#later i will post about who she came across the circle of mushrooms and a bit about her family because they're quite important to her story

[klamv-art]

Hi!! I'm here as promised :D let's start small! How did Victoria meet Ezarel?

Ezarel was the one how found Victoria after arriving to Eldarya. He was just recollecting some elements for a potion when he came across a very scared and confused Victoria. It didn't take him long to realized that she didn't came from this world and that if he didn't bring her to the HQ she probably wouldn't last long.

Their first encounter was a bit funny (not in the moment at least for Vic), when Victoria gets nervous she tends to talk a lot normally just rambling, so when she saw Ez watching her from a distance she started to speak to him in Spanish while he just stood there confused as fuck asking himself what the hell was she saying to him. That's when he decided to tell her to come with him to the HQ.

[tatooedlaura-blog]

The Warmest Thing I Own

Feeling good enough for the time being to attempt herding Mulder in a grocery store ... 

Our Moments: Chapter 1: Five Words (post-Leonard Betts) Chapter 2: Sidebar Nonsense (post-Memento Mori) Chapter 3: Interim (floating somewhere around Unrequited) Chapter 4: Max 2.0 (post-Tempus Fugit/Max) Chapter 5: Shadowed Grey Eyes Chapter 6: The Warmest Thing I Own @today-in-fic

&&&&&&&&&&

The following morning, she woke him up, stretching beside him, humming as her muscles flexed and moved, liquid twist of spine and limb. He felt her and opened his eyes, finding the room grey but light, “what time is it?”

Her voice scratched out an, ‘I don’t care’ before burying her head back in the pillow.

“Are we not caring today? ‘Cause I can get behind not caring today.” Reaching out to poke her side, “how are you feeling?”

Rolling in his direction, she gave him a smile that could have lit the city had she come with plug and adaptor, “I actually feel okay. I don’t think I’ve slept like that in weeks.”

“No nightmares?”

“No. Only dreams of farmhouses and men in kilts.”

Mulder laughed, “more than one?”

“Maybe.” Sighing deep, “it’s Saturday, right? Now, I know we’d normally share the worry today but I think I’d rather ignore it completely and go grocery shopping and maybe make dinner and eat a gallon of ice cream.”

“It’s actually Friday but I’m good with all that anyway.” Finally able to see the clock on her nightstand, “it’s 8:27 so I vote you call Skinner while I go shower, then we commence.”

Booping his nose, “you’ve got five minutes or I’m coming in.”

Good God.

He knew she was joking. Had to be joking. But he found himself washing a little slower than usual, wanted to see what she would do at the five-minute mark.

She stood outside the bathroom door at 4 minute, 45 seconds, hand on knob. She felt giddy and free and happy and relatively well and the thought of opening the door made her stomach tighten but would it be all kinds of stupid?

Five minutes.

She felt her hand turning the damn handle.

Just as Mulder pulled the door open.

She stumbled forward into wet flesh, towel around waist holding fast as Mulder took a step back, catching her in his arms, “hi there.”

Both knew she had been opening the door.

“Hi.”

“Almost didn’t make it.” Eyes sparking down at her, given he now knew she had been opening the door, “damn slow water heater.”

She was red.

It amused him.

“Were you coming in for something?”

Something, at the moment, in her mind, was removing his towel and taking him back into the shower but instead, she pointed around him, “toothbrush.”

His grin made her shake her head, slip under his arm, brush her teeth, and keep taking deep breaths.

They were both crazy.

&&&&&&&&&&&

Grocery shopping with Mulder was akin to herding cats. She looked left at something, he threw three things from the right into the cart. She questioned two of them and winning, turned right to replace them on the shelf while Mulder, pouting, turned left, tossing in two other things, plus a box of Twinkies.

Finally, she threated to make him sit in the cart and while he looked her square in the eye, evaluating life and limb, he reached up, tipping a box of CocoPuffs from the top shelf into the cart, never breaking eye contact.

By the end, they had at least remembered the juice boxes.

Steaks were the order of the day, Mulder waving away her cheap-ass $6.00 on sale frugal fingers in favor of the New York strips, thick, red, mouth-watering, and definitely not $6.00. Mistaking her longing look for hunger, he gently turned her away, “we need to cook them first.”

Swallowing, “I know.”

Mashed potatoes followed, “yes, I’m getting the box of potato flakes because real potatoes are too damn much work.”

“Fine by me.” Then came the three pounds of mushrooms, “who the hell is washing all these dishes?”

Mulder smiled, tossing a bulb of garlic in the cart, “dishwasher. You have one but you never use it. I’ll teach you how tonight.”

She just kept stealing glances at the steaks.

Ice cream came last, small tubs of chocolate, cherry, orange sherbet, mint, dark fudge, and peanut butter swirl, “I like variety. Don’t look at me like that.”

“I’m just wondering if either of us will be able to fit through the front door by the time we’re done.”

“You could stand to gain twenty pounds.”

He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, bring reality into their fun but glancing at her, he saw understanding in her eyes, her hand finding its way into his for a moment, “I’d rather not do it all in one night, if that’s okay?”

She got a long hug for that, shoppers steering around the odd couple embracing in the freezer section but smiling at them regardless because, really, there’s nothing wrong with a little love in frozen foods.

Mulder paid the bill and Scully didn’t fight it, especially after she saw the amount of items he’d stashed in the basket under her radar, “how did I not see any of this?”

“Once you caught sight of the steaks, I could have jammed an elephant in here and you’d have never noticed.” Handing the cashier his credit card, “little woman’s got an appetite.”

Swatting him on the arm, “Mulder! Did you see how many things of ice cream you got? I don’t know how we’re going to fit all that in the freezer.”

The cashier grinned, handing him his card back, “you can always buy her a bigger freezer.”

“This is very true. Freezer shopping next.”

Scully gave up, “that’ll be tomorrow’s trip. We’ll just have to eat all this tonight.”

“Challenge accepted.”

&&&&&&&&&&&

Back at the apartment, groceries spread from one end of the counter to the other, Scully was mid-ice cream put away when she stopped, hand shaking, head spinning. After a second, she turned to Mulder, his back to her, “I’m, um, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go lay down.” Her hand was already rubbing her forehead, “are you okay putting everything away?”

Turning, his stomach sank at how pasty pale she’d become in the last two minutes, “yeah. I’m fine. Go take a nap.”

She was already moving, one hand on the wall of the hall to steady herself as she headed to the bedroom. Once alone, he slowly, methodically, put the groceries in their proper places, shutting cupboards quietly, trying not to rattle pasta or click jars. Five minutes and a fully stocked kitchen later, he realized it was only a little after one. She’d made it four hours. It had been a good four hours but …

If he dwelled on that, he’d scream at the top of his lungs, cursing the sky, fist shaking in the air. Instead, he pulled the mushrooms back out, deciding some manual cooking labor would keep his mind occupied.

That and trying not to cut the tips of his fingers off.

Three pounds of mushrooms, a stick of butter, six cloves of garlic, a teaspoon of salt, and ½ that of pepper later, and small, diced onion to boot, he set her crockpot to warm, snapped the lid tight, and wondered what next.

Sheets.

Put the sheets in the dryer.

Checking that the stains were gone, he hit the button to set the machine humming.

Clean up.

Last night’s Chinese cartons and chopsticks were still on the coffee table. Trash. Check.

Take out the trash. It smelled. He killed five minutes tying the bag, walking it to the garbage chute. Coming back inside and locking the door.

Then he stood there. Tight circle rotating, trying to find something else.

He knew what he wanted to do but felt he shouldn’t. She was fine. She would yell for him if need be.

Bu something kept pulling him in the direction of her bedroom.

“Fuck it.”

He made his way to her door to find her curled on the bed, small lump under thick covers. Stealing to the other side, he carefully lay down, sliding under the quilt in silence. If she wanted to, she could hit him later for arriving in her bed unannounced.

He would love it if she had the strength to hit him hard enough for it to make an impact.

Then again, she’d hit him before and it never made an impact.

It mostly just made him more stubborn and annoying.

He couldn’t help a small smile as he thought about how irritating he could be but she just kept coming back anyways.

She’d come back from this, too. She had to.

She had no choice.

He could see the tension in her face, even while asleep, forehead wrinkled, eyebrows tight. Reaching out, he began massaging between her eyes, imaging that fucking tumor only an inch below his thumb. How the hell could they not take the damn thing out? It was right there.

Right.

There.

Another thought he had to banish from his mind or screaming would ensue, he kept rubbing, watching her face slowly relax, pinched look disappearing, “mmmhmm.”

Soft sound in the back of her throat told him to keep going, small circles, occasionally venturing to the round bones surrounding her eyes, the bridge of her nose, up to her hairline. Another ‘hhmmmm’ later, then a deep sigh, she rolled to her back, making his task a little harder, arms more awkward in their reach.

Shifting slightly, arm now across her chest, he continued. Feeling himself drifting off, his thumb movements lighter and slower, he felt her turn her head, face him, “Mulder?”

“Hi.” Rolling towards him once again, her hands slipped under his arm and one palm to his face, she moved forward, kissing him. Shocked, he pulled back after a moment, “are you awake or asleep?”

He saw her suddenly blink, head shake, both signs she was just waking up, “what? Mulder?”

Knowing she didn’t recall anything because there was no embarrassment turning her red, no heat in her cheeks, eyes innocently confused, “nothing. You said something and I thought … I just wasn’t sure if you were awake. Go back to sleep.”

Caught in limbo of dreams and Mulder, she didn’t care, and scooted closer, into his arms, “you are the warmest thing I own.” Snuggling into him, about as up close and personal as they could get fully clothed on a Friday afternoon, “I like it.”

She so totally did own him and he would be perfectly fine declaring that by billboard, sky writer, or booming voice from the sky. Lips to her forehead, he left them there as he agreed, “I do, too.”

&&&&&&&&&

[themangledsans0508]

Entering the Dungeon because Bonnie said so

Read on Ao3

Summary: Marceline came to Bonnie's aide when she called for Finn and Jake. She didn't expect to be going down a hundred floors while dealing with a shady princess.

Basically, I played Enter the Dungeon over the past two weeks and I have been writing this since the second night of playtime. Trying to write things before I forget them and it is following the canon of the game with some creative liabilities taken.

Words: 3616, Oneshot

Warnings: General Depictions of Violence

Characters: Bonnibel Bubblegum, Marceline Abadeer, Flame Princess

Ships: bubbline

Additional Tags: quests, dungeons, childhood trauma, swearing, adventure, conflict, kind of resolved kind of not, I feel like marcy and phoebe would have a neat dynamic, I've never seen them interact so, some of these scenes were legit my reaction, see: screaming

"Well, it looks like Ice King will be hanging around the Candy Kingdom now," Bonnie sighed. Marceline glanced at the dark entrance to the dungeon and shrugged.

"It's better than down there. At least up here, he can't get hurt," she decided. Bonnie looked at the hole as well and then back to Marceline.

"Marcy, I think you should let the boys handle this one," she stated seriously. Marceline shifted the umbrella in her grip and unfolded her legs to touch the ground.

"Why? I'll be fine."

"Well, asides from the fact that you have been returning up here frequently covered in wounds and the fact that Death is seemingly hunting you down, those aren't just any ancient ruins down there."

"How bad can it be?"

"Mushroom war. If my associations are correct from the information you've given me, then the same city you used to live in” Marceline stiffened. "Finn and Jake can deal with this, you just take a breather, okay?"

"No," Marceline shook her head. "I can take care of it. Just some old relics, nothing a woman like me can't face." Bonnie eyed her warily.

"If you're sure," she said slowly. "Please be careful."

"Send me down, Bonnibel."

~

"What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck!" Marceline shrieked.

"Marcy are you okay?" Bonnie's crackly voice asked, her projection appearing from the holo-pendant. Marceline leaned against the stone wall, her breathing heavy staring at her punctured legs that were bleeding.

"Just fine," she said sarcastically. "Almost got staked by some rusty metal pipes. Bonnie, this is post-war technology. What did you do?"

"I have important research down there, I had to defend it at least a little bit."

"The thousands of lost souls weren't enough?"

“It’s to protect it from them,” Bonnie snapped. “If these criminals got their hands on it, the Candy Kingdom would be in danger.”

“Oh, yeah, if the political prisoners found evidence you were a corrupt leader then you’d be overthrown.”

“It’s a real threat!” Marceline rolled her eyes.

“Whatever. I wished my healing worked down here.”

“Bodily magic doesn’t work because some of those creatures down there have natural magical prowess.”

“Too bad that there are tons of magic weapons down here.” The spikes retreated and Marceline pushed herself up, floating slowly around with her axe prone and ready. “What about the plants?”

“They’ve mutated to become immune to the limitation,” Bonnie explained.

“Speaking of plants, there’s one now.”

~

Marceline felt the wind leave her body as she was knocked against the wall, the deer’s antlers puncturing her legs and it licked her.

“Gross! Back off!” She kicked the deer’s underbelly and pushed it off her, slamming her axe down on the deer’s neck. She shakily stood up and was grabbed, a muzzle rubbing against her neck. She hissed as she felt new instincts override her other ones. She pushed herself up and slid under the wolf, standing up to hit it with the neck of her bass causing it to recoil. She slashed across its chest and took a deep breath, stumbling towards the stairwell.

She watched as a green portal opened and Death stepped out, a brown satchel on his waist and he tipped his cap towards her.

“I see you,” he said and Marceline braced herself, taking in the area and how much space she had. She dashed to the left and hugged the wall, growling when she felt skeletal fingers wrap around her forearm. She was jerked backwards and she felt Death’s skull touch her cheek. She could practically feel the energy drained from her as she struggled before she finally got her arm out of his grasp.

She dived for the stairs and fell down them, at the bottom turning back to look. Death stood at the top and made finger guns towards her.

“Kiss of Death, baby.”

“Fuck you,” Marceline hissed.

~

“Bonnibel, how did you get lava down there,” Marceline asked as she watched the wounds heal. Bonnie handed her a vial of a purple liquid that she drank, whatever cursed her fading away.

“Various tunnels and educated usage of pressure and-”

“It was more rhetorical. But I did get burned. And stabbed. And shot. And kissed without my consent.”

“What? Who kissed you?” Bonnie exclaimed.

“Death. He was blocking the stairs so I tried to duke him but he caught me. I did manage to get down the stairs though.” Marceline tapped her cheek in the spot that Bonnie assumed she was kissed. “Good thing I’m already dead.”

“Death shouldn’t be hanging around in the dungeon,” Bonnie muttered. “It’s interfering with the mortal realm and not allowing the natural flow to keep order.”

“Well, you’re throwing people in a dungeon and barring magic. That messes with the natural flow,” Marceline pointed out.

“Shut up,” Bonnie snapped. “Have you found any signs of the hoomans?”

“None. I’m going to head back down though, I’ll find them.” Bonnie grabbed her wrist and locked eyes with her.

“Marceline, you’re getting close to a bad place. A place that you were nine-hundred ninety-nine years ago. I really think you should stay up here this time."

"Bonnibel, it will be fine. Send me down."

~

Marceline stared at the ruined food truck, a flood of emotions overwhelming her. She listened to the sea of growling and heard a soft humming mixed in. She picked up a rock and threw it at the truck, the old voice box still working. The red siren turned on, illuminating the maze in red light. Her breathing became unsteady and rapid when the oozers began to glow, and she spotted a hooman among them. The hooman saw her as well and started happily skipping towards her.

She took out her axe and started swinging at the oozers, their green insides spilling out onto the ground. When the hooman was close enough, she grabbed her wrist and bolted, bringing her to the fence and kicking open the gate. She looked over at Susan’s grateful face and to the entrance of the maze and sighed.

“I’m booked for this, aren’t I?”

~

“Marceline! Marceline are you okay?” Bonnie grabbed her arm and started looking over her body, circling her and checking over the exposed skin and where the clothes were ripped.

“Bonnie, I’m fine. I can’t believe they’re still down there.” Bonnie stopped and stepped back.

“I couldn’t get rid of them. If that green goop even touches you that’s it. I just thought if I buried them then that would be the end of it. How the hoomans even got down there I don’t know.”

“Probably something to do with that buff cat chick,” Marceline jabbed her thumb towards Susan.

“Maybe. I’ll ask her later. But Marcy, that one got really dicey. Everyone made it out safely, but you almost didn’t. That swarm could have easily overwhelmed you. Can you please let Finn and Jake take care of this? I really don’t want you to get hurt.”

“And I don’t want them to get hurt,” Marceline mumbled. “I’m the best choice for this. I can teleport back to the surface, I know how to fight, I’ve been in all these places before. Plus I can literally eat the red bullets.”

“If you insist,” Bonnie sighed. She pulled her necklace and started fiddling with it. “What floor?”

~

“Marce, that one was close. This is the seventh time,” Bonnie scolded. Marceline shrugged and leaned on her.

“I’m exhausted,” she complained. “Magic Man hit me with some bullshit.”

“A strength-sapping spell,” Bonnie murmured. She pulled a herb out of her bag and placed it on top of Marceline’s head. “Stand still,” she instructed and counted under her breath before removing it. “You need to rest for at least three hours.”

“No,” she slurred, backing up and swaying on her feet. “I can keep going. I just…” She started falling forward and Bonnie caught her, sighing.

“Will you just go take a nap or something?” she asked. Marceline groaned.

“Don’t let anyone else go in there. I can deal with this myself,” she ordered and Bonnie pushed her back, keeping one hand on Marceline’s shoulder and crossing over her chest.

“Cross my heart,” Bonnie smiled. Marceline raised her umbrella in the air.

“I am going to the corner,” she announced and wandered off towards Choose Goose.

~

“Marceline, things are looking really dangerous. You keep having to retreat back up here,” Bonnie said softly. Marceline shrugged.

