#she received it as a gift when we visited our tribe

[fatedprophetess-perfectstorms]

Look at me being artsy and all that 🤓

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

title: hokaanir riduurok

pairing: din djarin x non-mandalorian female reader

rating: explicit (18+ minors DNI)

word count: 6278

summary: 

hokaanir riduurok - the mandalorian joining ceremony during which one warrior submits themselves to their intended, allowing their flesh to be carved with a symbol of their unity.

or: you marry a mandalorian and their weddings are a little different than you’re used to

author’s note: a gift for @dindjarinslegs , who’s beautiful brain sparked this whole work. the term of endearment “pirun’ner” comes from this list by user @starrypawz . if you enjoy this work, please consider leaving a comment or reblogging!

content warnings/additional tags: explicit sexual material (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, very plot heavy porn, writer considers ‘din’ to be the mandalorian’s first name, exploration of Mandalorian customs and lore, use of Mando’a, ceremonial scarification, mentions of blood and wounds, use of weapons, use of aphrodisiacs, wedding ceremony, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v, creampie, mild/moderate breeding kink, cum play, multiple orgasms, vaginal fingering, biting/marking, thigh riding, dirty talk, praise, pet names, reader i have taken liberties. let me know if there are any missing!

You’re washing a dish when you hear the metallic clang of heavy beskar approaching. You turn, ready to greet the Mandalorian, only to find Din holding a blade out to you across both palms, helmet tilted down and feet planted wide. You glance at Grogu, who offers only a slow blink of his large dark eyes and a twitch of his ears in answer.

“Uh…Din? What…what are you doing?” You ask. He lifts his helmet, dark visor obscuring your view of his face but not the white hot feel of his gaze across your skin. 

“In Mandalorian culture it is tradition to present our intended riduur a blade with which to complete the hokaanir riduurok,” his modulated voice explains. 

“Right, right. Of course,” you mumble. You dry your hands on the apron around your waist. “What uh…what’s that, exactly?”

“The Mandalorian joining ceremony.”

You blink. “Joining ceremony? You mean like…marriage?”

“To Mandalorians it is more than marriage but…yes.”

“Din Djarin, is this a proposal?” You ask. You can’t stop the broad smile spreading across your face as you approach him. 

“Yes, cyar'ika,” he murmurs, armor heavy arms wrapping around your waist when you’re within arms reach. “Is this an acceptance?”

He tilts his head, pressing the cold beskar to your forehead. A keldabe kiss, he’d told you once.

“Of course.”

________

Din calls the Armorer following his proposal. She, along with Bo-Katan, have chosen to remain on Mandalore with a number of Mandalorians who wish to rebuild the planet to its former glory after the fight against Moff Gideon.

“She has accepted the blade,” Din tells the Armorer’s hologram. 

“It has been a long time since the Tribe has seen a proper Mandalorian wedding,” the Armorer says. “Even longer since the sands of Mandalore have borne witness.” She pauses, helmet tilting to the side. “Did you tell her the significance of the blade?”

“I told her it was for the joining ceremony,” Din replies. He should have known the Armorer would see right through him.

“Yes, but did you tell her its purpose? How she is meant to carve her possession into your flesh to be kept with you for the rest of your days?”

“I may have neglected to provide that much detail.”

The Armorer sighs. “I would suggest you bring your aruetii to Mandalore ahead of your joining ceremony. We will have much to discuss.”

“We will endeavor to arrive within the next lunar cycle,” Din concedes. 

“This is the Way,” the Armorer intones.

“This is the Way.”

________

“I can't believe I’m visiting Mandalore,” you say excitedly. “I’ve never even been off Nevarro.”

Din is strapping you into the co-pilot seat of the freighter ship he’s borrowed from Karga’s fleet. While he’s content to fly and sleep in his Starfighter, he said he wants you to be more comfortable during your first trip off-world.

“Stop moving, pirun’ner,” he says, fitting the straps across your chest. You wiggle again, just to be stubborn, and he huffs a laugh, tapping his helmet to the crown of your head. 

“You know, you’ve never told me what that means,” you say as he takes a seat in the captain’s chair. You watch as he confidently moves through the pre-flight motions, flicking switches and pressing buttons, inputting coordinates and checking gauges. 

“The literal translation from Mando’a is ‘my water’,” he says. “Water begets life. Without water, there is no living.”

“Din…,” you murmur, words getting caught in your throat. “Makes me feel bad for the nickname I give you in my head.”

He turns his head, somehow managing to look affronted despite you not being able to see his face. “And what nickname is that?”

“Tin man,” you joke. 

“But…this is beskar,” he says, clearly not understanding your joke and you can’t help but laugh. 

The nickname comes from the early days of your relationship with the Mandalorian. 

As Nevarro’s resident baker, you’re familiar with the locals and even more familiar with the gossip around newcomers. The town buzzed with excitement when one of the Mandalorians that defended the trading town had returned and settled on the outskirts with his son. 

The first time you saw him was when his son made a cookie float off your display and into his little green hand. The Mandalorian had shown up while you were bent to the little creature’s level, asking where his parents were.

“Grogu,” his modulated voice chastised. “We talked about this.”

He was clad head to toe in the beskar armor you’re now intimately familiar with, but you didn’t know that at the time, so you called him ‘tin man’ in your mind. You didn’t learn his name until around the third time he’d visited your bakery.

The ship jerks harshly in take-off, breaking you from your trip down memory lane. Your fingers curl nervously against the armrests of your seat.

“Does that usually happen?” You ask.

Din must sense the anxiety coming off of you in waves. He reaches a gloved hand over and rests it over yours. “You are safe with me, cyar'ika. I would never let any harm come to you.”

You smile at him, the tension easing from your shoulders. You turn your hand palm upwards to fold your fingers between his.

“I know.”

________

Later, in the pitch black crew cabin, you’re curled against Din’s body on the scratchy cot as the ship’s autopilot continues your voyage, reveling in the feel of him against you without all the beskar and weapons. He feels human like this, soft, yet somehow still your solid pillar of strength in a galaxy not built for gentle things.

“Tell me about Mandalore,” you murmur. 

“It’s not the same as it once was,” he replies, his unmodulated voice deep like the vastness of space beyond the ship. “It’s harsher now. War ravaged. For a long time we were told it was not even fit for life.”

“Were you raised there?”

“No. I was born on Aq Vetina. There was…a raid. My parents were killed. Battle droids. I was raised as a foundling on Concordia, Mandalore’s moon.”

“I’m so sorry, Din,” you whisper. You trace your hand up his chest and neck until you can cup his stubbled cheek in your palm. 

“I didn’t set foot on Mandalore until recently. I had…removed my helmet, in the presence of others, which goes against the very tenets of The Creed.” He takes a deep breath. “I was an apostate. Dar’manda.” 

“Seems kind of harsh.”

He chuckles. “You and Bo-Katan will get along well.”

“You still wear the armor,” you point out. “If you’re not a Mandalorian, is that allowed?”

“By bathing in the Living Waters in the Mines of Mandalore, someone who is dar’manda can seek redemption. It was a long shot. The Mines were thought to be destroyed.”

“But they weren’t?”

“No. The planet is more hospitable than we were led to believe, even in its ravaged state. It’s why Bo-Katan is able to rebuild, to reunite what once was broken.”

“So, you were able to bathe in the Mines then?”

“Yes. I have redeemed myself in the eyes of the Creed.”

Your mind conjures an image of your Mandalorian, tall and broad though his face is nothing more than a blur, stripped of his armor as he wades into a pool of water. You rub your thighs together, hoping the friction eases the ache forming between your legs.

“What are you thinking about, pirun’ner?” Din asks. His voice has gone lower, darker, and his hand presses you closer to his body. You realize you’ve been caught.

“You,” you reply honestly. He shifts, running his hand down your waist and over the curve of your ass, not stopping until his hand grips behind your knee and drags your top leg across his hips. Your hips shift against his leg.

You’ve not seen your Mandalorian’s face or body before, but you know the feel of it intimately. The hard planes of muscle in his arms and chest, the softness of his tummy and the thickness of his thighs. The stretch of him inside you, the bite of his teeth and strokes of his tongue under the cover of darkness.

“Is my riduur feeling needy?” His hand urges your movements, your hips now rocking steadily against his thigh. Your moan is breathy and desperate in the small, dark space.

“Not your riduur yet,” you gasp. Din’s warm hand grips your chin, tilting your face upwards. You feel his nose trace along your cheek as his mouth seeks out yours in the dark. His lips are warm as they move against yours in a slow, burning rhythm that matches the slide of your pussy over his thigh.

“The next time you cum, after tonight, you will be,” he groans. Your hips stutter, your release hitting you like a burst of light, sparkling at the corners of your vision. He kisses you deeply. “Sleep now, ner’karta.”

Your heavy eyelids obey his command.

________

Two figures stand at the mouth of a cave as Din lands the Alanar N3 Light Freighter on the surface of Mandalore, a woman with bright red hair and blue armor and a helmeted figure with copper armor and a gold helmet with spikes.

“Welcome,” the redhead says as the two of you approach. “It’s been a long time, Din Djarin. Hopefully you will not need rescuing while you’re here this time.”

“Bo-Katan. Or is it Mand’alor Kryze, now?” Din replies. She smirks. 

“Alor Kryze will suffice,” she corrects. Din bows his head in respect before introducing you by name to Bo-Katan and the other Mandalorian, who identifies herself as the Armorer you’ve heard Din speak about at length.

“We have much to show you and discuss,” the Armorer says. She regards you. “Follow me.”

You glance at Din, eyes wide. He gives you a nod, squeezing your hand. Taking a deep breath, you follow the Armorer’s retreating figure as she enters the cave. You meet her at the edge of a cliff that overlooks what appears to be a bustling city.

“Wow,” you mumble. 

“It has taken much effort to restore the Mine City to functionality. But it is prospering.”

“How do you get down there?” You ask.

The Armorer chuckles. “We fly. Come closer. We will go together.”

“Oh, uh. Okay.” You step closer and she wraps an arm around your waist, the jetpack on her back igniting as she takes a step over the cliff. You scream, clinging to her shoulders and squeezing your eyes shut.

Your feet hit the ground and you slowly open your eyes. At this level, other Mandalorians bustle about, some with helmets and others without. There are even children running through the streets.

The Armorer releases you once your footing is solid. “Come, we will visit the Living Waters.”

You trail after her again, head swiveling as you take in the city. Some of the Mandalorians look at you curiously as you pass, and you wonder what they must think. From what Din has told you, his Tribe is very secretive. Do they worry you’re a threat? The thought almost makes you laugh.

She leads you deep into the Mine City, down from the street level until you’re standing at the bank of what appears to be a lake, stone steps descending into the dark depths.

“These are the Living Waters of Mandalore,” the Armorer says. “In the days before the Great Purge, the Living Waters saw many ceremonies. Initiations to the Creed, joinings, the adoption of foundlings, the merging of houses. It is the lair of a Mythosaur, a great beast tamed by Mandalore the Great, the first ruler of Mandalore.” 

“There’s something down there?” You ask. She tilts her head.

“Allegedly. Mythosaurs have not been seen in many moons,” she replies. “Your joining ceremony will take place on these steps. Has Din spoken to you further about what that will entail?” You shake your head. The Armorer continues.

“It begins with a proposal. A Mandalorian warrior chooses a riduur to whom they will submit themselves, body and soul, for as long as they continue to live. The warrior presents their intended with a blade with which they will perform the hokaanir riduurok.”

“The ceremony consists of three parts,” she continues. “The dinui, or gift, where both parties have selected a weapon to give to their warrior.”

You blink. “He’s going to give me a weapon?”

“Yes. It will be forged specifically for you,” she confirms. “And you will select one for him as well.” 

“The second part of the ceremony is the riduurok, or the vows. You will drink spiced wine from the same chalice before reciting the traditional Mandalorian vows.”

This, at least, sounds familiar to you. Vows were common in the few wedding ceremonies you’d seen on Nevarro.

“Finally, the hokaanir. You will take your blade and cut your unifying symbol into his flesh, just above his heart. Then, the covert will host a celebration in your honor.”

“I’m sorry, I have to do what?”

The Armorer tilts her head. “We are a warrior people. Our loyalty is demonstrated with honor and blood,” she offers in explanation. When she’s met with silence, she continues. “I am happy to help you choose a weapon and unity symbol for your ceremony.”

“Thank you, Armorer,” you reply honestly. “For sharing everything with me.”

“This is the Way,” she says, bowing her head. “Do you have any questions?”

Only about a thousand, you think. But there’s one you’ve been wondering about since landing on the planet and being introduced to Bo-Katan, a Mandalorian who showed her face.

“I hope this isn’t insensitive but…you and Din always wear your helmets, right? But Bo-Katan and some of the other Mandalorians…they don’t. Why is that?” You ask carefully.

“The Tribe follows the Creed as described by the Way of the Mandalore. There are other interpretations of the Creed that do not consider the removal of one’s helmet grounds for exile,” she replies. “We are learning to live in harmony.”

“With your Creed…will I ever be able to see Din’s face?”

“As his riduur, he may choose to show his face to you and your future warriors.”

You blink. “Future warriors?”

“Your children. Foundlings or by birth.”

You hadn’t considered children before. Of course, you adore Grogu, Din’s adopted son, but growing your family? Now that the idea is planted, you can’t shake the roots loose.

“Shall we discuss weapons, then?” The Armorer asks, breaking through your racing thoughts.

“Let’s do it.”

________

“You really didn’t tell her anything about the ceremony?” Bo-Katan asks as she walks with Din through the restored Mine City. Din is in awe of the progress that’s been made since the last time he was here. There are a surprising number of Mandalorians now residing in the city, Alor Kryze’s unification efforts clearly working in her favor.

“I haven’t even witnessed one myself,” he says. “In the covert, they only recited the vows. There was no ceremony involved.”

“It’s certainly an experience. And for an aruetii, it may be challenging. We are born and raised as warriors. Blood is nothing to us.” She pauses. “Speaking of raising warriors, where is your son? I miss the little womp rat.”

“He and Karga will join us for the celebration.”

“Din Djarin,” the Armorer calls. He turns just as you collide against him, your arms around his waist. He tips his helmet to your head. 

“Pirun’ner,” he says, holding you to his chest. The reunion is short lived.

“We must discuss your joining ceremony,” Armorer says. “Join me at the Great Forge.”

________

The heat from the fire that burns within the Great Forge is stifling and oppressive. Sweat beads on Din’s temple within moments of stepping foot into the cavernous space.

“Your aruetii was rather surprised by our customs,” the Armorer says. Din can feel the judgment in her gaze, even through the helmet. “But receptive. She will do well.”

Din nods. “Thank you for taking the time to explain it to her.”

“She has chosen a weapon and a unity symbol. Have you given thought to her weapon?” The Armorer asks.

“A vambrace,” Din says easily. “A defense weapon. With shields and a comms unit. Nothing she could accidentally hurt herself with.”

“A fitting choice. It is settled. Your ceremony will commence in two days, upon the completion of your weapons. This is the Way,” she says.

“This is the Way.”

________

Bo-Katan helps you dress for the ceremony in a dress made of material so soft and light, you worry it will disappear into thin air. It reminds you of some of the gowns you’ve seen in holovids from Coruscant, white fabric draped over your shoulders, plunging in a deep V down your chest and falling to the ground, secured at the waist with a broad belt of beskar and crystal. When you ask her about it, she looks away.

“It belonged to the last true leader of Mandalore,” she says, not inviting any further questions you may have. “Women would normally wear ceremonial armor as well, but since you are not a Mandalorian, exceptions can be made,” she says. 

“Have you seen many weddings, Bo-Katan?” You ask. Din was right when he said you would get along well with the new leader of Mandalore. You’ve been enjoying getting to know her over your last two days on the planet. 

“I helped prepare for a few, before the Purge,” she replies. She adjusts the strap of your gown on your shoulder. “But the ceremonies are private. A leader in the community helps to guide the couple through the stages before taking their leave once the hokaanir has been performed.”

“Oh, why’s that?”

Bo-Katan smirks. “The ceremonial wine will have certain…effects on you that you will not want someone to bear witness to.”

“Maker!” You hiss. Your eyes go wide as she laughs. “Are you joking?”

“Guess you’ll have to find out.” She guides you out of the room and down into the city, where the Mandalorians are prepping for the celebration that takes place after the ceremony. There are flags raised with a familiar Mudhorn skull and others with what Bo-Katan explained was the skull of a Mythosaur, the symbol of the Mandalorians.

Helmeted Mandalorians tip their heads as you pass, while those not wearing helmets hold their fist across their chest. You feel nervous but excited and your heart races with each step closer to the Living Waters.

Bo-Katan leads you down into the depths, the sound of a crackling fire growing louder as you descend. As your eyes adjust to the dim glow of the firelight, you notice two figures standing at the top of the stairs to the Living Waters.

They turn as you approach. Your steps falter as you take in your Mandalorian’s attire.

Rather than the silver beskar and flight suit you’re used to seeing him in, Din now wears a pair of black linen pants belted with beskar tassets that hang to his knees. A black cape hangs down his back to the floor, held in place by impressive spiked pauldrons, a heavy chain sitting at the base of his throat. He still wears his familiar silver helmet.

As he turns to face you fully, your mouth goes dry. He’s shirtless beneath the cape and pauldrons, the tan skin of his chest and abdomen on full display. The firelight illuminates the muscles you’ve traced with your fingers and mouth but never with your eyes.

Perhaps most surprising, however, are the black tattoos that adorn his chest, swirling lines that stretch from his collarbone and down his pectorals until coming to a point right above his belly button. Shiny scar tissue catches the light - a large one on his hip that looks like a blaster shot, thin lines that bisect his tattoos and deeper gashes near his ribs. Your fingers ache to trace them as you commit them to memory. 

Bo-Katan gives you a little nudge, urging you forward until you’ve joined Din and the Armorer at the stone steps. She takes her leave with a nod of her head and the Armorer regards you both.

“Shall we begin?” Her modulated voice asks. 

“Yes,” Din’s modulated voice replies. His bare hand reaches for yours, fingers wrapping around your palm and easing the wild beat of your heart. 

“We will begin with the dinui. You have each chosen a gift that befits your riduur.” She turns, hefting a large ax-like weapon from the low wall behind her. “Din Djarin, your riduur has chosen the munit'kad halberd, the Mandalorian vibro-ax. A weapon worthy of the head of Clan Mudhorn." 

Din takes the ax, testing the weight of it in his hands. A twist of his hands activates the sonic blade, the beskar glowing blue. He swings the ax in a wide arc, slicing it through a nearby stone that crumbles to pieces.

Another twist of his palms and the blade goes still. He hands the ax back to the Armorer, who places it back on the wall before picking up a smaller item.

She holds the item to you as she says your name. “Your riduur has chosen a vambrace, fitted with a communications unit and defensive shield projectors.”

The Armorer gestures for your arm, securing the beskar vambrace to your forearm. It looks similar to the ones Din wears, reaching nearly to your elbow. There’s a screen that lights up when you tap it. You press at it again and a circular shield projection emits from the device, startling you and making you laugh.

The Armorer taps at the screen, making the shields disappear. She unclasps the vambrace from your arm, setting it beside the ax. “Din Djarin, do you accept this gift that your riduur has selected?”

“I do,” Din responds.

The Armorer says your name again, dragging your attention from Din. “Do you accept this gift that your riduur has selected?”

“I do,” you repeat.

The Armorer turns and picks up a chalice. “You will now consume the tal’galar, a symbol of the Mandalorian lives lost before your union.” She passes the chalice to Din, turning her head to allow him the privacy to lift the bottom of his helmet. You follow suit, training your eyes to the floor.

He passes the chalice to you. You glance briefly at the dark liquid before bringing it to your lips and taking a sip. It’s warm, thicker than you expected, but sweet. As you swallow, that warmth intensifies and it feels like it’s already suffusing through your veins, making you feel tingly. 

The Armorer takes the chalice from your hands, setting it aside. She picks up the blade that started this whole series of events, the one Din presented you with in your kitchen what feels like ages ago, and your hands start to feel sweaty. You swallow nervously, heart beating wildly in your chest.

“You will now recite the vows,” she tells you. “You will repeat after me.” Din reaches for your hand and the feel of his skin against yours is electrifying, lighting up every nerve ending. “Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

Din repeats the words in Mando’a, the deep timbre of his voice like silk. You want nothing more than for him to pull you closer, to whisper those words in your ear. This is your husband - this fierce warrior, this gentle man, this loving father. A wave of emotion clogs your throat, making it hard to swallow as you watch him.

“We are one together, we are one when parted, we share all, we will raise warriors,” the Armorer repeats in Basic. You echo the words back, eyes glued to Din’s helmet. His fingers tighten briefly around yours as you finish the vow.

“Din Djarin of Clan Mudhorn, do you so submit yourself to your intended, until your final battle has been fought?” The Armorer asks. 

Din drops heavily to his knees, chest heaving with breath. “I do.”

She turns to you, holding the blade across both palms. You take the weapon in hand and face Din. You feel hot all over, like anything you touch may catch fire in your wake.

“Your riduur has chosen to symbolize your unity with pirun,” the Armorer says. “You may begin the hokaanir.”

________

Every moment in Din Djarin’s life has led to this - kneeling at your feet and staring up into your beautiful face as you ready yourself to unite your souls. A fire burns in his veins and his body aches with the need to touch you, his cock straining in his pants.

The tip of your blade drags across the skin of his chest and his breath catches at the prick of pain. He can feel his skin splitting in its wake, the sharp sting and burn of a new wound quickly morphing into an ecstasy that has him gasping.

The blade lifts from his skin and you begin the second line of the symbol. His hands curl into fists against his thighs, body fighting against the urge to wrap you in his arms and claim. 

Din can feel the blood sliding down his chest, little rivulets trailing from the most significant scar he’ll ever receive. When his eyes find yours from behind his visor and he sees his own bottomless lust reflected back at him, his restraint frays further. 

You start the third and final line of the symbol, an inverted triangle that represents pirun, water. His water, his life, his everything. He can’t help the moan that breaks free, echoing in the cavern. 

He reaches for you, gripping your hips as his head bows forward and he gets his first glimpse of his hokaanir, the cuts you’ve made over his heart with so much focus and care, stark red against the tan of his skin and bisecting his mandokar markings. His heart swells with pride at carrying a piece of you with him forever.

Din distantly registers the blade leaving his skin and the echo of retreating footsteps but all he can focus on is getting his hands on you, rucking up the gauzy fabric of your gown until his fingers are tracing the soft skin of your thighs. You drop to your knees, your own trembling hands sliding up his arms.

“Take it off,” Din commands. “My helmet, take it off, cyare.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, even as your hands grip the heavy beskar. 

“I’ve never been more certain.”

