @chromium7sky @quoth--the--raven 💜💜💜❤️❤️

[caesarclowningaround]

I was tagged by @flightsofwonder! Thanks dearie!! This was interesting and fun!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favorite authors!

Felt With the Heart (MCU, 1123 words) Jane fiddled with the skirt of her dress for the thirtieth time. 

The Pure and Simple Truth (MCU/Mr. Robot, 2500 words) Gods and monsters. It’s all real. Who knew? For some reason, Elliot wasn’t at all surprised as he stared across the room at the ‘god’ before him. 

Next Stop (Good Omens, 620 words) It wasn’t that Crowley meant to smack his shoulder into the other man’s as he walked through the subway car… but he meant to. 

voulez-vous coucher avec moi? (2019!Aladdin/2017!Beauty and the Beast, 1163 words) Adam could have anyone he wanted. This wasn’t just hubris, it was a fact. 

Shadows (Trouble in the Heights, 561 words) The room is a swirling mass of color and fabrics. 

my happy ending is right next to me (IT movie franchise, 246 words) Richie couldn’t wait to dive into the champagne at the reception. 

Baking Without Flour (Good Omens, 961 words) Aziraphale wasn’t sure what he was expecting when he entered Crowley’s apartment, but he at least expected that he’d be unpacked by now.  

Violet Skies (2019!Aladdin/2017!Beauty and the Beast, 42622 words (and counting)) Another day, another suitor. This one was from the far west with flowered silks and bright pastels. Prince Adam from France. 

Horizon (Star Wars, 1397 words) It was so different than anything Armitage could have imagined. And oh, he had imagined.

the booze and the bell chimes (2019!Aladdin/2017!Beauty and the Beast/2015!Cinderella, 6272 words) 11:00 AM - 6 HOURS BEFORE THE WEDDING “BOOTY BOOTY BOOTY BOOTY ROCKIN’ EVERYWHERE” Jafar nearly jumped out of bed, his heart pounding in time with the pounding in his head. 

The Dream (MCU/Loki: Where Mischief Lies, 602 words) There is pain as he feels the grip tighten around his throat. He struggles for air, knowing it to be futile at this point. Then, a sharp crack of agony… and he’s gone.

Submerge (Star Wars, 8750 words) His father had warned him many times as a boy to stay away from the Dark Shoals. When Kylo took to the sea as an adult, still his father warned him that morning.

Good at Waiting (2019!Aladdin/2017!Beauty and the Beast, 618 words) Adam wasn’t sure where he was at first. But as the world came into focus around him, he remembered. He remembered dinner the night before, celebrating their six-month anniversary. 

Boom, Clap! (Crash Pad/MCU, 12175 words (and counting)) I need to lay off the weed. It certainly wasn’t the first time Stensland had thought this (or even attempted to put the thought into action soon after), much less the first time he had thought it the moment he had woken up from some batshit crazy trippy dream.

The Ocean Under the Moon (2019!Aladdin/They Call Me Jeeg, 1525 words (and counting)) Fabio had a weird, mostly unknown love for thrift stores. 

a lil something (2019!Aladdin/2017!Beauty and the Beast, 728 words) Jafar’s phone vibrates in his pocket for the second time in the past ten minutes. 

Love is a Battlefield (The Old Guard, 1328 words) There was an excitement in the air as they all stood in formation. Syrus pawed at the ground, his hoof kicking up grass and dust that hung around his legs. 

when push comes to shove (2019!Aladdin/Trust, 1371 words) It had started with Jafar grabbing fistfuls of Primo’s ass and a mocking comment about how thin his pants were, which somehow had led to Jafar assuming Primo wasn’t wearing anything under the blue trousers. He assumed correctly.

play us an encore (2019!Aladdin/2017!Beauty and the Beast, 2400 words) “Open your robe.” Jafar didn’t move from where he was standing in the bathroom doorway. Dressed in only his silk red robe, he stared back at Adam, who was smiling in a way that Jafar couldn’t read.

break the bubble (2019!Aladdin/2017!Beauty and the Beast/2015!Cinderella, 1092 words) “Love is like a bomb, baby, c’mon get it on…” The lights flashed as three gorgeous men walked onto the stage, lip synching with the loud lyrics of Def Leppard's "Pour Some Sugar on Me" playing over the speakers. 

Analysis:

First of all, the fact that 11/20 of these are crossovers is pretty telling of what my favorite thing to write is. Most are either Aladdin crossovers or Marvel crossovers (and involve either Jafar or Loki, respectively) so there’s that.

This list goes back about two years, which is interesting because in the past two years I’ve been working on bigger projects most of the time. Notice how most of these fics are under 2k? Most of these started as small fic prompts or 2am spur-of-the-moment ideas and the longer ones are the more self-indulgent fics.

5 of these fics start with a line that’s mostly used to catch a reader’s attention before a tag, which is then followed by a bit of exposition or action. Twice I use song lyrics as a way of grabbing attention because the POV of the character is also having their attention grabbed.

Several times I just jump right into a character’s POV and begin with them thinking about something or essentially telling the reader “what is happening is normal” or “what is happening is not normal” depending on the situation. It’s also sometimes a quick recap or the statement of a fact about our POV character.

Most of the time, I just jump right into the action to get the story moving. I’ve noticed I prefer to do this over giving a description of where we are. If I do give a description, it almost always comes after the opening line. With the exception of Shadows, none of these opening lines are a setting description.

I really do have a thing for crossovers, especially the weird ones LOL I just love the idea of two different worlds connecting in some way and having the characters themselves connect on another level. D*sney’s been crossing over their stuff since well before I was even born, so while it’s not surprising to see a disney crossover fic, I do think there’s something to writing that odd lil ship I’ve written about 7 fics for (dang!)

I tend to deal with themes of forbidden love in various ways and how the characters make those connections despite the fact they shouldn’t be together. Whether it’s as simple as unrequited romance, or they’re enemies, or they’re not necessarily enemies but they really shouldn’t be together... and yet they always find a way. IDK maybe I’m just a romantic at heart who loves seeing love stories about love conquering all. But that being said, the obstacles these characters face aren’t typical ones?? Like, from this list at least, love triangles aren’t something I’m interested in, but if there is a third party (like in Violet Skies) the third party is never really considered to be a “threat” to the main couple. 

That’s probably another reason why I dig crossover ships, because they inherently shouldn’t be together. they’re from vastly different worlds with maybe one or two things in common (like genre or setting or a character detail or just a vibe).

Or I’m just here to have fun and I’m dragging these characters into the fun zone whether they like it or not :P

But really, all of these are love stories in some way or another. Not that I’ve never written gen fic and I love reading gen fic! But I guess my fave fics to write are the shippy stuff. I just enjoy exploring these types of relationships, despite whether or not they “should” be together. Heck, a couple of these do not have happy endings nor should they. It’s really interesting seeing exactly how drawn to that stuff I am.

FAVE OPENING LINE This is kind of a weird thing to say, but I really don’t care a lot of my opening lines most of the time. I think they are what they need to be, but they don’t hit me the way they should? Some of these I kinda wish I could go back and change, though that’s mostly cuz out of all the lines in each of these fics the first lines I’ve read and reread the most. So it’s mostly me being my own worst critic, but I think my best writing comes more in the middle and ends of my fics, not the beginnings. 

That said, I gotta go with Violet Skies: Another day, another suitor. This one was from the far west with flowered silks and bright pastels. Prince Adam from France.

This is one of those opening lines I’d never change. The fic starts off from Jafar’s POV and he is bored of these princes coming and going and starting this big fic off with him being like “here we go again” with this basic description of Adam is exactly where the fic needed to start, so by the time the reader gets to the end of the first chapter, we know this is definitely not “here we go again” with Prince Adam~

TAGGING: @pigsinablanketfort, @heroofshield, @thenightisfullofangels, @raptorwhisperer, @theresatvjoe, aaaaaaand anybody else who wants to do it!!!!

[blackjack-15]

Not Horsin’ Around — Thoughts on: The Secret of Shadow Ranch (SHA)

Previous Metas: SCK/SCK2, STFD, MHM, TRT, FIN, SSH, DOG, CAR, DDI

Hello and welcome to a Nancy Drew meta series! 30 metas, 30 Nancy Drew Games that I’m comfortable with doing meta about. Hot takes, cold takes, and just Takes will abound, but one thing’s for sure: they’ll all be longer than I mean them to be.

Each meta will have different distinct sections: an Introduction, an exploration of the Title, an explanation of the Mystery, a run-through of the Suspects. Then, I’ll tackle some of my favorite and least favorite things about the game, and finish it off with ideas on how to improve it. Unique to this game is a section in between The Mystery and The Suspects titled The Historical Background, as the background in SHA is so important and takes up nearly a third of the whole game that it deserves its own section.

If any game requires an extra section or two, they’ll be listed in the paragraph above, along with links to previous metas.

These metas are not spoiler free, though I’ll list any games/media that they might spoil here: SHA, non-spoilery mention of TRT, non-spoilery mention of CAP, non-spoilery mention of DED, non-spoilery mention of SPY.

The Intro:

Secret of Shadow Ranch is one of those games that invariably ends up in every “Best Of” list of Nancy Drew games. Unlike another mainstay of those lists (watch this space for the next meta, where I will Make Enemies), SHA actually deserves to be on it without reservations.

Unlike a few other “Best Of” games, SHA doesn’t actually do anything new with its story — there’s no beat, no bare-bones plotline, no mystery that hasn’t been done in the previous 9 games – but it just does it more completely. There’s more effort, more time, more thought, and more care obviously put into SHA (which itself is one of the most popular Nancy Drew books) than a lot of the other games. This isn’t to say that the other games are bad, just that SHA has a uniquely huge amount of care and detail put into it.

I should take the time to note here that I don’t believe that SHA is the best Nancy Drew game of all time, nor is it my favorite game of all time. The first designation shifts according to time, and the second is wholly dependent upon my personal style of play, so elevating a game based on that is less than pointless. When I say SHA deserves to be on “Best Of” game lists, it’s because it genuinely ticks all the boxes to make a fun, challenging but not hard, atmospheric, and honestly engaging experience.

Any introduction to Shadow Ranch would be incomplete without addressing the largest visual change it brings: the full-screen visuals. The bulky 2/3-of-the-screen interface is retired here and instead a (relatively) sleek task bar is added at the bottom, allowing SHA to look, as well as feel, bigger than any other game that came before it. Not only does this result in a smoother visual (especially as Nancy turns around) style, but it allows for more visual puzzles (significantly, the puzzle at the end with the stones marking the correct (and incorrect) path for Nancy to take).

While I won’t go too much into the Historical Background (as it’s significant enough in this game to get its own section in this meta), it’s impossible to talk about SHA without mentioning its wonderful historical setting and story. There are few other games so entrenched in the past (SPY, GTH, and TMB are a few others that fall into the same category), and it’s a joy to play through.

All in all, SHA is an honestly just wonderful, solid game that owes much of its well-deserved praise to a fantastically executed historical background, solid (if not showy) characters, and enough simplicity on top of its moving parts to encourage the player to go steadily and happily through the game.

The Title:

As far as the title for this game goes, they stuck exactly to the book to ensure that readers would know that one of the best-loved mysteries was being adapted to video game format, which was a pretty good idea.

The Secret of Shadow Ranch is also just a pretty great title; it indicates a mystery, a location, and sort of tells you the type of mystery you might get based on the location (historical; revolving around the Wild West). It’s not fussy, and not overly evocative, but it’s also not a “haunting” game (despite the ghost horse on the cover), so the simpler title is acceptable.

The Mystery:

Nancy’s just off to visit Bess and George’s Aunt Bet and Uncle Ed in their ranch (Shadow Ranch, to be exact) when the two cousins get delayed (why they didn’t all fly together…well, the plot demanded it) and Nancy arrives alone and immediately gets sucked into the strange happenings at the ranch.

It wouldn’t be a Nancy Drew game if something wasn’t hinky right off, naturally.

Uncle Ed and Aunt Bet are currently in the hospital after Ed was bitten by a snake that showed up in their bedroom, so Nancy’s left to deal with the ranch hands as she tries to help the ranch to run smoothly and investigates exactly how Ed might have gotten hurt.

The game ditches the plot of the original book and takes two-thirds of the plot of the revised yellow hardcover version, focusing around a strange phantom horse that seems to leave accidents and misfortune in its wake and around the historical plotline of the famous outlaw Dirk Valentine’s hidden treasure.

While it would have been cool to deal with the original mystery of Shadow Ranch — involving a missing father found with amnesia and an NPC in the form of another of Bess and George’s cousins — HER didn’t really have the resources nor the writing to deal with such a personal plot yet, and they instead (wisely, in my estimation) chose the plots that could be dealt with in what had become typical Nancy Drew PC Game fashion. This decision made Shadow Ranch one of the most tightly plotted of the early games and allows the player the time (and space, with the new layout) to explore the beautiful Southwest visuals as a trade-off.

As is commonplace with Nancy’s “vacations”, she soon finds herself embroiled in two mysteries where everyone has motive and opportunity, where the “means” belongs to everyone, and where no one will tell her the truth until she exposes them. Because Nancy can’t really contact the only victims of the accidents (Bet and Ed), there’s overall less to do on the phone in this game and Nancy has to make do with four suspects.

As far as mysteries go, Shadow Ranch isn’t the most involved that HER has ever attempted, but it is fairly complex for the Classic and Expanded games, and it takes pride in being easy to follow and engaging. The Dirk Valentine plotline specifically is tightly plotted, well-delivered, and…well, as perfect as you could get, really.

The Historical Background:

Normally, the Historical Background of a game is covered in the Mystery section, but SHA’s historical background is so far at the forefront of the game (not to mention so well done and memorable) that it would be a travesty to try to include it in another section.

The history behind the game centers on an outlaw, Dirk Valentine, and his forbidden romance with the sheriff’s daughter, Frances Humber, who lived at Shadow Ranch. Frances’ father Meryl disapproved of the match and relied (unbeknownst to her) on his daughter’s knowledge to find and arrest Dirk.

Dirk is then hanged for his general outlaw-ery, but not before mentioning a treasure that he wanted to give to Frances in a letter to her before he died. After his death, Frances left her father and headed east, leaving Meryl regretful of hanging Dirk and wishing to have his daughter back with him again.

The only remaining bit of Dirk left behind is his treasure, which Frances has no interest in and tells her relative about and which the Wild, Wild West finds an intense desire in. Since then, many have tried to find his last legacy to Frances, but all have failed…

Dramatic ellipses aside, the best part of this background isn’t that it involves outlaws and treasure and family drama and all that — it’s that it is all told via narrated letters and diary entries that Nancy finds hidden around the ranch. While this story would be effective on its own, the fact that it’s told to Nancy (and via Nancy, the player) makes it even more gripping than it would be on its own.

The biggest reason why the historical background gets its own section, however, is that it’s one of the best historical backgrounds in the entire series, and certainly the best of the series so far (even though I prefer TRT’s, SHA’s is told more effectively). SPY is up there, but it cheats a bit by having its backstory tied directly to Nancy, so I won’t count it as high on the scale. The only other game (once again ignoring SPY) that gets quite as somber and effective without being melodramatic is CAP, which presents the backstory through another character and thus works just as well.

(As a side note, I’m not including DED here, since it’s less “historical background” and more “incredibly recent background”.)

The only thing that this background sours for me slightly is the present-day plot, as it’s not quite as tight, but that’s to be expected since that plot has to last the whole game. That, and the fact that it makes me bitter that we don’t get all of our historical background narrated for the rest of the series.

The Suspects:

Tex Britten is the surly ranch hand that assumes authority while Ed and Bet are at the hospital. He dislikes “city folk” (though after ASH, one can hardly call Nancy anything but “upper-middle-class suburban folk”) and trusts Nancy so little around the ranch that she’s not allowed to do anything without him hovering — except for be responsible for the horses’ nutrition and survival.

Not really circumspect, but I wouldn’t trust this 18-year-old who claims to be a friend of the family’s with anything fun either.

Gruff, rough, and difficult to deal with, Tex is set up as the “mean” suspect from almost the first moments of the game (though after Dave shows up at the airport in assless chaps), and he plays the part par excellence. Never is Tex any warmer than barely civil, and he doesn’t need to be “reformed” by the end of the game because, well, he’s just grumpy.