“Whatever, I’m still making it out,” she stated. Bonnie crossed her arms.

“You almost aren’t,” Bonnie scolded. “Do you want some help?”

“Bonnibel Bubblegum fighting in a dungeon? I don’t know.” Bonnie rolled her eyes.

“No, a token per se. Something that’ll protect you.” Marceline shook her head aggressively.

“No. I don’t need any help. None! Send me down!”

“If you say so,” Bonnie sighed.

~

“Will you accept my offer now?” Bonnie asked, placing her hands on her hips. Marceline put a hand on her forehead and clenched her jaw.

“Fine. Yes. What do you have.”

“Pep-but! Grab the sweater!” Bonnie called. Peppermint Butler came running with a knitted pink sweater folded in his arms. “Thanks, Peps. Marcy, arms up.” She took the sweater from his arms and held it. Marceline used her free hand to motion towards herself.

“Umbrella.”

“You have telekinesis.”

“Oh, yeah.” She let the umbrella float above her slightly higher and she raised her arms. Bonnie slid it carefully over her head and adjusted her collar. Marceline scratched at it.

“This is tight, Bons,” Marceline complained. Bonnie smiled shyly.

“It’s made of the strongest magic out there,” she said quietly. Marceline quirked an eyebrow.

“O-kay. I thought you thought magic was a sham.” She tugged at the hem of it and frowned, her eyes narrowing at Bonnie. “Why can’t I take it off?”

“Well, you see, I had a feeling you might try to take it off, and for your own safety, I may have had it engineered so that you couldn’t take it off until you were in a sound state. Since you’re going back in, it recognizes that you are going to be in harm’s way.”

“I should have known there’d be a catch,” Marceline grumbled.

“It’s in your best interest,” Bonnie stated.

“That doesn’t make it right. Look, I’m just going back down. I’m getting to the bottom of this.”

~

Marceline carefully pulled the pink sweater over her head and slid it over the umbrella handle.

“I’m not putting that back on,” she growled and sighed. “Everything is covered in your gum down there, you’ve been having fun without me? And since when did you have a giant pink cat thing and a huge gryphon eagle thing?”

“Goliad and Stormo? I’m glad they’re still balancing each other out.”

“I’m not getting an explanation? I should’ve expected that.”

“Also, I’m sorry but your corner is occupied now. I thought you could all use a break from the dungeon and while you may not enjoy the opportunity, the Nightosphere offered a challenge for anyone who felt so inclined. Maybe while everyone does that you can rest?”

“Why are you pushing me to slow down? I’m in my groove right now. You’re not my mom,” Marceline snapped.

“I’m not trying to be your mom! I care about you and I’m worried you’re pushing yourself too hard!”

“Well geez, it’s nice of you to care after all this time! I know my limits! I’ll show you! I’m going to the Nightosphere!”

“Marceline!”

“Don’t come after me,” she snapped and stalked off. Bonnie hugged herself and grimaced.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

~

“Are you going to calm down now?” Bonnie asked. Marceline kicked the dirt angrily.

“No. But I think I give up for now. That whole jam is ridiculous. There’s so much going on at once. I think the normal chaos is what I prefer right now. You know, I think it’d be cool if you came down too.” Bonnie shifted uncomfortably.

“Someone needs to stand guard here.” Marceline motioned towards the banana guards to either side.

“Found two,” she pointed out.

“It has to be me,” Bonnie insisted. She leaned over and whispered so only Marceline could hear. “You know how incompetent these guys can be.”

“Whatever you say P-Bubs.”

~

“So, how’d Flame Princess get locked down there, in the lab that belongs to you trapped in a machine you made.” Bonnie shrugged.

“No idea.”

“You can’t keep trying to ruin Finn’s relationship, girl. It’s an unhealthy obsession.”

“It’s not an obsession, it’s a coincidence! It’s a coincidence that she got trapped in my machinery

“You aren’t confirming it or denying it.”

"I don't need to. I'm not that cruel a woman that I would trap a child for a science experiment."

"Actually-"

"Don't." Bonnie held a finger out to stop Marceline from continuing. "There's no reason for me to lock Flame Princess up, especially when she herself is the biggest threat to the Candy Kingdom. It isn't wise to poke the bear with a stick, you know what I mean?"

“Yeah, I guess. She really wants to join the travel party now, so she might still be gunning to destroy the kingdom.” Bonnie placed a nervous hand on her cheek and glanced warily towards Flame Princess, who appeared to be trying to explain something to Finn.

“Could you keep an eye on her?” Bonnie asked.

“I’m not a babysitter,” Marceline snapped and sighed, “but yeah, I guess. I’d rather all of Ooo not be lit on fire. I’ll take her with me.” Bonnie smiled gratefully. “Anything I need?”

“I recommend a fire-resistance charm, in case you get caught in the crossfire.” Marceline nodded and dropped some gold in her hand. “I’ll use the charm, and that armour Finn hates too. Also, let Flame Princess use whatever token she wants, I don’t care.”

“Flame Princess! Marceline wants you to come with her!” Bubblegum shouted and the teen came running, small fires dotting her every step.

~

“That was exhilarating! So many things happening at once, so many creatures and questions! I knew that Bubblegum was no good!” Phoebe exclaimed.

“Hey, cut her some slack. She’s been at this for a long time,” Marceline growled. Flame Princess looked at her in confusion.

“You can’t honestly look at all this and tell me she’s not evil or at least bad. Look at all this stuff! Living beings forced to stay down here to the rest of their lives. Why? Is what they did really bad enough to deserve this?”

“Yes!” Marceline snapped. “And you don’t know Bonnie like I do.”

“Well, how do you know her so well?”

“I know her so well because-”

“You have done well to come this far,” A voice echoed, startling both girls. Marceline and Phoebe both looked to the speaker.

“Bonnie? What are you doing all the way down here?” Marceline asked.

“Something evil I bet,” Phoebe spat and Marceline whacked the back of her head, ignoring the burning sensation. Bonnibel frowned.

“This is my dungeon,” she said plainly. “And this room is the bottom of it. So, great job! You can go home now, back to the surface or whatever.”

“I don’t think so. There’s probably something in here that you’re hiding,” Phoebe hissed. Marceline raised an eyebrow.

“This doesn’t make sense. What’s down here, Peebs?” Bonnie chuckled nervously.

“Nothing! This is the bottom. That’s it. But just to be safe,” she glared discreetly at Phoebe “I need you to promise me you will not touch my desk back there. It has important research on it that you could mess up. This could be your final quest in this adventure, just promise me. Royal promise. No touchies.”

“I’m not promising anything,” Marceline insisted. Bonnie shook her head.

“You have to.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Fine! Whatever!” Marceline threw up her arms in defeat. Bonnie smiled. It wasn’t one of her normal smiles, not one of the ones Marceline was used to. It was empty and cold. Her eyes were unreadable.

“I think we’re done here then. Thank you for solving the mystery.” Marceline looked her up and down and walked past her, looking down at the table. Phoebe walked up beside her and glanced at Marceline.

“These papers are unreadable,” she whispered. Marceline absentmindedly picked up one of the papers, seeing the words were faded and the pictures were half-erased. Then the wall in front of them opened, showing a dark pink gum tunnel.

“Are you serious? What the fuck is wrong with you! Where does this even go?” Marceline shouted. She spun around to face Bonnibel and scowled at the expression on her face. An expression she hadn’t seen in centuries, since they had broken up. Her eyes were narrowed and she had a slight frown. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her and she straightened her back to look at them like she was above them.

You’ll never know where it goes,” she said slowly, “you broke a royal promise. And you know what that means. I’m sorry girls, it’s business.” Marceline saw out of the corner of her eye a fireball that Phoebe had thrown before they both teleported above the kingdom, standing on a cotton candy cloud and looking up at the Gumball Guardians.

“I told you,” Phoebe shouted. Marceline growled and readied her axe.

~

“Well, at least I’ll get a metal song out of this,” Marceline mumbled. Phoebe scoffed.

“You’re thinking about music? I’m thinking about revolution!” Her hands lit up and she prepared to attack before Bonnibel ran out in front of them.

“Wait! You don’t understand! I know this thing looks like a monster, but you have to listen to me! It doesn’t want to hurt you! It just-” A gum tentacle swung out and grabbed her, causing both Marceline and Phoebe to jump back.

“Bonnie! You’re not getting out of this that easily!” She lunged forward only to get hit in the face with a metal ball, knocking her back. Phoebe dragged her to her feet.

“Think smart!” She barked.

~

Marceline was angry at Bubblegum, but seeing everyone else rail on her for something she herself had done as well, made her get a bit protective. She’d deal with the lying later.

“Wouldn’t you lie to protect your weird old parents too?” Marceline snapped. She floated down and wrapped her arms around Bonnie’s shoulders, glaring at the entire crew. She glanced at Bonnie for a split second and saw her small smile and she flashed one back. She was still holding her when the mass of gum began to separate.

~

“Thanks for helping me out, I do wish you could’ve done it without killing my parents though,” Bonnie said. Marceline raised an eyebrow.

“They aren’t dead. We can go catch them if you want.”

“No, no. They’ll come back if they want,” Bonnie sighed. “Marceline, come inside. I want to speak with you privately.”

“Okay, sure.” Marceline followed her up the candy steps and through the winding halls, ending in Bonnie’s room. She motioned towards the bed.

“Sit down,” she ordered and Marceline obliged, sitting down with her arms crossed. “I want to apologise to you.”

“For what? For sending me on a wild goose chase? For trying to get your gumball guardians to murder me? For lying to me and tricking me? For literally putting all of us in mortal danger? Which one is it?” Marceline snarled. Bonnie winced.

“All of that, listen, Marceline, I didn’t want to do all that! But responsibility demands sacrifice and the cost kept escalating. I didn’t expect it to get so out of hand before it was already there. I was running out of ways to stop you.”

“Maybe the best way to have stopped me would have been to tell the truth? Did you ever consider that?” Marceline snapped. “Everyone could have died, get that through your thick skull! All of us could have died!” She stood up and sat back down, pinching the bridge of her nose and taking deep breaths. “I don’t even know how long it’s been, all I know is you haven’t changed a bit. You put your own pride over the actual lives of other people.”

“Marceline-”

“No, Bonnie, listen. It’s been like this for centuries. It’s exhausting. I had thought you were different now. I really did. But I guess old habits die hard.”

“I’m trying to change. I really am Marcy. I just- I was scared. You know what it’s like to have to face the potential of losing your parents. You know what it’s like to lose them. I don’t. I just had to come head-to-head with it today. It’s not okay that I did all that, but I panicked,” Bonnie rambled. Marceline stood up and shook her head.

“I’m going home. I have a killer headache and I’m tired. I got up to come help and I did, so my job’s done.” She rubbed her temple and walked to the door, reaching for the handle only for her hand to be grabbed.

“I’m sorry. I want you to know that. I really am sorry.” She hesitated. She looked to Bonnie and inhaled sharply. She did look remorseful, but sometimes remorse was not enough.

“Sorry doesn’t fix this,” she mumbled. Bonnie looked away.

“I understand.” She quickly hugged Marceline and backed away, walking to filter through her closet. “It’s okay if you never forgive me. I wouldn’t blame you.”

“I’ve forgiven you for worse,” Marceline stated. “But this one will take me a bit. I’ll text you eventually.” She strolled out and narrowly avoided Peppermint Butler who was coming into the room, getting called some harsh words as she opened her umbrella to make her way home.

[elisende]

Predators (1/2)

Characters: Halsin/FOC Rating: M Words: 2655 Long before becoming the first druid of the Emerald Grove, Halsin is a hotheaded, aimless youth struggling to control his anger and alienation. When a mysterious druid saves him from a great bear, he sees a path to another life. Even the High Forest was a lonely place for a wood elf with no kinfolk to speak of--none still living. Most of his kind had left for Evermeet or for the teeming cities of the east. Neither appealed to Halsin.

He roamed the great forest that was his birthright, scavenging what scraps could be found on the edges of the human settlements that encroached, year by year, like some choking vine.

And he grew from adolescent to adult over the twenty winters of his wandering, broadening across the shoulders, shooting up to a height that others seemed to find incredible. The humans around the villages he haunted took to calling him the Tailhleach, “the tall walker,” in their strange tongue. They feared him as some sort of half-man, half-beast, a spirit protector of the forest. The myth was a useful one: it meant he went mostly undisturbed, except when the occasional foolhardy youth took it upon himself to hunt down the beast. But Halsin had his own ways of staying the sword arms and bows of overeager hunters.

These conquests, too, became part of his legend.

Now fully grown, he had become, in a word, complacent. There was nothing in the forest, man or beast, that could challenge him. So he thought, with all the arrogance of the young.

Halsin’s appetites often led him from one part of the forest to the other in search of delicacies: truffles, chestnut honey, blackberries. Today he was foraging for mushrooms: the orange rilled ones so good they could be eaten raw, as soon as they were dusted off. The mushrooms preferred this part of the wood, the wet brambly hillside that was often choked in fog.

Nothing seemed amiss as he scanned the forest floor for their distinctive convex caps.

He was deaf to the crackling of dead leaves, the faint but audible snap of a twig, the rustle of disturbed undergrowth and even the snort of the curious bear as it approached his crouching back.

It was only when the beast’s breath disturbed the hair on Halsin’s head that he whirled around, startling the great bear. For one moment that felt like a century, they stared, nose to nose and eye to eye: elf and bear, locked in the fatal glance of prey and hunter.

Then the bear roared, its fear exploding to rage like dry tinder under lightning’s forked tongue. Halsin was so close that he could see the ridges on the bear’s bright canine teeth, taste its meaty breath. A young bear, he thought stupidly. He began backing away, all the while watching the beast.

The great bear stood on its hind feet and flattened its ears. It made as though to charge but it was only a feint, a test of Halsin’s resolve. He stopped. Anger building alongside his terror, he bellowed at it, swung the slim oaken branch he always carried with him.

But the bear wouldn’t be intimidated. It had no inkling of his fearsome reputation. His rage was only fuel for its own.

It swiped, claws scraping Halsin’s flesh from his hairline down to his left eyebrow. His vision went red and by instinct he swung his club. He only hit the bear by luck, the same luck that had saved his left eye.

It backed away and lowered its head, ears flattened. This would be a true charge and he stood little chance of surviving it, given the bear’s size.

He stood, waiting, in a defensive crouch, holding out his makeshift club, blood pouring down his face. But just as the bear started to charge, a warning growl sounded from the chestnut grove beyond.

Almost comically, the bear quirked its head. The growls continued and the bear moaned in reply, as though in conversation with it.

The rage melted from the beast’s eyes and it pawed the air as an elven woman appeared in the gloom. She lowed at the bear once more and the bear, incredibly, seemed almost to chuckle.

“What are you--”

“He says you’re after his mushrooms again. Whenever you come here, you leave nothing for the others who reside in this wood. He thinks it's rather rude,” the elf said. As she came closer, he saw the crest of Silvanus on her broach. A druid, then.

He laughed incredulously, wiping the blood from his face. “I’m rude? That bear--”

“His name is Sage.”

Halsin paused, collecting his thoughts. The druid was very lovely, as a moonrise over a pine forest is lovely, or a bird of prey on the wing, or the river’s rush after first thaw. Hers was a stark, unadorned beauty. “That bear-- alright, Sage--was about to kill me,” he finally said, failing to keep his voice level. He was still trembling with his fear and anger. The two never could be parted, for him; they were like smoke and flame.

“His kind have been killed for far less,” she said. Her tone was neutral but he could see a warning glint in her amber eyes.

“Who are you?” he asked, his curiosity overtaking his consternation. “There is no Circle for twenty leagues.”

“No indeed,” the druid said. He could tell she did not enjoy speaking of herself; her words took a rote quality. “I’m posted here for a task that has taken me some years, and will take more still to complete.” She tilted her head, looking inquiringly at him. “Like Sage, I’ve also noticed that you claim more than your share from this wood.”

“You’ve been watching me.”

“You are hard to avoid. You trample through the wood like it's your bedchamber.”

He colored ever so slightly when she said the word bedchamber. The bear, Sage, groaned as if in agreement. The druid walked over and patted him on the head, whispering something in his rounded ears. Halsin felt absurdly jealous at the intimacy, even as his wounds began to throb.

As was often the case, he found himself speaking before he knew precisely what he was going to say. He knew only that he was drawn to the druid. “I can help you with your task, whatever it is, if you teach me in exchange. I would like to learn the ways of the druids.”

She didn’t laugh outright, at least. The druid seemed even to consider it. But then, finally, she said: “No, I haven’t the inclination for such an arrangement. I live alone by choice as much as by necessity.”

And without so much as a fare thee well, she vanished back into the wood. Sparing a quick backwards glance at the now mellow bear sniffing the orange mushrooms, Halsin followed.

*

He trekked for more than half the day until evening fell. The druid doubled back three times and almost lost him half a dozen more but every time he’d managed to find her trail and catch up with her.

Perhaps, he reflected later, she wanted to be found.

He was not so foolhardy as to barge into the tiny hut where the druid lived; he had little doubt the elf could magick him into a fine paste and butter her toast with him, if she so desired. He rested on a fallen log on the patch of green and looked around the darkening glade as he waited for her to emerge.

It was virtually untouched, despite her habitation. In contrast to the human villagers who seemed intent on clearing every tree within the radius of their settlements, the druid’s hut seemed to have emerged spontaneously from the ground, disturbing none of the surrounding environs.

A brook murmured nearby and made sweet music with the evening song of the crepuscular birds. His mind wandered back to the druid and he resumed the game he’d been playing all afternoon as he trailed her, trying to guess her name. She looked to be a high elf of some maturity--perhaps five or even six centuries, old enough for the first lines to appear at the corners of her lovely, fierce eyes. What was she doing here, after all?