________

You slowly lift Din’s helmet, revealing a strong, stubbled jaw, plush lips, a prominent nose, soft brown eyes and curly dark hair. You set his helmet to the side without daring to take your eyes off of him, the sound of beskar hitting stone echoing through the cavern. You bring your trembling hands to his jaw, smoothing your thumbs across the high point of his cheekbones.

“Din,” you whisper. His hands wrap around your wrists, steady where yours are not. “Maker, you’re so beautiful.”

He smiles and it feels like a blaster shot to the heart to finally see it, the way his eyes crinkle at the corners and his mouth tilts up a little higher on the right. He wraps a hand around the back of your neck, pulling you forward for a sweet kiss, his lips moving gently with yours.

It doesn’t stay gentle for long.

Din’s lips turn insistent, hungry, bruising in their quest to conquer yours. His teeth nip at your lower lip, making you gasp and he uses it to his advantage, his tongue tangling with yours and exploring to its content.

His hands explore your body, tugging roughly at the straps of your gown until your breasts are exposed to the cold air of the cavern. His lips leave yours, kissing down your jaw and neck, sucking bruises into your sensitive skin.

Your own hands explore his chest, fingers ghosting over the fresh wound of his hokaanir and coming away sticky with blood. He moans against your skin each time your fingers catch on the angry red lines. 

“You feel that, cyare?” Din asks. He takes your hand, holding your palm to the mark. “A heart that beats blood only for you?”

He doesn’t wait for a reply before he’s moving, his body urging you down onto your back, eager hands rucking up the skirt of your gown up to your waist. He presses your thighs apart, settling on his belly between your legs, his thumbs parting the lips of your pussy for his appreciative gaze.

“I’ll never have you in the dark again,” he says, brown eyes meeting yours. “Not when I know what it’s like to see you in the light.”

With his gaze still holding yours, he licks a broad stripe through your folds. His eyes flutter shut as he groans, savoring the taste of you on his tongue. When they open again, there’s a hard gleam to them that wasn’t there before, a mischievous glint that has your breath catching at the intensity.

“Remember what I told you, cyare? On the ship?” He asks. His thumb circles your clit, broad swipes over the sensitive nub that have you crying out, the sound echoing around you. “That the next time you came would be as my riduur?”

Din slips two fingers into your soaked entrance, curling them against your front wall as he sets a pace that has your hips chasing after his hand with every withdrawal. Every movement of his fingers inside of you feels hotter, stronger than it ever has before. Maybe it’s the wine or maybe it’s just Din, unmasked and all yours, but you’re already so close to coming from just his fingers and his words and the look in his eyes.

“Want you to cum on my fingers first, want to see it,” he says, and that’s all it takes to have you clenching tightly, tiny supernovas behind your eyelids as you come undone. “That’s it, ner’karta.”

He doesn’t remove his fingers, instead dipping his head and licking at your sensitive clit and making you cry out, already oversensitive. 

“Din, Din, Din,” you pant, fingers digging into his curly hair and pulling tightly. He groans against your cunt, working his hand faster as his lips and tongue drive you to a second orgasm before the first has even subsided.

He growls when you nearly knee him in the head with your thrashing, removing his fingers and shoving his arms beneath your thighs, rising to his knees and bringing your body with him. Your upper back rests on the ground as your hips are suspended in his hold, your pussy completely at his mercy as he devours you. 

Din’s fingers dig into your ass, grip as strong as the beskar armor he wears as he holds you steady, his tongue working you into a frenzy. The dull spikes on his pauldrons press into your thighs, the discomfort a direct counterpoint to the pleasure he’s lavishing you with.

He sucks on your clit, rolling it between his lips as he hums, the last tether of your control snapping as you fight against his hold, your second orgasm washes over you like warm starlight in your veins. 

Din eases you through it, pulling away only when you start to whine. He presses kisses to your thighs and bites at the sensitive skin, sucking marks into your flesh to match the possession you’ve carved into his.

He finally lowers you to the ground, setting you gently to the cold stone. His eyes are hungry as he stands, removing the beskar tassets and tossing them aside before shoving the black linen pants down his legs. He unclips the cape from his neck, laying it on the ground. 

He reaches a hand out to you, pulling you to stand when your palm fits against his. His hands cup your face, kissing you fiercely, the fire igniting in your core despite how boneless you feel from the two orgasms he’s drawn out of you.

“Ner’riduur,” Din murmurs against your lips. His hands unlatch the belt at your waist and he sets it aside with more care than he’d given to his own ceremonial items. He slides the fabric off your body until it pools at your feet. “Lie down for me.”

You do as asked, settling on the black cloak. He drops to one knee, then the other, crawling over your body, looking every inch the fierce warrior that he is, black tattoos and scars shifting over well-earned muscle. His cock presses to your hip and he groans, shifting until his length glides between your dripping folds.

“Ni kar'taylir darasuum,” Din says. He takes himself in hand, pressing the thick head of his cock to your entrance. “I love you, pirun’ner.”

“I love you, Din Djarin,” you reply as he presses inside of you, the steady stretch of him making you gasp. You glance at his hokaanir, the skin splitting as he thrusts into your body. Fresh beads of blood form along the lines, dripping from his chest to yours. 

Din grunts, hips slamming against yours. You moan and reach up to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer and seeking his lips with your own. It’s more of a messy press of your mouths than a kiss, the sharing heated breath as his body works against yours.

He dips his head to your neck, sucking more bruises to your skin as he murmurs dirty praise in Mando’a and Basic.

“So fucking warm and wet.”

“Made just for me, weren’t you, ner’karta?”

“Jate riduur’ika.”

You push him up, shoving frantically at his shoulders until you’re able to reverse your positions, him lying beneath you as straddle his waist, his cock never leaving you. He presses so deep inside of you like this it makes you shiver. 

“Want you to fill me up, Din,” you say, hands pressed to his chest to give you leverage as you move your hips over his cock. His eyes flutter shut as he moans, the sound making your head feel fuzzy. His hands grip your hips, tight and possessive as his fingers press bruises to your skin. “Please, please, please.”

Din plants his feet against the ground, meeting each movement of your hips with a powerful thrust that makes you see stars. Your muscles tighten once more as you pulse around him with another wave of release that you can feel soaking his hips.

You collapse forward against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pounds into you from below, chasing the release he so deserves. You press little kisses to the skin you can reach as he uses your body to take his pleasure.

With a final harsh thrust he holds your hips tightly to his, his cock pulsing deliciously inside of you as he groans your name in prayer and ecstasy. He works his hips in tiny movements as he empties inside of you.

Din’s movements eventually slow to a stop, both of you panting as you try to catch your breath. You lift up, looking down into his face and smoothing the sweat damp hair from his forehead as he looks up at you with an expression so full of love you want to weep with the force of it.

“Pirun’ner,” he whispers, cupping your cheek. “You‘ve given me the greatest happiness.”

You press a soft kiss to his lips, your smile hard to fight as you do. You hold each other for a long moment as your adrenaline and euphoria settle and Din slips from your body. He gently eases you to the side, urging you to lie on your back. 

He stands, grabbing something from the low wall, dipping it in the water and coming back to kneel between your spread legs. His eyes are dark as he looks at your swollen pussy, glistening with your combined release.

Din swipes two fingers through the mess, pressing them slowly inside of you and making you whine. When he appears satisfied, he wipes a wet cloth through your folds, cleaning you up.

He smoothes the cloth through the dried blood on your chest as well, gently wiping it away. When he’s done, he presses a trail of kisses from your belly to your throat before meeting your lips, slow and languid.

“As much as I’d like to keep you beneath me, we have a celebration to attend,” he says. “Let’s get you dressed.”

He helps you into the dress and belt and you help him fasten the cape back around his shoulders when he’s dressed himself in the pants and tassets. Your hands smooth other the black tattoos on his skin.

“You’ll have to tell me about these one day,” you say.

He pulls you close. “Mhi me'dinui an. We share all. I will be glad to teach you more of our customs.”

You grin at him. “We have many days ahead of us, Din Djarin.”

“I like the sound of that, pirun’ner.”

________

When you arrive at the celebration, a loud cheer moves through the crowd, the sound roaring in your ears as you hold tight to Din’s hand. 

High Magistrate Karga approaches the two of you, a wiggly Grogu leaping from his hold and running towards Din, who scoops him up from the ground, holding him in his arms. A little green hand reaches for you, wrapping around the finger you offer him.

Bo-Katan and the Armorer stand nearby, watching the new clan of three. 

“A successful joining,” the Armorer says.

“Mandalore is healing,” Bo-Katan replies. “This is the Way.”

“This is the Way.”

Want more Din Djarin? Check out my masterlist

[storiesabouthumanandthings]

Pebble Problems

After Sokka was told his proposal necklace looked like Momo made it, he decided to up his game. The following month he spent just watching the Otter Penguins to see how they selected their stones. Most pf the stones were just smooth and round, which is what he had used, but he noticed a specific stone was preferred.

 Sokka then spent the next month combing the shore to figure out what made some stones better than others. Colour seemed to be the big deciding factor. The problem was every time he saw a good stone, an otter penguin saw it first and took it away, or when Sokka was able to get the stone first, the otter penguin would steal it from him.

 Occasionally, he had to make cover stories for why he had scratches and bite marks or when his coat was torn. After many months and many unsuccessful trips to the shore, he was finally able to get his hands on the perfect stone. It shined brightly in the light and the colors seemed to shift and move. Sokka took some leather he had stored. He then had Toph help, using some of the meteor metal, to make a small clasp to hold the stone.

 Once all the pieces were together, the last action was to engrave the stone. He knew he only had one chance at this and used sketches before finalizing his design. He combined the Fire and Water symbols. The outer rim had the flames stretching out. In the center, where the normal circle swirl in the fire symbol was replaced with the water symbol. It looked like the Water was surrounded by fire.

Sokka wrapped the necklace tight in the softest furs he could find. Sokka held onto the necklace for what felt like ages, waiting for the perfect moment to propose. Waiting to be alone so it was just the two of them. He finally found his moment; on the night of the full moon, on the day of the summer solstice. It was perfect, when the moon was at the fullest and the day was at it’s longest.

“I got you a gift, to commemorate when our journey finally ended the 100 year war. And hopefully with this, start a new journey,” stated Sokka with a shaky voice. The gift was accepted but no further talk about it happened that night.

 As Zuko was walking through town the next day, alone for the first time, he could hear the whispers and feel the stares of the villagers. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, hoping they weren’t afraid of him as he was a fire bender and his last visit was very pleasant. He eventually ran into Katara who ran up to him upon seeing him.

 She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to the side, “Congratulations! I am so happy for you.”

 Zuko raised an eyebrow, “uh, thank you?”

 “So spill. Who is it?”

 Zuko stops walking, “Who is what?”

 Katara sees the confusion on Zuko’s face and quickly pieces together what is going on, “You haven’t heard people whispering about you?!” she scream whispered.

 Zuko nodded slowly, “Well, yeah, but not what they’re saying. I thought they remembered the last time I was here without you guys around me. With the ship and fighting and searching for an old man that was actually a kid.”

 Katara gasped, thinking to herself that Zuko has no clue, “Zuko, I need you to think hard. What does your necklace remind you of?”

 Zuko thought for a moment, “Well, it kind of looks like yours?”

 Katara nodded, “and what does that mean?”

 Zuko thought hard and was silent for a moment before shrugging, “it’s a family treasure?”

 “Why would you think that?”

 “Well, when were trapped in the cave, I remember you mentioned you received yours from your mother.”

 “uh-huh,” Katara nodded, trying to lead Zuko to the answer.

 “So since I go this from Sokka, I assumed it was a family treasure. To show I am a part of the water tribe now?”

 Katara gasped and turned red, shaking her head.

 “If it’s not that, the what is it?” Zuko was very confused.

 Katara just walked away, shaking her heard, “no, nope, no, uh uh, nope, not my job, no, no, ……” continuing to talk to herself as she walked away.

 At that same moment, Sokka rounded the corner. Katara pointed a sharp, threatening finger at Sokka, shaking it in his face, “You Idiot! Why didn’t you? You didn’t tell? Why I!” only able to get partial thoughts out.

 Sokka stood there with with his hands up, “I don’t know what is going on but I didn’t do it.”

 Katara waved her arms, causing the snow to form around Sokka in a pillar, then pushed it towards Zuko, “Explain! Now!”

 Sokka began to stutter, “Well, it’s, like, um, this. Katara, what happened was-”

Katara, cutting him off screaming, “Not me! Him!” and stomped away.

 Sokka called back, “At least release me from the snow.”

 Katara flipped him off, “He will unfreeze you if he feels like it.”

 Sokka and Zuko stared at each other in silence for a while for Zuko spoke, “So I guess you need to explain something to me?”

 Sokka blushed, “I guess but can you unfreeze me first. This is really cold.”

 Zuko crossed his arms, “uh, no.”

 “No?!”

“no”

“Why not!?”

 “Well since I got up this morning, the whole town has been talking about me”

Sokka blushed brighter as Zuko continued, “I thought it was cause I am a fire bender but Katara made it clear that it’s about this gift you gave me.”

 Sokka nodded and turned his gaze away from Zuko, “Yeah probably.”

 “So what is so special about this necklace? I thought is was a family gift, like Katara’s, but she pointed out it’s nothing like that. So what’s the truth? Is this one of your pranks?”

 “What? A prank? Nooo, no, no, no, no. It’s nothing like that!”

 “Then what’s the truth.”

 Sokka mumbled to himself, “I thought you knew, I thought I was clear.”

 “Sokka! Tell me the truth, or you’re going to stay frozen.”

 Sokka looked up to Zuko, “Well, it’s kind of like a family gift.”

 “What is that supposed to mean?”

 “Well it’s a gift you give when you ask someone to join your family…..”

 Zuko nodded slowly, “To show that I am accepted in the Water Tribe? But Katara said it wasn’t that.”

 “Well, it is and isn’t like that.” Sokka again began to mumble to himself, “why is this so hard?”

Sokka breathed deep before continuing, “The necklace is used to ask you into my family….”

Zuko nodded slowly but still confused.

“.…as in marriage. I was trying to propose to last night. But I didn’t do it right. I wasn’t clear enough. I thought I was and I thought you knew what the necklace was about because we found out Katara’s necklace was from Pakku proposing to Gran Gran and you were there but not for that part but I didn’t remember that. So I thought you knew but clearly you didn’t and I must have embarrassed you. You have been walking around with everyone staring and you didn’t know why. You probably would have said no-”

 As Sokka was spiraling, fast speaking, and freaking out, Zuko was blushing bright, causing him to heat up and melt the snow. Neither of them noticed the Sokka was freed until Zuko leaned in and kissed Sokka, “Yes, Sokka, I will join your family.”

Sokka smiled as tears of joy welled up in his eyes. “I mean, they literally can not be worse than my family,” Zuko joked, trying to break the tension.

 Sokka laughed and grabbed Zuko’s hands tight, “Now hold me so I can warm up.”

 As they walked back into the street, Katara had gathered their friends and most of the town.

 The whole town stood silent until Sokka raised their clasped hands. The town cheered and people began to scurry in different directions.

 Zuko, now again confused, walked over to Katara, “Now what is happening?”

 Katara rolling her eyes, “Well since he didn’t explain everything!” pointing sharply at Sokka, “now that it’s completely official and public, the town will make a feast for the new couple. A heads up would have been nice, Sokka.”

 Sokka smiled, blushing, rubbing his head, “Well I didn’t know when I was gonna do it, it was spontaneous.”

Katara walked away, sighing, “You’re the biggest idiot.”

 Sokka watched her walk away. Zuko grabbed Sokka’s hand, giving it a small squeeze, “That’s rough, buddy.” They laughed together and kissed.

[hrhbekarie]

The Commonwealth Coronation Tour of 1953 & 1954

Fiji- December 17, 1953- December 19, 1953

Setting sail from Panama after a whirlwind first week of their tour, the royal couple enjoyed a bit of a break. The journey to their next stop, Fiji, would allow them two weeks at sea away from cameras and official duties. 

They would arrive in the Suva Harbor to a traditional Fijian welcome of silence, where clapping and cheering are regarded as an insult. The Gothic would be escorted in the harbor by 15 traditional canoes, and the four year old daughter of the Fijian chief, Adi Mei, would present the Queen with a bouquet of flowers.

The Queen would also be greeted by Gov. Sir Ronald Garney, and the Fijian Guard of Honor. The festivities continued in Albert Park, where the royals enjoyed a traditional welcoming ceremonies from the local Fijian tribes, which included a presentation of whales teeth to the couple, and a performance of traditional dances. They were given gifts, and traditional food and drink, such as Kava which is drunk from coconut shells, and roast pigs, turtles and bananas. 

Fijian school girls performed a fairy tale dance number for the royals, the fairy queen was called Elizipeti, and the prince charming was called Duke ni Ednibara as an ode to the royal couple. 

Representatives from the Pitcairn Islands also attended, and presented their own gifts to the Queen and her Prince. That evening they attended a state ball at the Grand Pacific Hotel, tens of thousands gathered outside the hotel to get a glimpse of the Queen and Prince Philip as they waved from the balcony of the hotel.  900 guests were chosen to attend, with Fijians and Indians in attendance. Queen Elizabeth wore a gown described as blue lace crinoline, with diamonds and tiara to complete the look. 

The royals spent the night on the Gothic, but were startled awake when 40 islanders performed a surprise song in the wee hours of the morning. The performance was spontaneous, the islanders danced and chanted near the Gothic, the translation of the chanting roughly translates to “We have taken you to our hearts”.  Back on the agenda the following morning, the royals visited the Fijian council chamber where the Queen gave a speech in response to the welcome she received. 

Later in the day the royals boarded a seaplane for the next leg of their journey to Tonga. Videos of their visit to Fiji can be seen here and here. 

[reinerispretty]

beneath the moon (sokka x f!reader) pt2

hello!! and thank u so much for all of ur positive feedback on part 1! i really appreciate u :) i hope you’re having a great day!

pt1

pt3

As she rounded a corner, her face instantly smacked into someone’s chest. The force knocked both of them to the ground and (Y/N) groaned as she rubbed her nose. “Geez, watch where you’re going,” (Y/N) muttered as her eyes welled with tears from the pain. 

Yue was avoiding (Y/N). 

Because of their status, the two princesses had a routine that they adhered to. While (Y/N) was at her healing lessons, Yue attended meetings with their father. When (Y/N) watched Master Pakku train the men, Yue visited the Healer to make sure her health was in order. (Y/N) knew every single movement that her sister was going to make on any given day, but today was different. Yue hadn’t attended their father’s meetings, nor could (Y/N) find her at the Healer’s hut. The girl sighed and walked down into the city to search for her sister. 

It was an hour before (Y/N) saw Yue passing in one of the boats that drifted through the canals. (Y/N) walked along the icy sidewalks parallel to her sister. “Yue!” She shouted. Her sister glanced at her before turning away. (Y/N) rolled her eyes and stopped, watching her sister float further and further away. Then, she started running. Yue’s blue eyes widened as she realized what she was about to do. 

“(Y/N), don’t!” Yue shouted, but it was too late. (Y/N) leapt through the air and landed inside the boat, causing it to rock and splash icy cold water inside. The rower glared at the princess before turning back to his job. “You know that’s so dangerous!” 

“Sorry,” (Y/N) said as she caught her breath. “For yesterday, not for jumping in the boat.” Yue looked away from her and at the passing shops. “I wasn’t trying to insult you. I just got so angry when Hahn told me you guys were engaged.” 

Yue raised a thin eyebrow. “Hahn wasn’t supposed to tell you.” 

“Well, he did. And he was a real jerk about it too, asking if he’d be Chief one day. I told him that I’d rather choke on sea prunes than let that happen.” 

Yue giggled. “That wasn’t very kind of you.” 

“You’re the kind one,” (Y/N) said with a smile. “Happy birthday, Yue.” Her older sister smiled at her softly before leaning forward to hug her. (Y/N’s) body tightened up, but she relaxed a bit to hug her sister back. “I got you something.” 

(Y/N) reached into her pocket and handed Yue a package wrapped in paper and tied with twine. Yue took it and set it in her lap. “You didn’t have to get me anything.” 

“Of course I did. You only turn sixteen once.” Yue removed her gloves and opened the package, unfurling the scroll that was inside. It was a picture of the two of them. Yue wore a bright smile on her face, while (Y/N)’s smile was much more subdued. “This is amazing! Did you paint this?” 

(Y/N) nodded, biting her lip to contain her own smile. “I’ve been working on it for a few months.” Yue hugged her again. 

“This is the best gift I’ve ever received,” she said softly. “I’ll cherish it forever, thank you.” 

(Y/N) waved a hand in the air. “It’s no big deal. Hey, could you stop right here?” The rower came to a stop and (Y/N) hopped out of the boat. “I have to go get ready for tonight.” 

“See you then,” Yue said, before the boat continued on its way. (Y/N) walked back up to her family’s igloo and to her room, where she began with the intention of picking out her nicest coats for tonight’s dinner. Instead, her mind wandered, and instead of getting dressed, she started digging around her room for a jar of paint that she hadn’t seen in a while. When she looked out her window, the sun was setting, and she nearly let out a scream of panic. 

She dressed herself quickly, combed out her hair and braided it quickly as she ran out the door. She ran through the city, dodging passerby like she had done this before. (Which she had. As much as (Y/N) despised being late, sometimes she lost herself in her own little world, where time passed super quickly.) She ran across the bridges and hopped over canals to reach the courtyard where the feast would take place. 

As she rounded a corner, her face instantly smacked into someone’s chest. The force knocked both of them to the ground and (Y/N) groaned as she rubbed her nose. “Geez, watch where you’re going,” (Y/N) muttered as her eyes welled with tears from the pain. She could barely see the boy through her tears, but she could tell that he was from the Water Tribe. He didn’t look like anyone she recognized, but perhaps she had just never noticed him. 

“Me? You were the one running!” (Y/N) rolled her eyes and got to her feet, taking off to her destination. When she finally reached the steps that led up to the courtyard, the stars and moon has risen. She caught her breath, straightened her coats, and walked calmly up the steps. She felt the eyes of some of the elders on her, but she simply walked quickly over to where Yue was and sat beside her. 

“You’re late,” Yue whispered to her, a smile playing on her lips. (Y/N) shrugged. 

“Maybe next year I’ll be on time.” The two sisters giggled before their father started speaking. 

“Tonight,” He began, “We celebrate the arrival of our brother and sister from the Southern Tribe.” (Y/N) blinked in surprise as her eyes landed on the duo that had accompanied the Avatar. The girl was small, about a year or so younger than herself, but the boy was the one she had run into on her way here. His eyes met hers and (Y/N) looked away quickly, back at her father. “And they have brought with them someone very special, someone whom many of us believed disappeared from the world until now...the Avatar! We also celebrate my eldest daughter's sixteenth birthday. Princess Yue is now of marrying age!” 