As a suspect, Tex is a pretty good one, and honestly my preferred suspect. Not because he’s mean or gruff or anything like that, but because it would have been a great analogue between him and Mary and Frances and Dirk (more on that below). While it would be boring to have the “mean suspect” be the culprit every time, at this point in the series (with only MHM boasting a “mean guy” culprit) it would honestly count as a subversion, and would add a bit of depth to his character beyond “mean guy with a soft spot for the women in his life”.

Shorty Thurmond is the cook at the Rawley’s ranch and is voiced by HER’s resident pinch-hitter and man of a thousand voices Jonah Von Spreecken. He’s a money-grubbing lazy cook with more interest in yelling at those helping him than in doing actual work.

Shorty, to no one’s surprise, is the culprit (what?? the get-rich-quick guy wanted to get rich quick????), and does make for a decent suspect in that you could say he’s “lazy” because he’s actually working hard to find the treasure. He’s creepy enough to set the player’s teeth on edge, but ultimately not sinister enough to really convince the player that he’s up to no good.

Dave Gregory, snatcher of panties and quickener of libidos, is not only the Figure of Sexual Awakening for fans who came in after FIN, but is also one of the canonical “love interests” for Nancy — aka, boys who show an interest in her while she alternately doesn’t or feels-like-she-shouldn’t reciprocate. Nancy can even not really tell him about Ned, for bonus “good girlfriend” points (points that really start appearing from TRN on). His aunt is the relative that Frances told about Dirk’s treasure, and so he’s been looking during his downtime on the ranch.

He’s also fairly smitten with Nancy to the point that he helps her the entire game, asking nothing else in return. But, since I’m not really commenting on realism right now (in any of its forms), I’ll let that one slide.

As a suspect, Dave doesn’t ever qualify. The game never sets him up to be suspected, his “gotcha” moment with Nancy is so piddling as to be inconsequential, and he aids and abets Nancy the entire time. It’s probably a good thing, honestly, as Tex and Shorty are set up from the start to be the most suspicious, but I do think it would have been better to at least play along with him being suspicious until the one-third mark, especially since Mary is such a non-player as well.

Rounding out our cast is Mary Yazzie, who sells art and stones near Shadow Ranch and is banging Tex like a drum in Secret. Her area of interest is in the Pueblo people, and has tried repeatedly to purchase some of the land of Shadow Ranch in order to, according to her, look for more petrified wood artifacts. Ed and Bet refuse to sell, however, which sets them at odds with Mary.

As a suspect, Mary isn’t fabulous. Other than her offers to buy part of Shadow Ranch (and her taste in men), there’s nothing sitting against her. The game doesn’t bother to really implicate her in anything, and she more serves a helping role (if not The Helping Role). Her presence does open up the game to include Native American themes and stories, but other that that Mary’s really only there to make the numbers fit.

While Mary is the only female suspect, she’s not the only woman in the cast, which includes Charleena, Frances, Aunt Bet, Bess, and George (of important/speaking roles, 6 females to 8 males, by my count, making this an average-sized cast).

The Favorite:

Charleena Purcell is a delight and a treasure here and one of a small number of reoccurring characters. I’m a sucker for author characters since they’re usually slightly unpleasant (and I value that in a character who gives information to a detective), and everything from being a great phone character to her voice acting is A+. Jonah Von Spreecken’s additional role as Charleena’s assistant should also get a mention here. Honestly, what can’t that man do?

A big — possibly the biggest — thing that HER gets so, so right in this game is the voice acting. While Lani is her usual early-game self (quasi-invested and missing some native inflection, but not yet the incredibly old-sounding voice that happens a bit further down the line), Rob Jones’ Joe Hardy, Jonah Von Spreecken (as mentioned above), Max Holechek’s Meryl Humber, and above all Gary Hoffman’s superlative Dirk Valentine elevate this game far above the sum of its parts.

It’s a very lucky thing that this game was released before the (misguided, in my estimation) feature that lets you skip dialogue, because if you could, I truly believe that SHA wouldn’t be half as memorable or well-beloved as it is. Hearing Dirk’s assurances and Meryl’s increasing sadness is far, far beyond anything that reading them could give you, and I honestly believe that HER knew this and planned accordingly. 

Sure, it was more expensive to record that dialogue rather than simply read it, and additional voice actors had to be hired, and more time had to be spent — but the end result is the main takeaway from SHA, and that is to the game’s incredible benefit.

My favorite moment in the game, to no one’s surprise, then, is the reading of Dirk’s letters. It only takes a few sentences to get wholly invested in him Frances, and their love story. It’s the height of Americana to root for the outlaw of the Wild, Wild West, but it’s taken one step further with Dirk who has been given some of the best lines in any HER game. 

It’s a simple moment, but effective, and it stays with me not only every time I play but even when it’s been a few years since I’ve cracked open the game.

My favorite puzzle is the horse-trivia-on-a-horse one, as it tests the player’s thoroughness in exploring and reading, and also is incredibly hilarious to see Nancy riding around a pen while an angry ranch hand spits questions at her like he’s investigating her for murder. It’s fun and side-splitting in its absurdity, and I do love good-natured absurdity.

The Un-Favorite:

           For a book famous for introducing Bess and George, I can’t help but feel that it really was a missed opportunity not to include them more in this game. Sure, it helps Nancy to be on her own so that she can investigate without being hamstrung by anyone else, but this was a perfect opportunity to be able to play as another character for a while and to see more of Bess and George than witty puns and suspiciously prescient clues, so I will count this missed opportunity as a least favorite thing in the game.

*metal piece picked up* *metal piece put down* *metal piece picked up* need I say more??

My least favorite moment in the game is the “Heeeeere’s Shorty!” bad ending. It’s breathtakingly unnecessary, creepy as all get-out, and makes you stare at a Shorty face that looks like it was rendered with Windows 1 running on oatmeal for processing power.

My least favorite puzzle in the game isn’t actually the metal maze I mentioned above (though that would get an honorable mention, definitely) — it’s the arrowhead hunting. If you’re looking all along (and know to be looking all along), it’s not too tedious, but if you have the bad luck to miss one or two along the way, what follows is a half hour of pouring over every spot in every location to find them. Generally, my least favorite things in games tend to be those that are essential yet easily missable, and the arrowheads fit that bill exactly.

The Fix:

So how would I fix The Secret of Shadow Ranch?

First, I would honestly remove the Hardy Boys from the game. They don’t get the time they need to shine, and the game is busy enough to not need them. Move them to CUR and you get at least two characters I care about in that game.

As mentioned above, I would make the connection between Mary/Tex and Frances/Dirk clearer (rather than sub-sub-subtext) and switch him and Shorty’s position as the villain.

Make Shorty guilty of being exactly what is he is — a man obsessed with get quick rich schemes — and have some of the incidents be his fault (the snake is a good one to hand to him, as any cook in the desert on a ranch knows how to catch and cook snake) so that he has room to look for the treasure, but maybe stop him from finding a few key things (like the secrets in Dry Gulch) and take out his bank robber connections (which is easily the silliest part of the game). Maybe Tex uses him and slowly siphons off information that Shorty leaves lying around until he knows All.

Meanwhile, Tex is a gruff man who cares about his sister and his girlfriend and is thankful to the Rawley’s about his job…but he’s also a man who needs money to pay for his upcoming engagement/wedding to Mary Yazzie, who’s helping support his sister, who’s a bit angry that the Rawleys fired his sister, and who figures that if anyone can find a cowboy’s treasure, it’s another cowboy who knows the land like the back of his hand.

His expertise with horses makes it easy to coat one in phosphorus and safely release and get it back, his omnipresence around the ranch makes it easy to sabotage, and his natural reticence gives him a reason never to have an alibi — he just doesn’t like to be around people. Tex is, in fact, so perfectly set up to be the villain that it doesn’t feel like a twist that he’s not, it feels like a mistake.

For the finale, while Shorty chasing Nancy down is scary enough, the image of Tex doing so is even worse. This fix strengthens motive, adds multiple narratives, and spreads out the guilt enough to make most characters interesting. It would also give Mary more of a presence and add in the possibility of her being an accomplice (which I would love), and firmly sets Nancy at odds with three-fourths of the cast.

I’d also include Bess and George more heavily in the game. Since they handle the beginning of the Charleena Purcell line already, I’d have that whole storyline shifted over to them. You play as either Bess or George finding the novel, calling Nancy, and taking the lead to wheedle their way in past Charleena’s assistant (definitely a Bess-type job, but George attempting it would be hilarious with Bess whispering instructions) and get the information Nancy needs. The airport itself would be easy enough to limit to a small explorable area, and HER could even pass the contacting Ed and Bet to their actual nieces.

These changes would expand the game slightly and add to the runtime, but it would also help SHA to be even more of a landmark game and to be an appropriate end to the era of Expanded Games.

[be-dazzled]

#TheVampireTales, #VampireGruvia, #TVT FFnet link: Click here

Disclaimer: Fairy Tail and its characters belong to the original author and illustrator, Hiro Mashima. I do not own any rights to the franchise nor am I, in any way, associated with it. People, places or events appearing in this story are all fictional.

Oh, simple things where have you gone?

I came across an empty land

             Dark. Terrifying. Forbidding.

             The entryway to the Forbidden Forest promised all sorts of danger and all sorts of darkness. The trees that bordered the lot lined in a battle formation; much like of soldiers ready for war. Keeping strangers out or maybe keeping something in.

             But the deep blue eyes glaring at the entryway remained unfazed. Dark, terrifying and forbidding. Yet, that never stopped Juvia Lockser, daughter of the King of the East, heiress to the Lockser throne, from braving into the Forbidden Forest. Because at the heart of the infamous woods was her haven.

             Juvia walked down the earthy path. The eerie breeze of the cold September night kept her company. The legends of the woods kept civilization at bay. No lampposts. No houses. If the forest had ever been inhabited, there was no single sign of it. Only trees and wild shrubs covered the earth of the forest.

             Juvia’s trained eyes gathered the littlest of light which would have been invisible to human eyes. She could see everything clearly in the portion of the forest the light could not reach. She was also highly aware of everything – the gust of wind, the crackle of fallen leaves, and the flow of blood in the veins of the forest dwellers.

 I knew the pathway like the back of my hand

             Dried leaves and abandoned twigs broke beneath her weight. The crisp sound reverberated hauntingly all around her. She heard every movement, even the slightest, even her own. They rung in her ears. Until, they faded into the blackness of the night.

 I came across a fallen tree

             Juvia traversed the Forbidden Forest by memory. She has done it as long as she could remember. It became her second nature. She avoided the fallen branch without giving it so much a thought. Lately, she didn’t have control of her thoughts. They often travelled back to that fateful night she wanted to forget.

             Juvia Lockser stopped dead in her tracks. Her body froze for a split second. They were coming back to her again. No. She shook her head franticly. No. No. No. Hoping, in doing so, she could get rid of the nightmares.

             Could you call them that, even if they came during the day? Even if your eyes were open? Could you still call them nightmares?

 I felt the branches of it looking at me.

              The rhythmic sound of boots pounding against the marbled floor echoed through the halls of the North Castle. The pillars supporting the roof were heavily accented with gold, casting a golden glow on the vast expanse of Castle Dreyar. They were tall too; much so that it required effort to look up and see the grandiose painted ceiling.

             The man in royal garb crossed the empty hall towards a distant mumble. A certain air enveloped him, the kind that naturally attracts. A confidence you get for having the world in the palm of your hand. He held his head high. The man probably had the whole world at his feet. He walked with ease and familiarity. Unlike an outsider who could easily get lost in the confines of the castle. The royal turned the corners without amiss.

             Gajeel Redfox, heir to the West throne, walked with leisure towards where the noise was coming from. A faint, discordant sound humanly impossible to be heard. That was because Gajeel Redfox was not an ordinary human. He wasn’t only human.

             Gajeel followed the sound until it became clearer and more distinctive. The mumbles became a conversation; the conversation became a heated discussion. The West Prince sighed in exasperation. His brows were knitted in annoyance upon recognition. If there was one thing the raven-haired prince hated the most it was coming to the Council conclave every Tuesdays of the month.

             The Royal Guards posted outside two giant doors bowed before the Western Prince. They decided not to dwell on the off-comment made by their highness. Instead, they proceeded to open the door, let the latter in right after proper acknowledgment. Then, the two closed it behind the royal with a low thud.

             Gajeel hid a snort upon remembering where he was – the Round Table. It was a misnomer since there were no tables inside that room. Instead, lavish tall chairs were placed in a wide circle, equidistant to each other. They outlined the painting of the Royal Family integrated on the floor, right at the center of the room. A circle was fitting; it implied equality – no head, no tiers. Everyone sitting around the Round Table was of equal status. Any sign of impartiality would bring disorder in the Royal Council, something the Royal Family greatly avoided.

             The Western Prince crossed the room and towards his seat. The members of the Blue Blood Order were immersed in their own argument that they had not noticed Gajeel’s arrival. Good. He thought. In this kind of situation, it was better to stay unnoticed.

             Gajeel sunk into his assigned seat. He hated the fact that he was old enough to be mandated to attend and participate in the Council conclave. If there was one thing the Redfox heir hated more than soapy teledramas it was responsibility.

             “You’re late.”

             The prince immediately recognized the owner of the voice. He looked around to confirm whether the opposing humans had heard. They did not as they were still engrossed in their own conflict. Gajeel’s gaze landed on the beautiful woman sitting opposite him; who looked really unhappy of what she deemed as his ‘un-royal’ behavior.

             Gajeel licked his teeth and gums clean. He made sure there was no crimson stain left on them before he offered the Western Queen his infamous smirk. And his mother rolled her eyes at him in response.

             “The Selection was foul play! We refuse to accept defeat.”

             Gajeel half-listened to the exchange. He could care less.

             “With all due respect, your graces.” The King with the dark blue hair spoke. He reminded the persons present of their previous discussion on how the failure to declare a winner for the Selection would impose a much risky consequence. “It would be treading on unchartered waters, to say the least.” He stated in fact.

             “With all due respect, King Juliann.” The response coming from the bitter Lord of the Scarlet clan sounded rather contemptuous. “We are already treading on unchartered waters here; let alone dangerous.”

             The sharpness of the words of the speaker had no effect whatsoever. King Juliann, Ruler of the East Kingdom, responded matter-of-factly. The most important matter to be addressed was the burgeoning resistance in the East. It was on top of today’s agenda. It must be put to stop before it got out of control. The King of the East had a purpose and he would not be sidetracked.

             “And to think you created these whole Selection shenanigans to suppress the rebellion.” The Head of the Twelfth Family scoffed. “Newsflash Royals. It didn’t work!” He emphasized the last three words with much derision.

             Tension rose quickly in the room. The ghost of insult still hanged in the air. Gajeel knew that the comment somehow grazed the ego of the Royal Family. It did to him. He threw each of them a glance. But they were all quiet, neither surprised nor uneasy. The Royalties present were fixed on their seats donning a calm demeanor. Gajeel could not make anything of it. What were they thinking?

             He searched for the beautiful young woman with the silky white hair and found her staring at him too. They exchanged knowing looks before she nodded in agreement. Gajeel’s guarding eyes were fixed on one person. He was on his toes and so was the young woman. She read his mind and knew about his plan. They were both ready to attack if any of the pesky old men tried anything funny. If they even think about laying their hands on the woman opposite Gajeel, or any of the members of the Royal Family for that matter, no human will come out of that room alive.

              Juvia Lockser picked up a distant sound no mortal ears could. The promise of a relaxing night hurried her steps. The calm and steady sound of the falling water called for her. The aroma of stream hitting the surrounding stones tickled her nostrils. The teasing must come to an end. Her heart skipped a bit. In a blur of movement, Juvia was standing before the magnificent waterfall of the Forbidden Forest; basked in the midnight glow of the moon.

             It was truly magnificent; so much so that it surprised even Juvia how astonished she was at the sight. Just like looking at it for the first time. No beauty could compare.

             Juvia wasted no time, hurriedly undressed herself and stepped into the pool where the falling water gathered. When she reached the middle, the princess submerged herself in the waters of her haven. She sunk into the water until it reached an inch or two below her shoulders.

             The sound of the steady fall of the water lulled Juvia’s eyes to close. She threw her head back and let the magnificent water clung to her like a warm embrace. Her body gradually adapted to the ice cold water until it warmed. She let the sound of the night soothe her to sleep. All the worries and pains of the day had washed away.

             She finally rested.

