#the old snows melt from every mountain-side

[oflights]

“Time does not bring relief; you all have lied”

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied Who told me time would ease me of my pain! I miss him in the weeping of the rain; I want him at the shrinking of the tide; The old snows melt from every mountain-side, And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane; But last year’s bitter loving must remain Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide. There are a hundred places where I fear To go,—so with his memory they brim. And entering with relief some quiet place Where never fell his foot or shone his face I say, “There is no memory of him here!” And so stand stricken, so remembering him.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

[apoemaday]

"Time does not bring relief..."

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied Who told me time would ease me of my pain! I miss him in the weeping of the rain; I want him at the shrinking of the tide; The old snows melt from every mountain-side, And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane; But last year’s bitter loving must remain Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide. There are a hundred places where I fear To go, — so with his memory they brim. And entering with relief some quiet place Where never fell his foot or shone his face I say, “There is no memory of him here!” And so stand stricken, so remembering him.

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (III)

Chapter 3 : ‘I miss him in the wheeping of the rain; I want him at the shrinking of the tide’

Hi, everyone!!! Here is another chapter! Break up is rough, angst is everywhere!

I hope you like this series! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3954

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied   Who told me time would ease me of my pain!   I miss him in the weeping of the rain;   I want him at the shrinking of the tide; The old snows melt from every mountain-side,   And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane;   But last year’s bitter loving must remain Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.   There are a hundred places where I fear   To go,—so with his memory they brim.   And entering with relief some quiet place   Where never fell his foot or shone his face   I say, “There is no memory of him here!”   And so stand stricken, so remembering him.

Edna St. Vincent Millay, Collected poems, 1938

You woke up in an empty bed.

Your alarm rang, it was time to get up and go to work. There was no one else on the other side of the mattress, nobody else’s warmth beneath the sheets. There was still Frank’s scent everywhere though, but no item left on his bedside table. You got up, took a shower where his shampoo and bodywash had disappeared, his toothbrush and razor missing by the sink. None of his clothes were left, and the thought suddenly struck you that he couldn’t have packed all of his things in the hour he stayed the previous night. Where had he left anyway? He must have planned everything…

You were so overwhelmed with emotion that you weren’t even sure what you were feeling, in the end. Hurt, anger, loss, shock, denial… God, you couldn’t believe that this was truly happening…

You looked down at your left hand, and your engagement ring was still there, on your finger, where it belonged. None of this was real, it was a mistake, a dream, a prank even… but it couldn’t be real.

How could Frank be gone? And if he was… what on earth was this story of his about a woman he had just met, a woman he barely knew? He was ready to throw away the past six years for a stranger? Was that truly all you meant to him?

This was a mistake, clearly. Frank was making a mistake. Perhaps he was stressed with his job, maybe he was freaking out because of the wedding. Whatever it was, he would realise soon that he was acting on an impulse, out of all logic, and he would come back to his senses. He ought to…

… he ought to, because how could you live without him? You had forgotten how to do it.

Andrew sent a text to Samantha, as he did every morning. He was late, as per usual. He almost tripped on Elwood, while the dog was stretching in the middle of the hallway, rushing as he did to get his coat. He checked in his pockets.

Phone, yes.

Keys, yes.

Wallet, yes.

Glasses were upon his nose, he had his bag thrown over his shoulder with his laptop, a water bottle, a thermos and…

He rolled his eyes, cursed under his breath.

An empty thermos. That’s what he had forgotten to do this morning, prepare himself some coffee or tea. Never mind, Andrew would prepare something at work, he didn’t have the time.

Anyway, the list…

An empty thermos, the article he had brought from work last night, the book of poetry he was currently studying…

He pressed ‘send’ on the screen of his smartphone, spotting a spelling mistake before he could close the app, but he didn’t have time to correct it.

Good morning, love. Hopng for a good day for you. Are you planning on dropping by tonight?

… A notebook, a couple of pencils, a hair tie. Wait, did he have a hair tie? Yes, around his wrist, of course, bloody idiot…

He petted Elwood’s head, told him to be a good boy, and hurried outside.

During his drive, he thought about Samantha, wondered if her meetings had gone well the previous day. She hadn’t sent him a text to tell him she was safely home, but upon receiving no news and no answer to his calls, he had called her friend Jess, who had told him she was indeed home, safe and sound. She was probably just drunk and had gone to bed, forgetting to text him. As long as she was safe, Andrew didn’t really mind, but he had been worried about her. He made a mental note to remind her to text him the next time she went out.

He heaved a sigh, turning up the volume of the music, letting Duke Ellington and John Coltrane fill up the space around him. A sentimental mood started playing, he felt all his muscles relax as the saxophone sang.

His mind wandered with the airy notes, jumping from Sam, to work, to you. He was happy to see you today, to ask about your work at lunchtime. You would probably have thought about your classes during the evening, would have a lot of things to discuss over a salad or a sandwich at noon. He smiled at the thought as he parked his car at Trinity.

He checked the time on his watch before leaving his car. He was late, although he had no meeting nor class to give. But he had hoped to be in his office by nine o’clock, and it was almost nine thirty. Where did these thirty minutes go? God, he really was a terrible time-keeper…

He hurried through the university grounds, left empty by the summer, students enjoying a well-deserved rest. There was still a little bit of dew wetting the grass, making it shine with pearly specs of light. The sky was a mix of blue and cotton-white, as if it pondered for now on whether to give Dublin a sunny day or a rainy one. Andrew paid little attention to those details, hurrying towards his work, his head already busy with all he had to do. He stopped by the cafeteria before heading to his office to prepare himself some coffee, filling up his thermos. He took a sip of the too-warm beverage as he exited the room, walked down a corridor, burning his tongue a little in the process. He cursed under his breath at the feeling.

He heaved a sigh, hurried towards the staircase and climbed all the way up to your shared office, a smile back on his lips as he thought of seeing you. Maybe this day had not started in the best way, but you would greet him in just a moment with your usual enthusiasm, and it would make him feel happy again. He hurried down the corridor leading to the wooden door that sported both of your names, engraved in copper.

When he opened the door, you were there, indeed. You were focused on your computer screen, didn’t seem to notice that Andrew had come in. He smiled at you anyway.

“Morning, Y/N,” he greeted you with warmth, making you finally look up at him.

“Oh… morning, Andrew,” you gave him a polite smile, right before focusing on your screen again.

The gesture was tight-lipped, professional. He frowned at the sight, blinked a couple of times before finally putting his thermos down on his desk and his bag on the ground by the side of his desk.

“You’re alright this morning?” he asked, trying to hide that his question was genuine behind a neutral tone.

“Sure. You?”

“Yeah, yeah… all grand.”

You didn’t look up, merely stared at your screen. He noticed that your eyes were red, that you seemed tired. He wondered if anything wrong had happened for you to act so cold. But then again, you were colleagues, had been for less than a week. Perhaps you were always like that. Now that the excitement of the first days was over, maybe you were just falling back into your normal character, turning professional rather than friendly. And it was alright, of course. You were colleagues. As long as you would both get along fine together, you didn’t need to be anything more.

Still, Andrew couldn’t refrain the feeling of disappointment that washed over him.

You remained quiet for the rest of the morning, and so did he. He was focused on his work, you were struggling to keep your eyes away from your phone, glancing regularly at the device propped on your desk, right by your side.

When it was finally time for lunch, Colm came knocking on the door of your office, without waiting for an invitation to come in.

“Well, hello, busy bees! Time to eat! I’m starved!” he proclaimed, making Andrew chuckle as he got up.

You didn’t move from your seat, merely granted Colm another one of your polite smiles.

“Erm… you’re eating with us, Y/N?” Andrew offered, putting on his jacket.

“Thanks for offering! But I’m really not hungry today.”

“You’re sick?” Colm asked, crossing his arms before his chest. “I know it’s your first week, but if you’re sick you can just go home. No need to act all brave and tough just to gain points towards… nobody, really.”

“No, no… it’s not that at all. I’m not sick, just… not hungry.”

“As you wish…” Colm shrugged, turning towards Andrew, who didn’t seem convinced by your explanation at all.

“Come on, Treebeard! I’m starving!”

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Andrew asked you, ignoring Colm for a moment.

But you nodded, the same neutral smile on your lips. You seemed sad, upset even.

“Sure, I’m alright.”

Andrew nodded, giving up. He was a mere colleague to you, after all. He wasn’t your friend, surely something was wrong but it was perfectly normal for you not to want to discuss it with him. Still, he forced himself to walk out of the room, guilt tugging at his heart.

Andrew ended up eating with several colleagues, and he had a nice time. He checked his phone, but Sam had not replied to his text yet. He started making assumptions, worrying about her all over again. He admonished himself for being such a worrier, for not being able to let go. She had had too much to drink, she was probably dealing with a hangover, nothing more, nothing to worry about… Besides, how hypocritical of him it would be to get angry because she wasn’t answering right away, when he was terrible at managing texts and emails himself. He too often forgot about a text he had left on read, being busy when he received it, only to remember to reply days later. He didn’t do that for Sam, though…

He walked back up the stairs with Colm and Ronan, who worked at the IT department and turned left instead of right to go back to his own office. A nice guy, commented Colm, they ought to hang out with him more often. Besides, it was always a good idea to have someone good with computers close by. The remark made Andrew chuckle, while he let Colm reach his own office. Andrew was alone again as he opened the wooden door of your shared working space.

He was quiet as the door slid open, and you weren’t. Over the noise of your own conversation you were having over the phone, you didn’t notice as Andrew was walking in, closing the door behind him. You were facing the window behind your desk.

“Frank… you can’t be serious about this.”

Frank. Andrew recognised the name. He was your partner. Perhaps the two of you had a row…

He was taking off his jacket already, but stopped before he would finish his movement. Perhaps he should just tiptoe out of the office. You didn’t seem to have noticed him, and this was clearly a personal conversation that he had no business hearing.

