#like you should see my search history its whack

[whisperwoofwoof]

Golden Ch 11

Rating: Mature Pairing: JongKey Chaptered/WIP | 1.7k words Warnings: Language, occult, supernatural Prompt: Dish soap, Children climbing a tree, Whistling, A sex scene, Holy water

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“I’ve always wanted to do magic, but I never knew any witches,” Minho told Jinki as they pushed the living room furniture to the side.

“I’ll walk you through it. The ritual uses quite a bit of energy, but I’m confident we can manage,” Jinki said, placing the supplies on the center table.

Bottles of herbs and empty jars littered the table, along with a blade, a mortar, and a pestle to grind said ingredients. As Jinki started up the fireplace, Minho took the blade and began to cast a protective circle. The craft was new to him, but his inexperience didn’t show. After casting a protective circle, he took the sea salt and formed a physical circle as well.

“By the way, sorry for telling Kibum about you,” Jinki offered as he waited for the fire to start.

“It’s nothing major, I was going to tell him anyways. I actually still need to tell him that I’m a clairvoyant, too.”

“You are?” asked Jinki.

“I am, but it’s all so new to me. It’s weird, but I’ve had dreams about all this in the past.”

“Well, maybe I can help you through it all after this. Taemin could use some help on his cases, too.”

“Yeah.”

Minho quieted down. He spilled the last of the needed salt and walked back to the table. As he began chopping herbs, Jinki stood from his spot in front of the fireplace and went over to Minho.

“Are you upset about Taemin?” he asked Minho, grabbing some herbs himself.

“The thing is, I’m not. Even though his energy is different, it’s not negative,” Minho told him while grabbing the mortar.

“He’s a good guy. I only hope he tells Kibum.”

“Right. So, what does this spell do?” he asked Jinki as he poured the mortar’s contents into a jar.

“It will open a one-way portal to Hell, sort of like a suck zone for demonic entities. Once the demon has been released from the body, this will make sure it has nowhere else to go.”

“Could Jonghyun get sucked in accidentally? What about Taemin?”

“That’s why it’s important for no one to fuck up,” Jinki insisted while handing Minho more herbs.

-

The three of the stood in the freezing bedroom. Kibum was glued to his spot, watching Taemin stagger out of dark with demonic eyes. The booming, wicked laughter pricked his ears. Taemin’s obsidian eyes soon faded to their normal mahogany hue. The demonologist was rendered motionless between the demon’s vessel and the amateur exorcist.

The laughter was quickly disrupted by Taemin’s own chortle.

Jonghyun faced Kibum, expecting a small, shivering frame, and was instead greeted with a smug grin.

“Why are you not cowering in fear? You trusted this man and he’s exactly what you detest,” Jonghyun shouted.

Newfound courage enveloped Kibum, who strode to the vessel. He neither faltered nor hesitated, only reaching the demon with the sole purpose of getting him to shut up.

“For a demon, you’re not the badass you think you are.”

Jonghyun’s cheek stung as his face was struck by the Good Book. Smoke emitted from the site, displaying the impressive hit. Using the demon’s shock, Taemin and Kibum tackled his body to the mattress. As Kibum retrieved a pair of handcuffs from his back pocket, he pressed the crucifix to the vessel’s chest, gaining a painful howl.

“You poor, sad demon. I already know what Taemin is.”

-

“Seriously, though, who are you really?”

Taemin took a deep breath, ready to reveal his secret to Kibum. He had only known this man for over a day, but if it meant he could gain his trust, he was willing to take the risk.

“Promise not to freak out?”

When Kibum nodded, Taemin closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were shrouded in black. The surprise was noticeable, but Kibum visibly calmed himself down.

“You’re…one of them?” he questioned Taemin. “I don’t understand. If you’re a demon, why do you exorcise them?”

Taemin sighed, allowing his eyes to revert to normal.

“I’ve been studying demonology for as long as I can remember. I even took my first case in my early teens. I used to be human, however one slip-up changed that,” he stated, glancing at the door.

“Okay.”

“It was after Jinki and I had a fight. He didn’t want me to take the case, so I went alone. It-it gained the upper hand and made me drink its’ blood, which began the transformation. Despite how stupid I had been, Jinki agreed to perform a restoration ritual and saved my life.”

“A restoration ritual?”

“It was a spell to keep my soul in my body. I’m technically a demon holding a human soul.”

“So, the exorcism can’t hurt you, but the holy items can,” Kibum wondered aloud.

“They mostly sting, but the holy water can do more damage. That’s why I ask Jinki to gather it. Also, the spell he’s doing with Minho always has a chance of pulling me in as well.”

“Damn.”

“You’re telling me.”

Kibum gave a low whistle and braved the bedroom door.

“No use just standing here, I guess,” he told the other man.

He was ready to confront the demon inhabiting Jonghyun’s body. He wanted him out and back to where he came from. He was going to fix this and fix it properly. Now being able to trust Taemin a little more, he was confident that they could do this together. Him being a demon wasn’t any cause for alarm, not when he was the one helping Kibum. He braced himself, turning the knob and accepting his fate.

-

Jonghyun’s wrists were now handcuffed to the bedframe. His ankles were still shackled, giving his body a pull, twisting at an awkward angle.

“Aw, Kibum. If you wanted to tie me up, you could’ve just asked nicely,” Jonghyun pouted, looking more sinister than ever.

“Shut up and come out of him!” he held the crucifix to his body, although he thrashed against the mattress.

“I command you, unclean spirit, whoever you are, to release this human at once. Depart this vessel, and this world,” Taemin spoke while circling the bed.

“Looks like you grew some balls, Key. Where did this confidence come from?”

Kibum pulled back and touched his feet to the floor. He grabbed the book, leafing through the pages and trying to remember where he left off. As he read, Jonghyun showed no signs of letting his prey go.

“You bring an Ouija board home and suddenly you’re an exorcist? How entertaining,” he smirked.

He tried to pay no mind to the demon, finding the verse he was reading and continuing. Taemin didn’t waver in his own words, either. He maintained his pace around the bed, adding the holy water into the mix. His words flowed like a sonnet, showing his experience in his profession. However, the strength of the act slowly dismantled the hold on the vessel, angering the possessive demon.

“You think you can save your little boyfriend? Ha, I’ll drag his soul to Hell with me! I’ll torture him myself!”

His words were brash, loud in the barely furnished guest room. Kibum could feel the tears welling up in his eyes, but he couldn’t allow them to fall. They made it nearly impossible for him to read the pages, but it was not the time to cry.

“Don’t cry, Key,” the demon mocked him. “This is all your fault, anyways. This fool would have married you if you didn’t mess around where you shouldn’t have. Now, he’ll die because of you.”

Kibum felt like he would vomit. His stomach churned, and his throat went dry. The tears threatened to fall, to show weakness to the being holding Jonghyun’s body captive. He needed to keep moving, keep reading, no matter what it told him.

“You mean, you didn’t know? What did you think he packed in the bag? Go on, check…”

Jonghyun’s words trailed off, interrupted by the scraping of a heavy object against the wooden floor. The large wardrobe moved closer to him, blocking the door as it stopped. The doors flew open, revealing the black duffle bag.

“He’s a simpleton, you know. You guys fucked one time, and this is what he did.”

It felt as though he was possessed himself. The wardrobe pulled him closer like a magnet, or lure waiting to strike.

“Kibum, don’t listen to him! Keep reading!” Taemin voiced from the background, giving a hint of panic for the first time.

“Quiet. You’re an abomination to two different species,” Jonghyun replied, trying to get Kibum to reach the wardrobe.

He took the bag in his hands, slowly undoing the zipper. All he saw were clothes, so he reached his hand inside. After searching for a bit, his fingers hit something that definitely was not fabric, something he did not place in there when he packed. He pulled his hand out to reveal a small, black box. His breath hitched as he realized exactly what it meant.

“Don’t just stand there, open it,” the demon teased.

Kibum listened to the demon, ignoring Taemin’s cries not to. Time slowed to a halt as he opened the small box. For a moment, there wasn’t an exorcism going on. He thought back to everything: the day him and Jonghyun met, the day they actually became friends, their lost years, the day they reunited, and the night the slept together. The culmination of everything allowed the levy to break, and so the tears fell. He fucked up and brought his lover into it. Now, the man would probably die.

“Poor Key, your beloved Dino will die. Ha, remember that? That’s how I pulled you in-,” Jonghyun stopped, sentence disrupted by a sight he didn’t expect to see.

An enraged Kibum rushed at him, snatching the book and crucifix. He extended his right arm, the cross protruding from his hand and shoved into Jonghyun’s face. His voice grew strong, repeating the passage without a single quiver. The vigor and valor in which he read caused Jonghyun to pull at his restraints, only to be ceased by Taemin’s own words. He didn’t miss the small smile that graced Taemin’s lips, noticing that the demonologist had his eyes focused on Kibum’s left hand.

On the hand that held the book, graced upon the second-to-last finger, was an engagement ring.  

[balkanradfem]

When we see a tree, we tend to think of it as a singular unit – just as we think of ourselves as individuals. But biologists have discovered that it’s not quite so simple. They have come to understand that trees depend on certain kinds of fungi in the soil: hair-thin structures called hyphae that interlace with cells in the roots of trees to form mycorrhiza. The fungi benefit by receiving someof the sugar that plants produce through photosynthesis (which it cannot otherwise make), while the trees benefit in turn by receiving elements like phosphorous and nitrogen that they cannot produce for themselves, and without which they cannot survive.

But this reciprocity is not confined to just two parties in this ancient relationship. Invisible fungal networks also connect the roots of different trees to one another, sometimes over great distances, forming an underground internet that allows them to communicate, and even to share energy, nutrients and medicine. The ecologist Robert Macfarlane explains how this works: A dying tree might divest itself of its resources to the benefit of the community, for example, or a young seedling in a heavily shaded understory might be supported with extra resources by its stronger neighbours. Even more remarkably, the network also allows plants to send one another warnings. A plant under attack from aphids can indicate to a nearby plant that it should raise its defensive response before the aphids reach it.

It has been known for some time that plants communicate above ground in comparable ways, by means of airborne hormones. But such warnings are more precise in terms of source and recipient when sent by means of the myco-net. 16 Trees co-operate. They communicate. They share. Not only among members of the same species, but across species barriers: Douglas firs and birches feed each other. And it’s not just trees; we now know that all plants – except for a handful of species – have this same relationship with mycorrhiza. Just as with our gut bacteria, these findings challenge how we think about the boundaries between species. Is a tree really an individual? Can it really be conceived as a separate unit? Or is it an aspect of a broader, multi-species organism?

There’s also something else going on here – something perhaps even more revolutionary. Dr Suzanne Simard, a professor in the department of forest & conservation at the University of British Columbia, has argued that mycorrhizal networks among plants operate like neural networks in humans and other animals; they function in remarkably similar ways, passing information between nodes. And just as the structure of neural networks enables cognition and intelligence in animals, mycorrhizal networks provide similar capacities to plants. Recent research shows that the network not only facilitates transmission, communication and co-operation – just like our neurons do – it also facilitates problem-solving, learning, memory and decision-making.

These words are not just metaphorical. The ecologist Monica Gagliano has published groundbreaking research on plant intelligence, showing that plants remember things that happen to them, and change their behaviour accordingly. In other words, they learn. In a recent interview with Forbes, she insisted: ‘My work is not about metaphors at all; when I talk about learning, I mean learning. When I talk about memory, I mean memory.’ Indeed, plants actively change their behaviour as they encounter new challenges and receive messages about the changing world around them. Plants sense: they see, hear, feel and smell, and they respond accordingly. If you’ve ever seen time-lapse footage of a vine growing up a tree, you’ll have an idea of what this looks like in action: that vine is no automaton – it’s sensing, moving, balancing, solving problems, trying to figure out how to navigate new terrain. The more we learn, the stranger (or perhaps more familiar?) it all becomes. Simard’s work shows that trees can recognise their own relatives through mycorrhizal networks. Older ‘mother’ trees can identify nearby saplings that came from their own seeds, and they use this information to decide how to allocate resources in times of stress. Simard also describes how trees seem to have ‘emotional’ responses to trauma in a way that’s not dissimilar to animals. After a machete whack or during an aphid attack, their serotonin levels change (yes, they have serotonin, along with a number of neurochemicals that are common in animal nervous systems), and they start pumping out emergency messages to their neighbours.

Of course, none of this is to say that plant intelligence is exactly like that of animals. In fact, scientists warn that our urge to constantly compare the intelligence of some species with that of others is exactly the problem: it ends up blinding us to how other kinds of intelligence might work. Set out in search of a brain and you’ll never even notice the mycorrhiza that have been pulsing through the earth, evolving right under our feet, for 450 million years. This research is just taking off, and we have no idea where it might lead. But Simard is careful to point out that it’s not exactly new: If you listen to some of the early teachings of the Coast Salish and the Indigenous people along the western coast of North America, they knew [about these insights] already. It’s in the writings and in the oral history.

The idea of the mother tree has long been there. The fungal networks, the below-ground networks that keep the whole forest healthy and alive, that’s also there. That these plants interact and communicate with each other, that’s all there. They used to call the trees the tree people … Western science shut that down for a while and now we’re getting back to it.

Trees aren’t only connected with each other. They are also connected with us. Over the past few years, research into human–tree relationships has yielded some truly striking findings. A team of scientists in Japan conducted an experiment with hundreds of people around the country. They asked half of the participants to walk for fifteen minutes through a forest, and the other half to walk through an urban setting, and then they tested their emotional states. In every case, the forest walkers experienced significant mood improvements when compared to the urban walkers, plus a decline in tension, anxiety, anger, hostility, depression and fatigue. The benefits were immediate and effective. Trees also have an impact on our behaviour. Researchers have found that spending time around trees makes people more co-operative, kinder and more generous. It increases our sense of awe and wonder at the world, which in turn changes how we interact with others. It reduces aggression and incivility. Studies in Chicago, Baltimore and Vancouver have all discovered that neighbourhoods with higher tree cover have significantly fewer crimes, including assault, robbery and drug use – even when controlling for socioeconomic status and other confounding factors.

It’s almost as though being with trees makes us more human. We don’t know quite why this happens. Is it just that green environments are somehow more pleasant and calming? A study in Poland suggests that doesn’t explain it. They had people spend fifteen minutes standing in a wintertime urban forest: no leaves, no green, no shrubbery; just straight, bare trees. One might think such an environment would have minimal if any positive impact on people’s mood, but not so: participants standing in the bare forest reported significant improvements in their psychological and emotional states when compared to a control group that spent those fifteen minutes hanging out in an urban landscape. And it’s not just mood and behaviour. It turns out that trees have an impact on our physical health too – in concrete, material terms. Living near trees has been found to reduce cardiovascular risk. Walking in forests has been found to lower blood pressure, cortisol levels, pulse rates and other indicators of stress and anxiety.

Even more intriguingly, a team of scientists in China found that elderly patients with chronic health conditions demonstrated significant improvements in immune function after spending time in forests. We don’t know for sure, but this may have something to do with the chemical compounds that trees exhale into the air. The aromatic vapours released by cypress, for example, have been found to enhance the activity of a number of human immune cells, while reducing stress hormone levels. In an attempt to quantify the overall benefit of trees, scientists in Canada found that trees have a more powerful impact on our health and well-being than even large sums of money. Having just ten more trees on a city block decreases cardio-metabolic conditions in ways comparable to earning an extra $20,000. And it improves one’s sense of well-being as much as earning an extra $10,000, moving to a neighbourhood with $10,000 higher median income, or being seven years younger. These results are astonishing. There’s a real mystery here, which scientists still do not yet understand. But perhaps we shouldn’t be so surprised. After all, we have co-evolved with trees for millions of years. We even share DNA with trees. After countless generations, we’ve come to depend on them for our health and happiness just as we depend on other humans. We are, in a very real sense, relatives.

- Jason Hickel,  Less is More

[queen-scribbles]

The Long Burning Torch ch 2

Oh, look, there more! :D Second chapter for my Ryn/Red 20s AU brought you by @shepherds-of-haven ‘s summer event 

------

True to his word, Red called just a couple days later--with supremely perfect timing, too; Xaeryn had just returned from following a lead. She was in the process of unpinning her hat when the telephone rang and she ll but dove across the room, hatpin in hand, to answer it.

“Shrike Investigations,” she said with that borderline-cheerful professionalism people expected from anyone running a business.

“Xaeryn?” He sounded curious verging on concerned. “Everything alright?”

“Oh, hittin’ on all eight,” she assured him with a breathless laugh. “I just got back from chasing down a lead.” She left off how literal that was this time as she glared at the mud on her shoes. “He was... more help than he meant to be, I think. I’m just grateful it didn’t turn into another dead-end.”

Red laughed. “Glad to hear it.” The line crackled a bit in the moment’s silence before he continued, “I had a chance to do some research, turned up a few interesting things.”

Generally interesting, or Red-interesting? Xaeryn wondered with a fond smile, remembering his fascination with even the minutiae of everything he read. “Like what?” 

“At least some of what happened to the pendent after the Solimer lost it, and it’s a bit of a mess.” He laughed again, sheepishly this time, and Xaeryn pictured him running a hand through his hair. “It’s better explained in person. Should I come to you--”

“I’ll come there,” Xaeryn offered. “You’re doing me a favor, it’s the least I can do. And besides” --she grinned, even knowing he couldn’t see her-- “it’s a long drive and I wouldn’t want you to forget any of your notes.”

There was a long-suffering sigh, punctuated by a chuckle that made the line pop. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“No more than you let me live down the apple tree,” she retorted sweetly. “Does it work for me to come today? The guild’s getting antsy with the exhibit date drawing closer, but if you’re busy...”

“I have a lecture in... just under an hour.” Red paused, likely doing the same travel time vs lecture time calculations she was. “If you left soon, you’d probably get here just as I’m finishing, we could talk after?”

“Sounds good to me,” Xaeryn said scraping mud off her shoe against the chair leg. “I’ll see you in a couple hours, then.”

“Mm, see you then.”

She took a moment examining her shoes after they hung up and decided it would be best to change them before she left. Wouldn’t want to be tracking mud through Solhadur’s halls.

---

She couldn’t entirely bite back a laugh when she arrived and found Red behind his desk, the pencil woven between his fingers tapping against one of the three books open across the desk’s surface. “Well, I just lost a five lyss wager.”

“Huh?” His hair fell in his eyes when he looked up. “Over what?”

Xaeryn smiled as she leaned against the edge of the desk. “I was certain you would get carried away with jawing about whatever your lecture was on and I would be here first. Fortunately it was a wager with myself” --she leaned over to peek at what he was reading--”so there’s no real loss.”

Red laughed and nudged one of the books toward her. “Normally you would have won. I thought of something I wanted to double-check before you got here, so I made sure to end on time. The students thank you for that, by the way.”

She snickered and skimmed through the presented history text. “They’re most welcome. What did you learn?”

Red pushed out of his chair and circled the desk to give them the same angle on the book she held. “There’s a decade or so immediately after its loss that’s unaccounted for, but there are records from travelers who mention encountering a warlord deep in Jalis territory with a pendent that sounds an awful lot like Solimer’s torch. Here.” He leaned over to flip a few pages back from where she was and pointed at a sketched illustration.

While rudimentary in nature, it did bear a striking resemblance to the photographs Mr. Syndran had given her. Xaeryn hummed a quiet agreement, noting the sketched pendent seemed to be on an armband rather than loose as it was now, as she started reading the relevant text around the illustration. 

“Lean on details,” she frowned, tracing a finger over the words as she read.

“That one is,” Red agreed. “They were more concerned with other things, barely mention the pendent in their description of the warlord. It’s just the only one with an illustration.” He tugged the book away from her, swapped it for one of the others. “Going off the description, I think this is the same piece. But you can draw your own conclusions.” He sat in one of the chairs and Xaeryn stayed perched on the edge of the desk, one foot swinging idly a few inches off the ground as she read.

From the sound of it--bronze coiled around a jet black stone, said to be its owner’s lucky talisman--she was inclined to agree with Red.  The territory of this warlord, however, was rather far from the usual routes ascribed to the Solimer’s desert travels. How did it get there? she mused. Likely during the decade it had vanished, but she couldn’t even begin to guess the method. She’ was just finishing with the account when she caught Red smiling out of the corner of her eye.

She let the book dip to look at him instead. “What?”

Red’s eyes twinkled as he nodded at the hem of her mid-calf skirt. “That lead you mentioned chasing earlier wouldn’t have involved mud puddles, would it?”

Xaeryn followed his gaze and groaned at the mud staining the dusky rose fabric. “I wasn’t expecting him to run,” she muttered, flicking at the mud with one hand as she moved to the other chair.

“Your suspects usually just wait around, obligingly, for you to interrogate them, then?” 

She rolled  her eyes at his teasing tone and briefly debated whacking him with the book. “He wasn’t a suspect, he was a witness,” she retorted primly, setting the book back on his desk. “Potentially. Though with how cagey he was being, it wouldn’t surprise me if he was guilty of something.”

“A mystery for another day,” Red said with a grin.

“Precisely. As for today’s mystery, have you found anything more recent than this?” She tapped the book. “It’s still several hundred years ago.”

“Not much, and some of it’s contradictory; that’s part of why I said in person was better.” He ran one hand through his hair. “That territory is so deep in the Jalis desert, not many go there and come out again. Those who don’t live there frequently die visiting.”

“Charming place,” Xaeryn said dryly.

“Mmhm. It makes getting records difficult, to say the least. There’s a mention of this warlord’s territory being conquered by another, but no mention of what was taken as potential spoils, and the next thing I’ve found resembling Solimer’s torch is is when it was discovered in the grave of a different chieftain, name unknown--though there are theories--a hundred years ago and almost two hundred miles from where the nearest previous records indicated it being.”

“How’s a chieftain’s name unknown?” she frowned. 

“He was buried with the honors afforded warlords and chieftains, but any record of his identity had worn off in the desert wind, if it was there in the first place,” Red explained.

“And these theories about who he was?” 

“Numerous and with various levels of support,” he said wryly. “But if you want the longer version...?”

Xaeryn chuckled. “Always.” 

They spent the next hour or so discussing the myriad guesses people had made as to this mystery chieftain’s name, as well as the other details Red had unearthed about the pendent, and various sources’ credibility. They only got caught up in one or two rabbit trails of good-natured debate over peer review and scholarly reputation or historical patterns of desert travel. (Which was pretty good for them.)

“There are a lot of gaps,” Red acknowledged, thumbing the pages of one book. “But I have a lot more I can read to help with filling them in.” He twirled one hand to gesture at the shelves that lined the room.

“You don’t have to-”

“Xaeryn, have you ever known me to be unhappy reading a book?” he asked with a warm smile.

“Well, no,” Xaeryn laughed. “But you’re so busy now, Headmaster.”

Red arched a brow but didn’t further protest her use of the title. “I always have time for you,” he said with a shrug, then cleared his throat and pushed to his feet even as her heart pounded and she sternly informed herself he hadn’t meant it like that. (She was grateful his circling the desk meant he missed the moment of broken composure that surely flashed across her face.) “And research is even more fun when it’s for a purpose. Bottom line for you so far...” He picked up his dropped pencil and started shuffling through everything on his desk in search of paper.

She grinned and held out her notepad. “Here.”

He flashed a sheepish smile as he took it. “Thank you.” He flipped to the first blank page and started writing as he talked. “Descendants of either that unknown chieftain or the one whose wife originally found the torch would have the strongest claims of ownership.”

“If I can find them,” Xaeryn said dryly. “And if one of them’s not already the owner on record who lent the pendent to the exhibit.” She bit her lower lip. “I think I need to talk to Mr. Syndran again.”

And depending on what he told her, her own research into genealogy might be called for.

“Probably your best next step.” Red finished writing and handed back her notepad, several pages scrawled with bullet-points summation of what he’d found.  “Here you go.”

“Thank you.” Xaeryn smiled when she saw the notes were in their shorthand.  “Nice touch.”

He smiled and raised one shoulder in a shrug. “It takes less space, and you did say this is a secret...”

“Very true.” She flipped the pad closed and tucked it back in her handbag. “I really do appreciate your help, this wasn’t a a small request, and you got me some answers in very short order.”

“I’m not done reading, Xaeryn,” Red said, voice rife with amusement. He waved at the surrounding shelves again. “Like I said, there’s a lot more to check.”

I always have time for you.

“As long as you don’t mind, I would love to hear anything else you learn,” Xaeryn said with a smile. Far be it from her to stand between Liefred Antiqua and a research project he was excited about. She’d sooner snatch an ice cream away from a child. 

“I’ll call if I find anything else useful,” Red promised, already shifting toward one bookshelf.

She nodded, biting back a laugh and hoping he had a very loose definition of the word ‘useful’. “I’ll look forward to that, then.” Her neck and ears warmed and she hastily added, “more information is always helpful.” She stood, flicking at the stubborn mud on her skirt again. Next time she went interview-hunting, she was wearing trousers. “Though you have me off to an excellent start.” She headed for the door, paused with her hand on the knob. “Thank you for that, Liefred.”

“Anytime.” He leaned against the corner of his desk. “You can still call me Red, y’know, Xaeryn. Everyone does, so it’s hardly going to seem too familiar.”

True as that might be here at Solhadur, Haven was a different story. And she wouldn’t want to slip up. “I’ll keep that in mind,” Xaeryn said softly. “Until next time?”

“Mm-hm.” Something flickered in his eyes as he rubbed the back of his neck, then flashed her an easy smile. “I’ll look forward to it, then. I’m glad we reconnected.”

She smiled back as she twisted the knob. “Me, too.”

She didn’t have many friends, it was good to get one of the best ones back.

---

It was edging toward evening when Xaeryn made it back to her office. Which made it a bit of a surprise --fortuitous as it was-- to find Mr. Syndran waiting for her.

“Did we have a meeting I forgot about?” she asked apologetically as she unlocked the door. (They hadn’t, she was positive, but it was a diplomatic way of probing for why he was here.)

“We did not,” Mr. Syndran replied, arching a brow in a knowing look. “I had some other business in the area and decided to stop by in person to see how you are coming along, Miss Shrike.”

Xaeryn laughed and gestured toward the same chair he’d sat in on his first visit. “Then you have very good timing, instincts, or both, Mr. Syndran. I had some things I wanted to ask you; background information.”

His brow creased ever so slightly. “Should you not be far beyond mere background information? Have you not made progress?”

She sighed and sat in her chair behind the desk, pulling her notepad from her handbag and turning to a blank page. “Not of the ‘I’ve narrowed it down to two blocks, I just don’t know which house’ variety, no.” She tapped her pen against the desk. “But I have leads on suspects.”

Syndran gave a grunt that may have been displeasure. “And your questions for me?”

“Like I said; clarifying background information. When the Couriers were contracted to handle transport, how much were you told about the pieces?”

“Only the relevant details.” He brushed invisible lint off his sleeve. “Each one’s value, recorded owner, any special care instructions.”

Xaeryn nodded, pen poised over her pad. “I don’t suppose you recall the owner listed for the pendent?”

He paused to think a moment. “I’d have to have my secretary check to be completely certain, but I believe it was a Ms. Aescar. The name didn’t ring any bells for me.”

“And would I need to speak with the Hall of History and Culture if I wanted to find out how to contact her, or do you know?”

Syndran shook his head. “Whitestone Couriers were merely transporting the relics, Miss Shrike. Any communication with the owners was the concern of the museum curators. Why would you need to talk to her?”

“I might not,” Xaeryn said, scribbling the information down. “I just like to have all my chickens in the coop ahead of time, so there’s no scrambling if something winds up time-sensitive down the road.”

“Smart.” Syndran gave a nod of approval. “So long as you don’t spend so much time preparing for unlikely eventualities that you lose more promising leads.”

She back back a tart ‘I know how to do my job’ and nodded. “Of course.”

He paused a moment, lips pursed in thought. “I did have a wonder, Miss Shrike.”

Xaeryn cocked her head. “Oh?”

“Given the... likelihood this theft occurred somewhere between city customs and the museum and the utter lack of details my drivers have been able to provide about that stretch of the journey” --his expression soured-- “would it be possible for you to... revisit the scene with your abilities?” His brows arched meaningfully.  “You are Argentis, are you not? The benefit of hindsight might allow you to pick up on something relevant that didn’t register in the moment for my people.”