              This meeting ought to be over soon thought Gajeel. He pressed his point finger on his temple in a circular motion. The scowl on his face seemed permanent. The whole room fell into silence, but the mental thoughts of the humans in the room made him dizzy. He really needed to learn to block other people’s thoughts. Sometimes, it’s fun; most of the time it’s just annoying. Just like today. It was worse than being in a swarm of people.

             Gajeel looked for the Eldest and found him sitting quietly on his grand seat – deep in thought. He did not know what was in his mind. None of the people in the room knew. But in a blink of an eye, King Makarov, the eldest of the vampire race, father of the oldest royal bloodline, was now standing in the center of the room.

             The sound of hollow gold hitting against marble rang in Gajeel’s ears. His orbs widened as he watched the rings hit and bounced off the floor. The prince easily recognized them; the resurrection rings belonged to the thirteen members of the Blue Blood Order.

             “Now…”

             In the silenced room, the voice of the Eldest resonated.

             “It seems like we are losing our decorum.”

             Without looking, Gajeel could tell that the implication of the Eldest’s sudden interference had reached the members of the Blue Blood Order. They understood quite well the meaning between the lines.

             “We are faster, stronger than all of you combined.”

             As the name implies, the ring allowed the wearer to survive death and come back to life. It was the Eldest who gifted the enchanted rings to the heads of each clan; passed it down from generation to generation. Makarov wanted to give them protection from their enemies and the enemies of the throne – be it humans or vampires. So, without those rings the humans stood no chance against the Royal Family. In a snap of a finger, the royal vampires could ravage the mortals; drain them of their blood, killing them in an instant.

             “Do we need to recheck our loyalty to the Royal Family?” It was more of a threat than a reminder.

             “No, your highness.”

             The nobles answered in unison; they bowed their heads in defeat. But their words betrayed their own feelings. Contempt was undeniably present in each member of the Blue Blood Order. The nervous tension tightened and clenched their jaws. Their eyes brimmed with suppressed anger. The eyes, they said, were the windows to the soul.

             “Alright, then. Let’s get back to our discussion.”

             Makarov Dreyar was not the kind to flaunt his power and influence. The older the vampire was the stronger he becomes, and as the oldest and strongest vampire living in this world, Makarov possessed immense power. One that remained unsurpassed to this day. He was stronger, faster and was at the peak of his capabilities. But he was never one to show-off. Yet, when the situation called for it, the Eldest never disappoints. The humans needed to be reminded to whom they were dealing with.

             Point for vampires; none for the humans.

             Gajeel was sure the pesky old men would love to punch the smug off his face. He wanted to see them try.

              Juvia’s body instinctively leaped and resurfaced above water. She gasped for air; her lungs burned, hungry for oxygen. As soon as she inhaled enough air her breathing evened.

             Tussles of blue wet hair clung to her somber face. Cold water dripped down her forehead, to her burning cheeks, the hollow of her throat, on the mounds of her chest and disappeared around her waistline and back into the water. Droplets stuck on her long lashes blurred her vision. Juvia brushed them away with her open palm.

             The water was cold, almost freezing. Her body, however, had easily adapted to the temperature. She was neither too cold nor too hot. One of the many gifts of being a vampire. Yet, as she possessed the gifts of the undead, she was part human. A human that feels everything around her – sensations, warmth, compassion, love and pain. She hated it. Juvia hated it now more than ever. Emotion was a double-edged sword and the ability to feel was both a gift and a curse.

             Juvia swam towards the rock formation skirting the waterfalls. She hid her pliant body behind one of the large rocks scattered around the pool where water fell and gathered. Her blue detached eyes stared at a distance. The mellow waves rocked the princess so gently she did not even notice. Or it was probably because her mind was somewhere else.

             The princess submerged her body just beneath the surface of the water. She began to feel that familiar feeling weighed down on her again.

             Breathe, Juvia. She told herself.

             Breathe.

           The weight started to suffocate her.

             Breathe! She scolded herself. The air around her grew thinner by the moment. Juvia shut her eyes close. Realizing a little too late that it was the worst decision she made that night. Because as soon as darkness overcame her, Juvia fell into the dreadful loop that imprisoned her for the last few months.

             Juvia held on the edge of the rock she was leaning against; the events of that fateful night overwhelmed her. The memories played in her mind like a vivid reel of film, each picture clearer than the last. She gripped the rock’s sharp edges too tight that she did not feel them wounding her. Only when the water made contact to the cut that she felt the stab of pain, forcing her eyes open.

             Juvia withdrew her wounded hands out of the water. They bled so profusely that some of them spilled over; the crimson ink spread all over the clean blue water. She watched her hands tremble while her breath caught up in her throat.

             Vampires had the ability to quickly heal themselves. Juvia, bearing half of that blood, was gifted with the same ability. The cut on her hands healed on their own, in a non-human pace, and left no trace of its existence. Then the crimson fluid on Juvia’s hands darkened and thickened. The sight gripped her heart. It wasn’t her blood anymore. It was Trevor’s.

             The dark weight finally unfurled in her heart and spread all throughout her being, devouring her. She had no strength to stand against the surging emotions flooding her now. Let alone the energy to pull the heavy weight back to where it came from. It was inescapable.

             Please, make it stop.

             Juvia was so consumed of the pain that she did not sense the change in the pool caused by a new weight. She did not sense the gentle wave pushing towards her.

 Oh simple things where have you gone?

             A warm pair of hands clasped her tainted ones; stained with the blood of an innocent man. A man she actually cared about. The princess raised her gaze to the owner of the warm hands and met the empathizing eyes of her mother, the Queen.

             Juvia lost all strength. Her body caved to gravity. She was tired; of hiding, of fighting, of losing. Finally, she succumbed to the pain that was eating at her in the past few months. The princess let her body fall into the consoling arms of Queen Victoria.

 I’m getting older and I need something to rely on.

A/N: HEEEEEEY what’s up world? I’m baaaaack. I sound drunk, don’t I? Well, I’m back with a new (not really new but more like the original) story for The Vampire Tales series. It’s been more than 2 years. That was loooooong. Anyways, I’m treating the first TVT as a prequel and will pick that up soon once I can focus on it. It was hard to write since there’s a lot of fight scenes and I’m really not good with writing one.

So, please support me all the way. Toddles! 

[loversword]

“Our color is purple, or lavender,“ my first lover affirmed, intensely whispering to my avid and puzzled young ears the forbidden litany of who we were or might be. "No one knows why this is, it just is,” handsome Vonnie said […]. Well, Vonnie, teaching-lover, here I am now so many years and such a distance later trying to fill out a picture from the shadow you passed on to me, an opera from the little whistled melody you first gave me with such curiosity and eagerness.

Even in [late 1950s Texas,] that wasteland of human relationships and social rigidity, where we had to be so utterly secretive about so much, even in that walk-on-eggs place we knew at least five other “out" Lesbians. We had a secret Gay culture. We knew about the color purple. We knew that purple was our special color, though we did not know what this meant. We did not wear purple or collect purple objects or […] carry bunches of violets; we had no purple flags. We simply repeated what our lovers had told us their lovers had told them: purple or lavender is the Gay color. […]

The connections between purple and ancient Gay stories and traditions indicate that it has considerably more significance than simply a mixture of “female red” and “male blue” colors. […] The claim Gay culture has to the color purple is not a recent innovation. [E]ven if no other Gay trait had lasted through the ages of history to identify Gayness, purple alone would be a clear statement of the great antiquity of Gay culture. […]

“Pansy" is a derogatory name applied to men who are a bit swishy, especially by straight men who want to believe that they themselves are stiff and upright. ln Shakespeare’s play about mixed identities, A Midsummer Night’s Dream, the Fairy-King Oberon sends the Fairy, Puck, on a special mission to gather a magic purple flower that changes a person’s sexual inclinations: “The juice of it on sleeping eyelids laid, / Will make or man or woman madly dote / Upon the next live creature that it sees.” The flower Puck gathered was the pansy.

Violets, which are related to pansies (both are in the viola family) were worn by both men and women in sixteenth-century England to indicate that they did not intend to marry.

Pansy is also one of the names suggested for the purple flower that sprang from the blood of a male lover whom one of the Gayest of the Greek gods, Apollo, accidentally struck dead. “Love lies bleeding” is another name for the pansy and also for the purple-and-crimson-flowered amaranth, sacred to Artemis at her Ephesian shrine… The name amaranth came from the Greek unwithering and signified immortality.

[…] The origin of the [purple amethyst]’s name is told in a basic Lesbian warrior rescue story involving the goddess Diana [/ Artemis]. One day, in a bad temper, [the Roman god of wine, Bacchus,] decreed that the next person to cross his path would be devoured alive by wild tigers. Meanwhile, one of Diana’s many worshipers, who were almost always women, was on her way to the shrine to pay her respects to the goddess. She was a lovely, clear, and rather colorless maiden named Amethyst. Seeing her cross the drunken wine god’s path, and knowing what he had vowed to do, Diana intervened before the tigers could begin their merciless attack, [and] turned the young Amethyst into a pillar of colorless quartz. When Bacchus sobered up, he regretted his harsh, vindictive edict and the permanent mineral state into which the once-living woman had been frozen. Using his own magic, he spilled wine over the pale Amethyst-stone, giving it a lovely, rich lavender hue. […]

In the precious remnants [of her poems, Sappho] made seven references to the color purple, five to violets or ”violet-colored,” and two to purple hyacinths. Love, she said, wore a purple mantle. Describing something beautiful but overlooked, Sappho wrote, ”Like a hyacinth in / the mountains, trampled / by the shepherds until / only a purple stain / remains on the ground.” Sappho’s contemporary Alkaios, a male poet, described her as violet-haired,“ and Sappho’s poetry mentions, among other flowers and herbs, the violet tiaras she and her lovers made for one another as part of the love of life they shared.

Purple also appears in the oldest known poem that explicitly records the use of the word Lesbian as a reference to a woman who loves other women and not just to a native of the island of Lesbos. Living a generation after Sappho, Anacreon described an attractive Lesbian he wanted for himself: “Golden-haired love strikes me again / with a purple ball, and calls on me to play / with a motley-sandled girl. But she, / for she comes from well-built Lesbos, / finds fault with my hair, for it is white, / and gapes after another girl.” […]

As the overt remnants of the older woman-directed ways such as the Old Religion of Europe were increasingly suppressed, overthrown, and driven underground by wave after wave of patriarchal domination, masculine religion, and militarism, Gay culture was also forced underground. The half-secret acknowledgment of lavender as the sacred color associated with Gayness was submerged into veiled mythological stories or the simple memory of purple as the “Gay color” passed on through secret Gay culture networks of lovers and friends. […]

[Audre Lorde kindly took the time to tell me more about Oya and the other Orisha of the Yoruba / Macumba religion.] Many of the Black peoples of the South and North American continents brought their African religions, arts, and sciences with them, sustaining them as best they could in secret, in a covert or barely veiled underground in spite of monumental attempts by the white slave owners to utterly suppress the powerful cultures. The Yoruba religion of West Africa survived in the southern United States, the West Indies, and South America, where it is known as Macumba. It is a pantheistic religion (having many gods and spirits, rather than one primary one). For protection, its practitioners often cover it with a thin veneer of Catholicism. This living religion […] includes a powerful trilogy of goddesses. The oldest is Lemania, the Great Ocean; the youngest sister is Oshun, whose provinces are clear rivers and streams and whose attributes are beauty and grace. The middle of the three is a warrior and storm goddess who appears (through the offices of mediums at spiritual meetings) wearing men’s clothing and carrying weapons. Her name is Oya, and her special color is purple. […]

The sources of this underground [gay culture] have apparently been numerous, […] found in any stratum of contemporary society, whether upper~class Gay people or lower-class, urban or rural, religious or pagan or atheist, professional or blue collar, secretary or street person, bohemian artist or business executive. In all its strata the Gay underground knows that its traditional color is purple.

— Judy Grahn, Another Mother Tongue: Gay Words, Gay Worlds

[available on openlibrary]

[sugaabooga]

Beauty and the Beast | 5

Chapter 4- Chapter 5 - Chapter 6

Pairing: Jimin x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst, PG-13

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: mentions of blood, wolves, creepy woods

Synopsis: The cocky Prince Jimin is cursed into a beast and erased from all the citizens’ minds. It just so happens that he holds hostage of your brother who accidentally found out the prince’s private living quarters. And trust me when I say, you weren’t going down without a fight.

“JUNG HOSEOK! KIM NAMJOON!”

“Shoot,” Hoseok shares a nervous glance with Namjoon.

“Whose idea was it!?” Jimin bolts into the kitchen and glares at the two friends.

“Jimin. I just want you to know,” Namjoon starts to say. “I had no part in this. It was all Hobi’s idea.”

“Hey!” Hoseok gasps.

“I heard from Jin that one of you two was preparing her dinner. AND WANTED ME TO ASK HER!?”

“We thought you may enjoy the company,” Hoseok cautiously adds in.

“AND YOU GAVE HER A ROOM!?”

“There are way too many empty rooms in this castle,” Namjoon states.

“I don’t care!” Jimin growls.

“Use this dinner to show your charms!” Hoseok excitedly says.

Jimin scoffs. “Charms, my butt. Her brother is a thief!”

“Her brother doesn’t determine her personality, Park Jimin,” Jin rolls into the kitchen with Taehyung by his side. “I told you this earlier. Why are you so surprised about it?”

“I-”

“Just go.” Taehyung rolls his eyes. “She’s nice.”

Jimin’s lips turn into a firm line.

“And pretty,” Taehyung sheepishly adds.

As you continued to tie the hundreds of ribbons together, you heard a series of knocks on your bedroom door.

“Uh. Y/N?”

Was that Jimin?

“Would you like to join me for dinner?” his gruff voice asks reluctantly. “It’s not a question.”

You roll your eyes. 

“Just when I thought he was becoming a bit friendlier,” you mumble, clearly hearing the hostility.

"NO THANKS!" you shout.

Jimin grumbles under his breath. You attempt to cover your ears when Jimin starts to pound on the wooden doors.

"Aish," you curse under your breath. "I said, I do NOT want to eat!"

Jin, Namjoon, and Hoseok start to sense Jimin’s temper rising.

"If you don't eat, that's even better for me! I wouldn't want to eat seeing your face. Just thinking of eating under the same roof with you disgusts me! STARVE FOR ALL I CARE! YOU BETTER NOT COME DOWN! I SWEAR IF I SEE YOU IN THE KITCHEN...!"

You roll your eyes at his empty threats. You stand up with your teeth clenched.

“DON’T YOU WORRY! I WON’T BE GOING DOWNSTAIRS UNTIL THE DAY I LEAVE THIS PLACE!” 

You fall face-first into your pillow and try to muffle Jimin’s loud stomps.

Jimin huffs and glares at his friends as he arrives on the first floor. “I TOLD YOU!”

Jimin’s steps get faster as he grows more and more annoyed at the way you rejected to eat with him. Was he that disgusting?

He slows down his steps and takes a deep breath as he takes a seat next to the enchanted rose. He stares at the fallen rose petals and closes his eyes in frustration.

“Why is this so hard?” Jimin picks up his mirror that was also enchanted. He could ask to see something that was anywhere in this world. Jimin commands it. “Show me the girl.”

In the mirror, Jimin could see you on your bed, under the covers, your arms around your knees. His eyes soften and regret fills him.

He lowers the mirror and looks at the rose with a hopeless expression.

Then a petal falls.

Jimin closes his eyes and leans back on his bed. He can hear the stones of the tower falling to the ground. The whole castle shakes and his friends know.

Another petal has fallen.

\\

“I’m getting rustier and rustier every single day,” Hoseok sighs quietly.

“I’m just-” Namjoon is interrupted by his clock hands moving all around his face, making him dizzy. “Ooph. That was weird.”

“Guys. You need to chill. We have time,” Jin assures them. “Jimin is an outgoing person. He’ll be able to talk to her soon.”

“Hey, hyung?” Taehyung looks at Jin with sad eyes. “Am I going to be able to be a boy again?”

Jin smiles encouragingly. “Of course. We’ll just have to wait.”

\\

When you’re sure Jimin has left, you get back to tying the ribbons and see if they are enough to lower yourself from the tower.

It was not.

You sigh. You rub your stomach after you hear it growl angrily.

“Hey Y/N.”

You look up, slightly startled, to see Youngjae awake from his nap.

“Hmm?” you ask.