“What do you mean you’ve taken your decision?! Have you taken a minute to actually think?! We’ve spent six years together! Yes! No! Yes, you’re right, I’m not accepting your ‘decision’, because it makes no fucking sense! Look… just… let’s meet up tomorrow, and discuss things, okay? Are you chickening out because of the wedding?”

Andrew silently slid his jacket back on his shoulders, pulled his hair from under the collar, and slowly walked back towards the door.

“Frank, this is ridiculous… it makes no sense…”

Your voice broke, Andrew ached at the pain it was revealing.

“No, I don’t want to!”

Andrew had almost reached the door when the tiles under his feet cracked, and you spun around in a jolt. He gave you an apologetic smile, but remained frozen under your stare.

“Frank, I’ve got to go, babe. Just… please, think about what you’re doing, okay? And we need to discuss this properly, face to face.”

Your face fell, he saw that you were about to cry, before you pulled your phone away from your ear, stared at the screen with a blank stare.

“Y/N? You’re alright?” Andrew asked, staring at you, at how distressed you looked.

You blinked up at him, put your phone down on your desk. And then you shook your head, covered your mouth with your hand, and started crying. Or sobbing, rather. Andrew stared for a second with round eyes, not knowing what to do.

His first reaction was to hold you, and so he took a couple of steps towards you, but then he remembered that you were colleagues, that you barely knew each other, that it would be inappropriate for him to touch you in any way. So, he stopped abruptly, stared at you some more.

“Y/N?”

You stared at each other for a moment, while your sobbing got worse, and Andrew was thinking of what he should do. But then, you were the one to circle your desk, and basically let yourself fall into his arms. He caught you easily, held you in a tight hug.

“Hey… what’s going on? You’re alright? What’s wrong?” he asked, making his voice even softer than it usually was, rubbing soothingly your back.

You were shaking in his arms, holding on his jacket like your life depended on it.

“Frank is breaking…up… up with me,” you explained, your cries making you stutter, choking on your breathing.

Andrew clenched his jaw, held you a little tighter.

“God… I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s just… out of nowhere… we’re engaged! He says… he says he’s met someone else… but he… he doesn’t know her! They met… like… just a few weeks ago… who does that?!”

“I don’t know, Y/N. I don’t know…”

“What am I going to do now?”

He let you cry for a few more minutes, supporting your weight as your legs seemed too weak to fully carry you, rubbing soothing circles into your back, your head buried in his chest.

“Why don’t you go home, Y/N? Huh? You should go home, get some rest.”

But you shook your head, suddenly breaking free from his embrace.

“No, no… I need to work…”

“You’re not going to get anything done, anyway. It’s alright. Just… go home. Go home, and rest. You’ll come back on Monday morning, once you’ve sorted this out.”

You blinked up at him, dried your cheeks on your sleeves.

“I’m sorry…”

“There’s no need to apologise. Just go home, get some rest. You’re upset, being here will do nothing to make you feel better. We don’t have classes yet, you can work at home if you want to.”

You nodded, but sat back at your computer all the same.

“I’ll leave early.”

“Alright.”

“It’s… It’s better if I don’t think about this, anyway.”

“I understand…”

“I… I’m sorry I hugged you like that…”

“No need to apologise. It’s fine. You’re upset, it’s okay.”

“I… I’m sorry if I’m a little off today…”

“Y/N… I reckon that it’s normal for you to ‘be off’ today. I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, in fact… I was about to walk out again, like… erm… but you heard me before I could…”

“You could have knocked.”

“It’s my office.”

Slowly, you nodded.

“Yeah, right… it’s okay…”

“Do you… want to talk about it?”

But you shook your head.

“It’s better if I focus on something else. Besides, I’m sure you don’t want to be bothered with my personal life.”

He nodded, not saying anything else while he took off his jacket, threw it on the back of his chair and sat down behind his desk.

When he looked up at you, you were still crying, although you were doing so in silence, drying your eyes and cheeks quickly, in an attempt to hide it.

Andrew wanted to hold you again, until you would stop crying for real.

Elwood wasn’t supposed to climb on the couch, but Andrew had such a soft spot for his dog that this rule had been neglected for a long time. Instead, he let his dog lie by his side on the sofa while he watched tv, a beer in his hand, Elwood’s head lying on his laps in search for infinite scratches. And Andrew was happy to comply and offer all the petting his dog desired.

Stallone was suffering of post-traumatic stress on screen, hiding near a village after coming back from war with nothing, but Andrew wasn’t really paying attention to Rambo’s pain. Instead, he let his mind wander off to other places, to worries and lists of things to do. He thought of you, hoped that you would be fine, that you would sort things out with the man you loved. He thought about the article he needed to read the next day, the poems he wanted to select and discuss in his class about Yeats. He thought about the notebook that sat in his office at home, that had remained closed for the past few months, how he couldn’t find any reason to write these days, how he missed being able to produce poetry. It used to quieten his busy head for a while, he grieved for the easy cure, the temporary emotional relief creating provided for him. But then again, things were a little off with Sam these days. He could feel her drifting away sometimes, didn’t feel that they were as close as they used to. They would overcome it, of course, they always did. But what worried him most was that he didn’t know the reason behind it. Especially the past few weeks. She didn’t seem to make much efforts to be with him, to show interest in him. He wasn’t sure if it came from outside, may it be work or family, or if it came from inside their relationship. Perhaps he wasn’t paying enough attention, perhaps he had said something without realising it could be hurtful to her…

Anyway, they were drifting apart, and Andrew couldn’t write. He hadn’t written a single poem in two months, the longest time he had spent not writing at all since his teenage years. He felt kind of lost without that routine, the anchor it provided.

Sam had not answered to his texts today, he was worried. He knew she was alright, he had asked her friend again this afternoon, and Sam had been to work as per usual. It wasn’t like her to simply ghost him, though, that was new.

He would have been lying had he pretended that it didn’t make him angry. He didn’t reckon that he was being too much, crossing boundaries or anything of the kind by asking her to reply, when he just wanted to make sure she was alright. He clenched his jaw at the thought, tried not to let anger win, but he couldn’t help it. She was always complaining about his lack of communication skills, but she was pulling stunts like this? Andrew was far from perfect in that area, he knew it, he tried to make efforts about it, but he had never ghosted her for an entire day.

There was something wrong, and Andrew dreaded to find out what it could be.

Andrew jumped when he heard a knock on the door. Elwood felt his sudden rush of fear, barked in response.

“Shh, it’s alright, boy,” Andrew petted Elwood’s head before standing and walking to the door.

His eyes grew round in surprise as he found Sam on his doorstep.

“Babe? What are you doing here? It’s almost midnight…”

“I… I wanted to see you.”

His heart grew warm at her words, but he was still angry because of her silence. He let her in anyway.

“You’re alright? You didn’t answer me at all since yesterday morning,” Andrew said, trying to maintain a neutral tone.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry… I was just… busy…”

“What’s wrong? You seem upset?”

“Long day…”

She walked to the kitchen, paid no mind to Elwood as he watched her pass by, sniffed at her jeans, before heading back towards Andrew. The dog followed him around as he walked to the kitchen as well.

Andrew internally debated whether he should start a fight or not, about her silence, about the unanswered texts, about the fact that he was worried sick…

“How was your day, Andy?”

A simple question, Andrew was surprised to be stunned by it. It was a perfectly normal question, one he asked her every day, one she used to ask him. But then, he realised he was surprised because she had stopped asking about his day years ago…

“Erm… fine,” he answered, blinking at her, pushing his resentment to the side for a moment.

He looked at her fidgeting with his kettle, with a mug she had taken from the cabinet above her head. She seemed nervous, distressed even. Perhaps she was summoning up the courage to talk about whatever was bothering her. So, Andrew answered, instead of arguing.

“I… My day was fine. Got a lot of work done, ate with Colm and Ronan, which was nice. I’ve started narrowing down my list of poems I want to talk about for this new class about Yeats I’ll be teaching this year, made some historical research for it too. I’m worried about Y/N, though.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… her fiancé broke up with her last night. She’s devastated.”

He saw how Sam tensed at his words, turned her head slightly in his direction.

“Really?”

“Hmm… they had been together for several years, were engaged and everything. She was upset, like… really upset. I hope they can fix things, she seems to love him a lot. And apparently, it was very sudden too. Which only made things worse. She truly didn’t see it coming. God, can you imagine? Your long-time partner just… dropping a bomb on you like that? Without any warning? She didn’t want to talk about it, I don’t know exactly what happened, but… something so unexpected like that….”

He saw Sam struggling to swallow, saw the fear and the hesitation in her eyes, even though she wasn’t looking at him. He walked over to her, folded his long arms around waist, pressing her back to his chest, kissed her head.

“Anyway, how are you? Are you okay, baby? Why didn’t you tell me you were home last night, I was worried sick…”

“I’m sorry, I just… I’m a little off today.”

“Yeah, I can see that. What happened?”

She hesitated, but then she shook her head, and he could tell that she was changing her answer, that she was hiding something from him.

“Just…” she stopped, stared at the empty mug in front of her. “Do you think that could happen to us?”

“What?”

“What happened to your colleague… do you think that could happen to us?”

Andrew’s heart started pounding, but he didn’t show it. He didn’t show the panic rising in his chest at the thought, he merely tightened protectively his hold on her instead.

“Of course, not. We’ve always been through every issue we’ve had, every row, every hard time. We’ll be fine, babe. We’re always fine.”

She didn’t relax per say, but Sam heaved a sigh, shook her head, turned in his arms to hug Andrew tight.

“You’re right. That’s silly…”

“Babe, what’s going on? What’s wrong?”

But she shook her head, closing her eyes as she buried her face in his t-shirt.

“Nothing. Nothing important. I’m sorry I was so off today.”

“I love you, Sam.”

She opened her mouth to answer, but seemed to change her mind right before speaking. “I know, Andy. I know.”