She tapped her pen against her notepad. “I can give it a go, Mr. Syndran, but I’m more a Scryer than a Sage; my strongest talent is finding things in the present, not viewing the past. Though this is the recent past,” she mused. “Perhaps recent enough that with a focus from the caravan I’d have decent luck.”

“I’ll see what I can find for you.” Mr. Syndran pushed to his feet. “Anything in particular that will work best?”

“For viewing the past like this... something from the event is necessary, and the closer to central it is, the clearer a picture I’ll be able to get.” She leaned back in her chair. “Frankly, if you don’t mind my doing so, coming to the Couriers’ garage and using one of the trucks as my touchstone would work best.”

“Oh, that’s very doable,” he said with a nod. “As it’s getting late, what say we do it tomorrow?”

“Nine AM?” Xaeryn suggested.

“Acceptable.” He headed for the door. “I shall see you then, Miss Shrike.”

“See you then, Mr. Syndran.” Xaeryn waited until the door closed behind him to let out a slow breath. Scrying was easy enough, even if she didn’t always succeed, but peering into the past was usually a draining exercise for her. Mr. Syndran was correct, though; it was very likely the best way to glean new leads. Even if it meant she’d need a nap after.

She pushed to her feet and locked the door. One more glance over her notes before she called it a night. So it was fresh in her mind and she could mull it over.

She tried not to get too distracted by the difference between her small, crowded shorthand and Red’s larger, loose scrawl--he had a dreamer’s handwriting, which she’d teased him about when they were younger(he’d rolled his eyes but hadn’t denied it). The memory had her smiling all through dinner.

---

The weather was nice enough the next day Xaeryn opted to walk to the Whitestone Couriers’ garage, though she did take an umbrella in case the rain that hadn’t threatened the last few days decided to make an appearance. Mr. Syndran was waiting for her, looking all the more proper in these rough-shod surroundings. 

“Right on time, Miss Shrike,” he said with a tight smile. “This way.” He led her at a brisk pace to a gleaming black truck, the canvas cover a near-immaculate tan. “This is the one that was carrying the crate with the pendent, among other things.”

“Right.” Xaeryn circled to the passenger side, letting her fingers trail over the cool metal until they rested on the door. “I can’t make any promises, but let’s see if we can find anything useful.”

She pressed her hand flat against the side of the truck and murmured the correct ritual, felt her magic rise to do as she bade.

The scene around her--Mr. Syndran, the garage, everything but the truck--faded into shadow. Her view shifted, as if she were riding shotgun in the truck or hanging out the window as it crept through Haven’s streets. Tings were flickery and dim, the colors bled out and faded as she looked around. I don’t know how long I can hold this. Xaeryn peered intently at  what she could see of the surroundings, the other vehicles, the people, buildings, noting everything she could, no matter how mundane. A woman with a red hat, brim hiding most of her face. A young boy and his dog watching the caravan with interest. A man with vivid green eye and a small smile lounging against a wall, following the trucks’ progress from under his slouched cap. The cat that almost darted in front of the preceding truck before it spooked. The flapper with an armful of bracelets, glancing surreptitiously across the street-

The scene flickered sharply, her grasp on the ritual fading, the images slipping away--

And Xaeryn was back in the garage, leaning against the truck as her knees went to jelly. The few prior occasions she’d played the sage had left her feeling like she stood up too fast when they ended, and this was no exception.

“Are you alright, Miss Shrike?” Mr. Syndran gestured to a nearby worker who’d stopped to gawp and the man scuttled off.

“Just fine,” she said with a nod, turning to sit on the truck’s running board as she tugged out her notepad and rapidly scrawled out everything she’d seen. “Sage work can be taxing if it’s not your main talent, that’s all.”

He watched in silence as she scribbled down the vision’s contents, only speaking again when she finished. “Did you see anything of note?”

“Nothing too blatant, or it would have stood out even to the drivers,” Xaeryn said, leaning her head back against the truck. “But there were some passers-by that caught my attention...”

Mr. Syndran listened to her descriptions with utmost focus, but interrupted when she reached the green-eyes lounger. “Do you remember any other details about him?” he demanded, his hands twitching to a fractionally tighter grip on the head of his walking stick.

“Tall,” Xaeryn said slowly. The worker Syndran had sent away returned with a tumbler of water, which she accepted with a nod of thanks as she dug through the memory. “I think brown hair, but he was wearing a hat. Bright red vest, blue and green scarf ‘round his neck-”

“Thieves guild,” Syndran muttered. Despite the distaste on the words, a panther-like grin curved his lips. “I should have known.” The distaste shifted to satisfaction. “That would be your next lead, Miss Shrike.”

Xaeryn arched a brow. “Do tell.”

“Thieves guild has been a thorn in our side for years,” Syndran explained, “They aren’t even a true guild; more a loose association of ruffians and cutpurses who only call themselves such in another jape at legitimate businesses.” He sniffed. “They make their base in the warrened streets of Ashtown, but I believe I have worked out where their true headquarters are concealed. I can give you some direction, if you’re recovered enough to follow me to my office?”

She nodded, pushed to her feet. “Lead the way.”

It was good to have something tangible to pursue. Hopefully the weather would hold so she could follow it up now. Ashtown was no fun in the rain.

[ejcoolgirl]

Hi again. I have continued my chatfic of the Eternals (under the cut). I hope you like this and all that stuff. :)

10:00

🎭Kingo✨ had added 💚sersi✨, 💙ikaris✨, 🃏sprite✨, 💛thena✨, 🖤druig✨, ❤️makkari✨, 💜phastos✨, 🧡gilgamesh✨, 🔮maddy✨ & ❤️‍🩹ajak✨ to the chat

Kingo: Yo!

Phastos: It's 10 pm man

Phastos: Maddy and Sprite

should be sleeping

Sprite: I'm not and I don't think Maddy is either

Sersi: Guys, what is this?

Kingo: group chat babyyyyyyyyy!

Sersi: I gathered that but why?

Kingo: it was boring without one

Ikaris: Hi Sers :)

Sersi: Hi :)

Spite: *gags*

Kingo: nicknames and smilies?! What am I witnessing?!

Druig: other people are here too u know?!

Phastos: it's not like u and makkari are any better

Gilgamesh: My BeAuTiFuL BeAutIfUL MaKkArI 🙄

Maddy: WUZZUP?!

Sprite: told u guys she's awake

Maddy: nice! We have a group chat now! :D

Kingo: thank you! At least SOMEONE has enthusiasm!

Maddy: :)

Thena: Hey Gil, why r u up?

Gilgamesh: I'm testing a new recipe

Maddy::)))))

Thena::)))))

Gilgamesh: five smilies means...oh. Sure u guys can be the first ones to try it

Maddy: YES

Ikaris: hey guys can anyone help me with my history test?

Phastos: u have to do it by yourself man!

Sprite: and EVERYONE knows u only do history to spend more time with Sersi 😏

Ikaris: uhhhhh

Sersi: no comment

Maddy: Hey guys, fun fact. The plastic tube at the end of a shoelace is called an aglet :)

Kingo: there's no way that's true

Maddy: wanna make a bet?

Kingo: gladly! 20 bucks!

Maddy: you're on!

Phastos: esh. Sorry Kingo but u just lost 20 bucks. Maddy's right, I searched it up

Kingo: NO WAY

Maddy: LEZ GO!

Ajak: why are u guys being so loud?

Maddy: technically it's the phone, its programming and components being loud. TECHNICALLY

Ajak: that's enough ‘being the teacher’ for one day Maddy

Maddy: awwwww

Thena: hey Maddy...

Maddy: ye?

Thena: u have a lightsaber collection right?

Maddy: to show off and to whack annoying people with, yea. Why?

Thena: are they strong enough to practice fencing with?

Maddy: Of course! I use them all the time!

Kingo: u do fencing?

Maddy: DOI

Maddy: GET . WITH. THE. TIMES.

Thena: could I practice with them this week plz? I lost my equipment

Maddy: sure thing!

Thena: thx!

Makkari: geez guys

Kingo:?

Makkari: I open my phone to check the time and I have 56 new messages

Kingo: that's not much

Maddy: yea. I once got over 400 in 5 seconds

Ikaris: yeesh

Sersi: that was the Avengers group chat wasn't it?

Maddy: yea it was.

Next day at 7:45

Kingo: Ooooooo. Someone's in the big leagues!

Maddy: Shut up

Maddy: At least I wasn't a coward and ran away when we faced Tiamut

Kingo: I was hungry! I stop functioning if I don't have AT LEAST 20 tuna casseroles a day u know!

Phastos: can someone check on Kingo plz. I'm not sure he's ok

Kingo: no need, I'm perfectly ok

Maddy: if u say so Mr Casserole

Kingo: I am SO close to coming over to your dorm and kicking down your door!

Maddy: I wouldn't do that if I were u. Sersi is still sleeping and if u wake her up Ikaris will be very mad.

Kingo: fair point

Maddy: Shit

Kingo: what?

Maddy: I gotta make Sersi up, it's almost class time

Maddy: Is anyone else at class already?

Ajak: yep

Phastos: ah huh

Druig: I think everyone is

Maddy: SHIT

In class

Sprite: do u guys have big tests too?

Thena: I'm pretty sure everyone does

Maddy: history isn't that hard. We're only looking at the medieval era. That's like the most boring era.

Sersi: tell me about it. The only hard thing will be enduring the boredom.

Ikaris: what are you guys talking about?! That practise test already killed my brain!

Maddy: ?

Sersi: it was 10 questions

Ikaris: YEAH! 10 really hard questions!

Maddy: if u say so

Maddy: Hey gilg, how's food tech going? Can I and Thena be your test tasters?

Gilgamesh: of course! Always :)

Thena: YES!

Ajak: I see Thena is pumped

Thena: pumped is an understatement. Have u tasted Gilg’s food? He's a culinary genius!

Gilgamesh: ok I wouldn't go that far now.

Thena: ok:(

Ikaris: how about u Makkari?

Makkari: I think I may be TOO good at PE. My teachers told me to quit

Druig: ?

Makkari: because I'm better than them.

Kingo: LOL 😂

Phastos: SHIT

Sprite: what is it?

Phastos: I'm late for my date with Ben!

Maddy: so your idea is texting the DEEPLY not helpful group chat? Seems kind of counterintuitive to me.

Phastos: true and don't use big words when I'm stressed out

Maddy: what? counterintuitive?

Phastos: STOP

Maddy: ok, ok geez. Well good luck

Ajak: we need a name for this chat

Thena: I know!

Ajak: what is it?

Thena: the fuckers

Gilgamesh: no. I don't want to be classified as ‘a fucker’

Thena: awwwww :(

Ajak: any other ideas?

Kingo: Kingo and his MILDLY tolerable sidekicks! :D

Sersi: absolutely not

Maddy: Druig u better not say The Hot Messes. I don't want to be thought of as a hot mess.

Druig: fine 😠

Makkari: Druig right now: >:(

Maddy: that is comedy gold

Maddy has renamed the chat: Druig right now: >:(

Ajak: works for me

Gilgamesh: it works as long as we're not the fuckers

Makkari: dang. Good job Maddy!

Maddy: just doing my job!

[vannahfanfics]

Family Vacation

Category: General Fluff

Fandom: Noragami

Characters: Yukiné, Yato, Hiyori Iki

Hey, everybody! I am super happy to present my story for When Gods Wander: A Noragami Travel Zine (@noragamitravel​)! The zine is free to download, so be sure to check out the zine’s social to snag a copy of the PDF and enjoy all the wonderful content it has to offer!

Yukiné narrowed his eyes as he straightened up in the train seat, craning his neck to peer over the treetops framing the tracks. As he stretched as much as the cramped compartment would allow, he could just barely discern the pyramidal accents of the old Shinto and Buddhist shrines peeking above the emerald canopy of the forest. He plopped back down into the seat with a disappointed huff and crossed his arms. 

Yato had insisted on traveling to Nara for their “family vacation” or whatever, but so far, Yukiné was less than impressed with the historic city. If you could call it a city; right now, it just looked like a bunch of trees. Seething from the anticlimax, he slid his gaze to his right, where Yato was leaning over the armrest, trying to flirt with Hiyori. Bitterly, Yukiné wondered if this was less about “spending time with family” and more about Yato desperately trying to impress Hiyori. 

“Why did I have to come along then?” Yukiné grumbled to himself as he sagged down into the seat. He blanched when he caught a glimpse of Yato pursing his lips at him out of the corners of his eyes. 

Oh, crap. I didn’t mean to say that out loud! Now he’s gonna gripe at me like some grumpy old man. 

Before Yato could scold him, however, the train attendant cheerfully announced that they were approaching the Nara train station. Yukiné sat up again and looked out the window; the forest had thinned considerably to reveal well-tended gardens and paved roads framed with ornate fencing. They sprouted like snakes from the station to disappear behind corners in the maze of buildings, gray rivers sluggishly flowing through the collections of green grass and decorative rocks and bright green mosses. The pretty scenery was an improvement from the neverending expanse of trees, so Yukiné found his curiosity piqued, at least a little. 

“Ah, I’ve never been to Nara before,” Hiyori trilled excitedly as soon as they stepped out of the station. She clasped her hands by her cheeks as her eyes sparkled with delight. “Wow, it’s so pretty! I can almost feel the history,” she chortled. Yukiné rolled his eyes and shoved his hands into his cargo pants pockets; the novelty of the gardens had already worn off, leaving him sulking again. 

“Hey!” he grumped with Yato elbowed him hard in the ribs. As the god flashed him a chastising glower, Yukiné scowled and rubbed the likely bruised spot on his side. “What’re you lookin’ at me like that for? You and I both know you’re just trying to get in good with Hiyori!”

At his bold— and loud— accusation, Yato gasped and looked suddenly at the girl. Thankfully, she was as oblivious as ever, prancing over to a tourist center attendant who was handing out free maps. Yato scowled and clapped his hand over Yukiné’s mouth and leaned in to whisper into his ear. 

“You’re such a brat, you know that? Just be grateful that I brought you along at all!” 

Yukiné wriggled about, prying his mouth free of the grip so that Yato’s hand clenched his chin instead. He gave the god a dour scowl, so deep that the pink of his gums bared. 

“Eh? Why should I be grateful that I’m a third wheel, huh?” he countered. Yato smirked sordidly, an artery bulging in his forehead as he struggled to maintain his composure. Yukiné turned up his nose disdainfully. Before either of them could continue bickering, Hiyori trotted up brandishing the map brochure, her cheeks flushed with elation. 

“Yato, Yukiné, there’s so much to do!” she gushed as she flipped the map open to show them. Her index finger traced a path across the laminated paper. “The nice lady said that if we follow this route, we can see most of the heritage sites here.” She turned the map around to appraise the various locations, eyes shining. 

Yukiné found himself relaxing just a little. It was hard to be irritated seeing Hiyori so excited. Even if Yato had dragged him along to play like he didn’t have any ulterior motives, Yukiné supposed it was all right as long as Hiyori had a good time. She deserved that. 

So, he kept his resentful comments to himself as they wandered throughout the historic city of Nara. He mostly flitted along like a ghost, half-listening to Hiyori’s avid gushing and Yato’s lame attempts to be relevant. The temples were pretty cool, he had to admit, as he appreciated the ancient architectural craftsmanship and the surrounding gardens. Still, Yukiné really didn’t care for any godly beings other than Yato and could only derive so much enjoyment from musty old buildings, so after about the third temple, he was finding himself pretty bored. It was around this time that they entered Nara Park. 

“Park” was a generous designation; it was really a series of interconnected paths leading to the other, grander sites. The roads were framed by short, stubby wooden cylinders chained by iron links. As Hiyori paused to debate which part of the park they should visit first, Yukiné found his mind wandering to a debate of his own. Maybe he should have blown off the “family vacation” to hang out with Kofuku and Daikoku instead; they’d be a heck of a lot more interesting than this, and maybe Daikoku would be nice enough to make him a snack. 

Yukiné nearly jumped out of his skin when something nudged him in the forearm. 

“What the—?” Gasping, he looked down to see a spotted deer with velvety antlers looking up at him with expectant, shiny black eyes. He blanched in confusion, looking around wildly to see that a small herd of the animals were engaging visitors all along the path. His frazzled mind failed to articulate that these were the deer Nara was known for, but thankfully Hiyori came trotting up before he could make a total fool of himself. 

“Ahhh! So these are the famous spotted deer of Nara! They’re so pretty!” she crooned in delight. The deer just continued to stand idly beside Yukiné as she stroked its white-spotted, russet fur appreciatively. After petting it a few seconds, Hiyori looked at Yukiné with a bright smile. “They’re quite tame, Yukiné! Try petting it!” 

Yukiné looked uncertainly at the small deer chewing on grass in front of him. It didn’t seem aggressive. Reluctantly, he reached out to gently stroke its flank. Its side twitched, making him recoil in fright, but the animal didn’t move to attack him. Again, he caressed the deer’s side. An excited smile slowly worked its way onto his lips as the deer allowed him to pet it. 

“Hehe… It’s soft…” Yukiné chuckled quietly. He jumped as the deer suddenly moved to butt its head softly against its leg. “Wh-what’s it doing?” he squeaked to Hiyori, who just giggled. 

“Relax! It probably just thinks you have some deer crackers. Wait here; I’ll go buy some, Yukiné.” 

“What? Hiyori, no, don’t leave!” Yukiné protested in a high-pitched voice, but the willful girl had already abandoned him in search of the crackers. He froze stock-still in the middle of the path as several deer began to nose at his cargo pants pockets and snuffle at his hands. “Hehehe… Nice deer… Hiyori will be right back with some crackers… Please don’t eat me instead!” he fretted, sweat rolling down from his wavy blond hair. He looked up to see Yato lounging on a bench with an assuaged grin on his face. 

“The hell you laughin’ at, Yato?” 

“My cute little Regalia,” the god responded, his smirk deepening with amusement. Yukiné scowled, sorely tempted to whack that shit-eating grin right off the god’s face, but he was too nervous around the deer to make any sudden movements. Thankfully Hiyori came hurrying back with several packs of crackers in her hands. 

She yelped in surprise as the deer suddenly surrounded her. She held the crackers up as they insistently nibbled at her clothes and craned their necks in attempts to get at the treats. 

“Heehee! Patience, patience! Let Yukiné feed you, too!” she laughed, completely unbothered by the deer swarming her. She stretched out her arm to hand Yukiné some of the crackers, which he took reluctantly. Several of the deer splintered off to demandingly paw at him instead. He hastily drew one of the crackers and held it out, and one of the deer immediately clamped down on it. Crumbs rained from its lips as it devoured the wafer, making snuffling noises that had Yukiné chuckling. 

“Heh… That’s it…”  Yukiné said skittishly as he held out another cracker. Another deer claimed it as its prize, shouldering another out of the way. Yukiné hurriedly procured another for the disgruntled smaller deer that had been denied its treat. Little by little, he became more relaxed, feeding the animals with a happy smile. It wasn’t long before he ran out of the deer crackers.

“Wah! I’m sorry, guys, I don’t have any more!” he laughed as they nosed disappointedly at his pockets and clothes. One of them tried biting down on the pom-poms of his hat, which he had to hurriedly yank out of the way before it could be coated in goopy deer spit. After a minute of hassling him, the deer figured out that he had no more food and trundled off down the path to harass other park visitors. Yukiné watched them trot off with a beaming smile. 

“Wasn’t that fun, Yukiné?” Hiyori asked breathlessly as she trotted up. 

“Yeah!” he confirmed with a bright smile. He brushed the crumbs from his shirt as Yato sauntered up. Yukiné grunted as the taller boy slung his arm around his shoulder with a self-satisfied sigh. “Knock it off, Yato!” he whined as Yato knocked off his hat to affectionately tousle his blond curls. 

“I can’t help it! My little Regalia is so cute <3” he cooed. Yukiné scowled in disgust as Yato nuzzled his cheek endearingly. “I’m so glad you’re finally enjoying our family vacation, Yukiné~ You were making Father oh-so-sad!” 

“Get offa me, ya creep!” Yukiné protested and squirmed out of his hold to stomp a few paces down the path. Yato watched him with watery eyes and a wobbling bottom lip before making grabby hands at Hiyori. “Oh, don’t pull that crap!” Yukiné fumed as Hiyori took the god into a comforting hug. 

“You sleaze!” Yukiné snorted as Yato flashed him a triumphant smirk over the oblivious Hiyori’s shoulder. Really, is Hiyori that much of an airhead?

“Hiyori-chaaaaan, why is our son so temperamental? Am I a bad father?” 

Yukiné rolled his eyes and turned his back, mentally blocking out Yato’s wheedling. Instead, he watched the deer as they demanded crackers from travelers or lounged under the shade of the trees dotting the park. As he watched the quiet, graceful animals, the annoyance melted from his tense body, and a serene smile appeared on his lips. Unprompted, one of the deer trotted up and butted his hand, nuzzling into his palm. Yukiné petted it eagerly, relishing how soft its fur was. 

Well, he thought with a small smirk, at least there’s something worthwhile about this trip. Even when Yato and Hiyori finally pulled him away to resume exploring the various temples, Yukiné felt buoyed by his interaction with the local deer. 

Not a bad family vacation after all, he had to admit.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[murdershegoat]

nothing's sweeter than summertime and american honey

(written under the influence)

(also on ao3)

lena thinks she might be hallucinating, because there is no way kara danvers is skateboarding in the luthor family pool.

wait. go back a step.

why is the luthor family pool empty??

it’s the second last week of summer, and lena stands on the back porch, her arms now self-consciously folded across her half-naked body. she stares in confusion as kara danvers appears on one side of the pool and then promptly disappears, only to pop up at the other end moments later.

‘kara, can you quit it?’ comes a gruff, familiar voice. alex danvers from ap bio is fiddling with some pool equipment at the edge of the yard. ‘this is a huge job for dad and you’re gonna get us fired.’ neither girl has noticed lena yet, for which she is very thankful.

‘take a chill pill,’ comes kara’s reply. ‘you just wanna finish quickly so you can go see maggie.’

even from her distance, lena can see how red alex’s face goes. ‘shut up! we’re just friends.’

kara snorts. ‘sure, jt and britney are also “just friends.” just admit you like her.’

lena assumes they’re talking about maggie sawyer, who had transferred into alex’s grade late last year. alex grumbles something in response that isn’t a denial, and lena feels her heart soar. alex danvers is a l-- she likes girls?? lena bites her lip.

this summer has been a nightmare of loneliness, even more so than usual. her mother hasn’t been home in a month and lex had flown in yesterday and spent the day with her, only to fly out early this morning before she woke up. she’s spent the summer sending emails to her penpal jack, lazing by the pool, and clearing her search history of questionable googles. she’s also been grappling with a huge secret, something she can’t tell anybody (not that she has anybody to tell in the first place.) her secret is this: she really wants to kiss somebody. and that somebody happens to be in her grade. and that somebody happens to be a girl.

it happens to be the girl who is now skateboarding in the suspiciously empty luthor pool, the girl who’s impossibly smart and funny and kind. the only person at Midvale High who’s not seemingly shit scared of lena.

the realization has been haunting her all summer, refusing to give her a single moment of peace. and now, knowing that alex is, is also like she is, and hearing the way kara gently teases her about it... well, lena doesn’t feel as lonely anymore. she wants to say hello to the sisters, to ask alex a million questions and ask kara how her summer is going and if she wants to maybe, like, hang out together or something. but just the thought of either thing makes lena’s heart race uncomfortably fast and her mouth go all dry. she turns around and slams open the sliding glass door, but apparently she doesn’t know her own strength. as she steps into the doorway, the door ricochets against the the end of its track and bounces back, hitting her in the side of the head.

‘FUCK,’ she screams, before turning white and whirling around.

both danvers sisters are staring at her. kara looks concerned and alex looks livid.

‘yo, luthor,’ kara calls out. ‘you okay?’

lena wants to say yes, but then she feels something sticky on her temple, and brushes her hand against it.

great. she’s bleeding.

next thing she knows kara has her sitting on one of the deck chairs, and lena’s not sure if she’s got a concussion or if kara just looks extra.... phenomenal today. she’s wearing a basketball jersey and shorts and lena keeps catching glimpses of her sports bra. kara takes off her baseball cap and wipes her brow. 

lena frowns. ‘you cut your hair.’

kara’s gorgeous long hair is no longer, instead it’s short around the sides with a messy tuft on top. 

‘you don’t like it?’ kara asks, running her hand through it. 

‘it looks... dope,’ she replies, immediately regretting her choice of words.

‘i did it out of solidarity with alex,’ kara says, grinning. ‘she wanted to get a buzz cut but she was a bit self conscious.’

alex comes back into view, carrying a first aid kit with her. her hair, too, is shorter than lena remembers it being. alex cleans up the side of lena’s head.

‘look, i don’t think you have a concussion, but you can hang out with kara and i while we finish the pool and i can keep an eye on you.’

‘alex is a junior EMT now,’ kara says proudly. ‘she’s also pretty much single handedly running our dad’s pool company this summer.’

right. the pool. that’s why they’re here.

‘why were you skateboarding in it?’ lena asks.

‘it won’t leave any marks,’ alex says quickly. ‘i promise. don’t worry about a thing.’

‘no,’ lena says, wincing as alex keeps prodding her tender head. ‘i mean, why is it empty in the first place?’

alex averts her eyes. ‘it was empty when we got here. we just gave it a scrub and an acid wash to get rid of some of the, uh, stains at the bottom.’ 

okay. lena thinks she knows what that means. and it also explains why lex left so early this morning. he fucking killed someone in the pool and needs to clean up after himself. fuck. she’s so damn stupid, thinking he’d actually come home to spend time with her. and she feels so embarrassed, having to explain how she’s used to her brother killing people so she’s not surprised or shocked by this.

kara lays a hand on her shoulder and smiles down at her. lena thinks she’s about to comfort her in some way, and she feels her heart start to race again.

‘can i grab something to eat?’ is what kara says instead, and lena’s face falls at the same time Alex whacks her sister’s arm.

‘kara, that’s unprofessional.’ but lena just smiles.

‘what do you want?’

///

lena didn’t think her day would be spent watching the danvers sisters fill her pool and eat sandwiches prepared by bertha the luthors’ cook, but here she is. kara sits on the grass across from lena, her toes digging into the green grass. she has what lena can only assume is a birkenstocks foot tan -- four fat white strips of skin on an otherwise perfectly browned body.

the pool is filling behind them, and alex sits on the other side of the yard, whispering into her cell phone.

‘how’s your summer been?’ kara asks with a mouthful of turkey sandwich.

‘quiet,’ lena replies. ‘my family’s been busy and not around much. i’ve hung out with our staff, but i don’t think it counts if they’re paid to spend time with you.’ she laughs, trying to detract from how sad it sounds. ‘how is yours?’

‘busy. my dad’s been, uh, he’s sick. so alex and i have been doing all the pool jobs. not much time to hang out with friends.’

‘and alex... she’s... with maggie sawyer?’

kara chokes on her sandwich. 

swallowing painfully, she lowers her voice. ‘could you, like, not say anything? i was teasing her and she’s freaking out because she’s not sure if you heard anything or not and it’s still... new and our parents don’t really know and if the school finds out---’

‘don’t worry,’ lena assures her. ‘i won’t say a word.’ her chest swells at the way kara smiles gratefully and lena realises she’s an absolute goner, head over heels for someone who could never like her back. lena almost wants to tell her the truth. maybe it’s the sun beating down on them or the welcoming scratch of grass against her legs or the summer feeling that has finally settled over luthor mansion. but before she can say anything, alex calls out.

‘kara, come help me finish treating the water!’

///

‘it should be good for swimming after about twenty four hours,’ alex says, packing the last of their equipment into the truck. lena hands them both the envelope lex had left, plus a hefty tip for each of them.

‘we can’t accept this,’ kara says, shoving the notes back into lena’s hand. alex doesn’t follow suit.