Yue blushed as the crowd cheered for her. “Thank you, Father. May the great Ocean and Moon Spirits watch over us during these troubled times.” 

As Master Pakku and his students performed their waterbending, (Y/N) could hardly keep her eyes off of it. Yue had to pull her over to the feast table, where (Y/N) was sat between the two Water Tribe siblings and Yue was sat on the end. She felt a bit uncomfortable sitting between strangers, but she picked food onto her plate and ate quietly. The girl next to her nudged her with her elbow to get her attention. 

“Hi, I’m Katara, I don’t think we’ve met,” She said with a smile. (Y/N) smiled tightly back. 

“I’m (Y/N),” She said, taking a sip of water from her cup. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

“The guy on the other side of you is Sokka and this is Aang.” The Avatar waved at (Y/N) as he ate his food. 

“We’re very happy to have you all here,” (Y/N) said. “It’s rare that we get outsiders coming to the city.” 

“Hi there. Sokka, Southern Water Tribe,” The boy to her left said to Yue. (Y/N) glanced at her sister to see if she was welcoming the conversation. If she wasn’t, she would immediately shut it down. But Yue seemed to be enjoying herself, so (Y/N) relaxed and turned back to Katara.

“Are you and Yue friends?” Katara asked. (Y/N) furrowed her brows and shook her head. 

“We’re sisters.” Katara’s eyes widened. 

“I’m so sorry, Princess, I meant no disrespect!” (Y/N) laughed. 

“It’s fine, I wouldn’t expect you to know that. We don’t exactly look alike.” 

“So ... uhhh ... you're a princess, huh?” (Y/N) heard Sokka say. “You know, back in my tribe, I'm kind of like a prince, myself.” 

Katara laughed. “Prince of what?” 

Sokka turned to face her, his eyes instantly meeting (Y/N’s). She saw the recognition pass over his face as he said, “You’re the girl who ran into me today!” 

(Y/N) pursed her lips. “Sorry about that. I was late to, well, here.” She shrugged, taking another large sip of her water. 

“You ran into him?” Yue asked. Her sister nodded. 

“Like, really hard. My nose still hurts.” 

“Not as much as my butt does from being knocked over,” Sokka grumbled, before turning back to Yue. 

(Y/N) turned back to Katara and engaged in pleasant conversation with her the remainder of the night. She told (Y/N) all about their adventurers on their way up to the Northern Water Tribe and each one had (Y/N) absolutely transfixed. “I’ve lived here my whole life,” she said. “I’d love to see something other than snow.” 

Katara had laughed. “I felt the same way!” 

(Y/N) and Yue walked home together, their arms linked. Yue rested her head on (Y/N’s) shoulder. “I really liked the boy I met tonight. Sokka? Did you get a chance to meet him?” 

(Y/N) held in her smile. “Not formally. You spent the whole night keeping him to yourself.” Yue giggled, her face blushing a bright pink. “I’m glad you had fun. You deserve it.” 

“He wants to meet me to do an activity together.” (Y/N) raised her eyebrow. 

“What kind of activity?” Yue gently nudged her sister in the side. 

“Nothing like that, you goose.” (Y/N) grinned. “Just...hanging out.” 

“I wish I could see Hahn’s face when he sees the two of you ‘hanging out.’“ 

“Do you think he’d be mad?” (Y/N) shrugged. 

“I, for one, don’t care at all about Hahn’s feelings. As long as you’re doing what makes you happy, Yue, it shouldn’t matter.” Yue hummed as they reached their igloo and said their goodnights. 

“Happy birthday, Princess!” (Y/N) called out to her sister as she walked down the hall. 

“Thank you, Princess!” Yue called back. 

---

Tag List!

@aangsupremacy , @treestarrrrrrrr , @beifongsss , @mdgrdians , @aroyaldarknessblr , @musicalkeys , @aimee1602 , @plxstic-rose , @davnwillcome @squeamishdionysus , @clowninfortodoroki @thia-aep , @jinxed-tea @sara5208 @valiantprincessthea @alrightazula , @awesomelupe , @itsivyberry

[auty-ren]

The Offer: Chapter 2

Touches

Pairing: ClanLeader!Mando x fem. Reader

Rating: T (Mature for future chapters)

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: Injury, Touching, Insinuations of sex, Cursing (just a tiny bit), Fluff, Yearning (a lot).

A/N: I’m having so much fun writing this. Please let me know what you think! Comments and feedback appreciated always. It’s also on AO3. Hope y’all enjoy💕

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3

Mandalorian lore via mandoa.org (I dont own it)

ClanLeader!Au created by @magichandthing​​

Gif by @coredrive​

Summary: You finally get to speak to Clan Leader Djarin again.

Your nose was definitely broken.

The elder assessed that much on her initial exam of your face. 

The bile in your stomach churned and nausea flooded your senses at the thought of having to reset the broken cartilage. You knew they would have to realign your nose otherwise it would never grow back properly. However, your stubbornness took hold and you wouldn’t let the elder anywhere near your face. You knew the pain that was eventually going to happen, but you dreaded the process. You wanted to postpone it for as long as you could. You tried to rationalize other options, internally debating and trying to come up with excuses for Mira and the Elder. Maybe if it was left alone, your nose would heal just fine; it seemed like a probable outcome you just hoped Mira would see it that way and leave you be.

Mira, of course, had different plans.

It took Mira straddling you, completely immobile due to her weight pressing into your chest, and the strength she held your arms with for the Elder woman to be able to fix your nose from its dislocated position. When she finally did, you're sure your scream reverberated off the walls.

“We underestimated your strength ad’ika.” The woman joked after giving a final dose of a bacta shot. Your eyes were still watering and you just huffed in response, causing Mira to chuckle from across the room.

Mira’s company started to grow on you, even though at first your time together was filled with silence. She often busied herself around the hut; shining her armor, cleaning her assortment of weapons, tinkering with different pieces of mechanics that littered the shelves. You would offer to help and she accepted, reluctantly at first, but you were starting to think she enjoyed your company as much as you did hers.

Most of the conversation was you asking questions about Mira and her people. You had some knowledge of the ways of a Mandalorian but Mira always explained it better. She always answered you with a sense of patience, explaining everything to you in detail you could understand. You appreciated it, the last thing you would want to do is offend her people with ignorance. She seemed to enjoy your enthusiasm for learning about Mandalorian culture.

“Ba'jur bal beskar'gam, Ara'nov, aliit, Mando' a bal Mand'alor, An vencuyan mhi.”

“What?”

“It is a rhyme taught to children, so they can better understand our way of life.” She put down the tool she was cleaning her armor with, handing you the piece to polish. Before you could even ask, she recited the same phrase to you in basic.

“Education and armor, Self-defense, our tribe, Our language, and our leader, All help us survive.”

Days bled into weeks and you started to lose count of how long you had been with Mira. Your injuries had healed fully thanks to Mira and the elder that visited you. Light remains of your still healing bruises were all the evidence of the encounter. As you felt better, Mira invited you to accompany her into the village. It had almost become pleasant, the little routine you two had. The fresh air always felt nice, and Mira filled the time telling you more stories of her clan.

“That man,” you paused, debating whether or not you should even bring up the topic. “The one who I met when we first arrived, who was he?”

Ever since then you found yourself wondering about him more than you liked to admit. He and Mira had been the first people to treat you with kindness in a long time, so you figured the reaction to him was just grateful. Your curious nature made it almost impossible to not want to know more. You had learned much about Mira the last few weeks, and the persistent thoughts of him would certainly cease at knowing more of him. At least that's what you told yourself, but it was hard to forget that blooming you felt in your chest when he first spoke to you. How the deep timbre of his voice felt like honey that settled in your bones. You caught yourself daydreaming how his voice would sound without the mask of his voice coder, just as rich and deep but something new and soft against your ears. It probably felt heavenly to hear him whisper things to you, his breath gentle in your ear.

Mira turned to you and watched as you waited for an answer. It was as if Mira could read your thoughts from the way her head tilted to look at you. You were thankful she didn't pry, that was a conversation you didn't want to have.

“He is the strongest and conscientious of us all, which is why the High Elders chose him to lead and defend our clan. Each of the pendants he wears is a testament to his fortitude.”

You listened intently, hanging on to every word Mira spoke.

“They say he received his signent by hunting a Mudhorn that terrorized the village and killing the beast with a viro-blade as his only weapon.”

“Oh,” was all you could say, your voice just a whisper in the silence left behind her words. As much as you will yourself to be satisfied with this information, it only seemed to stoke the fire that had been set ablaze by him. You wanted to know so much more, the desire to be around him was something you tried hard to ignore.

—

Much to Mira’s protest you mostly stayed to yourself, already feeling so out of place. Aside from her, the elder, and the brief encounter with the clan leader Djarin you hadn’t spoken to anyone else since being here. She tried all she could to get you to attend their weekly dinner, a celebration every clan member attended, she insisted. You eventually caved to her persistence. So you sat with her at one of the long wooden tables, chipping away at the plate full of food in front of you. Every so often you stopped to pull at a loose thread in your sleeve, somehow hoping the action would ease the anxiousness you felt.

The clan had given you new clothes shortly after settling with Mira. She presented the garments to you one night, explaining that the leaders agreed you would feel more comfortable in them. A simple, deep red, long sleeve tunic, and a long brown skirt that flowed around the movement of your legs. It was similar to the attire you’d seen some of the women in the village wearing.  It felt unusual at first, you were so used to wearing the same few articles, almost threadbare in places from the years of consistent wear. These clothes seemed almost new, soft to the touch, and fit your body perfectly. The gesture nearly brought tears to your eyes, no one had given you such a thoughtful gift since you were a child.

It was so refreshing to see that not all the hope had been purged from the galaxy. Mira's people were just as legend had described them, fierce warriors with integrity and strength that rivaled entire battalions of soldiers; but there was also love and kinship that was deeply rooted in pillars of their society. It seemed almost surreal, this warrior race had taken you in; had healed and cared for you. It was something you had to witness first-hand, no amount of stories could convey the community the Mandalorians had, at least no one would believe you if you had tried.

You opted to observe the events of dinner, not wanting to cause any more trouble than you felt you had already. Mira had not lied when she said everyone would be there. The tables were filled with people laughing and enjoying the company of each other. It felt so peaceful, and the unsettling feeling in your stomach subsided as the dinner went on. The evening eventually started winding down when dusk had settled over the village. You thought it would be rude to leave without Mira, so you waited patiently on the sidelines wanting to return to the hut.

“How are you feeling?”

Din leaned his shoulder against the wall behind you, his arms crossed and his head tilted to the side. You jumped, you hadn't even heard him coming towards you. He seemed amused at your reaction, letting out a huff that slightly jolted his shoulders.

“I’m fine,” You felt that same pull start in your chest. “Mira has taken very good care of me.”

“Good.”

He became silent, watching the clan mingle like you were. This was exactly what you had been hoping for, to be alone, to be able to talk with him, and ask all the things you had been pondering since your initial meeting. But now you felt so small, every word you had readied was lost on your tongue, swallowed by the intimidation you felt. He was the noblest warrior of his clan, strong and authoritative in his ways but he made your heart flutter in a way you didn't know could. It was suffocating, being around him but you craved it nonetheless.

He moved to sit next to you, straddling the bench you sat on. You could feel him looking at you, but you didn't dare tear your gaze from in front of you. You felt your face flush all the way to the tips of your ears. He hadn’t said five words to you and you were already a mess.

“I should find Mira,” you broke the tension, hoping to escape so you could finally breathe again. “It's late.”

Before you could distance yourself he spoke, halting you in your tracks.

“I can return you to your hut,” he paused pushing himself to stand. He considered you for a moment as if to debate his next words.

“If that's what you wish.”

—

“I haven’t seen you since your arrival.” It wasn't really a question, more of an observation. You turned to look at his helmet, still trained on the path in front of you.

“Mira forced me to break my isolation.”

A huffed laugh came through his helmet, effectively melting some of the tension that had built up. Your own smile stretched across your lips, he still made you incredibly nervous but he at least had a sense of humor.

You didn't exchange any more words, silence falling back over you both. It felt just a little different than before, the tension wasn't drawn so tight. A light airy feeling replaced the energy that flows between the two of you. You could feel your muscles relaxing just the slightest bit, the bubbling worry in your stomach replaced with a dull ache.

Your senses focused back on your surroundings, cool darkness had enveloped your path, lit only by the torches mounted against the huts. People still congregated in the street, groups exchanging wishes of sweet dreams as most of them prepared for sleep. As you passed, side by side with their leader, each person stopped to give a small bow. Some of their gazes lingered on you, not in a judgemental way, most of them just seemed curious in nature. It was probably odd, seeing some strange woman being escorted by the most respected man in their village. If he noticed their looks, he didn't make it known.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a small flash of bright color, sticking out noticeably against the neutral tones of the earth. You stopped and tucked in between two of the homes lining your path home, was a small flower bed. Some of the buds had yet to bloom, the new petals poking through the green shell that encased them. Others were full and brilliant, ranging from every color under the sun. You kneeled down to gently caress the buds in the palm of your hand.

Din didn’t realize you had stopped at first. He noticed the absence of your footsteps and turned around, watching you admire the flowers. He walked closer to you, essentially blanketing you in his shadow. Like before, you failed to notice his presence behind you.

“Sorry,” you apologized once you realized he was waiting for you. Standing up and brushing the dirt from your knees. You awkwardly clasped your hands together in front of you, waiting for him to respond. He stood still, completely static and it felt like a standoff of who would move next. You thought of saying something, anything to get him to act again but before you could he cut you off.

“You like…” He seemed to carefully consider his next words, in some ways it almost seemed meek the way the syllables rolled off his tongue. “Flowers?”

You turned your head to glance at the bed behind you. Realizing now how odd you must've looked, stopping to smell flowers like some child. You looked forward and he had yet to move still staring directly at you, at least that's what you assumed it was hard to tell with his visor.

“Yes, um…” Your mouth felt dry and tightened around your words. You know he didn't ask for an explanation but you gave one nonetheless, trying to ease your embarrassment.

“My mother used to have flowers on my home planet,” You turned your face down to your hands, rubbing your thumb at the juncture of two of your fingers. “I haven't seen any since the day I left...”

It had been a long time since you had thought of your old life. Ever since the war it had become painful to even entertain the good memories. Your parents had become ghosts of what they once were.  Their faces were just flashes in your mind, reduced to the few reminders that stuck with you. The smells of cedar and earth reminded you of your father, his clothes always permeated with the smell of the outdoors. Sometimes you could recall how kind his eyes were, seeing a glimpse of them in your dreams. You remembered your mother’s flowers, how they grew during the warm season filling beds of green with vivid, swirling color.

“I didn’t realize they still grew.” You tried your best to keep the emotions these memories held from finding your face, but Din sensed them nonetheless. He hesitated for a moment before gesturing for you to follow him again.

—

“Thank you, for walking with me,” you said turning to him with a small smile on your face as the hut came into your view.

“Of course.” He stopped just a few feet away from you, turning to mimic your position.

“Goodnight,” you said, turning and walking up the few steps of the porch to Mira’s home.

“You never told me your name,” he said, causing you to stop just in front of the door, you turned back to face him.

You told him, giving a slight smile at the end of your words. He parroted your name, climbing up the stairs becoming level with you again. He moved closer to your body, leaving just a few inches between your chests. You looked up into his visor, your reflection more noticeable with the close proximity of your bodies.

He repeated your name, his hands going for one of the necklaces resting against his chest. He lifted it away from him, bringing the necklace around your neck, the cool metal of the pendant resting just above your breasts. You looked between him and the mythosaur skull, the same one you saw plastered on nearly everything in the village. You wanted to say something, your mouth opening, and closing while trying to focus long enough to string a few words together.

“You’re so beautiful.” He leaned his arm against the door behind you, pinning you between him and the wood of Mira’s hut. His other hand came up to trace along the length of your neck, his knuckles stopping when they reached your chin.

You felt like you were on fire, your blood running white-hot under your skin, leaving a blushed tint in its wake. You didn’t dare look up at him, afraid you’d melt under his gaze that seemed to bore straight through you. You kept your eyes fixated on the expansion of chest level with your eyes.

“Have you thought about staying?” His fingers gripped your chin, bringing you to look directly at his visor.

“Stay?” You were a little taken back, your voice coming out as a squeak compared to his. “Here?”

“Yes, here.” He chuckled, his voice dropped mocking the whisper in your tone. A smile threatens the corners of your lips and you bite on the inside of your cheek to stop the spread. He thought it was entertaining, watching you become giddy under his attention. You turned to look just past his shoulder, willing the flush you felt on your face and neck to subside. You had wanted his attention and now you had it but you were failing miserably at being anything but at his mercy.

“Do you like it here?” He said sensing your hesitation, forcing you to focus on him again.

“Yes, of course.” It was true, you enjoyed your time. But to stay? What place did you have here? They had made you feel so welcome but you were an outsider and you had yet to offer any contribution to their way of life. You had felt better than you had in years. Like a familiar version of yourself had taken over again, replenishing the life you so desperately tried to find before. It felt invigorating but you knew it couldn't last forever, and with your injuries in the final stages of healing, you knew that time was coming to an end.

“Then stay.” His voice was firm but held a sort of gentleness that made your heart flip in your ribcage.

He grabbed your hand, leading your palm to rest in the middle of his chest. Your fingers instinctively spread over the warmth of his skin, he interlocked his fingers with yours, effectively trapping your hand behind his.

You couldn’t see his face, but it felt as if you were staring right into his soul. You imagined the depth and piercing look of his eyes. You imagined they were just like the rest of him, fierce and intriguing but with a softness hid behind them. Mesmerizing you and making you want nothing more than to fall deep in their hypnosis. You wanted to kiss him, to feel him against you, flesh and bone to be explored by your fingertips. You wanted to be encased totally by him, to drown in the warmth he exuded, to feel nothing but him for the rest of your days.

With a newfound boldness, you slipped your hand away from his slowly trailing down the center of his chest. The pads of your fingers moved over the toned muscle of his chest, doing exactly what you had daydreamed about since you met him. His skin was a beautiful tanned color with scars scattered, telling the story of his battles. You traced a few, fingers delicately moving across the raised skin. You felt his breath released from behind his helmet, so quiet you may have not noticed if it weren't for the rise and fall of his chest. You continued your movements, traveling down until you met the trail of hair that peeked out from his trousers. He abruptly grabbed your wrist, a groan filtering through to your ears. His grip was firm, stopping your actions but being careful not to hurt you.

“You should get some rest.” His voice was so low, gravelly, barely registering with the voice coder of his helmet. He released his grip, moving your hand back to your side.

You were afraid you had fucked up, misreading him and crossing some forbidden line. Shame flooded your mind, causing your gaze to drift to your feet. He reached up to your face, pushing the hair that fell in your face back, revealing the timid look that fell on your features. He held his palm against your face for just a moment longer than necessary. As his hand fell from your face, you were back to staring into the darkness of his visor, surprised by the tenderness of his actions.

“Goodnight,” He whispered, turning back to walk down the steps, leaving you stunned and missing his warmth.

“Goodnight.”

—————

Taglist: @queenofheavenandhell​​ @youmeanmybrain​ @theocatkov​ @dreamgirl-67 @duker42​ @spxcedxdddy​ @vikingqueen28​ @hdlynn​ @leo-moon​ @tiffdawg​

(Let me know if you want to be added or removed!💕)

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Devotional Hours Within the Bible

by J.R. Miller

The Fame of Solomon

Solomon's fame spread widely. Everywhere flew the stories of the splendors of his kingdom, and his great wisdom. It was not the fame of his piety and godliness that men heard, his generosity and kindness, his courage and heroism. His fame was rather that of the material splendor of his reign, than of fine personal and moral qualities. He sought to do brilliant things.

We are not to understand that Solomon did not contribute in any way to the good of his kingdom, that all his work was sensational. He did a great deal that was substantial. He gave his people a place among the nations which they had never dreamed of attaining. He made Jerusalem a great city in its beauty, its wealth, its brilliance. His wisdom, too, became famous. Wonderful stories of it were told near and far. From other countries, people came to see Solomon and his great buildings, and to hear his words, and to pay homage to him.

Of all his visitors, the queen of Sheba seems to have made the greatest impression. She was a much more important personage than the kings and princes of the near-by tribes or nations who came to see Solomon. She came from afar, from "the ends of the earth." She came in great state with a majestic splendor that excited much attention. She had heard the strange stories about the Israelitish king, and came to see for herself what foundation there was for them. "I wonder if these reports are true?" she began to ask. She would go and see for herself. The distance was great - but her curiosity and eagerness overcame all thought of the hardship of the journey.

Jesus taught us one use to make of this story, "Behold, one greater than Solomon is here!" He said, referring to Himself. In every way He was greater than Solomon. He was the eternal Son of God, Solomon's Lord. His wisdom infinitely surpassed Solomon's. Proverbs and Ecclesiastes are attributed to Solomon. There is a great deal that is practical in these books. Proverbs contain much that is helpful in common life. But the wisdom of Christ's teachings far surpasses the best that Solomon ever spoke! Christ's ability to enlighten and help excelled Solomon's, as divinity excels humanity. If, then, one woman came so far, at such cost, to see Solomon and hear his wisdom - the whole world should come to see and hear Jesus!

We have ever fresh illustrations of the same lesson. In every age, in every country, there are men and subjects who attract attention and draw people from far and near - to see and study them. Yet all the while, there stands One among us whom many men know not, nor desire to know - who surpasses in interest and wisdom - all the objects of attraction in the world. People throng to see and hear the scientist, the novelist, the explorer, the discoverer, the orator, or the singer - but only a sparse few gather about the blessed Divine Teacher! Men are interested in the questions of the day, in politics, in railroads, in inventions; but how few sit down to study the profound and eternal truths of Christ's redemption! They think these things suited only to children and women, and to the old and the dying, forgetting that they are the things which the "angels desire to look into."

The queen of Sheba came with "spices, and very much gold, and precious stones." Solomon need not in every sense be regarded as a type of Christ - yet this visit of the queen furnishes an illustration of the way we should come to Christ our King. We should bring presents to Him.

A tourist in Southern California tells of looking with much admiration at the wonderful flowers which grew about a fine residence. The lady of the house, seeing the visitors, came out and spoke to them very cordially, asking them questions about their home and their tour. Then taking a pair of scissors, she snipped off a fine handful of flowers, which she gave them. They noticed, however, that the flowers she cut were all past ripe, and when they turned away they gently shook the bouquet, and the petals nearly all fell to the ground.