[mapping-elysium]

Let's start this off right with one of the most notable lore-dumps in the game, the Plaza Rain Shivers check.

In the west

Stairs to the water

Sea Fortress > Bay of Revachol > Sky scrapers of La Delta

What’s down the shore?

Defunct R+E building > Abandoned Church > Coal City

In the east

Industrial Harbor (Locked) > La Drisienne - King Dris’ Passengers Harbour > River Distributary > Couron > “The Class Divide”

In the north

Whirling Yard > Capeside apartments

“Standing in the rain, looking north, where jamrock rock city stretches inland”

In the south

Traffic jam, roundabout, statue > Road ascends to 8/81 (ghetto beneath) > Jamrock

OTHER NOTES

Where do i live?

On a street there that flows like a muddy river in the snow, with fire traps rising on either side. A film rental opens its doors to the rain, an armoured motor carriage rushes past the corner where you used to walk together... Suddenly, the hair on your back rises.

“YOU CANNOT RETURN”

SOURCE MATERIAL BENEATH THE CUT

Shivers - All around you, rain falls on the great city of Revachol. Rain drips from the eaves and floods the gutters, washing the filth away.

Shivers - The spring thaw must be here. The snow is melting...

You - What am I doing?

Shivers - Looking up at the sky, cold water dripping from your hair.

You - What do I see?

Shivers - Grey sky like great battleships, clouds colliding with one another. Rain falls down on the world.

You - How does it feel?

Shivers - Your shirt sticks to your chest. The shoulders of your disco blazer grow heavy. The cold finds its way in under your skin. You shiver, and the city shivers with you.

Composure - You're not dressed for this weather. You should get an overcoat, or a patrol cloak.

You - What is in the west?

Shivers - Sheets of rain over the water. A flight of stairs leading into the ocean. Wave after wave washing the coast of Martinaise, with its motorboats and gently swaying reeds.

Shivers - The ruins of a half-sunken seafort crumble on an inlet. Beyond the Bay of Revachol, ghosts rise into the sky.

You - Who are you, ghosts?

Shivers - The skyscrapers of La Delta, the financial district. Faint golden light seeps from the office windows.

Inland Empire - Will you ever go there?

You - Will I?

Shivers - No. You are just one of the hundreds of thousands who watch them rise across the bay from Martinaise every day.

You - What is down the shore?

Shivers - Urban coastline, rain dripping off eternite-covered roofs. Cinder blocks left over from half-finished construction. A defunct research and development building once seized by revolutionaries. An old wooden church stands on stilts above the water.

You - And beyond that?

Shivers - Coal City, end of all lines.

You - Run your fingers through your dampened hair.

Shivers - Your hair is an oily mess flecked with ash from neighbouring coal plants. Smoke stacks rise somewhere in the distance.

You - What's in the east?

Shivers - The great gates of the industrial harbour are locked. A chill runs down your back. You shudder like an animal trying to shake water from its hide.

You - Clench your teeth to stop shuddering.

Shivers - Behind the gates -- heaps of supply crates. Red and blue metal shipping containers slick with rain. The Greater Revachol Industrial Harbour is an artificial mountain range. Immense wealth resides within, and immeasurable poverty in its shadow.

You - And before that?

Shivers - You -- on the Martinaise plaza. A small dot looking up at the sky. Droplets form on your eyelashes.

You - And beyond that?

Shivers - La Drisienne, King Dris's Passenger Harbour. Cruise ships flanked by dock arms. Cranes watching over the mouth of the river distributary.

You - What is across the distributary?

Shivers - Couron, the lower middle class. Distributary after distributary cuts the city blocks in half. Seven-story buildings trail off into the rain.

You - What is beyond the Couron?

Shivers - A silvery curtain of rain over the houses. The class divide.

Rhetoric - You have never been there. They don't need the law east of the river.

You - What's in the north?

Shivers - Capeside apartments -- tower blocks crowd one another, 4.46 mm bullets still lodged in their war-torn stone walls.

Shivers - Hallways collapsed from the mortar hits of a war that was lost long ago. Clotheslines go to waste in the rain. Radios play.

Rhetoric - The morning news.

You - And closer to here?

Shivers - A yard. Rain falls onto the roof of a woodshed. Filthy water pools around a body. Droplets of rain slip from the dead man's cold cheeks.

You - What's in the south?

Shivers - A traffic jam. Rain thrumming on the roofs of motor vehicles. Inside, drivers watch water streaming down their windshields. The statue of a king shudders, he too is cold. The canal bridge has been raised.

You - What's on the other side?

Shivers - The road ascends; a raised motorway loops above the ghetto. Beneath its concrete columns -- a sea of rooftops, woodwork, and tar stretches northward. Four-story buildings as far as the rain can fall. The snows melt in Jamrock.

You - What is Jamrock?

Shivers - Revachol is the capital of the world. Jamrock is the capital of Revachol. Droplets form on your eyelashes.

Inland Empire - It's home.

You - Why am I not there?

Shivers - To be in Martinaise, where no one goes. At the run-off point of a long-forgotten canal, in the whitest part of town. In the shadow of the day the Revolution failed.

You - What am I doing here?

Shivers - Standing in the rain, looking north, where Jamrock Rock City stretches inland.

You - Where do I live?

Shivers - On a street there that flows like a muddy river in the snow, with fire traps rising on either side. A film rental opens its doors to the rain, an armoured motor carriage rushes past the corner where you used to walk together... Suddenly, the hair on your back rises.

Shivers - YOU CANNOT RETURN.

You - "Motherfucker." [Finish thought.]

[hottpinkpenguin]

The Way of Winter - Chapter 1

Joel Miller series Reader insert (gender neutral, future chapters will likely read as female) A/n: takes place at the end of episode 6 (spoilers if you haven't seen!). I took a few liberties with the location. Word count: 2,661 | Tags: slow burn | Warnings: none

A gentle snowfall had started, the flakes barely big enough to see. You watched them idly as they landed on your horse Rambo’s dark mane, lasting only moments before his body heat melted them away. The world around you was hushed, the land and the creatures buttoned up in preparation for the storm you all knew was coming. You could see the dark gray clouds rolling up and over the already snow-capped peaks of the Wind River Range in the distance.

Tightening your jacket around your body, you tutted at Rambo, urging him into a gentle trot along the old railbed. He obliged you, his heavy hooves thudding against the frozen ground. You settled into an easy posting motion, timing the rhythm of your body’s rise and fall in the saddle with Rambo’s gait. 

You let your mind wander as you gave Rambo his head. He kept pace easily, the four dogs you’d raised as hunting partners darting in and out of the woods around him like escorts. He knew his way around this land as well as you did.

Your senses pricked up when the dogs caught a scent, their noses lifted into the breeze. The oldest dog, a black German shepherd you simply called Black, broke into a run, chasing the scent straight along the railbed in the direction you were riding. The three others followed suit, their eyes spinning left and right like satellite dishes. Rambo whinnied softly, chuffing and yanking on the bit in his mouth in anticipation. The dogs weren’t signaling an animal - if the scent they’d found was a deer or a mountain lion or even a rabbit, they’d have barreled off into the woods after it at your command, braying and yelping so you could follow them. But they were quiet, tense. They’d found a human scent. 

You pulled the long hunting rifle out of its holster at Rambo’s side, slinging it across the saddle as you kicked him into a canter. He took off with a jolt, his nerves clearly jumpy as the dogs rounded a gentle corner in the railbed ahead and disappeared from sight. You checked that the rifle was loaded and cocked as Rambo carried you down the center of the tracks towards the corner.

You reigned him up as you turned the corner. Black and the three dogs were standing at alert, flanking the tracks, their ears and eyes glued on three dark shapes about a quarter mile ahead. Humans, alright. Two of them, and one horse. You squinted against the gentle flurry of flakes and the dim afternoon light. It was too far to make out the strangers with any detail, although one of them was lying down, the other upright and hovering over the other. The horse was in full tack, standing a few feet away and pawing nervously at the ground. 

You bit your lip, considering your next move. The dogs whined softly next to you, every muscle in their bodies taut like razor wire, waiting for your signal. 

“Off, dogs.” Black and his three siblings relaxed somewhat at your command, although they remained close to Rambo’s sides and their attention decidedly fixed on the strangers ahead. They hadn’t seen you, and you could easily double back without them being any the wiser, cut a wide berth around them to get home. Or you could approach them. It was a risk, you knew. You’d lost your sister and her two sons taking just such a risk. Six years ago, and you’d been alone ever since. Alone, but alive, a chiding inner voice reminded you. 

You shook your head as if you could bat away the thoughts like gnats, urging Rambo forward at a gentle walk. You kept your rifle aimed low and away, but your hand found its familiar purchase on the trigger as you moved towards the two strangers. The closer you got, the clearer their features became. One was small - a woman, probably, and maybe a child. The larger one was lying prone along the embankment on the side of the tracks. 

Finally, the small one noticed you. 

“Hey! Don’t come any closer!”

A young voice. A girl’s voice. A sharp popping sound ripped through the quiet land as she raised a gun in the air, firing off a warning shot. 

The dogs growled next to you and Rambo’s ears flattened backwards at the noise. But, like you, they were far from green when it came to confrontation. You reigned Rambo to a halt, narrowing your eyes at the girl. 

“What’s the problem with your friend there?” you called out, nodding your head in the direction of the unresponsive person.

The girl didn’t answer right away. She shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other as she took in the sight of you. 

You chutted at Rambo, who moved you a few steps forward, slowly. The girl backed up a half step before calling out at you again.

“I mean it! I’ll shoot! Don’t come a step closer!” 

You sighed heavily, irritated at the budding sense of obligation you felt for this girl’s safety. 

“If he’s dead, you better come with me. These parts aren’t safe, and there’s a storm rolling in.” You tilted your head towards the Wind River Range, now obscured by a heavy snowfall headed for your direction. “Couple of hours from now, you won’t be able to see a foot in front of your face the snow will be coming down so hard.”