‘don’t be dumb,’ lena rolls her eyes. ‘my brother left it here for you, and i don’t want it.’ she hands it back to kara, who pockets it angrily. alex looks pleased her sister’s conscience hasn’t cost her the cash.

they climb into the truck and it rumbles to life.

‘catch you later, luthor,’ alex says, giving her a little salute.

‘hey,’ lena says, before she can talk herself out of it. ‘did you guys wanna come hang out tomorrow? the pool’s all clean and it feels like it’s a waste if i’m the only one using it. and you can bring ma-- a friend, if you’d like,’ she directs the last part to just alex.

alex’s eyes bore straight through her, trying to size her up.

‘we should be finished work by the afternoon,’ she says finally. ‘we’ll see you then?’

lena grins. ‘awesome.’

///

the last few weeks of summer fly by with a new routine in place. the danvers sisters finish work in the early afternoon and make their way to lena’s house, picking up maggie on the way. they lounge around the pool and bertha makes them mountains of food and her husband michael teaches them how to barbecue and lena finally understands what summer is supposed to feel like.

alex and maggie give up whatever pretense they were holding onto a few days into the routine, holding hands and stealing kisses whenever they thought the others weren’t looking. kara pretends to be grossed out but lena sees the happy gleam in her eyes as she does so. she wonders if kara can see the wistful look in hers.

spending time with kara feels like a dream. she tries to teach lena how to skateboard on the long, winding driveway that leads up to the house. lena stands as rigid as can be on the board and kara holds onto her waist and guides her along, assuring her that she won’t fall, catching her when she inevitably does. in return, lena teaches kara the basics of fencing because kara seems oddly excited to learn, and it’s the only thing that lena can actually teach her. kara’s skill-set seems exhaustive and incredulous. it’s like she’s a superhero or something. after just a couple of afternoons of practice, she’s better than some of the people lena’s been fencing with for years.

kara, lena is learning, is impossibly great. like, she’s known that for years; they’ve been in the same homeroom for two years, and are in lots of other classes together. she’s seen kara’s brain in action, and her humor and her kindness. but now she’s learned of a different kara, one that isn’t always in a great mood, one that isn’t always trying to please people.

kara still has walls up, lena’s sure of it, but she’s letting lena into the inner fortress, one layer at a time. and in turn, lena welcomes kara into her own heart, desperate to know the girl, and in turn, be known by her.

///

‘you know i’m... i’m... gay, right?’ 

it’s the first time lena’s said it out loud, and the sound of it alone makes her feel warm and comfortable in a way she’s never imagined. it’s a few days before school goes back and they’re floating alone in the pool -- maggie and alex taking the afternoon for themselves. she doesn’t quite know why she’s telling kara; maybe it’s because she knows how accepting kara is of alex and maggie, maybe it’s because she needs kara to figure out her big, overwhelming feelings.

‘i didn’t know,’ kara says with a small smile. ‘but thank you for telling me. i’m glad you feel comfortable enough to tell me.’

‘nobody else knows,’ lena confesses. ‘i mean, i barely know. i only really figured it out earlier in the summer.’

‘what made you realise?’ kara asks, before shaking her head. ‘sorry. you don’t have to answer that.’

‘it’s okay... i just... i realised that the feelings i had for this girl felt more... urgent? than i’ve felt about people before? like, i needed to be near her in a way i don’t usually need to be around friends.’

‘what’s she like?’ kara asks, and lena blushes.

‘she’s beautiful. and she’s wickedly smart. i feel like she would’ve been a handful as a kid, but she’s learned how to balance out that recklessness a bit. and she makes me laugh a lot.’

‘she sounds great,’ kara says, and lena laughs.

‘you have no idea.’

a lull settles between them as they float side by side. the sun begins to disappear behind the woods at the back of the property, and with it goes the warmth of day.

‘you know...’ kara says. ‘alex told me she thought you were gay. said she got a vibe.’

‘really?’ lena doesn’t know if she should be embarrassed or scared or proud.

‘yeah. she also said something else.’

‘what’s that?’

kara leans forward, no longer floating on her back. lena does the same and faces her.

‘she said... she said she thinks you like me.’

lena wonders if drowning herself is a viable way to get out of this conversation. or maybe she can just... swim to the other side of the pool.

‘lena?’ kara prompts.

‘yes?’

‘is she. is alex. is she right?’

lena looks at the water, unable to meet kara’s eyes.

‘yes.’ she says, in an impossibly small voice.

kara closes the space between them. she rests a finger under lena’s chin and tilts her head up. lena bites her lip as she looks into kara’s annoyingly blue eyes.

and before she can register anything else, kara is kissing her. she tastes like chlorine and sunscreen and cola lipsmacker and lena has never tasted anything quite as good. lena’s hands find kara’s neck and kara’s find lena’s hips and they stay like that -- making out in the pool -- until the sun is no longer in the sky and they’re both just slightly shivering.

‘do you want,’ lena says, slightly breathless. ‘do you wanna maybe go up to my room?’

kara grins and kisses her again, chaste and quick. ‘can we stop by the kitchen first?’

[sorceress-coffee]

Of History and Kisses

I want to give a special thanks to @moonkatt for all the support and kindness she’s sent my way! Your love for RoA has really inspired me and I’m truly grateful to everyone who takes time out of their day to read my fanfiction. As promised, this should be the first of five original chapters regarding River’s development, her family, and the Trollhunter’s time between episode 13 and 14.

AO3 Link

Blinky’s P.O.V.

As the celebrations came to a close, and our young Trollhunter and Sorceress slipped away with the young Tobias, I went off in search of Vendel. During their first months in Trollmarket, Vendel had quickly become attached to the young Sorceress, Lady River. Though their lessons were sporadic as she and our Trollhunter, Master Jim, learned to balance their human duties with their new magical destinies, she and Vendel have made great strides in her training.

 There was much we learned of Lady River throughout her lessons however, such as having no information about her family. Her mother, Lady Ganieda, was presumed dead nearly a thousand years ago, after the battle at Killahead. Trolls, wizards, and all manner of magical being hadn’t seen nor heard from Lady Ganieda, all trace of her erased from our world. That is until River showed up with our Trollhunter.

 Once Vendel learned of this, he came to ask me for help. He asked if I could locate any tomes, books, and scrolls with any information I could find on Lady Ganieda. During Jim’s time at school, I scoured my brother’s books high and low, searching for anything containing even a footnote about Lady Ganieda, but I could only find one, other than the book Vendel had given to Lady River.

 I rushed through the market, book under one of my four arms as I tried to find the old goat. He needed to see what I had found on Lady Ganieda. What I had found, there is a lot River doesn’t know, and with what I’ve seen with NotEnrique and Eemeli, she takes after her mother.

 Spying Vendel’s staff in a crowd, I took off towards Bagdwella’s shop, who in celebration of our victory over Bular, was giving away socks for the night. As I reached the middle of the crowd, I found Vendel, speaking fondly to trolls of our Trollhunter and Sorceress, saying he expected great things from them. His overly cheery demeanor most likely the result of his few too many drinks tonight. I quickly grabbed his arm holding his staff, gaining his attention.

 “Blinkous!” Vendel smiled as I spun him to me, “How can I help our Trollhunter’s trainer?” He asked whacking the top of my head with his staff.

 I grinned, holding the book up for Vendel with all four hands, a slight bounce to my posture as I thought of its contents, “What you asked me about, I finally found something!” I told Vendel quickly, watching him sober a bit as what I found sunk in.

 “This, has information on her mother?” He asked, taking the book carefully. I nodded, opening it in his hold, flipping to the section on Lady Ganieda, “It’s right here, detailed information on who she was, what she did, and why we believe she disappeared,” I stopped short at that, letting out a sight. “You know the stories as well as I do old friend. I thought you should present this to Lady River. It’s the only thing in my brother’s collection that contained any information on her.” I explained, knowing this was the only connection Lady River would have to her mother.

 Vendel nodded, chuckling as he skimmed over some of the passage, “Shall we find our young Sorceress then?” He asked, heading out of the crowd to the stairway the younglings ran off to. I grinned, following after Vendel to find Lady River. As we drew near the younglings, we found Draal, waiting near the top of the stairs, watching over them.

 Vendel paused to speak with Draal. “Draal, how are the younglings?” He asked, curious as to why Draal was watching over the stairway instead of finishing off the celebration with the other trolls.

 Draal nodded, peering down the steps as he spoke, “They’re exhausted but in good spirits,” he explained, smiling softly. “River’s ankle is still badly damaged and I doubt our Trollhunter and To-bee, will be able to help her back up the steps.”

 I frowned, recalling Nomura’s attempts at dragging Lady River into the Darklands. “Better her ankle than being pulled into the portal.” Draal only hummed in response.

 Vendel clasped his shoulder, showing him the book. “Blinkous managed to find something on her mother, we were planning on sharing it with her.” He told Draal, “I believe she’ll want you present.”

 Smiling, Draal headed down with us to the younglings. As we approached, we could hear them discussing fair Lady Claire’s missing brother, and what awaited in the Darklands.

 River’s P.O.V.

“Not to mention we’d be walking directly into Gunmar,” I spoke up, worried for Enrique now that NotEnrique was useless to the Gumm-gumms.

 “We’ll figure it out,” Jim shrugged, smiling at us. “We always do.”

 The clearing of someone’s throat caused Jim and I turn quickly as Draal, Blinky, and Vendel joined us on the steps. Jim nervously scratched the back of his neck as Vendel eyed him, the mention of Gunmar automatically setting the old Troll on edge. “River,” he turned to me, lifting a book to my line of sight. “I had Blinkous look for information on your mother, would you like to go over it in private?” He asked, glancing at Toby and Jim.

 An overwhelming excitement took hold as I stared at the book, knowing what it contained. “If they want to stay, I don’t mind. She’s Jim’s aunt after all, even if they never met.” I smiled at Jim; family had always been an awkward topic for us.

 Jim smiled but stood, grabbing Toby. “I think you should hear it first, she’s your mom.” He hugged me quickly, stepping back with a grin. “Besides, it’s getting late, if you’re staying, someone has to cover for you with mom.” He chuckled, dragging Toby away with the promise of a Diablo Maximus.

 Draal lifted me carefully, settling me in his lap as Vendel and Blinky sat on either side. Laughing, I settled down fairly quickly, keeping my ankle up on Draal knee as Vendel opened the ancient book carefully.

 “Lady Ganieda, born half-sister to the Wizard Merlin. A Sorceress in the time of Camelot. She served her kingdom alongside her half-brother and his two apprentices. During King Arthur’s reign, was broke out between the humans and those of magic. It was said that Lady Ganieda, friend to human and magical creatures alike, was torn. She had a duty to her kingdom, but her hurt bled for those born of magic.” Vendel read through, history sounding more like a fairy tale as he dove deeper into the legend of Lady Ganieda.

 As Arthur’s madness grew with his Queen’s untimely demise, he began imprisoning innocent magic born creatures. The result was a rise in Gunmar’s hatred for humans and the impending war between humans and magic itself. Lady Ganieda stood against King Arthur for his wrongful imprisonment of magical creatures, she stated that he was to imprison every single one, then that would include Merlin, his apprentices, and herself.

 As a show of mercy, and for her years of service to the crown, King Arthur banished Lady Ganieda into wild woods, where he believed the Trolls would kill her. Only taking her ruby staff, she left. She wondered through the wild woods for days. The spirits were kind to her, sensing the magic that flowed through her veins.

 Spirits led Lady Ganieda deeper into the woods. Bringing her to a small village of Trolls. Upon seeing a human, panic ensued. This was Dwoza, a village thought to be hidden away from Gunmar, the trolls residing here had wanted nothing to do with the Gumm-Gumm war. Using her staff, Lady Ganieda called to the forest spirits, showing the Trolls she was more like them than the humans seeking to destroy them.

 Once the panic had calmed, the leader of Dwoza greeted the young sorceress, offering her shelter and any aid the trolls could lend. Lady Ganieda was grateful to the Trolls, but she couldn’t stay. She didn’t want to cause more panic for others who would seek asylum in Dwoza. The forest spirits were against her leaving. They used all manner of tricks to keep Lady Ganieda in Dwoza.

 Growing weary of the forest spirits, Lady Ganieda confronted them, refusing to trade a man-made cage for a spirit-made one. The spirits, realizing their error, led Lady Ganieda back to the forest, allowing her to venture deeper into the wild woods.

 Continuing her journey, Lady Ganieda was unaware of the darkness that followed her. As night fell in the woods, Trolls in night-colored armor appeared before her, surrounding the sorceress. Lady Ganieda was terrified but kept a calm demeanor as the Gumm-Gumm soldier captured her.

 She was brought to Gunmar, only to learn that her oldest friend, the Eldritch Queen, had sided with the Gumm-Gumms. The Eldritch Queen asked for Lady Ganieda’s assistance in infiltrating Camelot. She brought her to a group of young trolls and humans. Confused, Lady Ganieda waited to see what her friend had in store for the younglings.

 Using ancient dark magic, the Eldritch Queen bound the souls of the humans to the Trolls present, changing the Trolls and cursing the humans. As the human fell into a deep sleep, the Trolls were able to take their forms. Lady Ganieda was horrified, the Eldritch Queen had created Changelings. Trolls now bound to her and Gunmar’s will.

 Lady Ganieda made it clear to the Eldritch Queen that she wanted no part in her plan. Gunmar ordered for her death, but the Eldritch Queen stopped him, saying that in time, Lady Ganieda would recognize their power, and use it to bring the Eternal Night.

 With her life secured, for the time being, Lady Ganieda was taken to the Gumm-Gumm dungeon to rot until she died, or chose to help the Eldritch Queen. During her imprisonment inside an iron cage, a youngling female was charged with looking after Lady Ganieda. As the youngling guarded the cage, she spoke of how some of the Changelings were terrified of their new abilities. Having been stolen from their homes as whelps, most wanted nothing to do with Gunmar’s rule but were too terrified to stand up against him.

 Lady Ganieda, sensing the truth in the youngling’s words, devised a plan to break out of the Gumm-Gumm prison. With the youngling’s help, she would get as many Changelings away from Gunmar as she possibly could.

 Close to sunset, as Gunmar’s troops were readying to march to Killahead, the youngling snuck into the Eldritch Queen’s quarters and stole Lady Ganieda’s staff. She headed into the dungeon, breaking open Lady Ganieda’s iron cage. With her staff returned, Lady Ganieda and the youngling tore through the Gumm-Gumm base, finding as many Changelings as they could, breaking them away from the marching troops.

 As the freed Changelings took off into the woods, Lady Ganieda turned for Killahead. She had an Eldritch Queen to confront. The youngling refused to follow the Changelings, vowing to fight as Lady Ganieda’s champion the need arose. Lady Ganieda recognized the fight in the young Troll’s eyes and agreed. They headed to the battle of Killahead and found the Eldritch Queen locked in battle with Merlin. The youngling rose to the challenge and attacked the Eldritch Queen. Their battle grew fierce, stone crumbled in their wake. Merlin injured, pleaded with his sister to flee, losing her once to King Arthur’s rule.

 The youngling was struck down by the Eldritch queen. Lady Ganieda refused to back down as she called her to fight. The witch and the sorceress locked in battle, as the witch destroyed everything around, the sorceress tried to heal what was wounded. During their final moments, their magic clashed causing a massive explosion.

 As the dust settled, only the Eldritch Queen remained. Lady Ganieda was no more, fighting to protect everyone. Humans, Trolls, and Changelings. There remains a statue of the youngling and Lady Ganieda in Camelot. A Gumm-Gumm soldier and a Sorceress who wanted nothing more than peace. Those who were willing to die for it.

 As Vendel finished the story all eyes turned to me with worried expressions. I was clinging tight to Draal’s stone hand as wetness trailed over my cheeks. Was I crying? I scrubbed at my cheeks, trying to rid my face of the tears. “I’m okay, I just… Did she die? Then how am I here?” I asked, more confused about my existence.

 Draal nuzzled the top of my head, trying to comfort me, “The book said she ‘was no more,’ it’s possible the clash of magic threw her into a different realm.” He explained, carefully using his mechanical hand to wipe my face as more tears spilled.

Blinky nodded quickly at Draal's suggestion, “That is true! I’ve something similar before. She had to have survived to have you. There’s no doubt that you’re her daughter!” he argued. Handing Draal the Troll equivalent to a hanky, really a dishrag, to wipe my face with.

 Vendel smiled as he watched Draal and Blinky fuss over me. “I remember Lady Ganieda, we met once, briefly, but she always put the lives of others before her own. She was like daylight itself. She could warm one’s soul.” Patting my head softly, he continued. “You are here, which means she survived the battle. Though we don’t know where she is now, we do know she survived the Eldritch Queen’s wrath.”

 As the tears slowed to a stop, I smiled softly in thought. “I take after her.”

 Vendel chuckled, “This is obvious. You’re a worrier, refusing to back from a fight. You have a talent for healing, a type of magic she held dear. You’re also extremely stubborn and bull-headed when it comes to helping others, especially Trolls and Changelings.”

 Blinky smiled, clasping my shoulder, “You may not have met her, but you have so much of her with you.”

 Nodding, I put my hand over the closed book. “Thank you for finding this Blinky.” I hugged him tight before hugging Vendel, “Thank you for looking after me, Master Vendel.” Vendel returned the hug carefully, keeping an eye on my injured ankle. When I finally pulled away from the hug, I looked up to Draal, nuzzling under his chin. “Thank you for staying,” I spoke softly.

 Draal hummed, standing with me in his hold. “I believe it’s time we headed home. The Bar-bu-rah will worry if River’s gone for too long.” He reasoned, nodding to Blinky and Vendel as he turned to leave.

 I waved goodbye over Draal’s shoulder, snickering once we were out of earshot. “Didn’t Jim mention he’d be covering for me tonight?” I asked, wondering what Draal was up to.

 Chuckling, Draal adjusted me in his hold as he exited Trollmarket, into the canal. “Did he? Are you sure?” he teased, heading to the edge of town, and up to our billboard. “I thought you could use a break, or talk if that’s what you needed.” He smiled, settling us facing the woods.

 Humming softly, I curled up against him. “I think I have more questions than answers now,” I explained, playing with his mechanical hand as I tried to form my thoughts. “How did she know this Eldritch Queen? If they were friends, why would she try to kill my mother? Who was the Gumm-Gumm that helped her? Where did the Changelings go? What happened during the fight?” I rambled off as each question rose to the front of my mind.

 Draal frowned, “I’m not sure. I remember the panic her entrance to Dwoza caused, but I never saw her once she left.” He spoke up, having been there when everything happened. “I never saw her or this Eldritch Queen at the battle of Killahead.”

 Smiling softly, I nuzzled up under his chin. “When the battle was over, and there was relative peace, did you visit Camelot? Did you see the statue?” I asked, wanting to anything I could about my mother and the youngling.

 Draal nodded, “When we needed supplies the humans traded for. I did see the statue a few times. If it was accurate, the youngling was small for a Gumm-Gumm soldier. She didn’t look like a Gumm-Gumm for that matter.” Tilting his head in thought, Draal tried to recall the statue. “Strange armor though.” He spoke finally.

 I snickered, “This coming from a Troll that doesn’t wear armor,” I teased him, knowing his skin was too hard for most weapons to pierce.

 “That’s because mine is built in.” he snarked back grinning down at me.

 Laughing I kissed his cheek, grateful that after everything, Draal was here to help me smile again. “Thank you.” Draal smiled softly before smashing his face against my cheek, causing me to burst out in laughter. “What are you doing?” I managed to get out through my laughing fit, trying to push his nose away so I could look at him.

 Draal stubbornly kept his face smooshed against my cheek, even as he spoke, “Is this not the human ‘kissing?’ The smashing of faces?” He asked, pulling back finally as he looked down at me in confusion.

 My face bled scarlet, realizing he was trying to kiss my cheek, “Oh!” I floundered, trying to think of how to explain kissing. “Well, what did Jim tell you? When he explained his fears about the kissing scene?” I asked, unsure of what Jim could have told Draal that involved ‘smashing’ faces.

 Draal brought up his hands, making duckbills and smashing them together. “When two people like each other, the smash their lips together. The more they like each other, the longer the smashing lasts.” He explained. “When I said you did something similar, he explained it could be done on the cheek, forehead, nose, and hand. I think.” He frowned, trying to remember his exact words.

 I smiled nuzzling his jaw, “So you tried smashing your face against my cheek.” I giggled, “I’m assuming kissing is a human thing?” I asked, my face falling as I thought back to the night before. Kissing him in the museum. “Wait, but I…” Mortified, realizing my reflex at seeing him alive may have been unwanted.

 Draal chuckled, watching my face turn darker shades of red, “I’ve never seen a fleshbag turn so many different colors,” he teased, gently nuzzling his mouth against my cheek. “Your gesture is not unwelcome.”

 As my brain overloaded, I let out an indignant squawk, grabbing his face to give him a stern look. “Teasing isn’t helping!” I snarled, my face on fire.

 Draal stared at me in shock before melting into laughter, hugging me tightly. “Then don’t make it so easy.” As his laughter died down, a grin plastered itself over his face. “I think it’s what the fleshbags refer to as ‘cute’.”

 Grumbling, waiting for the red to drain from my face. “If you weren’t my mate, I’d throw you into the frickin forest,” I mumbled against his chest, curling up against him.

 “It’s a good thing we’re courting then.” He snickered, “I have no doubt you could throw me that far.” Leaning back against the billboard, he hummed in thought. “Are human females the only ones to initiate this ‘kissing’?” He asked, wondering if he messed up a weird human social norm.

 My voice was muffled as I kept my face hidden, “No, I just wasn’t expecting it since you’ve never done it before.”

 “Unexpected, not unwelcome?” He asked, startling me enough to pull back, looking up at him incredulously.

 “Why would it be unwelcome? It’s just kissing,” I asked, now the confused one in this conversation.

 Draal grew quiet, deep in thought as he went over what Jim had told him, “Is kissing something all humans do? Jim mentioned friends and family do this as well.”

 I waved my hands, trying to figure out the actual question. “Well, no. I mean, I’ve kissed mom and Jim on the cheek. But you’re the first person I’ve kissed in a… romantic sense I guess.” I tried to explain, hoping he’d understand.

 Nuzzling against my jaw, Draal let out a huff through his nose. “Courting sounds easier.” He ground out, processing what I told him. “So, there are different types of kissing, on the cheek is family, sometimes friends… and smashing mouths together is with a mate or… the boy or girlfriends, yes?” He asked, having to talk through his thought process on what Jim and I have both explained about human relationships before.

 “Exactly!” I grinned up at him. “But kisses on the cheek, forehead, or nose can also be used in a romantic relationship. It really depends on the two people involved. For instance, with us, I don’t mind whatever you’d like to do, but if someone I knew from school… let’s use Steve as an example. If Steve tried that, he’d get a broken jaw at least.”

 Draal snarled at the thought, pulling me tighter against his chest, “I’d snap him in half before he had the chance.”

 “I guess it’s just something I don’t mind as long as it’s you,” I shrugged, snuggling in his hold. “Doesn’t feel weird.” I yawned out as the sun began to creep on the edge of the horizon. “Looks like I’m officially out of energy.”

 Draal smiled softly, recovering from his little bout of jealousy over the thought of someone else trying to kiss me. “We both need actual rest after that battle.” He quickly got up, staying in the trees as he headed for home. “I think there’s a nest calling our names,” He yawned as we reached a sewer entrance near the house. Climbing down quickly, Draal headed to his door into the basement. As we finally entered the room he crashed back on the nest, keeping me curled up on his chest.

I lazily reached for the blanket I kept near the nest. Draal grabbed it quickly, tucking me in against him tightly. “Good morning,” I drawled out, slipping into a warm dream.

 My dreams were filled with memories, figments of my imagination fueled by the story of my mother raged through my mind. I felt as if I was there, I could see the wild woods, Gunmar, my mother. The dark figure, surrounded by green magic, I had dreamt of since I was little was yelling at my mother as the shadowed figure covered in gold, that haunted my nightmares, attacked her. The rest of the night, my dreams were shrouded in darkness.

[candra-hearts]

Heart of a Queen

This has been a wip on my computer for over two years, and I never really had any intention of finishing it, but @starry-serenade asked me to post it, so here it is!

also lowkey tagging @starswirlblitz and @jessucakes bc you might like it?

This story I think lies between KH2 and Dream Drop Distance, with the change that Kairi is present and has been helping Queen Minnie and the rest. It’s been a while since I’ve dived deep into KH lore, so please forgive any inconsistencies or incorrect applications of KH magic!

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

When Sora and Kairi find a mysterious Heartless, they take a chance and bring it back to Disney Castle. Fortunately for them, one lucky rabbit is able to aid them in their quest to find out who it could be…

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

“What is that, how did it get in here, and why do you have it?” Donald asked harshly.

Kairi raised her eyebrow at the royal magician. “It’s a Heartless, and Sora and I brought it back for King Mickey to take a look at it.” She protectively laid a hand on the head of the small black creature that crouched at her side.

“Wak? Why?” Donald looked up at Goofy. “How did you even get it here? The castle’s magic should keep out all Heartless!”

“It should. I guess it doesn’t work all the time,” Sora said, shrugging.

“Ah-hyuck. Why would ya bring a Heartless here? What does His Majesty need to see about it?” Goofy asked, scratching the back of his head.

“It looks different than the others we’ve fought,” Sora said. He pointed to the top of the Heartless’s head. “It has pointy ear-things, and its eyes are green.” Which they were, and from all the time he spent helping his friends cleanse the darkness from their worlds, all the time he spent whacking Heartless back into dissipating shadows, he was pretty sure they weren’t normally that color.

“I can feel that it’s special. I don’t think it’s a normal Heartless,” Kairi added.

“But if it’s not a Heartless, then what is it?” Donald asked. “This makes no sense. I’m telling the King.” He darted out of the room.

“Okay. That’s fine!” Sora called after him. “Tell him to come out and see!”

“Sora, I hope your hunch is right,” Kairi murmured to him.

“You said you can feel it’s different than a normal Heartless, right? I trust you, and I think you could be right,” Sora said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry. King Mickey’ll see what we’re talking about.”

Goofy bent down to look at the Heartless, which, frightened, hid behind Kairi’s leg. “Gawrsh. It’s kind of a cute little feller, ain’t it?”

Donald and Mickey arrived in that moment. “What’s all this about a Heartless in my castle?” Mickey asked, raising an eyebrow. He summoned his Keyblade in a flash of golden light.

The Heartless hid behind Kairi, and Sora put himself protectively between her and the King. “Your Majesty, this Heartless isn’t here to hurt anyone. We brought it here.”

“You brought a Heartless? Here?” Mickey put his Keyblade away and looked up at the boy in confusion. “Why?”

“It’s okay, sweetheart, King Mickey isn’t going to hurt you,” Kairi crooned gently, persuading the small shadowy creature to come out from behind her. It looked over at Mickey, still holding onto Kairi’s leg with tiny hands. “I just… I just have a feeling, in my heart, that this Heartless is special. It’s different… it looks a little different, its presence feels a little different…” The girl shook her head. “I don’t know why exactly…”

“Well, remember when I took my own heart?” Sora said, tilting his head. “I got split into a Heartless, and Roxas, my Nobody.” Goofy nodded, remembering. “I got turned into a Heartless, but Kairi…” he blushed, “…turned me back to my normal self.”

Goofy snapped his fingers. “So ya think this might be the Heartless of somebody we know?”

“We… we think it might be,” Kairi said. “Maybe that’s why the castle’s magic… isn’t really affecting it.”

“Hmmm.” Mickey pondered this. “Well, it makes sense. All right. We’ll keep it until we can figure out how to turn it back into whoever it is. But it needs to be watched at all times; we can’t leave it unattended.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Kairi said with plain relief, bowing her head to the mouse king.

“Aw, Kairi, we went over this,” Mickey chuckled. “Just King Mickey is enough.”

“Right. King Mickey.”

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *            

“BLAAAAAHHHHHAAAAHHHHRRRRGGHHAAAAAAAHHHH! OW! OW! OW!”