That is the kind of gifts too many give to Christ. But we dishonor Him when we bring Him our fading flowers. This queen did not give trifles of little value - but the richest things she could find in all her kingdom. We should bring to Christ not the poorest and least things we can find - but the best - the most precious hours of our time, the finest gold of our youth, the sweetest fragrance of our heart's love. Nothing less than the best - is worthy of Him. Thus the wise men when they came from the Far East, brought their treasures and laid them at the feet of the new-born King. Thus Mary brought her alabaster box of precious nard, broke the box, and poured the ointment on the head and feet of her Lord. So should we all do.

The queen of Sheba brought spices, gold, and precious stones as a present to Solomon, and "behold, one greater than Solomon is here!" Solomon was rich and did not need the queen's gifts - yet he accepted them. Christ is infinitely rich; He owns all things, the gold of the mines, all the gems of the world. Yet He gladly accepts our smallest gifts. Even the poorest things, if they are our best, and if given with love - He will receive with joyful acceptance. The widow's two mites - He takes from the offerer's thin, wasted hand, with blessed words of recognition.

A gentleman worth millions accepted a bunch of withered flowers from a ragged child in a mission Sunday-school, and could not have manifested more real pleasure, if he had received from a jeweled hand the choicest flowers from the florist. Thus our blessed Divine Lord accepts our poorest gifts - if they are prompted by true love for Him and are indeed the best we can bring. He wants our best, however, and is worthy of our best. The queen brought spices and much gold and precious stones to King Solomon. We should bring to Christ - the sweetest fragrance of our heart's love and the richest jewels of our life!

The queen of Sheba brought to Solomon all her questions, her problems - and he answered them all. "She came to Solomon and talked with him about all that she had on her mind. Solomon answered all her questions; nothing was too hard for the king to explain to her." She seems to have had many questions to ask the wise king. Some of them may have been mere silly puzzles with which she sought to test his wisdom; others of them may have been real questions, concerning which she wanted answers. To every question she asked, Solomon gave her patient and satisfying answer.

We should learn to take all our questions - to our Heavenly King. No matter what it is that troubles or perplexes us, whatever we cannot understand, we should carry it to Him. Nothing can be too small, and nothing too great - to lay before Him, for He condescends to our least affairs and has wisdom for the greatest. Perhaps we are too formal and restrained in our secret prayers. It is better that we should break away from all forms - and just talk to God as a child talks to its father or mother, telling Him everything that is on our mind or heart, all our worries, our needs, our temptations, the things that vex and try us, the matters that are mysterious to us and hard to be understood, the questions that arise in our reading and conversation and thinking. In a word, we should commune with Him of all that is in our heart - and take His counsel about everything.

Then He will always answer all our questions. Ho will do this in different ways. Some of our questions He answers in His Word, and we have to search there for what we seek to learn. Some of them He answers through wise, loving, human friends, whom He sends to us to counsel and advise us. Sometimes our difficulties are met by words that we hear, or by books that come into our hands. Some of our questions, He solves in His Providence by opening or shutting doors for us, if we quietly go on in duty. He will always find some way to answer our questions, if we will do His will as it is made known to us - and wait His time.

"When the queen of Sheba saw all the wisdom of Solomon and the palace he had built, the food on his table, the seating of his officials, the attending servants in their robes, his cupbearers, and the burnt offerings he made at the temple of the LORD, she was overwhelmed. She said to the king - The report I heard in my own country about your achievements and your wisdom is true. But I did not believe these things until I came and saw with my own eyes! Indeed, not even half was told me; in wisdom and wealth you have far exceeded the report I heard!" (1 Kings 10:4-7)

Here again we have an illustration of the experience of those who come to Christ. People often doubt when they read or hear about Him and His love, whether the reality can be so wonderful as they are promised it shall be. They think that at least, His friends must exaggerate the greatness of the blessings which He bestows upon them. But when they come and see for themselves, when they have experienced the riches of Christ's grace and love, they learn that instead of the reports being too highly colored - that the half has not been told!

No one is ever disappointed in coming to Christ. We need never be afraid to say to those who doubt or question, "Come and see for yourselves!" If they will only come and try Christ, accept His friendship, experience His love, let His grace into their hearts, trust His promises - they will find that the truth far surpasses the report! It will be the same also of heaven's glories - when we come to enjoy them. We read wonderful things about the blessed home which Christ has gone to prepare for us; but when we reach it - we shall find that the half was never told us!

The queen's witness to Solomon, as she concluded her visit and turned homeward, was very complimentary: "How happy your men must be! How happy your officials, who continually stand before you and hear your wisdom! Praise be to the LORD your God, who has delighted in you and placed you on the throne of Israel. Because of the LORD's eternal love for Israel, he has made you king, to maintain justice and righteousness!" It is a privilege to be among the friends of any good and wise man. There are people whose close companions we may almost justly envy. They live near to the godly, the wise. They hear their words, they see their life, they have their friendship.

We may think of the disciples of Jesus, who had the privilege of being with Him continually, hearing the wonderful words which fell from His lips, seeing the sweetness, gentleness, purity, and holiness of His life and witnessing the wonderful works which He did. What a privilege was John's - leaning on Jesus' bosom, and Mary's - sitting on a stool at His feet, listening to His teachings! It is a privilege to be a member of a godly man's family, living in the midst of refinement and culture. It is a far greater privilege to be a Christian, a member of the Heavenly Father's family. "A greater than Solomon is here!"

[rosesgonerogue]

Presents

Daminette December Day Twenty-Four

There were very few things in life that could reduce Damian to actual panic; he could count the number of times he’d experienced the emotion on one hand. 

Now was one of those times. 

By some miracle, Damian had found a girlfriend who saw him, not Damian Wayne, not Robin, not the prince of the League of Shadows, but who he was. Marinette was everything that he wasn’t, kind, sweet, optimistic.

Good at giving presents. 

In fact, Marinette was the best at giving presents. Her gifts always showed that she paid attention to the receiver, remembering things that had been mentioned once in a conversation well over a year ago. She also insisted on hand-making her gifts, making them specifically tailored to the tastes and preferences of the receiver. 

It was amazing when you were opening your own gift, but gut-wrenching when she was opening whatever she was given. It could and would never measure up. 

But this year Damian was determined to at least try to give her something worthy of… well, her. The only question was what that would be. 

So, he began his investigation, asking the opinions of various people. He started the questioning with his own family. 

“For Marinette?” Dick thought for a moment. “A package of needles? Some fabric? I don’t know, something like that.” 

“I believe Miss Marinette will be delighted with whatever you may choose, Master Damian,” Alfred said. “I’m sure you will find something suitable for the young lady.” 

“Paris is dangerous with all of those akuma thingies running around, right? Like a taser? I would say a gun, but I think Pixie-Pop would shoot me in the foot if you gave her one,” Jason had said before punching out a garden variety thug. In hindsight, asking Jason in the middle of a job probably hadn’t been the wisest option. At the same time, he probably would have given the same advice wherever they were. 

“Women always like flowers and jewelry,” Father had said dismissively, only for Selina to look at him archly. 

“Yes, most women tend to like those,” she said, eyes staring into Bruce’s soul, “but we prefer things that mean something. Like her favorite flower, or something that will remind her of something you’ve done together. On that note, I’ll be looking forward to what you decide to give me for Christmas, darling.” 

Tim had given the question some real thought, but just as he was opening his mouth to respond, Damian cut him off. “What am I thinking? I’m not so desperate to go to Drake for help.” 

Damian was lost. He even gave in and called a few of Marinette’s closest friends for help, but they only lamented how impossible she was to shop for. He was alone, well and truly alone. 

He came up with an idea. Well, it was closer to half an idea, but it was all he had to go on, so Damian went with it. 

When the time came, Damian wouldn’t say that he was nervous about how the gift would be received, but that was simply because Damian Wayne would never admit to being nervous. In reality he was shaking in his boots. 

“Dames!” Marinette said, rushing towards him as soon as he saw her, arms outstretched. “I missed you so much!”

Damian opened his arms, chuckling lightly. “It’s been a week, Angel.” 

Firm in his embrace, Marinette pouted up at him. “That doesn’t mean I didn’t miss you.” 

“And I missed you as well,” Damian said truthfully, pressing his forehead to hers. The two stood like that for a few moments before He reluctantly pulled away. “Come inside, I’d hate for you to catch a chill.” 

“Oh, shall we go inside and play a rousing game of whist?” she teased. “A spot of tea while we’re at it.” 

“I’ve told you before, the way I speak is not old fashioned, it’s timeless,” Damian groaned. 

“Sure, sure.” 

He led her into the parlor of the manor where everyone else had explicitly been banned via Alfred’s orders. They sat down, respective boxes in hand. 

It only took a few moments for Marinette to thrust her box at him. “You go first, I want to make sure it fits.”

So she had made some sort of clothes for him. There really was no surprise there. She likely also had a bag entirely full of gifts she had made for his undeserving family. 

He almost regretted tearing into her perfect wrapping, but he was also eager to see what she had made. 

Time and experience had taught Damian to have high expectations of Marjnette’s work, but what lay inside exceeded that. An olive army jacket lay inside, doubtlessly made of the finest material and fit to his exact measurements, but upon removing it, he found that the back was embroidered in an intricate pattern he would have known anywhere. 

Damian breathed in deeply. “Where… How did you…?”

Marinette smiled. “I got to visit some of my family in China, remember? I did some research while I was there.” 

Sometimes it was easy to forget that Marinette and Damian had ties back to the same country. Grandfather had been a member of an ancient Chinese nomadic tribe, largely lost to history. He had shown Damian a few things he had kept through the years, simply to have some idea of his roots. On the back of the jacket, Marinette had captured the symbols perfectly, down to the exact shades of the colors they would have used. He hadn’t thought that would be possible without the dyes that literally no longer existed. 

“Angel, I… I never thought I would see anything like this again,” Damian said, looking up at her. “Seriously, how?” 

In truth it had involved little more than some time with Fluff, but Damian didn’t need to know that. Instead she smiled slyly. “Just remember never to underestimate women.” 

“We were never in danger of me underestimating you, Angel,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to her hand. “After this, I’m afraid my gift is going to pale in comparison.” 

“I’m sure I’m going to love it, whatever it is,” she said, tilting her head up. “After all, I do love the person giving the gift.” 

“I wanted to get you something that you loved because it’s a genuinely good gift, not because you love me,” Damian said, presenting her with his own (inferiorly wrapped) gift. 

His heart was beating a little erratically while she tore off the paper. “It’s… a book?” 

“Open it and see.” 

“Oh, it’s a photo album! This is so sweet! It’s too bad that we only have a handful of pictures together, but it looks like there’s plenty of room to add in!” 

“Keep looking.” 

Curious, Marinette flipped through a few more pages. There were more pictures as well as letters lovingly placed inside. But aside from that, many of the pages were covered in Damian’s elegant scrawl. It told the stories behind the pictures, as well as the stories that had no pictures. But as Marinette had noticed, there was a lot of room for later. 

“I want this book to tell our story, a story that I don’t plan on ending any time soon. I want there to be volumes upon volumes, because you’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

Taglist: 

@daminette-december2019 @cravethosecrazysquares @krispydefendorpolice @thesunanditsangel @sonif50 @kris-pines04 @persephonebutkore @tbehartoo @corabeth11 @caffeinetheory @drarryismylife101 @bluerosette23 @weird-pale-blonde-person @mystery-5-5 @heaven428 @thethirdwheelfriend @thetinymoonflower @interobanginyourmom @chocolate1721 @akana-sama @skyel0ve @katiegardneriscoolerthanyou

Again, I’m blaming the fever and the excessive family time. I haven’t had time to write for a hot minute, and it seems like that trend is going to continue the next few days. I love my family but I want to write. 

Also, I was looking into the lore of Batman earlier, and one source told me that Ra’s was a part of a Chinese nomadic tribe. However, the more frequently cited source says that Ra’s was born somewhere in the Arabian Desert. I thought the Chinese thing sounded a little off, but China is also a LOT more diverse than we generally think it is. I’m keeping it as is for now, because the Batman lore is actually a joke. I can pretty much write what I want and there’s probably been something written to back it up. 

[emberbent]

Book 3: Water | Chapter 2: Justified

While Tenok prepared for his sabbatical at the university, Amrit made use of the free time they had before Shinza started training to set a meeting with the chief of the Northern Water Tribe. It was late morning, and he found her sitting cross-legged on her bed, meditating. He was just about to quietly back away when she opened her eyes. “I’m ready when you are.” 

She met him at the full-length mirror and straightened out the fabric of the blue tunic she’d found waiting for her in her closet. The clothing itself wasn’t overly formal - just Northern, fashion-forward everyday wear - but Shinza seemed giddy nonetheless to be wearing it. Besides, the clothes she’d brought from home were far too casual, and she didn’t yet have a set of fancy Avatar meeting clothes like Amrit did.

“Actually, I have something for you before we go.” He handed her an object wrapped in fine red silk. Gingerly, she unwrapped the cloth and uttered a little sound as she lifted the flame-shaped headpiece. He went on, “The Fire Sages brought it to me on the Island. It’s --”

“Roku’s headpiece,” she murmured. She traced her finger along the gilded swirl that made up one of the flames. As she did, Roku’s memories came over her: accepting the artifact as a gift from Prince Sozin; sliding the pin through his topknot before his marriage ceremony; setting it on his bedside table on the last night he was alive. The piece was poignantly familiar, and seeing it again was bittersweet. She asked Amrit, “Why now?”

“I’ve been saving it for your first meeting with a world leader. Can I?”

“Please.” She bent a little so he could fit the piece around her topknot and slide the pin through. She turned to look at herself in the mirror, carefully adjusting the flames and straightening her posture. “How do I look?”

“Official,” he replied fondly. “Ready?”

_____

Once they arrived at the palace, six guards melted the icy fortress gate and allowed them passage. As they watched the impressive volume of ice rapidly melt into the mote below, Shinza elbowed Amrit.

“This had better not be as awkward as our last meeting,” she intoned.

Amrit scoffed and elbowed her back. “That was a one-time thing, okay? Get off me.”

A palace official received them and led them across the vast, snowy courtyard, where the Chief of the Northern Water Tribe waited for them. 

“Chief Yinnak,” the official bowed. Shinza and Amrit followed suit. “Please meet our Avatar, Shinza Kwon of Republic City, and her advisor, Amrit Han of the Island of the Sun Warriors.”

“It’s my pleasure to meet you both,” welcomed the chief, a pleasant and round-faced adolescent with jubilant eyes the color of the sea at high tide. “Please call me Yinnak. I hope you’re hungry - my staff has prepared a lunch for us.”

The two of them followed the chief as they led them through the atrium, pristine as crystal with carved ice statues of the animal spirits that kept watch over the tribe. Having an affinity for the culture, Shinza liked to thumb through her old university textbooks just to look at the pictures. She knew she’d never be able to afford coming here on her artist’s salary, and she’d been content just to get takeout from Narook’s in the city’s Little Water Tribe. Being here, taking in the sharp, chilly air and the deep spiritual energy that permeated the palace, Shinza felt as if she were floating through a dream.

“Have a seat,” invited Yinnak, who took their place at the head of the table. Amrit and Shinza sat opposite each other; Amrit tried his best to look hungry, while Shinza’s eyes were as big as saucers.

“Go on, help yourself,” Yinnak grinned, gesturing to the spread of food between them. Amrit filled his bowl with a modest helping of arctic hen. Shinza, on the other hand, piled some of everything on the table into hers, going extra heavy on the tentacle soup and blubbered seal jerky.

“It’s so nice to see a foreigner eat our food with such enthusiasm,” the chief larked as they joined Shinza in tucking in. “We would have prepared a proper feast for your arrival, but I understand the need to stay low-key during these times.”

“Deeply appreciated.” Amrit spoke for Shinza, whose mouth was full. 

Yinnak studied Shinza politely, as if trying to find physical evidence of her status. “You know, I’d always hoped I’d get to meet the Avatar during my lifetime. I wasn’t certain I would.”

Shinza’s cheeks flushed. “Unfortunately, I was unaware of my status for a long time.”

“Oh, no!” Yinnak dispelled the thought with a flourish of their hand. “I didn’t mean to imply that you were late. Just that it’s an honor to be in your presence. We in the North hold the Avatar in great esteem, especially after what Korra did for us.”

Shinza softened. “That’s kind of you.”

“Chief Yinnak, if I may,” Amrit started. “I hate to get right down to business, but I feel it’s important to discuss The Organization.”

Yinnak sobered. “Okay. What about them?”

“Well,” Amrit rested his chopsticks. “As you may already know, they’ve established a strong base in Republic City. There’s violent protesting in the streets, propaganda’s spreading like wildfire. And now, it seems they’re expanding their reach to the northern Earth Kingdom.”

Yinnak nodded in understanding. “Mr. Han, allow me to put your mind at ease. You have nothing to worry about while you’re here - the Organization has no presence in the Northern Water Tribe.”

Amrit glanced at Shinza, whose expression was unreadable. They finished their meal with tea and kale cookies. Afterward, the chief invited them to the Spirit Oasis.

Shinza thrilled quietly, biting back a grin as they followed the chief through the atrium and into the heart of the palace. Yinnak pried the wooden door open and ushered them through. The humid, heavy air settled quickly on them, and while Amrit and Yinnak removed their coats, Shinza was overcome with the density of the spiritual energy. She put her hands out in front of her and closed her eyes, feeling as if she could see the energy wisping across her skin like vapor and growing thicker toward the little island in the center of the chamber.

“The Spirit Oasis is a sacred place to us,” Yinnak explained. “As you can probably sense, this is a place where the physical and spiritual worlds overlap.”

Shinza noticed the offerings of food left out near the wooden gate. She closed her eyes again, and in her mind’s eye, she saw herself in a past life crossing the bridge, year after year, diving into the sacred pond and searching for her lost love. And then she saw herself sitting beneath the wooden gate, deep in meditation, and merging with the Ocean spirit to demolish the Fire Nation’s infiltrating forces.

“Anyway, Avatar, I want you to know you’re welcome to visit the oasis anytime.”

“Thank you,” Shinza replied, turning to the chief and bowing. “For you hospitality, and for everything.”

Yinnak inclined their head. “Unfortunately, I have a string of meetings this afternoon. Please, stay as long as you like. My official will see you out when you’re finished.”

_____

Back at Tenok’s house, the two had scarcely walked through the front door when Amrit suggested a spar. Shinza could think of a handful of reasons not to - they were still full from lunch, she needed to rest up for her first waterbending lesson in the morning, they’d gotten up early that day and could use a little down time. But deep down, even if he wouldn’t admit it, she could tell he was offended that she didn’t prefer his element - her native element. Each time she avoided firebending or disparaged his harsh training, she felt a pang watching the corner of his mouth turn downward in disappointment. She knew he understood why she felt that way, but it hurt him all the same. Fire, she supposed he felt, was something they had in common. Through firebending, he felt close to her.

She agreed, went to go change, and met him in the courtyard. They faced each other, took their stances.

“Rules?” she inquired.

“The usual,” he announced, and then drew a whip of flames down on her. She barely rolled out of the way in time; her mind suddenly alert and sharp, she quickly calculated, dropped down to the ground, and swung her leg over the snow, catching his ankle. He lost his balance and swayed, but recovered in time to block her fire-daggers. Flowing from offense to recovery to defense and back again, they danced together. Finally, both of them thought to make the same move, kicking high with their left legs and catching each other at the calves, flames blazing skyward from the soles of their feet. The hot metal of The Leg burned through her leggings, but she didn’t move - just stared him down, daring him to try her. He grinned slyly as he realized she was nearly as good as he was now - or at least she had learned how to predict his moves. They would only continue to stalemate each other this way; he knew he’d have to break the rules. He bent his knee and captured her, using all the force of his own body to death-roll her onto the ground. Stunned, she softened her fall with a timely puff of air from her fingertips, but landed flat on her stomach nonetheless. He took the opening to pin her down with his knee to her spine.

He opened his mouth to say something snarky, but he suddenly found himself being launched away from her, floundering on his back with the breath knocked out of his lungs.

Out of nowhere, the wind picked up and howled like a train. Around her, snow and ice began to fly like razors. Her eyes glowed white, and the energy of thousands of Avatars past crackled along her skin. She pinned him to the ground. 

“Sh...Shinza,” he choked, petrified and feeling the weight of his mortality pressing down on him. Her fist was cocked back, flame pointing directly at his face, singeing his eyebrows . “Stop. Please.”

For a moment, she didn’t seem to hear him, and didn’t move. And then, very slowly, the glow in her eyes dimmed. The wind died down, and the snow fell around them silently. She grimaced in concentration, tamping down the Avatar State with great effort. The flame went out of her fist.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, looking pale, mortified, exhausted. Her hand, still hot, wicked melted frost and sweat from his brow. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

He stared up into her face in shock, hands still gripping her waist in a futile attempt to throw her off him. “Yeah, I’m good.” 

Then, he laughed the laugh of a man who’d just cheated death.

Fraught and confused, she puffed herself off of him while he cackled on the ground. “I don’t think you are. I almost fucking killed you.”

“But you didn’t,” he wept with laughter. 

“Because I got lucky!” she argued. “I can’t control the Avatar State yet!” She stuck her hand out to help him up.

“Clearly,” he replied, catching his breath, his eyes alight with passion. “But I see that drive in you. That right there? That is what I’ve been trying to coax out of you all this time.”

Her expression slid off her face. “That drive killed two people in Gaoling.”

“You don’t think being able to incapacitate a threat permanently is a good thing?” 

She pondered that. “That’s not what I’m saying. I know it’s a good thing - a vitally important thing. But if I can’t control myself…”

He conceded.

She wished he’d put his hands on her again.

“You know, we never talked about what happened,” he noted after a beat. “I mean, we don’t have to if you don’t want to. But if you do, you know I’m here --”

“I enjoyed it,” Shinza confessed.

Amrit froze. “You…?”

“I…” she started. Her voice cracked. “Blinded one of them. I snapped the other one’s arms. And when Xia came to my rescue, she torched them to ashes. They got what they deserved, and if I could do it over again, I wouldn’t change anything.”

He stared at her.

“After it happened, it played over and over in my head. I wanted to feel bad - I felt like I should have. Especially as a guest of the temple. But what I felt instead was…” She squeezed her hands together into fists in front of her. “Freedom. Power. After I did that, I knew I could take care of myself. I knew I could keep the cycle going.”

“So what are you saying?” he whispered.

“If The Organization’s violence is justified, then so is mine,” she said. “I don’t want to have to play their game, but I will.”

She realized that made her no better than The Org. And that if she wasn’t careful, she’d make martyrs of them all. But she had to be open to all options, at all costs. 

Amrit couldn’t imagine bearing the weight of every decision, big and small, being responsible for every possible outcome. He planted his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes, deep red like dying embers. 