It had been long since he’d met such an interesting person--since he’d met anyone he cared to know. The irony that she didn’t wish to know him was bitter, stinging. He dabbed gingerly at the gashes on his brow. They throbbed still but had stopped bleeding, at least.

Smoke rose from her hut and Halsin’s belly cramped with hunger. He had not eaten all day and was out of the deer jerky he usually kept in his hip pouch. And, too, there was hunger of another sort, equally desperate for satisfaction.

Her door finally opened to him, a rectangle of golden light in the gathering dark.

He felt every inch of his six and a half feet when he entered the hut; he was eye level with the rafters and had to crouch to move around the single room. Without comment, the druid pulled a chair from the table--there was only one chair--and extended her arm in invitation.

Halsin sat, inhaling the exquisite scent of the rabbit stew bubbling on the hearth. She did not offer to bind his wounds but bent over him to take a cursory look to ensure there was nothing amiss.

He held his breath as she touched his face with her cool fingers, probing the furrows the Sage’s claws had left in his flesh. He gasped, and not just from the pain. How long had it been since he’d felt a woman’s touch, even an indifferent one? “Those will scar,” she said simply, then moved back to the hearth.

“Tell me,” he said, watching intently as she ladled the stew into an earthenware bowl. “What is your name?”

The druid glanced up from the hearth. Her amber gaze was intense; he felt his blood heating just from that look. He wanted her so badly that even the distant possibility his desire might be fulfilled quickened his pulse.

“Dalia,” she said. He could never have guessed it.

“‘The edge of dawn,’” he translated from the high elven. A poetic name but one that seemed to suit her. “Pretty. I’m called Halsin.”

She smiled at that. It was not a common name, he imagined, among her folk.

“‘Hazelnut,’” she said, meeting his eyes again as she passed him the bowl. Their fingers brushed and his intake of breath was audible.

“Just ‘hazel,’ in our tongue,” he said, still watching her. She was as captivating as a hawk at prey, even serving soup from a cookpot. He noticed a fading tattoo running along her hairline. Too ornate for druid work. He longed to trace it with his finger. “Where are your people?”

“My Circle resides at the Dancing Falls, on the edge of the Dessarin.” She settled on the hearth to eat her soup. She had a slim figure, neat and athletic and not tall, imposing though she was in presence.

His curiosity warred with his hunger and since he had already been marked as rude, he split the difference and spoke over a mouthful of the glorious stew: rich and silky, it was, tasting of herbs and wild onions and savory meat. It burned his mouth but he did not care. “I meant, your people. Your kith and kin.”

“The druids are my kin now. The creatures and trees of this wood my kith.” She blew carefully on her stew before taking a bite.

Halsin considered this and found the idea not unappealing. The last two decades had been lonely ones and he found himself now relishing even the most adversarial contacts with people. “What do you druids do? Besides live in nature?”

Dalia snorted. “‘Besides live in nature,’ as though it’s some rare sport.”

“Well, isn’t it? Not many choose such a life.”

“You did.”

He stopped eating and looked down at his bowl of half-finished stew, uncertain of how much to reveal. He wanted to tell all, unburden all the secrets of his heart for the sake of sharing them. But even his corroded social skills warned him against that approach. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel sorry for him. “This life chose me,” he said vehemently, anger rising unbidden. “Not the other way around. My people are dead and gone.”

Dalia’s curved eyebrow registered her skepticism and he felt another flash of annoyance. How dare she imagine she knew his heart better than he?

“You might have traveled to a city, or made a life in one of the villages here. No doubt they would be happy to have your shield and many maidens happy to take you to their beds.”

Halsin choked on his stew and from the corner of his eye caught her faint smile, the glimmer in her keen eyes. She was teasing him for the callow youth that he knew he was, damn her.

When he regained some dignity after his fit of coughing subsided, he said, “You presume, druid. I’m not interested in maidens.” She did not squirm under his stare but merely returned his challenging gaze with her own. He wanted desperately to know what was going on behind those golden eyes. Almost as much as he wanted to throw her onto the straw pallet in the corner and divest her of her robes, to explore her lean body with eyes, hands, and tongue.

“Teach me,” he demanded. He leaned forward in the creaky chair, using his imposing size to loom over her. Like the bear, she wasn’t the least bit intimidated.

“You are impetuous and full of anger. And truly, no better than the humans you scorn; for though you live in nature you do not cherish its harmony, only what you can plunder from it."

He opened his mouth to respond in fury--what he would say, he did not know, but certainly something regrettable--but the druid held up her hand, cutting him off with the force of that gesture.

"If you want to become a druid, you will first need to master your own feelings. But nature, much as we druids endeavor to heal it, also has the power to heal us in turn.” She heaved a sigh, as though already regretting her next words. “I can teach you. Perhaps it was meant to be so.”

Halsin’s anger melted into relief so deep the corners of his eyes pricked with tears. His voice was rough when he replied with a terse “Thank you.” Even he had not realized how much he wanted this--needed it. Halsin’s eyes finally rose again to meet Dalia’s. “I swear that your trust in me will not be misplaced.”

She nodded briskly as though they’d concluded a trade. “Well and good. About the other thing….”

“The other thing?” he said densely.

“Of maidens and bedchambers.” She rolled her eyes and he felt a blush creep up his neck.

“Oh. Yes. What about them?” he asked warily.

“I’m not so foolish as to offer my heart to a wood elf but we both have… needs.” Her face was still composed but behind her stiff words he could sense her vulnerability. She, too, was lonely. The idea of her dwelling here alone in the hut for years on end filled him with tenderness in equal measure to his desire for her.

His chair scraped away from the table and he narrowly avoided a collision with the rafter as he sat down beside her to take her face in his hands.

She had an angular jaw to match her aquiline features. Her eyes had little softness in them, even now. She told him what to do next. As their bodies joined by the fire he experienced pleasures he didn’t know existed. Compared to his crude, perfunctory couplings in the wood, they were divine, revelations written in flesh and sighs.

After, they lay together in silence as the fire dwindled and his heart threatened to over-brim with happiness. Rare happiness from the promise of things to come.

[whatusernameshouldieven]

✧･ﾟ:* You and I  *:･ﾟ✧*

Art by: https://twitter.com/cchaiart

Genre: fiancé au, fluff

Pairing: Fiancé!Choi San x Foreigner!Reader ;)

A/N: Hey~ This is literally my first tumblr post ever, lol. I’m still a newbie so this is unedited~ Thanks for checking out!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

⇰ Chapter 1: Unexpected Date 

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★ ・・・・・・・

“Oh my god, Oh my god, Oh my god!”, you squealed in pain as you suffocate your face in your favorite pillow, legs kicking like a newborn baby. You threw your phone across a bit, making sure your aim was not shallow enough to make the phone fall out of bed. The black sheets supported your body, as you rolled around in an uncontrollable way.

Your best friend was just sitting at the side of the bed, feeling like a bystander watching a scene. “Okay… what’s wrong with you?”

You stop dead straight on your as you spread out a bit, staring at the sky as if you were seeing stars. “Choi San invited me to a restaurant, he said he had something important to discuss.” Your heart hammered in her chest, you were awkward at social places.

Your best friend’s eyes widen dramatically as her expression falters to disgust, “My brother invited you to a fancy restaurant? YOU-- ARE YOU GUYS DATING?”

“No, what?”, You chuckled in disbelief at your best friend’s question, “We’re best friends, he has eyes for another girl, Emma. I think.”

Emma or your best friend wriggles her eyebrows, “Or...he invited you to a date… oh my god, is he trying to make things romantic so he can ask you out later? Oh my god, you’ll be my sister in law-Ah!”

Emma catches the sudden pillow attack, as she stares at your tomato shaded face. “It’s not like that, you know it. Why would anyone be interested in me anyways? I’m not even Korean like him.” Emma tilts her head, “So? I mean...you guys talk A LOT.”

You ignore Emma’s statement, “Whatever… you’re involved, you’re helping me with clothes and everything.”

“Oh, it would be my pleasure!”, Emma exclaimed, feeling the rush of excitement. 

______________________________________________________________

Time: 10 P.M

>>>FANCY RESTURANT

You now stood outside of a tall marvelous building with wide eyes. This was not what you had expected at all. Surely, you had been at various of fancy restaurants with your family before but this was just next level. The building in front of you was full white, architected marvelously with the elements of the Greek culture. The building stretched quite a bit and there was a huge golden door, with vivid colors of brown and grey used together to compliment the color of gold. The rushing water of the fountain could be heard, as you heard various children play around there and here. The giggles and laughters were the only thing that reassured your rapid beating heart. 

Your best friend had advised you to wear something elegant, and you finally knew why. You were grateful for your friend. 

Your hair was in a neat french hair bun, as you wore diamond diamond oval-shaped piercings accompanied by a three-layer collar diamond necklace. You wore a black off-sleeved dress, which you were personally shy about but couldn’t say anything since your best friend insisted. Holding your black wristlet purse with you, you entered inside the huge door.

You were met with a whole another world.

Outside of the gate was a simplistic city with workaholics walking around in a daily basis but inside the door was an Ethiopian paradise filled with the colors of joy and happiness. You had never seen something like it— nor even thought of.

A cathedral ceiling was above you with beautiful historical symbolisms of what seemed European. There was a huge chandelier made out of crystals in the middle, shining a light down on you. The walls were consistent with the colors of golden and had pillars. You were standing on a royal red carpet which led you to the receptor of the place.

“Hello, um… I was invited by a friend here.”, You shyly asked, feeling a bit out of place. The male receipt gives you a kind smile as he nods, “You must be Ms. Y/N. Mr. Choi has been expecting you.” You smiles back, awkwardly, not sure what to say. “Let me lead you to him.” 

The man nods in a bowing motion slightly signaling you to follow him. You watched his action as you begins to walk behind the man, looking around to admire the place as you go.

You both enter an elevator, as the man pushes a random button which you can’t comprehend since you are behind him. You hold onto your bag tightly, trying to ignore the awkward silence that has filled in. The man stays silent as you just stands there with your hands together at the front.

You examines the elevator, feeling quite of a honorable person since you were surrounded by golden tiles. The floor had the restaurants logo, a fancy T in a rhombus shaped surrounding. Now you realized, you had not even bothered to check the restaurant’s name.

“We’re here”.

Your thoughts are broken by the man’s voice as he steps out to a elevator hallway, while you gently follows behind him, in a wary way. You both are met with a huge golden door, you guessed it was an entrance to the dining place.

The man begins to lead her, opening the door wide open for you as you step in. 

There entered a peaceful night day like you would see in the movies. A huge hall-like room, almost an entire family could live in bliss and ease. A king-sized bed at the corner with greyish sheets with yellowish-brown blanket to cover the mood of the room. The same colored pillows were an accent. On the opposite side of the bed, was a huge sofa with a modern TV. For you, this seemed like a set that they would use in Hollywood movies, you had never experienced in person. 

But what caught you off guard wasn’t that the restaurant had an unusual hotel-like floor, but that beyond the white wooden doors in front of you, there was a beautiful balcony. Your face froze when your eyes fell on San, the one who invited you here to begin with.

San’s face broken into a small, gentle smile. His eyes squinted a bit, delighted to acknowledge that you had came after all. “You came.”, San gracefully walked over to you with a glass in his hand, the liquid slightly purple in color. 

You were mentally freaking out for two reasons. One, Choi San was towering over you as if he was asserting dominance with such a youthful innocent face, which also made you cringe in a way. Second, he looked hot.

“Uh, yeah. It would be rude if I didn’t.”, You got yourself together as you eyed the glass, “What are you drinking?”

San smiles wider as he glances at his glance, twirling the liquid in it mischievously, “Wine. Want some? This hotel has amazing beverage.”

Excuse me, hotel?

“Hotel? SAN? I THOUGHT IT WAS A-- I thought it was a restaurant. Oh my god, I-”, You mentally cursed multiple times, feeling betrayed, “You LIED to me?”

“Y/N, Y/N calm down. This is a hotel with a restaurant, so I technically didn’t.”, San reassured in a softer tone to reason with you. He sighs in relief to see you finally, once again, getting yourself together.

You massage your shoulders, with a vulnerable expression, “Gosh, I’m such an idiot. I thought this was some place for rich ones-- so I completely overdid it.”

San raised an eyebrow with a questionable expression, “Overdid it?” You scoff in response, as you sarcastically show-off your outfit. “Oh.”

“Yeah, see? I can't believe--”

“You look beautiful.”

“What?”, Your eyes widened, your mind going blank. 

“You look stunning, Y/N.”, San politely smiled as he held his glass still in his hands, “It would be rude if a man didn’t compliment a lady.”

You let go of your shoulders, as you show a disgusted face, “Are you showing off?”

“Shh...don't ruin the moment.”, San whispers, trying to ignore your words, “Come, let’s eat.”

You prayed inside that you would last in this awkward date, where you were constantly dying of San’s sweetness and tenderness. Could it be that he was taking this seriously? Hah, no way. You followed San to the balcony, and you are immediately greeted with a gentle breeze blowing, rhythmically. You sits yourself down on a white wooden chair, thankful that a cushion was there to support your butt. San does the same.

A smile rises upon your feature, as you are delighted to witness that a mushroom-sauce steak was in front of you. The scent was lovingly welcoming to you, as it seemed to be visually fresh. “I know you like mushroom steak.” Your eyes travel towards San’s soft ones, as you start to buffer for a moment. 

Getting yourself together for the third time, you speaks, “Yeah, we would often go out to eat it.” You softly chuckled, recalling a memory of San eating a hot piece of steak, him in pain after it.

“Y/N.” San’s voice suddenly becomes all serious and dramatic, causing you to stop at your tracks from approaching a knife and a fork on a table. You hum in response, as your wide excited eyes gleamed. San bit his lip. He felt terrible to suddenly cause the atmosphere to change, but he had to get straight to the point.

“Marry me.”

Silence.

Your mouth was agape, as you were frozen at the place, not even blinking once. San held his hands together, as he looked at you in such a determined and confident manner which did not make the situation any better. The words circled in your head, as you tried to control your rapid heartbeat along with your breathing.

“What?” Your voice came out as cold and ruthless, slightly piercing San’s heart but it was expected. 

“I know this is awkward...but I need you to listen to me…”

You knew what was going to happen due to the tone of San’s voice. You had noticed how San speaks excitingly, yelling a few times there and there. His expression would be awfully animatic but he still managed to keep his tender melodious voice. Right now, San’s voice switched from animatic to awfully tender and slow, as if he was telling a sad story. His eyes only guilt tripped you, since they were so considerate and lenient. 

“I’m listening.”, You nod.

“My parents had set me up to arrange marriage with the daughter of a huge CEO. I...I can’t stand to marry a girl that I have never met, I don’t want to associate myself to a corrupt family like hers. So, I thought if I had already told my parents that I am engaged with someone, they would reconsider and break off the plan.” San pleaded, “I know....I know I’m not the man of your dreams. Ugh, what am I even saying? I’m so selfish for asking you this...I’m sorry.”

You let out a long sigh which seemed to last seconds, “Okay, San. I understand.”

San’s eyes perk up, “You do?! Oh my god...you don’t have to.”

“Meh, I don’t mind. I don’t have anyone special in my life so.”, You shrugged. 

San smiles as he rubs his neck a little, averting his eyes, “Oh god...I need to do this better.”

“Better?”, You were confused. San stands up as he walks towards you in such a wary way that made you expect the unexpected. He crouches down as you slightly turns your body towards him. He takes out a box from his pocket, as he stares at you lovingly, “Will you marry me?”

This was so weird. Everything was so weird. So unusual. Did things like this even exist, such scenarios that are hard to experience? Tears started to appear on your eyes, without you even knowing. You felt touched, but why? Was it because some man had asked you to marry them when you swore you will never have a husband, or was it because you thought you would never experience such a beautiful moment?

“Ye-...Yes.”, Tears slipped down your eyes as you started to cry like a toddler.

San becomes horrified as he quickly sets the box on the table, holding your face, gently. “Why are you crying? Did I do something wrong?” The pure concern in his voice only made you more vulnerable, as you softly hit his chest. “You sentimental idiot!”

“What? Y/N...please tell me if I did something wrong.”, San ignored the soft punches on his chest, not even feeling them as he softly brushes his thumb to wipe the tears away. “I’m just touched, you doofus…”, you wipe your tears away, as you stare at the box.

San lets go of your face as he holds the box, opening it for you. Your watery eyes sparkled along with the oval-shaped diamond ring, a huge oval diamond in the middle while small shaped ones surrounded the big one. “San...thank you…”, you smiled, “It feels like an actual proposal.”

“I’ll be a rude man if I just used you for my own benefits...this is only a small thing.”, San says as he takes out the ring from the box. You both turn towards each other, looking at each other eyes for a moment. San holds your left hand, gently, sliding the ring up on your ring finger.

“Woah-- it looks good on--”

The sound of small kiss being placed on your hand seemingly echoed in your ears. The tingling sensation filled your entire body like electric shock, the sensation lingering right at the spot where the soft lips had been placed. She blinks multiple times as you blankly stared at San’s face, your heart rate once again beating fast, as a blush creeks up to your cheek. San stared at you with such love in his eyes, which was once again, unusual.

You chuckled awkwardly, averting your eyes, “Wow...um...you’re really doing so much for me.” You turn back towards San , involuntarily , whens you feel the grip on your hand tightening. “I’m doing this because it’s you...I chose YOU for this...because I trust you.”

“San…”

“I don’t want you to think I’m using you to get away. It’s not true at all. I chose you because I genuinely feel comfortable with you and I don’t mind experiencing a new life with you.”

You chuckled softly, “Sounds like a proposal.”

San presses his lips together, pressing them tightly together causing his cheeks to puff up. “Alright, I won’t tease you.”, you wished you could photograph his face.