Oswald spun wildly out of the portal and bounced directly onto Disney Castle’s back lawn. He spit perfectly manicured blades of grass out of his mouth and rubbed his head, sitting up and groaning as his Keyblade Armor disappeared and the portal closed. “I hate between-world travel…”

He’d been a Keyblade Master longer than he cared to admit, but traveling through the Corridors was not one of his specialties. After a couple more minutes his vision stopped spinning and he was able to make out an enormous blue and white marble building towering over him. “Well, at least I’m in the right place.” He stood up and made his way toward the Gummi Ship Hanger, searching for the one mouse who could hopefully help him out.

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Minnie looked around her. She, Riku, Kairi and Donald had spent much of the afternoon in the library doing research on the Cornerstone of Light and Disney Castle, among many, many other things. “Oh, now where were we?”

“The History of Disney Castle, Volume X,” Riku said, cracking a grin.

“The Keyblade War, Volume II,” Kairi added.

“That’s right. Oh, and where is the King? I asked him to meet us hours ago…”

“I’ll go find him, Your Majesty,” Donald offered, and before she could say yes or no he was already out the door and down the hall.

Minnie sighed and replaced a book on the shelf.

Less than ten minutes later, a familiar voice spoke up from the doorway. “Don’t worry, Your Highness, I’m here for ya!”

The Queen giggled. “Oh, Mickey.” She put her hands on her hips. “But you’re still late, what kept you?”

Mickey grinned and stepped into the library, followed by two other figures: Sora and Oswald.

Riku raised an eyebrow. The rabbit who had followed the King in the door was about his height, though his tall black ears added a good foot to his stature. He looked remarkably like the King, but his face was white instead of peach. He wore a similar outfit as well, simple clothes for traveling, he supposed, but it was blue, silver, and black instead of red, gold, and black. Unlike the King, he wore no gloves and no shoes, choosing to walk barefoot.

“Oh, King Oswald!” Minnie curtsied.

Sora and Riku bowed and Kairi curtsied as well.

The corner of Oswald’s mouth turned up in the ghost of what once might have been called a smile, but it vanished almost as soon as it appeared. He waved his hand for the teens to stand and turned his attention back toward Mickey. “Mick, I hate to admit it, but I need your help.”

“’Course, Oswald! Brothers gotta stick together, ya know.”

“Brothers?” Sora whispered to Riku.

“Half-brothers, actually,” Riku replied, remembering a long-ago conversation with the King in which he’d told him about Oswald, about the rabbit king who was his half-brother, who ruled a land much different than his.

“Yeah, but don’t forget, I’m older than you, mouse,” Oswald grumbled, shoving one of his hands in his pockets.

Mickey put his hands on his hips. “What’s the trouble, Os? I haven’t heard from ya in… well… time’s different in each world, but it’s probably been a while.”

“Well, my world was taken by the darkness and—”

Five different gasps punctuated the room. Sora, Riku, and Kairi looked at each other. Minnie looked at Mickey who looked horrified at Oswald. “Wasteland’s gone?” the Queen gulped at last.

Oswald winced but nodded affirmatively. “Yeah. I… I don’t know what even happened. I was out walking on Mean Street when a tidal wave of darkness surged down an alley toward me. I got out my Keyblade and put up a Refleza, but even that didn’t do much of anything; I blacked out and found myself in Traverse Town.”

There was silence in the room for the span of a few heartbeats. “Did… did anyone else make it out?” King Mickey asked with a soft gulp.

Oswald sighed, a deep sigh that seemed to travel all the way from his large black feet up and out of his mouth. “I haven’t seen Ortensia. I don’t know where she is. I looked all over Traverse Town, even asked around, but nobody’d seen her. My sweetie pie, my kitty…” He sighed and reached up to tug on one of his ears in an aggravated motion. “Not to mention my 420 Bunny Children, who knows where they all are… and Gus and all the other Gremlins, I didn’t see anybody and it’s just…”

Kitty? Something clicked in Kairi’s memory. “Oh! Your Majesty?”

Minnie, Mickey, and Oswald all looked at her. “Yes?” they asked with one voice.

“I’m sorry, I mean King Oswald,” the girl amended, twisting her hands in the fabric of her skirt.

The rabbit in question looked up at her. “Yeah?”

“Your wife… you said she’s a cat?”

Oswald smiled dreamily. “The most beautiful cat to ever live.”

Kairi glanced meaningfully at Sora, but he hadn’t seemed to put the pieces together. “Can you excuse us for a second? We need to go check on something.” Minnie nodded but returned her attention quickly to Oswald’s worries.

Kairi took Sora’s hand and dragged him bodily out of the library. “Kairi, what are you doing?” he queried as she continued to yank his arm out of his socket. When had she gotten this strong?

“That Heartless we found, it has pointy ears like a cat, right? I think… I think it might be Ortensia’s Heartless,” she explained.

“Oh. Oh, okay. That makes total sense,” Sora said, nodding like he’d known it all along. “Where did you leave it?”

“I left it in the garden, told Pluto to watch it… oh no.” The pair halted by the railing overlooking the back lawn. The Heartless was there, all right, but so was Donald, and out of the corner of his eye, Sora caught a glimpse of Pluto trapped in a cage made of great icicles. Angry barks echoed between the topiaries as the gold mutt tried to break loose.

Kairi inhaled a sharp breath and felt Sora’s hand cover hers in a comforting grip.

“You’re dangerous…” they could hear him muttering to himself. “You’re dangerous, I don’t care what the King says, I’m gonna take care of you once and for all…”

With a flash of white and silver Kairi was alone on the balcony. Sora had vaulted over the railing with smooth precision borne of much practice and flung his Keyblade at Donald… not to strike him, only to distract him. The Keyblade embedded itself in the lawn up to the teeth a foot from Donald’s beak.

“Wak! Who’s there?” he quacked angrily.

“Donald, don’t!” Sora shouted as he ran to retrieve his Keyblade. “It’s Ortensia!”

“Ortensia?!?” Donald repeated, his brows flying down into a confused line.

“Kai, go find the Heartless!” the boy shouted back up to the balcony.

Kairi nodded and vaulted over the railing herself, scanning the area for the little black creature.

“What makes you think that thing is Queen Ortensia?” Donald complained, folding his arms, his staff stuck under his arm.

“King Oswald’s here, he lost her, and we think this Heartless… might be her,” Sora explained as he summoned his best Fira’s to melt Pluto’s prison.

“She can’t be a Heartless, that’s ridiculous…” the royal magician said, waving his hand dismissively.

Sora put his hand on his hip, still focusing the tip of his Keyblade on the icicles. “Uh huh. And when I got turned into a Heartless, who hit me on the head a bunch of times? I still remember that!”

“Wak! Oh, all right, maybe it could be possible…” Donald relented grumpily.

The Heartless had hid in a bush at the rear of the garden, and Kairi was on its tail. She knelt down and parted the leaves carefully. The Heartless scooted further back until it was touching the marble wall. “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s me, Kairi, remember me?” Kairi said soothingly. “Are you okay, Ortensia?”

The Heartless seemed to perk up, turning its head toward the girl.

“That’s your name, isn’t it?” The Heartless began to crawl toward the front of the bush and Kairi moved out of the way. “King Oswald’s here. He misses you a lot. Do you want to go see him?”

The black creature parted the leaves, stepping out into the afternoon sun, and gave a very slight head motion that might have been a nod. “Good,” Kairi said, relieved. “He’s up in the castle.”

The Heartless took her offered hand and together they made their way back up toward where Sora had finally freed Pluto.

The second he was out, Pluto darted over to Donald and began barking at him angrily.

Donald fended him off with his staff. “Pluto, cut it out!”

“Ruff ruff gurrr rufff ruff ruff!”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry for freezing you.”

“Gurrrrruff ruff rrrr ruff grrr…”

“Oh, fine! And I’m sorry for trying to hurt the Heartless!”

Pluto stopped barking and snorted, nodding his head sharply.

“You’re such a good dog…” Kairi said, rubbing the mutt’s head affectionately.

Sora dismissed his Keyblade. “Kairi, you found it?”

“Right here. Let’s go find King Oswald.”

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Fortunately, he hadn’t left the library, as he was still in the midst of a heated discussion with Mickey. “…flung to all the worlds! It’s too reckless, and besides, it’s against the rules. Master Yen Sid wouldn’t be happy.”

Sora elbowed the door open and held it for his girlfriend and her charge. “We’re back, Your Majesties.”

“King Oswald?” Kairi ventured.

“Yes?” He glanced over at her, his arms folded and one foot tapping a frustrated rhythm on the tiled floor.

“We have someone we would like you to see.” Kairi gently ushered the Heartless in front of her, where it stood stock still, seeming to be frightened.

Oswald felt his heart give a soft flip. Only one person ever made that happen. “…Ortensia?” The Heartless looked up at him and tilted its head curiously. Oswald slowly approached it, feeling his heart grow warmer even in its presence. “It is you… isn’t it… Ortensia….” He took its hands, and in an instant had it in a warm embrace. “My Ortensia…”

There was a poof and a flash of light and the Heartless vanished. In its place stood a female cat Oswald’s height, wearing a lacy pink gown and gold gloves. A tiny gold tiara with a white-gold flower in the center was nestled between her pointed ears.

“Oh, honey bunny!”

They separated for only a second before Ortensia began to kiss him all over his face. Grinning he picked her up and twirled her around. She shrieked with laughter. “You’re all right after all! Oh, I’m so glad!” Oswald cried, his heart thrumming with joy and relief.

Mickey sighed and put his hand in his pocket. “Well, that answers that question.”

Donald tapped his foot, grumbling. “…can’t believe it worked…”

Kairi curtsied again. “Queen Ortensia, I presume.”

Oswald stopped spinning and put his wife down. She hopped a little, her black and gold heels tapping on the tiled floor. “Oh, yes. That’s right. Oh, it’s so nice to be me again! Thank you for being so kind to me!”

“Glad to help, Your Majesty!” Sora said, grinning excitedly.

“I… I don’t know what happened…” Ortensia sighed, touching her cheek softly. “I was doing the flower arrangements for the party and all of a sudden everything was shadowy and cold and there were tendrils of darkness everywhere. I tried Pearl and Holy and neither made the darkness retreat for long. I shouted and shouted for you, Oswald, hoping you would hear even though I knew you were out about town today…” She sighed again. “I guess I must have blacked out because I don’t remember much of anything after that.”

“Well, you’re here now, hon, and you’re okay, and that’s what matters,” Oswald said, taking her hand and weaving his fingers between hers, still plainly relieved. “And somehow we’ll figure out how to save our world.”

Mickey shook his head. “It seems like every time we take two steps forward with that, we get pushed three steps back. I thought all the worlds had returned, but if there are some that are still disappearing, then I feel like we’re just… at a standstill.”

Minnie took his hand. “We’re all working very hard to figure out what to do,” she said softly. “And as long as we’re together, as long as our hearts are together, the Light will guide us.”

Mickey pecked her on the temple. “You’re right, Min. We’re gonna figure it out together.”

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

BONUS:

“Oswald, where are the kids?”

“Missing? They probably got flung to all the worlds of light just like those puppies did a couple of years ago…”

“All 420?”

“Yes, honey, all 420.”

“What are we going to do?”

Oswald tilted his face up toward the ceiling, a frustrated groan escaping through his teeth before addressing the room at large. “Who wants to go on a quest?”

[gumnut-logic]

A Little Chaos (Part 5)

Title: A Little Chaos

Part 1a | Part 1b | Part 1c & 2 | Part 3 | Part 4a | Part 4b | Part 5

Author: Gumnut

May 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: A little conversation in less than optimal conditions.

Word count: 2068

Spoilers & warnings: Virgil/Kayo, Scott/Em.

Timeline: Sometime after ‘Gentle Rain’

Author’s note: Yeah, I should be writing ‘The Bellini Incident’, but this was supposed to be a quick fic, but then so was Bellini. This one will not be anywhere near as long and I will be back to Bellini asap. I am now laughing at this last statement as the word count for this has now passed the 10K mark ::headdesk:: Also, the prompts below? Pretty much forgotten…though I guess they may rear their heads in the next chapter or so.

The prompt: From a series of OC prompts. Kylorr asked for 5. Have they ever cheated on anyone before? And 7. How many partners have they had? I don’t know if I’m going to answer either of them, but this is the fic that happened. I hope you enjoy it :D

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

“Virgil?”

The engineer didn’t answer. He sat staring at his hands, thoughts obviously miles away.

She was on familiar turf. They were back at Wellington Hospital, the site of so much last Christmas. This time, however, it was not Virgil, but Kayo who was being attended. That left Virgil and Scott sitting in the waiting room.

It was obvious neither did waiting very well. Scott was busy on comms with John, the Wellington police and the GDF. She had heard shouting over the line several times from his direction. Scott answered everything calm and business-like. Em had no doubt she would have to help unwind her man later. She could see the tension in his shoulders from here.

Thunderbird Two was once again parked on the hospital’s front lawn. The rest of the Tracy family was inbound, Grandma marshalling them. Even John would be dropping in as soon as they could contain the fallout from the incident.

Kayo was in no danger. She just needed the bullet removed and the wound tidied up. She would be out of surgery soon.

At the moment, Virgil was her concern.

“Virgil?” She reached out to touch his shoulder and he jumped.

“Huh?”

Scott eyed him from across the room, his brow furrowing.

“I need to check you over.”

It was Virgil’s turn to frown. “Why?”

“Kayo hit you rather hard.”

He shifted in his seat. “I’m fine.”

“Forgive me if I never believe that statement ever again.”

His eyes shot up, narrowed slightly and his lips thinned.

She shrugged. “Can you really blame me?”

He sighed, dropping his gaze once again to his hands. “Okay.”

Squeezing his shoulder, she smiled just a little. “C’mon, it will only take a moment.”

Without a word, he rose to his feet and picked up the green dress that lay on the seat beside him. Em cursed the lack of her ‘scoot, reduced to the basic hoverchair the hospital provided. Virgil was tall next to her. Scott was a bloody skyscraper.

Speaking of Scott, her boyfriend was beside them in a matter of steps. “News?”

Em reached out and caught his hand. “No, I’m just going to check out Virgil.”

“Why?” Immediate frown, immediate concern.

She arched an eyebrow up at him. “I know you know how hard a hitter Kayo can be and Virgil took a good one to his midsection today. I just need to check on him...considering his medical history.”

“Oh.” Scott swallowed and grabbed his brother’s shoulder. “Keep me informed.”

Virgil pursed his lips. “I’m fine.”

“Sure.”

The glare Virgil shot his brother was enough to light his hair on fire.

Em dragged the younger man away from her boyfriend before the argument could start. She wrestled him into an examination cubicle. “Top half of your uniform off. I’m going to grab some equipment.” A smile to soften her tone. “Be back in a moment.” She pulled the curtain and left him to disrobe.

She was caught in thought between Scott and Virgil when she approached the nursing station, but was thrown out of her thoughts at the mention of the word ‘Tracy’. Being so low in the damn hoverchair, apparently her presence hadn’t been noticed.

“...Tracy, look at those eyes. Wouldn’t you love to have them looking at you?” The voice belonged to a young nurse holding a phone talking to an equally young workmate.

Em frowned.

“Blue or brown?”

“Oh, I don’t know. They are both bloody gorgeous.”

“And both spoken for.” An older voice broke in. “Have you been taking photos? Jenny, do you want to lose your job?”

“These are worth more than my job, ‘Melda.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“So gorgeous though.”

Slipping back into the shadows, Em fingered the comms in her collar. “John?”

“Em? What’s wrong?”

John’s voice never failed to alter her heartbeat. A combination of long memory and the music it was. “Can you find a mobile phone about five metres...south-east of me, belonging to a Jenny?”

A moment. “Located. Why?”

“She has pictures of Scott and Virgil on it. She’s intending on selling them.”

The line went quiet. Ten seconds later there was a squawk from the nurses’ station. “What the hell?”

“Situation resolved.” John’s voice betrayed no smugness, but a female voice was laughing in the background. “Eos, subtlety next time.”

“She didn’t deserve subtlety.” Em’s phone pinged quietly and she pulled it out of the hoverchair’s inside pocket. The photos appeared on the screen.

The woman was right. They were worth more than her job. A photo of them entering ER. Virgil at Kayo’s side that naked love and concern on his face that had so circled the world the last time the press had hounded them, but behind them Scott was carrying her. The expression on his face spoke of his concern for Kayo, as well, but a flick over to the next photo and his head had turned to look down at Em in his arms.

Oh god.

He was different to Virgil. The two brothers were vastly different in so many ways. But the way he was looking at her...

Her heart missed a beat.

A text flicked up on her phone. These are the only copies. Keep them safe. John.

While the nurse, metres away from her, was swearing at her phone, Em had to blink to keep the tears at bay while looking at hers.

But Virgil was waiting.

She shook herself, straightened and without a word, barged into the nurses’ station and appropriated the equipment she needed.

She took no pleasure as the nurse exclaimed to her friend that her phone was possessed, that it was posting horrible things to her social media all by itself, that it wasn’t responding, that it swore at her. She did smile, however, when she distinctly heard Eos declare through the phone’s speakers that Jenny would be assimilated and resistance was futile. The AI had obviously been in John’s Trek collection again.

The phone was dropped to the hard floor. There was a sharp crack as its screen shattered.

Oops.

The woman was still swearing as Em headed back to Virgil. She had to swallow a laugh and straighten her expression before slipping through the curtains.

Any thought of humour vanished at the sight of the emergency responder sitting on the side of the bed. His posture was slumped and worn. In the middle of his bare chest a lovely bruise about the size off his fiancée’s fist was blooming.

He straightened the moment he saw her, facade falling into place.

Em pressed her lips together just a little.

“Virgil, she is going to be okay.”

“I know.”

“You and Scott saved the both of us.”

“I know.”

She sighed. He’d put a wall up that she didn’t have the trust yet to batter down. Only Kayo or Scott could do that.

As she reached for the scanner and fiddled with the primitive hoverchair in an attempt to get it to gain at least a little height so she could examine him, he slid off the bed and crouched down to her level. “How are you?”

She blinked. “I’m fine.”

She didn’t miss the curve of his lips at her parroted response. His eyes dropped to the touchscreen she was fighting. “Let me have a look at that.” And the next minute she found herself on the bed and her bare-chested patient pulling apart the control panel of her hoverchair. A muttered expletive, a whack with a screwdriver from his kit and the ‘chair hovered smoothly to a standing height.

He straightened. “There you go. Should behave itself long enough until Gordon arrives with your backup ‘scoot.”

His offered arms were gratefully accepted and he lifted her off the bed and placed her gently in the ‘chair, assisting her with the harness.

“Virgil, I have to say that you are the first patient of mine who has ever had me as a patient in return.”

A snort and he smiled up at her. “We each have our specialties.”

She returned the smile, happy to see it. “Now let’s check under your hood.”

A pair of rolled eyes and he climbed back onto the bed. A gesture for him to lie down and he complied. She activated the bed’s holographic system and an outline of his system appeared above him. Focussed on his rib cage, her eyes tracked the healed remains of his injury on his right side, searching for any aggravation. The bruise showed up, minor sub-dermal damage obvious, but his ribcage had managed to flex without issue. His lungs were clear and healthy, heart unaffected.

A sigh of relief she hadn’t known she’d needed.

She ran some basic obs, his brown eyes tracking her actions.

“So, was I right?”

A blink. “In what way?”

“I’m fine.”

Unable to let it completely slide, Em curled her lips. “Oh, I think Kayo thinks you are pretty fine.”

He snorted and the hologram rippled. A second later his expression froze and his heartbeat increased.

She frowned. “Virgil, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Lying under examination is futile. You know that.” Not to mention that she had learnt pretty fast that the man was rather crap at it in any case.

“It is nothing.”

“It most certainly is not. What is wrong, Virgil?”

His readouts changed yet again as he...well, she could only describe it as ‘squirmed’ under her gaze.

“Virgil.”

“Em.”

She couldn’t force him to tell her anything and she didn’t want to. She shut off the scanner. “You are fine. Just take it easy.”

He sat up, but he wouldn’t look at her. Something was definitely wrong. She frowned and dropped her hand onto his knee. “You don’t have to tell me anything. Just know I’m here if you need to talk. Patient confidentiality.” She fixed him with her gaze and he smiled at her just slightly.

“Thanks, Em.”

She held his gaze just a moment longer, frowning. His eyes darted away and she knew he wouldn’t tell her in this case and she had no doubt Scott had something to do with it. An involuntary sigh.

He looked up at her. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Gentle fingers wrapped around her arm. “You’ve been through quite an experience.”

Okay, so she had her own facades. She was as bad as him. “I’m fine.”

“That talking thing is mutual, you know.”

“Thank you for saving me. Again.” It came out in all a rush.

A ghost of a smirk. “Anytime, Em, anytime. Besides, if I hadn’t, Scott would have likely killed the guy.” Virgil shuffled off the bed and started shouldering on the top half of his uniform.

She blinked, suddenly caught up in the moments before Virgil had broken through the wall and ripped the guy out of her personal space.

“Em?”

Caring brown eyes looking down at her in concern.

She put together something resembling confidence on her face.

He wasn’t fooled for a second. “You don’t have to worry. Our lawyers will put him away for a very long time.” He reached for his harness, buckling it on with practised fingers.

She shivered, remembering the slimy touch on her belly.

“Em?” And suddenly Virgil was too close. She flung herself backwards, the unfamiliar hoverchair colliding with her tray of instruments, sending several of them clattering to the floor.

His eyes widened in realisation...and horror. “Oh god, I’m so sorry, Em. Hell.” He stumbled backwards, catching the curtain of the cubicle and almost tangling himself in it.

Her hand shot up. “No! No, Virgil, no. It’s fine. I’m sorry. I know. I KNOW. You would never hurt me.” She flung the chair forward, grabbing his arm in desperation. “I’m sorry. Please come here.”

Both fear and anger flickered through those chocolate eyes and god she wished Kayo was with them. The man was massive, his sheer muscular bulk could be considered intimidating, but he had never intimidated her. And he wasn’t intimidating her now. It was just... raw memories.

Virgil’s hands flexed into fists and he refused to move closer. “I’m so sorry, Em. I should have known better. What that asshole said to you...” His knuckles went white.

She forced a grim smile. “Well, as you said, he is going away for a very long while.” A blink and a frown. “How do you know what he said to me?”

He froze, his eyes widening.

“Virgil?”

-o-o-o-

[avengers-nextgen]

We Are One XVII

Chloe wandered down the street with a satchel slung neatly across her shoulder and a notebook in hand. She had enjoyed the time away from chaos, enjoyed the peace that came with it, enjoyed the sense of stillness, but the world refused to leave her alone.

She could turn as many corners as she wanted in search of refuge but something would always drag her back in. Hair blowing slightly in the breeze, she hurried across the busy street with her head down.

Brushing a strand of hair back behind her ear she was about to pause on the grassy little field when the ground shook beneath her feet. Head shooting upright like that of a deer smelling the wind she searched the surrounding area with a pounding heart. Her gaze settled on the debris pooling from a building across the way. Someone had set off explosions.

Ditching her satchel, Chloe sprinted towards the building past a gathering crowd. Dodging the bumper of a car slamming its breaks on Chloe set off once more only to be greeted by a familiar face.

“We meet again,” Killian sighed, clasping his hands in front of himself. Chloe noticed the metallic rod strapped to his back that hadn’t been there before.

“Did you do that?” Chloe asked, eyeing the building carefully.

“No,” Killian shook his head, “but I can’t let you fix it.”

“So you haven’t changed,” Chloe noted, “I don’t know why I even considered that you would. Where are the others?”

“Where they need to be. This city is surprisingly susceptible to crime,” Killian mused, “but it’s crime the police should handle.”

“You and I both know that won’t happen.”

“Not unless we make them,” Killian noted, straightening to his full height. “I know you understand my point of view. I can tell by your eyes. You feel how I do.”

“This isn’t how you inspire change!” Chloe frowned watching the building worriedly.

“Am I to do it with words?”

“Yes.”

“At the end of the day, my friend, no one will remember a written letter of complaint, but they will remember the boy who took action,” Killian glanced over his shoulder.

“Then you don’t understand me at all,” Chloe glared, taking a step backwards. “Words are everything. Do you know why silence is painful? It’s the sound of every word unsaid. Even things no one ever speaks have power. So yes, you solve this with words.”

“It’s too late for that.”

“Then, it’s too late for anyone.” Chloe turned curtly on her heel and scribbled quickly in her notebook. With a wave of the hand she chucked it through a portal. “I’m going in there.”

“Then it seems we have become enemies,” Killian remarked with a hint of genuine sadness. “Sword against the tongue. A showdown history always intended.”

— — —

Arthur nearly fell from his seat on the couch as a journal came slamming into the coffee table. Lunging for it the moment he recognized the familiar cover, Arthur tore it open. Skimming the page his heart quickened it’s pace. “Guys!”

Bolting through the building Arthur’s commotion drew an audience without his prompting. Nathaniel had emerged from a meeting with Fury when he whacked into Arthur. “Oh. Oh I am so sorry! You good?”

“There’s an issue,” Arthur stammered, shoving the journal into Nathaniel’s hands. He watched as the older boy read the messy scribbling before snapping the notebook shut and hurrying off.

Nathaniel found James mid conversation with Fox when he asked her to pull up the current news stream. One building had been blown up by some ransom seekers, a bank was stuck mid robbery, and someone had set a nearby gas station on fire.

“Is this Armageddon in action? What the hell?” James stared in awe at the news coverage.

“Killian and the others will keep us out until law enforcement does something. We can’t let that happen. That gas station blows up and that’s a shit ton of collateral damage, that bank is robbed and people will be in a frenzy, and that building is working on hydrogen cell technology. It’s unstable,” Nathaniel rattled off in quick succession.

“So this it then?” James asked, staring at his friend. “We have to pull out all the stops?”

“Unless you want radiation, gas fumes, and pissed off locals-yes,” Nathaniel nodded.

“Okay. Let’s do this.” James set his jaw.

— — —

Harper stood anxiously outside of the bank’s back entrance. She was feeling less confident by the second, and by the sounds of panic inside serious business was going down. She tried to tune it out but it was only increasingly difficult to do so.

Swallowing hard she looked down at the pistol in her hand. One she’d stolen ages ago but never used. Drew insisted she use it instead of the whip. Harper didn’t know why, but she listened. Maybe they expected heavy resistance-she wasn’t sure.

Already, she could hear the faint thwacking of helicopter blades in the sky. Just like the one that had killed her brother and sister. Killian had promised SHIELD would show. Promised she’d get a chance at revenge, but it was quiet.

There was no way of knowing what took place across the city. It was just her at the back entrance of that stupid bank. With sweat covered palms she examined the weapon in her hand with care. It felt impossibly heavy.

Casting her eyes upon the sky, Harper waited. She was still looking up when the first shield vehicle arrived. The tires squelched across the ground as doors opened protecting the agents behind them. She barely registered their cries to put the weapon down.

The sky was clear. She’d never really bothered looking at it much, but there wasn’t the haze that usually clung to the clouds.

— — —

Max prowled the streets in the form of a wolf prepared to intercept any outgoing aid from the heroes. Mind wandering, they couldn’t help but wonder what was about to transpire. Killian had rejoined them looking rather upset. The last thing Max wanted was Killian to act impulsively and suffer the consequences because of it.

Overhead the helicopters swarmed like always-no different than big black flies in a giant blue sky. The rumbling of an engine drew Max from their thoughts.

Turning to face a motorcycle the hair on the back of their neck stood on end. Two familiar people clambered off to greet them. Max found themself searching for Enzo. The boy wasn’t there.

That meant only one thing. There was no barrier to stop either side from tearing the other apart.

“You have one last chance,” Bianca warned, “don’t do this. We know how this ends.”

Max only crouched ready to spring. There was no more to discuss. They’d only ever gone in circles anyways and nothing had changed. The time for taking back deeds was over. There were scores to settle.

“Your choice has been made,” Sage sighed, “I have no regrets for this. Whether my brother forgives me or not is another matter.”

— — —

“Orion,” Scout glanced over at the boy keeping pace beside him, “remember what I said.”

“I know,” Orion set his jaw, “but let’s not think about that just yet.”