“You should go eat. Jimin is probably done with his dinner anyway.”

You smile at his kindness. “Alright.”

You open the door and peek your head out into the hallway.

No one was there.

You tip-toe out and gently close the door, careful to not make any noise. You are surprised to see that it wasn’t as confusing to get downstairs. There weren’t any complicated turns or several different hallways.

You find yourself at the bottom of the stairs that you first saw when you first came into the castle.

“Princess?” a voice calls out, startling you.

“Ack!” you fall backward and brace yourself for the fall when some type of hook brings you back up to your feet.

“Sorry!” the voice winces.

“It’s okay,” you smile, dusting off your skirt. You look up to see a coat hanger. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Mingyu. You are Y/N?”

“Yup. I was wondering if I could eat something,” you say while looking down. You really did not want to be a burden. You weren’t even a visitor. You were a prisoner.

“Of course! JIN HYUNG!” Mingyu calls out.

You look to your left as the sound of the wheels of the cart comes nearer.

“Oh. Y/N! Come, come. Your dinner is ready,” Jin smiles.

“Bye Y/N!” Mingyu waves his hook. You smile in response.

Jin looks up at you while leading you to the dining table. “I’m really sorry about Jimin earlier. He can lose his temper quite easily.”

“It’s fine. It was my fault for angering him, I guess.”

Jin smiles. “Well, enjoy your dinner.”

The doors open to the dining table and you gape. You have never seen so much food ever in your whole life.

There were appetizers, entrees, sides, desserts, fruit, drinks. You name it.

It was all there.

“Y/N! Eat up!” Hoseok says as you sit down in the seat at the end of the table.

“We have prepared entertainment for you while you enjoy your food!”

You smile in glee and pile food onto your plate as Hoseok and the rest of the moving objects in the castle prepare for the show.

The whole time, during your dinner, you watch Hoseok dance to pop music, the piano named Yoongi rap with Namjoon as he easily plays difficult rhythms and chords, Taehyung sing a ballad, Mingyu act in a skit with Jin, and at the end, all of them sing a short song they made to welcome you.

It was the most entertaining dinner you had ever had. It made you forget where you were and what kind of situation you were in. All your worries were gone, just like that.

After dinner, you walk to the stairs leading to your room while chatting with Jin.

“He isn’t that bad when you get to know him. First impressions….Aren’t very good with him.”

“It’s just a bit... scary,” you sigh. Jin hums in understanding.

“I know how you feel, but don’t worry. Your brother will be safe and you will be out of here before you know it. During the time you are here, we’ll make sure to make you feel like you are at home.”

“Thanks,” you grin. Before the two of you can separate, you cautiously ask Jin about the west wing that Hoseok and Namjoon had seemed a bit unsure of.

Jin freezes for a second and gives you a stern look. “Don’t go in there okay? It’s off-limits.” 

“Alright,” you say despite the slight disappointment settling in. “Good night, then.”

“Good night,” Jin grins, wheeling away.

You proceed to go up the stairs and pause to turn around to check if Jin was gone or not.

You were visiting a castle, whether the circumstance was good or bad. You should take it to advantage. When else would you have a chance to come to a castle?

Plus, your curiosity always got the best of you.

After triple-checking if Jin was gone, you dashed over to the opposite set of stairs and hurried up. When you got to the top, you found another type of the large, tall doors in the castle.

Should I go in?

You took a deep breath and turned the knob. To your surprise, it opened. If it was so secret and forbidden to go in, why wasn’t it locked?

You were half expecting some type of small room with bookcases that would hide a secret entrance to a room of some sort. Maybe there were hidden treasures or some kind of enchanted, curse-ridden object.

You were definitely not expected a large room that seemed almost as normal as any other room except that it was exceptionally big.

There was a huge bed, several drawers and stands, and a few meters away, you spot a rose in a case.

Huh. Why is there a rose in the middle of the room?

You took small but curious steps towards the case on the round table. You looked back one more time, a bit afraid someone would catch you.

You stepped up the small step and leaned forward to see the rose almost seeming to glow under the moonlight. It was standing up, perfectly still by itself and almost sparkling. However, there were dead, withered petals under the floating rose.

You reach forward for the case that was protecting the rose from the air outside it. As you lift the case you hear footsteps that start to get louder and louder. Before you can turn around, a hand grabs onto your shoulder and harshly flings you backward, the lid encasing the rose falling to the ground.

“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING!?” Jimin roars.

You widen your eyes at his sudden appearance. He grabs the lid and roughly places it over the rose and turns around to face you.

“GET OUT!”

“Ji-”

“I SAID, GET OUT!”

You stumble backward and run out of the room, not looking back. You run down the stairs as quickly as your feet could move and barely notice Hoseok and Namjoon on the ground by your feet, desperately trying to stop you from running out, but they were too busy trying to get out of your way inc case you stepped on them that they couldn’t stop you.

As soon as you got outside, the first thing you realized was the drop in temperature. You ignored the cold as best as you could and swung your leg over your horse that had stayed with you for the past two days.

You were getting out of here. You couldn’t believe it. 

Escastic, you hurriedly snapped the reins and Hoshi took off. You finally felt some hope in going back to the village.

You enter the woods, slightly creeped out by the towering darkness and feel like eyes were watching you.

You try your best to shake off this feeling when you spot red dots surrounding you. You stop your horse, turning this way and that. Once you hear low growling noises, you shout, Hoshi taking off in rigor.

But the wolves were ahead of you. A pack of wolves skid to a stop in front of your path as fear strikes you frozen.

Hoshi tries to jump over the wolves or go around them, but there were too many. You jump down from Hoshi’s back, regaining your confidence, but realize it was worse. The wolves were so much closer.

Is this how I die?

Your eyes desperately searched for anything you could use to get away or fend off the wolves. You spot a branch sticking out from under the rock and yank it out. You swing with all your might towards the wolves and spin around with the stick like a sword.

“Get away!” you cry. You swing the branch again, but this time a wolf bites onto it and throws it out of your hand, leaving you defenseless.

Bye world. This is how Y/N Y/L/N dies.

You brace yourself for the attack from the wolf that leaps towards you with fangs showing, your legs giving out and body flailing back. Just as it seems to bite your head off, a black blob jumps in front of you and flings itself, with the wolf, away from you.

“Y/N! Run!”

It’s Jimin.

You quickly react by picking up the branch and hitting several of the wolves. Suddenly, you realized none of the wolves were near you. You look around in panic and see Jimin being surrounded by them.

“JIMIN!” you scream as they jump him. You run towards him and see how Jimin’s losing his energy and strength. He was probably wounded too.

“WHY ARE YOU WOLVES SO FREAKIN PERSISTENT!” you beat the wolves with your branch with all the strength you have left.

You fall back when Jimin suddenly stands up and throws the wolves over the trees like they’re baseballs. When the last of the wolves skitter off, Jimin looks at you with a small smile on his face, then collapses on the ground.

“Jimin!” you crawl over his figure and notice that he’s still breathing. You let out a breath of relief and gently shake him back to half-consciousness.

“Let’s go back home, okay? Can you stand up? I’ll have to make Hoshi carry you.”

Jimin barely nods. With your help, Jimin stands up and gets onto your horse. By the time you’re at the castle, you’re panting from the weight you had to carry along.

You spot Namjoon and Hoseok in front of the castle doors. They see Jimin’s condition and rush to your side to help you.

They don’t ask you what happened or why you ran off, expecting an explanation later.

Almost all the enchanted furniture and objects help you take Jimin up to his room where Jin was already in, prepared with hot tea and a wet towel to take care of Jimin.

As you tend to Jimin’s wounds, Jin sits next to you, occasionally instructing you to do something differently or to soak the towel in the water again.

“Y/N,” Jin’s gentle voice brings you to look away from Jimin’s figure and to Jin.

Jin takes a deep breath and asks carefully. “Is it okay if I can know what happened? Why’d you run away?” 

“I….” you pause.

Wasn’t it obvious? You wanted to go back home. Then. . . why are you back?

“Just...Jimin just yelled at me,” you almost scoffed at how childish you sounded like. It was true you were startled by his sudden yelling and chaotic seeming mind. For now, it was the only answer you could think of.

Jin chuckles softly. “Did you get ambushed by wolves?”

You look up in surprise. “How’d you know?”

“I mean, Jimin just ran off out the doors a little after you did and when I asked him what was wrong he just said something about those ‘damn little grey pups.’”

You laugh softly and fix your eyes on the asleep Jimin. 

“He cares for you, Y/N,” Jin says with a somewhat shaky voice.

You look over at Jin in slight surprise and silently nod as the teapot turns his back to you.

You sigh, gently grasping Jimin’s giant hand.

[noble-pro]

Vietnam Trail Marathon 70km - The Inaugural Edition

The Vietnam Trail Marathon was in its inaugural edition. The team already organised the Vietnam Mountain Marathon and the Jungle Marathon so were experienced in race directing. Nonetheless I didn’t expect such a quality show. We landed at 05:30hrs and got a taxi into Hanoi were we collected our race bibs. From there it was an organised bus ride 5hours to the north west. Destination Moc Chau. Moc Chau reminded me of a mountain resort but with a rather misplaced corporate luxury hotel in the middle of it. The race brief was amidst a performance of local traditional dance. It felt very patriotic as they displayed what was good about their province including dancing around with pictures of milk urn, it was very colourful and jovial. Buffet dinner with lots of sticky rice, spring rolls and noodles and then bed. The alarm was set for 2.30am. It was 8.30pm in the UK so on getting up it felt like I definitely wanted to be heading to bed but typically I woke before the alarm thinking ‘oh god I’ve overslept’. However, pre race routine kicks in and I headed towards the kettle for a coffee and bowl of oats. The bus left at 3am and the race started at 4am. It was warm to me coming from a British winter but all the locals were really wrapped up in coats and gloves. They kept touching me and asking me why I wasn’t cold! Moc Chau is an area famous in Vietnam for its tea plantations and peach blossom. The race took place at the height of the peach blossom season so people were bringing the trees into their homes for lunar new year. Mopeds with trees attached to them flooded the roads. This race took my breath away. Running through the dark for the first 2hours or was over pretty technical terrain. I used the LED Lenser SEO 7R.  As the darkness lifted I was amazed to see what I was running through. We climbed up to a plateau in the dark on a technical single track. It was humid so the rocks were slippery and everytime I reached to grasp something for balance it was thorny and spiky. The plateau revealed small villages that no car can access. They were so deeply hidden in rugged terrain with no running water or electricity. However the people did have plenty of energy as they tended their crops and smiled and waved. The children ran along side laughing which was a very precious experience. The trails weaving through the landscape changed from jungle like with roots and vines that tangled between your feet to rural farms with cows, buffalo and pigs to flower fields, tea plantations and blossom orchards. However the think sticky mud didn’t change – it was so slidey and hard to move through. One French runner lost the sole of his Hoka Shoes and so had to finish the last 30km with just the uppers of his shoes held onto his feet by socks worn over the top. My race was made because of the scenery. I had no expectations. I felt pretty rotten from the beginning. I had done 3 weeks of decent running but nothing over 4hrs or 20miles. Then 10days of being ill and then a week limping about on my sore foot hoping it would hold up to the rigours of 70km. My body clock wasn’t sure if I should be sleeping or whether breakfast was appropriate. I felt nauseous especially as the sun came up and the humidity rose. My foot was really sore (long standing issue I manage). I guess it’s fair to say I wasn’t feeling the love for ultra-running. In hindsight I had arrived in Vietnam after a really tiring and stressful 3 or so months so not sure I was in the most optimal condition but whinging (even to myself) in a place like this was totally ridiculous. I resolved to just make sure I would do my best. The race continued up and down slipping and sliding over its 3645m and I kept pushing on needing to see more beautiful scenery. The race was superbly marked and although I ran alone I never felt unsafe. I was pleased to finish I must admit. 9hrs 37mins. 1st female. 5th overall. It took a few hours to stop feeling sick but the sun shone and lying prone in a tea plantation was delightfully relaxing. The people were so friendly. I mingled amongst runners and traditionally dressed locals. I felt a bit like a giant at times. I was delighted to win a wooden water buffalo having said hello to so many on route. It was a great day for many reasons. I’d been able to run in one of the most beautiful places in the world; to help put things into perspective; Jon won his age group in the 21km race; the sun shone and I met more new friends. 3 days relaxing afterwards was spent kayaking, swimming, cave exploring all in Ha Long Bay. The name Hạ Long means ‘descending dragon’ and it’s a UNESCO World Heritage site. The bay features about 2000 limestone islets in an area around 1,553 km2.  The limestone has gone through 500 million years of formation with tectonic influenced plate activity, rain and humidity shaping the topography of the area. Heading back to the chaos of Hanoi was quite a contrast. The red on the traffic lights doesn’t mean red! Just cross with confidence apparently and you’ll be dodged! There was weasel coffee to be tried- the weasel eats the coffee cherries, partially digests  the coffee beans, poos them out where they are collected, cleaned, dried and roasted. Following the French invasion in the 1800s, coffee was introduced into Vietnam, but was considered a luxury so only the French colonists along with Nguyen dynasty’s nobles could drink it. The farmers were forbidden from consuming it therefore the only way to drink it was to pick up the Weasel poo which was a block of coffee beans sticking together. They soon discovered it was more aromatic, smoother and less bitter. With time before leaving the country for the 11hour flight home there was also time for a Vietnamese massage which was a whole body experience. Lots of pressure, clicks and cracks! An amazing place! So many experiences. The trip contrasted; from being physically demanding in the mountains motivated by the people and breathtaking landscape; and yet mentally relaxing with the time on the ocean. Thank you to the race organisers and as always to all my sponsors. SCOTT Running, KOMFUEL, Led Lenser UK, Beta- running, Rocktape, Squirrel Nut Butter, Coffee Buddies, & Symprove.   Read the full article

[greyknighterotica]

So since there are leaks and it’s no longer fun, here is my final GoT predictions thread for season 7 (but also season 8).

I’m not going to go into it much because, again, leaks have made it not fun for me. There’s no way for these predictions to be seen as earnest or from me anymore so, here we go with minimal reasoning, final GoT predictions for quite some time maybe ever depending on how season 7 shakes out and how right/wrong I am.

HERE WE GO SPOILERS

Citadel Under Siege  

The Citadel is either the target of The Night King and his army or it is attacked by a few people from within (much more likely). The citadel will go up in flames and I predict there will be a great deal of undeath/wights. This will columinate when Sam has to go down into the forbidden section of the library between the two columns and face the undeath 

Aftermath -  Grand/Arch/First Female in the citadel Maester Gilly. Head of studies and reading, Sam. Dragonglass as the hidden component of valyrian steel is revealed. The Citadel’s ‘knowledge’ is mostly lost, but Gilly leads enough maesters to survive that they can start over. All her learning to read and survive sieges/PTSD beyond the wall makes her the best leader in earnestness, it’s not fan service. Gilly and Sam survive The Song.

The North Forgot

The North forgot, long ago, what it was supposed to be remembering. That the First men (not many left but Starks, some people in the Vale, some Mormonts) and the children of the forest had a war. A big one. One that changed a single continent into two, Westeros and Essos (West and East, from before when they were one). 

The war itself wasn’t the big deal, wars happen. IT’s what happened in the war. First men died. Their corpses could be resurrected. The war hurt them both. They put their differences aside, pushed back the first Night King (not the same one as now, at least in body). and when they combined forces undeath stood no chance, a wall was build, the Age of Heroes began and lasted until the Andals (think vikings invading England in the 800-1100 years) invaded and the first men had to become less “Barbaric” and embrace the new ways.

Big Reveals - Westeros and Essos were one land. The Children of the forest use weirwoods/Godswoods and greenmagic to communicate with the first men. Some first men, who didn’t interbred with the Andals and later Valyrians have green-blood in them and can “warg” with it, which is a hybrid human/children of the forest power.

I’m not sure where this is going to go, but my theory is there’s a big, green site that The Night King wants to get to, similar to what we saw beyond the wall. Likely under a sept or fort. It’s huge, it’s got vines and Brann can plug into it and amplify his power by a factor of 100. It will allow him to truly become Three Eyed Raven, an entity that no longer sees in place or time, but what all the Three Eyed Ravens have seen and will see, along with the godswoods and their faces. It will allow Brann to see/commune/find the final answer to the NK and his voice.