The girl hesitated again. You could feel her indecision from where you watched her, some twenty steps away. Her dark, wide-set eyes flicked from you to the dogs to Rambo to some nondescript point in the distance to the man lying on the ground at her feet. When she looked down at the second stranger, you clearly saw terror in her eyes. It reminded you of the way your nephews had looked the day they’d been killed, and the similarity twisted a knife of anguish in your chest. 

You slid out of the saddle, your hunting rifle still in your hands. 

“What’s wrong with him?” you asked her again. You felt a chill run down your spine - the temperature was dropping. 

“He… he got stabbed. I think- I think he passed out.” Her voice was small and riddled with panic. You nodded, keeping your movements slow and deliberate. 

“He’ll need medical attention,” you commented as you slowly approached her. You looked down at the man. His skin still had a flush to it that told you he wasn’t dead. His hands were pressed against his abdomen and stained with blood. Every once in a while, you thought you saw his eyelids flutter as if he were trying to stay awake. 

“Is there a doctor nearby?” 

You raised an eyebrow at the girl, at the note of hope in her voice. 

“Anyone who lives out here has to be their own doctor,” you replied. She looked crestfallen, her gaze darting back and forth between you and her traveling companion. You could see her indecision beginning to thaw, so you took another few steps closer and extended a hand towards her. You were only a handful of paces away.

“Give me that gun,” you urged her, nodding at the small pistol in her right hand. 

“No fucking way,” she snapped back, recoiling from you and aiming the pistol at your chest. Your dogs growled in warning, tightening around your ankles. You saw her dark eyes widen slightly at their four sets of bared teeth.

“You shoot me, and they’ll attack you,” you commented, gesturing with your chin at the shepherds. “You might have time to get one, maybe two shots off before they’ll reach you. And these are hunting dogs. They bring down mountain lions and bison, so I don’t think they’ll struggle with a teenaged girl.” 

It was a cheap move, you knew, to weaponize a young kid’s fear like that. But you needed that gun. She was too jumpy to be trusted with it. 

The girl’s face tightened in a mix of indignation and fear as she took in your words. Her eyes flicked once again to the man lying in the snow, dark blood seeping between his fingers. 

“Let me take a look at him,” you offered, changing tactics when the girl didn’t relent. A vein pulsed in her forehead as she stared at you before nodding once. 

You closed the distance between you and the man quickly as the girl backed away, keeping an arm's distance between you at all times. You ignored her movements as you crouched down next to the man. He was breathing, a soft vapor of breath dancing in and out of his lips in time with the rise and fall of his chest. He was older than you’d initially thought - probably in his fifties - with generous streaks of gray in his dark hair and beard. His face was lined and browned from the sun. He had a thick jacket on, but it was unbuttoned. His undershirt was soaked with blood from his ribcage down. His hands were grafted to his side, but he wasn’t conscious enough to apply the pressure that wound needed. 

You looked up at the girl, noting her own practical clothing and the healthy assortment of supplies on the horse behind her. Whoever these people were, they were packed up for a trip. 

“I’ve got a cabin about eight miles off,” you told her, nodding vaguely in the northwest direction where your home was. “If he can survive the ride, I can probably stitch this wound up.” 

It wasn’t strictly a lie, although you knew you weren’t telling the girl the whole truth. It was unlikely whoever this man was would survive an eight mile ride. And even if he did, you doubted that stitches alone would save his life. He was probably bleeding internally, based on the dark, viscous blood coating his fingers. 

“Or?” The teenaged girl’s question sounded like a challenge.

“Or I leave you here and you figure it out for yourself,” you told her nonchalantly as you stood up and walked back to Rambo. “You better figure it out soon though. We’ve only got an hour or two before that storm rolls in, and I for one plan to be on my way well before then.”

More indecision and hesitation. The girl watched you carefully as you holstered the rifle and wiped the dusting of snow from your shoulders. 

“If we go with you, we’re not talking,” she offered. You chuckled at the odd request. 

“Sure. No talking,” you acquiesced. The girl’s dark eyes narrowed as she nodded. 

“Alright. Can your father stand up?”

“He’s not my father,” the girl replied sharply. You held up your hands in submission.

“Apologies. Can your friend stand?”

You watched as the girl crouched down, shaking the man’s shoulders and talking to him. His head rolled lazily from one side to the other but he didn’t show any sign of waking enough to stand. After a few minutes, she looked up at you with pleading eyes.

You joined her at the man’s side, lifting him so he was sitting upright as you each slung one of his arms around your shoulders. 

“1… 2… 3… lift,” you counted. On lift, you stood, bracing the man’s heavy weight against you. His head lolled against his shoulder, but you could feel the shaky help of his legs bracing his body. He was half-conscious and moaned in pain at the movement to his injury. On his other side, the girl looked over to you for direction. 

“My horse,” you huffed out, straining to keep the man upright. He smelled of days’ old sweat and whiskey and underneath, the sickly stink of blood. 

With great effort, you and the girl plodded in the direction of Rambo. The horse watched your approach with a wary expression, chuffing as you grabbed his bridle and leaned the man against Rambo’s tall haunch. Braced between your horse and the girl, the man managed to raise his head and gaze at you through slitted eyelids. 

“Listen, fella, if you can get up in that saddle yourself, we’d all be the better for it.” Truth be told, you weren’t sure you’d be able to lift his weight alone, and even though his traveling companion was scrappy, you doubted she’d be much help. 

“Joel, please.” The girl laid a hand on his chest and shook him gently. Joel. You made note of the man’s name. 

The man she called Joel managed to stand on his own accord, braced against Rambo’s side. He released a hand from his side, one coming to the pommel of your saddle as he winced. 

“Here.” You knelt down, grabbing his left ankle and lifting it. The man swayed precariously as he balanced on one foot, letting you guide the other into Rambo’s stirrup. The girl caught him with her shoulder under his armpit, grunting under his weight. When one of his feet was in the saddle, you jumped handily onto Rambo’s bare back, settling behind the saddle on his loin and motioning for Joel to join you. He fixed you with a vaguely incredulous look, as if in disbelief that you were asking such a Herculean effort of him. You chuckled darkly against yourself as you gripped the back of his jacket. He heaved himself up, groaning loudly in pain. The girl pushed him from behind, and with a final grunt he settled in the saddle. You reached around him to grab the reins as he slumped forward, breathing heavily at the exertion. You braced his sliding weight between your arms, the effort causing your biceps and shoulders to tense uncomfortably. He was tall, and if he’d sat upright he would have completely obscured your view. Thankfully, with his head falling forward against his chest and his body hunched over the generous pommel, you were able to see clear over him. 

“Your turn.” You jutted your chin towards the girl’s horse. If you’d had more time, you would have switched the double seat saddle on her chestnut mare with Rambo’s. But with the temperature dropping precipitously, you needed every minute you could get. 

The girl mounted handily, reigning her horse in at Rambo’s haunch. 

“Can you gallop?” you asked her. She looked decently comfortable in the saddle, although you couldn’t get a read on her skill level. She shrugged noncommittally. From in front of you, Joel moaned, slumping against your right arm. You grimaced as you fought to keep him centered in the saddle. Rambo shook his head nervously, sensing his rider’s shift.

“We need to make time,” you told the girl, bringing Rambo around to face north along the railbed. She swallowed, her gaze fixed on Joel. “If you can’t keep up, holler.” You didn’t wait for an answer as you dug your heels into Rambo’s side. He responded with a brisk trot. Joel bobbed like a ragdoll in front of you. You noted one of his hands sliding down his thigh and coming to bounce freely at his side. You grabbed it and slid it back to this stomach.

“Keep pressing on that wound,” you called into his left ear, louder than necessary but in an effort to keep him conscious. Joel replied with a watery-thin moan, although he held his hand to the bloody gash on his stomach. 

You looked back over your shoulder, checking to make sure the girl was with you. She was a few paces behind you, bouncing haphazardly in the saddle. Better not gallop, you noted to yourself as you took in her uncoordinated movements. 

After a few more paces, you eased Rambo into a canter. Black and the other dogs took off into their usual pattern in the ditches alongside the railbed. Rambo’s familiar gait lulled you into autopilot as you followed the familiar trails north and west, a snowstorm bearing down on you… 

**chapter 2 here let me know if you'd like to be tagged if you like this series, check out my Joel Miller masterlist for other works

[impala-dreamer]

Tell me about being in a cabin with Dean, having a calm, romantic night, and having sex while it snows outside.

Boots and Blankets and Things -

His boots were by the door. Snow was melting off the treds as the heat from the fireplace reached across the big room. The little puddle was nothing to worry about, they could clean it up later. 

The thick blankets were tossed aside and rumpled beneath them; the warm wool threads frayed from years of use. They didn’t make blankets like that anymore, they were only ever found tucked away in the back of closets or stowed in car trunks in case of emergencies. 

An empty whiskey bottle lay on its side on the floor, kicked over by an elbow, a foot, who’s to say? They’d drunk their fill and then some, raiding Bobby’s stash in the bedroom until they were warm and giddy, drowning in lust and rye. 

Flannel shirts were balled up as pillows and stuffed beneath her head. Denim was cast away aside like trash, cotton was sprinkled like breadcrumbs across the cabin. 

Outside a gentle snow fell onto freezing earth, weighing down the pine trees, erasing the gravel driveway, the stairs, their hopes of escape. It piled up on the windows, stuck in the muntin, fogged up the glass. 

Inside, he held her close, spreading kisses like honey down her body. His lips were chapped from the cold but oh so warm as they nipped at her shoulder, suckled on her breast, parted her lips with hungry kisses. 

Light from the fire played across their nakedness, casting shadows in curves and illuminating sacred spaces usually kept hidden. Dean kissed every spot, let his fingers glide over every inch previously unknown. Y/N held her breath as he explored, moaned his name when he struck the sweet spots. She scraped her nails down his back, nibbled gently on his ears, fit her thighs snug around his trim waist. 