“Okay,” Scout nodded, following Orion’s gaze. He’d transfixed it on the waiting form ahead. Drew had expected them. She supposed now was the time to get her bounty and get away from this God forsaken planet as fast as possible.

“I want you to stay put,” Orion determined.

“What?”

“This is between us. She wants me not you. Don’t intervene unless it’s necessary okay?” Orion looked imploringly at Scout.

It took the other boy a moment to understand Orion’s reasoning. Then it hit him. Orion didn’t want Drew to have any other blood on her hands besides what was necessary. If there was a chance to restore her memory Orion wanted it to be as casualty free as possible. Though it was hard for Scout to agree to, he didn’t have much of a choice, “Okay. I’ll stay put.”

“Thank you,” Orion smiled thinly, drawing his sword.

— — —

“The Queen has arrived,” Kubu acknowledged spreading his arms as if she couldn’t already see the burning gas store.

“Spare me the talk,” Siyanda glowered, “I’m ending this.”

“So am I.” Kubu nodded, lowering his mask. “Let this be an honorable fight.”

“You have no honor.”

“Perhaps, that comes from perception,” Kubu shrugged, studying Siyanda and then Thalia who seemed unsure of what was about to happen, “from where I stand-it is you without honor.”

The two warriors clashed as they never had before in a heat of sparks and claws.

— — —

“This is bad,” Nathaniel breathed, following James towards the trembling building.

“Alex, Enzo, and Penny, head around the back and focus on getting people out,” James ordered. Both girls departed quickly from the group. “We have to play this carefully. I’ll be calling the shots understood?”

“Yeah,” Arthur nodded.

“I have an overhead view,” Piper spoke calmly over the coms.

“Keep in touch, okay?” James replied.

“Aye aye captain,” came the reply.

The group emerged from the grass as Chloe had to stare wide eyed at a violent battle.

“What is she doing?” Arthur panicked, “one on one?!”

“Come on,” Nathaniel sighed, hopping onto the roof of a car and pushing off in an attempt to cross the street.

Chloe launched the twisted form of a lamp post at Killian but he was quick to roll aside. She’d managed to draw some blood, but it had only resulted in a gash that annoyed him. At first she didn’t notice the others, but then Killian shifted.

She followed his eyes and her heart sank. Up until that point the metal rod had gone unused but now Killian was drawing it with zeal.

Clouds seemed to emerge from nothing and the taste of iron filled the air. Stepping between Killian’s intended path she erected a shield. Lightning slammed into the barrier with a violent crack.

Across the way, James, Nathaniel, and Arthur were blinded by flashes of white light.

[quentinsquill]

Fic: “Moondance” for The Welters Challenge, Week 7

Moondance

Author: Lexalicious70

Fandom: The Magicians

Pairing: Eliot/Quentin

Rating: Teen and Up

Word Count: 2,647

Warnings: Discussions of anxiety, phobias

Summary: When Brakebills is hit by a magical blackout, Eliot must help Quentin confront one of his greatest fears.

A/N: This is for the  @thewelterschallenge , the final week, “Blackout.” I don’t own The Magicians, this is just for fun. “Twilight Time” was composed by Artie Dunn, Al Nevins, Morty Nevins, and Buck Ram. Comments and kudos are magic! And as always, enjoy.

Read it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15240561

 Moondance

By Lexlicious70

 “Fuck!” Margo snapped as the lights in the Physical Kids cottage went out all at once, then raised her gaze toward the second floor. “Did one of you assholes overload the fuse box again?” She shouted before groping her way to the bar. Outside, the night sky wore a thick blanket of clouds. Eliot sighed.

 “These damn hipsters with their retro plug-in vibrators,” he observed.

 “Hilarious. Now can you cast Chvartli’s mini sun before I break my neck?” Margo asked.

 Eliot pushed his hands together and murmured the spell’s words, but no light grew between his hands. He frowned.

 “The fuck?” He tried it again—nothing.

 “Eliot!”

 “I’m trying! It won’t cast!” He said, and the door to the cottage banged open. Eliot turned, peering into the darkness. “Oh, what fresh hell is this—who’s there?”

 “It’s just me! It’s Todd!” The first-year closed the cottage door behind him. “I was over at the library when the power and the magic went out. Dean Fogg says not to panic, a spell went wrong during a faculty meeting. It should be back by—” the sound of Todd’s shins whacking into a chair and the resulting hiss of pain interrupted him—“Ow, ow . . . tomorrow morning.”  

 “Tomorrow morning like seven or eight hours from now? What are we supposed to do until then?” Margo asked.

 “Maybe we could find some candles and play a game or read?” Todd suggested, and Eliot could almost feel the intensity of Margo’s scowl in the dark room.

 “That’s a good idea, Todd,” she almost cooed it. “We can play Operation. What do you want removed first, your heart or your balls?”

 “Uh. I’m going to—I’ll just be upstairs.” Todd fled before he finished speaking, stumbling up the first two steps before retreating completely.

 “Tell Quentin to come down!” Eliot called after him, and a glint of Margo’s nail polished showed briefly at the bar’s brass inlay before her hand found his elbow. Eliot slipped an arm around her.

 “So, any ideas for entertainment?”

 “I think I have some candles around here somewhere . . .” Eliot began feeling around for drawer handles.

 “Hey, uh—Eliot?” Todd’s voice spoke from halfway down the staircase. “Quentin’s not in his room.”

 “What?” Eliot turned.

 “I knocked and there was no answer, so I peeked in and his room is empty.”

 “There’s only one place he could have gone,” Margo said, and Eliot nodded as he made his way toward the door.

 “The library.”

 “Wait, El, where are you going? I can’t see for shit!”

 “Have Todd help you find some candles. Check in my nightstand, there might be a lighter in the top drawer. The top drawer!” Eliot said firmly, and Margo scoffed into the darkness.

 “Don’t worry, I won’t jumble your lube collection.”

 “Thanks, Bambi!” Eliot found the cottage door and headed out into the night, the moon and stars obscured by thunderheads. Eliot crossed the campus, his eidetic memory helping him along. All the buildings and charming coach lights at the crossways of the campus paths were dark, but Eliot could almost make out the lines of the library coming up on his right.

 This is probably silly, Eliot thought to himself as he made a right and found his way to the library doors. Quentin is probably fine, he might have already left when the power cut out and could even be on his way back to the cottage. Still . . . he’s only been at Brakebills a few weeks, and Henry would probably give me hell if he got lost in the hedge maze or fell into one of the fountains. This isn’t at all because you’re fond of Quentin and his welfare is becoming increasingly important to you. Not at all.

  Eliot pulled the library doors open and stepped into its darkness. The foyer seemed empty and Eliot’s footfalls echoed as he passed by the large reception desk and into the hushed recesses of Brakebills’ book stacks. The shelves in room after room overflowed with books, and Eliot could hear the ominous flapping of the feral books high in the eaves of the ancient history room, their magic so old that it seemed the blackout didn’t affect them much. Eliot found his way down to the applied magic section, where he knew Quentin might have gone. The glassed-in room featured a scatter of tables and padded chairs, each table large enough to accommodate six to eight students. The room was designed for first-year study groups and research and the familiar scent of books both old and new, along with the faint scents of coffee, perfume and cologne, and a whiff of ozone that Eliot always associated with first years hung in the air. Eliot paused, his head cocked, as thunder rumbled outside.

 Thought I heard something . . .

 He ventured in further, taking careful steps, his arms spread slightly to prevent walking into a table or stumbling over a chair. He passed through an alcove into one of the secondary rooms and stopped as a sound reached him—muffled sobbing, mixed with the quick, jagged breaths of someone well on his way to panicking. Alarm bells went off in Eliot’s head.

 “Quentin?” He called into the darkness, the sound of his own echoing voice startling him. “Quentin, are you in here?”

 The panicked noises grew louder and Eliot followed them, picking up his pace. He reached a table in the corner, a smaller one, accompanied by two chairs. Eliot’s booted foot touched one as he peered down. The other laid on its side nearby, as if someone had knocked it over suddenly. He caught the glint of metal in the dark and knelt down to touch it, only to find Quentin’s messenger bag. He turned his head to find Quentin hunched under the table, his knees drawn to his chest, his hands clapped over his ears, his eyes squeezed shut. Eliot’s stomach dropped and he crawled under the table.

 “Quentin? Hey . . . Q . . .” He touched one of Quentin’s hands and the younger man gave a strangled yelp of surprise and flung himself backward, only to slam into the wall. He opened his eyes, his entire expression filled with panic. Eliot pulled one hand away from the side of Quentin’s face and interlocked their fingers. “Quentin! Hey! It’s me!”

 Quentin blinked rapidly as Eliot spoke, although his panicked breathing didn’t slow.

 “Eliot . .. ? What—what are you doing here?”

 “I came to find you! One of the professor’s spells backfired during a meeting, that’s what caused the blackout.” Eliot glanced down at Quentin’s trembling hand. “I thought maybe you might get turned around finding your way back to the cottage—what’s wrong? Why are you hiding under here?”

 “Uhhm . . . I was sitting here and the lights went out so I tried to cast a light spell but it didn’t work and the next thing I knew I was here alone and---and I couldn’t—” Quentin gestured toward the library doors, his eyes bright with tears. Eliot squeezed his hand.

 “You couldn’t what?”

 “I couldn’t leave!” Quentin almost wailed it. Eliot could feel him shaking in the small space and chose his next words carefully.

 “Can you tell me why?” He asked, and Quentin’s full lips trembled.

 “Mmm mmm.” He said after a moment, drawing his legs up tighter.

 “Why not? Quentin . . . you can trust me. I know we haven’t known each other very long, but do you remember what I told you that day out on the back patio?” Eliot gave his hand another gentle squeeze. “You’re not alone here. Not then, and not now. I came all this way across a very dark campus to find you, not judge you.”

 “But you like judging people,” Quentin said in a small voice, and Eliot nodded.

 “While I can’t deny that, I’d say that this is a special case. Quentin, please. I want to help.”

 Quentin ran a shaking hand across his mouth and Eliot could smell the sour tang of terror on the younger man.

 “I’m—I’m afraid of the dark,” Quentin said at last as he cast a sidelong glance at Eliot.

 “Well, we all have our phobias,” Eliot said after a moment. “Sometimes they stem from childhood trauma, and sometimes they’re completely irrational. In my case, it’s wasps. They horrify me; I’d rather face down a whole slew of hedge witches than pass close to a wasp nest.”

 Quentin sniffled but didn’t let go of Eliot’s hand.

 “I don’t know how old I was . . . maybe six . . . some of the neighborhood kids and I were playing and we found a hole in a fence at a construction site near my house. We started playing hide and seek and I crawled into this concrete pipe . . . I got about halfway in when I realized the other end was buried in concrete. I tried to turn around but I’d passed a narrow section on the way in. I started screaming for help but no one heard me. And—and then the sun went down. I spent the night curled up in that pipe.” Quentin’s voice shook. “The search and rescue team didn’t find me until the next morning.”

 “Jesus. That must have been terrifying for you.”

 “It’s why I couldn’t leave. I tried but it’s so dark!”

 “I understand, Q. It’s going to be all right. We’re going to leave together—”

 “No!” Quentin pulled his hand away from Eliot’s and bunched both into the hem of sweater.

 “Quentin, I want you to listen. If we’re going to get back to the cottage to wait this out, you’re going to have to trust me! Do you trust me?”

 Quentin yanked on the hem of his sweater until it hung out of shape, his eyes squeezed shut. Finally, he nodded.

 “I trust you, El.”

 “All right. Give me your hands. We’re going to move forward—” He took Quentin’s offered hands—“and I’ve got you. Whenever you get scared, you squeeze my hands and we’ll stop and rest. Understand?”

 “I—I’ll try,” Quentin whispered, and Eliot paused to sling Quentin’s messenger bag around his neck before he began to lure Quentin out from under the table as he moved backward.

 “Come on . . . good, I’m right here . . . just out from under the table. Now stand up. Good!’ Eliot squeezed Quentin’s hands in praise. “Now we’re going to move across the library just like this . . . the doors aren’t very far. Quentin? Look at me.” Eliot said as Quentin’s eyes began to dart left and right. “Eyes on me.” Eliot walked backward, his and Quentin’s elbows bent, their hands joined, their faces less than two inches apart. Quentin took small, unsure steps, like those of a deer in an unfamiliar meadow. They passed under the alcove and left the glassed-in room, and Quentin dug his heels in.

 “No, no, nonononono!” He gasped, his tone spiking with octaves of panic, and Eliot paused.

 “Quentin, it’s all right, I’m still here. Hey!” He squeezed Quentin’s hands and tugged him forward a step. Quentin’s messenger bag thumped against Eliot’s chest and he seized upon an idea. “Do you have a Fillory book in your bag?” He asked, and Quentin’s head jerked around at the mention of Fillory.

 “Uh?”

 “You always carry a Fillory book with you! Which one is in your bag?” Eliot asked.

 “I—The F-Flying Forest.” Quentin stammered, and Eliot nodded.

 “Do you remember how Jane got separated from Helen while they were in the forest, and how scared she was?

 “Yeah. A lot of readers have compared that to the scene in Snow White, some of the Fillory forums even have pretty extensive meta about it,” Quentin said, and Eliot blessed Quentin’s obsession and his pedantic nature.

 “Do you remember what the dryad did to help her see that the forest was no place to fear?”

 Quentin nodded.

 “He danced with her.”

 That’s right.” Eliot led him across the library and out the double doors. When they reached the edge of the Sea, Quentin balked at the huge dark expanse and Eliot tugged him forward and into his arms.

 “Eyes on me, Quentin,” he said firmly, and led the younger man into a sweeping waltz across the grass as he began to sing softly in Quentin’s ear:

 “Heavenly shades of night are falling, it's twilight time

Out of the mist your voice is calling, it's twilight time

When purple colored curtains mark the end of day

I'll hear you, my dear, at twilight time

Deepening shadows gather splendor as day is done

Fingers of night will soon surrender the setting sun

I count the moments darling till you're here with me

Together at last at twilight time . . .”

 Quentin stumbled along as Eliot led, but his smaller stature made it simple for Eliot to guide him, one hand dropping to Quentin’s right hip to push him in the right direction. Eliot let his sense memory guide him and halfway across the Sea, Quentin’s head dropped onto Eliot’s chest, resting it there as Eliot murmured the song’s refrain. Finally, Eliot’s foot hit pavement and he found himself on the pathway to the cottage. He paused to catch his breath and Quentin seemed to come out of his torpor all at once. It began to rain, but he didn’t flinch.

 “El?” He glanced up over Eliot’s shoulder to see the outline of the cottage. “Are we . . .?”

 “Home.” Eliot nodded. “Are you all right? Do you want to go inside?”

 “In a minute.” A pause. “I can’t believe you did that for me.” A nervous string of laughter escaped him. “No one’s ever sung to me before.”

 The rain tapered off as the moon played tag with fat, dark clouds, each of them edged with eager flickers of lighting.

 “You must think I’m such a child,” Quentin said at last, and Eliot slid a gentle hand under Quentin’s chin to tilt his head upward. Behind them, the cottage lights flared to life and a muffled cheer went up from within.

 “What I think, Quentin, is that you have the courage and talent to make a fine magician. And it was my pleasure to dance with you.”

 “Thank you.” Quentin cleared his throat and pushed a lock of hair behind one ear. “Do—uhm, I still have the book. The Flying Forest . . . do you want to come up to my room and talk about it some more?”

 Hope flooded Eliot’s heart.

 “I’d like that, Q.” He glanced up at the sky. “Looks like it might storm. I hope we don’t lose power again.”

 Quentin took his messenger bag from Eliot.

 “I’m not worried, El.” He slid his fingers between Eliot’s until they locked together. “My room’s not big enough for another dance, but I’m sure we could figure out some way to pass the time.” Quentin smiled, a promise rising in his dark eyes.

 Eliot glanced down at their joined hands and allowed himself a smile as Quentin tugged him toward the inviting lights of the cottage.

 FIN

[jwillowwolf]

Magic and Miracles - Chapter 13

Sanders Sides Big Bang fic, Chapter 13!

< Previous Chapter | Next Chapter > | Masterlist

Summary: “Don’t let them nip your ankles!”

“Watch where you’re swinging that thing!”

“My hair!”

“Guard the food!”

“They’re in the trees!”

Warning/s: food mention.

Characters: Logan, Virgil, OCs, Roman, Remus, Patton, Janus.

Tag List: @theimprobabledreamersworld @remy-please-come-back

Read on AO3

13 | Mysteries and Miracles

As the group got closer to shore, they noted how eerily dark the fog made everything look. Despite it being the height of the afternoon, everything was dimmed as if it were nightfall. The sun just barely penetrated through the thick mist, allowing the teens to at least see some of their surroundings. Logan hoped that this wasn’t foreshadowing any problems they might run into if they were still here come nighttime. He doubted they would even be able to see each other at that point.

“Now that we’re here, what do we do?” Patton asked.

Willow shrugged. “Search for where the Miracle settled, I suppose.”

“I think we’re going to need something to keep us together. It looks like we could easily get separated and lost in this fog,” Everleigh commented.

“Uh, oh! We could use a rope to keep us all tethered together,” Roman suggested.

Janus nodded. “Excellent idea. But we don’t have any rope.”

“I do!” Remus declared, taking some out of his inventory. “What? Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“Do… you just randomly carry rope?” Virgil asked.

“Of course not. I just brought it along for this trip because no idiot goes on a ship without a rope,” Remus stated.

“Okay, well then, we should all walk in some form of a straight line,” Logan said.

“That could be a little hard with this group,” Willow commented.

“I’ll take the lead!” Janus and Roman declared in unison. “No. I will. Stop that. I said stop that. St-”

“How about you just do rock, paper, scissors for the lead before we all lose our minds,” Willow suggested in a slightly annoyed tone.

The pair had the decency to look sheepish before they did as Willow suggested and used rock, paper, scissors to determine who was going upfront. Janus ended up winning, so Roman decided to guard the group’s rear instead. The full lineup went Janus, Willow, Everleigh, Logan, Virgil, Patton, Remus, and Roman.

Eight teens in search of a humanoid creature with four wings and god-like healing skills. What could possibly go wrong? Trick question, because I’m about to tell you exactly what went wrong.

It was getting late, or the group assumed so because they couldn’t really tell with the mist messing up everything. At some point, Remus and Roman had started singing some silly songs to pass the time as they searched for literally any signs of life. All they had found so far though were some jackalopes, foxes and the occasional grumpy badger.

“This is the walking song,

The song we sing as we walk along.

How long will we sing this song?

We don’t know, but off we go!

This is the walking song,

Sometimes it’s short, sometimes it’s long.

But we’ll just keep on singing as we go along.

We’re singing the walking song~

Verse three hundred and-”

“Please, just make it stop!” Patton begged.

Remus pouted. “Aw, don’t you like our song Patty?”

“Remus, I love you. And I love your singing. But if I have to hear one more verse of that song then I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“That’s what our mom said when she heard it too,” Roman commented.

“Did you stop when she asked?” Everleigh inquired.

“Nope. But then we got grounded, so maybe it’s a good idea to quit while we’re ahead.”

Willow looked back at the others. “Have they stopped?”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, why are you kind of yelling?”

Willow took some cotton from their ears. “What?”

“Where did you get cotton?”

“I’ve had this on me since yesterday. Just in case,” Willow explained with a shrug.

“You didn’t think to share?” Everleigh pouted.

“Well, I have these big wolf ears that can be easier stuffed by the cotton.”

“But you could have shared.”

“I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad.”

“Too late for apologies. We are no longer friends.”

Willow’s eyes went wide and her ears drooped with sadness.

“Oh, no, don’t cry! I was joking. Please don’t cry. You’ll make me cry.”

“I think we need to stop and eat something,” Janus suggested. “I feel like we’re all getting a bit… out of whack.”

Virgil nodded in agreement. “Let’s take a quick respite and rethink our plans.”

The kids sat down and took out some food for lunch. They didn’t think this would cause any problems but barely a moment after they took out their food, a small lizard-like bipedal creature appeared. It looked around the size of a normal chicken and seemed very interested in the meat on Janus’s sandwich.

“Uh, hi there. You hungry or something?”

The creature looked at Janus and chirped.

Patton cooed. “Aw, it’s so cute. We have enough to share, right?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Logan replied. “Feeding wild animals almost never bodes well. Especially unknown wild animals.”

“I know what it is. It’s a Compsognathus, or Compy for short. They usually travel in groups and can be quite… vicious,” Willow stated.

“What harm could this little guy do?” Remus asked as he petted the compy’s head.

“Not too much by itself. But in groups…” Willow trailed off and looked around uneasy. “Uh, guys… we’re not alone.”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Well, yeah, there are eight of us. Puls this little one.”

Willow gulped. “And their friends...”

The group looked at her questioningly then looked around to see what spooked them. That was when they realised that they were now surrounded by a hoard of curious compies. All eyeing the group’s food.

Everleigh swallowed a lump in her throat. “Nobody make any sudden mo-”

“Scram, you fiends!” Roman yelled, slashing at the compies with his katana.

“Yeah! This is our food!” Remus added as he joined in chasing the creatures with his morning star.

“Guys, calm dow- ah!” Patton shrieked as one of the compies fell on his head.

Willow scrambled to help him get it off and was bitten in the process. “Ow! You little-”

“Don’t let them nip your ankles!”

“Watch where you’re swinging that thing!”

“My hair!”

“Guard the food!”

“They’re in the trees!”

The chaos continued for gods know how long before a loud bang went off, causing all parties to freeze. The compies immediately scattered, running off into the bushes like their little lives depended on it, leaving the teens alone and confused.

“Phew, I thought they’d never stop,” Willow said.

“Yeah. Who set off that sound anyway?” Everleigh asked.

Virgil frowned. “I don’t think it was any of us.”

“Who else would it be?”

“Me,” a voice from the shadows stated.

The speaker stepped forward so that they were visible to the group. It wasn’t much help to see who they were though because they wore a full-body cloak with a hood covering everything but the lower half of their face. Whoever this stranger was, they exuded an aura of power and mystery, that seemed to bewitch the teens from speaking. They scanned each of them carefully before stopping to seemingly stare at Virgil.

“...Eirick?”

Virgil blinked in confusion. “Um, no. I- that’s not me.”

“Ah, right. That wouldn’t be possible.” The stranger sighed. “You must be one of his descendants.”

“Descendants...? Wait, do you mean King Eirick the Bold?”

“Bold, huh? That would describe him alright,” the stranger chuckled. “You look a lot like him, so I assume you must be of some royal descent.”

“Well, I don’t feel I should be revealing anything to a complete stranger. Much less my ancestry.”

“Right, where are my manners,” the stranger took off its hood. “My name is Nitya.”

Everleigh gasped. “The Miracle.”

Nitya raised an eyebrow. “Haven’t heard that title in a while.”

“So, you are the Miracle? The great healer who once lived in our kingdom?” Logan asked.

“I was never a great anything, kid. I just knew stuff after too many years in this realm and helped some people.”

“You healed thousands. Brought them back from the brink of death.”

Nitya shrugged. “That’s what happens when you max out your MP. I doubt that’s the full reason you’re here though.”

“Actually, that is the whole reason we’re here. My grandmother is dying from a curse of some kind, and no one knows how to cure her. She herself said only you could.” Virgil explained.

“Only me, huh? Sorry, kid, but I’m not interested in helping any more people. Not after last time.”

“Did something happen to your magic? Is that why you didn’t heal the princess?” Remus questioned.

Nitya’s eyes flashed with anger. “There was nothing to heal.”

“Woah, no offence intended. That’s just what we were told,” Roman stated.

“And what exactly were you told?”

“A king asked you to heal his daughter. You refused and he had you imprisoned. Then you escaped, killed some people including the king, and disappeared never to be seen again.”

Nitya sighed and rubbed their temples. “What happened to ‘history is written by the victors’? Well, you’ve got some of the story right, but the full truth is much more complicated. King Don did indeed request that I heal his ‘daughter’, except there was nothing to heal because he was completely fine. Just had a terrible father.”

“Wait, he?”

“The princess was a prince?”

“Yeah, Eirik had been born as Amelia, the unfortunate only child of King Don. His father wouldn’t accept who he was and tried literally bribing me to ‘heal the princess’. Of course, I told him off and he had me thrown into the dungeons.” Nitya explained. “Then I broke out, killed him, and only stuck around long enough to see Eirik crowned. He deserved that throne far more than his father.”

Virgil tilted his head to the side. “So that’s how you knew King Eirik.”

Nitya nodded.

“Not to be rude, but why is that your reason for no longer helping people?” Logan asked.

“It’s… hard to explain.”

“We don’t mean to push, but what could have caused you to cut yourself off from the world the way you did?”

“...I’ve been around for years. My ancient wisdom meant that no one really questioned the fact I was personally nonbinary and used it/its pronouns. But I grew up seeing others like me, non-cishets, discriminated against and punished for just being themselves. For simply trying to exist. Don the Dunce wasn’t the first parent to come asking I healed their perfectly normal child. He was just the one with the highest-profile. People tried to use me to further punish their friends, their families, their children.” Nitya choked out.

The teens stood silent, empathising with it.

“I tried to use my power for better. To make a place where we could be safe and happy. Dom destroyed that place when he had me dragged off to that dungeon of his. His men… I don’t even want to say what happened there. But after it all, I decided it was better to disappear. Forever.”

There was a beat of silence before Logan stepped forward and put a comforting hand on Nitya’s shoulder. “I am sorry you had to suffer through that. I don’t know if this would make you feel any better, but your actions weren’t for nothing.”

Nitya sighed. “I suppose there was some peace while it lasted.”

“I meant putting King Eirik onto the throne.”

Nitya blinked. “What?”

Virgil nodded. “He was greatly loved by the kingdom and known as the Bold because he was the first king to marry another man. He faced a lot of backlash but that first step led to a lot more freedom and acceptance in the realm. Today, many people of different genders and sexualities are able to be open and loved by their communities. Gay, trans, lesbian, bi, pan, fluid, they’re all just a part of the people we love. I myself have two dads who have been ruling over our kingdom with peace and love for years.” Virgil’s bright smile then dimmed. “They were the best.”

Nitya looked at Virgil with a sense of empathy and interest. “I think you should all tell me more. Especially about why you’re here…”

---

“You’re all crazy,” Nitya stated after the teens had finished explaining everything.

They were now sitting all together in the specially made cave that Nitya called home. It had taken the teens here to have somewhere warm and secure where they could converse. And so, the group had basically dumped an entire play by play of what had happened to them in the past four stressful days, ending off with how they had figured out where Nitya had disappeared to.

“Seriously, what possessed you to think that it was a good idea for eight teenagers to travel across the sea to an island notoriously known to be inhabited by monsters hidden in mist?”

Remus shrugged. “Well, when you say it like that, it sounds nonsensical, but at the moment it felt perfectly sane.”

“I don’t think that any right-minded person would deem that sane. But I suppose you all must have someone in the pantheon on your side if you’ve already gotten this far.”

“So, will you help us?” Virgil asked.

Nitya hummed. “I can, but it won’t be in the way you expect it.”

Willow tilted her head to the side. “What does that mean?”

“Listen, even back when I was actively helping people, I charged them. It was how I made a living to support myself and the community. Of course, I don’t need that anymore, but I want something from you guys.”

The group exchanged looks of curiosity. “What can we do?”

“Help me finally leave this place.”

“...Like on our boat?”

“When I say this place, I mean, end my existence on this plane.”

Logan’s eyes widened. “You want us to kill you?!”

“No, ugh, explanations are hard. Listen, I’m half-human half-god.”

“So a demi-god? I thought they were mortals like everyone else,” Everleigh commented.

“Normally, yes, but you see, each child of the gods is gifted a special power when they’re born. I just so happened to be ‘gifted’ the ‘blessing’ of immortality.”

Patton frowned. “You don’t seem very happy about it.”

Nitya sighed. “It was fine the first couple of years. I didn’t grow old like my friends. But that meant I didn’t grow old with my friends. I saw so many souls to their deaths. For a time, it caused me to become a semi-hermit. That’s when I worked on my magic skills to get them to where they are. With the new amount of power I had, I thought I could make the world a better place… and then the whole incident happened and I… left society for good.”