Magic Never Left

This one took me awhile. I couldn’t figure out dragons. Probably because I spent the first book not believing in them at all. Dire wolves or giants either. 

But they kept saying what magic was. I just wasn’t listening. I understand it’s rules, the basic ones at least. More or less? There are at least three “magical” races walking around, likely more. They are Dragons, The Giants and Dire Wolves.

Giants were made by the Children of the Forrest, likely after White Walkers went wrong (they made those too, but White Walkers got a king and started making their own). Or maybe before. But Giants are literally shock troops made by olden types. Dragons are literally magic made by old Valyrian “fire mages.” That’s what a “Fire mage” was. Someone who made dragons out of magic. I don’t know how. The “Doom” of Valyria is about fire magic going wrong, the same way I imagine it did way back when the first men were using it and exploded the middle area between Essos and Westeros. 

Predictions - First Men made Direwolves, Children made Giants, Valyrians made dragons. All of these things are magical conduits, that are not only made of magic, but react to it, amplify it. There are certain bloodlines that have a lot more power than other, likely because of breeding long before some things did or did not happen.

Whatmore, first men? Because they have the greenblood in them? Are immune to what I’m about to talk about next. The Andals are mostly interbred with the First Men so they are innoculated or there’s a herd immunity thing going on. But Valyrians? Targereans? They...they don’t have green blood. They’re still high on their own magic supply. Which means they hear...

Side note because it’s too much fun? There will be a Kraken. A Levithan of some sort. Euron knows it. That’s what he found before he came back. He foudn a way to find it, summon it. It’s his ace in the hole. It turns the two way fight into a three way fight which is why Davos/Reek/Salador go pirate on his flagship to rescue Yara and prolly one other major bloodline, mebbe Gendry as the last Baratheon, because the final bloodrites can go on.

The Corrupting Voice

King’s Landing is a shitty dry-dock built a few hundred years ago. It was built then because the Targereans never gave a shit about anything west until their empire fell. Then one of them, RIGHT AFTER THEIR EMPIRE FELL, had a dream that said to go to dragonstone.To take your dragons to dragonstone.

Where there is dragonglass.

The thing is, this is the one part of the story I can’t figure out. If that was a good guy or a bad guy who told her to do that in a dream. And then I realized, it didn’t matter, because SOMEONE was telling her to do it. And it was either the best or worst thing to happen to everyone in Westeros. Which means...

There is a dark inversion to Brann’s power, which is NOT going back in time. It’s reaching into people’s minds. He cannot alter the past, but he CAN speak into people’s minds from ‘beyond time.’ It’s not beyond time, it’s part of the ancient tree internet. 

The Night King can do this to. And not only can he, he has been, all long. Aegon staring into the flames screaming ‘burn them all’ was talking about the night king and the undead, who filled his head, because the NK was in him whispering paranoid thoughts through the flames. Just as Brann reached Ned with his scream, and young Ned turned, the NK can reach you too. And the less green blood you have you (for our purposes, the more Targerean) the more you can hear him.

The closer he is to you the more he can affect you.

Predictions - The NK has been corrupting Dany since she landed, Aegon and the others because they have no greenblood in them. He’s been trying to get them to waste their dragons because they can hurt him or, worse yet, he wants to get to an undead dragon. The magical power of dragons? He wants them under his control either way. And he’s coming for them. He’s making Cersei more crazy than ever “TOMMEN BETRAYED ME!” and playing both sides because all he wants is...

A Dance With Dragons

The Valyrians were the only thing that kept the Doth’Raki in check. 

The dyntasys of Westeros were the only thing keeping all out civil war in check.

There are more bodies on the field, less magical fire wielders, than ever. Which means that after a dance with dragons? No matter who wins? They loose. Because he can simply raise his hands to the sky and now he has both armies fighting for him.

Predictions - Qyburn is literally is dead before we meet him and has made a ultra-zombie. Who--still thinks he’s not on the NK’s side and why you bother me so much. 

Qyburn will either help a betrayed by Highgarden/Euron/Dorne Cersei raise the dead so she can win, or do it anyway.

Jaime will become The Queenslayer after Cersei revives the dead.

Cersei will either be undead or Jaime has to flee from the rest of undeath consuming King’s Landing (which will likely be burning as undeath consumes it). 

The NK’s armies will finally be complete. He is ready. 

The Long Night

I’m not sure what triggers it. In my mind the NK has to get somewhere of significance, but he could just reach inside a dead or dying dragon and then boom, it’s nighttime now, I wouldn’t hate that. 

But his final army is ready. 

Predictions - The NK’s final army is going to be something, I mean something. Here are just a few of the things you will see in the NK’s army.

- An undead Direwolf/Whitewalker cavalry charge 

- An entire regiment of wights with spears and swords sticking out of them, likely unsullied, like unliving porcupines.

- Heavy, heavy knights in plate that can’t be taken down or hit but shamble on.

- A single commander on the field, with the body of a beautiful man, and the head of a direwolf.

- At least one super massive fucking undead dragon fuck yeah.

The North Remembers

The first men from The Vale who Tyrion rode with in season/book 1 return. So do the Mormonts. The Starks. The Wargers and the seers. The old houses and the new. They all remember why there is a wall. Why there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. Why The Twins was built and who it was really designed to stop. 

The Children of the Forrest who have been hiding in plane sight the entire time are either long dead at this point (Melissendre, Thoros of Mir, etc) or have told everyone the secrets.

The fire isn’t good or bad. The NK doesn’t hate fire. He brings the cold because he eats the fire. The fire in you that keeps you alive, he eats it to make you a wight. The fire in you that makes you have finite life, he eats to make you a white walker. He eats the passion of your ambitions and leaves only the wants and paranoia that come along with them.

He’s a fire eater. Just like everyone else who wants dragons, who wants crowns. he’s no different. Just playing a longer game. He was, I think, an old Valyrian. I think the misdirect of the first Night King and his sacrifices with his play stranger is a reference more to Melissendre and Stannis. How a good man with good station and claim can be lead astray. To do the right things for the wrong reasons. 

Melissendre has been corrupted entirely, or was working for him all laong, but that seems like a horrible disdirect even her shock and character development the last two seasons. No, she’s from the East, like Dany. She saw what she did in the flames, like him. But unlike The Hound, she has no greenblood, and she has no doubt. So when the NK gave her visions, answers, she took them, even though she was mostly wrong. 

Or, worse yet, since MElissendre saved the Wall? The good guys just wanted her to do all that to save the wall. Didn’t care who else died. Not that they’d be wrong. Which means that all this final prediction thread is missing is.

The Hero

Storytelling has come a long way since Tolkien. There is no “principle hero” here. If you’re looking for the person who does the most good and right? Probably Sam. Once he teaches everyone how to defend against the dead and defeat them, he’ll also teach everyone how to grow wheat. At least according to the books.

But the hero that needs to be revealed and hasn’t? He’s not Jon Snow. If he is I’ll just die. If Jon Snow is the dude holdin gthe flaming sword of light to fight back the Night King? It’s just so on the nose. I’m fine with Dany going “mad” and burning him via dragon and having him not burn, fine. A-OK. But he’s not the holder of the flaming sword.

That’s The Hound.

The Hound has been the one who has trouble seeing his good, and all of his evil as self brought. A character in season 4 or 5 says to Hodor “If I were as big as you I’d rule the seven kingdoms...” and nobody says that to The Hound.

Even though The Hound is more ethical, moral and frankly good than just about anyone on the show. A “hungry dog” as the Arch Maester calls mankind, not good or bad, just being a dog.

Beric will die. Thoros too. There will be no more flaming swords. 

The Hound will either have to pick up Beric’s or Thoros’ final blessed, flaming sword.The last one by the last hidden magi.

And it’s going to be fucking awesome. 

[shockcity]

Bagginshield #7 - baking

Rating: G Summary: for the 30 Day OTP Challenge. Bilbo brings a bit of the Shire to Erebor's kitchens. Consort!Bilbo. Fluff.

Note: this is so late and I'm sorry! Holidays ugh. But hey this is super long in comparison to the others! Woot. Now...prepare to be hunger-fied (???) by excessive descriptions of delicious baked goods! And consumed by fluff. There's a lot of sugar in this, people.

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

For hobbits, the kitchen is a sacred place. It is not for guests to use, nor roam around in, nor snoop into (this includes a hobbit's pantry, which is doubly off-limits) and it isn't just a peculiar quirk, for there are sensible reasons for this rule. The most important one being that the kitchen itself serves as the birth place of their greatest accomplishment, and their most coveted gift: good food.

Breakfast. Second breakfast. Elevensies. Lunch. Tea. Dinner. Supper. And, of course, dessert.

Bilbo's speciality.

There are other logical justifications for the kitchen being verboten, which include overcrowding, the ever present threat of hyperactive faunts, and the unwanted opinions of every hobbit ever on how to make this or that. But mostly (and this was Bilbo's main argument) the kitchen was forbidden because gifts should be a surprise, and gifts of food especially.

Hobbits did not cook or bake like most races of Middle Earth. The privilege of luxury and abundance had allowed for the evolution of particular tastes and favorite foods. Elves, too, could afford to be picky; but they were creatures of moderation and preferred light and simple fair, saving their decadence for their painstaking artwork and long-winded music.

Cooking, and the mastery of it, was therefore a hobbit's area of expertise (not that anyone knew about it, for as unfriendly as hobbits were, they did not share their food with outsiders). The only race that had an inkling of their talents were the Rhûn traders from the far east, who once a year made the trek to Eriador with rare spices and extracts. The hobbits were their best customers, and usually purchased wares regardless of price, and so their patronage was worth the long, treacherous journey west.

But visiting only once a year meant that their stock of essentials like vanilla pods, cocao powder, ginger, cardamom, and cinnamon, etc etc. had to be stretched until the traders returned the next thrimidge. It was therefore common for hobbits to trade spices for favors, or give jars of it in thanks. Being frugal with precious ingredients was a constant struggle for hobbits, but Bilbo was one of the best at budgeting the use of his spices (though he was never happy about it). He was therefore ecstatic when the markets of Erebor finally reopened, and he saw that the Rhûn traders set up shop once a week. Bilbo could scarcely imagine so much excess.

"Have you ever seen anything like it?!" Bilbo exclaimed to Dori, throwing a hand out to encompass the entirety of the spice market.

"Yes," Nori answered instead. He was looking at Bilbo rather dubiously.

Dori was more on the same page. "Our spice markets were always the best in Rhovanion, historically," he said proudly. "And before that nasty business with King Thror all sorts of people would show up on highday to sell or buy – it seems that those golden days have finally returned."

They both sighed happily, and Nori turned around and left.

As they shopped, Bilbo managed to keep from purchasing every ingredient under the sun. For each spice he saw – both rare and common – corresponding recipes floated through his head and the phantom tastes and smells of the Shire were sweet on his tongue. How he missed that familiar food! And simply the act of baking, really. Feeling suddenly homesick, he told as much to Dori.

"But why don't you use the kitchens?" Dori responded, bemused. "You are free to make whatever you like, you know. The mountain is technically half yours."

Bilbo ignored that last part (because despite what people said, he was a husband, a reluctant advisor and an insufferable busybody – not a ruler) and peered at his friend skeptically.

"It isn't right, cooking in another's kitchen. I would never do anything so offensive as that."

"What nonsense is this?" Dori wanted to know. "We cooked in your kitchen the very night we met! Why– oh. Oh dear."

"Oh no, don't worry," Bilbo rushed to say, but Dori had caught on quickly, and was fast becoming inconsolable.

"We've committed a grave injustice!" he said, so loudly that a few dwarrow ambled over to gawk. "Whyever did you not say so? However did you forgive us? Oh, Mahal you should cut off our hands–"

"What? No." Bilbo shook off his confusion and touched Dori's shoulder gently. "How about I make you something in the kitchens, hmm? Then we'll call it even. Though we'll have to make sure it's alright with the head cook...."

"Stuff! Flima won't mind! Why, she'll be thrilled to learn some hobbit recipes!"

Bilbo didn't dare point out that in the Shire, the sharing of recipes was only done by close family members, and even then it sometimes went to a vote. Instead, he and Dori traipsed up and down the market, gathering everything from rock salt to chili powder. They bought bags of flour and sugar, fresh fruits, eggs, still-warm milk, and perfectly aged cheese. Bilbo even picked up a particularly well-made mixing bowl (though he would give anything for the old Baggins one) and a very expensive (but entirely worth it) bag of coffee beans.

"What will you make?" Dori asked him excitedly as they wheeled their purchases up to the royal kitchens.

"Hmm," said Bilbo, thoughtfully.

There was one more secret talent of the hobbits, but this was one that they were always eager to show off. Shirelings, and Bilbo in particular, had the ability to guess a person's favorite dessert if not the first time, then always the second, and with startling accuracy.

"You'll be a tart, I think," said Bilbo absently. He turned and looked Dori up and down. "Rhubarb."

Dori wasn't sure what this meant, but trusted that Bilbo would make him something that was, at least, edible.

It was much more than that, of course.

------

It turned out that the head cook did not mind at all if Bilbo used her kitchen. She also pointed out that it technically wasn't her kitchen at all, but rather Thorin's and therefore Bilbo's by proxy. This was gamely ignored. Flima herself was a brilliant cook, and Bilbo was truly happy to meet the dwarrowdam behind his daily meals. He mentioned to her that he would have come to meet her sooner, but hobbits simply did not go into kitchens that were not theirs, and her surprise prompted Bilbo to explain a bit about hobbit culture.

"It is our custom to give away gifts on our birth-days; like sweets, or trifles, or mathoms for the elder hobbits. I've always just given baked treats, which I'm proud to say were quite famous in the Shire," he explained.

His hands were busy whisking his flour mix of cinnamon and salt, before setting the bowl aside to take up the sugar and butter. The batch of cream cheese he had strained overnight was thick and rich, and as he added it to the bowl, Flima reached in with the tip of her finger and tasted a bit, humming in appreciation.

"Some hobbits specialize in different dishes. My mother could do anything with pastry, which she filled with meats, veg, and potatoes. She was particularly fond of stuffed mushrooms as well, but just couldn't cook them as well as my father. Now he knew the right way to cook mushrooms, let me tell you–"

Once his mixture was complete, Bilbo poured the batter into the pastry-lined pan and set to trimming the fresh rhubarb to arrange on the top of the tart. He chattered away as he worked, with Flima watching from across the tabletop and occasionally nibbling on some of his ingredients.

Initially, her presence caused him some discomfort. Only family remained in the kitchen while food was cooking, and even then, conversation was mostly saved for around the dinner table. Bilbo had fond memories of his mother and father cooking together, but this was normal by hobbit standards, considering they were married and had Bilbo to look after (it was an unwritten rule that faunts should learn their cooking and baking from their parents, so preparing meals often had educational purposes for those with children).

But Flima was not family; she was a stranger in a strange kingdom– so far away from the Shire and their customs. Perhaps the distance was part of why Bilbo didn't mind breaking the rules for Flima. Or perhaps he just liked her, and found that he really liked having company while he cooked. Whatever the reason, Bilbo's rhubarb tart came out more beautiful than it ever had, and it wasn't his imagination that Flima's presence was what made the difference.

"My word!" said Dori, when he came in to receive his gift. "It smells wonderful in here."

The sweet citrus scent of the rhubarb had taken over the kitchen, accompanied by the buttery smell of warm, fluffy pastry straight from the oven. Bilbo sprinkled powdered sugar over the top of the tart, before garnishing it with a few edible violets. He placed the dessert in front of a somewhat overwhelmed Dori, and waited.

Dori gathered a bit onto his spoon, before carefully popping it into his mouth. His face went slack with pleasure, and the ever eloquent and refined dwarf that Bilbo once knew completely disappeared as he said, "Mahal's sodding balls."

Bilbo grinned at him happily.

------

After that, Bilbo got his own corner of the kitchen, and then after that (read: when Thorin found out) a kitchen on the same floor as his rooms was built just for him (he was at first sad to leave Flima, but she simply delegated more work to her underlings and followed Bilbo upstairs). Dori was so impressed by Bilbo's tart that he demanded a variety of desserts in the days to follow. He was also quite shocked to find that though he adored the vanilla poached pears, and the lemon-raspberry tartlets Bilbo made, nothing surpassed the wonder and magnificence of that first rhubarb tart.