“We should eat our steak.”

“RIGHT!”

[theashemarie]

don’t you let me go | pearlina proposal fic

[Marina’s done her research on how to propose, and has been rehearsing everything in her head for months. Sometimes, when Pearl isn’t home, she stands in the mirror and practices, watches her own face, and feels really silly. But she wants to do this right. She has the ring. Now she just has to take the plunge.]

A note to future readers: I wrote and posted this during the final splatfest before I could find out the results or how it will impact everything. This piece takes place post-final splatfest but it's pure wish fulfillment. Plain and simple.

[Crossposted on ao3.] [Story title from here.]

☆ Reblogs appreciated! ☆

------

After the splatfest ends, Pearl and Marina pass out for at least twelve hours. At the studio, they change clothes by touch because they can barely keep their eyes open, scrub makeup off, smile only with their eyes because their cheeks hurt so bad, and hold each other up as they stumble to the car. At home, they stagger in and shuck off their shoes. The bed catches them as they fall. Sometimes, they sleep curled up together, sometimes Pearl sprawls out so wide that Marina has to nudge her over to her side of the bed, sometimes Marina sleeps on her back like she’s dead and Pearl wakes up just to check for her breath.

In the morning (or afternoon), Marina is usually the first one to rise. She takes a shower, brushes her teeth, stretches her sore muscles, and gargles some warm salt water. Pearl snores loudly, but only after splatfests. Her vocal cords rattle in her chest. Marina pulls the covers down and crawls back into bed to wait.

Pearl wakes eventually, but it’s slow, like she’s rising from the grave. Marina knows she’s close when she starts muttering. Then, she twitches, first her fingertips, then her arms, then her legs, then she rolls over. Her eyes flicker open eventually and the first thing she sees is Marina, peering at her with exhausted but bright eyes. Pearl usually tries to say something, but her throat is in shreds and Marina shushes her.

Pearl showers. Marina sits in bed with the blankets pooled in her lap and checks the news on her phone. It’s always splatfest related. Marina quickly gives up trying to learn anything new about the world, content that it didn’t end in the last fourteen hours.

Pearl emerges in a shirt down to her knees and with her hair pulled back. She angrily sloshes salt water around her mouth while she’s standing there, because she hates that she has to do it, but she knows that Marina will shame her if she doesn’t. After she brushes her teeth, they have breakfast.

Today it’s eggs. They don’t talk as Marina scrambles them. Pearl pulls bits and bobs out of the fridge to dump in—mushrooms, spinach, bell peppers—and she blitzes them in the food processor because she’s too tired to handle a knife. The eggs end up good if a little mushy and they eat quickly.

They don’t talk for the first twelve hours. Vocal rest is important, but it kills Pearl a little. They have to communicate by writing or texting. Marina’s handwriting is careful, exact, while Pearl’s is loopy and messy, quick scribbles because she’s impatient. She stomps around now that she’s awake and she often takes to the studio, where she slams her fists against the keyboard in an attempt to compose. No vocals though. She never really gets very far.

It doesn’t matter who won the splatfest, not really. They don’t talk about it and, at the end of the day, it’s just a festival, more for Inkopolis than for them. It’s just their job to create hype.

And create hype they do. Their voices need days to recover and their bodies are sluggish. Marina never wants to wear another pair of tights again and she always swears them off (only to begrudgingly tug them back on as soon as they get to work on Monday), while Pearl declares that she’s done with jumping. Her knees are weak, like rotten wood, but, soon enough, she’s bouncing around like nothing happened.

They spend the day by themselves. Marina likes the quiet and Pearl can’t stand not being able to talk to Marina. So, they do their own thing. Marina sits in a rocking chair and reads, glasses perched on the end of her nose, while Pearl attempts to compose, attempts to play a video game, or succeeds at online shopping. They don’t need a popcorn machine, but she orders one anyway, along with a couple heating pads and Marina’s favorite brownie mix.

Then, that evening, they go out together. Sometimes bowling, sometimes to an arcade, sometimes to dinner at a little hole-in-the-wall place that Pearl found online. Today, because it’s the day after the final splatfest, there’s a carnival in a field on the outskirts of the city. Pearl hugs close to Marina’s back as they ride out on the motorcycle, and, once they get there, vocal rest comes to an end.

Pearl hops off the bike, stretches her arms over her head, her cropped hoodie riding up to give Marina a beautiful look at her freckled stomach, and yells, “I’m gonna eat until I throw up!”

Her voice cracks in the middle and she breaks off to cough once she gets it out. Marina laughs and puts her hand on the small of Pearl’s back as they begin to walk. “Just don’t throw up on me.”

Pearl gives her a huge grin. “Then stay out of my splash zone.”

Marina shakes her head, but she can’t help but smile in return. Surreptitiously, she unzips the pocket of her leather jacket and sticks her hand inside, just to make sure that the small box is still there.

+++

This has been coming for a while. Marina’s done her research on how to propose, received a lot of unwanted advice from anyone who saw her with the ring (namely, the jeweler, a man on the train, and Callie, who squealed so loud that Marina had to fake an illness to get out of a recording session later that evening because she couldn’t hear out of her right side), and has been rehearsing everything in her head for months. Sometimes, when Pearl isn’t home, she stands in the mirror and practices, watches her own face, and feels really silly. But she wants to do this right.

She didn’t know when she was going to do it. She never planned that far—just knew that it needed to be after the final splatfest. After all that stress, all that performing, all that pretend fighting. When they were flying high on a job well done, a tradition properly brought to a close. That was the perfect time. The ending of one thing, the beginning of the rest of their lives.

She’s been carrying the ring around for weeks now, just in case. She didn’t want Pearl to find it and she was open to seizing an opportunity, even if it went against her post-final splatfest instincts. She was really winging this whole thing, had been since she crawled out of Octo Valley and took a chance on a small little inkling with dozens of piercings who wanted to start a band. It’d brought her this far, her instincts, her gut, her trust in Pearl. Who was she to look the right moment in the face and say no?

But, that never came. Instead, things went according to plan. They sang their lungs out and danced their feet off. Marina went stage blind and Pearl almost slipped off the edge a few times. They finished strong and they brought all of Inkopolis together by dividing them. And now, they’re here.

This is the night. The lights are bright, a multitude of colors that flash and dance across their skin. Pearl’s rings catch the light and she jabbers excitedly as she points out all the junk food. She pulls Marina by the hand from stand to stand and begins to rank all of the fried food on a tastiness scale that only she understands. Marina follows along and gives her opinion on funnel cake, fried mac and cheese bites, corndogs, spiraled potatoes. All the while, Pearl glances at Marina with something behind her eyes, something that Marina can’t place. It’s not bad—in fact, it warms her through, but it almost makes her falter a few times.

After they down a few slices of pizza and share some fried ice cream, they set their sights on the rides. Pearl beelines to a large saucer and it makes Marina queasy to see it spin like that (among other things). She bows out and sends Pearl on by herself.

While alone, she tugs the box out. She doesn’t dare open it. She’s looked at it enough already: a small, simple silver band, etched with P + M. It’ll match Pearl’s other jewelry, won’t be too conspicuous, and she knows that Pearl isn’t a fan of gems or sparkles. She prefers the bluntness of silver, the glint of a thick band under stage lights.

Marina takes a deep breath, holds the box between her hands like a prayer, and tries to give herself the strength to do this. This amazing, crazy thing. This thing that will ensure that things never have to change. This thing that will guarantee that they’ll always be together, no matter what.

+++

They ride a swing ride, one that flies them in a large, leisurely circle. Marina, overcome, flings her arms and legs out like a child and Pearl lets out a chiming, free laugh. She copies Marina and, together, they yell wordless joy as they go in circles. After, a few people recognize them, and they pose for a couple pictures. Pearl, always hungry for the camera, flourishes her arms out. Marina, more subdued, makes sure that her high-waisted skinny jeans are angled just so, and puts her hands on her hips.

They go back to food after that. Over a heaping plate of fried mushrooms, Pearl looks out at the crowd, at all the couples and the children and the siblings, and her eyes are shining with all the lights. Marina swears she falls in love with her all over again right there.

“Are you going to miss it?” Pearl asks after she swallows down a mushroom. Marina, unsure, makes a confused sound. “All the splatfests,” Pearl clarifies.

Marina considers that. Will she? It was something new to look forward to, something she did only with Pearl, and staying up all night writing the announcements and the results every month were some of the most peaceful, reassuring moments of her life. Pearl is quieter and softer when she’s tired, and they shared their first kiss during one of those all-nighters. Worn down, exhausted, they merely fell together that night. One second, Pearl was leaning her head against Marina’s shoulder and the next she was looking up at her with slightly parted lips. They kissed like gravity, like it was inevitable, and, after, neither was sure who initiated. They stared at each other and it was like terminal velocity. Suddenly Pearl was in Marina’s lap, shoving her cold hands around Marina’s face so she could pull her closer. Marina wrapped her arms around Pearl’s back and pulled them flush. She swore she could feel all three of Pearl’s hearts, racing each other in a rat-a-tat rhythm.

“A little,” Marina answers, once she realizes that she’s been contemplating the question for a few too many beats. Her face is warm at the thought of that first kiss and Pearl peeks at her with a coy expression that says that she knows exactly what Marina was just thinking about.

“Things change,” Pearl continues. A flash goes off as someone takes a picture of them and Pearl glances up just in time for another to go off. She scowls in their direction, ever the protector of their private moments, and the poor teen scurries off. Then, she turns back to Marina and grabs her hand, rubs her thumb along her palm. “But you’ll always have me.”

+++

Marina almost chickens out. There are multiple opportunities, but she doesn’t take them. Instead, she allows herself to be dragged around the carnival. She examines the rides with a critical eye, taking them apart in her mind to figure out how they work, and points out a few interesting pieces of mechanics. This makes Pearl smile fondly and shake her head. She squeezes Marina’s hand. “So cute when you’re geekin’,” she mutters, and Marina shoves her lightly.

They ride a few more gentle rides, including the carousel. Pearl climbs on top of an ostrich and lets out a loud whoohoo! as soon as it starts moving. Marina, on an accompanying zebra, forgets herself for a second, because the sight of Pearl so carefree does something pleasant to her insides. She smiles to herself and when she looks it up its to Pearl beaming at her, leaning all the way back with her hands wrapped around the pole. It takes all of Marina’s combined will not to lean over and kiss her right there.

Eventually, eventually, the evening is coming to a close. They snack on a few more fried desserts, share a funnel cake and lick powdered sugar off their fingers. Pearl doesn’t barf, not even after riding a few more spinning rides, and they decide to close things out on the Ferris wheel. Marina gazes up at it and she feels a stone form in her stomach because this is it. This is the moment, isn’t it?

Her whole body feels like it’s working on a different frequency as she climbs on next to Pearl. Sher nerves sing, her hands shake, and her leg bounces. Pearl, mistaking the twitchiness for nervousness, places her small hand on top of Marina’s. Marina, with her hands vice gripped around the safety bar, merely grimaces at her.

They sail around a few rotations, staring off at the bright lights of the city, gazing down at the carnival and all the people below them. Pearl points things out, clearly trying to distract Marina from her anxiety, and Marina tries to pretend to be interested as she fumbles around with the zipper on her jacket pocket.

The Ferris wheel stops at the top. Marina nearly chokes on her own tongue as she gazes out at the dark sky in front of them, illuminated by the soft glow coming off the city. She feels like she can see forever.

“Marina...”

Everything slows down. Marina turns, hand fisting around the box in her pocket. She looks and Pearl is watching her with wide, terrified eyes. It makes Marina let go of the box.

“Pearl?”

Pearl shakes her head and grabs Marina’s hand. “Sorry, I was just enjoying the moment. Look, I have something...”

Pearl digs around in the pocket of her white shorts. Marina feels her whole body come back online then. The seat is jiggling as Pearl’s boot drums against the floor and Pearl’s hand is warm, hot almost. Just there, Marina can see a band of skin on her stomach as she shifts to get better leverage.

“You little shit... Get out of there! Ah! Got it! Okay, sorry.” Pearl smiles a little shyly and it’s the first time Marina’s ever seen that expression on her face. She looks... She’s glowing with the lights and with the blush on her cheeks and Marina literally can’t get her mind to keep up with all this.

“Look.” Pearl takes a deep, stabilizing breath. It rattles out of her chest, catches just there, and she swallows thickly. “I know this is sudden, but I can’t take it anymore.”

Pearl holds her hand out. Between her fingers, there’s a small gold band, the same color as her eyes, with a single, small stone affixed, flush, in the metal.

Marina’s mind crashes to a halt. Her perfectly rehearsed speech, her best laid plans, all leave her. All that’s left is the warm summer breeze and Pearl, looking at her with the most vulnerable expression Marina’s ever seen. It’s devastating to see.

Pearl takes another deep breath. This one comes out a little cleaner, free of all the cobwebs of nerves now that she’s got the ring out. “Look. I love you. So fuckin’ much. I love you so much it keeps me up at night sometimes... And I love it! I love waking up and seeing you there! And watching you play with your hair! And the way you tap your pencil against your lips when you’re thinking! And the way your brow furrows when you’re concerned! And the way you touch things you don’t recognize, all careful! And the way you love machinery! I love watching you discover new things about Inkopolis, and I love that I’ve been by your side this whole time! I just... I love you! And, Reena... I wanna keep loving you.”

Marina’s body takes over. Dumbstruck, she fishes into her jacket pocket, tugs the ring box free, because she can’t believe this. “Pearl...” It’s all she can manage. She holds the box out and Pearl’s brow wrinkles as she looks down at it.

Marina watches as Pearl computes everything and she recognizes the instant that it hits her. Pearl’s eyes widen and she looks up with a mouth that slowly widens into an excited gasp. “No fuckin’ way!” She darts forward, grabs Marina’s face between her hands, and kisses her. It blazes through them, from Pearl to Marina, and Marina can feel the ring’s shape against her cheek as Pearl pulls her closer. Marina’s body relaxes, her stomach releases from its complicated pretzeling, and she allows herself to be swept up. The seat sways under them as Marina pushes back, slides her hands along the bare skin of Pearl’s stomach, and Pearl laughs against Marina’s lips as she brushes against a sensitive spot. Marina, emboldened by the laugh, merely deepens the whole thing. She feels Pearl’s lips part, just there, and she almost loses herself.

Below them, a few people let out a few whoops. A woman yells a loud congratulations! and Marina pulls away, suddenly aware that they have an audience. Pearl lets out a small keening noise at the interruption but then seems to come back to herself. She grins up at Marina, unabashed, and waves over the side, to the delight of their onlookers.

“Is that a yes?” Marina asks. She feels like she’s being lit up from the inside, like she could sail up and live amongst the stars in the sky.

“I thought I was asking you!” Pearl cries, face split in two by her brilliant smile. She has tears in her eyes, Marina realizes, and it makes her chest jump.

“Yes,” Marina says simply. It’s all she can manage. After all that planning, all that rehearsal, and that’s all she has to say. “Yes,” she repeats. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

+++

As they climb out, equipped with two new rings, the ride attendant gives Pearl a high five. Marina, giddy, overcome, can’t help but lean close as they walk away. A few people snap pictures but neither of them care.

“That was perfect. How’d you do it?” Marina asks as they walk toward the parking lot.

Pearl, knowing that she’s been had, merely grins up at her. “I might’ve bribed the dude running the ride. I’ll never tell.”

Marina lets out a chiming laugh. Pearl squeezes her hand and presses as close as she can while walking. Together, they head home.

Together, they head into the future.

[wackygoofball]

Moodboard: Jaime x Brienne - Lord of the Rings AU

One would think that peace was finally agreed upon after the One Ring was cast into the fires from which it was born. And for a long time, Middle Earth was a place of peace and prosper. And yet, it did not last.

Lines that were believed to last a thousand years failed against the ravages of time, dried in the sand and gave rise to those driven by darker forces, by vanity, ambition, and a thirst for power.

The Targaryens assumed dominion after they discovered a way to tame one of the gravest calamities Middle Earth ever saw: dragons. They took over the city of Gondor quickly and continued their rule for many, many generations. Not all were bad kings and queens. Some were good. Some not so good. Some were worse. Far worse. And then, the Dance of the Dragons came to pass, which marked the ongoing decay of a family that had since grown too obsessed with the purity of its own blood. The dragons died, one by one, but the Targaryen’s power remained intact.

After that, the madness spread much faster, festered like an old wound, only fate deciding over it by no more than the flip of a coin, or so people started to believe.

Then Aerys Targaryen took the throne. Over time, he had his pyromancers develop an even worse weapon than the Fire of Orthanc, which once was used during the Battle of Hornburg, a green liquid soon to be known as wildfire. And Aerys, as fate would have it, used it against the people he was sworn to protect, burned them alive, just to hear them scream for a mercy that never came.

However, the Age of Dragons came to an end when a young member of the Army of Gondor, who was part of the chosen circle Aerys coined his own Kingsguard, a man by the name Jaime Lannister, drove a sword through Aerys’s back.

And where one reign ends another begins.

Robert Baratheon took the throne after him and became the new King of Gondor. Sooner rather than later, the crimes of the Mad King became no more than a whisper in the dark, stories told to children to scare them into slipping under the covers to finally go to sleep.

Though it was never just a story.

It was only the beginning of something that should keep every man, woman, and child, every elf, every dwarf, and every hobbit in all of Middle Earth wide awake.

Because history, or so it seems to be, is always on the verge of repeating itself.

However, our story begins elsewhere, in the small town called Bree, at an establishment known as The Prancing Pony.

Disgraced wizard Tyrion is sipping his second jug of ale, waiting with all patience he can muster. Not that he prides himself being on time. He found that it’s much easier to assume that he is on time for the sole reason that he will appear wherever he sees fit when he sees fit.