“Oh. is that why you stayed here?” Roman inquired.

“Not exactly. One of my dear siblings came and lectured me on ‘abandoning humanity’. We got into a huge fight and then our godly parent decided to curse us to be trapped on opposite sides of the world. Now I’m trapped here until the end of time. Unless I use a uniquely crafted spell to transfer my power to another.”

“So, you want one of us to take your power?” Logan asked.

“No. That would leave one of you immortal and in the same position as me. I’d never wish that on my worst enemy. But if I divide my power amongst the eight of you, then at the most you’ll all live long happy lives.” Nitya explained.

The group was silent before Virgil asked. “May we have some time to discuss it.”

Nitya nodded. “I’ll give you guys a bit of space and get us something for dinner.”

It walked out of the room, leaving the teens alone in silence. Nobody spoke up. Their conversation was entirely nonverbal, but there was a clear consensus amongst the teens.

This was not a choice to be made lightly. Nitya was offering them powerful magic that would need to be used responsibly. They were young, not even in their adulthood yet. They had a lot of life ahead of them. Any onlooker might say they were nowhere near ready to accept this kind of responsibility.

But the choice was up to them...

And their choice changed everything.

---

A/N: thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this. I'd love to hear what you thought about the chapter if you wouldn't mind commenting. Thanks again for reading! Here's hoping you have a magical day 💜

[5lazarus]

Fen’Harel’s Teeth, Ch. 12: The Dead Complain of Burial

The dead in Crestwood rise, along with people the Inquisitor would rather forget--or be forgotten. Imladris meets the Warden's contact, a Free Marcher with the same name of her surviving sister, and heads to Denerim at the King's behest. The venatori plot, but the Red Jennies have it all well in hand, and Felassan comes in to cut away some loose ends and, of course, keep the king and queen of Ferelden from getting horribly murdered by blood mages.

Read on AO3 here.

“I hate trees,” Dorian complains. “I hate rain. I hate bears! Mud. Campfires. And shitting in a hole.”

“We know, Dorian,” Blackwall says. “We know.” “And you smell,” Dorian says accusingly. “Even before we left Skyhold, you smelled. We should throw you in the lake and see what you summon. Do stink spirits exist, Solas?” “No comment,” Solas says. “Hand me that map, surely this cave can’t be too far.” “No,” Imladris says tetchily. “I know where we’re going. It’s out past the pond.” “You are holding the map upside down,” Solas says. Imladris holds it out of his reach. He sighs. “We have been walking in circles in the rain for hours.” “Because you led us wrong in the first place,” Imladris retorts. “So I’m keeping the map.” “Which you are still holding upside down,” Solas says.

“Fuck,” Blackwall says. “Corpse!” He yells threateningly and charges. Imladris sighs and draws the Fade around her own blade, summoning a fire glyph to stall the advancing corpses in their tracks. It makes them stagger long enough for Blackwall to catch up, and Solas rains down lightning as she swings at them. At least the Fallow Mire had its own ambience, she mourns. Though they have drained the lake and sealed the rift, the unburied dead still remain--and the last of the spring rain. They fight their way through corpses only to be attacked by live bandits, whose lives they helped save from the dead. Normally Blackwall or Solas would attempt to reason with them, but both of them just channel their damp aggression into whacking them away. Dorian reanimates a bandit that Imladris kills by accident; she is not amused. The dead should stay dead, not stand up to chitter about their burial. “Let that spirit go,” Imladris snaps. “By the Dread Wolf! I’m serious, Dorian. I’ve had enough of corpses.” “Spoilsport,” Dorian says, cutting the spell. “I was going to ask it for directions.” Blackwall leans towards Solas. “Can you do that? Ask spirits for directions?” Solas says, “Only if I prefer the journey to the destination. If it is not raining, and if corpses aren’t crawling out of the roads. Inquisitor, may I have the map?” Horror dawns as Imladris looks down at her empty hands. She gazes down the road, where a mud-splattered piece of parchment flutters in the breeze. Solas follows her gaze and sighs. Dorian grins. “It’s not too late, you know. I can bring it back up.” They reach the camp at Three Trout Farm without further incident and decide to rest for the night. Imladris can hear the dragon down in the ruins growling in its sleep. In the morning they will go searching in the hills for the cave where Hawke and their warden contact hide, this warden who has her surviving sister’s name. But Imladris has thought of the undead long enough, and after she strips out of her wet clothes, she lays down on her bedroll and drifts. Sleepily she listens to Dorian torment Blackwall and Solas for smelling like wet dog and wet sheep respectively, though they all are a bit rank. Perhaps before they go up to the caves they can bathe in the pond quickly, if Blackwall can handle being nude around a woman who is not interested in him. Dorian changes subjects after Solas points out that he is drenched in the liquified flesh of the dead after a fire spell gone horribly, horribly right, and brings up the dragon. “So it’s sleeping in Tevinter ruins,” he says. “We should take a look, when this is all over. When someone chases it off.” “Meaning me,” Imladris mutters. “Naturally, you’re the Inquisitor. You should...inquire about it,” Dorian says. Blackwall groans. “Oh, shut up, you great lump, it’s not like you can do better.” “Inquisit,” Blackwall says. “That’s a verb, isn’t it?” He pulls off his socks, and everyone groans. “Vishante kaffas, put those back on!” Dorian barks. “Are you trying to kill us?” Solas opens the flap of the tent to air out the stench. Imladris leans on her arm, awake now. The rain comes hammering down, but their wards keep the camp from flooding. They can see lights at the herbalist’s house. Imladris can taste the manipulation of the Fade in the air--but nothing seems sour in the crisp night, so she leaves it alone. Solas says, “I am curious how this region changed hands. There is an old elvhen ruin near here, where those who dedicated themselves to the Halla-Mother’s service dwelled. They would have put up a fierce resistance to any human incursions. One wonders how so proud a people fell.” Imladris stares at him. “Do you think you can find memories that old? In the Fade?” Solas smiles slightly. “They are not so distinct, but more like a cacophony, sometimes even a chorus, of memory. If there was a conversation remarkable enough that a spirit still acts it out, after all the grief this land has seen...well, I will find out eventually.” “How does it work?” Dorian asks. “Is it like a library?” “It could be,” Solas says. Dorian narrows his eyes. “Could be? Or would it be to me? What do you see it as?” “Memory,” he says, amused. “It is difficult to explain. Time and fact are not so fixed, in the Fade, and even one’s impressions are shifting the landscape. I orient myself along the most powerful markers, and explore that way. You may see it as a library. The Inquisitor--you studied archaeology, did you not? The Inquisitor may envision it as uncovering some fabulous artifact as she scraps away layers of soil. And Blackwall--” “Blackwall doesn’t want to know,” Blackwall retorts. “It just...mirrors yourself?” He shudders. “I don’t know how you stand it.” Solas looks at him pityingly. “And I cannot understand how it must be,” he says, “to live your life without shaping your own dreams. But rest assured, Ser Blackwall. I will not pull you anywhere that would nettle you worse than you do yourself.” Blackwall says, “Yeah, yeah. And you told me you didn’t know how to play Diamondback.” “I did no such thing,” Solas says, mock-outraged. “I said I was an inexperienced player, and that I do not gamble anymore.” “But you did with me,” Blackwall says. Dorian breaks out laughing. “Ha! I’m not sure you count as a gamble, my friend.” He slaps Blackwall’s shoulder, then grimaces, and wipes his hand on his trousers. “I need a drink.” Dorian and Blackwall begin drinking, because they know by now not to leave Dorian drinking by himself. Blackwall challenges him to a drinking game, to keep him paced. Imladris curls up on her bedroll with the book of poetry her niece and nephew stole from their grandfather. She likes dwarven epic. It’s turgid, of course, and the metaphor gets redundant, but she enjoys how the text marches her back in history. Elvhen meanders, and every word sheds its meaning depending on the context in which it is deployed. Sometimes she likes it when a text says what it means, and means when it says. Solas sits next to her, sketchbook in hand. He likes to draw before he goes to bed. The noise distracts her, and she peers over his hand. He is rapidly drawing the poses of the men before them. He notices her looking and says, “I try to keep in practice.” “An artist and a draughtsman,” Imladris says, smiling. “From making our maps to painting our walls.” “I like to be useful,” Solas says. “And I enjoy it.” She leans back and he puts aside the sketchbook to regard her. “Do you know much about the later history of this region?” “My specialty was the transition from Elvhenan to the early Imperium in the Free Marches,” Imladris says. “I don’t know much about Ferelden. I met Keeper Zathrian before he died, and he told me our people kept mostly to the woods and temples built into the woods and mountains, and we’ve always had a relatively better relationship with Ferelden than the other human nations. Clan Alerion had more tension with the Clayne and the Avvar--but the people in the Brecilian Forest left them well alone.” Solas grimaces. “Well, let us see if we can witness any of those war counsels ourselves. As the anchor makes it difficult to filter my shaping from yours, would you like to walk with me in the Fade tonight?” Imladris says immediately, “Yes.” Dorian drawls, “Oh, you’re going adventuring? Can I come too?” Solas and Imladris exchange a glance. Solas says in his oddly formal Elvhen, “He will try and he will pry, and he will spend the entire night screeching to be let in.” “He’s not a cat,” Imladris replies in kind. She looks at Dorian. “I...don’t see why not.” She does see why not, but Dorian is gleefully drunk, and he is fun, after all. She would prefer to be alone with Solas, but perhaps it is better for them both to be chaperoned. Blackwall says, “Right then. Have fun, good night, don’t get eaten. Do they eat you? Is that how demonic possession works?” “You may come too,” Solas says. “If you’re so curious.” Blackwall looks alarmed, and Dorian laughs. “Don’t worry,” he says. “We all have those kinds of dreams, and Solas won’t let us see anything too shocking. Right?” Solas makes a moue of distaste and says, “Go to sleep, Master Pavus. And see for yourself.”

Anticipation makes it difficult to fall asleep. Also, Blackwalls snores. Dorian keeps tossing and turning on his bedroll, grumbling under his breath, and Solas rolls to his side and gives her a look of such despair that Imladris giggles. Dorian says, “What? Is anything funny? Are we in the Fade yet? Solas, did you do something funny? I’ve always suspected you have a sense of humor somewhere under those stinking rags, did you finally find it?” Solas, rather than dignifying that with a response, pretends to be asleep. Imladris turns her laughter into a cough. “You should get that checked out, Inquisitor,” Dorian purrs. He inches a little too close to her. He smells, but not as badly as Blackwall. “Can’t have you getting us all sick.” “Go to sleep,” Imladris says. “I’m trying,” Dorian whines. “I’m not like our resident Fade expert, who I swear falls asleep standing and with his eyes open. And I saw you curl into a corner in the infirmary and nap sitting down. I cannot do that. I must be prone, with at least a sheet covering my body--it’s bad enough that I can’t sleep in the nude anymore--” “Dorian,” Imladris says wearily, “at this point you’re just keeping me up.” “Misery loves company,” Dorian grins. Imladris resolves to requisition her own tent. Solas can stay with her, and perhaps Cassandra and Varric, if they ask very nicely. As for Blackwall, they will tie him to a tree, to air him out, and Iron Bull can help hold her tent up with his own horns. “And I’m just so lovely to look at.” “I should’ve let the red lyrium eat you,” Imladris says. “Vint.” “Oh-ho!” Dorian cheers, lounging on his elbow now. “We’re on name-calling terms now, are we? Fine, Dalish. You would’ve let the red lyrium eat me, but then how would you have gotten home?” Solas says repressively, “Both of you, hush.” “You’re not my father, don’t tell me to hush,” Dorian says immediately. An awkward pause falls between them all. Solas and Imladris exchange a glance. Once again Dorian’s issues with his father make an uncomfortable appearance. Imladris really does not want to talk about it. She opens her mouth to say that, but, luckily or unluckily, Blackwall farts. They all groan. Solas says firmly, “I am requisitioning my own tent,” and covers his face with his pillow. Imladris and Dorian laugh, and eventually they fall asleep as the rain lashes against the enchanted cloth. 

Imladris finds herself dreaming of a cool foggy morning. She walks over to a tree, where the fog has frozen like a cobweb  around the pine needles. She touches it, and a bell-like song rings out. Dorian stumbles up the path. “Andraste’s arse,” he says. “Is this Solas’ head?” His voice is oddly muffled by the mist. He walks over and examines the tree, which continues to sing. She sits down and watches the crystal-needles weave the melody into the air. “What sort of magic is this?” “It’s beautiful,” Imladris says. “Doesn’t it sound familiar?” The chimes grow deeper and stretch into something wonderfully woodsy, and she breathes in the air. Music played from across the square: where has she heard this before? It isn’t Marcher Dalish, or Orlesian, though there is something in the drone that sounds familiar--closer to the chords she heard elvhen from Tevinter pull. Dorian hesitates. “Almost,” he says. “Like music from another room….” Then the wind waves it sweely away, and Solas comes hurrying by, talking animatedly to a spirit in very old Elvhen. Imladris strains her ears to catch it, if it were written down she could understand it, but then Solas stops suddenly. The spirit fades away. Imladris blinks: it had a shape, what did it look like? It felt like home, but it is gone now. Forlorn, she looks at him. “Well,” Solas says. He touches the tree, narrowing his eyes at the frozen needles. “This is an old spell, but not quite the age I was looking for. After the arrival of the Alamarri, but before the Dalish began to spar with the Clayne.” “What is this?” Dorian asks. “It feels--it isn’t malicious.” He sounds uncertain. “Elvhen magic,” Solas says, amused. “Shartan’s folk, who stopped at the Dales and kept walking, and joined their kin who had retreated into the deep woods and shunned dealing with mankind. Even now, the Dalish of the Brecilian Forest are leery of outsiders.” Imladris has always found Clan Zathrian perfectly friendly. She says testily, “For good reason.” “Indeed,” Solas says. His hand drops from the tree. “But, to answer your question: this is a memory of a journey of a vhenadahl, whose Keeper brought it along the Long Walk to Halamshiral--and then kept moving. Unfortunately the words are lost, but the sentiment remains. That wanderlust…” he trails off wistfully. “But they found home eventually,” Imladris says. “And kin.” She looks up at him and wonders at the rueful expression on his face. Solas offers her his hands and helps her up to her feet. She brushes pine needles off her clothes, which disappear before they reach the ground. Her clothes are white, edged with red embroidery, something casual she’d wear in spring, sticking close to home. She looks at Dorian, who is flamboyant in turquoise and purple silk. Solas, in contrast to both of them, wears his usual shirt. “So--what are we looking for?” “Do we need a destination?” Solas asks. Dorian says, “How have you avoided getting your mind eaten, friend?” Solas laughs. He is easier here. The fog recedes as they walk, and a clean valley emerges, sea salt spraying over the bright embrium blooms. Solas pauses to pick one as they walk, and when Dorian isn’t looking, presses it into her hand. It turns to something else as she looks at it, suddenly the thin silver chain of a necklace, and then it is gone as they meander to the shore that sketches itself out green into blue along a shadowy horizon. There is a small fire and there are people gathered around it, whispering intently. Night falls and one of the spirits looks over at them and says, simply, “Decide.” It wears her mother-in-law’s face. Dorian jumps as it looks at him, and Imladris grabs him to keep from stumbling. It looks at Solas and says, “Ma halani, lethallin.” Help me, cousin. It begins to rain and they are in the tavern, and they can hear the teenagers giggling upstairs.   “Ah, wonderful,” Solas says. “Is this really the most interesting thing to happen here?” The spirits peer down at them from the rafters and nod in unison. Then they fade from view, and go back to mimicking the teenagers dry humping. Solas sighs. “Let’s keep walking,” he says. “One would think a inn that survived a Blight and a flood would have a more interesting story to tell.” “What the fuck is going on?” Dorian says. Solas says, “Keep moving,” and gently pushes him onward. Imladris takes Dorian’s arm and they are walking along the shore again, which is now bright and white, in the golden light of a summer morning. A fisherman drags his nets along the beach. He looks up at them and wishes them a good day. Imladris hears it in five different languages. They are awash with a sense of the profound: this man is having a good day. Then Blackwall looks at them dolefully and says, “You don’t know what I’ve done!” He is holding a very expensive porcelain doll, with real elf hair and eyes that blink slowly as they fold their dreams into his. Imladris sees flames behind him, and a woman wails, or perhaps she does. Solas says firmly, “Wake up.”

“This must be the first time they’ve seen people like us,” Solas muses happily. “I wonder what they think of the giants passing their home.” “Yes, very cute,” Blackwall says impatiently. “But my boots are soaking and somehow, Inquisitor, I don’t think this is the cave the Champion told us to look for.” “Dorian has the map,” Imladris says defensively. “Had.” Solas is watching the nugs scurry off fondly. She is damp, cold, and slightly annoyed, but she cannot help but smile at him. She wonders if nugs dream, and if Solas has spent time investigating. Dorian rotates the map and squints. “There should be a passageway…”

“We thought that yesterday,” Blackwall says. “And yet here we are. In the damp. Again.” “Fine,” Dorian says. He shoves the map at Blackwall. “You try, then.” Blackwall takes the parchment and holds it up to the torchlight. “Dorian,” he says, voice carefully level, “this is a map to the Fallow Mire.” “Ah,” Dorian says lamely. “But it was in the sack!” Imladris says, “You mean the sack of supplies meant for the scouts at Caer Bronach, who were trying to map a pass from the Mire through the Frostbacks?” “Oh,” Dorian says. “Shit.” They backtrack to camp and Solas takes a map from Charter, with Blackwall hovering over his shoulder and making unhelpful suggestions. He is the only one who has ever been to this region before, and even then, he spent most of his trip sleeping. As they wander through the plains and caves of Crestwood, Imladris notices signs that slavers have been through--and been driven off. They find evidence of a pitched battle near the cave Hawke marked for them on the proper map. A few corpses with tattered red bandanas around their rotting skulls lie in a grove of trees at the foot of the hill. A man with a gold earring left untouched by the crows hangs from the tree. “Blind Men,” Imladris says. “Dead for two weeks, maybe.” Dorian is already reaching across the Fade. “I can ask why--” Imladris shakes her head. “Leave them be. Let’s burn the bodies and move on.” Blackwall says, “Inquisitor, we should leave them to rot. Or get that Sister Vaughn to do something about them. If she would.” “No,” Imladris says firmly. “We can’t delay. Not with the Breach. Not with the Veil so thin. And the villagers will want to take their land back, it’s almost planting time. Let’s leave it clean for them. They’ve dealt with the dead enough.” Solas sighs. “We’re already late for the rendezvous.” Imladris says, “Do you honestly believe the Champion of Kirkwall would be on time?” “Fair point,” he says, and with a quick lash of electricity, he cuts the body down. They burn the bodies and bury the ashes underneath the tree. It is better than so many of their victims get, but Imladris is used to the resentment and channels it to burn the fires hotter and faster. She is procrastinating, she knows it, and she is procrastinating by pretending to do good. She’s showing off quite nobly to her companions. She always tries to bury bodies when she finds them, it’s part of the duty of any sensible elf. The dead rise too easily if they aren’t treated well, whether they were kind to their neighbors or not. Halla’den was left out to rot in the Witchwood, and it could very easily have been her too. How many times has she nearly bled out? The stink of burning flesh reaches her nose but she does not retch, not like Dorian, who has never seen a battlefield. Blackwall shifts uncomfortably. “Maybe we can move downwind?” he suggests. “Take a bath? So we don’t show up smelling like, uh, cremated corpses?” Imladris says, “I’ve become too used to the smell.” Dorian says, “Well, I’m not. Let’s put it to a vote. All in favor for taking a break and taking a bath before finding the Champion? All in favor? Alright. Now, where’s a bath?” Imladris lets them delay another day, running errands back at Caer Bronach. They bathe, search for a missing spy and get ambushed by venatori for their troubles, and fight a wyvern that tries very hard to gore Dorian to death. They don’t have a formal rendezvous, she tells herself. It’s fine. Hawke and their Warden contact can wait. Back at Caer Bronach, sipping hot cider by the fireplace, Imladris broods, wrapped in a slightly itchy blanket. Hawke’s warden friend is named Ashara. She has a sister in the Wardens named Ashara, but it’s a relatively common name, and they recruited heavily amongst the elves after the Blight. She hopes it is her, she hopes it is not. She does not know what she would say. It has been almost twenty years. It would be easier if it weren’t her, but when has her life ever been easy? Ashara would be hearing her Calling. Wardens get two decades if they’re lucky, before they start to go mad. Imladris thinks, she’s probably dead already, left unburied in the Deep Roads, for the darkspawn to eat--if she’s not taken in by Corypheus. What options! She doesn’t know which to hope for. Dorian takes the chair next to her, wonderfully well-groomed. He has oiled his moustache, and smells of freshly-pressed lavender and a hint of summer rain. He opens a book, raises it to sardonically gaze over, and says, “You’re brooding.” Imladris says, “You smell like--what, summer rain on the heath? Is that what they sell in Orlais?” Dorian grins. “An attempted bribe from a courtier, that I shared with Josephine. Bite the hand that feeds. But you’re avoiding the point, my friend. You don’t want to see Hawke, do you?” Imladris says sniffily, “We must find out Corypheus’ connection to the Wardens’ disappearance. That is what matters, and my feelings--what I may or may not feel--are irrelevant.” “Mm.” Dorian closes the book, confirming Imladris’ suspicion that he brought it merely to set the scene. “Is it Hawke, or the Warden that’s bothering you? Or should I call over Solas to ask you, if you don’t want to tell me?” “Tell me what?” Solas comes by, freshly shaven and wrapped in a heavy white wolfskin. He settles next to her. “I’m forcing the Inquisitor to talk about her feelings,” Dorian says. Solas pauses awkwardly: about him? Imladris wants to escape. “About whatever’s got her delaying finding Hawke and the Warden.” Solas says, “Ah. I did not mind the opportunity to wash my clothes, but yes. We could have delegated some of the quests Charter and the villagers set you.” Imladris says, “They need to know that I’m a real person. Not a Herald of anything. Just someone, passing through.” “That sounds noble, and I commend your spirit,” Solas says, “but conveniently avoids the truth.” “Multiple things can be true at once,” Imladris says. “Yes,” he says, “I’m aware of what dialectics are.” Imladris shoots him a glance--he learned dialectics in the Fade? “You are still avoiding the point. And relishing a little, I think, in making yourself miserable with burying the dead.” “Well, they do keep rising,” Imladris says lamely. “Boo,” Dorian says. “Try again.” Imladris rises suddenly, blanket falling back into the chair, and sets the mug of cider on the floor. “Speaking of the dead,” she says, “I should rest.” She flees towards the room Charter set aside for them. Alas, it is not empty. Blackwall sits on his bunk, carving a piece of wood. He holds it up to her. “It’ll be a doll,” he says. “Maybe. Are your girls too old for toys?” She sits at the bed across from him. “Mirwen isn’t,” she says. “But she has really been liking chess. Leliana taught her, and it’s all she’s been talking about.” Blackwall shakes his head. “Clever girl. She’s the one who likes jousting, isn’t she? I’ll make her a knight.” Imladris smiles. “Before all this, my brother and I were talking about taking her to the Grand Tourney. They don’t allow elves to compete, but there’s always money to be made.” She needs an excuse to talk to the servants of the most powerful members of the Marcher nobility, and the Tourney allows that. Blackwall, though, doesn’t need to know that, however sympathetic he seems. Let him think she’s referring to her Carta connections, or her time as a mercenary, or even something more salacious. It is always better than the truth. “Nice,” he says. “Just keep an eye on her. I competed once, you know. Wish I stuck to it. Might’ve ended up a better man, training as a chevalier.” Imladris stiffens. “No, you wouldn’t,” she says shortly. “Not in Orlais.” Blackwall glances awkwardly at her face and says shamefaced, “Ah. You’d know, I guess.” “Indeed.” She pointedly lays down and turns her back to him, curling in on herself. Briala made sure the chevaliers left Val Royeaux and Halamshiral alone. It was in the smaller cities, and on the battlefield, where they ran rampant--or hosting their graduations at bars a little too close to where the reckless youth of the alienage liked to linger. But they always ran amok in Wycombe, until they began burning them out. Blackwall says, barely above a whisper, “Sorry.” He goes back to scraping the toy into shape. Imladris stares at the cold stone wall and tries not to think. She wants to go to sleep without any consciousness. She doesn’t want to see what she has carried into the Fade, if she has left a literal imprint on the collective imaging of Crestwood. She envies the dwarves, sometimes--to just sleep without danger! Without self-revelation. But, as Solas would say, is that really so interesting? Blackwall clears his throat. “So, that dream last night. Pretty weird. Imladris says, “Mm.” “Solas apologized afterward, when we all woke up,” Blackwall continues fearlessly. “Says he underestimated the ability of the Anchor to draw--uh--‘sympathetic spirits’ into the same realm. Though I don’t think he meant literal spirits. Just us.” Imladris says, “What are you trying to tell me? I’m tired, Blackwall. If you’ve got something to say, just say it.” Blackwall says, “The fire. That was burning a woman alive. And then you’ve been touchy about seeing the Warden since. Do you want to talk about it? Because I’ve done my fair share that I regret.” Imladris rolls over and faces him. She says in one angry burst, “I killed a woman and her children, and my sister took the blame. The Grey Wardens conscripted her. Her name was Ashara. One of Hawke’s Warden contacts is also named Ashara. They are likely not the same woman, it’s a common enough name. She’s probably dead. We haven’t gotten a letter from her in years--you know how the Wardens are about families. But I’ve buried one sister already. I want the dead to stay dead.” Blackwall puts down the wood-carving and places his knife in its sheath. He laces his fingers together and stares at her over his hands. Imladris stares back, face blank. He says, “Don’t we all.” He gets up and walks out of the room. She has touched some hurt there, and she should ask what it was, but she’s too angry with herself to get up and go after him. Instead, Imladris curls in on herself and pretends to fall asleep. Solas and Dorian clamber in, the former quieter than the latter, and climb up to their top bunks, trading quips. Blackwall does not come back. She falls asleep to the sound of her companions’ breathing. If she dreams, someone does her the kindness of keeping them carefully blank.