"But of course," Bilbo said when Dori complimented him. "Rhubarb tart is, after all, your favorite. Hobbits usually guess right on the first try anyway. Though Saradoc always succeeded in guessing correctly the second time...so often in fact that we all called him Second-try Saradoc, and you know, I think he purposely made a mistake on that first go just so he could keep the name, that charlatan–"

"What's this now?" Flima cut him off. "You can guess our favorites, can you? Alright, what am I then?"

Bilbo peered at her. "Chocolate ganache," he announced after only a moment of thought.

Of course, to prove it to her, he made a chocolate ganache. She paused on her first bite, before calmly staring up at Bilbo.

"I almost want to tease you and say that this isn't the best thing I've ever eaten in my life," she told him. "But I don't have it in me. Bilbo, this is the best thing I've ever eaten in my life."

For a while Bilbo's baking was a closely kept secret. He had his little corner of the kitchens and Dori and Flima as his very enthusiastic taste-testers. He made for them the traditional dishes of the Shire; everything from the fanciest desserts like meringue pies and the always important comfort foods, like sweet rolls (which were a favorite of faunts, especially).

"What are these again?" Flima had asked, eating two of his pastries at once.

"Cinnamon rolls," Bilbo told her. "Our little hobbits love them. They're mostly just made for children, though."

Occasionally Dwarrow would wander in and have a taste of whatever Bilbo was making (usually when he wasn't looking) but Bilbo didn't mind and they didn't bother him while he was baking, so he paid little attention either way. All was therefore peaceable and serene in the royal kitchens. Which didn't last of course, and it was Bilbo himself who revealed his gifts to the rest of the Company (and Erebor, in general) when his heartstrings were tugged by a certain mischievous dwarfling.

Now Bilbo wouldn't say it out loud, but there was a special place in his heart for Kili. The dwarf was trouble, and a bit lacking in common sense, but at heart Kili was a singularly kind and well-meaning person. He reminded Bilbo a lot of his little cousins back in the Shire, and Bilbo did miss them, so it was no wonder he'd sort of adopted Kili in their stead.

One day, when the dwarf was looking particularly down, Bilbo asked him what was wrong, and Kili very sorrowfully said that he was hungry. So Bilbo naturally whisked him off to the kitchen and made him his favorite dessert.

"W-what is this?" asked Kili, pausing for a moment. He'd been stuffing food into his face faster than anyone Bilbo had ever seen, and that included the time Rollo Boffin broke the record for the most turnovers eaten in twelve minutes. "It's...it's so good. Bilbo. Bilbo. What."

Bilbo laughed. "Chocolate. Just chocolate really. We call it a double chocolate cake in the Shire, though we rarely ever make it –we can't waste the cocoa powder, you see. But there seems to be a steady supply here in Erebor, so I've been making everything with chocolate lately. Do you like it – oof."

"Thank you," Kili said into his ear. He was holding Bilbo tight and didn't seem like he planning on letting go. "Thank you so much."

"Of course, Kili! My word, there's no need to fuss! I'm glad...hey!"

He could hear chewing close to his ear, and realized that though Kili was draped over Bilbo still, he hadn't exactly stopped eating. "Kili!"

After that, Kili told Fili and the both of them told everyone. Bilbo's corner of the kitchen was immediately besieged by the Company, who thought it was terribly unfair that Dori and Kili had got their own desserts before anyone else.

First in line had been Dwalin, who had merely stood silently in front of Bilbo's cooking counter with a betrayed look on his face.

"Oh, Dwalin, I'm sorry," Bilbo told him, twisting his hands. "But I have made you something already, you know. I baked it just this morning with you in mind."

He gestured to the taste-testing chair across from him and brought out Dwalin's dessert. On a large plate there was a good sized slab of some kind of cake bar, which was artfully covered in what looked like caramel sauce and sliced banana. Dwalin loved caramel. Dwalin loved banana. How did Bilbo know?

"What is it?" Dwalin asked, gazing at the dessert with ravenous wonder. It looked so gooey and rich and perfect that he was almost tempted not to eat it. Almost.

"We call it sticky toffee pudding," Bilbo explained, wiping his hands on a dish cloth. "But I've made it differently this time – it's more of a cookie bar than a cake."

"C-cookie?" Dwalin whispered.

Bilbo only smiled.

Next up was Ori, who Bilbo had the most fun baking for. Ori had an insatiable sweet tooth, and the more sugar something had the better. So Bilbo brought out an old Chubb rabble-rouser which called for Bilbo's favorite thing to make ever: ice cream.

Ice cream was not something dwarrow had ever come across, and its introduction into the kitchens of Erebor caused a stir like no other (the dwarf Bilbo had commissioned to build a churner for him had actually opened up a manufacturing business and was now disgustingly rich. And Bilbo, hailed as a hero for bringing this cold treat to Mahal's children, took no praise and stubbornly credited Ori's sweet tooth for its existence.)

Bilbo enlisted Kili and Fili's help in making the ice cream, and they hovered around him curiously as he worked. He started with egg yokes, salt, and three quarters of a cup of sugar (which Kili had tried to stick a wet finger in) all topped vanilla beans, which Bilbo quickly split and scraped. He then added milk and cream into a pan and put it on over the flame. After telling Fili to watch for the bubbles in the cream which said it was done, he moved to his mixing bowl and stirred the eggs, salt, sugar, and vanilla all together. Once the cream was ready, he poured some over the mixture to heat it up, whisking all the while. He put it on the hot stove to thicken up.

Bilbo summoned Kili over to the churner, having him lift it closer to the counter top. He then sent Kili and Fili down to the lower levels for the stored ice, something Bilbo reckoned would take them long enough that Bilbo could put together the other ingredients for Ori's dessert. He had already made the cake base, which consisted of squeezed oranges, flour, sugar, milk, and butter, and now took those three layers out of the pantry. Next he took his left over oranges and skinned them into thin strips, the peels curling over his hands as their heavenly citrus scent drifted into the air. He carefully preserved the peels in their little curls and turned toward the stove, where he had filled a pan with cool water. He added the orange skins in and left it to boil, before draining them of water. They went into a warm pot of syrup next, where they simmered until they became tender and sweet. Lastly, Bilbo rolled the pieces in sugar and allowed them to cool.

By this time Fili and Kili had returned with the ice. He directed them toward the churner and came over with his custard. They added the ice to the bucket and sprinkled rock salt over the top, before pouring the mixture into the middle canister. It was Fili and Kili's job, now, to start churning. Bilbo let them do it (and squabble about taking turns) as he popped over to make his icing and shave off bits of chocolate. He may have waited to handle the chocolate until Fili and Kili were properly distracted and so could not eat it all every time he turned his back. Maybe.

After about thirty minutes, Bilbo called the churning to a halt and examined their efforts. Inside the canister, thick creamy ice cream swirled around the mixing paddle, and Bilbo could even still smell the fresh vanilla beans. The boys peered into the bucket dubiously, but lifted it over to the counter without argument. There Bilbo began to layer the cake with the ice cream. Once he was finished, he quickly put the cake together and added the orange icing. Then he packed it into the cold box, which would be stored down below with the ice.

"But we aren't going to eat it now?" asked Kili, looking sad.

"No, it's got to freeze," Bilbo told them. Their sad faces made his mouth twitch. "Come now, no sulking. I've made you a giant cookie."

This perked them right up and Bilbo sat them down and went to Flima's ovens in the next room. Inside, a large chocolate cookie in a pan was just about finished baking. He took it out, checking to see that it was properly gooey, and lugged it over to the boys. Their eyes went wide when he set it down.

"Hold on a moment," said Bilbo. He grabbed up the left over ice cream and scooped it onto the cookie, where it began to melt slowly. He then added the shaved chocolate bits, before handing them both a spoon.

"Dig in."

Two very happy boys slouched through the corridors to their mother's rooms an hour later, pleased as punch and full to the brim.

"What's the matter with you?" Dis wanted to know.

But Fili and Kili only collapsed onto the floor, and said, "ice cream!" as if it explained everything. Which it did.

The next day, Bilbo put the final touches on the orange ice cream cake, adding the whipped cream and the candied peels, before presenting it to a stunned Ori. There also happened to be a few more bystanders this time, and all were gazing at Ori's dessert enviously. Ori's reaction to the ice cream was excessive and overjoyed, and soon 'gave us ice cream' was tacked onto Bilbo's deeds alongside 'escaped from Thranduil's dungeons', 'riddled with a dragon', and 'saved the king and then actually married him. Wow'.

From then on Bilbo's desserts were famous, and Bilbo did his best to show the other cooks how he created them, so other dwarrow besides the royals could enjoy it too. But each of the Company was still gifted with their own personalized favorites, which Bilbo always got right on the first try.

Admittedly, most of them were easy: Balin, who was an avid lover of all things apple, consumed Bilbo's almond and liqueur baked apples (à la mode) at a frankly alarming pace. Fili, who had cried over not getting to try Kili's double chocolate cake, actually preferred strawberry cream puffs. Their mother was, funnily enough, partial to chocolate strawberries dipped in cream and coconut, which fell somewhere in the middle.

Then there was Nori, who loved his chili pepper truffles, and Oin with his stout cake, and Gloin, who could not get enough of Bilbo's cinnamon pecan turnovers (his son, Gimli, was the only dwarf Bilbo knew that liked marmalade tarts, which was good, because Bilbo liked them too, and that meant all the more for them).

Bofur was keen on blueberry crumple with brown sugar and ginger, and Bombur was ever pleased with a large plate of sweet cheese rolls. Bifur almost ruined his streak, being that he did not like dessert at all, but Bilbo had noticed the dwarf's aversion to sweets and his preference for meat, and had made him sausage and onion pasties with a curried gravy instead.

Altogether Bilbo's desserts were a hit, and Bilbo himself was incandescently happy, for hobbits were never so pleased as when their food was properly appreciated. With his dwarrow fed and happy, and his brand new kitchen stocked with every ingredient imaginable, it seemed as though the future looked very bright for Bilbo Baggins.

All that was needed was the final touch, which was in the form of the perfect dessert for his husband, whom he had saved for the very last. So with love and care, Bilbo finally took to his ovens and his stove and his beautiful new kitchen and started on Thorin's cake.

He baked the three layers, combining his usual sugar, milk, egg, flour, etc. but this time with the addition of spiced cocoa powder and rich, dark coffee. He baked them until the middle was moist and crumbly, and the tops of the cake bounced when touched. He left the layers to cool and began to make his ice cream.

This time his ice cream was flavored with black cherry, and when finished it tasted as gently sweet and as sharply tart as he recalled from those summery days spent eating it in the Shire. He left it in the store room to keep frozen overnight and came back the next day prepared to continue. This would be the hard part, and Bilbo made sure that he had everything ready before he began. He cut the layers into different sized circles, before placing the smallest layer at the bottom of the bowl.

Next he took his ice cream and let it melt for a few minutes. Once it was softened enough, Bilbo beat the ice cream until it was perfect for spreading, and then added it to the bottom layer. He quickly covered it with the bigger layer and then wrapped it up tight and put it into the cold box. He did the same with the next tier, which joined its other half into the box, and then put everything into the cold store room. He left it there to freeze overnight.

The following day, Bilbo took the layers out and assembled them into a half circle. He left it in the cold box again, before setting out his ingredients for the meringue. First he made the sugar syrup, which he carefully heated up. He then added egg and salt to a large bowl, and whisked it together until it twirled into peaks. Next he slowly added in the sugar, and then the vanilla, whisking steadily until his mixture was a beautiful, glossy white. When he was finished, Bilbo took the cake out and gathered up his piping bag, removing the meringue from the bowl and into position. Going from the bottom to the top, he carefully created flower-like shapes, covering the entire cake with white topping. When he had finished, he put the cake back into the cold box and let it sit.

On the day that Bilbo was to present his cake to Thorin, he sternly requested that Thorin make a point of going to dinner that night. Flima happened to let slip to Kili about Thorin's cake, and he promptly went off to invite the entire company to dinner, so that they too could witness the unveiling of the secret dessert. Bilbo didn't usually mind an audience, but he felt oddly nervous about presenting this particular gift. Or...nervous about who it was for and whether or not he would like it, to be precise.

Just as dinner was ending, Bilbo whipped up the sauce and popped the cake into the oven to brown a little. The sauce consisted of cream, chocolate, syrup, and rum, and gave off a lovely scent as it heated. He poured the sauce into a serving dish and put aside a cup of rum, along with his tinder box. By then the cake was out and ready to serve immediately, and Bilbo checked to make sure it wasn't melted and took a deep breath. He walked into the dining room, and once the Company saw him they oohed and awed over the cake.

Bilbo placed it in front of Thorin, his expression anxious and hopeful, and his husband looked up at him with soft, affectionate eyes. "What have you made me, Bilbo?" he said softly.  

"A c-cake," Bilbo stuttered humiliatingly. Thorin always did this to him. "A cake," he repeated firmly. "But there's more."

He took up his tinderbox and struck it, igniting the warm cup of rum. Thorin's eyebrows rose in shock, and Kili shouted excitedly. Bilbo poured the rum over the cake, which was soon covered in beautiful blue flames.

The company cheered, and Thorin laughed, and Bilbo, reassured, set about serving Thorin his very special cake.

The first bite was met with pleased noises, but Bilbo's eyes were on Thorin, who seemed to be enjoying his dessert quite a lot.

But.

It was only quite a lot.

"I love it," Thorin told him, holding onto his hand tightly. "You are a hobbit of many talents."

"Yes," said Bilbo, somewhat distractedly. He sat very close to Thorin for the rest of the night, watching his expression carefully. Thorin caught him looking a few times, and Bilbo was soundly kissed each time it happened.

Yet even his husband's soft and steadfast affection for him could not settle his turning stomach. For all that Thorin had enjoyed his dessert, it became apparent to Bilbo that he had, for the first time, gotten it wrong. For Thorin may have indeed loved Bilbo's cake, but...

...it wasn't his favorite.

-------

In the days after he presented the 'fire cake' (as the dwarrow were calling it), Bilbo took a break from baking. Flima was the first to notice his depressed mood, and persuaded him to accompany her on a walk outside the mountain. She claimed that he needed to be away from the kitchens for a while, and Bilbo did admittedly feel much better once out in the open air. It also took some convincing, but Bilbo eventually told her what was troubling him.

"But how could you tell it wasn't his favorite?" she asked when she'd heard everything.

Bilbo shrugged. "The same way I could tell that yours was chocolate ganache."

Flima hummed thoughtfully. "Well, couldn't you try again? I know it's...not what you wanted, and that you hobbits have a thing about food, but the King will enjoy anything you give him, you know. I think he just enjoys you in general."

"Don't tease," Bilbo grinned, but he sobered quickly. "I know he loves me. I know he'd love anything I put in front of him. But I feel like I missed something about him...that I don't know him as well as I thought I did. And I do feel hurt that he didn't like my gift as much as I wanted him to, however stupid that sounds."

He shook his head self-deprecatingly, casting her a fleeting, anxious glance. "I know it seems silly to a dwarf, Flima, but for hobbits.... Let's just say that if we weren't already married, my failure to pick the right dessert, well...it would be seen as a sign that we weren't meant to be together."

Flima was quiet for a moment, and Bilbo cast his eyes down at his feet.

Finally, she took a breath and said, "what a load of pig shit."

Bilbo's head popped up. "Sorry?"

"Come on, let's go back," she said, pushing him toward the mountain.

"B-but Flima!"

"No buts." She turned and pointed at him crossly. "You're going to bake him every dessert you know until he makes that face you're looking for, and when you see it I really hope you'll realize that it was there all along. But I won't hold my breath. Now let's go."

Bilbo let himself be pushed along, all the while considering Flima's words. He felt a new determination spread through him, and decided that he would overcome this setback and guess Thorin's favorite dessert correctly, and then he would succeed in making his husband happy... he would.

-------

Bilbo started with his second choice: the Banoffee pie. Bananas, toffee, nuts, cinnamon, and a side of vanilla ice cream. How could he go wrong?

"This is lovely, dearest, what is it?"

Failed again.

Bilbo stubbornly pressed on, this time making Thorin a gateau with chocolate, cherries, and a plethora of whipped cream.

"You're not going to finish it?" Bilbo asked, appalled.

"I'm just so full," said Thorin, patting his stomach. "I couldn't eat another bite."

Flima had barely kept him from crying his little heart out in the sweet smelling safety of the kitchens. But despite his third failure (third!) Bilbo decided not to give up just yet. He brought out his mental cookbook and buckled down, and every night Thorin was presented with something new.