“Hey,” he commanded her attention. “I’m not judging you.”

“You know I’d never hurt you, right?” Her lip quivered. She smoothed her hands over his forearms. “Not on purpose.”

“If you did, I’d forgive you.” He kissed her forehead. “I’m with you, okay? No matter what.”

_____

“I believe you have a status report for me?” The general steepled his fingers expectantly, swiveling in his chair.

The captain cleared her throat, loath to deliver the bad news. “We’ve lost track of her, sir.”

He stared her down expressionlessly. “Then find her again.”

“We’re working on it, sir,” she replied. “A source claims she might have fled back to the Eastern Air Temple after she killed Nobu and the Dai Li agent. We sent an infiltrator in disguise to the temple, but she reports the Avatar’s not there. I have my team looking into where she might have gone.”

“We can’t have this,” he said quietly, more to himself than to his captain. He took a moment to think, inhaling a calming breath and letting it out slowly. “If she so easily overtook the two of them, she must be further along in her training than we thought. Which means she might have finished with airbending and moved on.”

The general didn’t need to outline the implications of this to the captain. The ambush in Gaoling had been their one shot, and they’d failed because they’d underestimated the Avatar’s abilities. Now, every moment that passed, she grew stronger, and their chances of stopping the cycle forever grew narrower.

“Establish a presence in the North,” ordered the general. “Look for her there. Stay in disguise, and keep your eye on the papers. Someone may report having seen or met her.”

“Yes, General. What are your orders if we -- when we find her?”

“You are to do nothing,” he instructed. “We must play this very carefully. The Avatar is highly favored in the North - if she dies on their ground, they’ll make her a martyr. When you find her, you are to notify me immediately. Do not lose track of her again.”

“Yes, General.”

@chromecutie @my-remedy-is-euphoria @jaymzbush @hetapeep41

[lovehaswonangelnumbers]

New Post has been published on https://lovehaswonangelnumbers.org/the-lionsgate-88-portal/

The Lionsgate 88 Portal

The Lionsgate 88 Portal

By Tanaaz

The Lionsgate 88 Portal is activated by the numerology of 8/8, the Sun in Leo Season, and the rising of the star, Sirius. This combination of energy opens a galactic portal that allows high vibrational energy to be sent to Earth, which we can all tune in and connect with.

The Lionsgate 88 Portal peaks on the 8th day of the 8th month, but we are likely to feel the current of its energy before and after this date too.

In numerology, the 8th day of the 8th month is a highly spiritual and charged time.

The number 8 represents infinity – the infinite soul that we are and the infinite journey that we take. It represents the “forever conscious” part of our soul; the soul that has lived and will continue to live long after this incarnation.

8 is also the number associated with DNA activation, abundance, power, and higher realms of consciousness, making 8/8 a super potent time to charge and clear our energy for receiving.

Lionsgate is not just about numerology but also astrology, and involves the Sun in its ruling sign of Leo and the rising of the star Sirius.

Sirius is one of the brightest stars in the sky and is known as our Spiritual Sun. While our earthly Sun illuminates our physical world which is an illusion, our Spiritual Sun illuminates the truth of our timeless soul.

The ancients were very in tune with the star Sirus, as they believed it was the gateway to heaven and the home of higher vibrational beings. They believed the energy of Sirius carried highly advanced wisdom that we could tap into and utilize whenever Sirius was strong in the sky.

Sirius Rising at this time of year was a special and sacred occasion and marked the start of the new year. The ancients would also observe things happening to Mother Earth as well.

In Ancient Egypt, the rising of Sirius coincided with the flooding of the Nile. They viewed this as a gift of prosperity and fertility and revered Sirius so much, they even aligned their pyramids with its rising as well.

There are also theories that the pyramids would act as transmitters, helping to amplify the energy of Sirius in order to channel and download its messages with greater ease.

The Great Sphinx with its lion-like qualities, also aligns with the Leo zodiac during this time of year. This alignment is believed to aid in the receiving of Divine messages from both Isis and Anubis, the Gods connected to Sirius.

It wasn’t just the Egyptians that revered Sirius, all across the world from the Mayans, to the Sumerians, Babylonians, and the Dogon tribe, there is a strong connection with this bright blue star.

While our Sun is responsible for beaming down life for our physical bodies, especially when it’s in its ruling sign of Leo, Sirius is responsible for beaming down life for our spiritual bodies.

This is why the opening of the Lionsgate Portal can bring awakenings and lift our consciousness to new heights.

Here are a few things we can set an intention to experience under Lionsgate:

Heart healings: the Lionsgate portal activates the heart chakra. Old or even current wounds of the heart may rise up for healing. We may finally feel free from any grief or sadness that has burdened our hearts. For more guidance with this, read How to Open and Clear Blocks in your Heart Chakra.

Third eye awakenings: the Lionsgate portal also activates the third eye chakra. We may feel more intuitive or learn something new about the way our intuition speaks to us. Our intuition is likely to be strong and if this is something we want to work with more, the Lionsgate portal is a great time to begin. For more, read how to Open and Activate your Third Eye Chakra.

Higher Chakra Openings: while we have seven main chakras or energy centers in our body, we also have hundreds of smaller, more sensitive chakras that can be activated and awakened during the Lionsgate Portal. This helps us to tap into new wisdom and higher spiritual knowledge.

Psychic downloads: with the high vibrational energy from Sirus beaming our way, we are more likely to receive psychic downloads. These can come through our dreams, visions, spirit guides and angels, or through simply hearing things while in a state of relaxation. Meditation and automatic writing are great ways to open to this energy and to receive guidance.

Visitations: the ancients believed that Sirius was home to heaven, angels, and other worldly beings. Under the Lionsgate Portal energy, we are more likely to receive messages, dreams, signs, and visits from our loved ones who have passed and from our spirit guides and guardian angels. Encountering alien beings may also be more likely too.

Freedom: one of the strongest vibrations from Sirius is this energy of freedom. The idea is that our earthly Sun illuminates this physical world which is an illusion. But Sirius illuminates our soul and spiritual bodies, which is the truth. By understanding this, we gain a sense of freedom.

Peace: Sirius has very peaceful vibrations too, so spending time in nature and meditation is a great way to tap into this peaceful energy and use it for healing and restoring your mind, body, and soul.

Technology: Sirius is also associated with highly advanced technology. If you have a new tech innovation or would like to start a website, blog, app, or anything else related to technology, this would be great energy to use to your advantage.

Creativity: Lionsgate is also a highly creative time and the perfect opportunity to try a new creative project or to take action on a creative project you have been looking to get off the ground.

The energy of Lionsgate can connect us with the cosmic skies, galactic frequencies, higher dimensional beings, and our own intuition.

It can also activate heart healings, the expansion of spiritual wisdom, and help us awaken to our true potential.

On Lionsgate 88 set an intention of how you wish to use this energy, and then create a ritual or practice that allows you to harness and work with it.

*******

All of Creation Is watching Earth  and witnessing its Ascension Process. They are ready, ready for this Planet to be Declared a Light Only Zone. All of Humanity are called upon now to Step Up in fulfillment of their Divine Soul Contract.

The dark has been cleared, fully defeated and New Earth, Nova Terra, is ready to begin. This requires each Being to fully clear the remaining density within their bodies, to awaken to full remembrance of their Galactic Truth, their Soul Essence, their Divine Blueprint.

This is not a Drill, in Real Time, Present Moment of Now Mother of All Creation is on the Planet and she is Our Divine Director, Our Eternal Mother. She hired you for this role  and She is here to guide you.

Mother has the entire Galactic Federation of Light and all the Angels with Her in all moments. She also has Her guide/ambassador Robin Williams and  Master St. Germain by Her side. There is no session like this available on the planet, or in all of Creation.

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[jazzhandsmcleg]

...here!

This is still a rough draft, technically, because I wanted to finish the whole thing before I put any of it online. However, a) I certainly don’t know when that will happen, and b) the prologue is old enough, and has already been read by enough people, that I figure it doesn’t much matter if I put it out there properly. I’ll save posting it on AO3 -- you know, formally -- for a later date, though.

The main character, unnamed here for what will become obvious reasons, is the brainchild of my excellent friend James, and so is the rough idea behind this "novelization." Journey, of course, belongs to thatgamecompany. If you’re not familiar with Journey, what are you doing! Go watch it! It’s gorgeous and touching and only an hour and a half long!

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

The inside of the tent was like a womb. The thick red cloth that formed its draping roof and walls simultaneously kept most of the sunlight out and transformed what little entered into a rich, deep glow. The fabric was densely woven enough to keep the wind, usually always welcome, out as well: the air was hot, so hot that it felt almost solid – or perhaps liquid. Shiningchild, seated with legs crossed in the center of the tent, leaned away from her work and took a deep breath, relishing the diminished ache in her back and the slight sensation of coolness triggered by her inhalation. Yes, more like a liquid.

Probably that had been done on purpose. This ritual was about beginnings, after all.

She hunched forward once more and adjusted the bundle of cloth that rested on her bare black legs, her ears stiff and alert with renewed focus. Only a few more stitches. And then –

She shook her head and concentrated. Push the gold thread in. Pull it back out. Make sure it aligned with the stitch before it, as it did with the stitch before that. Her robe had to be perfect; it would shame her family if it were anything but, and all of this was unconventional enough.

She chirped softly, no louder than breathing. She loved her family, and she wanted their pride, but there were more directions to travel than east and south.

And I want to visit them all.

Done.

She tied the thread in the birth knot, then wound the remaining thread into a bundle and tied it the same way. It hung just so on the side of her cloak, a little golden hint at future growth. Whether it came or not – and she hoped it would – the possibility was always there.

Now, for a few precious moments, Shiningchild had the opportunity to hurry, to burn some excited, nervous energy. She gathered her robe and hood in one arm and stood quickly, then pulled the fat rope that wound down from the roof of the birthing tent with her free hand. The long, slender white pennant on top of the tent would now be flapping stiffly in the breeze. The Named would be here soon.

Moving with barely contained eagerness, Shiningchild hurriedly juggled hood and robe as she shook the latter out and pulled it over her thin frame. Its familiar weight encircled her comfortingly – but was it just slightly heavier from the threads she had sewn onto the hem?

Anticipation rose within her like a tangible force, making her tremble. She took another deep breath, this one calming as well as cooling, and pulled on her hood with deliberately steady fingers. Then she folded her hands beneath her robe and sat facing the tent flaps, staring hard at the vertical line of light that shone between its closed halves.

Her attention was immediately rewarded. Not even a minute passed before three authoritative whistles sounded from just outside the tent. The calls were a challenge that demanded an immediate response; Shiningchild sat as straight as she could and gave it.

A pause. The line of light half-disappeared as someone stood directly before it, moving aside the rocks that weighed down the tent flaps. Then, finally, the fabric parted and three figures glided in: the Named of Shiningchild’s greater family.

Shiningchild chirped again, this time quietly, respectfully. The Named always warranted such regard: their scarves were long and full, each with the Fullest Circle trailing at the end. Between the three of them, they possessed several centuries of wisdom, knowledge, and experience, and they had led their greater family – and occasionally, with the help of other Named, even the whole Southern tribe – with strength and grace for much longer than Shiningchild had been alive.

Now, nodding wordlessly to acknowledge her greeting, they sat across from Shiningchild in a neat row, their scarves settling gently to the sands around them. The tent flaps jerked briefly as someone outside replaced the stones, but Shiningchild barely noticed. For a long, silent moment she and the Named gazed at each other, the air between them thick with potential. Then:

“Many, many thousands of years ago,” one of the Named began, his voice heavy with ritual. “There was the dark. And in the dark was the Mountain. And the light arose and shone from the Mountain, and as each beam spread across the earth it became a symbol. Before anyone was there to speak or read or be shaped by these symbols, they existed.”

“But they were not alone not for long,” continued another. “For as the light spread across the earth it left new things in its wake, things that came into being in the fertile spaces between dark and light: birds, and soft ground, and things to grow in it. And, finally, our Ancestors. Those before.”

“For a long time they thrived in what the Mountain had given them,” the third said. Her voice, as quiet and ritualistic as her fellows’ at first, slowly reached a crescendo as she spoke. “They learned to speak, and thus to create. They learned to use the gifts they had been granted. They grew, and grew wise. They let the Mountain guide them, name them, and raise them to new heights!”

A deep, ringing silence. Shiningchild held her breath, enraptured.

“Then – things changed,” the third of the Named finished, her voice soft once more.

The first speaker took up the story. “Much of the past is lost to us, but we know that the Ancestors are gone – destroyed. The earth was given over to sand and desert, and what remained of the Ancestors’ works began to wear away.”

Again, as one speaker finished, another began. “After many centuries, two new beams of light spread from the Mountain. Our people were born from one ray of light, and the people of the East from the other. Over the years we multiplied and spread through the desert. We learned symbols and speech, and to avoid the dangerous history of the Ancestors. Their mistakes, whatever they were, are not to be ours.”

“But some, with curiosity unquenched, soon began to find their way to the top of the Mountain,” finished the third. “Or to try, for only those who strayed from the paths of their journeys returned to pass their stories on to their people. To seek the Mountain, too, is death: because of our ancestry, its favor is denied to us. But we live on regardless.”

“And here is the now,” said the first.

“And here is the now,” agreed the second.

“And here is the now,” concluded the third.

Another pause. The third of the Named sighed, and shifted in her seat.

“Shiningchild,” she said, “I speak to you now not as First Glint of Water in the Heart of Midday Sands, not as one of the Named, but as a loving and concerned member of your family. Are you sure you wish to follow this custom? Even now, there is no shame on you, or on us, if you do not. There is no single path to wisdom, or to experience, or to the hallowed. And we cannot help you as much as we would wish: so many of the old ways have been forgotten through disuse, and I know you have been unable to find a companion, despite searching the entire southern tribe.”

Shiningchild bowed her head. “Elder cousin,” she said as humbly as she could, “I am sure.”

Another sigh. Then, the faint rustle of cloth as all three of the Named stood.

“Very well, then,” First Glint of Water in the Heart of Midday Sands said, formal once more. “Shiningchild, Shiningchild, Shiningchild. Kneel. Be born. Receive the beginning of your truename.”

Trembling, Shiningchild turned and shifted into a kneeling position, head bent to reveal the hem of her hood as the three Named gathered close behind her. She felt a series of light jerks as they sewed a blank piece of scarf to the bottom of her hood – for her coming of age – then another set of more distant tugs as they sewed another piece – for her decision to journey – to the bottom of the first.

“Rise.”

She rose, and had to laugh in wonder as a faint glow lit the tent: the appearance of the first symbols of her truename.

Strong hands turned her around, then reached up to cup her head, sending a shiver down her spine.

“Seeker,” said the Named in one voice.

“May you live long and grow rich in wisdom and understanding.”

“May you one day reach the Fullest Circle, as we have done.”

“May you always find what you seek,” finished First Glint of Water in the Heart of Midday Sands, and quickly, tenderly smoothed her thumb over Seeker’s forehead. “Now, come out! Begin your life! Begin your journey!”

One of the Named chimed a command, setting the embroidery on their robes and the symbols on their scarves to glowing. Outside the tent, other members of the clan hastened to pull back the flaps, letting in the fierce light of the sun. Seeker looked straight ahead and walked steadily through the threshold, out into the waiting crowd of her people. They parted before her just as the tent flaps had, leaving a broad path between them.

She looked up. Directly before her on the horizon stood the Mountain, shrouded in clouds at its base but with its summit bared to her sight. A line of light, visible despite the distance and the afternoon sun, shone from a cleft at its peak into the sky.

Behind her, she felt the Named emerge from the tent. “Seeker!” they cried in one voice, prompting a flurry of chirps and whistles from the rest of the greater family.

“Seeker!” they roared in reply, a rush of sound that filled her ears.

And: “Seeker!” she shouted back to them all with her joyful single voice, and shook her cloak in a motion she had practiced a thousand times before, and rose into the air to taste flight for the first time.

[lifeofresulullah]

The Life of The Prophet Muhammad(pbuh): Calling the Tribes to Islam, the Allegiances of Aqaba and Migration to Madinah

Medina and its People

Medina had become “the center of Islam” after the migration of the Honorable Messenger. Therefore, it would be useful to give concise information about Medina of that time and its people.

Medina was regarded as one of the important cities of Arabian Peninsula in those times, as it still is in our day. It has a valley with a quite wide area. The valley is all surrounded by mountains. Its climate is favorable, and its soil is fertile. It has got beautiful weather, cool and abundant water. It receives more rain than Mecca.

The city was called “Yathrib” until the migration of the Messenger of Allah. It is said to have taken this name after the Amaliqan called Yathrib, who was the first settler of the place. However, the Prophet disliked this name because it meant “sinister” and changed it to Medina. Although it was called “Medinatu’n-Nabi” for a while, it began to be called by the name Medina alone later. Historians record that Medina has got ninety-four names, mentioning them all one by one. 

Apart from Muslims, there were Jewish people and Christians residing in Medina, too. In this sense, the city was highly populated. It is assumed that the city population in that time was about ten thousand.

Muslims in this city were from Aws and Khazraj tribes. As it is in the nature of Arabs, disputes, fights and collisions followed one another between these two tribes, which generated from two brothers named Aws and Khazraj. The last one of these civil fights, Battle of Buath, had continued for a hundred-and-twenty years until it ended five years ago before the migration of the Prophet. In this bloody battle, the most honorable warriors of both sides were either killed or left disabled. The immigration of the Messenger of Allah took place at that time when the Ansar (people of Medina) were in this pitiful situation.

With the immigration of the Prophet, the enmity between these two tribes developed into brotherhood and love. Resentment and discontent came to an end entirely. Undoubtedly, heroic legends told by poets and memorized by women and children from both sides, which tell about how this enmity of a century turned into brotherhood is a gift blessed upon our dear Prophet from Allah, the Glorious. 

Hazrat Aisha says:

“The day of Buath is a day which Allah prepared for His own Messenger, and as a result of this battle, the Messenger of Allah (pbuh) migrated to Medina. Before the migration, the unity of Aws and Khazraj, which had fought each other, had been disrupted; their elite people had been killed and wounded. Because of this miserable situation, Allah prepared this day for the Prophet (pbuh) so that Ansar, who had fought each other, would convert to Islam.” 

Jews living there were members of three tribes: Bani Qaynuqa, Bani Quraiza and Bani Nadr…

Christians held the smallest portion of the population. They could not tolerate the rapid spread of Islam throughout Medina and left Medina after a short time. These Christians, who fought against Muslims in the war of Uhud, took refuge in Byzantine later.

As for the political life of Medina, it was at a primitive level at those times. Tribal lifestyle still prevailed. Just like that of the polytheist Arabs, each tribe of Jews were regarded a community on its own. They did not obey any other authority than their own chiefs.

A lifestyle which was not familiar with the notion and practice of equality was adopted at that time. For instance, the blood money paid to weak tribes was half the blood money paid to strong and powerful tribes. Community life was deprived of laws. Arbiters were appointed when necessary and judgments were made based on those arbiters’ personal decisions and views.

The number of literate people was quite few.

So, our reverend Prophet migrated to such a city which we have told roughly about in geographic, political and social terms. He had important missions ahead and a lot of difficult situations to be solved awaited him.

Conversion of Abdullah B. Salam to Islam

Abdullah Ibn Salam, who was from the progeny of Prophet Joseph, was one of the prominent scholars of Medina Jews.

He had learnt a lot of things from his father Salam, who was a great scholar, including the Torah and its interpretation. Moreover, his father told him about the prophet to come in the last days of the world, his attributions, signs and what he would do. He also said to his son “If he (the last prophet) comes from progeny of Aaron, I will pay homage to him. Otherwise, I will not.” Salam had died before the Prophet came to Medina.

Abdullah Ibn Salam was also one of those who heard the voice of the Jew who gave Muslims the happy news of the reverend and supreme Messenger’s arrival to Medina and, he could not help saying “Allahu Akbar!”

His aunt, upon hearing this, scolded him saying, “May God not let you find what you seek! I swear by God, you would not be happier if you heard Moses was coming!”

And Abdullah said: “O aunt! I swear by Allah, the one who is coming is his brother! He is a prophet, too, just like him.”

In return, his aunt asked: “So, is this the prophet who was told us to come before the end of the world?

Abdullah answered: “Yes…” And then she said: Then, you are right to behave like this!” 

Abdullah Ibn Salam went to see the reverend and supreme Messenger when he honored Medina with his arrival and when he saw the shining, blessed face of the Messenger, he said to himself: “There is no lie in this face! There can be no fraud in this face!” 

His Question to the Prophet and His Conversion to Islam

The Honorable Prophet was a guest at Hazrat Abu Ayyub al-Ansari’s house.

Abdullah Ibn Salam went there to visit the Prophet and asked him some questions. When he received answers in compliance with the Torah to his Torah-based questions, he said the sentence of Shahadah and converted to Islam. Then, he said: O Messenger of Allah! Jewish people are slanderers and liars. When they find out that I converted to Islam tomorrow, they will make up many lies about me and slander me. Before my conversion is heard by them, ask them about me and have my place confirmed!”

The reverend Prophet let him hide somewhere, invited some of the notable people of Jews and said to them: “O Jewish community! You know very well that I am a prophet sent by Allah! I have come with the true religion; Convert to Islam!”

The Jews responded, repeating the same sentence three times: “We do not know whether you are a prophet or not!”

After that, the Honorable Messenger asked: There is among you someone named Abdullah Ibn Salam. What kind of a person is he?      

The Jews witnessed saying: He is a decent son of a decent father among us. Both he and his father are the most virtuous and most knowledgeable of us.

The Messenger of Allah asked: “What would you say if Abdullah Ibn Salam converted to Islam?”

The Jews said: “God forbid! Ibn Salaam would never convert to Islam!”

The Prophet asked the same question three times.

And they repeated the same answer of refusal.

Upon seeing this, the Reverend and Supreme Messenger called out to Abdullah Ibn Salam: “O Ibn Salam! Come out!”

Abdullah came out of where he was hiding and declared that he converted to Islam, saying

اَشْهَدُ اَنْ لَٓااِلٰهَ اِلَ��ا اللّٰهُ وَاَشْهَدُ اَنَّ مُحَمَّدًا رَسُولُ اللّٰهِ  And he invited Jews to convert to Islam by saying: “O Jewish community! Fear Allah! Accept what you have been given! I swear by Allah that you also know that he is the prophet whose name and attributions you find written in the Torah.” 

However, Jews said “You are lying! You are the most evil son of the most evil father among us!” and blackened him making up various faults and misdeeds about him.

Abdullah b. Salam said: O Messenger of Allah! This is what I was actually afraid of! Have I not told you they are cruelpeople, liars, sinners and slanderers? I was right!