That doesn’t mean he likes to be kept waiting, however.

“I suppose I am right to assume that this is not your first?”

Tyrion smiles as he turns around to see the familiar bulky, blond figure stride past him, one hand always resting on the pommel of a sword.

He smiles. “It’s been a long time since we last saw one another, Lady Brienne.”

“You are not supposed to call me that in public, Wizard.”

“My pardon, Captain Galladon,” he laughs. “But rest assured, no one around here cares for who you are. The Prancing Pony is not exactly the place known for offering shelter to the most virtuous of Middle Earth. They would be fools to report to anyone. Even more so because it would be quite a ride all the way to Gondor.”

The mannish woman studies him for a long moment, but then sighs as she unbuckles her sword and sets it down next to her with a thud.

“So. Why did you have me summoned all the way to here, Wizard? You know I don’t like to leave my post for longer than is necessary.”

“Acutely aware, yes. You are very devoted to your service, of that there is no doubt.”

“What do you want?”

“I want to make you an exception offer, in fact.”

“Offer.”

“Yes, to take part in an adventure. You were chosen as one of the members of my company in pursuit of no less than saving Middle-Earth. This mission will involve a great deal of fighting. There is no guarantee of success. And no one must know about it. But of that I assure you, Captain, this is a quest of utmost honorable intentions.”

“And what is that mission supposed to be, may I ask, Wizard? I have a city to defend, and no time to undergo some adventure.”

“I need your help to gather some items across Middle-Earth. My brother over there will join us as well. And some more fellows,” Tyrion informs her. “I know he tries hard to look broody and mysterious, but he is a jolly fellow once you get to know him a bit.”

He waves at the cloaked man, who gets up slowly to stride over to the table. Brienne tilts her head as light illuminates the man’s features even under the hood, and she cannot help but gasp, “The Kingslayer?”

Jaime grimaces at the strange fellow he watched from across the room at his brother’s behest. “Is that… is that a woman?”

“Oh, I see you two will get along wonderfully! The fascination, I see, is absolutely mutual.”

“You must be joking, Wizard. Or perhaps you had some mushrooms on your way here, but I can only repeat it: I have better to do than this.”

“In fact, you do not. None of us do. The fate of Middle-Earth, I am afraid, is at stake here. Why else do you think would I bring my brother into this? Even more so since he is actually… dead.”

“For most to know,” Jaime huffs. And inside his heart, he only ever adds to himself.

Brienne remains reluctant to undertake this quest, but the Wizard is the only one, well, now one of two, who knows of her secret identity. And she cannot be revealed as anyone other than Galladon, or else all sacrifices she made to become part of the Army of Gondor will be in vain.

In the safety of Tyrion’s chamber, he reveals the details of his motivation to undertake this adventure.

“Rumors have since become more than rumors. The cast out daughter and only living heir to Aerys Targaryen, Daenerys Stormborn, is out to reclaim what she believes is her birthright.”

“She wants to be Queen of Gondor.”

“Yes. In the dead fire pits of Mordor, a new and perhaps even darker power rose in the shape of the Night King who turned to ice what once was blazing fire. I have seen the Mount Doom, I travelled there and saw that the fires died out.”

“What?”

“The Night King and Daenerys Stormborn made a contract of sort, it appears, wherein he will revive three dragon eggs from stone, her children, as she says, so she may rule in Gondor. In exchange, she is meant to help him free the armies of the fallen in Mordor so they may march westward.”

“And how do you think can that be stopped?”

“I found a scroll, an ancient text that says that there is a way to defeat the eternal ice with the aid of two magical swords made of Valyrian steel, which, combined, will form Lightbringer, a blade that may slay the Night King and thus end his reign of terror before it can even begin.”

“That still leaves one question, though: why do you want me for that quest? I can’t help you with those magical items better than any other knight with my skills could.”

“Because we need to get into Gondor, as part of what is needed to forge Lightbringer. You will well know that I am no longer… wanted there… for a number of reasons. And to make matters worse, as you will know better than anyone, there is the issue of the barricade no one without your consent will move past. And if I may add, you have proven more capable than most knights I ever came across. You have a particular set of skills I believe vital to the success of our mission, Lady Brienne.”

At last, Brienne agrees, under the pretense that they will speak the truth to one another and that the Kingslayer, a man of questionable morals to say the least, remains as far away from her as is possible.

“I am doing this for the greater good, not for either one of you.”

To disguise her identity as Galladon, she has to travel as herself, cutting short the hair she used to wear longer as Captain of the Army of Gondor, a sensation that since grew unfamiliar to Brienne, who barely recalls the girl who liked wooden swords as much as she liked to twirl in a dress around her father’s halls, unaware and childishly uncaring of how ridiculous she looked to the rest of the world.

Jaime, for his part, has to come to terms with travelling with a man, pardon, woman, of the Army of Gondor, a responsibility and honor he had to abandon in favor of his own life when he became the Kingslayer. Though no one, safe for Tyrion, would even begin to comprehend why he did it, why he slew the Mad King.

It was his finest act, but history, more often than not, will forget its heroes until its concluding chapters.

And so, the small company begins its quest in search for Lightbringer, a journey that soon proves dangerous as the undead Dothraki riders of Daenerys Targaryen start to chase them as well as the items they are so desperate to obtain.

Along the way, they meet a great many interesting characters, some friendly, others not so much, sharing, in fact, in a great adventure. Yet, the impending threat of the Dragon Queen as well as the Night King may not be the only danger ahead of them, as secrets and lies may put them apart when they must stand together.

As their success hangs by a single thread, so does the fate of the world, just about to flip the coin another time.

And one can only hope that history, for once, does not forget itself and learns from its errors, so there may be a tomorrow, so there may be light.

Note: my knowledge of the franchise is mostly limited to the movies, not the books, alongside some good old google search. No offense to LOTR fans intended in case I mess up timelines and such! Also... sorry for weird edits, I could not resist. :)

Additional Image Sources: The Lord of the Rings trilogy & The Hobbit trilogy.

[wildlingknight]

So like I wrote this stuff down around September 2017 with the intention to write a fic about it (I might still do that when I have more time) but it’s just sitting and festering in my drive so I’ll put it here for now and build on it when uni is done. It’s a super long post but I did put a cut in.

There’s a whole bunch of mind vomit stuff here:

 I was talking to my discord group about things that could have been added to Botw because I’d gotten to a point in the game when I’d done mostly everything and was just putting off facing Ganon because I didn’t want it to end. So I came up with gods and spirits that you might meet in random places and sometimes they have quests for you or something. Taken directly from the server:

“This isn't really a hc more a random idea but what if there were time specific places on the map in botw? Like I just found  place on the side of death mountain called shadow hamlet ruins, what if you go there and it's just some ruined houses with a meteor wizzrobe in any other time but on the night of a new moon there's like creepy shadows that kinda come out of the wood work and shadows of the ruins and they don't exactly attack you but make you super uneasy and circle you a bit and it's like the people who lived and died there as a result of the calamity, like we know it corrupts the living but what if it doesn't let the dead rest either?

Like there are places all over hyrule that are just places until you visit them on a specific night or day or when certain parameters are met and you have a unique little event happen like a person you wouldn't meet any other time with items you can only get from them or maybe the dragons rest somewhere and you can just stumble across them, or more spirits and godlike beings who you wouldn't come across any other time apart from this one random spit of woodland halfway up the dueling peaks on a night where it's raining you come across an ethereal glowing woman or something who watches over the plants and mushrooms like glow like her, and you can't really interact with them because we are insignificant to them, they are so indifferent to us with our mortal comings and goings that the most we can hope for is a glimpse of them, just to make the world feel even more alive than it already does

I think Link is more aware of them because he is goddess chosen, goddess touched, and he's a gentle and pure soul who they in turn are drawn to, I like that he has a connection to them through having being dead but I personally like to think they're a bit afraid of him, he was brought back through science like magic without the godesses interference or hands, that shouldn't happen he died and by all means should have stayed dead but here he is, wandering hyrule saving people and dragons and riding gods across plains and placating giant mechanical creatures that will only listen to him, in their eyes he's a fucking monster or demon

And they know you don't piss off a demon who denied death so they're cautious but curious in equal measure”

And then neatened up and made less mind vomity:

Ruins

On specific nights- different for each ruin- the ghosts of the people who lived and died there during the calamity come out on the night they were wiped out. Different for each place depending on how close they were to castle and what the actual cause was, e.g. castle town would have been hit first and hardest by the Calamity itself so that would get spooky on the night of Zelda’s birthday every year. If they are fairly far away from the castle e.g. Shadow Hamlet ruins on the far side of Death Mountain, it would be a different night and they would feel different due to the nature of their deaths, such as being wiped out by monsters fuelled and powered by the Calamity. They don’t attack but most travellers accidentally come across them and fear for their lives saying ruins are haunted at night so they try to avoid them, preferring to go to living villages or taking their chances with monsters out on the roads or in the woods. When Link (and later Zelda) enter the ruins on the specific night they act up the spirits hiss and circle him and lament their passing in groans and wails but they do not come close because he is light and they cannot touch him. He died for them and Zelda cried for them, they are Goddess chosen and Goddess touched.

Lesser Gods and Spirits

Found all over Hyrule, again during different specific times when certain parameters are met.

A lesser Goddess who watches over plants and mushrooms that glow with the same ethereal light as her- can only be found where they grow in abundance, like the pillar in Kakariko on a rainy night during a new moon, and also conversing with Cotera the great fairy there.

A giant stag with two faces who watches over the life and death of animals, seen all over Hyrule as long as there’s a moon showing, so not on cloudy nights. Eyes like miniature galaxies and coat the colour of moss, fur appears to be made of grass and hooves of wood and several times the amount of antlers normal deer have that are white like bleached bone and strung with what looks to be pearls.

A woman with long black hair, horns like a Lynels and the face of a wolf who’s snout ends turned up like a Moblin’s, with three eyes that constantly glow like the reflection of a cats at night and who’s mouth doesn’t move when she speaks in a growl and smoke and sparks emits from her open mouth over her lolling black tongue- the Mother of Monsters and she hates Link.She doesn’t attack him when he meets her but she is unkind to him and she growls and snarls at him, threatening to curse him and his children’s children for as many of hers he has killed. Found in Akkala in Rok woods and Tempest Gulch most commonly but also occasionally other places, can take the form of a monstrous wolf when the need to escape arises.

A child made of water that swims with the fish, watches over everything that lives and breathes in water. The Zora refer to them as ‘The Child of Nayru’, and offer to them to keep the fish they eat good and plentiful. Seen by Link on the banks of the Rutala river when he stops for a drink after tackling the Rucco Maag shrine. Ripples like water constantly so it’s difficult to pin down specific features or gender, and voice is almost gurgling sounding

A giant scarab beetle, white and iridescent, often seen in the desert around Dragon’s exile and known to Tera, the great fairy at the Gerudo Great Skeleton, the god of all insects. (There’s a joke going round Hyrule that Beedle is the god of all insects.)

The spirits that are just going about their work are cautious but curious about Link. Usually they are indifferent to mortals, their everyday motions and wants insignificant in the grand scheme of things. The Calamity was a tragedy, but nature still goes on so they can’t afford to abandon their work.

Link and Zelda

The Gods are frightened of them. Link died and should be subject to the laws of all living things but here he stands, blemished but alive, and yet it was not the Goddesses who chose this, it was without their aid, a magic forged by man. Instead he wanders, alive and well, helping who he can, man and spirit alike, Dragons take notice of him, Gods allow his burden upon their backs, abominable machines who listen to only him, at his command. And Zelda isn’t dead either, they should be dead, they had their time, had their chance. They carry too much light within them it hurts the spirit’s and god’s eyes to look upon them.

Once while I was playing with my friend we were talking about the koroks and I came up with a hc on how they’re born I guess:

“Maybe they're branches that fall off the deku tree when they start to rot because hes old as balls so I bet he loses branches like old men lose hair and then because of like forest magical bullshit they become the new children of the forest and they grow up to be like Hestu and it takes thousands of years for them to reach like 'maturity' but when it's time for the deku tree to die one of the korok will take his place but all those who grow to maturity before he dies go out into the lost woods and set up root and become the ogre trees”

And then because I like to hurt them while they’re all sleeping:

“I'll just leave this here for when y'all wake up, what if the reason Wild likes to eat so much is because he is trying to fill the void of loneliness left behind after his friends in the army start treating him differently after he becomes the chosen one and because of Zelda's initial dislike of him then after he wakes up from the shrine of resurrection he doesn't know why he's so hungry all the time until after he starts remembering zelda and then realises he's doing the same thing, trying to fill the void left in him after losing everyone he loved and half his memories and having to wait until he's strong enough to see Zelda again”

Enjoy!

[authoressskr]

Oklahoma Sky

Gadreel x Reader based on the song Oklahoma Sky [x] by Miranda Lambert

Warnings: Language, Supernatural typical violence, unbeta’d writing

Note: Do NOT repost, copy and paste, post or share my works on any other platform without my EXPRESS PERMISSION. -+- REBLOGGING is fine! -+-

Since his resurrection, and subsequent protest by Dean, Gadreel had kept mostly to himself. Cas had come to his defense, and even Sam had a tad - saying they’d all done worse for the sake of what they thought was right - and the eldest Winchester had begrudgingly allowed him to stay. In the room farthest from room 11, of course.

They’d even allowed him to accompany them on hunts occasionally.

After almost seven months of helping when allowed, Gadreel finally seemed to win over Dean’s trust.

Which was helpful now that he was pacing the motel room like a caged animal, with only Gadreel to help soothe him until Sam and Cas returned from a late witness interview.

“We know what it is! We just need to find the stupid fucking captor or summoner or whatever and get rid of the damn fairies!” Dean snarled out, throwing himself down into one of heavy dinette chairs.

“You are more at risk since you have been taken before and you are the firstborn son.”

“You think I don’t know that, Gad?” Gadreel pursed his lips for a few seconds, wondering how much longer until - ahh, thank the stars, the faint rumbling of the Impala!

A minute or so later, Dean’s head snaps to the door as the rumbling becomes noticeable to his ears, his frown dialing back a couple notches.

Sam enters first, with a white bag which Gadreel could easily identify as at least fifty percent cholesterol, with Cas following close behind. Sam wiggles the bag before dropping it in front of Dean on the table.

“Got you a heart attack,” Sam mumbles before sliding down into the chair opposite Dean.

“The witness said there was a blinding light that threw them away from the taken - Walt -”

“Walt? I thought his name was Thomas?” Dean sneered at the name before taking a big bite of his burger.

“His father’s name is also Thomas, so he goes by his middle name.” Cas clarified before continuing. “The other boy, Joshua, who was walking with Walt said it threw him about fifteen feet from where they were standing in the park on the edge of town. That it was a big beam of light that took Walt.”

“He said like a spotlight or Star Trek.”

“Star Trek?” Gadreel repeats, frowning slightly as he looks to Castiel. Dean shoves a few fries into his mouth before rolling his eyes.

“You don’t sleep, we gave you the Netflix password - educate yourself.”

“I have been reading what Sam recommended. But I will move it up in importance on my list.”

“That’s all I’m askin’,” Dean slurped down the last of his soda, looking at Sam. “So the twelve-year-olds were out in the park when the fairy Star Trek light came down and snatched Walt -”

“A firstborn,” Cas interjects.

“A firstborn. But we still don’t have a clue on who summoned the fairy here?”

“Nope.” Sam loosens his tie before opening his laptop and bringing up the sheriff’s database. Gadreel looks to Cas with a raised eyebrow.

“Were odd rings not reported also?”

“What? I don’t remember reading that.” Sam’s brow furrowed, reaching for the files in the middle of the table.

“Well, in the first missing report, the woman who said her lover disappeared and all she found in the vicinity was a ring of mushrooms and white flowers. It was mentioned briefly when the sheriff deputy pressed her for any more details - big or small.”

“The fourth person, the plumber, his daughter said she saw fireflies.” Cas pushes the file he was reading towards Dean, who mutters as he wipes his mouth.

“Alright. Let’s head out to the locations then.”

“You need to stay -”

“I’ll keep my gun handy, Sam. But how I see it is I’m our best bet to lure the fairies in.” Sam frowns at Dean before sighing in defeat.

“Fine. Just make sure you have a couple salt rounds in your pocket.”

“Why?”

“Fairies are compelled to count sugar and salt. If you spill one before the fairy, it must stop to count the granules.” Gadreel informed as Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “I have also been working through the Bunker’s library.”

“Right.”

---

“That is not a firstborn son.” The short man snaps at the tall, lithe woman holding the struggling woman.

“She would be a good addition nonetheless. A ball of recessive traits and some underlying psychic abilities...she will make a fine servant for Oberon.” The blonde woman says proudly as her red-headed twin strokes a finger down their captive’s cheek.

“Screw you, Tinkerdumb, Tinkerdumber, and Gnomeo.” The woman spits out before the blonde throws her into the middle of the fairy ring with a laugh.

“Feisty too! You know how fairy like those with spirit!” The redhead chuckles before stepping into the huge circle herself. “She will make a strong firstborn son for Oberon!” The woman glares as she rises, eyeing the three captors.

“Laugh while you can, asshats. I’m getting out of this - one way or another.” She snarls before ripping open a sugar packet and pouring it slowly out before making a mad dash from the circle, the aggressive blonde torn between following and assisting in counting. But once the small man tossed a rock at her, she gave chase, with their captive nearly at the top of the hill.

---

“So, this was near the first abduction site.” Sam removes the small flashlight from his jacket pocket, clicking it on as Dean led them forward, carefully scanning the somewhat sparse treeline just before they hear shouting coming from the other side of the hill in front of them.