Custard cream with a caramelized hard shell with berries and powdered sugar on top? No. Chocolate hazelnut crepe cake with raspberry sauce? Nope. Lemon cream sponge cake? Spiced citrus bundt? Apple pie? A trifle?! Nope. Sorry. Not having it. Wrong.

At his wit's end, Bilbo began to think that Thorin just didn't have a favorite dessert. Perhaps he was like Bifur, and preferred the savory over the sweet? Yet those meals failed to inspire as well, and after a while not even Flima's pep talks were working to keep him motivated. Bilbo fell into a sort of funk then, though he tried hard not to let it show.

Thorin noticed anyway, of course.

In the warm firelight of their rooms, Bilbo was slouched in his reading chair with an open book on his blanket-covered legs. He was not reading though; instead he sat deep in thought and stared into space. Thorin came in from the washroom, his braids out of their clasps and his long hair tumbling free. He stood in the doorway and simply stared at Bilbo.

"What?" Bilbo asked with a shy smile.

Thorin's expression, in that moment, was both fond and utterly content. He walked over to Bilbo and grabbed his hand, pulling him up without a word. Thorin lead them over to the long sofa and tucked them into a corner. He took the blanket Bilbo had dragged behind him and gently covered their legs. He put his arm around Bilbo, who rested his head on Thorin's chest with a sigh.

"What's wrong, my hobbit?" Thorin asked him softly. "Have I made you unhappy?"

Thorin already knew the answer to that question, and Bilbo firmly nudged him with his head as punishment. "Never," he denied. "I'm only being silly."

"You're never silly," Thorin retorted, managing to keep a straight face.

Bilbo smiled, listening to the rumbling of his husband's voice deep inside his chest. "I do love you," he announced. "And I am happy enough to be near you. I love you stupidly."

"Yes?"

"Yes." Bilbo shifted, and sighed again. "Tell me something. Tell me something secret about yourself, that no one else knows."

Thorin raised his eyebrows, but complied. "When I was little, I stole from my father."

Surprised, Bilbo looked up at him. "What did you take?"

"He owned a collection of fine gems, mined from Khazad Dum before it fell into darkness. There was one piece in particular that I was attracted to; an emerald, about the size of our acorn." Thorin gestured to the acorn Bilbo had taken from Beorn's garden. It sat on their mantelpiece, unplanted, for now.

"I wanted that emerald, Bilbo. At the time I even thought I wanted it more than anything. So I snuck into his rooms one day and took it. I stashed it in my dolek, with the other treasures I had gathered as a child, and I reasoned that my father would not notice. That he had many gems already, and so he would not care."

"Dolek?"

"Dolek, yes. Udolek – for a gift. Dwarrow collect stones and gems for their future lovers and friends, which are gifted when they wish to show interest in one another. It is an old custom which is now dying out. But when I was young, the dolek was very important, and what you chose to put inside of it was said to symbolize your future love."

Bilbo blinked a bit, rubbing his cheek against Thorin shirt. He was warm. "What happened to the emerald?"

"It was lost when the dragon came."

"Hmm."

They lay for a time, silent, pressed together and pensive – until Thorin suddenly inhaled somewhat anxiously.

"I wouldn't have given you that emerald, Bilbo," he said, face scrunched in a solemn frown. "It may have been meant for my spouse of the future, but you were not meant for it. You deserve more than a stolen relic of my father, or any simple gem or pretty bauble that perhaps would suit so many others. It would have been an insult to give it to you."

"Thorin...."

He stared at Bilbo tenderly. "But I cannot deny that I wish I had had a proper dolek for you, to show how much I wanted you. How much I still want you for all of my days."

Bilbo shook his head. "You're enough, Thorin. I don't need need anything else."

And that was when Bilbo understood what Flima was trying to say. How stupid he felt! And how relieved.... He turned his head and laughed into his husband's chest.

"What is so funny?" Thorin wanted to know, his lips twitching.

"Shall I tell you something you don't know about me?"

Thorin chuckled and humored him. "Go on, then."

He licked his lips, thinking for a moment of how to express what he wanted to say. "I am terribly stupid," he finally blurted, smiling. "I was all up in arms about you not having a favorite dessert, about my not guessing right the first time, that for a moment I doubted that we were meant for each other. Can you believe that? It's completely ridiculous!"

Thorin was frowning. "What do you mean I don't have a favorite dessert?"

Bilbo's smile wilted a bit. "So you do? Oh no, and I still haven't got it right?"

"Bilbo." Thorin sat up now. "That delicious fire cake was not the first time I ate your baking."

"What?" he squeaked, siting up too. "When was this?"

Thorin raised a shoulder. "I don't know, precisely. One day I was looking for you, and I found you in the kitchens. But you were baking, so I didn't want to bother you."

Bilbo recalled that in the early days when he'd been in the kitchens with Flima, there had been a number of dwarrow wandering in and out, and that many of them had taken bits of whatever he was making at the time.  

"My word," he gasped, running a hand through his curly hair. "But what did you eat?"

"My favorite," Thorin said, a slow smile creeping onto his face. "Cinnamon rolls."

Bilbo gaped. "Cinnamon rolls."

"Yes," his husband grinned. "Cinnamon rolls."

Having no idea what to say to that, or if he should laugh or cry, Bilbo did a bit of both and tumbled into Thorin's chest. "So I did get it right."

"Yes, you did, beloved."

"I just didn't see it. Oh, drat."

Thorin ran his hands across Bilbo's cheeks, holding his head gently. "You can always make it for me again," he pointed out. "I'm not going anywhere, after all."

"That's true," Bilbo said. His husband kissed him, soft and sweet.

"You're enough too, Bilbo." Another sugared kiss on the side of his mouth. "You're all I could ever want."

"More than cinnamon rolls?" Bilbo whispered.

Thorin laughed a little, and tenderly kissed his forehead. "Much more than."

[opaloremerald]

Chapter Six

I stared at Emilie from the Cinta table. It had been a full week since she had had the fever and ran away to the secret room.

             Emilie laughed, her hair falling in a black waterfall across her back. Her jewel-green eyes flashed as she ate her waffles. She is the exact opposite of Skylar. Mellow, middle class, a dark beauty. Luck nudged my arm, breaking me out of my daydream.

             “You got the hots for the Intercental shark?” he said, a smile on his tone. I flicked his head, taking down a gulp of my orange juice. Luck took that as a sign to change the subject, “You going to the village tonight?”

             “Yes, and isn’t it more of a town than a village? We went by it in the car,” I touched my wand, which was hidden in it’s little slit in my suit-jacket sleeve. I gave a little cough and felt the flat cat’s eye under my teeth shift ever so slightly to remind me that it was there.

             That was one reason that I didn’t like cat’s eyes. They were rough and always wanted to be recognized for the little work they did. The semi-valuable jewel barely made any liquid flame, though it was the only gem that could produce it.

             “To humans, the difference between a town and a village is the amount of people in it, to magic folk, it’s gaged by the amount of magic coursing through it. The place just a bit away is in fact a town to humans and a village to magic folk,” Jake said, referring to gargoyles, Elves, Mer, Dwarves, Goblins, fæs, dragons, and—I thought of that poor thing with the emerald I gave her—animas. Animas weren’t considered witches or wizards. Dragons were regarded with caution, but they were considered equal with humans.

             The headmistress, Headmistress Christopher, rose from her seat in the middle of the row of teachers. Her hair floated above her in an intricate cloud, with ribbons of fire or water or ice wherever you looked. The effect was hypnotizing.

             “Now I understand today is the first day off since Sunday, but I want to set some ground rules for our year ones and new guests,” she gave a flourishing wave in the general direction of me and my friends, “One: you cannot spend your days inside; At least six hours have to be spent outside a day. Two: homework is allowed, but not required. Studious people are important, but there is much more to life than your educations. Three: don’t do anything your upperclassmen wouldn’t.” At the last rule she gave a wink, obviously knowing what the students of Serpentine did when the other teachers weren’t looking.

After she finished her other announcements, the girls started to filter out. I saw Emilie slip into a niche in the back corner of the Dining hall, checking around her to see if anyone was following. I furrowed my eyebrows, meaning to tail her, but Luck seized my arm and pulled me away.

I frowned at him as we left the room, “What was that for?”

“Dragging you away from a bad idea, dude,” Luck led me up the staircase, “We have’ta change outta these fancy monkey suits if we want to fit in at that town. You do have casual clothes, don’t you? And one of those Jevos said to wear sturdy clothes because there’s a stable you can go horseback riding from.”

I sighed and summoned my map with a simple flourish of my hand, looking over the grounds section. I planted my finger on a building. “Serpentine Academy has stables, too.”

Luck laughed as I let Jake pour over the parchment, “But doesn’t it add a little more flair to do it in a forbidden place?”

I rolled my eyes, but agreed with my friend in that statement. My mother and father had always told me not to hoard gems until I was older, or try to breathe flame until my chemicals settled, but I had started to do so, not telling my parents and relishing in the feeling that they were wrong.

We arrived at our dorm room and changed into our human clothes, mine being jeans and a long-sleeved tee. I shoved a ball cap on my head and tapped my work-boot clad foot impatiently. “Luck! It doesn’t take this long for me or Jake to do our hair!”

The said boy was next to me, sniggering as he tried to flip his wand over his knuckles. I had seen Emilie do that all the time in classes. I wondered if it was her tic, something that she had always done. I had also seen her tapping her wand against her leg or a table, maybe it was something a dear friend or sibling had taught her. Or maybe I was reading to far between the lines.

I clicked my tongue, making sparks as I waited for one of my best friends to come out of the bathroom.

“The reason,” Luck said, coming out of the doorway and striking a pose, “is that not everyone has perfect I-just-rolled-out-of-bed-hair like you do.”

I whacked him over the head and started out the door. Luck was paused by the far window in our room, and I was about to yell at him to get on, but he beckoned me over. Luck pointed out the window and I sidled up next to him.

“Someone’s cocky,” he announced. Emilie was on a grey dappled horse, riding to the village. She bounced on the bare back of the mare and clutched her mane. My gaze was glued on the sight until Jake broke me from my trance.

“Speaking of cocky, we need to get to the village before we’re caught in our civvies,” He said and I drew up to my full height, a few inches taller than Luck. I nodded, brushing my hand over my wand in my back pocket.

“How far away is it from the academy? We might need to take horses too,” I said as I left the room, trying to forget how pretty Emilie’s hair had looked as she sprinted off of campus. Jake waved his hand in the air in a kinda-sorta way. I sighed.

             The stables were hidden away about one hundred yards into the west forest. Strangely, three horses were already tacked up and ready to go, a note on each bridle saying their name and that they were free to be ridden anywhere. I raised an eyebrow, but relished the feeling of warmth around me. It was a relatively cold day, but the sudden fall snow that had fallen last week was melted. The air outside the barn was fresh and crisp, perfect for riding. I took the reigns of a chestnut paint with buckskin splotches named Butter and led him out.

             I stuck my foot into the stirrup and hefted myself upwards. Horseback riding was one of the only things that my father let me do on our extensive property in Wales. I relished my time on my own horse, Fyre, who was a jumper. I squeezed my feet around Butter gently, getting him to start in on a walk.

             Luck trotted out on a black mare with a star on her head and Jake came with a brown quarter horse. I gave a smirk to them. “You wanna race?”  

             Luck agreed immediately, but Jake took a little coaxing. His mother, who was very protective, never let him get on anything without a helmet on. Eventually he came around and maneuvered his horse, Fred, into racing position. I leaned down onto Butter and, as I called go, kicked him into action.

             I could see why they named him Butter; the horse’s moves were smooth and quick, soon leaving the others in the dust. I dipped my head, trying to keep my hat on as I thundered down the path down to the village.

             Somebody crouching down on the side of the road piqued my interest. Their hair was held up in one hand as they inspected something on the ground. The person had a notebook on one knee and occasionally referenced in it or wrote down something. I passed the person quickly with a slight dip of my hat.

             I beat both Luck and Jake to the village by a long shot. There were girls in groups around the town, but none of them talked to him or his friends. They seemed hands off and/or indifferent to us boys, mostly because we were in the Take of Cinta, which no one seemed to like.

             I dropped Butter off at the stables with a pat and reassuring words that I would come back soon. I saw the dappled grey that Emilie had been riding bareback digging her nose into a bag of oats. That meant she was in town, too. I wonder if her friends were here and if that was the only reason she came.

             I walked around the village, entering shops and smiling at the town girls. Giggles followed me everywhere and they increased when Luck and Jake joined me. We entered a leatherworking store and glimpsed a flash of a whitewash blonde head, a long and snakelike braid, and a waterfall of black hair.

             Emilie. I hadn’t talked to her since she escaped down the secret tunnel. I wondered if she was avoiding me. But why would she do that? Would she mind if I just came up next to her at a random store? Luck walked ahead of me, smirking at my indecision.

             “Hey girls!” the thin, transparent girl didn’t turn, and neither did the imposing one with the braid, but Emilie whipped around, her eyes widening at the sight of them. She turned back around immediately, but I saw the markings on her face.

             Two thin triangles underneath each eye. I tilted my head. Had she gotten a tattoo? Those weren’t allowed at Serpentine and she could get expelled if the headmistress thought it necessary.

             Emilie ducked her head as we came towards her group. The thin girl looked up at her with concern, but kept her conversation with the man behind the table ongoing. It looked as if she was buying something. Three bracelets were set out on a velvet stand and the man picked each up and examined them carefully.

             “Yes, these will do quite nicely with the other pieces we have here—adding that feminine touch, I see,” The man said as we came up to the counter, he glanced up as he put the bracelets underneath the glass, “What can I help you with, chaps?”

             Luck started to open his mouth, but I stopped him before he could make a comment about me staring at the back of Emilie’s head a minute before. “We heard you had some cool stuff and wanted to check it out”

             The man nodded, “Well, my name’s Levi, and I can’t help you as of now because I have to log in Ms. Smith’s items, but Emilie can help you. She’s got a part-time job here and needs to get in her hours this year.”

             Emilie stuck her tongue out at Levi, but hopped up over the counter and slid behind it anyway. Her head came up, green eyes flashing, “What would you like?”

             How had I not noticed how well she hid her French accent? “I dunno, maybe a bracelet or something.”

             I glanced beside me and saw Luck and Jake talking to Levi, the traitors. The sound of the glass top of the counter brought me back to looking at Emilie. Her green eyes were tilted up at me skeptically, but I looked down at the leather pieces she had set out for me. There was a thick leather cuff with a band of braided, thinner leather imbedded in the center, a round-braided one, and one with an emerald in the center. I fingered the emerald, thinking about how I gave the chipped gem to that poor anima, but set it aside. I still preferred opals. I looked at Emilie. Why is she so intriguing to me? I don’t even like her looks or her personality. No. She doesn’t like me either. She’s been avoiding me for the past week.

             I smiled at Emilie and said I didn’t want to buy any of them. I made my way over to Luck as she slid over the counter and said goodbye Levi. The thin blonde and imposing tall one both bid the man adieu and followed her out.

             “Come back again,” Levi called to us as we exited behind her. Emilie touched the tattoos on her face and winced as we passed her to get into the street.

             “What are they?” the thin girl asked quietly, not knowing I could hear her.

Emilie sighed, “Meré says its normal for a—”

She was cut off by a sharp yell. A man with long red hair was pointing at Emilie and her eyes grew wide with the attention the action brought. Everyone had eyes on either her or the red-haired man. My own gaze darted between them.

“Quel?” Emilie asked in shuddering French. The man narrowed his eyes.

“I know your kind. You can speak all kinds languages, don’t play dumb,” the redhead growled, stalking up to her. The witch’s small frame shrunk underneath the man’s imposing height and she didn’t meet his eyes. This was an Emilie that I had never seen before. She was—scared?

             “Je ne sais pas ce que vous entendez,” she said frantically, waving her hands, “je le promets!”

             The man raised up a hand and struck Emilie across her face. She visibly shook, but no one moved to help her, they all seemed frozen in place, not even breathing. I moved to stop the man, though it took all of my strength. As he lifted up his hand to hit Emilie again I grabbed his shoulder with my hand and wrapped my other arm around her.