The reverend Prophet let the Jews leave his presence.

Abdullah Ibn Salam returned his home. Upon his call to Islam, his all household and his aunt converted to Islam. 

Although some of the notable Jews tried to make Abdullah Ibn Salam leave Islam with various intrigues and words, they failed.

A lot of Jewish scholars converted to Islam and persevered living as Muslims sincerely, following Abdllah b. Salam. And Jewish scholars who did not convert to Islam began to sound off saying: Only the evil ones among us paid homage to Muhammad! If they were decent, they would not have left their ancestors’ religion.”

Thereupon, Allah the Glorious stated the following in the honorable verse He sent:

“Not all of them are alike: Of the People of the Book are a portion that stands (For the right): They rehearse the Signs of God all night long, and they prostrate themselves in adoration.” 

Polytheists Threaten

Seeing that the Prophet and Muslims had a free and peaceful life in Medina, polytheists felt very annoyed and started to worry.

They did not want to leave them alone in Medina. They wanted to put the strategy of “keeping people away from the Honorable Messenger of Allah”, which they adopted in Mecca, into practice in Medina as well. For this reason, they sent two letters as a memorandum, one after the other, written in harsh, threatening language, to the Ansar who promised to protect the prophet. In those letters, the Ansar were asked to quit protecting the Prophet and otherwise, they were told to be prepared for anything that might happen to them.

However, these two memorandum letters by the polytheists of Quraish failed to put any negative pressure on Muslims of Medina. Contrarily, the letters received harsh answers. So, the polytheists of Mecca understood that they could not turn anyone in Medina against the Messenger of Allah by terrorizing and threatening them.

Frightening Days in Medina

The Prophet found out about the threatening letters sent to the people of Medina. As a result, Medina was always on full alert. In case of any possible “sudden attack by polytheists”, the Honorable Messenger was always careful and asked Muslims to be careful and precautious, too. They did not even sleep some nights for this reason.

Indeed, Muslims of Medina were in a real critical situation because their migration to Medina put them in the target of polytheistic Arab tribes. Of course, they had to be alert all the time in this situation. Muslims would gather together even for the slightest commotion.

One day, they heard a noise. Whoever heard the noise cried out. The Honorable and Supreme Messenger, who was the zenith of any positive trait, was the zenith of courage as well. He girded himself with his sword and got on his horse at once, and rode off to the crowd; and consoled them.

Anas b. Malik says:

“Whenever an outcry was heard, we would see the Messenger of Allah arrive there on horseback!” 

The efforts of Meccan polytheists on making Medina Muslims quit protecting the Honorable Messenger were not limited to sending memorandum-like letters. They also took some economic precautions in this sense. Moreover, they were systematically plotting mischief and causing disorder among Muslims, by using unbelievers and some Jews in Medina.

Despite all these, Muslims of Medina did not hesitate at all or refrain from embracing the Messenger of Allah, living Islam and helping Muslim immigrants at any cost. On the contrary, they continued with their service more seriously and more sincerely.

[genotaurus-inactive]

Warrior Cats AU: Medicine Cat BrambleLIGHT Part 2

Since some people seemed to enjoy the idea, I guess I will be continuing this exploration of events (Keep in mind I probably will be changing some orders of the events taking place).

We finally at the beginning of the new Prophecy books, with Bramblelight being one of the Thunderclans medicine cats, and now Squirrelpaw and Leafpaw enter the picture.

Bramblelight had dealt with them as kids before, while not his apprentice anymore the tabby does still have a close relationship with Firestar and thus visiting his daughters became the norm for a while.

Squirrelpaw and Leafpaw are both getting trained as warriors, with their father being immensely proud of them, but one day not long after the ceremony, Leafpaw’s mentor comes to Firestar and tells of their concerns for her.

Leafpaw was great as a tracker, following and identifying whatever they were after, but her fighting skills were lacking with her hunting being mediocre at best. Compared to her sister Squirrelpaw, her mentor could only wonder and it started to make Firestar think.

His gaze went over to the medicine den, where Bramblelight and Cinderpelt were currently sharing a rabbit, and he remembered how it could be that one’s destiny wasn’t entirely predictable, and he did only want the best for his daughter. So, not long after Leafpaw gets made a medicine cat apprentice, which she is not thrilled by, but Bramblelight tries his best to cheer her up.

But he doesn’t stay long by her side, as a dream tells him to go and leave Thunderclan and find their new home, and so he does.

He doesn’t keep it a secret, instead telling Cinderpelt, Leafpaw and Firestar all about it, who while not happy with it, did have to agree that the dream was sent for a reason, and thus he goes, but first they form our known travelling group.

Feathertail, Crowpaw, Tawnypelt and Bramblelight all being the ones who had received the prophecy, with Stormfur and Squirrelpaw tagging along for their own reasons.

Bramblelight and Squirrelpaw keep butting their heads on the journey, but manage to work together (somehow) and during their travels the group starts forming a strong and close bond with each other.

Feathertail and Stormfur help with their knowledge about the rivers and how to hunt fish, teaching the others during their journey. Crowpaw helping as a guide when it came to large open fields and when the weather wouldn’t let them be able to cross it so easily. Tawnypelt pretty much becomes the leader of the group, her cool head letting her rarely worry about whatever problem they are facing and Bramblelight, while happy he and his sister can spend some time together again, took over the task of caring for everyone’s wounds when necessary and would even stop them at times to help rogues and kittypets with grave wounds when they would find some, one special occasion being when the group met a rogue and his mate but previously they had a great fight with some rats and the wounds needed to be treated. Squirrelpaw just keeps the moral up (someone has to).

They reach the mountains and find out about the Tribe cats, resting there and listening to their stories and traditions. They are different yet somehow similar to the Clan cats and, thankful for their willingness to let them rest and not being treated as foes, the group still has to continue their journey.

They go and go, reach the lake and meet midnight the badger, telling them how the clans have to leave the forest and come to the lake, and with that knowledge they make their way back, but of course, they run into trouble.

The Tribe cats are having trouble and the group wants to help them, but Feathertail dies as a result of it.

It hits everyone hard, especially Stormfur and Crowpaw, and they mourn her death. Still, they can’t stay here forever and need to make their way back home, but Stormfur insists on staying for his sister’s sake. So, they leave him with the Tribe cats and continue their journey, a cloud of sorrow in their minds, especially Bramblelight who wasn’t even able to make her death painless, and bad luck still didn’t leave them.

On their journey they got into trouble with rats, living near the two leg place, and it was a fierce fight, with Bramblelight doing his best to protect everyone, but Squirrel- and Crowpaw received bad bites and someone had to get the attention of the rats for the others to flee. So, Bramblelight did so, having sworn to himself that if it came down to it, he would be the one dying and not his friends.

He manages to convince Tawnypelt who saves the others and hates to leave him behind, but promises to go back and help him while Bramblelight stands his ground. But they are too many and his stamina goes down fast, and when one  of the rats manages to bite him in the throat, he loses conciseness.

When Tawnypelt goes back to help him, to her despair she can’t find him anywhere, since unbeknownst to her, Bramblelight had been found by rogues, and not any rogues, but the ones he helped before with their rat bites, and they had fought off the rats and carried him away to safety.

Heartbroken but determined Tawnypelt returns to the two apprentices and the three make their way back to the forest to make sure the ones they lost they didn’t lose for nothing.

So, meanwhile Bramblelight wakes up in the two-leg place, in an abandoned two-leg nest with the two rogues having made sure he was safe and tried his best to clean his wounds. The brown tabby would have liked to run towards where his sister and the others went, but the bites on him had to be cared for and he knew, until he was back on his feet, they were long gone.

And thus he stayed with the two rogues for some time, after all they were expecting kits and Bramblelight wanted to help them as a thank you. For the wound at his throat they gifted him a piece of torn cloth he used to wrap around his neck and stop the bleeding, and even after it healed, and he left the rogues behind in the two-leg place, he kept in on out of a habit.

It had been a few moons, and while Bramblelight was out gathering herbs near the river he was surprised to hear a happy yowl behind him and a young she-cat almost tackling him to the ground.

It was Leafpaw.

The two were surprised to see each other and quickly, Leafpaw filled him in on how Squirelpaw, Tawnypelt and Crowpaw came back without him, believing he might have died which Leafpaw wouldn’t accept to believe, as well as the destruction of the forest and how now all the clans were on a journey to the lake together.

Bramblelight get reunited with his clan and friends, learning how the two apprentices were now Squirrelflight and Crowfeather, and the group was happy to reunite again, with Tawnypelt not leaving her brother out of sight for the next nights.

Firestar and Cinderpelt were happy to hear he was safe, letting him join the clan again without question, but Bramblelight noticed how depressed Firestar still looked despite this.

Leafpaw was the one to fill him in on Graystripe’s disappearance and how it affected Firestar, which made the brown tabby feel bad for his leader and former mentor.

They reached the Tribe Cats and could shortly reunite with Stormfur, who was filled in and sad when he heard about his father’s disappearance but still confident that the gray tom would survive and find his way back to them, he promised it to Firestar.

Finally, the Clans reached the Lake together, finding a new home and Leafpaw managed to find the moon pool, giving her the name Leafpool which Bramblelight was the first one to congratulate her for it.

But not all danger was gone, as during his absence, his half-brother Hawkfrost was planning something. Something that Mothwing needed help with stopping.

 Here we are with part 2, how half of the new prophecy would be if Brambleclaw was a medicine cat, and yes, I added a few parts because the new prophecy really needed it. Part 3 is on its way with what happens to Hawkfrost and Mothwing.

[xtruss]

173 years, $170: Why Irish people are donating to help Native Americans hit by coronavirus

"Sending the actual amount of $170 personally after 170 or so years felt like the right tribute across the ages."

In 1847, the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma sent $170 to Ireland during the Great Famine. More than 170 years later, Ireland has helped to raise more than $2M for Navajo and Hopi nations, which have been hard hit by the coronavirus pandemic.

— NBCNews.Com | May 6, 2020 | By Alyssa Newcomb

Vehicles line up for COVID-19 testing outside of the Monument Valley Health Center in Oljato-Monument Valley, San Juan County, on April 17, 2020.

It was a gesture born of suffering and kindness carried over generations.

In 1847, the Choctaw Nation of Oklahoma sent $170 to Ireland during the Great Famine — a time of mass starvation on the island. More than 170 years later, Ireland has returned the favor, helping to raise more than $2 million for the Navajo and Hopi nations, which have been hard hit by the coronavirus pandemic.

Donors said they felt like it was a chance to pay the good deed forward.

“I saw that Irish people were starting to donate and share the story of Choctaw Nation and the historical symmetry really affected me," said Paul Hayes, a native of Tipperary, Ireland, who runs Beachhut, a technology public relations firm said in an email. "Sending the actual amount of $170 personally after 170 or so years felt like the right tribute across the ages."

The Navajo Nation reported more than 2,700 coronavirus cases and 70 deaths as of Monday, a rate of infection that makes it one of the worst outbreaks in the United States. During a visit to Arizona on Tuesday President Trump said the Navajo Nation would receive $600 million in federal funding.

The sentiment runs deep in Ireland where the memory of the Great Potato Famine — which claimed more than one million lives by the time it ended in 1852 — endures to this day. And that’s why strangers were inspired to make a symbolic gesture of goodwill toward people living across an ocean, 5,000 miles away. The donations sent on GoFundMe include messages of hope and gratitude from people in Ireland.

"The care shown generations ago was not and will not be forgotten," said Jonathan Legge, CEO of & Open, a bespoke gift-giving company based in Dublin.

“An overdue debt repaid on behalf of our ancestors to your ancestors. Stay strong,” read a note attached to one $30 donation.

“I am currently unemployed so I'm sorry that my donation is not more, but I hope that this little contribution will make some positive difference in the same way those donations 173 years ago were sent with the same hope for ancestors of mine,” another donor who gave $10 said on the website. “I stand in solidarity with my Native American brothers and sisters during this time of crisis and send this message with love, respect and hope for the future.”

When the Choctaw Nation paid it forward all those years ago, it was empathizing with Ireland’s plight based on its own experience. During the 1830s, 60,000 Native Americans had been forced by the federal government to relocate from their ancestral lands and move west on what is now known as the Trail of Tears. Thousands of people died during the devastating trek.

In 2017, Ireland honored the Choctaw Nation with a sculpture of nine stainless steel eagle feathers stretching 23 feet high. The next year, Irish Prime Minister Leo Varadkar visited the Choctaw Nation in Oklahoma.

Chief Gary Batton of the Choctaw Nation said adversity can “bring out the best in people” and said he’s happy to see his ancestors’ generosity inspiring donations to other Native American tribes.

“We are gratified, and perhaps not at all surprised, to learn of the assistance our special friends, the Irish, are giving to the Navajo and Hopi nations. Our word for their selfless act is ‘iyyikowa’ — it means serving those in need,” Batton said in an email. “We have become kindred spirits with the Irish in the years since the Irish Potato Famine. We hope the Irish, Navajo and Hopi peoples develop lasting friendships, as we have. Sharing our cultures makes the world grow smaller.”

The donations are being used to buy critical supplies, including food and personal protective equipment.

There are 13 grocery stores in the Navajo Nation serving 180,000 people, while there are just three small stores in the Hopi Nation serving 3,000 people. The entire area spans more than 26,000 square miles in northeastern Arizona, southeastern Utah and northwestern New Mexico, making it an “extreme food desert,” according to organizers of the fundraiser.

The communities also include many elderly people and those with underlying medical conditions who could be especially hard hit by the coronavirus. One-third of Navajo Nation residents also do not have running water and other essentials to help them stay safe during the pandemic.

The surge of donations from Ireland was acknowledged Sunday by Vanessa Tulley, one of the organizers.

“In moments like these, we are so grateful for the love and support we have received from all around the world. Acts of kindness from indigenous ancestors passed being reciprocated nearly 200 years later through blood memory and interconnectedness,” she wrote. “Thank you, IRELAND, for showing solidarity and being here for us.”

[niksfiks]

Gotta Get It Right: Chapter 9

PAIRING: Loki/OFC

RATING: Mature

NOTES/WARNINGS: Trigger warning: mentions of dubcon, violence, PTSD, sexual assault, and physical abuse in later chapters. 

Also on Ao3 

Feedback is always appreciated (just being an attention whore screaming for comments/reblogs). Taglist is open

Tagging @fandom-and-feminism @fadingcoast @igotloki @mrshiddleston-uk @mischievousbellerina

A/N: So, consistent posting is just not a thing I can seem to do. Thanks for your patience with that. But, here we are, onward and upward!

Chapter 9: New Dreams, Old Legends

Aromas of lavender and sage lulled Aleksa from her slumber. Laughing children outside her window told her it was afternoon, setting off a small spark of panic until she registered that she should’ve been smelling plough mud and oysters. Whether she’d slept through another morning’s work or not, the bed she awoke in was too flat, and the room that came into focus was too barren. Somehow, though, she felt at home.

Aleksa stretched to shake off the last bits of sleep but winced when a sharp pain tore through her chest. She sat up slowly, pushing the furs aside to swing her legs over the side of the bed. Her fingers found the wrappings around her shoulder and chest, reminding her of the blade she took fighting Loki...

No. This wound was closer to her shoulder than her heart. She tried to remember how she got it. The children outside laughed again, and she turned to gaze out of the window. They were running and playing, slowing only when Fiske couldn’t keep up. Fiske. The lost child. The one she saved, taking a blade to the...

The memory was suddenly clear in her mind. She sighed, still lamenting the necessity to end a man’s life to protect an innocent, but she’d done what she felt was right. The monster couldn’t be allowed to live.

Unsteady steps took her into the main area of the little home. Modir stood before the fire, humming as she stirred the brew in a large cauldron. Aleksa smiled at the sight of her, forgetting her footing and bumping into a table.

“Lítit minn, you’re as wobbly as a babe,” Modir scolded. “You should not be about!”

“I’m sorry, Modir. I overslept again.”

“Shhh, sit before you fall.” Modir pulled a chair from the table and led Aleksa to it. “I don’t mind you sleeping to heal, but I shall be most cross if you reopen that wound.” She began to fuss with the wrappings, checking the herbs packed beneath it. “You must learn not to draw your blade first, Aleksa. You are a healer, not a warrior.”

“But Fiske,” Aleksa bit her lip to mute her cry of pain.

“Yes, Vidar told me of the child you saved. As did the child’s parents. You must visit them when you’re recovered.”

Aleksa sat silently for a moment, hovering between consciousness and sleep. It didn’t make sense. This woman wasn’t her mother, but she felt a love and trust that had long been missing in her life. This home wasn’t her own, not the one she remembered. Or was the house she remembered the dream?

Her mind swirled with images she both knew and didn’t, faces she both recognized and yet couldn’t place. Smells, tastes, sensations were muted in one world and enhanced in another. The harder she tried to sort it all out, the more blurred everything became.

Loki was manipulating her mind.

He had to be.

“It’s not safe here,” she whimpered, sending a bolt of pain through her body when she jerked awake.

Modir balked. “Not safe? You mean from Horgsholt? Childe, your imagination is running away with you.”

“Asgard,” Aleksa grabbed the woman’s wrist, “I’m not safe here.”

“Asgard?” Modir’s brow furrowed as she touched her hand to Aleksa’s temple. “You’re burning with fever again. Come on, back to bed.”

Aleksa tried to struggle as Modir led her back into the bedroom but found her strength gone.

“I have to escape,” she whispered as Modir pulled the furs back over her body while darkness descended. “Get back...to...home...”

Two guards opened the doors to Loki’s study, nodding to Eir as she entered. Loki rose to her bow and strode around the table.

“After nearly three weeks, I was beginning to think you were not going to honor my request.”

“This has been my earliest opportunity, your Majesty.” Eir’s voice stood firm to his implications. Loki considered her for a moment, then smiled.

“Sit, please, and tell me of our not Midgardian.”

Eir placed a small device on the table and waved a hand over it. A holographic strand of genetic code appeared, rotating and highlighting certain sections as it moved. Loki’s gaze moved between it and the healer several times, the confusion on Eir’s face far more concerning than the strands floating above the table.

“Eir?”

The woman seemed to snap awake. “Apologies, your Majesty. This is...a truly unique case.”

“So you continue to mention. Now, if you don’t mind, explain why.”

“This woman is, for all intents and purposes, Asgardian. Much of her DNA has transformed because of the Idunnian extract.” Eir sighed.

“The extract doesn't cause that level of mutation,” Loki spoke softly, critically eyeing the woman across from him.

“Not in the first administration. Any subsequent uses, however, tend to have a far stronger impact on the subject’s physiology.” The image shifted into two strands of code. “Original evaluations indicated that the mix of Asgardian and Midgardian blood was closer to an equal balance with some traces of other races known to have inhabited Midgard at some point. I suspect, however,” she paused as she pointed to blue-green sections of the original code, “that the Kree markers were forcibly increased by these.”

Two small vials clinked on the table.

“Odium?” Loki pondered as he picked up a vial and examined it in the light. “I wasn’t aware that Midgard was still in possession of this.”

Eir nodded. “Neither was I. It seems they warrant closer monitoring in that respect. Though, in her case, the alterations were made easier by her inborn mutative abilities, among other things.”

“What other things?”

“Beyond the gifts of self-repair, increased metabolism, strength, and so on that come with her mixed Asgardian blood, I’m not sure.”

“Mixed with what?” he questioned, sensing the hesitation in the healer’s posture. “Eir, What other blood does she carry?”

“Again, your Majesty, I’m not sure...”

Loki leaned closer and growled, “Guess.”

Eir sighed, pressing the bridge of her nose between her fingers.

“I’ve been doing considerable research into the history of the Nine Realms during the time period I suspect she was born into. Most of it is available, however, significant portions of Asgard’s history are missing or damaged. This is why my report has taken so long, Majesty, and I fear I may not yet have all of the answers.”

“If I wanted a history lesson, healer, I’d visit the librarians,” Loki growled.

“And if I wanted to debate the significance of history’s impact on medicine, I’d be teaching novices.” She answered flatly. “Shall I continue delivering my report, or do you wish only to receive the details that matter to you only in this moment?”

“Continue,” he paused to release a slow breath, gesturing to the papers strewn across the table. “But know that I have very little patience for riddles this day.”

“There have always been stories of what the Allfather was like prior to Frigga’s arrival on Asgard. Legends that Odin was a warmonger, violent, Hel bent on not just ruling the Nine Realms, but conquering them.”

“Following in Bor’s glorious footsteps or some such nonsense. I've heard these tales,” Loki paused, looking back at the hologram, “but that doesn’t answer the question of this woman’s bloodline.”

“Actually, it does. A tribe of Asgardians was banished to Midgard after openly dissenting against Odin and his conquest. It was his wedding gift to Frigga to not execute the traitors. While he’d ordered no contact or assistance to them from any of the Nine Realms, some Vanir and Light Elves joined the tribe in order to help it thrive.

“I’ve heard this story, too. The tribe fell in the last Jotunn raid on Midgard with no survivors.”

“As far as the Allfather was concerned, that is an accurate assessment. However, Vanir history tells a different story. That tribe survived for at least another century, possibly two before it was lost to time. There are also accounts that the Jotunn raids started much earlier than Odin believed, and that there were children born as a result.”

“Which is why Odin put a stop to it, and to the Jotunns.” Loki paused, lost in thought. “If I recall correctly, that tribe was supposed to have been of an ancient line that pre-dated the Völva?”

“Precisely. The Allfather knew that if the Jotunns had access to the magics of the Völva and the Vanir, they could, over time, become more powerful...”

“And therefore more difficult to control.” Loki cut her off. “So what does this all mean for our guest?”

“Given her age and the abilities she’s shown thus far, I suspect she’s a descendant of that tribe, if not born into it before the last raid on Midgard.” Eir waved a hand over the floating image, transforming it into a few tables of data. “This is a breakdown of the genomes we found: Midgardian, Asgardian, Vanir, Alfheir, and,” she paused to look at the man now standing beside her, “Jotunn.”

“Jotunn,” he whispered. He moved silently to the window, staring out over the city as he considered the implications. She was a half breed. A monster, just like him. Would she understand what it was like? Would she understand herself? Would she understand him?

“My king,” Eir hesitated, “there is another matter.”

“And that would be?” he growled.

“She may not be aware of what, or who, she truly is.” Eir open and closed her mouth several times before she sighed, waving a hand over the projector. Loki returned to the table as the golden strands of data morphed into a model of a brain, and Eir pointed to an area glowing more than the rest. “This is what concerns me. Cellular damage too specific in location to have been caused by a traumatic injury. I believe that she’d had some portion, if not all, of her memory, wiped away.”

Before Loki could question his chief healer any further, an apprentice burst through the doors.