By the time they reach the top, they can hear the woman cursing and kicking at the blonde woman who was dragging her by her ankle towards a fairy circle with two occupants digging through the dried grass blades.

“Listen here, Jorgen Von Strangle, I am going to shove iron so far up your ass when I get loose!” She delivered a hard kick to the blonde’s wrist, sweeping her feet from under her before she shoves herself off the ground and hauls ass straight towards them. She pauses only for a few seconds, eyeing them warily before a glance backward revealed the blonde not even a handful of feet away. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!” She mutters as Sam’s hand firmly grasps her wrist, tugging her just out of the blonde’s grasp - only to have the redhead appear beside her while the blonde kicking Sam’s legs from under him. The red-headed fairy drags the woman back to the circle, ignoring the woman’s kicks, punches, and curses.

A quick glance to his left reveals the angels are dealing with the leprechaun who has magically sunk Castiel, up to his ankles, into the hard Oklahoma ground as he fended off blows from Gadreel. Dean gets a quick nod from Sam before tearing down the hill after the woman.

“Hey! Fairy-bitch Barbie!” Dean yells, as the blonde turns, her face morphing from anger into a disarming smile.

“Look Lily, a firstborn son who has already been marked!” Her sweet voice grates on Dean, who steps closer to the fairy ring’s edge.

“Let the girl go.”

“Not going to happen, firstborn.” She opens her mouth to speak again, only to get knocked backward by a salt round from Sam’s shotgun. Castiel appears beside Sam, the leprechaun bound by special iron handcuffs they’d found in the Bunker held in a firm hold, as Gadreel circled behind the fairies - his focus solely on the woman in their grasp.

The woman shifted slightly in Lily’s arms, sitting in the middle of the fairy ring glancing from Dean to Gadreel. Dean lifted his gun, only for Lily to roll her wrist - turning the gun into a stick.

“Silly, silly human. We are going to take this woman to fairy. And we are going to take you as well.” She loosened her grip on the woman’s arm as her twin sat up with a groan. Gadreel stepped into the ring, his grace easily throwing the red-headed woman towards Dean as Sam leapt towards the blonde. Gadreel gently tugged the woman upright before the twins send them skidding back to the edge of the fairy ring, Gadreel tightening his grip to protect her.

The woman spun around in his grip, her hand full of little white packets, which she tore open and tossed at the fairies.

But not before they tossed the angels and hunters all out of the circle, using their magic to keep her inside before the blonde dropped down to count the spilled sugar as a rumble of thunder sounded in the mostly clear night sky.

Jumping up, Gadreel watches as a knowing smirk graces the woman’s face - Lily cocking her head a tad to one side at the change in demeanor. The woman eases into a fighting stance, planting her feet before bringing her right hand up.

“You’re little silver sword will not do much damage, human.”

“Wanna bet?” The woman shoots forward, slicing easily across the fairy’s arm before dropping down and cutting behind her knee, sending the taller woman to the ground. The three men jump forward as Cas tosses the leprechaun at the blonde, who is still searching through the grass, disrupting her counting before entering the circle himself. “Looks like it’s five against one.”

Lily attempts to turn the angel blade into something else, the woman’s hand warming slightly before the sensation faded away. Her two companions were on her left side, bound and counting and of no use to her. Time to get while the gettin’ was good. But the human...she had bested them. And a slight like that - could not go unpunished.

She heals herself as much as she can with her magic, the green-eyed angel popping into the circle between her and the girl, causing the fairy sword she’d manifested with the last bits of her power to slide into his belly instead of hers.

Cas’s angel blade slides into her heart easily as Sam hastily pulls the spell from his pocket and sent the fairy back to their realm. The woman is kneeling beside Gadreel, her hands covering his wound but she keeps looking over her shoulder as a stray bolt of dry lightning flashes overhead.

“I will heal. Do not worry.” Gadreel soothes, placing a large hand on her’s and gently squeezing. Sam and Dean are checking their surroundings again at her nervous glances. “May I ask your name?”

“Y/N. My name is Y/N. What about yours?”

“It is a beautiful name. My name is Gadreel,” He pauses, looking over her shoulder like the other men. “What is it?”

She reaches behind, her hand turned somewhat awkwardly to scratch at her back.

“I knew I felt something…” She replied, holding a long cream feather with light brown spots appearing in the middle and trailing down to the silvery gray tips.

“Gadreel.” Cas breathes out, his blue eyes so wide it was nearly comical. Gadreel’s hand leaves hers to cup her cheek, looking at her with so much hope and reverence.

“How long it has taken me to find you?” She leans into his hand, closing her eyes with a sweet sigh.

“It don’t matter now, love’s always on time.” Lightning flashed once more overhead with a tiny rumble of thunder trailing behind.

“A missing piece. A mate. My mate.” Gadreel murmurs as her forehead pressed against his with a soft whisper of his name from her lips.

“Missouri said I’d be finally alive, underneath the Oklahoma sky. She was right.”

“Beloved.” Gadreel breaths against her lips before pressing his own against them.

“Maybe we want to get out of the fairy ring now?” Dean asks, much more gently than he will admit to, smiling as Y/N and Gadreel part.

“This is by far my favorite hunt.” Gadreel smiles down at his mate who drags the feather he’d lost down his chest with a coy smile of her own.

“Me too, handsome. Me too.” She agrees before rising up to kiss him once more.

Tagging: @nobodys-baby-now @lucis-unicorn @chelsea072498 @clockworkmorningglory @sakurablossom4 @thewhiterabbit42 @unleashthemidnight 

[howyoutalktostrangers]

So,

I’ve decided to publish another story from my manuscript.

This one’s called “Post-funeral”, and the main character is named Joel Bishop. He’s a friend of my main characters Paisley Troutman and Neil Solomon, and in this story his older brother has just committed suicide after running for political office in Garibaldi. It’s the 10th story in Whatever you’re on, I want some.

It’s raw.

The Literary Goon

Post-funeral

by Will Johnson

FIRST WE swallowed bitter shards of MDMA, spent hours slip-sliding over each other’s bodies giddy and feverish. I’d been staying at my brother’s mansion with my ex-girlfriend Kylie, up in Garibaldi, for nearly two weeks. We wandered the streets shirtless, dove into foggy backyard pools that didn’t belong to us. We did blow off the toilet tank. We sipped mushroom tea, pinkies erect, then watched Jurassic Park while we waited, dopily dragging on cigarettes and ashing on the freshly installed carpet. We smoked salvia and hash, hot-knifed thumb smudges of tar-black ooze. We were doing okay, food-wise: salmon steaks, cheese-drowned Tostitos, frozen blueberries. We drank Black Label and Bailey’s-infused coffee. Some days we binged on Chinese food and pizza; more often we wandered the linoleum barefoot and mind-fucked, sniffling and twitching, having forgotten what hunger feels like.

And whenever we got bored we circled the neighbourhood spearing my brother’s campaign signs onto unsuspecting people’s lawns, just to fuck with them. Vote for Joshua Bishop, indeed. 

One night Kylie fled. I careened along shadowed boulevards in my brother’s minivan just after 3 a.m., wearing sweatpants and a pair of Santa Claus slippers, chain-smoking cigarettes to keep my headspace level. The night dew-misted my forearm hair from the open window. When my headlights slashed across a lawn three blocks over I glimpsed Kylie under an expansive, shadowed oak with thick, threatening arms. She was curled fetal, wearing red bikini bottoms, dollar store flip flops and my Garibaldi Elementary GRAD OF 2004 hoodie. As I lugged her limply off the grass a dog-walker in a peacoat paused on the sidewalk.

“She had a little too much to drink,” I explained. “We’re all good here.”

“And who are you to her, exactly?” he asked, cell phone palmed. “It looks like she needs some assistance.”

“We’re fine, honestly. I’m just taking her home.”

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea.”

Kylie moaned in my arms as I lift-shoved her into the passenger seat. Her legs slackly dangled towards the concrete as I gathered up her feet and slammed the door shut behind her. Peacoat man flapped his arms, distressed and honking.

“If you fuck with me,” I said. “I’ll kill your little dog and drink its blood.”

I don’t remember what he said after that, but I do remember the electric surge of hatred that blood-dumped through my veins. This man’s banal existence, his uncomplicated morality, the look of fearful revulsion on his face—all of these offended some feral version of myself I’d unleashed during those weeks. I battered my chest, squeezing out wild tears, and roared in his face until he retreated with his little dog yipping.

Kylie wore a thick-padded bra with metal crescents scooping under each fleshy handful. She whined as I undressed her, paranoid of the oil-like substance pooling on the walls and overflowing into the living room ceiling. I worked my fingers under each goose-pimpled boob, inhaled her chest glister. Kylie wasn’t mine exclusively, but our experiences were our own. I took her earlobe in my mouth, her weight supported in my arms, and worked it with my tongue like a soother. We’d tired of our porn-inspired routines and were finding creative ways to exploit each other’s bodies lazily, gluttonously. A tweaked nipple on mushrooms is like a chest-explosion, while a firmly gripped dick on acid can change your life. Cheek to arm pit, sole to shin, elbow to pelvic bone, we chest-banged and hugged, childlike, in the trenches of our sweat-soiled blankets.

Then we slept.  

Sometimes I get brain whispers from my former self, little buried guilt yelps from the Christian kid I used to be. He’s horrified. Kylie struggles to believe I used to be religious, that I used to keep a prayer journal, that I was once scandalized by swear words. She can’t visualize it, can’t reconcile it with the version of me that she knows: a hipster rich kid with no moral code to speak of. She can’t understand that it’s all the same impulse, that God is nothing more than the Drug of all Drugs, that the hardest thing I ever had to kick was Christianity. Driving by St. Catherine’s I’ve got multi-year histories flashing across my vision. Our youth pastor Trent Stonehouse sings at the front of the sanctuary, takes kids on missions trips to Tijuana and Brazil and the Downtown Eastside of Vancouver, and then there’s all the kids I knew—Amber, Turner, Paisley, Neil and Ty—they’re all memory-cached, worshipping with the Agape Soldiers onstage while I sway awkward in the pews and try to figure out how come I’m the only one who does’t seem to feel it. Sure, I’ve felt the Holy Spirit before—or at least I believed I felt it at the time—and I’ve been one of those ultra-pious kids seizing on the ground, overcome as the Church Moms lay blankets over our God-blissed teenage bodies. Slain in the spirit.

But spiritual awakenings wear off. Slowly, one day after the next, I felt the emotional intensity drain. Outside the context of the St. Catherine’s sanctuary all the meaning dribbled out until I had to go back, soul-hungry, for more. Being a disciple of Christ meant living this special type of life, meant elevating yourself from the mundanity. At Camp Evergreen, around the campfire, we sang “Jesus, I am yours” and two hours later Rachel Peachland gave me a hand job behind the girl’s cabin line, a frantic and gasp-filled spectacle in the shadows. I was a little perv, shame-soaked but undeterred, obsessed with girls but convinced that every lustful thought was a freshly disgusting sin, something to beg forgiveness for. Do you know how exhausting it is to be ashamed all the time? To spend your life hearing how sinful and hopeless you are without Jesus?

Turner used to say the whole point of grace is you don’t need to feel guilt, that God’s already forgiven you before you even dream up our next transgression.

But who said we need to be forgiven at all?

“If you could go back and be Christian again, would you do it?” Kylie asked, morning squinting in my brother’s bed, her voice grumbly from sixteen hours of sleep. I gripped sleepily at my dick while urine hammered into the shower drain.

“I think about that every day.”

“And?”

“Are we talking like a lobotomy-type solution here? Like would I have to give up part of my brain?”

“No, just say you believed again.”

“The thing is, to make that happen I’d have to give it up.”

“What?”

“My doubt. My fucking reason. I’d have to give up my whole personality.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Yes necessarily. Unless God fucking prances in here and goes ‘hey, Joel, I’m fucking real’, this shit isn’t going to happen.”

I slump into her lap. Kylie was born in a Burmese orphanage, got adopted by white Canadians. Didn’t find that out until three months into our thing, when I met her crazy Mom. She kept all that to herself, and I understood why. People project shit, put labels on you. Who wants to be the starving kid from one of those World Vision commercials? She didn’t want pity; she just wanted to be Kylie.

I liked her way more than I realized.

“But what if the thing with Trent never happened?”

“It wasn’t about him. I stopped going to St. Catherine’s way before all that shit in Mexico, before any of those other guys.”

“Do you think he raped anyone you know? Like anyone in the youth group?”

“Fuck, what’s gotten into you?”

“I’m just so curious. I’ve never met someone who knew a real child molester.”

“You talk like it’s a movie star or something.”

“Or a serial killer.”

“So what do you think? Do you think he was doing like pervy, Catholic-style shit?”

“Honestly, I don’t know.”

“But what do you think?”

“I mean they say he molested this Mexican kid, right? Or two of them? That’s why he got arrested originally, in Tijuana. But they never came up with any Canadian victims.”

“Who’s they?”

“Investigators or whatever. He was down there for eleven years years, and it’s kind of like why press charges and do all that work if he’s not even in Garibaldi?”

“Shit.”

“But eventually they figure he’ll be back, right? I mean, the Mexicans can’t keep him forever.”

“When is that going to be?”

“The system’s so corrupt down there. Guilty til proven innocent, all that.”

“Turner told me he got letters.”

“From Trent?”

“Yeah, a while back he was telling me stories about Trent. He told me the letter said ‘you can’t turn your back on God’ and ‘don’t let this be an excuse to lose your faith’, all this shit.”

“Are you serious?”

“From prison he was giving him a sermon!”

“Fuck.”

“I mean, we were smoking a joint but I’m pretty sure he was telling the truth. Wasn’t he like Trent’s little favourite? Do you think it was him Trent messed with?”

I’ve considered that plenty of times, but it’s different to say out loud.

“Trent had a weird thing with Paisley Troutman, one of the girls in the worship band. People were gossiping about that for years.”

“But doesn’t he fuck little boys?”

“Yeah, but maybe he’s just like a non-discriminating deviant, right? Just raping whoever, wherever. Dudes’ fucking evil.”

“I heard there’s some people that think he’s still innocent.”

I light a cigarette, roll across the bed and go looking for blow.

“I’m not one of them,” I say.

Kylie sat cross-legged and hungover in the minivan’s passenger seat, reorganizing her purse while we descended the Sea to Sky. Cliffs draped with steel netting loomed to our left. To the right was nothing but open, cloudless sky. The road slalomed along the mountain slope, twist-rising and falling just as quickly. Ocean air swirled around us. A grey thumb of stone emerged in the distance, thrusted up hitchhiker-style, with a few stubborn bushes defiantly alive atop it’s wind-blasted summit forty feet above the road.

The mansions along the highway—stilted and gleaming in the trees—reflected the Pacific’s blue glow from giant mirrored windows. These were the people in my brother’s voting district, who had proudly displayed his campaign signs so they would be visible for commuters passing through the construction progress below. Vote for Joshua Bishop.

No more.

“The last shit we got from Turner was dirty,” Kylie mumbled. “Fucking weak.”

“That wasn’t his regular guy.”

“Says him.”

A bored, sunburned teenager wearing a Solomon Development Ltd. uniform waved us off the highway, past some pylons and orange fencing, and towards the razed shoulder currently being paved. Steamrollers grumbled a few kilometres further on, while in front of us six men guided a crane-suspended concrete median into place. I parked beside a line of trucks facing oceanward, overlooking Howe Sound, and texted Turner. Within a few minutes he appeared, knuckle-rapping the window, and Kylie unlocked the sliding door behind her.

“You two’ve been voracious lately,” Turner said. “You’re outpacing my coworkers, even.”

Kylie ignored him, sullen.

“I’ve got five hundred here, that’s two for last time and three for now,” I said.

“And you’ve got time for a couple lines now?”

An ice-blue sky populated with drifting gulls appeared as I took my first hit. Their beak-tips were dolloped with bright red. I thumbed a nostril for leverage, snorted with all my might, and sucked back. It filled me like sunlight. Wave-crests built frothing and burst into chaos amidst the rocks below.

“That feels better, huh?” said Turner. “I’m gonna fire through my afternoon.”

“I don’t know how you do this dip-shit job, man.”

“Whatever.”

“I would feel like one of those historical Chinese guys they used to dynamite the tunnels, you know? Like some expendable pawn they use for the hard labour. A slave they can just blow up whenever they feel like.”

“Yeah, so what’s your fucking job, Bishop?”

Kylie dabbed residue on her gums, sucking her finger. The world continued outside our windshield, introduced a dangling silhouette to our view-scape. It took me a moment to take this character in: parachuting past with some magical floating canopy, he was trailing an unfurled sign that read NO OLYMPICS ON STOLEN NATIVE LAND while filming with a camera strapped to his wrist. He was wearing those stupid shoes with individual toes, the ones rich men wear, and spandex head to toe—like some gravity-defying ninja spirit. I almost laughed.

How long had he prepared for this moment? What did he imagine he would see, hanging suspended and superior over us? The afternoon wind carried him sideways, tilting.

“Look at that piece of shit,” said Turner. “Look at him flying high.”

On the way back to town, Kylie asked if we could swing by her friend Lauren’s place. She lived in one of the new townhouses by the highway, Garibaldi Estates, on the fifth floor.

“This bitch owes me like a hundred bucks,” Kylie said as we rode the elevator up. “She’s always doing shit like this, and I can’t let her get away with it. You know what I mean?”

I shrugged.

The hallway hung silent following Kylie’s door-battering, but after a minute or two the door rattled and opened. A girl wearing a short pink bathrobe leaned into view, her bed-shagged hair streaked a similar hue. Her eyes were half-closed.

“Uh huh,” she said.

“You gonna let us inside?” Kylie asked.

“I’ll come out’n talk,” she said, pained.