[mrcoreymonroe]

Flying the Gobi Desert Airshow

Patty Wagstaff poses on the horizontal tail of the Extra 300 she flew in the Gobi Desert. Photo by Mark Jeffries

When I was growing up in Japan, China was known as Red China, a forbidden land. My family and I occasionally sailed out of Yokohama on an American President Line cruise ship to Hong Kong. We sailed through the Straits of Formosa, followed by dolphins numbering in the thousands, and I was fascinated to see, like a mirage, the mysterious China mainland and small Chinese fishing boats precariously crossing our path. I asked the crew if the boats ever got run over by the ships in the passage, and the answer was “sometimes.” Why was China forbidden? Were there really so many people? Why were the communists so xenophobic? Those were the questions I asked.

So recently, when the invitation came to fly an airshow in China’s Autonomous Region of Inner Mongolia near Alxa (pronounced Alashan) in the Gobi Desert, how could I resist? My host, the owner of Aviad, Wayne Mansfield, a businessman who also sky writes and has towed banners all across China, worked out the details with our Chinese organizers, while top UK display pilot Mark Jefferies offered his Extra 300L for me to fly. I had a few weeks to get my visa and prepare for the trip. I did some research, but other than what is found in novels about desert explorers, there seems to be a dearth of information available on the region. My favorite words of advice found in an online Chinese guidebook were: “Visitors should also pay attention that not to shelter from the wind behind the lee slope of a dune. The correct action is to stand in front of the dune behind camels.”

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My favorite journeys usually involve work and having a purpose. They can involve long flights and big time changes in places like Kenya, Russia, Central America and Iceland. I like working hard for the privilege of experiencing somewhere from the unique perspective of a small airplane and sharing a toast at the end of a day with the locals. A little chill time is also welcome, especially when there is warm water involved, but since this was the Gobi Desert, where temperatures in October could be warm and pleasant during the day and below freezing at night, or sleeting and snowing all day, I didn’t really know what to expect.

The journey to Inner Mongolia was one of the longest I’ve ever experienced; two days, two nights, two commercial flights, several long drives and a 12-hour time change. Dig for gold and keep digging, and you might find China. After I landed in smog-clogged Beijing, Wayne met me and over dinner shared WeChat pictures of the crew already onsite assembling airplanes in temporary hangars with desert sand as their floor. By the time we arrived at the site, an artificial grass-type carpet had been laid out in sheets.

The site of the Alxa Dream Festival, where Western airshow pilots and crews put on a show. Photo by Mark Jeffries

From Beijing, we flew to Yinchuan, then drove two hours to Alxa, over the Yellow River and rounding a bend to the other side of the Helan Mountains. From this remote part of China, if you were to keep going west, depending on which road you chose, you’d either get to the Tibetan Kush or Kazakhstan, and either way you will be on the Silk Road, the ancient network of trade routes that connected East and West, Rome and China. The Silk Road was long and dangerous, with sandstorms, the risk of starvation and thirst, and the threat of raiding parties after silk, gold and precious stones from China. After the discovery of a sea route from Europe to Asia in the 15th century, which made trade cheaper and safer, the Silk Road trade routes began to wane. No one then or now in this remote part of the world speaks English and, like a lot of things in China, the streets, the buildings, the people were ancient and mysterious, and it was hard to tell where history ended and the new China began.

The second night was spent at our quite nice and modern hotel in Alxa. In the morning, we boarded a bus and drove south to our airshow site, the “Alxa Dream Festival.” Passing religious pyramids, an enormous concrete blimp hangar sitting alone and empty (would they let me fly through it, I wondered?), and herds of camels, the brush turned into Gobi dunes. After several stops where police boarded our bus wearing 360-degree cameras (there are cameras everywhere in China), we arrived at the 7000-foot paved airstrip on the north end of the Dream Festival site.

Mike Wood, our airboss from the UK, briefed us on the layout. Mark Jefferies and Tom Cassells would be flying Extras and their day and night pyro two-ship act; I would be flying the solo routine. Mark, who flies an aggressive and dynamic display, has basically pioneered airshows in China, and his team, the Global Stars, fly one of the best night pyro shows in the world. In between international airshows, his Extras live in big shipping containers, and at the time I am writing this, Mark is flying an airshow in Bahrain, then crating and shipping his airplanes to a show in India.

The Pioneer Team from Italy, led by Corrado Rusalen, flies Rusalen’s own design, the beautiful and nimble Pioneer 330. The Pioneer Team flies four to five airshows in China each year. Its night pyro show is a beautiful example of formation flying and one of the nicest I’ve seen. Another team from the UK, the “AeroSuperBatics,” the world’s only formation wing walking aerobatics team, flown by David Barrell and Martyn Carrington, also flew both day and night pyro shows. Mansfield’s Husky was towing banners and skywriting. Keith Wilson from the UK was on hand to take fantastic air-to-air photographs, plus our group was graced with other assorted crew members from France, Lithuania and the U.K.

Patty Wagstaff flies an airshow over the alien landscape of Inner Mongolia in an Extra 300L. Photo by Keith Wilson

At most airshows, as happens on movie sets, the performers and crew quickly form a little family, and familiar patterns began to emerge. Because the dust was so intense and pervasive, when we were outside the hangars, almost everyone wore a kaffiyeh or face scarf to cover their nose and mouth, especially if they wanted to be able to avoid sinus problems. Lawrence of Arabia wasn’t just accentuating his baby blues…he wore his hijab for a reason. I quickly bought a couple especially designed for desert functionality and suddenly had fashion decisions to make: “What is my look today? Do I go with something feminine like flowers, or go more “badass” and wear camo?” Of course, it didn’t really matter because the very act of covering your face gives the wearer a bit of anonymity. When greeting someone you didn’t know, how could you know who it was you were saying hello to? Was it the tilt of the head that gave their identity away? Their hands? Their fancy kaffiyeh with a zipper that gave them away as locals? If someone said, “Is it Patty?” I would answer, “No, it’s Sandy Dunes! Remember me?”

Airshow pilots, as a rule, don’t generally care where the crowd comes from as long as there is a crowd (and as long as we get paid), but since we were in the middle of nowhere, we asked ourselves, “Who will come?” Perhaps it was a classic cargo cult scenario: If we build it, they will come? I don’t know where they came from, but over the next few days, hundreds of dune buggies arrived on trailers towed by expensive 4 WD trucks and Winnebago motorhomes, and the site became something of a cross between an Oshkosh and a Burning Man for motorheads. When we weren’t waiting to fly, we explored. The site was astonishing and included miles of newly paved roads, hundreds of yurts for camping, motocross tracks and even an enormous Godzilla spewing gaudy American muscle cars out of its mouth. That juxtaposition is obviously hard to describe…you had to be there.

Show center was over the desert, of course. From the air, the dunes were beautiful, distracting. They constantly changed color as the light played upon them. We had a nice shallow alkaline lakebed and a long boardwalk as our show-center reference. The altitude was a sporting 4500’ MSL, but density altitude didn’t affect us as much as we thought it would because the air was so dry. Add some heat and humidity to the mix and the airplanes would not have performed as well. Diving into the show box between the mountains of sand, I saw hundreds of cars with little flags attached to their antennas, driving around like little bugs. A ranch with Mongolian horses was situated next to the Park and I saw expert horsemen galloping across the desert.

Cleared into the box, I dove in, turned on my smoke and pulled to the vertical rolling all the way up and I thought – it doesn’t matter where I am when I’m flying an airshow. I could be anywhere. I’m only focusing on the flying - my altitude, which way the wind is blowing, how the maneuvers will look for the spectators and keeping my flight within the show box and energy management for my next maneuver. I flew between the dunes hoping that people were watching and wondering what they thought, then I called last pass and as I turned a close in base for landing to the west, I reentered the world of the Gobi and the dunes turned orange with the afternoon sun.

Patty Wagstaff is a three-time U.S. National Aerobatic champion, inductee of the National Aviation Hall of Fame and one of the world’s top airshow pilots. Visit pattywagstaff.com/school.html or reach Patty via email through pattyaerobatics@gmail.com.

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Glacier National Park & Livingston, Montana

Glacier National Park

& Livingston, Montana

Saturday - Sunday, August 11 -12, 2018

Smoky, 82°

 “Before Alaska came along and ruined everything, one of every twenty-five square miles in America was Montanan.  This much space has nurtured a healthy Cult of Place in which people find perfection, even divinity in the landscape.” (Ellen Meloy)

 Saturday - Before leaving the Golf Course RV Park, laundry was done, oil added to the RV and in about an hour we would be at the border crossing on Highway 93 in Roosville, Montana.  Border crossings can be fun or a little annoying depending on how crowded or the moods of the border patrol officers working at the time.

This little back road entry into the United States was not crowded but watching the vehicle in front go through the passport procedure gave a little hint as what was to come.  The couple in the car in front of the RV, after giving their passports to the patrol officer, was asked to get out of their vehicle and go inside for further examination.  After several minutes, the man came out and moved his vehicle so we could pass through.

 The patrol officer asked the usual questions, “How long have you been in Canada?”  “Do you have more than ten thousand dollars in the vehicle?”  Are you carrying any fruits, vegetables, or other agricultural products?”  The answers were, “about a week, I wish I had ten grand, and no.”  The officer explained that the couple in front was pulled inside for a random inspection but since they had other issues the random inspection would go to the RV instead.

 He took the passports; off inside we went and after about 10 minutes another officer came over and would go out to the RV to inspect it.  I had put a bundle of firewood in the shower to keep it dry and looking at the border crossing from Alaska into Canada there was about a cord of fire wood in “camping bundles” off to the side so I figured this time the firewood would be grabbed up by the officer.  He came aboard, looked into the refrigerator and found two and a half lemons there.  This was forbidden fruit, even though it was purchased in Alaska, he had to confiscate it.  Oh no, contraband being brought in the United States.  They were bought to help my throat irritation from all the fire smoke.  Lemon and honey plus maybe some Jim Beam to help soothe that crappy feeling over the last several months was what the hot toddy was going to be used for.

 After the identity check and confiscation of the wayward fruit we were allowed to enter the USA! 

Welcome to the USA Sign - Simple but True

 It was about time after this forty five minute pause in the drive.  Down the road a way was the beautiful little community of Whitefish.  There were several deer grazing in people’s yards and the road through town was filled with people doing their Saturday chores.  The town has a rustic feel to it, much like Jackson, Wyoming, with its old style buildings.  There was a fire truck with firemen collecting money for the Muscular Dystrophy Association for the upcoming Labor Day drive.  This would be another beautiful place to live with a population of only about 6,500 people.

 We were heading to Glacier National Park to Apgar campground, a first come, first served facility which fills up quickly each morning.  Arriving just at eleven o’clock the board at the Park’s entrance still showed campsites available. 

 Glacier National Park Sign

 It took only a couple minutes to drive into the campground but the camp host said that the last spot was just taken minutes ago so there was no room anywhere in Glacier National Park to spend the night.  The smoke was really bad and we could only see Lake McDonald through a fuzzy bluish-white haze.  The mountains with the glaciers were not visible and were covered by the smoke that drifted everywhere.  It was lunch time so a picnic by the lake was in order.  After lunch, a drive along the lake revealed a black bear and several deer wandering the campground.

 Deer in Campground

 It would have been nice to spend the night but it was time to head toward the next bucket list place and cut down on some of that drive tomorrow.  Heading out from Glacier was Flathead Lake where I wanted to drive along the west side on a major highway south.  Missing a turn somewhere, we ended up on a small country road on the east side of the lake.  This whole area was filled with cherry groves and small roadside stands selling fresh, off the tree cherries.  Another unexpected find and the cherries were great, large Rainier cherries.

 South on highway 93 was the National Bison Range, it was debated whether to turn down an old dirt road to see if there were any bison but decided not to as there were still many miles to go.  Where the highway hits the town of Ravalli, coming over the hill and down a long incline were several herds of bison off to the west. 

 Bison off the roadway

It was another pretty amazing sight, seeing these ancient animals grazing or waddling in the dirt.  It would be several more hours before stopping for the night in a small town called Deer Lodge, Montana.

The city is perhaps best known as the home of the Montana State Prison, a major local employer.  The Montana State Hospital in Warm Springs, and former state tuberculosis sanitarium in nearby Galen are the result of the power the western part of the state held over Montana at statehood due to the copper and mineral wealth in that area.  Deer Lodge was also once an important railroad town, serving as a division headquarters for the Chicago, Milwaukee, St. Paul and Pacific Railroad ("the Milwaukee Road") before the railroad's local abandonment in 1980.

The current Montana State Prison occupies a campus 3.5 miles west of town.  The former prison site, at the south end of Deer Lodge's Main Street, is now the Old Prison Museum.  In addition to a former cell-block building, the museum complex includes a theater, antique and automobile museums, and a former Milwaukee Road "Little Joe" electric locomotive.

 Deer Lodge is also the location of Grant-Kohrs Ranch National Historic Site, dedicated to the interpretation of the frontier cattle ranching era.  This site was the home of Conrad Kohrs, one of the famous "Cattle Kings" of Montana whose land holdings once stretched over a million acres of Montana, Wyoming, and Alberta, Canada.  The Grant-Kohrs ranch was built in 1862 by Johnny Grant, a Scottish/French/Metis fur-trader and trapper who encouraged his people to settle in Deer Lodge because of its pleasant climate and large areas of bunch grass prairie, ideal for raising cattle and horses.  The city's name derives from a geological formation known as Warm Springs Mound which contained natural saline that made for a natural salt lick for the local deer population; the protected valley in which Deer Lodge is located was where most of the local wildlife would winter as the temperatures lowered in the high country. (Wikipedia)

We pulled into the small KOA campground as the sun was setting.  It cast a warm, red glow on the western horizon toward Warm Springs Mound.  The other campers were sitting by their fires but after the long day of driving, it was time for dinner and off for some much needed sleep.

Sunday – It would be another long day driving across Montana.   As I was doing my routine of disconnecting the water, power, and sewer, I saw that the thread was showing on the driver side front tire.  This was not good as there have been over 18,000 miles on this trip and whatever was on the tires when the RV was purchased.  It is Sunday morning, in the middle of nowhere USA, and all of the tire stores are closed today.   

It was only about fifty or sixty miles to Butte, so hopefully, we could find something open on a Sunday and replace the tire.  It was a slow careful drive into Butte and hopefully, this Montana town would have something open.  There was a large Walmart with an automotive section that was open so we spent the day there getting two new front tires.  The young guy helping check me in looked at the tires, said the rig was out of alignment causing the excessive ware on one side of the tires.  He had replacement tires but thought he would have to put the new tires on the rear of the RV and swap out the rear ones to the front.  After checking, he decided to put the new ones on the front since the rear wheels have dual tires on each side.

It was going to take several hours to get to the RV ready so it gave us an opportunity to buy groceries, get a pedicure, and hang out for lunch while the vehicle was being readied.  One stop shopping for all your needs at Walmart.  There were even a couple of overnight campers Boondocking in the parking lot.  It was about four in the afternoon when the tire change was finished.  Finally, it was time to hit the highway towards Bozeman and another “hot springs” campground. 

Calling ahead, we found the campground was full so it was time to adapt, overcome the obstacle and find another campground for the night.  On a previous trip, I remembered another KOA campground just past Livingston, Montana on the way to the north entrance to Yellowstone National Park.  So, it was time to drive there for the night.

While driving towards Livingston, I remembered a dream from the night before.  It was weird and funny and came to me out of nowhere.  I was checking into a camp ground and the camp host was “Jerry Lewis”.  He was the airline pilot, “Captain Eddie” from “The Family Jewels” complete with the funny looking mustache.  After getting set up at the campsite another “Jerry” came by to show me how to start a campfire.  This one was “Skylock”, the Sherlock Holmes style detective with glasses and bushy mustache.  He went around placing kindling and haphazardly threw logs in the fire pit.  Once that was done, he threw gasoline all over the logs and lit it causing a huge explosion and fire.  His eyebrows and mustache were singed off as he excitedly said what a great fire he started.  I’m not sure what brought this dream on but could only figure that driving through Whitefish, seeing the fireman with the MDA boot must have triggered something from long ago.

 We checked in just before sundown.  While taking a walk, I started up a conversation with another veteran staying there.  He and his wife were staying in one of the “Kamping Kabins®” that KOA offers.  They were with another couple riding their motorcycles through Yellowstone and that part of Montana.  Each year, they pick a place and do a road trip.  They camp in the cabins and ride each day to see what the area has to offer.  A walk down to the Yellowstone River as the sun was setting was a nice way to end another day on the road while Traveling Life’s Highways.