“Teacher!” she shouted, before stopping short. “Forgive me, your Majesty.”

“What is it? What’s happened?” Eir stood.

“The woman,” the apprentice panted, “she’s gone.”

[foxghost]

鎮魂 Guardian [Zhen Hun] extra 4 full translation

Or, the chapter that turns the ending of the Guardian drama into a happy ending. Translated for @lady-eden, to whom i recced 40eps of fluff and pain.

Original Chinese character count: 10201 translated word count: 9184 original text: https://www.bilibili.com/read/cv838549/

(1)

“… and then click on this. Now all you have to do is make up a payment PIN.” Zhao Yunlan hands the cellphone to Shen Wei, but after a moment of thinking he doesn’t wait for Shen Wei to take it and does it for him. “Forget it. I did it for you — it’s not like you have a new one anyway.”

Teacher Shen is stubbornly kind, has no concept of security, and all his PIN codes are just their street number.

Zhao Yunlan says, “Good thing you don’t have much money.”

Theoretically, comrade Shen Wei knows how to live just fine, and if he’s equally competent in handling his personal affairs — food, clothes, a place to live — as he is in administering the three realms, then he must be doing so adequately with plenty of energy to spare.

[TN. Three realms: desires, form, and formlessness]

Realistically, Shen Wei doesn’t know how to take care of himself at all — in chaotic times he would find some place out of the way and seclude himself, and when the world’s at peace he would make do with a rented room. He has wandered among mortals for many years, clean and free without making or worrying about money. Never mind buying property and settling down; until now, aside from a university-issued salary card he doesn’t own anything.

As for what’s between the earth and sky, the world’s mountains and valleys, the country’s administering its own tourism department and it’s not like they put aside a percentage for him.

“Come, let me teach you how to send a red pocket.” Zhao Yunlan hooks an arm over Shen Wei’s shoulder, ruining his dignified pose, and using teaching as an excuse takes his phone and gives himself a red pocket, accepting it happily. “This century’s very last old antique has formally entered the age of mobile payments, an occasion to be celebrated … tch, what now.”

His phone’s ringing before he’s done talking. Zhao Yunlan gives it a mere glance before deciding he doesn’t want to pick it up, turning it over. Unexpectedly, the other side doesn’t give up and calls three times in a row, and as if they know he’s playing deaf, makes the next call on his office phone. Zhao Yunlan stretches a leg over the small sofa and pushes Daqing with a foot, midway through the cat’s focused personal grooming. “Hey, fatso, pick up the phone.”

Because Shen Wei is here, Daqing bristles but doesn’t say anything, angrily whipping his tail as he jumps onto the desk. He pretends the phone receiver is Zhao Yunlan’s face and smacks it with a paw. “Wai? Special … Oh?” Daqing laughs, “Your leadership’s looking for our Chief Zhao? Oh, he says he’s not here.”

Zhao Yunlan remains silent.

He turns his phone over and discovers that the last three calls weren’t made by the same person — the last two were from his dad, so he’s forced to crawl towards his desk with a new headache. “These ghost and goblins. Don’t they have anything better to do? They’re all bothering the old man by the back door.”

The Special Investigative Division, or the “Zhenhun Ling,” used to be also a “Daycare” and “Labour Reformation centre for convicted criminals.”

[TN. Zhen-hun can translate to Calm-Soul, or Guard-soul, but it’s more than that. The word 鎮/zhen is like holding down a sheet of paper beneath a weight, and I don’t want to water it down, so for the rest of this I’m just going to use Zhenhun, as is. When it’s referred to as the Zhenhun-Ling, it’s also a wooden plaque, and sometimes a paper and cinnabar copy. The 'Ling" part is ambiguous — it’s the ‘command’ or ‘authority.’ Zhao Yunlan’s title is Zhenhun Lingzhu, or “Master of the Zhenhun Token,” but often only ‘Lingzhu’ is used, which can be translated to ‘Lord.’]

Outside of the mortal Xiao Guo, or Wang Zheng and Sangzan, comrades who’s been taken in by Zhenhun Lingzhu, the members of their staff can be roughly sorted into two categories: ones like Zhu Hong and Lin Jing, sent by their leaders or family to train and to gain experience in The Way, or the other kind like Chu Shuzhi, a convicted felon working off his time. To begin with, because the Zhenhun Ling was established to coordinate the three realms and to keep peace in the mortal realm, it’s really a thankless job: the everyday chore of wiping the asses of so-called evil perpetrators notwithstanding, they need to adhere to all the minutiae of society’s laws. There’s no real enlightenment to be had following their mortal of a boss around, so not many experts are willing to join them.

But now, things are different since the Great Seal shattered in a big way, the four holy artefacts returning to their places, the Great Wheel established, the Ghost King gaining godhood, Kunlun reclaiming his altar. Even though these facts are not well known, to those who are connected in the three realms, they are not really secrets, either. So the thankless, bitterly low paying work at the S.I.D. has become sweet dim sum overnight and everyone wants to join in order to rub shoulders with gods. Zhao Yunlan just hates to be bothered, and he refuses them all with the excuse of, “Can’t fit so many names on the Zhenhun Ling.”

However, even though the Zhenhun Ling can’t bear so many names, the Special Investigative Division can — The S.I.D. is an administrative agency.

And so in order to gain some connection to the Zhen Hun token, some smart people has gone around making noise, forcing the original S.I.D. into restructuring. Dragon City’s S.I.D. has morphed into “Special Investigative Bureau” and every region gets their own agency; it’s become quite an organisation.

In this way, Department Head Zhao — Zhao Chu — who spends most of his time lying about in the attic of 9 University Road has somehow lain his way into becoming Bureau Chief Zhao — Zhao Ju.

This is the first year the S.I.B. started officially recruiting after their restructuring. The Zhao Yunlan who’s quite happy passing the years quietly planting vegetables in the S.I.B. yard has been dragged out of his attic to manage the recruitment. Even though none of these newbies are to be entered into the Zhenhun Ling, they’re still to join a ‘branch office,’ and Zhao Yunlan doesn’t want to invite a bunch of shoddy staff members on the quality of unformed melons just to make up the numbers — it’s not like he’s short on idiots — and now that the bureau’s manpower’s limited, it’s impractical to have a big recruitment fair. This is why they’ve only sent out a small number of registration forms to each tribe and sect, to let their leaders choose their own candidates.

In order to get a few more registration forms, the experts from everywhere are pulling out all the stops — making like the eight gods crossing the seas, working miracles.

“Wai?” Zhao Yunlan lazily picks up the phone, sighs, “Isn’t an old man like you retired by now? Why are you wasting your time on this instead of organising with some old ladies and going square dancing? Nobody asked you to go around networking — Ugh…”

Daqing perks up his ears, taking in the robust long form essay from the other side in all rounded news-syllables. Zhao Yunlan tries to interrupt, coming up with excuses, “I’m not, I didn’t,” without avail, and finally he gives up and leans on the edge of the table, nothing to do but to go from studying the ceiling to staring at Teacher Shen’s god-level dust-free clean cuffs, finding himself seriously missing Shennong Bo — at least mister broken bowl didn’t have all this desire to monologue.

[TN: Shennong’s ascended medicine pot / 農藥缽 was the one possessing Yunlan’s father in the book.]

Lately, the retired old director’s been the object of too many heartfelt visits by strangers, and once he figures out what’s happening, explodes in a fit of anger. It’s already 2018 and he’s never imagined that there are still people who would go to such lengths — to knock at such an out of the way backdoor — to get some rotten registration forms. How is this organisation run?

So he decides to call his son to give him a thorough lecture.

Zhao Yunlan answers as if reading a Buddhist prayer, “Yes, I know … you said it … no, I’m not using this opportunity to take bribes. The resources really are limited, we have too many applicants, we really can’t meet them all … I have not corroded away, it’s not as if we’re getting acid rain in Dragon City … no, I don’t need to have a smart mouth everyday. I’m facing the wall in serious reflection of my wrongs everyday, really, nipping all the bad in the bud … if you don’t believe me, ask Shen Wei!”

There are three knocks on the office door, and Lin Jing sticks his head in holding a calendar, but not before facing Shen Wei and greeting him with a fist in hand. “Thank you Teacher Shen — leader, tomorrow’s Duanwu, the Dragon Boat Festival. I’m asking on behalf of everyone in the department: are you sending out holiday gifts?”

Zhao Yunlan, craning his neck to keep a phone receiver held between his chin and his shoulder, happens to have no energy for this, points at the door. “I’m sending a notice on how to pass the holiday with integrity. Get out!”

Representative Lin takes the blow and runs away in disgrace.

But Zhu Hong is already knocking just as he leaves. “Thank you Teacher Shen — Zhao Ju, my Sishu asked me to arrange a dinner. A few leaders from the yao tribes want to pay their respects,” she sighs, “I’m only passing on the request. They’re pretty annoying so if you don’t feel like going, don’t go. You don’t have to worry about giving me face.”

[TN. Sishu just means fourth uncle. 蛇/snake is pronounced Shé and after this I’m just going to use that as a last name.]

[TN. 妖 / Yao is generally translated to demon / monster, but in Chinese myth they’re mostly ‘ascended’ souls, not evil by nature. They’re not exactly ‘beasts’ either — you can have an ascended rock or a tree, and in the case of the being that possessed Yunlan’s father, a god’s medicine pot. They’re all ‘yao.’]

Zhu Hong is one of their own, and truly he doesn’t need to worry about such superficial bullshit as giving face when it comes to her, but the yao tribes are Kunlun Jun’s spiritual descendents, and in the ‘face’ of the yao tribe elders he’s left with no choice but to respect them. Zhao Yunlan can only wave at Zhu Hong helplessly.

[TN. Jun is an honorific tacked onto any man from a monarch to a scholar.]

The moment Zhu Hong turns around, she nearly run right into Chu Shuzhi, who’s is in such a hurry he only had time to nod at her. “Wait — Lao Zhao, something’s happened. Someone’s … pulled a trick on the application forms.”

Shen Wei, who has been firmly focused on playing with his phone hears this and raises his head. “What is it?”

In the everyday work of the S.I.B, Shen Wei tend not to participate in conversations unless someone asks him a question; this time, when he cuts in on his own, it is because the “watermark” on the application form is something he helped create. The Zhanhun Shi guarded the Great Seal and did not misspent these five thousand years; every leader of every tribe, from their celebrated beginnings to their bitter ends lived beneath his watchful eye. His entire person is a living “Lost Magics library” … but since no one dares to come buy the rights from him, this “library” remains poor.

[TN. Zhanhun Shi / 斬魂使 literally: cut-soul-person. I could call him “Soul Slayer” but a name is a name. Shi is an honorific, of sorts. In this case an occupational one.]

Chu Shuzhi says, “The application deadline’s still ten days away, but the applications we’ve received has already exceeded the numbers we sent out — oh, right, thank you Teacher Shen.”

Shen Wei creases his brows.

“Gather them all and let me take a look.” Zhao Yunlan puts down the phone and walks over. “Ai, speaking of which, what kind of code word is ‘Thank you Teacher Shen’? Why is everyone coming in saying that?”

Shen Wei says, “Ugh…”

Chu Shuzhi says, “It’s for the red pockets Teacher Shen’s been gifting — Duanwu holiday bonus, right?”

Zhao Yunlan takes the phone out of Shen Wei’s hands to have a look. Within the time he took his call, Student Shen Wei has firmly grasped the concept of mobile payments. He even seriously worked in some after class practice — he went through his contact list and sent out a red pocket to every person in the bureau.

It’s not even a group red pocket, a free for all battle, first come first served. Teacher Zhao hasn’t managed to teach that lesson. He’s sent them out one by one.

He’s gone through half the contact list and still has the other half left, but there’s no money left in his account.

Their Teacher Shen treats money like game money — instant redeeming, the kind that doesn’t require exchange to virtual dollars.

Zhao Yunlan is silent.

Shen Wei silently questions.

“No…thing,” Zhao Yunlan drags the word out to two miles, and from outside the two miles sends back a painful smile, “If you don’t have money I’ll send you some. Don’t leave the other half, keep sending them until you’re done. Ah,” he laughs, “You’re a fast learner.”

[TN. A 裡 / li is a Chinese mile, in modern times, it is half of a km.]

And in this way at this year’s Duanwu, everyone still received their holiday bonus, sponsored by a certain Mr. Zhao. They were all extremely thankful.

(2)

All of the problematic registration forms has been piled into the basement. Though the light isn’t on, it isn’t dark, either; the faint silvery glow of the forms gathered together rivals an entire row of fluorescent tubes.

Wang Zheng and Sangzan works into daylight overtime. When Zhao Yunlan and his group comes down the stairs, they’d just finished grouping the forms by tribe and area.

The registration forms were elegantly designed, sent out in white envelopes with a little stamp, and all of them were made by Shen Wei. The form belongs to whomever can open the seal, and if someone else takes it they won’t be able to record anything in it. It’s the equivalent of a written exam — as a standard written exam would be impractical. For one, each person has their own speciality, for two, lots of experts hiding in the forests and the mountains to train can’t read simplified Chinese.

Sangzan says, “Zhao Ju, Speaking Of Which, we have sent out 729 registration forms, and At This Very Moment we have received just over 1560.”

[TN. Sangzan is using unnecessary 4-character idioms. When he does, I capitalise the words.]

Zhao Yunlan says, “The difference is that much?”

Sangzan sighs, “Yes, What A Splendid Sight.”

Zhao Yunlan doesn’t say anything.

Brother Sangzan has been exceedingly ambitious in his years working for the S.I.D, studious in his studies. By now his spoken Mandarin is already clear and concise and he’s discarded the terrible nickname of “jieba,” so having raised standards for himself he’s teaching himself idioms, often tries to quote old texts wholesale. Thus began another round of trying his colleagues’ patience.

[TN. The word 結巴 / Stammer is pronounced Jiēbā. Daqing used to call Sangzan this, and when asked what it meant, Daqing replied that it’s an honorific denoting respect. 潔扒 / Jiébā was how Sangzan mispronounced the word for stammer. It doesn’t mean anything.]

Zhao Yunlan is nearly used to this already, and with familiar ease disregards all the four-character words out of Sangzan’s mouth, waving dismissively to say, “You’ve worked hard.”

“Where Be Such Reasoning? It wasn’t hard at all,” Sangzan answers with a smile. “I Own Nothing But What I Need, and what I am able to contribute is merely A Hair From the Backs of Nine Bulls.”

Zhao Yunlan feels as though his life is being shortened, but Wang Zheng doesn’t seem to care as she stands to the side with an indulgent expression, only know to look at him and smile like an idiot.

“Whatever, as long as you’re happy.” Zhao Yunlan says helplessly, “Hurry up and clock out, you two.”

Shen Wei’s ‘watermark’ isn’t something that just anyone can make bootleg copies of — not to mention to imitate it so expertly. During the time Zhao Yunlan and Sangzan had their conversation, he already managed to flip through all of the forms.

Chu Shuzhi says, “Teacher Shen, what do you think? Honestly, I can’t tell the difference.”

Shen Wei doesn’t make a sound; after contemplating a moment he makes a waving gesture and the glowing registration forms scatter like butterflies, moving away from the order Wang Zheng and Sangzan’s sorted them in. In a confusion of light and shadow the forms fall into two piles, one obviously thicker than the other.

Zhao Yunlan pulls on his pants’ cuffs and half crouches, checking a few out of each stack. He points at the thicker pile and asks, “All of these are identical?”

Shen Wei nods.

Listening in, Chu Shuzhi is confused. “And if it’s not? If they’re identical doesn’t that mean you can’t tell if it’s fake?”

“No,” Shen Wei says. “He means the seal on top of each envelope.”

Even though every seal on each envelope looks exactly the same, the method to open them are different. This way, they can sort among the talents and the abilities of each, and it prevents the registrants from comparing their answers with each other.

When they sent out the registration forms, the different types of seals were sent out according to the tribes. For example, the snake tribes favour water, and opening the seal requires burning it with the Samadhi true flame, forcing the registrant to do something they wouldn’t want to do.

Of course, all the seals of the returning envelopes have already been broken, but the scent left behind is enough for its creator to see the problem — every seal in the thicker stack of forms are identical, obviously made by taking one and making duplicates.

Shen Wei says, “When we sent out the forms, I left a trace on each and every one. We can figure out which sect or tribe we’ve sent this one to.”

Chu Shuzhi stares, wide-eyed and shocked. “No way … wait a second! Seven hundred odd forms, every single one is different? And you’ve left an identifying trace?”

“Mmhmm.” Shen Wei adjusts his glasses. “What about it?”

Chu Shuzhi is silent.

No wonder the bureau has never mentioned requisitioning labour costs for their consultant; if they get charged the market rate, it seems they would only be able to afford him by selling off Kunlun Jun.

With a clue, the rest is easy. After a simple check of their records, they find out that the problematic form went to a yao tribe — the water tribes of the South China Sea.

Zhao Yunlan stands. “Tell Zhu Hong to call her Sishu.”

In general, the yao tribes are separated into birds, beasts, water-dwelling, and the ascended, which is to say: ones that fly in the sky, ones that run on the earth, ones that swim in the water, then there are the stones, grass, and trees that’s gained spirits. Those are then sorted into specific types, each with a place they call home.

Because the S.I.B.'s Zhu Hong is a part of the snake tribe and their leader Sishu is quite capable, treats his work and private matters as separate entities, the snake tribes can be said to have someone on the inside, but knows to not exploit their position, and he’s become especially respected. In a few short years he’s already become the leader of the yoa tribes, and whenever something goes wrong with the yao tribes, they speak to the She Sishu.

Not even five minutes after the She Sishu takes his niece’s phone call, he’s braved the blazing sun to arrive at 9 University Road. He’s briefed, and apologising formally to Kunlun Jun, knows he hasn’t face to ask for more registration forms. Turning, the old man personally rolls up his sleeves — heading off to the South China Sea to catch the bastard.

[3]

“Actually it is rather strange, if you think about it,” Shen Wei says as he slices up ham in the kitchen after they’ve come home. “There are mountains beyond mountains, talents I cannot imagine, so I can’t absolutely guarantee something I make can’t be duplicated. But that envelope is quite simple, and a real expert would be able to tell every seal is different. Why would they do something so stupid as to make hundreds of copies?”

Zhao Yunlan leans uselessly on the kitchen counter; he never helps, only ever gets in the way. He picks pieces of ham off the the cutting board to snack on as Shen Wei slices. “What about a holy artefact? The pollution in these times hasn’t helped the quality of the yao tribes any, but each tribe has their own history — maybe some holy item passed down from their ancestors.”

Shen Wei finishes slicing the ham, and after a moment of silent contemplation turns to get a plate. “But I can’t think about what it could be, right now …”

Something so amazing it can duplicate the seal of a natural ghost king, and to use it to do something as silly as this — what holy artefact could it be?

Creator God Pangu branded Photocopier?

By the time he turns around with a plate for the sliced ham, Shen Wei discovers that someone’s taken all the ham off the cutting board.

Shen Wei doesn’t say anything.

Zhao Yunlan follows his gaze like he’s slow on the uptake, and chewing with lightning speed swallows the ‘evidence.’ He stretches like a cat, as if the case of the missing ham has nothing to do with him at all.

Shen Wei asks, “… It’s not too salty?”

He hears a sound like a click in his chest before Zhao Yunlan escapes the kitchen fearing the repercussion of his crimes, and both of them turn to look toward the southern skies.

Shen Wei asks, “What was that?”

“I don’t know, but …” Zhao Yunlan squints. “It feels like the three sovereigns. Wai, Zhu Hong?”

[TN. The era of the three sovereigns and five emperors. In Zhen Hun, there was a battle between the three sovereigns and 蚩尤/Chiyou. I’ll link all the myths at the end of this.]

“Lao Zhao, something’s happened to my Sishu!”

“Calm down, tell me slowly.”

“Didn’t he leave for the South China Sea? The tribe just sent news, the leader’s life lamp has suddenly gone out! My Sishu he …”

“Don’t panic,” Zhao Yunlan says. “When a yao as great as he falls there would be visions — it wouldn’t be without a trace like this. Maybe he’s had a bit of an accident and his connection with his life lamp’s been severed. Let’s do this — have the snake tribe bring your Sishu’s life lamp, and I’ll go look for him with Shen Wei.”

They don’t have time to eat dinner properly so Shen Wei hurriedly stuffs their half prepared ingredients into the fridge. It looks like they’ll just have to order in when they come back later.

Another elder from the snake tribe sends over She Sishu’s life lamp. Zhao Yunlan and Shen Wei shortens the distance into a mere inch, and within the blink of an eye they arrive at the South China Sea.

Ever since the tourist industry began developing the South China Sea, the water tribe’s shrimp soldiers and crab commanders, useless to begin with, has somehow gotten worse. The little yao, seduced by the twin promises of sunny beaches and palm trees, spend their days wearing tropical swim trunks to pass their days among the humans. But the humans finish their vacations and go back to work and school, do what they’re supposed to do, while these dumbass little yao simply follow the next set of tourists and continue to play around. Their cultivation has flat-lined, and even their study towards enlightenment has been delayed as they sun their shrimp shells and fish scales to a golden malt.

It stands to reason that when the snake tribe’s leader make a personal visit, this gang of under-trained garbage must greet him with a banner. Which sea urchin gave them the courage to rebel?

[TN. 海膽 / Sea urchin is written literally “sea gallbladder.” In English, you say someone with courage as having “guts,” in Chinese, you say they have “gallbladder.”]

Could it be their daily chore of sitting on the shore drinking fresh water has done something to their osmotic pressure, and their gall’s gone swollen?

Anyway, Zhao Yunlan can’t figure it out.

When they arrive at the South China Sea, it is to find the water tribes there in disarray; when they heard that Kunlun Jun and the Ghost King Dianxia has come for them, the ones in charge of the tribes started pissing themselves. They’re all kneeling on the sand, in their shorts and bare arms, faces towards the sand and backs to the sky; each person’s back has been tattooed a single word, and strung together it reads, “This generation has committed sins worthy of ten thousand deaths, to the gods above we offer an apology.”

[TN. Dianxia is an honorific for kings/queens]

It’s such an amazing sight even the hermit crabs dare not show their faces.

“Get up. What are you all doing? We’re here to talk. Stop being so embarrassing!” Zhao Yunlan sits at the edge of a cloud, and so struck by the sight he can feel a constant pulse at his temple — they can’t even get down, there isn’t any space on the beach. “I don’t get it. It’s been a hundred years since we buried such an archaic cultural practice — how is it that it’s still intact among you yao tribes? Think before you act!”