There was no rush, no need to worry. There were no monsters lurking behind the trees, no doomsday clock ticking away over their heads. There was only the perfect falling snow and the fire, only the passion between them and the stillness of the forest.  

Tomorrow, they would dig their way out, shovel the Impala free and fight their way down the mountain. But tonight they slept in peace, sated and calm, wrapped together on the floor by the fire. Tonight they found the love they both needed, the safety of old wool blankets and the warmth of each other’s arms.

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[redgyl]

(Finally posting after a year. All thanks goes to my daughter, who co-wrote this with me every step of the way.)

Chapter 6

Joel hated mountains.

They always slowed him down and whenever the wind blew (which was most of the time), it blew snow or dust off the mountain and into his face. Why would anyone want to live here? And it was so, SO cold!

This mountain was mostly covered in evergreens, so at least the windchill wasn’t so bad, but he still wouldn’t want to live in a place like this.

He glanced down at the quickly scribbled instructions: “go north-east, cross Red River Chasm, find Old Oak, go straight east, follow up river to where it ends, find cave.” So far, he had crossed the chasm (such a rickety bridge! He hopes it will still be there when he goes back), found the tree, and discovered a few missing steps, such as having to find the new “river” (really just a creek at this point in its course), bribe the guards at an arbitrary gate in an isolated fort sitting on top of the creak, and follow the stupid water uphill to where it started to gather from the melting snow. The sides of the mountain were so steep, he had to ditch his horse and most of his gear, and hope the shady guards didn’t follow and steal his stuff.

“Could have used a wyvern. Oh well,” he said — he enjoyed talking to himself — “I can live with it. I’ll just get Martyn to pay me extra when I get back.” Pocketing the directions, he looked back up the mountainside. In the rocks above, there were a couple of thin, shiny streaks reflecting the setting sun’s light, indicating melting snow. Somewhere up there, he hoped, he’d spot a cave.

He shivered, and took another step up around some rocks. “Time to get going.” He reached out to climb up the steep side. “Maybe I can find a pine marten, or …”

“Hey, Joel!” a high-pitched voice called happily next to his ear. Joel started in surprise and slipped, sliding back down to the trees.

“Wh-What the heck!” Joel exclaimed as he picked himself up. He looked around but saw no one. “Who was that?”

“It was me, Joel!” said the voice again, and out from behind a rock stepped a silvery figure. He had a young, pretty face, with fair hair and blue, bright eyes. He was tall and thin and wore plain clothes. “How are you?”

“Jimmy?” Joel exclaimed, “Are you dead?!?”

The ghost shuffled his transparent feet, as if ashamed. “Yeah, obviously.”

“Yeah, obviously,” Joel repeated monotonously as he picked himself back up. “I knew you would be the first of us to go; you always were awfully clumsy.” Somehow, talking to Jimmy as a ghost made his death far less tragic than it otherwise would have been.

“Excuse me?” the ghost sputtered indignantly, “You’ve had almost as many near-death accidents as I did!”

“Mine had more pizazz,” Joel retorted. He started climbing up the mountainside again. ”Speaking of which, how did you die?”

“It was weird,” the ghost started. “I’m not totally sure. I was just climbing up this mountain here —“

“To visit Dragon Doc?” Joel interrupted.

“No way! I just … needed to pick some mountain daisies,” Jimmy said, “and … where was I? … anyway, I was just climbing up this mountain, and I saw something in a bush, and then … and then I was dead.”

“Just like that?”

“Yeah. Just like that.”

“Didn’t see what killed you or anything?”

“No. I’m not even sure of where my body went.”

They fell into silence as Joel continued climbing. It was getting harder to breathe, and his muscles ached from the constant climbing, and his finger hurt from the cold, and his sweat wetted his undershirt. It kept getting colder, but Joel could almost see his destination. When it finally came into view, he grinned. “Finally.”

Jimmy’s ghost looked ahead, and if he could turn paler, he would have. “Joel, do you know where you’re going?”

“A little late … to ask that,” he said between breathes as he leaned against a boulder. It started to snow.

“Isn’t that Doc the Dragonborn’s lair?”

“Yep. That’s where I’m headed.” He glared up at the sky for a moment. “I hate snow. So cold.”

Dragonborn Doc’s Lair was a small sight to behold. An unnaturally flat, wide space clear of all vegetation and debris leading to a round, human-sized hole in the wall. Not too far into it stood a human-sized door made of iron, illuminated by a yellow light coming from the ceiling. Faint, gray runes along the floor and walls were barely visible through the dust.

“Be careful, Joel,” Jimmy said in a low whisper, “You don’t want to mess with Doc. He’s scary. I hear his place is trapped. And I’ve seen some suspicious people around here, too, all shadowy and masked up.”

Joel snorted dismissively. “Nuffin’s gonna kill me. Just give me a moment … to catch my breath.”

As he rested, Joel’s grin broadened. The end of his mission was in sight. “I’m a-goin’ to have a chat with the dragon, now. You coming’ wif me?”

“I guess so, since I can’t die again,” Jimmy said as Joel strode toward the cave. “But how are going to get past those runes?”

Joel was only halfway across the clearing when he stepped into a magic circle hidden underneath the dust and snow. A big explosion, a cloud of smoke, and two simultaneous, girly screams later, Joel found himself still standing but looking at a cave that was now significantly bigger than before.

“Squawk ba-dawk!” (‘What the heck!’)

Well, that didn’t sound right! Joel looked down to try to see himself, and found himself reflexively pecking at the dust with his beak.

“Joel!” Jimmy yelled. “You’re a chicken!”

Joel crowed and clucked angrily as he strutted around the clearing, leaving little clawed tracks, his head bobbing and wings ruffling. If his sounds could be translated, we’d know he was saying; “OF COURSE I’M A CHICKEN! WHAT THE BLOOMING HECK!? HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO COMPLETE MY QUEST NOW? THIS IS SO STUPID! GAH, I’M SO DUMB! THAT TRAP IS SO BLOOMIN’ OBVIOUS! GAH!”

A new voice came from the rocks above them. “Oh snappers, what happened here?”

Joel snapped his head up and froze. A tall, dark, lanky man with silvery hair held back by a headband sat crouched on on rock face above, the lower half of his face masked, a vertical scar running over his glowing red eye (the other eye being a bright blue).

Etho; he was a living legend, a stealthy master thief who had somehow learned how to teleport despite not having a drop of blood in him from the Ender Clan (which wasn’t common knowledge, but Joel, moonlighting as a bounty hunter, had figured this out). He has never been caught and was seldom even seen, but Joel had been chasing him for years. What was Etho doing here?

Joel asked that very question. It came out as squawks.

“Yes,” Etho said good-naturedly, smiling patronizingly down at the chicken. “I love mountains, too. The air is so crisp and fresh.”

Etho disappeared from sight in an instant, and reappeared next to Jimmy. “He didn't watch his step did he?” the ninja thought aloud, as Jimmy yelped and jumped away, and the chicken clucked indignantly. "But the really strange thing is that an explosion like that should have killed him, eh, Jimmy?”

“Wh-what do you mean?” Jimmy asked. “And how do you know my name?”

“I mean that your friend is uninjured,” he answered, completely ignoring the second question. “Transfigured, yes, but his feathers haven’t even been ruffled. Why are you two up here in the first place?”

“Well … Joel’s here to see Doc the Dragonborn, and I’m just here with him …”

Etho hardly seemed to be listening as his eyes danced. In a silent blink, he appeared immediately in front of the rooster, crouched and staring at the red, jeweled collar. “Is this an enchantment that can cheat death?” he wondered. “I’d love to meet the enchanter or enchantress who could cook something like that up.”

He raised his eyes to look into Joel’s. “You know, I think you could be useful.” And although he was wearing a mask, Joel could tell Etho was also wearing a smirk.

Joel pecked Etho’s nose as hard as he could.

“Ow!” Etho jumped back, rubbing his sore schnoz, “Heh heh, feisty.” he said sportingly. “Just the type I was hoping for.”

“I’m goin’ ta bring you in,” Joel threatened incoherently in squawks. Ruffling his feathers, daring Etho to try that again.

Etho popped into existence directly behind Joel and grabbed him around the neck and lifted him off the ground. Joel furiously flapped his wings and stretched his legs back to scratch him. Etho just chuckled.

“Oh, yes, you’ll be a perfect help,” Etho said cheerfully holding the feathered poof o’ fury at arm’s length. “But you gotta calm down, little guy. I’d hate for you to get hurt and turn into something else.” With expert swiftness and dexterity, he snatched both legs with his free hand. “There.”

“LITTLE!” How dare you suggest that, heathen!” Joel screeched incoherently. “My height is a marvel within my jurisdiction!”

A cold breeze whipped up, and Joel and Etho both shivered. “Brr!” Etho exclaimed as Joel reflexively fluffed up and went quiet. “Let’s get us inside.”

In an instant, Etho and Joel were just outside the cave, peeking in. The runes seemed to glow brighter.

Etho pulled the rooster back, and said, “you, first!” With that, he chucked him into the cave.

Joel barely head Jimmy cry out, “Don’t worry Joel, I’ll save you!” as he flapped frantically around the cave, trying not to touch the walls, floor, or ceiling. He landed on the doorknob. His claws skidded on the metal as he struggled to stay on. Invisible runes on the door glowed yellow for a moment, and the door silently swung in.

“Good job!” Etho said as Joel crashed onto the floor beyond the door.

Joel was too busy panting from relief to fight as Etho picked him back up and looked around the dark room. There were two more doors, placed on either side of a torch.

“A labyrinth. I get it, I get it,” Etho mused out loud. “Only one safe path to the heart of Doc’s lair, and maybe not even that would be safe. Let’s find out.”

With that, Etho yanked one door open,chucked Joel the rooster in, and slammed the door shut. A moment later, he heard a loud THUD and a squish. After a moment of silence, he heard a confused bark and a whine from the other side. Reopened it up and, taking the torch from the wall, looked in to find a timid yellow dog with a green stripe on his head and the pendant around his neck inside of a blank room. He looked up.