They climb into the caves and leave a gorgeous day behind. Luckily, Dorian brings the smell of the floral valley with them, which mixes noxiously with the cave damp. “You smell like an Orlesian brothel,” Blackwall grumbles. He has not slept. “Especially with the mold.” “Ha!” Dorian says. “As if you could afford it. More mold, less Serault parfumeries, methinks.” They pass by a few squealing nugs and reach a wooden gate with the Blind Men’s sign slathered over it. Blackwall slams his shield into the door, knocking it down, and yells. Imladris rapidly barriers him, heart pounding. He is almost as bad as Cassandra, running blind into fights. “Maker’s breath!” they hear a person yelp. “Chill. I’m just trying to eat my salad greens.” “Hawke,” Imladris says. She cuts the spell as Blackwall lowers his shield. “Has to be.” Solas says, “I read The Tale of the Champion, and thought Varric exaggerated the dialogue. It appears I did not give him enough credit. Perhaps he should have based it less on real life.” Her companions enter first, and she delays. Dorian nudges her onward. Taking a deep breath, Imladris enters, and sees Hawke in rather nondescript leather armor, eating arugula out of a wooden bowl. A woman sits a bit away from them, playing solitaire on the cave floor. She glances up from her game. “By the Dread Wolf, Immo’,” Ashara Ashallin Lavellan says. “What the fuck happened to your face?” Hawke says, “Why does everyone I know always know each other? Thedas can’t be that small.” They look at Solas. “Do I know you? Do I know anyone you know? You ever met a lady who could turn into a dragon?” Ashara says, “Oh, Hawke, I forgot to tell you.” She points at Imladris. “That’s my sister, somewhere under all those scars. Damn, you make me think I got lucky, getting taken by the Wardens. What happened, Antoine finally catch up with you?” “Yes,” Imladris says shortly. “Ah,” Ashara says lamely. “I suppose you don’t want to talk about it.” Hawke says, “Are we intruding? I feel like we’re intruding. We can go elsewhere. Except, well, we can’t. Did you deal with the bandits? We can deal with the bandits.” “We dealt with the bandits,” Dorian tells them. “We dealt with everything. Except for the dragon.” Hawke says, “You know what? Let’s go deal with that, while you guys...catch up.” Dorian looks like he is about to protest, but Blackwall grabs him by the shoulder and manhandles him out of the cave. Hawke slips their arm into his and together, they frogmarch him towards the entrance. Solas lingers, but she waves him off. “Try and help Blackwall keep Hawke from getting everyone killed,” Imladris says. “We’ll meet you at Caer Bronach.” “As your wish, Inquisitor,” he says, “though you overestimate my influence.” She squeezes his hand and then pushes him gently. He goes, and the sisters watch him walk away. The years haven’t been kind to Ashara, but they haven’t been easy to her either. They take stock of each other. Ashara’s hair is graying, early for an elf. The whites of her eyes are gray from the Taint, and she hums as she watches Imladris watch her. Her fingers restlessly tap on her thigh. Her vallaslin, Dirthamen’s own, is faded. She has a new cut on her neck. She looks haggard. Imladris knows she likely looks the same. The cave grows quiet at Imladris shifts uneasily on her feet, waiting for her sister to say something. It has been twenty years, or thereabouts. Ashara sits cross-legged on the ground, playing with her cards. She swipes them up, shuffles the deck, and deals them again. Imladris watches her put a two on an ace, wrong suit. She tries to catch her eye, but Ashara looks away. Her humming grows louder, more insistent. She keeps changing pitch, and it makes Imladris uneasy. Suddenly, desperately, she wants her to stop. “So,” she says. “Why didn’t you write?” Ashara gestures at her cards. “Sit. If we’re going to get into this now, you might as well make yourself comfortable.” She deals three cards in front of her: three of clubs, two of clubs, jester. “The future’s not looking good, lethallin. I’d let that man go, if I were young.” Imladris breaths out harshly. “I don’t have a man. He died. Why didn’t you write?” Ashara looks at her wryly and sweeps the cards back into the deck. She shuffles them as she speaks. “Wardens don’t have families, Immo’. They don’t have sisters or sons. It’s...it’s easier to make a clean break. Because there was no way I would be able to come back.” “I think I found your diary,” Imladris says. “In the Storm Coast. I found these pages, about a woman singing the hymn to Andruil...I hoped it was you. I was afraid you were dead someplace, unburied, alone.” “Oh, baby, the Wardens don’t let you die alone. Not even in the Deep Roads. Though we don’t always get our own burial.” She reaches for her hand. Imladris grasps it tightly. Ashara continues, “We were in the Storm Coast, me and Anders and Loghain--yes, that Loghain, would you believe he’s not that bad? He’s with the others.” She pauses. “Not everyone listened to Clarel, bless Dirthamen’s name. Some of us have sense to break from the fucking Weisshaupt death cult. Idiot Orlesians, Immo’. We thought Antoine was bad, but by the Dread Wolf! I’ll take guarding a caravan out of Val Chevin over planning an excursion with the Orlesian commanders.” Imladris blinks, nonplussed. This is utterly irrelevant. Of course Orlesians are annoying, even if they are Wardens first. She doesn’t understand why, after twenty years, this is the first thing her sister says. Ashara has always been mercurial, but not like this. Isn’t she glad to see her? Isn’t she happy they’re both still alive? It hasn’t been easy, these past twenty years. “Ashara,” she says,  “don’t you want to know how we’ve been? Don’t you want to know how I’ve gotten here? Your son, he’s such a wonderful boy--man now, I should say.” “Don’t,” Ashara says. “Imladris, don’t. I don’t want to know. I don’t want it in my head. I have enough in my head. I don’t want to know. I can tell things went bad. I don’t want to know. Listen, I know Hawke told you that we’re all hearing the Calling. It’s a relief to know it’s not a Blight. We can’t leave Thedas unprepared when the next archdemon rises. We’ve got at least fifty of us who’ve decided to ignore Clarel. The others--well, they’re only half-heartedly hunting us. And really it’s just Loghain they want, but we sent him onward to the Inquisition. He’s technically exiled from Ferelden, anyway, does your fortress count as Ferelden? Or Orlesian? Or have you carved your own little state in the Frostbacks? That sounds like something you’d do.” Imladris is incredulous. Ashara had always been single-minded, but she had never been selfish. She doesn't even know what to say. How can she not want to know? If she had been taken from her home and her children, all she would want to talk about was home. She doesn’t understand what is happening.  She persists, “We took back the Friendly Homes, we’ve got support in Wycombe. Even after what I did. Our cousins in the alienage--” Ashara says, “No. Stop. I’m a Warden. This isn’t my business. We don’t interfere. I don’t want to know. I don’t have--I’m a Marcher Warden. It’s nice that I get to see you, before the Calling takes me entirely. I guess. But, Imladris, I don’t want to know. There’s no point in it, and it’s just going to--” She takes in a breath. “Are you fucking that flat-ear?” “That’s irrelevant,” Imladris says. “I don’t want to talk about that. Why are you asking me that? I don’t understand. Ashara, what--you know, I have two children now. Girls. They look just like their father. His name was Mahanon. It’s been four years since he was killed. We were staying at the alienage, and--” Ashara puts up her hand. “Imladris, stop. You don’t want to tell me this. I don’t want you to tell me this.” “You asked.” She’s getting upset now. “Ashara, you asked. I’m your sister, Ashara. Ashara Ashallin Lavellan, I’m your sister, and--” “Just Ashara, lethallin,” she says. “I lost my clan and gained a new family when I did the Joining. You don’t understand, and I hope you don’t, because I don’t think you could survive it. Call me Ashara, lethallin. Please, I don’t want to talk about the past. Tell me--what is that castle in the Frostbacks like? I heard you have an arcanist from Orzammar. Is she studying the Blight?” “What the fuck, Ashara?” Imladris gets up. “You’re--you are of Clan Lavellan, daughter of Ashalla Hawen’s daughter and Baranduin Lavellan--you can’t say the Calling’s taking that away! You are my sister! What the fuck, you mean you don’t want to know? That it’s not your business?” She’s angry now, and the cave begins to shimmer as heat pools in her throat and behind her eyes. She forces herself to take a breath, and pushes the rage back. Ashara watches her with interest, hand on her pomell. Her gauntlets have griffons inscribed on them. Ashara says, “I do what I can to get through the day. Better we get over this now than in front of the shem.” She smiles slightly. “You still have a temper.” “You’re still an asshole,” Imladris snaps back. “A letter would’ve been nice. Something for your son. For us. Especially when Revas was captured. So I knew at least one of us would survive.” Ashara says, “This isn’t survival, the darkspawn are going to take me in a year, regardless of what this crazed magister does.” Imladris freezes. Her sister sighs. “Why I said--there’s no point in getting too attached. I’m dying. Mahariel and the rest are looking for a cure but they’re next. It’s inevitable. As inevitable as the Blight.” “Banal’nadas,” Imladris says. The Blight is inevitable. Nothing is inevitable. Elvhen is a language of intents and in this moment she means both. The past year has taught her that. The red lyrium creeps, and a darkspawn magister claims that doom is upon the world, but she has turned back time and sewn the heavens back together. Her sister is still alive. She says, to hurt her, “Halla’den died.” Ashara puts her head in her hands for a second. She looks up at her and says, “And you call me an asshole.” She laughs. “Fine. You win. Tell me what happen, and we’ll cry in each other’s arms, and come stumbling down to the dragon and save them from being killed and laugh about it, and when I die you’ll tell Samahl solemnly that I kept the darkspawn back and no one will feast upon my corpse, rotting alone in the Deep Roads, with Loghain’s eyeless body behind me. Because the darkspawn like eyes the most. So I’ve been told. So I’ve noticed. But we just won’t think about that, will we?” Imladris slides against the cave wall and sits back down. “I don’t want to fight,” she says helplessly. Ashara says, “You always do.” “That’s not true. I wasn’t the one who started the feud with the Werrin boys.” “You certainly were the one who ended it. I thought you were going to kill him, you beat him that badly.” “But I didn’t,” Imladris says. “And you hit him first. I just made sure he stayed down, and wouldn’t come after us. And Gadden Cadash gave us good money for cleaning up the warehouse district.” Ashara says, “Yeah. But we don’t do that anymore, do we, Inquisitor?” “Not for a long time.” Imladris smiles thinly. “Not since I killed Antoine’s wife.” Ashara says, “Is Samahl at Skyhold?” “Yes,” Imladris says, eying her. “And Revas’ twins. And my girls. A few others, that you wouldn’t know. Some people we took in during the Blight, some I met when Deshanna moved us out of the city proper.” Ashara says, “Ah. Perhaps it is inevitable, then. I can never have it easy. Can we do this over? I’m scared. I don’t want to do this. I’m tired of doing things I don’t want to do.” Imladris says, “If you’re expecting sympathy--” She stops herself, and makes herself look. Ashara is tapping again, rhythm erratic, and her eyes are wide. Her skin is waxen and her face is hollow. She looks ghoulish already. Imladris realizes suddenly--she is dying, and she is dying badly, and she is terrified and ashamed. Ashara deserves better than this. Ashara will not get what she deserves. She says, “I wanted to see you. I missed you. But I didn’t want to see you like this.” Ashara says, “Me neither, Immo’. Me neither.”

Hawke and their Wardens leave to scout the Western Approach. Leliana and Josephine come to Crestwood with more news: there are venatori in Denerim, and King Alistair wants them dealt with. Imladris supposes it is a fair trade for the Inquisition’s increasing hegemony over the roads. When the roads dry, they set out. Her companions are tactful enough not to ask after her sister, and why she left so hastily. Some things, as Ashara reminded her, cannot be borne. It is better not to think about it. It is better not to know. Spring in Ferelden brings the damp. They are all grouchy and footsore by the time they enter Denerim’s ruined citygates. Sera says, “What a shithole. Glad I left.” Josephine says, “Please do not say that to anyone that is not us.” Sera says, “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry. Not like anyone besides us listens. It’s squelch season.” She stomps in a particularly gross mud puddle, spraying Varric. Varric gives Imladris a long-suffering look. “I just want to get drunk,” he says. “Are we going straight to the palace, or did you rent us a house of our own?” Leliana, it turns out, has commandeered the Chanter’s House near the alienage, with Bann Shianni Tabris’ written permission. It is a beautiful Orlesian-style parsonage, large enough that she has her own room, and she heads there to avoid the clatter of the Inquisition as they prepare for their entrance into Denerim’s court. The room is small, built for a Chantry mother, but Leliana was kind enough to have most of the Andrastian imagery removed. Imladris likes the blue wall paint. Over the head of the bed a statue of Andraste wreathed in flames hangs. Imladris leans against the dresser and stares at it. She’s not in pain. Her expression is quietly mournful--but that is the story of the divine Andraste, isn’t it? She kept silent even as she burned alive, so noble that Maferath killed her himself. Imladris wonders what Leliana is trying to tell her with this, if anything at all. She’s seen women burned alive; Duke Antoine’s wife screamed and cried and tried to run out of the carriage too, a flaming torch across the flat fields of her newly-enclosed manor. Imladris reaches out and takes the statue down. She puts it in the dresser, washes her face, and glances out the window. Denerim is dirty and loud. Queen Anora is attempting to introduce a public works bill to pave the roads and bring magelight to the streets, but it seems unlikely to pass the Bannorn, especially with Arlessa Mahariel gone. Imladris watches people dart down the street. A man pulls a screaming toddler away from the road, a dwarven crier yells at a man on a horse for splattering her with mud, and an elf runs across the rooms out of the Alienage and into the city proper, scaling the jump in one magnificent leap, and she winces in sympathy as they scramble over the roof and keep running. Someone knocks on her door and she lets the curtain fall. Politics, politics: Shianni Tabris does not have a good relationship with Loghain’s daughter, but everyone knows clean roads are better for the city. What they really need to do is invest in better sanitation, and excavate a new aqueduct system like the Dalish had built in Halamshiral. She even knows who would want to design it. The knock echoes against the door, more insistently this time. Imladris sighs and unlocks the door. “Sera,” she says. “Is there a problem?” She wants to be left alone, at least until dinner. “Yeah,” Sera says. “Been a bit gloomy lately, right? Cheer up! Red Jennies want something from you, and you’ll like it. Come out to the alienage, we’ll have some fun.” Imladris is taken aback. “I thought you didn’t like the alienage.” “I don’t like elfy elves. You’re alrightish, but the ones who keep moaning about the lost kingdom and shit? Ugh.” Sera sticks out her tongue and makes a long, graphic gagging noise. She clutches at her throat. For a second Imladris actually thinks she is going to vomit. As she moves out of blast range, Sera grins. “For the Jennies. It’s gotta do with King Knife-Ear and his frigid wife. It’s useful, I swear. Come on!’ Imladris says, “Why not? Alright.” They exit via the kitchen, in plain clothes. Imladris wears a hood to cover her face. There are others with scars like hers in the alienage, of course, but not with vallaslin, though she knows trade between the various Dalish clans and their city-bound cousins have improved since Alistair safeguarded the roads. Sera skips merrily down the street, feet bare. Imladris doesn’t have the energy to keep up and decides to purposefully slow, to check and see if they have a tail. She catches the reflection of a shadow overheard in a mud puddle. She reaches Sera at the entrance to the alienage, gateless since the Blight. She murmurs, “We’re being followed.” “Shit, really?” Sera says. “Here I thought they just wanted to rob us.” Imladris rolls her eyes. She pats the statue of Fen’Harel that marks the entrance, who looks more mabari than wolf. Sera surreptitiously reaches for the other one, too. Some habits die hard; reverence is one of them. They leave the Dread Wolf snarling at the shem behind them, and enter the alienage. The Vhenadahl is monumental. Imladris stops to drink it in. The roots and lower trunk are painted to keep pests away, and then adorned with the marks of every family that still lives there. Further up the branches stretch over the wide square, shading it in the gorgeous bright green canopy. Where Denerim was mostly muddy and dirty, the alienage is clean and colorful--green, red, white. Warden Tabris paid for the streets to be paved and commissioned friends from Orzammar to build them their own sanitation system, the most massive public works project in Ferelden, and she can see the effect it has had in the way that the people carry themselves. Neighbors lounge amongst the roots of the Vhenadahl, enjoying the day. People look well-scrubbed. There is a statue of Andraste flanked by Mythal’s dragons nestled in a nook in the main square, with enchanted flowers chiming softly in the window below it. Thus is the power of one elf with money, the adoration of a nation, and a king’s heart. Imladris thinks: I need to start moving my money from Skyhold to Wycombe, Tabris can’t be the only one looking after us, no one does this in the Marches, we need this in the Marches, I wonder if they still have the blueprints? Of course the water table is different-- Sera interrupts, “Done gawping, yeah?” She waves a hand in front of Imladris’ face. “You there?” Imladris says, “How did they manage to keep the shem from stealing all this? I know they tried to kill Shianni, not long after Warden Tabris had her baby. How?” Sera shrugs. “Well, dunno. Everybody went in, rebuilding after the Blight. And I heard Orzammar owed Tabris a favor. Not that I know, really. I was uptown then.” “Uptown?” Sera looks away from her and sticks her hand into a flower pot. She produces a red ribbon. “See, I’m not shitting you. My Friends’ll meet us here!” They settle down on the cool stone step, sticking their feet into the road. Sera produces a hunk of bread and tears a piece off for her. Imladris rustles around in her robes for a bottle of olive oil. “You are a mom,” Sera says. “You just carry that around?” Imladris says sententiously, “Good olive oil makes any bread edible.” “Even if it’s moldy?” Sera says, ever the skeptic. “What if someone peed on it?” Imladris admits that even the best oil cannot cure that, but if someone is peeing on your bread, she points out, you have bigger problems than just your meal. Sera chews over that. They watch the square and wait for the Friend to find them. She’s never been to Denerim before. She kept to the backwoods on her way to Haven, and Imladris is more familiar with the rivers of the Free Marches and the mountains and plains of Orlais than any of Ferelden’s admittedly parochial cities. It’s nice enough, though. They’ve kept it clean, and despite the wound in the sky, the elves of Denerim go about their business. They have survived so much. Imladris watches a woman yell up at a building. A shutter opens and an old man tosses down a basket and a set of heavy metal keys. The basket bounces off the woman’s head and the keys clatter to the ground. She rubs her head, cursing as she stoops to pick them up, and the old man laughs. As he closes the shutter he notices her watching, and waves. Imladris does not wave back. The woman approaches--short, with a snub nose and closely cropped black hair. She has a dyed-red leather string around her neck, from which hands a pewter charm of the Tree of Mythal.  Imladris rises to her head, brushing the crumbs from her lap. “Aneth ara, lethallin,” she says. “I didn’t know you’d be called to Denerim.” Sera says, “You two know each other?” Rope says, exasperated, “Don’t you ever listen? Yes, Sera, yes. I do indeed know this woman who I’ve lived with for what, twenty years? Minus this one. The Red Jennies joined up with Fen’Harel’s Teeth--that’s Immo’s little, ah, you call it a newspaper? Well, in Wycombe, we all folded in years and years ago. And I didn’t deliver your babies, but I changed some of their diapers.” Imladris grins. “Badly--they always fell off. Sera, we’re part of what we call an aravel. Think trade caravan. My family came to see me in Val Royeaux--but I suppose that was before you joined us.” She holds her arms out to embrace her and Rope grabs her tightly. She stinks of the road and unwashed halla. She hasn’t smelled those grumpy old halla in so long--Master Dennet has her on a sweet Ferelden Folder, who smells just a little better than the halla from home. Imladris says, “I haven’t seen you since Val Royeaux. I thought you were sticking close to home.” Rope says, “I go where I’m sent. And lucky for you, the Friends in Denerim thought they could make this simpler using someone already connected to you. Since, of course, the Friends of Red Jenny do not officially have any sort of coalition with Chantry organizations, isn’t that right, Sera?” She stares at her. Sera says, “What are you looking at me for? I didn’t make promises! You told me to get a few favors, give a few favors. Isn’t that what this is?” Rope shakes her head. “We train them better in the Marches,” she tells Imladris. “Sorry, I said we should’ve sent Charade.” “Hey!” Sera says indignantly. “I set this up, what? Bare minimum, thanks. Give me some gratitude!” Rope waves at her. “Thank you, Red Jenny, for your service, for bringing the Inquisitor here and reminding her that this continent is full of little people not so easily taken in by that glowy hand.” Imladris laughs, and Rope looks at her fondly. “That even when the stupid and the supernatural are afoot, Red Jenny’s got a knife in the dark and another at your back. Well, quit gawking. Did Sera tell you why we wanted just you? No, that would have required her to fully decode the letter, and who has the patience for that?” “Certainly not me,” Imladris says. “The Left Hand of the Divine reads all my mail for me, and I’ve had to stop Lady Montilyet of Antiva from answering it too.” “Exalted circles,” Rope notes. “Let’s go.” Her friend leads them through the sprawling network of back alleys that make up the Denerim alienage. As they retreat from the Vhenadahl, the damp sinks back in. People dart from the shadows, eyes glimmering in the dark. Imladris keeps her hand on her spirit blade hilt. No one tries to mug them, but that might be because of the red ribbon Sera holds in front of them, like a safe passage. This is Red Jenny’s territory, here more than anywhere else. Imladris knows there are Friends across Thedas, but here is where they were born, and here is where they have their most power. “So,” Imladris murmurs to her friend, “when were you going to tell me you still take Jenny orders?” “Not orders,” Rope grits back. “Suggestions. Which you might learn from.” Imladris blinks, a little hurt, but they turn into a doorway only remarkable in how dull it is. Rope shakes the ring of keys the old man had tossed her, and after some poking and prodigy and a healthy amount of cursing in Dalish, Elvhen, and Common, finally finds the right one. They enter the building warily, but no one drops from the ceiling to ambush them. By the hearth stands a man, posing dramatically. Rope groans, ruining his reveal. “Ugh, you,” she says. “Tell Briala to go fuck herself.” “Me!” exclaims Felassan happily. “You’re a Red Jenny now?” Imladris says  in disbelief. Felassan grins. “One of the originals, really. Well, I didn’t help out with the Night Elves. But I’ve been around.” Sera says, “Do you seriously know fucking everyone in Thedas, or are you just like--lucky?” Imladris thinks, I’m not sure it’s luck. She tries to smile at him, feeling a bit embarrassed. In his last letter to her, he had gently steered her towards looking towards other people, for whatever companionship she desired. You can fuck a man but you can’t make him want you; well, she tells herself, did you ever really want him like that anyway? Felassan says, “So, this venatori problem--this year’s really spiralled out of control, hasn’t it?” He chuckles to himself. “Fucking weirdo,” Rope mutters, tactful as always. Imladris is abruptly reminded as to why they all call her Rope: give her enough rope to hang herself, she’ll do it as soon as she opens her mouth. She makes Sera look a diplomat. Felassan says, “There’s nothing wrong with a little Schadenfreude.” He overpronounces the word. “What?” Imladris says. She only knows how to ask for directions and bread in the language of the Anderfels. Felassan looks vague. His hair has a bit more gray in it. It’s rather charming. “Too long to explain,” he says. “But, well, Briala’s spies in the court ran across your man Corypheus’s spies--” “My man Corypheus?” Imladris says, incredulous. “You make him sound like a suitor.” Sera starts giggling. “That’d be a hell of a plot twist. Put that in the Chant of Light and sing it! End of the world, elf saves the world with the power of pussy, all good, weird pointy-eared red lyrium babies at the end. But Coryphits looked like he was into butt stuff, so. Maybe not.” There is a moment of silence where Imladris looks to the ceiling beseechingly, begging for patience, and Rope’s face freezes in disgust. Felassan grins. “I like you,” he says. “You have style. Panache, as they say in Orlais.” “Yeah,” Sera says smugly. “That’s gratitude.” Imladris says faintly, “Briala’s spies found Corypheus’s spies?” Felassan says, “Yes. And she needs a strong Ferelden to keep Orlais in check--make note of that, I know you two like to snipe at each other--so she sent me to tip you off. And I decided, well, it’s been awhile since I’ve enjoyed a really good court intrigue.” “Because Halamshiral gets so boring,” Imladris says. Felassan says, “One craves a change of accent. So they’ve gotten us jobs as caterers for the feast that the Throne is throwing for the Inquisition.” Imladris says, “Caterers? Can you hold a platter? Can you even keep a neutral face?” Rope gestures with her hands a box around her face, hands parallel. She assumes a face of perfect blankness, so of course her natural sense of rage simmers through at the edges of her mouth. Imladris exchanges a look with Felassan. It is not the worst idea she has heard. It might even be fun. “Look,” Rope says. “This is my neutral face.” “You look like a dog just shat in front of you,” Sera observes. Imladris concurs. That is indeed the face Rope makes when something takes a shit in front of her, which has happened surprisingly often. Rope says, “That’ll probably happen. We’re in Ferelden. How many of these nobles have mabari? Too many. We really just need to kill the lot.”