I pretended to ignore them while they argued in the hallway, and watched as a dishevelled crow shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the roof, its talons clicking, just outside the window. Kylie paced shouting while Lauren listened bored with her beautiful brown legs.

Eventually Kylie turned back to me, exasperated. “Let’s go, Joel.”

Once we got back on to the Juan de Fuca Hill she held out her palm, two chalky pills cradled in the creases.

“This is supposed to be boss stuff. It’s K. She didn’t have any cash.”

How can I capture that moment? Kylie halfway-swivelled against the seatbelt, her forehead salmon pink from the sun and her white palm-skin outstretched. The grassy bluffs leading up towards the towering dominance of Mount Garibaldi were stretched out behind her, floating and blurred, while within the carpeted boundaries of our little vehicle we were safety-bathed by the air conditioning. I swallowed the pill. We hurtled towards our future.

“Will you put some more signs up with me later?” I asked. “After?”

“Of course.”

“There’s still so many, babe.”

“We can put up as many as you want, babe.”

Sixteen years old I thumb-dabbed my goggles, donkey-kicking, my headphones tucked under my swim cap. The finals heat for the 100 butterfly at provincial championships, and I was the one standing in front of Lane 4. Ty was there, Sketch and Neil too. I spat air, flailed, my feet splashing on the tiles. I expected to win my whole life, always anticipated easy victory—what does that say about me? I had this daily suspicion that I was a little more interesting than everyone else, a little more talented. My brother Josh was the same way, and all during the campaign I wonder if he had any idea how wrong things could go, how easily his future would evaporate. Vote for Joshua Bishop. I can see his temp’s bemused face, the self-satisfied sneer, as he ruined my family’s life with every fucking word he spoke. As soon as my brother’s news went public, our family scattered into our own grief trajectories, none of us sure how to handle the sudden scrutiny. And before we could decide whether we forgave him, before we could prove to him that being a part of the Bishop family means more than some sex scandal, some political campaign, before my father could even talk to him, he was gone. The ocean will take us all, I figure, but we were left with his body, shower-dangling, at his mansion in Garibaldi. That house! White carpets like cat fur underfoot. This is where I belonged, not slave-waging away in Vancouver.

Underwater is where I feel best, dolphin-kicking streamlined. Life made sense at 16, when my evening revolved around 58 seconds of frenzied exertion. Fuck real life and the future and the present moment too because I’m suspended mid-dive, dripping, while around me the bleachers erupt with cheering. Ice-wind slashes my cheekbones and stings my eyes shut.

Rotting clumps of mown grass collected on my boots as I worked my way up the St. Catherine’s lawn, past the youth trailer in the parking lot, up towards the stained glass window at the apex of the sanctuary. As kids we played this game called Gestapo where the youth leaders would chase us through the streets of Garibaldi with flashlights while we raced from Diefenbaker Park to the safety of the church. I scanned the treeline for spectators, but I was alone. I was thinking about this thing Turner once told me, about how we’re all just energy morphing from one form to the next. In reality, he was the first one to ditch on Jesus. He was braver than I was, less scared of the social consequences, or maybe he was just more honest.

“When I die and go to Heaven, I’m going to walk into the throne room of God and I’ll have three simple words for him: what the fuck?” Turner told me, perched in the Sky Train window, when I asked him about why he wasn’t coming to church anymore.

“If you had kids, what could they do to stop you from loving them?” he asked me.

“Nothing, I guess.”

“So why are we worshipping a deity who routinely condemns whole swaths of society to Hell? It’s so fucking arbitrary, Bishop! You’re born in India, you’re fucked. You’re born in China, you’re fucked. But if you’re a white Christian dude, everything will be fine and you’ll be a happy little saved boy.”

I didn’t know what to say then, and I still don’t now.

“A God like that doesn’t deserve my love.”

The way Turner talked, he didn’t miss religion. He didn’t miss understanding everything, having that communal reassurance. He liked to be an outlier, a rebel, a heathen.

“You can’t spend your whole life pretending,” Turner said. “Sooner or later you have to admit we wasted our teenage years on a medieval crock of bullshit.”

All that meaning, all those years of prayer, all that struggling and learning—for what? I speared the first campaign sign firmly beside St. Catherine’s front entrance, another one beneath its stained glass, and the final one at the top of their hilly lawn. My brother’s plastic face smiling from each one. Then I sat, butt-damp in the grass, and lit a cigarette. My brother was 33 years old when he died, the same age they nailed Jesus to a fucking cross, but he wasn’t dying for any reason. He didn’t get to close his eyes knowing he’d made some huge sacrifice, knowing that he left the world a better place than when he arrived. My brother died tormented and hopeless, kicking against the porcelain, and who deserves that? How come he got hand-picked for that fate? I felt personally robbed of decades of experience, of the chance to see his face wrinkle, his voice change, his hair go white like Dad’s.

“I really wanted to believe in You,” I told the looming, dark church. “If I had a choice, I’d still be here. You know that.”

I couldn’t believe I was praying. I was still high.

“If there’s something more to this, something I’m missing…I guess what I’m saying is if you’re going to keep me around, You’re going to have to do something.”

I sat there quiet, wondering what God could do, short of flashing across the sky in all His radiance, to convince me of His presence. I heard this quote once, attributed to a 16th century hymn writer: “a God comprehended is not God”. If that’s true, then why even attempt to grasp the mystery? Why call out to Him, why pray, why devote yourself to a deity who can’t (or won’t) respond? When I was a kid I used to make little faith bargains, sending mental requests for God to manipulate the circumstances around me. (“If you really exist, make that kid put something in the garbage can as he walks by.”) Sometimes it even worked. It was like having an Almighty, imaginary friend. But now I’m an adult, a real person, I’ve read fucking Nietzsche. I won’t be so easy to convince. A warm feeling in my chest won’t be enough, a whispered voice deep in my psyche was completely inadequate. I needed something tangible, a Burning Bush-style sign, and I would accept nothing short of a miracle. Maybe my brother could bound out of one of his election signs, let me know this was all an elaborate dream sequence, or maybe Trent would materialize in front of me and explain what happened down in Mexico all those years ago. He’ll tell me our youth group’s implosion was part of some larger, mystical scheme, that St. Catherine’s has some continued role to play in my life. 

Or what? An angel! A demon! Anything. These sorts of visions end up in sermons and heartfelt testimonies, in parables. These experiences alter people’s entire lives, give them purpose and direction. Why not me? Why couldn’t I, just once, be allowed a glimpse of something beyond all this? Why couldn’t I be the one with the faith, the one who understands the light while everyone else stands in the dark?

“Will You speak to me?” I said, my voice trembling. “Are You there?”

[beautifulbroppy]

paper work

I’M So EXCITED TO SHOW YOU ALL MY WORK!!

"Done!" She said slamming her pink pencil on her desk. She let out a breath of relief and fell into her chair, exhausted. She eyeballed the huge stack of paper work she finished Who knew being the queen of fun loving, never caring trolls would be so much work? She rubbed her eyes and looked at the cutely decorated clock beside her. 11:55... she stared blankly for a moment. Another moment... She sprang up to attention, as something finally clicked. Branch! She was supposed to meet Branch for lunch at 12. "I'm gonna be late!" She bolted out of her chair raced out of her pod. Hopefully she could make it on time.

Branch leaned up against the pink, blue poka dotted mushroom, their favorite meeting spot. He waited as the minutes passed. The pink perky princes- I mean queen, was never late. "Where could she be?"  He said looking at his hug time bracelet "Hug time was over 15 mins ago..." not a second later after he said that a pink figure came close. Poppy skidded to a stop. She gasped for air "H-Hey Branch! S-sorry I'm late!" He smiled and opened his mouth to make a smart remark, but quickly closed his mouth. Her clothes were wrinkled, hair was a mess, and dark circles were under her eyes. Yet she still looks beautiful He thought to himself. He shook the thought from his head. This wasn't like Poppy. She needed help.

Still gasping for air Branch placed a hand on her back. "Hey," he grabbed her hands, trying to get her attention. "Breathing like that won't do you any good. You could hurt yourself." He put his hands behind his head. "Try it like this. It's a lot easier." Poppy put her hands behind her head and took deep breaths. Soon she was breathing normally, her heart beat stopped ringing in her ears. Branch protectively put his hand on her back, moving it up and down. "You ok, Poppy? This is so unlike you..." She sighed and nodded "Ill tell you about it over lunch." She said with a tiny smile. Branch removed his hand and grabbed the picnic basket. "Good! 'Cause the sooner I know, the sooner I can help!" He grabbed her hand and began to lead her to where they would have lunch. A horrid voice shouted among the trolls "POPPY!" They stopped dead in their tracks.

A small troll (but a bit bigger then smidge) with pale rose skin and red hair  walked over to the pair. Her nose scrunched up to hold her glasses in place. She stopped and tapped her foot, annoyed, and stared at Poppy. This... was Gladys... Poppy's advisor. Branch squeezed Poppy's hand and glared at Gladys. "Poppy! I've been looking for you everywhere! You Still Have Plenty Of Work To Do! You still have to talk to king Gristle about the troll tunnels, sign more paperwork, meet with the troll council..." the list continued on."You have to inspect the party cannons, Help Harvest food for winter-" "Oh, Gladys! Can't I have just an hour? I will get to all that stuff I promise!" Gladys scowled "Are you mad?! We don't have time! You can't just lolligag like you did as a Worthless Princess! You-" Branch stepped in between her and Poppy, anger boiling inside him "That is quite Enough!" The small grouchy troll stopped, surprised by this action "She is your queen. You should respect that she is new at this and that she is doing the best she can! She is tired, hungry, and lonely! I think an hour or two won't be a problem!" Before the she could argue Branch held Poppy's "See you in 2 hours!" And Walked away, holding Poppy close to his side. Poppy looked at her boyfriend, who's face was scrunched up with anger. She hesitantly leaned forward and pecked his cheek. "Thank you..." She whispered watching his anger escape from inside of him. "Y-your welcome." He whispered back as they closed to their destination.

Branch took out Poppy's scrunching and set it beside him, stroking his fingers through her soft pink hair. After a good lunch Branch had offered to do her hair, Poppy said he didn't have to, but he insisted. There were a few moments of dead silence. Branch cleared his throat "So, You've been...a... pretty busy, haven't you?" Poppy only nodded not wanting to start complaining. Branch finished brushing her hair and tied her scrunchie back in. "There!" He said cupping the beautiful Trolls face into his hands. "You almost look yourself again!" He smiled. Poppy let out a small, a bit forced,chuckle. Branch began to study her face "How much sleep have you been getting?" Poppy bit her lip and looked away. Branch  reached for her hand, holding her soft hand in his. "Poppy. You need more sleep. I know being a queen must be a very difficult job, but you can't continue this." He shifted so he could look her in the eyes. "Promise me you try to sleep more?" "Times up!" Branch looked up to see the stout lady-troll wait impatiently, arms crossed. Poppy slowly stood, still holding Branch's hand. She sighed, ready for the heavy tasks that were going to be laid upon her. "Poppy..." She looked at Branch "Please promise me you'll go to sleep tonight." "I-I'll try my best." Poppy replied with a small smile. Branch placed a quick peck on her forehead,and let go of her hand. Poppy walked away with Gladys "Hmph! Took you long enough!" She said as she continued to go through the day's schedule. Poppy payed no attention, watching Branch get smaller and smaller by each step.

Poppy scribbled her name across the dotted line, set it on the pile next to her. She looked at the clock. 12:36... She was supposed to be in bed by now. She looked a the stack of papers next to her. Just a few more she thought to herself grabbing another paper.

Branch knocked on the pod door."Poppy?" He knocked again "Just came to check on you." He waited... Silence. "I saw your light was on and-" The door creaked opened. Branch stared for a moment "and your doors unlocked..." I'll fix the door for her when I can he thought as he stepped inside. "Poppy?" He looked in her office to find her sleeping on her desk. He walked over and scooted her chair back "When I asked you to promise me to get some sleep this is not what I meant." He said wrapping his arms around her back and the back of her legs, ready to carry her to bed. Half awake Poppy mumbled "no,no, wait... I-I need to do a few more pages." "No. You need to go to bed" Branch said, picking her up, starting to walk out of the office. "I can do a few mor-" Poppy sluggishly said leaning her head against his chest.

He brought her into her room and placed her on her bed. He brought the covers toward her chin. He took her headband off and placed it on the night rest. "Good night,Poppy." He said and kissed her forehead. He turned off the lights and walked out of the room.

Poppy squinted as the sun came pouring into her room. She stretched out her legs and back, feeling more refreshed than she had the past few weeks. Wait. "I don't remember coming into bed last night." She jumped off the bed and walked into her office. All the paper work was done! She walked over to her desk, to find a pink post-it note stuck on her desk. Good morning Poppy. Hope you had a good night sleep! I love you! -Branch She chuckled "I love you too, Ya big dork!"

you can also read my work on this link!

https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/122096806/write/467923133

[torontothoughts]

There was so much fun to be had on my trip to Scotland last May (I was there from May 4-20, 2019) that what started as two articles – about walking the West Highland Way and about everything else I did – ended up as six posts because there was just so much to share. If you’re interested in reading more about my trip, check the bottom of the post for more links. And if you’re thinking of visiting Scotland, go! I had an amazing time and would definitely recommend traveling there for many reasons, not the least of which is the beautiful scenery and friendly people.

Stage three of my trip, or maybe it was stage four, was all about the islands. Well, the Isles of Lewis and Harris at least. I remember being fascinated that an island could have two names back when I lived in Scotland (I spent six months on a working holiday on the Isle of Bute after university, more than a decade ago) and had always wanted to visit. Curious about what I did and what I wish I could have done? Keep reading to find out…

Fort William to the Isle of Harris

I took the bus from Fort William to Uig on the Isle of Skye where I caught the ferry to the Isle of Harris. It was a pretty journey (as all of my bus, train and ferry journeys were shaping up to be). It was also a beautiful day so once on the ferry – super easy to board as a walk-on passenger – I stashed my main luggage and searched for the outside deck so I could watch for marine life. It was such a smooth crossing as there were virtually no waves or wind, but also no marine life other than a few birds. I took lots of photos, mainly playing with the zoom on my camera, but also because the coast of Skye is fun to photograph. It did get a bit chilly as we approached Harris but just “being on the water chilly”, not actually cold. One of the easiest crossings I’ve ever had.

Tonight was a splurge night as I was staying at a hotel, the Hotel Hebrides, rather than my normal hostel, and it was literally across the street from the pier (Tarbert is a small village) so it was easy to find. I quickly checked in and if it wasn’t for the included breakfast the next day, I would have recommended it. The room was nice except the bathroom garbage wasn’t emptied from the previous person. Otherwise, it was comfortable and looked like the photos. Reception was super friendly and helpful. The pub was a pub (more later) with friendly and quick service. But the breakfast was cold/cool except for the eggs, I really should have sent it back, although that’s something I rarely do. Sure, I arrived for breakfast 30 minutes before they stopped serving but I still expected everything that should be hot, to be hot, especially given the price. The server for breakfast (who was also my pub server, and lovely then) was a bit unprofessional to the German couple beside me, who were quite rude first. They must have complained because shortly after they left, a guy came in and reprimanded her in front of me (which was very unprofessional, especially as there was a kitchen a few steps away). So mixed feelings, although the bathroom products smelled nice.

But to backtrack, I had a nice fish & chips and a pint in the pub for dinner, where I shared a table with a chatty English gentleman who was my Dad’s age and from Brighton. He was kind enough to invite me to share his table (the pub was full and I was waiting at the bar) which was nice. He had asked the server to ask if I wanted to join him, she asked me and I thought “why not”. We had a nice conversation, he’s biking the islands, while eating dinner. It’s always interesting chatting with the different people you meet when traveling solo. I never meet as many if I’m traveling with friends. The rest of the evening was spent relaxing, reading and enjoying the quiet of my own room.

A lighthouse on the Isle of Harris

A view from the bus from Fort William

Taking the ferry from the Isle of Skye to the Isle of Harris

Almost at Uig on the Isle of Skye

I found this cliff on the Isle of Skye fascinating

Taking the ferry from the Isle of Skye to the Isle of Lewis

A view from the bus from Fort William

Some of the cliffs on the Isle of Skye

Taking the ferry from the Isle of Skye to the Isle of Lewis

Taking the ferry from the Isle of Skye to the Isle of Lewis

A lake I passed on the bus from Fort William, like a mirror

The Isle of Harris is getting closer

Leaving Skye behind

Eilean Donan Castle from the bus

Such a beautiful day for a ferry ride

Since I was just on Skye, why not have a beer from there

Heading the Isle of Harris

I’m on the ferry

Tarbert, Harris Distillery and then Stornoway

As previously mentioned, breakfast was included so I had the big Scottish breakfast (scrambled eggs, 2 bacon, 1 sausage, 1 slice of Stornoway black pudding, fried mushrooms, baked beans, a bit of cooked tomato, and what I assume was similar to a hash brown). I wasn’t impressed. At. All. It was oily and the only thing that was hot was the eggs. It was my only bad meal of the trip and I expected more from a nice hotel, especially as I’d been looking forward to it.

After checking out, I left my bag at reception (the lovely lady at reception was super helpful and friendly), and went for a walk along the road towards Scalpay before heading down a section of the Hebridean Way. It was a lovely morning and I had time to kill before the distillery tour so a walk was just what I needed. It made me wish I was walking more of the Hebridean Way (maybe next time) as the little I did was was lovely.

I then headed to the Isle of Harris Distillery for a tour – which was lovely even if their whisky isn’t ready yet. FYI – 3 year old whisky tastes like rocket fuel! Interestingly, I guessed what the other whisky was (Highland Park) as it’s one I quite like and often buy. Unfortunately, I’m not a gin fan but theirs was interesting, if a bit medicinal for my tastes, and the tour was great. However, I had been told by multiple people that Harris Gin is amazing so if you’re a gin drinker, try it if you have the chance. And take the tour, you get to learn about both gin and whisky.