“Ah. The ceiling came down. What a nasty trap!” He peeked further in without entering as Joel the yellow dog, tail curled under him, came out off the room. “And that is as far as this route goes. The other way should be safer.” With that, he opened the other door, and Joel dashed in, as if to try to escape Etho.

Etho heard a roar starting up, quickly closed the door, and heard a dog yelp on the other side. The roar was extremely loud, but then it died down, and there was silence. When he heard a goat bleat, reopened the door and peeked in. Lo and behold, there was a gray goat with a green stripe on his head and pendant around his neck, sitting dazedly the floor, smoke curling from his fur. The air still felt extremely hot.

“Hmm,” Etho mused out loud, looking around. “There’s got to be a … ah! There we go,” he said, flicking switch that was right next to his head. The faint roar sound in the background died down. “Had to turn the trap off! Sneaky, sneaky, Doc.” With that,he scooped up the dizzy, terrified goat and strode down to the end of the room, where two more doors awaited them.

This continued for the next fifteen minutes, with Etho using Joel to test out the safety of each room before entering, and Joel turning into every animal in the farm and zoo books. Occasionally, nothing bad happened, and he just listened to Joel bleat, or bark, or squeak, or chirp, or moo in rage at him through the door. More often than not, though, there was an explosion, or splatting sounds, or water running, and panicked animal noises, always followed by silence. Etho happily entered when it was quiet, before Joel recovered enough to try to turn on Etho or try to escape from him (especially important when he turned into a mouse, and also when he turned into a bull — complete with a handy nose ring).

At one point, Etho felt the need to explain a little something to his reluctantly useful captive. “Just in case you were wondering, the reason I can’t just teleport is because I don’t know the layout of the cave. This is my first time in Doc’s abode; wouldn’t want to teleport into pure rock and die, you know? Thanks for your help, little buddy. I couldn’t have come this far without that neat little enchantment of yours.”

That sent Joel (now a parrot) into more squawks of indignation, but then he got tossed into another room, got spiked, and came out as a pig.

After he cycled through a few more cats, dogs, rodents, and other animals, and after one final explosion, Etho entered the room to find Joel as a human again, eyes wild and blank, teeth gritted, black and green hair frizzled and standing on end, clothes blackened around the edges, and pendant dim.

“Well…” Etho said, a slightly nervous smile under his mask, “looks like we’ve run out of animals. Luckily, it also looks like we’re here.”

He walked past Joel and strode down the hall, where it opened up into a huge cavern. He vanished from Joel’s sight.

It took Joel a moment to stagger to his feet and brush himself off. “What the heck?” he quietly said as he took in his bearings. He looked down the hall to where Etho had disappeared. He heard a low, background hum and metallic clanking, muffled explosions at irregular intervals, and a low rumble, much like the ocean waves in its regularity. He drew his sword and cautiously crept forward.

The sight took his breath away.

Stacks of treasure chests were piled all around the center of the room, pipe-lines and gears covered the walls, glass windows with eldritch creatures behind them, and, most magnificent of all, a huge green dragon slept peacefully in the center of it all on a giant pillow.

Joel was so busy taking in the machines and monsters that he couldn’t think properly. It reminded him of stories he had heard about what the legendary Mumbo Jumbo had built for his kingdom, only not so grand, and without the living nightmares. Suddenly remembering his mission, he shook himself back to the present and stared at the sleeping dragon. “Doc? Is that you?”

“Nope,” came a reply from Joel’s right. Only then did it occur to Joel that Etho was still in the room, rummaging swiftly through the many chests, drawers, and barrels. Every time he opened something, a yellow light appeared above it. The thief’s eyes looked disgruntled, like he wasn’t finding what he was looking for. “That’s Doc’s kid.”

“Kid? You mean, like a baby?”

“Yep.” He paused, his eyes brightened, and he pulled something small out of the barrel he was peaking into. A red light turned on above that barrel, and the small explosions in the background suddenly became regular and fast. Ignoring these changes, Etho teleported in front of the sleeping dragon. Though Etho easily towered over Joel in pure height, the sleeping dragon’s snout was at his eye level. Etho patted its nose soundly, just enough to startle it awake. The dragon started upward, and twitchingly opened its eyes. Then it started to cry, but stopped abruptly when Etho whipped out a cake (from where, Joel had no clue) and stuck that cake under its nose. The dragon stopped crying, sniffed the cake, then sloppily ate it.

“Yes, you’re a sweet litl’ baby,” Etho cooed, patting and rubbing the beaming draggy’s neck. “You is jus’ so cute! Such a sweetie you are! Here, take this,” he said on the side, tossing Joel another cake and continue patting the creature, “and come feed little Doccy. If you don’t, he’ll eat you alive. Also, you’ll need to pet him like I am so he knows you are his friend.”

“Are you kidding me?” Joel questioned even as he automatically obeyed, coming to feed the cake to Doccy and pet his chubby, short neck. “Where is the Dragonborn?”

“The way to Doc’s heart is through his kid,” Etho said quickly, ignoring the question. “I’m just helping you, as a thank you for helping me get here. Anyways, gotta go,” he said abruptly. “See ya!” In an instant, the thieving ninja was gone. Unnoticed by all, a spark lit up in Joel’s pendant.

“What are you doing here?” a stern voice said from behind him. With a cry of surprise, Joel spun around and looked back. There, at the entrance where he entered the lair, stood a tall, dark green man with a goatee and large, curling goat horns. Half of his face looked like a machine, or like living armor. Floating beside him, looking pleased with himself, was Jimmy.

“I got help!” Jimmy announced to Joel. “I’m saving you, Joel! Where’d that other guy go?”

But Joel couldn’t hear him. All he could do was stare into the other man’s under worldly eyes. A cold terror sank into him as the other man’s gaze swept over the area, his expression turning darker and darker. When he spoke, his voice was low and monotone and menacing.

“You invaded my home, broke every single trap I made to guard that home, touched every treasure I have here, stole something from me, and now you have interrupted little Doccy’s nap and fed him cake. He is going to be cranky and hyper for the rest of the day, and he won’t eat his liver and kidneys.” As he spoke, he smoothly swelled in size, his shape changing into that of a dark green, goat-horned, goat-bearded, part-cyborg dragon that took up the entire space in from of Joel. “Now,” he said, peering down at the insignificant insect with a green stripe in his hair, “explain yourself.”

Joel stared upwards, hardly believing what he was seeing. All he could think of was that he was doomed. “I … I …”

The mission was a bust. There was no way how he could convince this dragon to be their ally now. So, time for Plan B, as Sir Martyn told him:

Plan B.. what was Plan B again?.. Oh yeah,

He swallowed and squeaked, “Grian sent me.”

[musingsofadepressedgay]

It is absolutely fucking wild how little accountability church leaders need to have

A while back I was a girls camp

(Intermission for those of you who have never experienced a girl's camp)

Picture this, every young women between 12 - 17 is taken up into the mountains with nothing but clothes toiletries ✨️feminine products✨️ (side note why are we so afraid to call them fucking pads or tampons but whatever it doesn't matter rn) a journal pen and scriptures

Phones were not allowed and even if someone snuck one in most of the time we were out of cellphone range because it is time to 'disconnect with the world to connect with god' and at the end of the week everyone is peer pressured into telling about how they didn't want to go but thier mom made them and now that they went they are so happy and feel so close to God because spending a week doing nothing but team building activities all with metaphors about how it is our devine right to be a stay at home mom and we should be honored to submit to our husbands cause Jesus loves us and God knows what's best, while operating on 5 hours of sleep tops, is so eye opening and all that grand stuff

Sometimes there would be showers, sometimes there would be flushable toilets, sometimes some jackass would hide a life sized cardboard cut out of Justin Bieber inside of the Porta potties

Anyway now that we have established the vibes

I was at girls camp, around 14 or 15 years old, and we were going canoeing, because see girls camp is just like scout camp! They go white water rafting but we get to canoe in a reservoir

Now you could have 3 people in a canoe so me and 2 friends went off to go get sunburnt and paddle around for a bit before heading back into a cramped car to listen to the girls gossip about whoever the guy of the week was, because that's what we were expected to do

One crucial design flaw in said canoes is that they aren't actually buoyant enough to float if they get flipped upside-down, they just slowly sink as the air trapped underneath escapes when you attempt to flip them back over

I know that because we tried to take a sharp turn and capsized

Now after we figured out that not only had we flipped the canoe but now we were at a chance of being the only people to lose a whole fucking canoe to the bottom of the reservoir we begin to panic and tread water while holding onto the canoe and calling for help

Eventually some very nice young adults who were out paddle boarding took pity on us and offered to help flip the canoe so it wouldn't sink

Seeing as the canoe had already sunk enough that flipping it would just make it right side up while still underneath the water they had me sit on the back of their paddleboard and hold the canoe to tug it back to shore while my friends swam along side it to help keep it afloat

There are 3 important factors to this situation that are crucial to note

The first is that it is early spring in the mountains, the reservoir was filled with water from melted snow and some of it was still frozen over in shallower areas, on top of that ot was a chilly, and windy, day that felt decent when the sun was out but when you are in the cold water, it in fact did not feel decent

The second thing to note is that at the time I was incredibly short and built like a stick, not much muscle, not much body fat, just a small prepubecent teen (I know I was 14 or 15 however I was a 'late bloomer')

The third thing to note is that the kind paddle boarders who helped us were men in thier 20s or something, idk I wasn't really paying attention to how old they looked, but they were conventionally attractive

And so it was when we finally hauled the boat to shore and got it flipped right side up that we were told by our camp leader that we were not allowed to canoe back across the entire reservoir that we had paddled out to, but we were expected to swim back

To teach us a lesson about flipping a canoe to get the attention of the conventionally attractive young men