The carpet that covers the great hall of Denerim’s royal palace is old. The yellow flowers have faded into the blue, and while the blue weave is not dirty, it has been bleached pale as a nursery sky. Still, it is soft underfoot and homey, which is better than Skyhold, or the austerity of the sister’s cell she left in the Chanter’s House. It is odd to think of a palace as homey, but King Alistair has made himself comfortable on his brother’s throne in the past ten years, and Queen Anora has kept it clean. The Inquisition arrives in-state, and the court of Ferelden meets them. The King and Queen rise from their thrones as she approaches, Leliana at her back. Technically, as Inquisitor, she ranks as equals amongst the bluest-blood noble of Thedas. Unofficially, no one outside of Ferelden, Antiva, and Nevarra recognize her title, though the Chantry in Orlais has asked for them to stabilize the Dales before planting season. Ferelden will stand for her, but they will not bow. Imladris inclines her head, and King Alistair steps forward. “So!” He claps his hands. “You’ve made it down from the mountains. How exciting. Now, we have a new chef from Orlais, and my wife assures me she’s not an Orlesian spy, so I guess that’s okay. But I need to prove to Leliana that we can throw a feast just as fancy as the nobbiest of Orlesian nobs, so--have you ever Tevinter cheese?” Queen Anora says pointedly, “Welcome to Denerim, Inquisitor. We thank you for your service, clearing the highwaymen from the Crestwood Road, and even escorting our merchant caravans. Ferelden prospers from the Inquisition’s interest. And, of course, the Inquisition prospers too. How did you find Caer Bronach? You will be leaving soon, I hope.” Imladris has to admire her. She never misses a single troop movement. She says, “When Denerim can spare the soldiers.” Josephine had begged her not to directly mention Edgehall, but it stays unspoken between them. If they cannot protect their subjects, she will. Alistair chuckles. “Nice answer.” He still isn’t looking at her directly. He says to Leliana, “Well, let’s party. And parley. Haha.” Leliana sighs, Alistair grins, and even Anora has the trace of a smile on her face. These three survived the Blight together and formed a country out of civil war. Alistair takes Leliana by the arm and starts gesturing her towards the banquet table, where they have indeed laid an impressive array of meats and cheese, puddings and sausages and enough starches to power even a farmer through the cold and wet Denerim spring. The Inquisition set to mingle. Everyone has their purpose. Josephine is chatting up Queen Anora. Iron Bull is trading war stories with Arl Teagan. Cullen and Solas are listening patiently to some bann from West Hills lecture about crop rotation techniques after a Blight. Sera appears to be stealing the silverware. Imladris walks over to her. “Stop that,” she hisses. “No,” Sera says stubbornly. “Look, it’s got weird mage-y shit written on it. Lord Elfybit’s gotta look at it.” “I am a mage too, Sera,” Imladris says, irritated. “Let me see.” Sera hands her the serving fork. Drawn in the most delicately woven streams of lyrium is a poisonous sigil, glowing faintly red. The red lyrium sigil would have contaminated whatever food it touched, sickening and potentially addicting whomever it served. Sera crosses her arms defensively. “See?” Sera says. “Let me give it to Varric. Who’s coordinating this?” “Show it to Leliana,” she says. “Discreetly. I’ll speak to the servants.” Imladris slips away from the great hall, following the smell and warmth towards the kitchens. Servants, human and elves mixed, hurry down the halls, carrying massive plates meant to impress her and her inner circle. Despite their mission, they do not recognize her. They think the military uniform marks her as just another Inquisition captain. She’s not offended. She stands out too much, as it is.The cobbles of the hallway grow warmer and Imladris rounds the bend, expecting to find the kitchen. Someone grabs at her shoulder and she whirls around, calling fire into her fingertips to burn them. “Stop!” Cassandra orders. “I do not mean to startle you.” Imladris lowers her hands and lets the fires smoke.  Cassandra looks pugnacious as always, but of course people say the same of her. Nettled, she demands, “What do you want?” Cassandra’s expression hardens. She keeps an eye on Imladris’ hands. She does not need a staff to be dangerous, but Cassandra can still smite her without a sword. “There are venatori threats afoot. You should not walk unguarded.” Imladris eyes her coolly. Their paths have not crossed much since their spat in Skyhold. “I can hold my own.” Cassandra says, “I know that. But I know the threats of the nobility better than you do. It is easier to face them with someone guarding your back.” Imladris concedes the point. She explains the serving utensil Sera found, redolent of red lyrium, and her suspicion the agents are hiding in the kitchen. It would be easier to go into the kitchens with Blackwall, where they can pretend to be regular soldiers. Cassandra has her Pentaghast pronunciation, after all. But if she keeps her mouth shut and mimes what she wants, Imladris can explain her away as a mercenary recruit from Nevarra. “Like one of Varric’s adventure novels,” Cassandra says slowly. “I see.” Her eyes gleam, and Imladris looks at her curiously. She seems to be enjoying herself. “You read Varric’s books?” Imladris asks, amused despite herself. Cassandra scowls. “As part of my duties as Seeker! The Tale of the Champion was needed in our investigation of the attempted annulment of Kirkwall!” Her cheeks pink, just a bit. Imladris is tickled by the whole idea. She’s embarrassed! But she decides to leave it alone. Venatori are afoot, after all, and they don’t need to be scratching at each other as they fight. The wind changes. The hall grows stuffy and torches dim. The air sticks like leaden water in her throat. They hear a single, wailing note of a bagpipe, and then the drone kicks in. The dance begins, but where? The music is not coming from the banquet hall, and though it has been threatening to rain all day, the air feels strangely electric. “Blood magic,” Cassandra hisses. “In the Royal Palace! Maker’s Breath!” A guitar strums and they find themselves carried onward in its vibrato. Cassandra grabs her and grabs hold of the wall before they enter the servants’ quarters “Wait!” She prays to the Maker, and the music fades in Imladris’ ears. The atmosphere is sticky, but they can breathe. They can control their own limbs. “Two of the musicians, then,” Imladris says. “Should we take them out now, or wait for the concert? I think they’re just rehearsing.” “Rehearsing foul magic!” Cassandra says. Yes, Imladris thinks but does not say. I did just say that. They follow the quiet vibration of the music down the opposite hallway. A faint glow comes from Cassandra’s eyes as she pushes the compulsion of the Fade away. Imladris tests the handle of a door. It’s warm to the touch. She nods at Cassandra. The venatori mages are in this one. “I have never seen music like this,” Cassandra murmurs. Imladris has. Weaving magic into the dance is par for the course for most community gatherings, and a nice way to get drunk. Her brother specializes in luring targets in with a song, when he isn’t trying to get himself commissioned to paint a poisonous painting in the nobility’s bedroom. She supposes he learned that from his Tevinter master--or maybe those Tevinter masters learned that from the elves. She says, “On three.” One, two, and thr--Cassandra charges into the room with a war cry exactly as Imladris was murmuring the word, yelling the Maker’s fury unto the earth. Exasperated, Imladris hurries in after her. Before them the two musicians play in a small, unadorned chapel. The altar is wood and worn. Andraste and her mabari look very, very old. Before the altar King Alistair turns in slow circles as he singsongs, “Of course I miss my mother, the idea of her, but that doesn’t mean I can do anything, Ferelden  comes first--” Cassandra slams her sword into the ground and the spell cuts. Alistair says, “What?” as the venatori throw their instruments away and charge at them. Imladris hastily rings them in fire. They howl. Alistair says, horrified, “Oh, for fuck’s sake--stop it! I order you, stop it! Cut their necks!” Imladris keeps the spell going and Cassandra charges into the ring of fire, overpowering the mages quickly. She kills one quickly and chases the other one. Imladris blasts her with fire, and the venatori goes down quickly. Alistair looks at them angrily. “What was that?” “You were enchanted,” Imladris says shortly. “Sir.” Alistair crosses his arms. He is still moving uneasily from foot to foot. The venatori agents’ spell stirs beyond the Fade. He sings at her, “I don’t like to look at you.” “Really,” she says flatly. “I wonder why.” Cassandra tries to interrupt, but the compulsion still remains. Alistair keeps talking to the beat of dead music. “Those scars,” he says. “All those I can’t save.” His eyes are a little glazed. It’s no excuse. You would think the Hero of the Fifth Blight would learn some tact, especially since her people number among his constituents. He sings, “You wear guilt on your face. I’ve heard that in Wycombe, people tell stories about you to scare their children. Guilt on your face.” Imladris scowls. She tells Cassandra, “You keep him safe. Try and cut the spell before he says something more offensive. I’ll deal with what’s going on in the kitchens.” She walks and does not run out of the chapel, and if the air goes hotter and hotter as she goes by, it is only because she is testing for ambient magic, not because Rage is pulling at her from beyond the Veil. As she heads to the kitchen, a hooded servant brushes past her, carrying a silver ewer studying with rubies. Her nose itches, that’s lyrium, that has to be lyrium, and she turns around--and Felassan and Rope, covered in flour, rush past her. Imladris steps aside, amused. She had been wondering where they ended up, and how exactly Felassan was avoiding Solas. Felassan tackles the servant to the ground, and Imladris winces at the thunk as the venatori’s head gets smashed against the stone ground. Rope leaps onto the pile, dagger drawn. Imladris takes a step back, not sure the melee needs even more flailing limbs added to it. Eventually, the struggle ceases. Felassan, with his back to the hallway, lifts the cloth to check on the corpse, pulling it over himself to shield the gorey sight from view. It is ridiculous. Why is he hiding under the tablecloth? At the mouth of the hallway stands Solas. “Can I be of assistance?” he inquires melodiously. Ah, Imladris thinks. That’s why. That could’ve been revelatory. She glances at Rope, and Rope shakes her head sternly. She squashes the impulse for chaos that always arises when she is around the two of them, and moves Solas along. “No,” Imladris tells him. “We have it from here. Cassandra is guarding the King in the chapel--would you join her?” Solas raises an eyebrow but lets it be. He walks away. When they are entirely sure he is out of earshot, Rope stands over the tablecloth, hands on her hips. “He’s gone,” Rope says. “Thought he’d look more interesting. Just yet another bald hedge mage.” Felassan pulls the sheet off, wiping away the gore of the venatori’s shattered skull. “He looks really good naked,” he assures them. “Hung like a horse.” Rope looks at Imladris. “Well.” Imladris says, “What?” She points to the blood pooling around the cooling corpse. “We need to put that somewhere safe. And don’t touch the ewer directly, it’s embedded with red lyrium. Did they contaminate the food? And why are you both covered in flour?” Rope says, “Well, we saw him adding lyrium dust to the pastry dough, and I happened to have a sack of flour, so I hit him with it.” “Except he ducked,” Felassan adds. “So I tried to trap him in the tablecloth, but he slipped away.” Imladris is exasperated. “Weren’t you supposed to help with catering?” Rope says, “Things changed. They were clever, putting lyrium in the utensils rather than the food. Did you get the musicians? There’s four, over all. Do you have someone guarding the Crown?” She hurries towards the banquet hall, hoping to find Leliana. The Inquisition needs to regroup. Alistair has Cassandra and Solas guarding him, but she isn’t sure who is watching the queen, and there is a whole assortment of Ferelden nobility where just removing one upsets the balance of power across the whole region. If she is going to set off a civil war, she wants to brief the Jennies beforehand. The banqueting and dancing are going on as if the palace weren’t riddled with blood mages. Leliana is watching Arl Teagan dance with the new teyrn of Gwaren closely. Imladris takes her arm. “We’ve neutralized at least three venatori agents,” she whispers. “Solas and Cassandra are with the king. Where’s Anora?” Leliana frowns. “She just left--she was speaking with Madame de Ver. They had a rather biting conversation about the changeability of Orlesian court fashions. Be wary, Inquisitor. Anora has always been brusque, and she may not think of you as an ally when you find her.” Imladris leaves barely after Leliana finishes speaking, hurrying to Vivienne. “Such wonderful furs and such awful stitching,” she muses. “Do you need anything, darling?” “You let the queen walk off by herself?” Imladris says. “I’ve just killed three blood mages! Where is she?” Vivienne looks sardonic. “Then you have it well in hand. Fereldens have always liked a nice show of force. Check the courtyard, Cailan’s cloister. She’s gone there to sulk. And, please--walk, don’t run.” She leaves the banquet hall and begins searching for the cloister. She should have asked for directions, but now she is too afraid to stop. Every delay implies the upset of the very delicate balance of power she is trying to display. She can stabilize Ferelden and guard the king, rooting out spies in his very own palace. Where they fail, she succeeds. She must. She must find the queen, at least before the last venatori does, because what will arls like Edgehall say when they hear the Inquisitor let the queen die? When Gwaren passes to one of Redcliffe’s loyalists? What happens to her people? Imladris stalks the dark halls, nettled by how empty the palace seems. Torches barely illuminate the heavy stone walls, and though her eyes are good, and elves in general see well in the dark, she can barely see through the gloaming night. She conjures her own light, flaring against the Veil, but the magic splutters in her hand like it’d been dunked in a bucket of water. She realizes: blood magic, and she’s getting closer. She walks slowly into the darkness, hand on her hilt, and tells herself she is unafraid. The shadows increase and Imladris can taste the blood magic seep stickily against the Veil. The air is wet and heavy, and she finds herself slowing as she reaches the cloister. The queen stands by a potted orange tree, her back to her. Imladris takes the humidity and crackles it into her fist. The shadows recede, and the queen turns. “Inquisitor,” she greets. Dressed in black and red, Queen Anora looks like a storm crow. Anora plucks an orange dreamily. “Welcome to my arboretum. A later addendum to the palace, with trees specially imported from Orlais.” She smiles thinly. “Oranges and olives and apricots, not like our native mulberry trees. A little garden paradise, in this cold and muddy place.” Imladris says, “Let me see your eyes. We’ve found the venatori, can you feel it? It’s like a storm about to break.” Anora looks at her, glazed over. “I can taste the salt in the air. When I was a child in Gwaren, my mother would take me to the shipyards to see the merchants come in, with goods laden from all around the world--Orlais,” she snorts, “Antiva, Nevarra, Rivain. I dreamed of becoming a Lord of Fortune, like Eleanor Cousland. But Ferelden had other plans for me.” The colors of the cloister flatten. The tree becomes pale, and the orange in Anora’s hand is the only spot of color as she whitens into the background. Her dress becomes a frame. Imladris says, “Anora--queen--” She cannot bring herself to call anyone “my lady.” She huffs, and grabs her by the shoulder. Anora barely reacts. Imladris forces the Veil around them, disrupting the spell. Anora becomes herself again, cheeks reddening in outrage. She shoves Imladris away. “Unhand me, serah!” Imladris puts her hands up. “Fuck--duck!” Imladris twists as she falls to the ground. Anora pulls a dagger from her belt and throws it, staggering a creeping shadow. The darkness recedes, revealing a simple woman in blood-stained homespun. “Vishante kaffas,” the venatori agent sputters. She wrenches the dagger out and pulls at her own blood, and heat pools into the cloister as Rage unfolds out of the orange tree. Imladris draws her spirit-blade and charges, pulling electricity in her wake. Anora is right behind her, and quickly they disable the agent. “Don’t kill her,” Anora orders. Imladris has the woman by the neck. The women look at each other, breathing heavily. The adrenaline fades. The venatori is crying in pain. Imladris lets her go. She hates the sound of wailing, she would rather kill her outright than listen to her bleed out. Anora wipes her dagger clean with a handkerchief. She says, “Inquisitor, I do believe you just saved my life.” Imladris says, “Your health is central to the stability of Thedas. And blood magic is a nasty way to go.” Anora looks over at the wreckage they have left of the garden. The orange tree smolders in its pot. She says, “He built this for Celene. I must thank Corypheus for the excuse to remodel. And bill him, too.” Shocked, Imladris laughs. The enchantment is still at work. She escorts the queen back to the banquet hall in silence, leaving her to her burning thoughts.

[smoke-eyes-fic]

Author’s Notes - Chapter 22

Okay - so new chapter - and I guess some notes to go with. Mainly this is an apology for the long long delay.  And acknowledging the assistance of @cucubert and rabbit-kinder for edits, support, and feedback. Also additional thanks since Cucu wrote a lot of the porn. 

So...the delay... lot of stuff was going on, I was out of town, then I was job hunting and failing. And sulking a lot. Then there was family stuff and then there was Hurricane Harvey. My family and area got out mostly okay but that definitely threw things out of whack. I also was on a bad dosage of meds that I think had a hand in slowing down things a lot. 

Anyways - here’s a new chapter - thanks everyone for your patience. 

As I’ve assured people in the past - I actually have a mapped out plot for this - and we are getting to it. Hopefully I can actually get to it before the heat death of the universe. I have actually promised Cucu that in the event of me ditching this completely I WILL actually post a summary of what was to happen to wrap it up. ONTO THE NOTES!    -mon nounours - supposed to translate to “my teddy bear” which is actually pretty normal as far as French pet names go. Still a bit on the emasculating side for Engie’s taste.  -mon paramour  - my lover 

-Cul - should mean “ass” - my own french is pretty basic so this is all google search and prayers

-Turns out French for cowboy is...pretty much cowboy. Learn something new everyday.  -The anecdote about the cows and the firecrackers is loosely based on my cousins. They raised cattle and in the summer liked to light off pop-bottle rockets. The cows didn’t care - despite how loud and close things got to them. The chickens were never subjected to explosives. 

-How is there a baron in 1940s France? It shall forever remain a mystery.

 I actually wiki-walked and found there are/were families who keep track of their titles - but its more in name only due to a few revolutions. So just - erm - this guy managed to have ties to a title - AND a fancy house. He just exists to be robbed so whatever. 

-The sad tale of young Spy and the painting of the Fallen Madonna is actually a very overt reference to an old BBC comedy called ‘Allo ‘Allo which is set in occupied France in WW2. The painting of Von Klomp’s Fall Madonna (with the big boobies) is a bit of a running gag in it. All sides want it - Germans think they have it - both the Resistance and the Germans have forgeries of it going around. Someone has to pretend to be dead - and also be their own twin. Chickens explode.  Pretty much - as much as I like to NOT establish Spy’s background - I sort of imagine his version of WW2 and the Resistance being a bit like this but he’s not laughing. 

-Drugging dogs is an obvious real spy strategy - waking them up afterwards is usually the way to get away without alerting folks. See The CIA Manual of Trickery and Deception for more helpful hints and information on the Cold War against Castro’s mustache.

-The painting itself being a fake all along is actually based on REAL history. There was a real life forger by the name of Han Van Meegeren  who forged Rembrandts - sold them to various people - then during the war started making them to sell to Nazis and chaos ensued. Fun guy. His stuff probably never made it to France but he’s bonkers enough to be here in spirit in TF2 land. If you want to know more read “The Forger’s Spell” it’s fascinating. 

-Red!Spy is calling a Reference Line - a phone-line run by libraries in a pre-google land. Basically you had a question burning in your soul- you called them - they looked it up and ta-dah. They apparently still exist  

[randylavalley]

15 REASONS WHY YOU SHOULD CONSIDER SEEING A NATUROPATH

WHY SHOULD YOU THINK ABOUT NATUROPATHY?

Today I wish to provide a fast proclaim to the power of naturopathy. If you're also somewhat interested concerning naturopathy or choice and all natural recovery approaches generally, listen up ...

In other words, the naturopathic approach is one that treats the body in its entirety. The goal is always to discover the root cause of a concern, rather than treating symptoms with quick fixes or "bandaid" methods.

15 REASONS WHY

Right here are 15 reasons that you may intend to consider seeing a naturopathic medical professional (ND), yet this is simply the beginning, there are many even more!

You're regularly exhausted or have reduced energy

You continually feel generally unhealthy

You have brain fog or difficulty concentrating

Your joints injured

You have frequent headaches

Your skin is out of whack - rashes, acne, and so on

. Something's up with your gut - bloating, poor food digestion, abnormality, etc

. Your duration is MIA or otherwise uncommon, including excruciating durations and PMS

You're constantly stressed, nervous, and/or cranky

Your regular doc can not clarify why you're really feeling the way you are

You have a chronic illness or problem that western medication has actually not had the ability to deal with properly

The medicines or methods you have actually been attempting aren't functioning

You want to try a much more all-natural approach to recovery your body - less prescriptions as well as more prevention

You intend to check for food sensitivities, inspect your vitamin/nutrient levels, or merely get much deeper solutions and also descriptions regarding the state of your health and wellness

You intend to take your wellness into your very own hands

WHAT TO GET OUT OF A BROWSE THROUGH TO THE ND

WHAT DOES AN OFFICE GO TO ENTAIL?

Maybe you have actually taken into consideration seeing an ND in the past, but you hesitate to attempt something different from the norm. Or, possibly you just don't truly recognize what an ND even does, so seeing one has actually not gotten on your radar. In any case, understanding what to get out of a typical check out can help break down these barriers.

When you go to an ND, expect them to take the time to rest with you as well as hear you out. During the initial check out, you'll most likely enter into wonderful detail concerning your health and wellness history, worries and beyond. Then, for all brows through, you may expect any of the following:

A consumption of your present signs and symptoms as well as what brought you to the appointment

Questions concerning your stress levels as well as points that may be creating tension in your life

A general intake of your existing diet plan - what do you eat for morning meal, lunch, and also dinner?

Demand to see/check your tongue, which can give an initial indication of much deeper problems in the body

A physical exam

A thorough explanation of possible root causes of your signs and symptoms and how it might be impacting your body systemically

THE THERAPY PLAN

After experiencing these preliminary inquiries and queries, the ND will think of a game-plan certain to your specific concerns as well as requirements. This typically will include getting lab-work done in order to inspect anything from standard vitamin and mineral levels to extra complicated and particular problems like heavy metal degrees, autoimmune pens, and more.

As soon as your outcomes remain in, the ND will experience the findings with you and discuss what they suggest in relation to your health. From there, they will customize a therapy strategy certain to your specific demands, which might include any one of the adhering to approaches:

Herbal supplements or remedies

Standard Chinese Medicine (TCM) practices/remedies

Ayurvedic practices/remedies

Homeopathy

Acupuncture

Nourishment suggestions

Various other natural approaches

BUT DOES IT WORK?

Basically, yes it works! Relying on the individual and also their specific health concerns, it may take longer to see outcomes. For instance, it might be a month or more before an all-natural supplement procedure actually starts to show its results. However, as pointed out in the past, naturopathy has to do with getting to the root of the issue, not concerning offering quick surface-level repairs.

In addition, if you are afraid concerning abandoning typical western medication practices completely, the bright side is that you do not have to! Your ND can offer devices that will coincide with and also might boost the efficiency of the conventional approaches as well as medicines you are already using.

Ultimately, you might locate that you no more need the prescription medications you had been making use of, or maybe you still will certainly which's fine also! Everybody is different, however discovering alternate approaches can only indicate potentially seeing choice (normally much better) results.

SO HOW DO I DISCOVER ONE?

All it takes is a fast Google search for naturopathic doctors in your location to obtain the round rolling. When doing your search, you may intend to think about the following:

Does the ND have good evaluations?

Are they certified? Does their educational history take a look at?

Do their solutions appear to straighten with what you're seeking?

Do they approve health insurance? You may intend to call the workplace and ask.

All of these concerns can assist lead you to a fantastic ND that will certainly collaborate with you to begin obtaining your health and wellness back to an optimal place.

ULTIMATELY, A PERSONAL ACCOUNT

For me, directly, adding an ND to my health care group has been so revitalizing. I constantly leave the ND sensation more equipped concerning my health, unlike experiences I've had with family doctors (General Practitioner) in the past. It really felt as though somebody ultimately comprehended what I was experiencing and also really intended to collaborate with me to get to the bottom of it, as opposed to recommending a pill and calling it a day.

When I initially looked for an ND, it was because I was discovering myself tired every one of the time, overly-emotional, dealing with intense mind haze (that made it challenging to do my task daily), experiencing food level of sensitivities, and more.

At first, when I went to my GP with these issues, she recommended contraceptive pill as well as antidepressants. I attempted the antidepressant path, and I discovered myself resting for hours after work every day, lacking desire to do anything at all, and also having all sensations restrained completely. I knew promptly that this approach wasn't mosting likely to cut it for me.

When I finally scheduled a visit with the ND, my only dream was that I 'd done it earlier, due to the fact that what I found after one check out was simply impressive. The results from my lab-work clearly revealed that:

My vitamin D degrees were crazy low

I was additionally reduced in B12 as well as iron

My hormones ran out balance and also my cortisol was totally depleted after being over-heightened for so long

A straightforward blood test revealed all these results as well as more, which explained that my signs and symptoms were just due to vitamin and also hormone imbalances - not anxiety or otherwise.

After adhering to the suggested supplement method, I began really feeling back to my regular self once more as well as it actually didn't take long. Not only did my moods and power improve, yet I didn't need to experience adverse side effects in order to achieve those improvements. I felt like I had my wellness back under control again.

Currently, whenever a health and wellness issue shows up and also I initially most likely to my GP, I regret it and recognize I really need to start with the ND. I locate that the options and also solutions are so restricted with a General Practitioner, whereas with an ND there are many treatment alternatives as well as possibilities. Plus, it is so pleasing to get to the bottom of points instead of treating signs and symptoms without knowing what's really triggering them.

Anyhow, I wish this article has actually been helpful for you! Whether your signs and symptoms are big or tiny, common or not common whatsoever, a naturopath might have the ability to aid you. Not just that, they will deal with you to do what it takes to obtain you to really feeling well once again, with minimal adverse effects and also the least intrusive strategy possible.

Feel free to leave your questions or concerns in the remarks below! Desiring you all the best as well as health!

The post “ 15 REASONS WHY YOU SHOULD CONSIDER SEEING A NATUROPATH “ was originally seen on Well Is More

Discover how naturopathic medicine may help you. Learn more with a Naturopathic Doctor - Dr. Amauri Caversan, ND.

[alexham88-blog]

Few clouds, 88°F

DTX

I will be quick and to the point. I have been gone well over two years. I am unsure of how I want to pursue this journal but I will just focus on completing full reflections until I can no more. 

Bsckground.

I am 30 years old. When I am solo, I spend a lot of time reflecting on what I have done these last 12 years since I turned 18. I compare myself to my colleagues, my friends, my old classmates, and my college buddies. And I see people who have kids, a career, good income, family, goals, plans, or real estate; something to show for their time here. I don’t feel that I have much of any of that.  At best, I have a dog I never really take care of; she has become the family dog. My closest friends are all in relationships, married, or have started families. How can my life compare to any of that. They have money saved, homes purchased, etc. Meanwhile, I am 30K+ in debt and have recently decided to look for a new life.

The Analysis..

So I often times ask myself, “Why have I not done any of that?” I tell myself that maybe I do not care as much about those things, and it is indeed possible. Even as I type this I do not feel a heavy desire or need to find any of these things. I guess I sense guilt in that I have “wasted” these years just wandering about; wasting money, traveling, and just going through most of the motions. What is it that I want in the end? Why do I feel so lost? When a friend talks to me about their qualms, their sense of being lost, I often time assure them that at the end of the day we are lost, and that no one really has it together. I don’t know if I truly believe that as much as I say it. I ask myself what I want, and I describe wanting a business of some sort, wanting to study engineering, maybe law, agriculture... all my major interests. But I do not want to study that just yet. That is the thing. Now that I am 30, I want to use this limited window of opportunity wisely (that’s a matter of perspective).

More Background.

Last November I took a trip with Steph to my beloved Mexico City for a few days during my Thanksgiving break. During that trip, I realized i would be hitting thirty in less than a month, with very little life satisfaction and with limited direction in the near future. I cannot really tell you what I was doing the moment it happened, but at some point during that trip, bearing that prior thought in mind, I decided to focus on accomplishing a goal I made almost a decade earlier. 

Back in Spring 2010, I studied abroad in Monterrey, Mexico. The time I spent there was mostly amazing, but there was a particular trip I took to Mexico City, where I simply felt awestruck and in love with that city. Now that I reflect on that time in my life, I sort of wish I had studied abroad in Mexico City instead of Monterrey. Maybe that would have sped up my current plans or thus eliminated my desires to one day move to Mexico City and live there for a unspecified amount of time with no actualized goal in mind. Well to sum things up, I told myself 9 years ago that I would one day live in Mexico City. I had no idea when or any solid plan on how, but it was just something I told myself and possibly even mentioned to my friend Brendan during that trip.

And so during my November trip to CDMX, I decided, this is it. I’m going to do it. I’m going to just drop it all and move. There were other factors in play of course (job dissatisfaction, student loans wall I ran into), but mostly I just wanted to complete a personal goal I wrote for myself to one day have. People ask me every time, why on earth do you want to go there? ANd I respond I just do. I love that city. I don’t expect them to understand, but I know there are people out there that get it; those people who move across the country from LA to NYC or vice versa, they move from Miami to Seattle, etc. It is something in their that simply calls their name. Something they love about it. And it has nothing to do with where they currently live, it is probably a wonderful place, but maybe they feel out of place, desperate to find something different; to escape the asphyxiation. And it is these types of feelings that drive me to leave behind people I love and care deeply for, but I cannot let their love hold me for this yearning desire.

This may sound like a stretch, an exaggerated comparison, but I think about it a lot. I think about my ancestors, and their history. Mexicans are said to be mostly of mestizo origin, a blend of indigenous Americans and Spanish (and or Mediterranean) blood. My indigenous family is actually of the northern part of Mexico, part of the many desert nomadic tribes that lived in that region for centuries before the Spanish arrived. In that regard, we are not officially Aztec blood, as the Aztec empire bordered near where my father’s family village lies. Nonetheless, I think my nomadic ancestors are close relatives to the Aztec people that simply lived in the central area of fertile, green Mexico (why conquer a desert people, more people, less resources), and perhaps simply splintered off from the Aztecs. You see the Aztecs were nomads for many centuries, believed to originate from somewhere close to the Oregon, Utah, Idaho area; I find that part hilarious, for reasons I will explain soon enough. The Aztecs came looking for a new land according to their historical codex, and eventually landed in modern day Mexico City, the center of their empire. What’s my point? My ancestors going back to my indigenous roots were natural explorers/ wanderers. I like to think its in my blood to never be satisfied (Eliza voice). The Spanish explorers that eventually settled in Mexico were also explorers (to put it nicely). In my blood lies the people who traveled to unknowns lands to explore and live something different from what was their status quo. I feel a connection to that feeling and to that thought.

Let me get back to my immediate family history. My mom’s family is from Monterrey; they moved to South Texas Rio Grande Valley when they were still young, before my mom was born. My mom was born in Texas, but her family eventually migrated to Oregon and stayed up there. She grew up learning more English than Spanish, adapting to a culture different from hers. That is where I mentioned the hilarious part. My mom’s family migrated back to where our roots actually came from. Hilarious might be too strong a word. She only came back after my dad met her and brought her back to Texas. I also think about my grandparents and how they moved so young to a new country and then moved across the country to a new place with a large family to try their luck somewhere else. If they had the courage to do such things, surely I can make it exploring CDMX and Mexico for that matter for a year or two. 

The Plan...

I’m leaving this weekend to Mexico. First though, I need to get some things in order. I have some pending doctor appointments coming at the end of the month, pending business stuff for my dad’s business projects, personal bills, and I need a solution to get rid of my car. My car does need a few repairs and will be getting them done in Northern Mexico. So here is the plan.

Go to Durango and visit family a few days on Sunday or Monday (depends on some stuff).

Leave car to get repaired in Durango. Get to CDMX by bus/plane.

Arrive and finalize apartment: I went last month in search of an apartment, and found a great place but the lady in charge did not have it ready. So based on where she is at next week, I may just need to go and sign a lease somewhere else and call it a day. 

I will eventually have to go get my car and take it back to Dallas when it is ready (date unknown). When the car gets to Dallas, I will finish setting it up on Turo like i had it before. I will need to make use it can turn a profit of at least $400 a month (easy). 

I have a doctor appointment on the 21st in Dallas. I will go in and head back out maybe that same day.

When finally settled in Mexico, I will work random odd jobs and just work on getting my grove together. I will also focus on losing weight, taking dance classes, and networking. Those are my main priorities. My cousin gets married in October and I will be in Dallas for his wedding. I will be here a week or two. Because of that, I want to focus on finding a job after his wedding. In the meantime i can search for another job to start after his wedding. Ideally, I can survive without having to actually work in a 40 hour work week schedule. We leave it to time to tell what happens here. When money is tight, I will come in and substitute to cover rent and monthly expenses ( a weeks worth of work should cover it). Which is a win-win, spend time with family during that time. 

Sometime in November I plan on using some investment money that has been put aside to use it on something. My time in CDMX leading up to my cousin’s wedding will be exploration time to see what would be a good investment opportunity or idea. 

I am looking forward to seeing what this turns out like in the near future. I know that worse comes to worse, I can always come home. I am excited about the new experiences and the amazing weather that is to come into my life in the near future. 

In this entry, I focused primarily on my upcoming plan to move. I think its vital to clear my head and reflect on these emotions so that I can have some peace of mind. My brain has been out of whack lately, and I have been having insomnia. I hope this will help alleviate that.

I debate with myself on whether or not I should share this entry. But for the most part I think I will. To any friends, I welcome feedback but discourage criticism or judgment. I look forward to your thoughts guys. Love you.

-Turo 

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