Afterwards, I had a lovely scone (it was delicious!) with jam and cream and tea (side note: I loved that I could have a pot of tea everywhere, the tea drinker in me was super happy) at their café before heading to catch the bus to Stornoway. It was a nice bus ride and soon, I was on the Isle of Lewis. I easily found Heb Hostel (the hostel I was staying at in Stornoway, and one I would definitely recommend), checked in and then went for a walk around the Lews Castle grounds to explore. Unfortunately, the castle appeared to be under renovations so it was hard to get a good photo but the grounds were fun to explore. 

A lovely day for a walk

A short jaunt along the Hebridean Way

A short jaunt along the Hebridean Way

The Isle of Harris Distillery

A short jaunt along the Hebridean Way

A delicious scone and tea

A short jaunt along the Hebridean Way

A short jaunt along the Hebridean Way

A short jaunt along the Hebridean Way

The Stornoway Harbour

Tasting on the Isle of Harris Distillery

A short jaunt along the Hebridean Way

Some cute statues in Stornoway

Not impressed with this breakfast, although the presentation was nice

Some of the stuff that makes up Harris Gin

The harbour at Tarbert on the Isle of Harris

A closer look at Lews Castle

Callanish, Dun Carloway and Gearannan Blackhouse Village

I love it when two of the places I really wanted to visit were on the way to where I was spending the night. But let’s backtrack, Heb Hostel was comfy and quiet and since everyone else showered in the evening, I had the bathroom to myself (it was a shared ensuite that night). After a quick breakfast, I left my main bag there (I was staying there again the next night) and only took my day bag with enough stuff for the night so I could easily walk between sites and enjoy the gorgeous weather.

I can’t say enough how much I like my new day pack, a Patagonia women’s 18L Nine Trails Pack. It’s perfect for day hikes, an overnight trip, hiking without too much stuff, or hiking when the majority of my stuff was being transferred from one place to another (or I could leave it at a base) so it was fine for my overnight trip to Callanish, Dun Carloway and Gearannan Blackhouse Village. 

But I digress, back to the fun. I headed to the bus station which was about two blocks away (which is also where the ferry is) to catch the bus to the Callanish standing stones. Callanish is impressive, especially as you can actually walk up and around them (not like Stonehenge) and knowing they’re older than Stonehenge. There are also two smaller stone circles about a mile away and you can explore them all for free. Of course, I did. After exploring the main Callanish site, where the visitor’s center is, I walked over to the one that was furthest away (an easy walk), explored it, and then checked out the one in the middle before heading back to grab a quick bite (a scone and tea) at the visitor’s center cafe. All in all, I probably spent two hours there, plus another 30 minutes at the visitor’s center. It was great place to explore at my own pace and the weather was gorgeous – sunny and about 20C. 

I caught another bus (same route) to Dun Carloway Broch. Unfortunately, the bus driver was busy talking and forgot to stop (she said she would so I didn’t miss it) so I had to backtrack from the next stop. No worries, the weather was amazing and it was probably only a kilometer or two. I wandered around Dun Carloway Broch, the best preserved iron age Broch in the Outer Hebrides. It was amazing how short the doorways were – I almost had to crawl to enter. Interesting but a bit claustrophobic for me. There was also a cute little visitor center. I kind of wished I spent a bit more time exploring the area around as afterwards I saw the views from a walk nearby but I had more walking to do and things to see.

So once looking my fill around Dun Carloway Broch, I headed off to Gearannan which was supposed to be about an hour away but it took a bit longer so I think Google was a bit off. No worries though, it was road walking so easy if up and down and the views (and the day) were gorgeous as I was right close to the sea most of the time.

Gearannan Blackhouse Village is not only cool, historical and the hostel a fabulous place to stay but it’s also right on Gearannan Bay so it’s beautiful and there’s lots to explore. Plus it faces west so I got to watch the sunset while drinking a glass of whisky on the beach. I took a jaunt up the cliffside, or rather a walk over the “rocky” beach (large, smooth rocks, not pebbles – see the photos to understand) and then up the trail up and along the cliff for amazing views of the Atlantic Ocean. Lovely! I found a nice place to chill and just let the fantastic views, fresh air and solitude soothe my soul. So happy I stayed there and I’d definitely recommend it – the hostel itself was clean, comfy and way more modern on the inside. But it was the gorgeous surroundings that truly made it stand out. Stay there if you have the chance!

Side note: there were two Canadian girls staying in the hostel room with me and one is from Lindsay which is quite close to my hometown. Small world.

Callanish standing stones

Walking up to Callanish III standing stones, one of the smaller circles

Callanish standing stones

Callanish standing stones

Chilling on the top of the cliff by Gearannan Blackhouse Village

Callanish II standing stones, one of the smaller circles

Callanish standing stones

Looking around near Callanish

Me at the Callanish standing stones

Gearannan Blackhouse Village

Watching the sunset over the bay

The bay at Gearannan Blackhouse Village

It’s a hard life

Gearannan Blackhouse Village

Callanish standing stones

Callanish standing stones

Callanish III standing stones, one of the smaller circles

Sure, it’s windy but it’s a lovely day

Callanish III standing stones, one of the smaller circles

Callanish III standing stones, one of the smaller circles

Dun Carloway Broch

Callanish standing stones

Callanish III standing stones, one of the smaller circles

Gearannan Blackhouse Village

Watching the sunset over the bay

Callanish III standing stones, one of the smaller circles

Gearannan Blackhouse Village

Dun Carloway Broch

Gearannan Blackhouse Village

Callanish standing stones

Callanish standing stones

Looking out at the ocean at Dun Carloway Broch

Gearannan Blackhouse Village

Looking out from inside Dun Carloway Broch

The tide is out

Callanish standing stones

Callanish III standing stones, one of the smaller circles

Dun Carloway Broch

All the stones where so smooth

Callanish III standing stones, one of the smaller circles

Watching the waves come in

The other side of the bay reminded my of a person’s head

Inside Dun Carloway Broch

The ‘beach’ at Gearannan Blackhouse Village

Inside the hostel at Gearannan Blackhouse Village

Dun Carloway Broch

A closer look at one of the blackhouses at Gearannan Blackhouse Village

Such a beautiful view

Taking the ferry from the Isle of Skye to the Isle of Harris

Stornoway

Unfortunately, I woke up completely congested with a severe allergy attack – just in my sinuses but it zapped my energy. It altered my plans as I had no energy or desire despite how amazing the weather was (again!) so I decided not to go up to the Butt of Lewis and instead head straight back to Stornoway.

The bus that I caught from Gearnannan to Stornoway was a local milk run which was a great intro to how old people complain… a lot. The bus was 20 minutes late due to road work and wow, everyone over 50 had something to say about it. It was an interesting insight into locals and one of the many reasons I love traveling by public transit (for real, you get to see what a place is like when you travel with locals).

When I got to Stornoway, I went back to Lews Castle to explore the museum (nice museum, I learned a lot about the history and people of the Isle of Lewis), wandered around the town – the tea shop was closed, no tea to take home for me – and found a bench looking over the harbour to relax, soak in the sun and read. Despite being under the weather, it was a lovely, relaxing day. Oh, and the sandwich I had at the Woodlands Centre on the Lews Castle grounds was lovely.

Other than that, not much to report. My dinner of cheddar, oatcakes and an apple was approved by an older French dude. Oh, and over-the-counter meds are much cheaper in Scotland.

Heading the Isle of Harris

An old gate to the water

Looking up at Lews Castle

One last look at the ocean before heading back to Stornoway

There’s always great places to walk and enjoy the outdoors

Relaxing on a bench and watching the harbour

Final Thoughts

Unfortunately, my time on the Isle of Harris and Lewis ended and there was still lots to explore. Despite the allergy attack, I had an amazing time with fantastic weather. I met lots of interesting and friendly people, soaked in a ton of history, learned a bit about island life, relaxed and generally had an amazing time. If you ever have the chance, visit the Outer Hebrides!

Have you been to the Isle of Harris and Lewis? What did you like best?

Revisiting Scotland – Exploring the Isles of Harris and Lewis There was so much fun to be had on my trip to Scotland last May (I was there from May 4-20, 2019) that what started as two articles - about walking the West Highland Way and about everything else I did - ended up as six posts because there was just so much to share.

[deztinywarriors]

The Linked Charms - Episode 13 (Multi Liverpool players)

[writestufflj20]

The Other Kind of Trip

            Brittany drove up to my apartment just after sunset, her frantic voice urging me to “get in! Get in! We want to get there before the shop closes!” I slid into the passenger seat and pulled up Google maps. Not only was this the first time either of us had visited this particular store, Brittany had never even been to Santa Ana. It was less than fifteen minutes away but the unfamiliar streets and nature of our mission made her a nervous driver. Luckily we only got lost twice.

             After two missed exists and a lot of yelling at other drivers even though our windows were up, we made it to the shop. Brittany made a sharp left into a dim and dingy alleyway that led to a near-empty parking lot towards the back of the shop. We parked and sat there for a moment after the car was turned off, hashing out our game plan, rehearsing dialogue, and thinking up exit strategies should the pickup go south. Once our giggling subsided and we regained our composure, we stepped outside and started to make our way to the storefront. By now the sun had completely set, her black Toyota began to blend in with its dark surroundings as we wandered further away from it and closer to Smokeez Smoke Shop.

             We walked in as casually as possible but the way we got distracted by the pretty glasswork and the weird shapes of the various pipes and bongs might have made us appear more out of place than we already felt. To the workers at Smokeez, I am sure the two small, preppy white girls, looked as though they got lost looking for the nearest Forever 21. But Brittany and I knew what we came for. I walked up to the two men behind the desk and addressed the older one, hoping his laidback demeanor would garner no judgment once I asked my question.

“Hi! We were curious as to whether or not you carry salvia here!”

             Salvia is one of the more interesting psychedelic drugs, not because it is regarded as one of the “most potent naturally occurring hallucinogens”, but because it is completely legal to purchase unlike LSD, magic mushrooms, or DMT. Salvia divinorum—which means “sage of the diviners”—is a psychoactive plant that, when ingested through either smoking or swallowing, creates vivid visual and audio hallucinations for a period of five to ten minutes.

             Although salvia is largely still considered niche in the world of hallucinogenic drugs, more and more people discover it each year. While its legality in 21 of the 50 states may be a driving force in the increasing consumption rate of salvia, the drug has other characteristics that can persuade people to use. For Brittany, she “was interested in salvia due to the fact that it had no negative side effects on health, yet it also only lasts a short time”. For me, it was after reading countless forum posts detailing these ridiculous five minute trips into other dimensions, seeing every color on the visual spectrum all at once, feeling each of your senses converge into one amalgam and then explode outwards again until you feel like nothing more than a spec floating through empty space that sold me on trying salvia. On this journey, I wanted nothing less than to meet God himself.

             Brittany and I left Smokeez with one gram of salvia 5x which is the least potent form of the drug as the lower the number, the lower the concentration of leaf extract. Although we were wildly inexperienced in smoking, drugs, and almost all related areas, we were still trying to play it safe. Being precautionary also meant we were not going to embark on this trip alone. Brittany and I have several mutual friends who are experienced smokers and, while they had not necessarily tried salvia, they at least knew how to smoke it. We also needed to borrow a bong.

             Our next stop was a frat house. Brittany had planned to do the salvia with only me while a close friend of ours trip sat, but her excitement combined with an exuberant and bubby personality turned this into in a fifteen person affair. One of these people was my closest friend, who for this piece, wanted his identity to remain a secret and so asked me to refer to him as Lenny 420. We will call him Lenny. Lenny was no stranger to drugs—psychedelics, stimulants, marijuana—but he was vocally against Brittany and I doing Salvia. Brittany, normally a straightedge person, was very excited for her first hallucinogenic experience which caused her and Lenny to butt heads. “I just felt like he was judging me, despite everything that he’s done, for doing something like this.”

             For his part, Lenny was more knowledgeable, experienced, and generally smarter about drugs than the average person, and especially more than Brittany and I. Closer to a drug connoisseur than a drug abuser, Lenny had experimented with hallucinogenics a few times in the past and had experiences ranging from enlightening to downright terrifying. He had grounds to be skeptical about salvia. “I didn't want you guys to do it but I wasn’t gonna try and stop you I mean. I also didn’t think you would react well to it.” He showed us videos of salvia reducing normal people to fits of hysterical laughter, incoherent babbling, and falling all over themselves as they are no more able to balance than an infant first learning to walk. At this point, I was somewhat nervous, but Brittany would not be deterred. We were going to do salvia.

            We gathered into my big Gary’s room, him being the only one not going on this trip with us. In Greek life, bigs are members of a fraternity who act as an older brother or mentor to someone they ‘pick up’ as a little sis or bro. Tonight I expected Gary to fulfill his role as responsible older brother figure because it would be a complete lie to say I was not scared that night. Him being the only completely sober person gave me some comfort.

            The salvia sat on a small, white table in front of us that was marked with spaghetti sauce stains and covered in small pieces of trash. Brittany was fidgeting with the package, not wanting to open it until everybody was here. More people began to filter into the room; one of them was Lenny. Later, when I asked him what caused the change of heart, he shrugged and said “I was bored, I wanted to try it once just to experience it.”

             Fifteen of us sat in a circle, three of us on the couch, some sitting on the two beds in the room, most on the floor. We decided the order: the experienced smokers were going first, Brittany and Lenny going 8th and 9th respectively, and I being the final one to go. Lenny and Brittany went for the pipe, and I watched their trips before taking the plunge myself. Lenny just kept saying “woah” and blinking, but he was nowhere near incoherence. At one point he actually answered his phone to give a friend directions and, while he experienced considerable difficulty in describing which street to turn on and what light to stop at, a naïve bystander would have mistaken him for being slightly high rather than on one of the most potent hallucinogenic drugs available. Later, he described himself as feeling “tingly” and being able to see fractals—or infinitely repeating geometric patterns—blink in and out of sight depending on how hard he focused on the light squares, and curves that lined his field of vision. “I felt high until I went to sleep that night. That kinda sucked.”

              Brittany’s experience was more vibrant. Instead of fractals, she describes her experience in waves of color. Though she knew they were not actually appearing, on salvia, Brittany’s mind painted over the world in hues of alternating pinks, then yellows, then greens. “I didn’t see the colors, I felt them.” From the outside, Brittany was laughing and cuddly, making the salvia seem like it did nothing more than amplify her inherit emotions. Gary described Brittany as “her typical self except more oblivious to how people were feeling. Because she was tripping out lol.” Lenny and Brittany held each other on the couch, seeming content as their trips were curtailed and the visions and colors began to fade.

Then the pipe was placed on the table, directly in front of me. I starred at it for what felt like three minutes. The intricate glasswork and random pieces intimidated me. Our friend V took pity on me—he has seen me horribly fail at smoking before—and decided to help. “Alright Christina I am going to hold the pipe and light it. When I tell you to, pick up this piece of glass and inhale as long as you can.” I did as he said, or I tried to. I sucked the smoke into my mouth and breathed deeply so that it could travel down my throat and eventually settle into my lungs. The smoke wafting through my air sacs burned but I would not let it escape just yet; I did not come this far to have a half-baked experience.

             All my prior research led me to think that the effects would be intense instantaneously, but that was not the case. I waited for what felt like five minutes, looking around at the sea of people who were having psychedelic visions, laughing hysterically, and engaging in in-depth conversations with God himself. Then they began to grow distant. I felt my voice leave my mouth, feeling coherent but paranoid I was speaking only gibberish as I tried to make a connection with my friend who was sitting next time me, desperately trying to see if people were feeling how I was feeling. The room became stretched and I fell back into the couch, feeling as isolated as I would have been had I been dropped off on a deserted island miles off the shore, able to see the mainland only through a squint. “You looked very nervous and uncomfortable,” Gary later told me. “Especially when there were too many people in my room. I think you would have had a better trip and time if it were only me, Brittany, and Lenny in the room.”

              I had no visions or revelations, no undulating colors filled my vision nor did I see ever-repeating shapes spreading across the walls and floor and couches. And I certainly did not have any conversations with God. The world visually came back into focus, feeling less like I was looking out of a fisheye lens. Yet my body felt slow and I had a perversion to being around people for up to thirty minutes after that, even my closest friends. “You looked annoyed when Brittany tried to talk to you” Gary said. I lingered in the hallways, finding corners of the house that would allow me to encounter the least amount of people.  Lenny left the room ten minutes after I did and found me looking like I was trying my best to blend into to the grubby frat house walls. After saying a word or two, he stopped speaking and led me to his mercifully empty room. I lowered myself onto the plush brown couch, across from where Lenny sat on his bed, and stayed there for ten silent minutes. I left with only a quick “see yah later.”

               I am mostly disappointed by the fact that explaining how I took salvia, got anxious, and then went home was the underwhelming story I was left with. Lenny was right about the reaction he thought I would have to the drug, but I still wanted to leave with something more than I did. In Gary’s words “people can be swayed to do things they have stated they would never do, like drugs, possibly to feel open minded or to have an interesting memory they can tell others later or to feel some personal satisfaction.” Maybe I left there without a good trip story because I did not go in with the right mindset, or my mind had nothing to reveal to me. Maybe I just did not smoke enough. Maybe this was the story that I needed.

                Because I still want something more—a story, revelation, anything—there is no other choice than to one day trip again. Maybe after the second or third time, I will understand the allure of substances like salvia. However, once I do get what I want from it, I will be stopping there. As my friend Cody once said, “the general motto with psychedelics is, once you get the message, hang up the phone.”