(It is worth noting that they were not even paddle boarding near where we accidentally took too sharp of a turn and we had been treading water and holding onto the boat for a good 8 or so minutes before they showed up)

But clearly we had done it all for the attention from boys because we were spending a week in the woods with no boys and so we flipped the boat for an excuse to talk to them

(Secondary note: I am very gay, I did not even understand what they were accusing us of until someone spelled it out for me because the possibility someone might flip a boat for a chance to talk to guys did not ever cross my mind)

And so it was that we went back into the water to swim the whole way back, now we were not just ignored, at one point some other girls took pity on us and told us we could hold onto thier boat as we swam to make it easier for us, and they were towing our boat (that we weren't allowed to paddle back ourselves) so they didn't mind a little extra weight of us holding on while we swam

We got to do that for all of 5 minutes before our leader yelled at them for showing us sympathy and told us that we needed to swim the whole way back on our own

Everyone had finished canoeing and was getting ready for the group picture by the time we got back, we had been swimming as fast as we could the whole time but we had to go back the entire distance that we had canoed out to

When the other girls helped me out of the water I looked like I was badly sunburnt because of how red I was, but it was just my whole body turning red from how cold the water was

I remember vividly that I was crying when the group photo was taken because my feet were burning with every step I took because they had been in the snow melt for so long that when I stepped onto the sand it felt like hot coals

(Yet another side note, having walked on hot coals bare foot before this was worse, the coals was over with fast and my nerves barely had time to react but with this I was so cold that I felt like going into the air I was burning except when the wind blew I was shivering so hard it felt like I was spasming)

We made it back to camp and shockingly none of us felt any better after changing into dry clothes, maybe being in cold water for 20 minutes isn't just something that goes away by getting out of the church approved swim suits

We were told by the church leader that we were allowed to take a shower to wash off the reservoir water and help us warm up, I had to turn the water to cold just to stop myself from feeling like I was being boiled alive

I got home and went straight to my mom to tell her of the injustice I faced, because whenever I told any other adults at camp they just laughed about how cute we must have thought the boys were

I finished telling her and her response was to tell me she already knew because the camp leader had texted her about it

However it was okay because she gave us her one shower she was allowed for the week (the campsite we were at was working on conserving water so the leaders were allowed one shower each and the girls were told they could just deal with not showering for five days) and that because the camp leader was really looking forward to her shower but she gave it up for us, it was all worked out in the long run and there was no fault or blame

I now have experienced things that hurt worse, but at that age the burning feeling around my entire feet as they sunk into the sand was one of the worst physical sensations I had ever felt I can still feel it if I think back because it was such a strong memory of the way my feet stung and my teeth shivered and I cried in front of all of my peers even as I tried my hardest to stop so that I didn't look like a cry baby infront of them

But she didn't get to have her shower

So it alllll evened out

Nobody remembers it besides me and my friends

I don't think we ever got an apology that wasn't followed by a 'but she was doing what she thought was best' or 'but she made it right by letting you have her one shower for the week'

Because it doesn't matter

Whatever the church leaders decide is right is what is right

It doesn't matter who gets hurt along the way

Let the lords will be done

And whoever speaks the will of God can't ever be wrong, and so any harm they do must be right

[hazel-of-sodor]

Something Holy This Way Comes

Ch.2 Secrets

Other Stories

Other Chapters

Progress on the restoration of the Glain route was progressing quickly with the extra engines. They had reached a small farming village named Tawel, high on the cliff overlooking the sea. Seagulls lined the cliff edge, crying angrily at Screech's presence. One started hopping towards her. Screech opened an eye to stare at the bird. The gull stopped for a moment, but then hopped forward again while looking the giant in the eye.

Thwack

The seagull's flock turned to watch it sail away towards the ocean.

"Screech!" Mali said admonishingly from the station platform

Screech closed her eye.

 "The skyrat should have known better." She said lazily.

The seagull returned and landed on Screech's snowplow, squawking in indignation.

Screech eyed the bird in irritation.

Mali giggled.

 Screech slowly scooped up a pile of snow with her tendrils. The seagull failed to notice the tendrils moving until it was too late.

ploof

 The seagull's head popped up from the snow angrily. 

Screech rumbled in satisfaction. Miss Morgan exited the old station, stopping to take in the sight.

"I see you're getting along with the locals." She said amused.

Screech flicked a tendril at the seagull who hopped over it with a squawk.

Screech glared.

"Any progress with getting a new engine?" Mali asked, hoping to distract Screech before she gave into the whisper's urging to unmake the bird.

Miss Morgan nodded, "Yes, finally. We're negotiating for an engine from the Western Region. They're supposed to arrive middle of next year."

"So long?" Screech asked without looking away from the gull.

"The engine is being sent for overhaul at Swindon," Morgan explained. "They will come here once overhauled and we'll have a chance to buy them if we're satisfied."

"You know they will try something to sabotage the trial."

Miss Morgan locked eyes with the eldritch giant, "which is why you will be watching over our new engine when they arrive."

A smirk slowly dawned on Mali's face, "They don't know about Screech."

The whisper cackled.

Miss Morgan's grin was predatory, "No they don't. I suspect the only reason they are sending the new engine is to find out what's changed on our railway. Before her arrival, we were struggling to keep the trains running."

"And when they find out about me?"

"That's the best part," Morgan smirked, "they'll never believe it. It doesn't matter if their spy sees you, according to their records you were scrapped."

"Because I was." 

Freda spoke up from the cab, "Normally that would mean you were dead. Not on a distant railway with reality-breaking abilities."

"Technically I am dead."

Gwyn snorted, "You're awfully solid for a ghost." He said, rapping his knuckles on the side of her tender.

Screech looked back, unimpressed. "I was cut into pieces by burning axes before those pieces were melted back into raw metal. The fact death failed to drag me beyond does not mean I am alive."

"I would think that's exactly what it means."

Screech locked gazes with Mali, "Little Thief, every second I must hold back my true form or risk reducing your mind and body to ash in an instant. I am no longer of this world, I am of the beyond. Your very being is unable to withstand the true weight of my presence. If I were to ever slip, you would not die, you would be unmade."

Mali swallowed nervously, "So no startling you then."

"It would be unwise."

The seagull squawked in apparent agreement.

Mali went to speak then hesitated.

"What is it, Little Thief?" Screech rumbled.

"You say you confine yourself to your physical shape..."

"Do you not believe me little one?"

Mali shuddered as her bones rattled from Screech's attention. "If that shape is confined...how large are you actually."

Screech rumbled a laugh, the sound's echoes triggering an avalanche on the nearest mountain. Her eyes burned blue as she ever so slightly relaxed her grip on her form.

"Avon is taking on water while Enid complains about her snowplow fitting awkwardly."

Miss Morgan blinked, nonplussed, "Avon should be at Din by now."

"She is."

The humans were silent for a long moment as they understood what she was saying.

Miss Morgan finally shook her head ruefully, "I suppose that keeping anything from you is a lost cause."

"Only if I know to look." Screech admitted as she shifted slightly, "It's why I didn't recognize Tyto's approach. I can only focus on so much at once, although saying my name will normally get my attention.”

Mali jumped, "Wait does that mean you know..."

"Yes," Screech said bluntly

"Oh." Mali sounded very small.

Screech rolled her eyes, "I am hardly in the habit of spilling others' secrets."

"...Thank you," Mali said quietly.

Miss Morgan raised an eyebrow but didn't comment.

Gwyn looked at Screech thoughtfully, "How far can you reach if you try? say..."

"You had better not be asking one of my engines to spy on my meetings with the Other Railway." Miss Morgan said flatly.

"I don't trust them," Gwyn said seriously. "You know they want us gone. Removing you would accomplish that."

"They're not murderers Gwyn." Morgan frowned at him. 

"Screech existence says otherwise," Freda said quietly. There was an awkward silence.

"She has been in no danger." Screech finally said.

"...you were already watching." Miss Morgan sighed in resignation.

"I was."

"...thank you." 

It was quiet for a moment then Mali tentatively asked, "Any progress on the Argol line?"

"We hope to begin work on restoring the Argol Line in the spring. " Miss Morgan said, stretching, "By then Seren will be able to assist, and the first trains could be running by Autumn. They'll only go as far as the first station, but the sooner the lines open, the sooner it can help pay for its renovation.

"Will we have the engines to serve the line by then?" Freda asked.

Miss Morgan nodded, "I spoke with the North Western Region and the Chester and Holyhead board last night. The North Western is sending us another engine to help restore the old lines to Glain. Once the line is reconnected, the CH&R has promised to help run the trains until we're on our feet.

"Do they know about Screech?" Gwyn asked.

"No." Miss Morgan shook her head, "Tyto and Ceri promised to only tell Eagle. Screech will remain our ace in the hole for as long as we can manage."

[elskanellis]

NO I THOUGHT OF THAT EXACT POEM TOOOO girls when last years' leaves are smoke in every lane 😭😵‍💫💀

posting this as an ask so that I can unleash Edna on EVERYONE, truly one of the sonnets of all time, I cannot think of a person who has not felt this in some way, about some loss of some person in some kind of relationship. AAGHCK.

“Time does not bring relief; you all have lied”

— Edna St. Vincent Millay Time does not bring relief; you all have lied Who told me time would ease me of my pain! I miss him in the weeping of the rain; I want him at the shrinking of the tide; The old snows melt from every mountain-side, And last year’s leaves are smoke in every lane; But last year’s bitter loving must remain Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide. There are a hundred places where I fear To go,—so with his memory they brim. And entering with relief some quiet place Where never fell his foot or shone his face I say, “There is no memory of him here!” And so stand stricken, so remembering him.