The South China Sea is rich in resources, the seafood … no, the types of yao belonging to the water tribes varied, and this branch of the water tribe tend to live all mixed together, with the tribe leaders forming an alliance. The alliance’s director is a 3000 year old big turtle, with the vice director being a 2500 year old sea cucumber.

the two directors are a golden partnership without conflict, and Zhao Yunlan listens to the weepy sounding report as they relate the cause of the problem but only manages to get through half of it before he feels his immortal soul go eight turns around the thirty-six mountains and valleys — his gaze going unfocused — and for the first time feels as though their Guo Changcheng is a smart and cunning boy.

It must be difficult, but Shen Wei listens to the end. “That is to say, your honourable tribe leader in charge of watching over the forbidden sanctuary did not receive a registration form, and in indignation he stole one and used the sanctuary to make a large number of copies?”

The sea turtle director says, sighing, “Yes, that person’s original form was a barracuda, and they sold the fake registration forms making massive profits. He used the proceeds to buy areca nuts in bulk and has already gone on the run.”

“…It doesn’t matter what he bought in bulk, let’s leave that aside for now.” Shen Wei says, “Is it convenient for us to know what your honourable tribe is holding in the sanctuary? How were the registration forms duplicated?”

The sea cucumber answers with a bitter expression. “Your honour, aside from generations of barracuda charged with watching the sanctuary, none of us yao dare approach the area. According to the ancestors, an old holy artefact was sealed away there. Right — the leader of the snake tribes has come by, said he didn’t understand our explanation at all and insisted on investigating the sanctuary. We didn’t dare keep him, but not long after he went inside, the South China Sea had a sudden and huge quake, and he never came back. We still don’t know what happened!”

Shen Wei tuns his head so he could meet Zhao Yunlan’s gaze, and Zhao Yunlan wakes from his nap, straightening his back. “Ai, then quit blabbering and lead the way.”

By this time, the night has darkened. It is not yet Duanwu and the moon is hidden, the sea heavy and thick seeming, but it looks like something restless and gigantic has awoken in the deep, causing unending waves that seem to resonate with the beating of Zhao Yunlan’s heart. They’re still more than two hundred miles from the sanctuary, but the two directors from the water tribes are already so terrified their faces have turned white, and cannot be convinced to go another step.

The vice-director says, “In the past we dared to patrol the sanctuary during the holidays, but from the day that stinking fish moved what it ought not, the sanctuary has become more horrifying day by day. At first, it was only the ten miles outside it, and now over a hundred miles, we can’t — can’t breathe …”

As he says this, the vice director’s eyes roll and turn white and they sinks into the water as if they’re lacking in both blood and air. The blade in Shen Wei’s hand flashes like a dark shadow, and the Zhanhun blade appears, then in the blink of an eye stretches to dozens of feet long. With the scabbard still on, he promptly fishes up the sea cucumber from the deep.

Director sea turtle has no time to bother with politeness just now, and with a quick fist in hand bow changes into their natural form, picks up their partner, and swims away quick as a torpedo.

Two dark shadows quickly skim over the undercurrent towards the South China Sea forbidden sanctuary.

The nearer they get to the sanctuary, the quieter the water becomes, and as they near at the fifty mile mark, the surface becomes unnaturally still, as if an invisible hand is flattening it by force until there isn’t even a ripple, until the water seem stagnant.

Very quickly, Zhao Yunlan and Shen Wei arrives at the heart of the sanctuary. There’s a strange whirlpool here, its diameter no wider than two metres, spinning rapidly, and like a needle it pierces all the way down to the sea floor. There’s a saying that even the sharpest blade cannot part water, but the water within and the water without looks like it’s been parted with something — The inside spins at breakneck speed; the outside doesn’t move a hair.

There’s a hint of darkness woven into the air above the whirlpool, calling Shen Wei’s Zhanhun blade — they’re as related as waters that flow from the same stream.

“If it’s a holy artefact left behind by some god during the time of chaos, it could very well react negatively with me.” Shen Wei says, “If they’d tried to copy anything else it may have been fine, but that registration form carried a trace of me. It must have provoked what’s sealed here — loosened the seal… And when She Sishu rushed in here he must have added flame to the fuel. I think the seal is already mostly broken — do you have any inkling of what’s in here?”

Zhao Yunlan creases his eyebrows and thinks for a while before shaking his head. “I haven’t seen it, but …”

Something inside the briefcase in his hand suddenly flashes; it’s She Sishu’s life lamp, brightening. A life lamp is actually a candle protected by a dragon pearl; it’s like a crystal lamp, shuddering as if it’s about to stop breathing. Its weak light falls onto the surface of the sea and quickly gathers into a line, pointing towards the whirlpool.

Soon after, the dragon pearl outside the life lamp cracks without warning, and quickly disintegrates. Its feeble flame jumps once, and Zhao Yunlan instinctively tries to protect it with his hand, but the whirlpool on the water suddenly explodes in all directions, and the stars above scatter like dust in a storm. Nearly at once, Shen Wei pulls Zhao Yunlan close behind him with a sweeping arm and wields his blade like a shield in front of them.

But soon Shen Wei can feel that something is wrong — his hand did not touch Zhao Yunlan.

Shen Wei turns to look in surprise, and finds that though they are barely apart, there is a transparent membrane between them. Zhao Yunlan is saying something, but his voice can’t reach him, so Shen Wei can only read his lips. He’s saying, “These bubbles are …”

Bubbles?

Shen Wei looks all around him. She Sishu’s life lamp reflects and refracts, light and shadow overlapping. It reveals the countless membranes surrounding them, tight like densely packed soap bubbles. A faint mirage-like shadow can be seen on each ‘bubble,’ and for a shocking moment they can see a million Zhao Yunlan, a million Shen Wei. As the two people in their individual bubbles drifts apart, Shen Wei’s eyes redden, and he unsheathes the Zhanhun blade, immediately cutting at whatever’s between them.

With a sudden boom, the Zhanhun blade that can cut through anything feels as though it’s been stuck in thick mud, and countless strange ‘bubbles’ are shattered by that single stroke. But many more ‘bubbles’ are rising from the sea floor as waves high as mountains crowd the surface of the sea. With a sharp and loud sound like an axe wielded by Pangu parting chaos to form the sky and sea, the mountains shakes and the ocean boils, and Shen Wei’s view darkens —

(4)

When Zhao Yunlan wakes with a start, he’s still holding onto the short candle from a life lamp with a pea-sized flame. He tries to move and is momentarily stunned, a shocked expression flashing across his face.

Slowly, Zhao Yunlan lowers his eyes, his gaze falling onto his right foot … he’s sprained an ankle.

Kunlun Jun’s incarnation is impervious to blades and guns, and neither the cold nor the heat bothers him. Since his god soul awakened six years ago, Zhao Yunlan has forgotten what a mosquito bite looks like. He never imagined he’d end up spraining his ankle at the South China Sea!

On the one hand he’s gritting his teeth over the pain, on the other he finds it rather interesting. He runs a hand over it, determines that it’s not serious, and carefully leans on the wall to stand. As he stands, he realises something is wrong; his arms and legs feels so heavy they don’t seem his own — Kunlun Jun’s ability to move freely between the heavens and the earth and to crush the three realms beneath his feet has simply disappeared.

Not only that, but his Bright-Mirror wristwatch has stopped, the half dozen charm papers left in his wallet has turned into regular newsprint that doesn’t react at all, he can’t summon his bullwhip — and even the Zhenhun Ling bound to his blood is laying in his palm without a hint of life, turned into a perfectly normal plaque of wood.

Zhao Yunlan raises She Sishu’s life lamp and takes a look around him — it’s desolate to the extreme. With a glance he can see that none of the street lamps are lit, and the street is lined on both sides by uneven, half broken down houses, and the air is thick with dust.

It’s like an old ruin.

He takes a couple of unsteady steps before he has to stop, shaking out the sand in his shoes. Each breath feels like acupuncture, needles pricking at his lungs, and an ache in his heart come and goes, making it hard to breathe. When he was a mortal, Zhao Yunlan can’t say he was perfectly healthy, but he wasn’t plagued with illnesss either … maybe he’s become unused to mortality?

Zhao Yunlan, dragging his somewhat heavy body, walks around the street once. His cell phone has no signal as he checks the time.

20:45.

The little plate of ham he pinched from the cutting board before dinner had been barely enough to fill the gaps between his teeth, and after the sprained ankle and the aching chest, this mortal body is making him remember what it feels like to have stomach problems.

He hears something go “meow” and sees a black cat jumping from the branch of a dead tree near him onto a roof, padding delicately over the broken up stones on the top of a wall, tail raised high and in no hurry at all. From every angle it looks like little Daqing — with a neck and a waist and all, a picture of the youthful days before he got fat!

Zhao Yunlan has a habit of calling cats and dogs whenever he sees them, so he whistles at the cat. In the moment the cat’s green eyes turn his way, Zhao Yunlan notices it holding a paper charm in its mouth. Before he’s able to have a good look, the sky and the earth suddenly spins — the cat disappears, the street twists and warps, and Zhao Yunlan loses his footing as though stepping on air, falling heavily towards the ground. His right foot, pain finally fading from the last fall, twists again.

Zhao Yunlan hisses in pain, then he’s stunned to find out he’s right back where he woke the last time.

He helps himself up against the same wall, and barely walks a step before he feels that something doesn’t feel right with his feet — the sand he’s spilled out of his shoes are back.

Zhao Yunlan’s pupils shrink a bit as he realises something, and taking out his phone, he checks the time.

20:35.

This is … ten minutes ago?

Zhao Yunlan takes quick steps along the street, holding onto his phone to keep track of the time. Ten minutes later, sure enough, that black cat appears again in the same pose, jumping out from the same place. This time, Zhao Yunlan doesn’t try to catch the attention of the magical cat, but stays in the corner to observe for a bit instead.

The cat holding a charm in its mouth raises a paw and takes five steps … and the sky-spinning-street-warping feeling is back!

Again, Zhao Yunlan returns to ten minutes ago.

This goes on for two, three times, and Zhao Yunlan doesn’t even bother standing up again — it’s not easy taking off these shoes.

This world is like a repeating song; the song is about 10 minutes, the space within isn’t overly large, either. He’s been trapped within these 10 minutes, time cycling over and over again.

Zhao Yunlan runs his hand along the wall, and he thinks about the strange ‘bubbles’ he saw when he was separated from Shen Wei.

‘Bubbles’ … time that goes in a cycle …

Suddenly, Zhao Yunlan stands, and again he pours the sand out of his shoes, and this time, he runs through the desolately empty streets. In the very moment that cat appears, he clamps onto the life lamp with his mouth and takes a running start, grabbing the edge of the roof so he can run up the short wall onto the roof. With one arm he sweeps up the spitting, angry cat, and digs the paper charm out of its mouth, flipping over for a landing. Before his feet hit the ground the time for space and time to orient back to its starting point has nearly come. Zhao Yunlan quickly moves the paper charm onto the flame of the life lamp. It catches fire. At the same time, Zhao Yunlan hears a bang next to his ear as if something has shattered, and the cat in his hand turns into a spiral of pale smoke.

Zhao Yunlan stumbles for a few steps, and when he looks up again he discovers that he hasn’t been sent to the starting point — the street in front of him has undergone some subtle changes. A single street lamp has been lit, the air is far less dusty, the tree is no longer bare. Though it only gained a few leaves, it is at least alive.

Zhao Yunlan brushes off the dust on his clothes. “Is that so.” He sucks his teeth, says, “I thought there was some treasure here in the South China Sea, but no, I find only problems.”

Everyone knows that you can’t actually turn back time, and a person can’t run wild over their own timeline. By the same token, cause and effect is unbreakable.

Before Kunlun Jun returned to his altar, Zhao Yunlan once travelled back eleven years to 2002, but in reality that wasn’t true time travel. It was the agricultural god Shennong taking an eleven year reincarnation wheel and storing it in a scale of Nuwa, the half snake mother goddess. The “little wheel” was a world like a mustard seed moulded by Shennong: a world much like our own but only an illusion. He’s taken a turn in a mustard seed.

[DN. 壬午年 is utterly untranslatable but it’s 2002, okay? See: sexagenary cycle. ‘Mustard seed world’ is likely named for the parable of the Sumeru mountain contained in a mustard seed, or ‘The Sumeru Mountain contains a mustard seed, and a mustard seed contains the Sumeru Mountain’ and the ending of THAT story states that the worlds are ever-changing and therefore unreal.]

Back then, when She Sishu passed the Nuwa scale to him, Zhao Yunlan walked into this mustard seed on his own without suspicion. The time in the seed cycles and so Zhao Yunlan flows along with the wheel, arriving at eleven years ago … until Shen Wei used the Zhanhun blade to cut the seed open from the outside, dragging him back to reality.

The ‘bubble’ that separated him and Shen Wei must be just like the little wheel that was eleven years long — every ‘bubble’ is a world undergoing a repeating segment of time.

There exist simple worlds that cycles every ten minutes, and there also could be worlds that cycle only once a million years, infinitely realistic, vast and infinitely complex.

So this isn’t any sort of ‘holy artefact’ at all. When the ancient gods were trying to create the true reincarnation wheel they’d gone down the wrong road, and this is the left over garbage from their experiments, sealed away in the South China Sea — unexpectedly disturbed by the Ghost King’s life force via this copy incident, and then crashed into by a great yao, causing it to resurface in the human world.

Zhao Yunlan raises his head to look at the street lamp, and thinks, “I knew it — none of you would leave me any actual inheritance. You all only ever leave me messes that need cleaning up.”

Now, he has no idea which year and month Shen Wei’s been stolen off to; it would be impractical to expect his blade as reinforcement. Each of these endlessly repeating worlds can only be broken through from the inside.

This isn’t difficult — each mustard seed has a connection with reality, and it is from this connection that Zhao Yunlan can enter from the outside. Find it, break it, and the seed will have nothing to cling to, and disappear like a flame after it dies.

For example, the ‘connecting point’ of the eleven-year wheel from back then was the mysterious book, ‘Unusual Ancient Legends.’

At the time, the Zhao Yunlan from the real world had one, and there was another one in the little Wheel. When he brought the book into the little Wheel, the two identical ‘Unusual Ancient Legends’ became one, the seed world and the real world ‘sticking’ together; illusion and reality overlapping.

That Zhao Yunlan urgently wanted to find out what Shen Wei was hiding from him, and followed the book desperately without any thought of destroying it. But if, when he’d acquired the ‘Unusual Ancient Legends’ in the little Wheel, he’d burned it, the cause and effect of the little wheel would have seriously departed from the cause and effect of reality, and the world within the wheel would disappear like smoke, not needing Shen Wei to cut through it with his blade.

If he’d burned the copy of ‘Unusual Ancient Legends’ from inside the wheel and returned to reality, the real book should still be in his hands, and wouldn’t forever stay in the little wheel to cycle forever.

As for the real ‘Unusual Ancient Legends,’ it was in all likelihood sneaked into the S.I.D. by Shennong Bo.

Now, these overlapping mustard seed worlds look like ‘bubbles,’ with Zhao Yunlan’s shadows projected into them, and each one would duplicate something he carries, becoming the ‘connecting point’ between each seed world and reality: his stopped Bright-Mirror wristwatch, the paper charm that’s now wastepaper, the Zhenhun Ling becoming normal wood, the bullwhip he cannot summon … even the immortality of Kunlun Jun.

Zhao Yunlan doesn’t know which object each world corresponds to, he can only search them one by one. He has to destroy something in each world and destroy the seed before that object will follow him back into reality.

“This is so much trouble,” Zhao Yunlan sighs. “If I knew this would happen I would have just gone back and organised an exam.”

This is all because of the imprudence of the South China Sea water tribes; when he gets back, he’s going to have a feast of sea food at a street food stall.

(5)

Zhao Yunlan has already forgotten how long he has lingered in countless seeds.

In the beginning, all the seeds were only simple scenes: a single broken down street, a dark and sunless city, the suburbs, underwater … and there were no other people at all. The cycle of time was as short as ten minutes and as long as three days, and what they duplicated were just small, inconsequential things.

But soon afterwards the seeds became more and more complicated, more and more immense, and other people began to appear, even the people he knows — for example, the seed that was about his Bright-Mirror wristwatch cycled for a full three years, the setting being Zhao Yunlan’s previous incarnation, living in the early years of the Republic.

The Bright-Mirror was passed down by the last Lord Zhenhun, or his last incarnation. He was chasing a kidnapper then, a mountain ghost or demon, and in the process shattered the face of his watch. The hostage was a child from an orphanage, and a man who proclaimed himself the Dean of the orphanage rushed to him and took away the child, and, on seeing that his watch was broken, told him he knew a good craftsman and he could have it fixed. When it’s returned the watch was already able to see between yin and yang, had become the magical treasure ‘Bright Mirror.’

Zhao Yunlan, observing coldly from the outside, watches the incarnation who shares his face slowly realise what’s happened to his watch, thus running off to the orphanage to find the dean only to find out that the dean is a short and stout nun and not at all the same person who took his watch away.

“Shen Wei ah,” Zhao Yunlan follows his past life, thinking of the origin of his watch, shaking his head and can’t help laughing, “you sneaky son of a gun.”

The repeating time loops become longer and longer, and when it exceeds fifty years, Zhao Yunlan finds himself no longer an observer of a seed world, but rather a part of it with his own identity, following the movie script of the world.

What happens in each seed world isn’t necessary from his memory; there are some that are very much like the memory of an incarnation with some subtle changes, and some are utterly strange and wonderfully new with flashes of familiarity in between. Zhao Yunlan prefers the latter, because in the five thousand years of memories of the time he spent in the wheel of reincarnation, Shen Wei made few appearances. On the rare occasion that they run into each other, he only catches a glimpse before Shen Wei is gone. But in the fabricated worlds, Shen Wei wears different identities and spends lifetimes by his side until they each find the object that breaks open the world … the real Shen Wei — as expected, Shen Wei’s Zhanhun blade has already been trapped inside. But even if he has the blade, he doesn’t dare use it, because if the world breaks from the outside, the duplicated item will become just like the book ‘Unusual Ancient Legend,’ forever left behind in this particular wheel.

Zhao Yunlan breaks through eighty mustard seeds. Each time he leaves one behind, the time reverts back to 20:35.

It feels like he has already lived through every life possible in the blink of an eye.

Fortunately, Kunlun Jun’s immortal soul was forged through a million years of reincarnation, and his mind remains as clear as when he took his first step. Finally, he arrives at the eighty-first seed.

Eighty-one, or nine by nine.

Zhao Yunlan has a premonition that this should be the very last world. Shen Wei is here too, but they couldn’t imagine that the cycle of time here runs as long as ten thousand years. The long stretch of time makes this feel real, and its binding force boundlessly strong. As he approaches the end of time, Zhao Yunlan still hasn’t found this world’s connecting point.

Everything he’s brought into these worlds, large and small — including the blood he carries in his heart and the bones of his spine — has already been shattered in the various Wheels. What could it be?

What is left?

(6)

Oh, right. His very self is what’s left.

The ego is enslaved by the physical body.

The heart is but a slave to material ambitions.

(7)

Zhao Yunlan emerges from the very last seed, and the world shakes as if a hundred thousand mountains are jumping like birds. A giant wave descend as though coming from the nine heavens, and the water parts before him like it wishes to make for him a road, to let the chaos-era mountain god rise between them.

At the same time, a sound like a shrill wind whistles by his ear and the Zhanhun blade appears out of nowhere to land on the ocean’s surface, the entire South China Sea looks about to be sliced in two. Zhao Yunlan suddenly opens his eyes, reaching into the rolling waves for the hand holding the blade. “Shen Wei!”

The giant wave recedes, revealing Shen Wei’s silhouette, looking even more distressed than him. At first glance Shen Wei seems like he hasn’t woken from the endless reincarnations, and for a while he doesn’t say anything.

“It’s alright,” Zhao Yunlan says quietly. “We’re back.”

Shen Wei falters, stumbling into him, strength leaving his body. His Zhanhun blade flutters downwards — onto the back of a giant snake, surfacing from the deep.

Oh good, Zhao Yunlan lets out a breath. She Sishu’s life lamp is still lit and the old wyrm is alive and well. Zhu Hong can keep sticking around at the S.I.B. to muddle up a salary and not have to be dragged back for a succession.

(8)

“Oh? Oh … oh! Then okay, that’s great.”

Early morning in the offices of 9 University Road, one can hear Guo Changcheng’s tone change many, many times. From shock, to helplessness … to embarrassment — Guo Changcheng says into the phone, embarrassed, “There isn’t anything I want, thank you leader. Really, I really don’t need … anything from the duty-free shop, you don’t need to worry about it, what’s important is that you have fun … ai, have fun, have a good vacation …”

Before he’s even finished passing on the last blessing, Chu Shuzhi and Lin Jing have already slapped their desks and are standing in anger, and Daqing has turned into an angry ball of fur.

Chu Shuzhi says, “Is that Lao Zhao — what did he mean? What do you mean good vacation? Is he serious?”

Lin Jing says, “He ran away? He just dropped everything and left? Where be the laws of the heavens?”

Daqing up jumps from the couch. “Why that shameless son of a — give me the phone.”

Guo Changcheng puts down the receiver apologetically. “He, he already hung up.”

Daqing roars, “Call him back! If he doesn’t pick up then call Teacher Shen!”

Predictably, Zhao Yunlan habitually turns off his phone after he hangs up.

But none of them can predict that —

Shen Wei stands barefoot on the beach, one hand clutching his collar, the other wrapped around his belt. His cheeks are already red from struggling, but he’d rather die than follow the local custom and change into a pair of swim trunks.

What is this? Such impropriety! Such indecency!

Zhao Yunlan runs after him. “Just try it, if you don’t try it how can you say it’s not a good thing? I promise you’ll like it. Shen Wei, Xiao Wei, my darling treasure … Doesn’t it bore you wearing black from head to toe all the time? This could be a gateway into a new world … Ai! Fine, you don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, no need to throw yourself into the ocean!”

Shen Wei, having been forced to the edge of the water, steps into the sea, his cell phone falling out of his pocket right on time for an incoming call. It rings once before the cell phone heroically sacrifices itself, the screen going black.

At 9 University Road, Gua Changcheng announces with an innocent expression, “Teacher Shen has hung up.”

“Meow —” Daqing collapses and yells, “How can Teacher Shen with his big eyes in such an honest face be capable of betraying us?!”

[TN. “沒想到你個濃眉大眼的都叛變革命了” / “I did not imagine a person like you with such thick eyebrows and big eyes would end up becoming a rebel” is a quote… from a 90’s movie.]

myths: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pangu https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nüwa https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shennong https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kunlun_(mythology) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chiyou https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Flood_(China)

Anyway, that’s the entire thing, translated once, checked twice, feel free to send asks if unclear about anything. (You are not bothering me at all by asking me about the thing I love.)