©️1931, via Poetry Foundation, but in my heart it's always via this very small book i had of ESVM poems when i was 16

[kookaburra1701]

WIP Wednesday - Aristeia (working title)

Tagged by @dirty-bosmer thank you thank you

tagging: @thana-topsy, @expended-sleeper, @tallmatcha @gilgamish @nientedenada

Fandom: The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Rating: T (blood and violence) Category: gen Genre(s): Adventure, Homer retelling Main characters: Borgakh the Steel Heart, the orcs of Mor Khazgur

Summary: When the chief of Mor Khazgur goes missing, male orcs from across the Reach show up to vie for the stronghold, causing chaos and disruption in their corner of Skyrim. The wives of Mor Khazgur must figure out how to deal with them while they wait for their chief's return.

I blame @thana-topsy for the Pavo Attius/Gat gro-Shargakh brainworms. Everyone go read Finding Mara and join me in the worm bin.

This is a pretty extended snippet, because the chapter's almost dooooooone~!

3rd First Seed, 4E 195 Borgakh did not need familiar landmarks to tell her they were getting close to the stronghold. She could smell it.

The daylight was waning as the mountains of the western Reach swallowed up the sun, casting long blue shadows over the land. Olur had spotted a clean spring for Borgakh to wash up, and there had been an untouched patch of wild winter radishes growing in the clay. They had picked all that they could fit in their packs and on Karagh’s saddlebags - all in all, a much more productive expedition than either of them had had for many months.

They crested the final hillock; Mor Khazgur dominated the shallow valley below. When she had been younger, Borgakh had often imagined the longhouse was a lazy cat asleep on a bright green rug, curled up against the rocks of the Druadach Mountains. When the stronghold’s goats were pastured in the glade, they played the role of mice scurrying about under the cat’s nose.

Now, there was no bright green rug, or herd of goats browsing the first buds of spring; the ground in front Mor Khazgur was a frozen mud pit.

Tents with various clan symbols painted on their roofs and sides crowded around the stronghold stockade with not even a semblance of order. The orc men who had arrived first had set up their lodgings without care for the foot paths, winter forage, or even well-tended herb beds outside of the walls. Later arrivals followed suit, until every bit of grass and brush had been ground into the dirt.

Then the thawing rains came and the winter snow had melted, and turned the broken mess into a mire.

Borgakh could hear shouting from the central bonfire of the camp, the one thing the orc men seemed to be able to work together to maintain. The stumps of the trees used to feed it stuck up from the ground where thick copses used to be.

“We should go around the side to the gate,” she said.

Olur continued to lead Kharagh down the slope to the main entrance of Mor Khazgur. “We meet our fates head-on, like Malacath commands, Borgakh. I for one won’t slink in like a thief to my own stronghold.”

Borgakh sighed, her stomach starting to knot. Coming home to Mor Khazgur used to be a source of comfort, a safe refuge from the harsh environment of the Reach.

Father used to be here.

Now every time she approached she had to run a gauntlet. Kharagh snorted at the mud, picking his feet up high with each step.

I don’t like it either, old friend, she thought and reached out to pat his neck. We’ll be through it soon.

Olur pulled up sharply, peering down into the crowd below. Borgakh followed his gaze, and saw what had caught his attention.

An orc leading a spotted mule and a human man were at the gate to Mor Khazgur.. They were surrounded by angry orc men. Borgakh could see some reaching for weapons.

“Pit, that’s Pavo and Gat-” Olur said before breaking into a ground covering jog, throwing Karagh’s lead at Borgakh. Borgakh swore and followed him, pulling a protesting Karagh behind her and loosening her knife in its sheath as she did so.

The mud was slippery and it was difficult going; Olur quickly outpaced her, breaking a trail through both the muck and the crowd. As he reached the knot at the gate, the shouting crescendoed and one of the orcs struck the human across the face, knocking him into the logs of the palisade.

The orc leading the mule was on the one who had struck the blow in an instant, his larger mass bearing the other to the ground with a thud that Borgakh felt through her boots. Olur had reached the man, and hauled him to his feet just in time as the orc men formed a circle around the grappling pair, stomping their feet and yelling encouragement and insults.

The orc that had assaulted the man was one of the newer arrivals; Borgakh did not know his name. It would probably not matter in a few minutes, not with the way Gat was driving his fist into his face.

Despite the blows he was taking from Gat, the other orc managed to get his axe free from his belt and swung it at Gat’s head. Gat intercepted the blow, and with a practiced twist jerked it out of the other orc’s hand and flung it away. Several of the onlookers were forced to jump out of the way as the axe flew by at eye-level.

Borgakh pushed her way to Olur and Pavo. Pavo’s brow was split and bleeding. The mule let out an anxious bray as the crowd grew wilder, adding to the din.

“We just came to trade-” Pavo was saying, swaying on his feet despite bracing himself on Olur’s arm.

“Can you get him inside?” Olur asked, transferring Pavo’s grip from his arm to Borgakh’s shoulder.

Borgakh, who had just grabbed the mule’s lead to prevent it from bolting, looked at him in annoyance. “How many hands do you think I-”

“Stop this at once!”

The authoritative voice cut through the noise and chaos, and in a few moments silence had descended on the crowd.

Gat landed another blow before standing, and turned to the stronghold.

Sharamph, Wise Woman of the stronghold, stood on one of the scaffolds that lined the inside of the stronghold defenses. She surveyed the assembled mass of orc men with a sneer.

“The wives of Mor Khazgur are still in seclusion. Fighting over the Chieftainship before it has ended is an affront to them and the Code!”

“I apologize for the disturbance, Wise-Woman,” said Gat, ignoring the other orc who was just now staggering to his feet. “I have no desire to fight for the leadership of Mor Khazgur, merely to extract the Blood-Price from the one who insulted my blood-kin.”

“And are you satisfied?” Sharamph asked.

Gat now looked over at the orc he had bested. Blood was oozing from his nose, and smeared around his mouth. Borgakh guessed he would wear the bruises of his defeat for a fortnight at least.

Gat looked over to where Pavo was leaning against Borgakh, holding a hand to his head. “Yes, I am satisfied.”

“If they aren’t competing for the right to be chief, then send them away! They have no business here.” Ansug gro-Yufethz, one of the first to arrive and declare his intention to fight for the right to be Chieftain of Mor Khazgur, stepped forward, and addressed Sharamph. “If you allow unrelated orc men in your stronghold during seclusion, then what meaning does that word have?”

“He is not an orc, and he has come to trade,” said Sharamph, indicating Pavo. “We need supplies after the winter, and the miners of Kolskeggr have always trusted our smithy for their tools. If you deny him entry you are only weakening the stronghold you wish to lead.”

Ansug narrowed his eyes and glared at Pavo, but after a moment relented. Borgakh was relieved - he was the largest and most influential among the candidates for Chief, and if he agreed, the others were likely to do so as well.

“Very well. The Imperial can enter for trade. But the orc must stay outside!”

Sharamph nodded once and disappeared behind the pointed timbers of the stronghold wall.

“Gat, I don’t like this-” Pavo said as Gat returned to his side.

“I’ll be fine,” Gat said, quickly removing a pack and a bedroll from the mule’s back. “I’ve slept in rougher places than this, you know that. I’ve got rations and our tent, and there’s no elves slinging firebolts at us. What more could I want?”

“But-”

“Olur, I think Juniper lost a few nails from her near-hind shoe in the mud.” Gat interrupted Pavo. “Will you be able to take a look while Pavo trades with Shuftharz?”

“Of course. Take him inside, Borgakh.”

The heavy gate swung open as Borgakh clicked to Karagh and Juniper. Pavo was standing on his own now, and Gat put a hand on his arm and bent down to whisper something in his ear. Pavo nodded and Gat gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder before hefting his pack and bedroll and disappearing into the crowd.

As she passed through the threshold of the gate, Borgakh felt tension she had not realized she was carrying leaving her neck and shoulders.

“Ghamorz, get the packs from the mule and bring them inside,” Sharamph said to the orc that closed the gate behind them.

“Do you really think Gat will be alright out there?” Pavo was already turning around and was staring at the closed gate. He opened his mouth to say something more, but was interrupted by Sharamph gripping his chin and turning his head in order to cast an experienced eye on the cut over his brow.

“This will need cleaning,” she said. “Come with me.”

“Thank you, ma’am, but I should really see to Juniper first-”

“Borgakh will see to your animal. Your goods will be safe in the longhouse, but your blood is still flowing; much more and Gat will be compelled to extract more from that idiot to make up the difference.”

[ghoulsstolemyheart]

Waiting For Your Call

Cardinal Copia/Female Reader, phone sex, mutual masturbation, dirty talk

1.6k words

It’s tough for you and the Cardinal to be separated while he’s out on tour but love always finds a way to unite you, even if it’s just over the phone.

Life on the road was strangely lonely for Copia. Sure, he had the ghouls to keep him company, but without you by his side he felt a little lost. Like he’d forgotten something he couldn’t quite put his finger on, leaving an empty space he couldn’t fill. You hated being apart from him too. Most of your free time was spent in the Cardinal’s office or strolling through the gardens at his side while he talked away about this that and the next thing, every ounce of your attention on him as he spoke. Without him your days were boring, monotonous, a cycle of rise, work, sleep, repeat. That’s why, for this leg of the tour, you had agreed to make daily phone calls.

You waited eagerly in his office, thankful that he wasn’t somewhere with a bigger time difference, and watched the old rotary phone on his desk until it rang. You almost knocked the phone onto the floor when the call finally came through, lunging for it the second you heard the bell.

“Mi amore! Hello!” His voice sounded a little different over the line but those were definitely his words.

“Copia! How’d the ritual go?” A huge grin had already spread across your face as you began to speak. You held the receiver to your ear with both hands, so incredibly excited to hear him again.

“Oh, it was wonderful. A great start to this leg of the tour, I think.”

“I wish I could’ve seen you, I bet you were amazing. Oh, are you on the bus? Can I say hi to the ghouls?”

Copia chuckled to himself at your enthusiasm. You’d always been friendly with his ghouls and you missed them when they were on the road too.

“No, no we’re in a hotel for tonight but I will tell them you were asking for them in the morning.”

He was alone. That knowledge made your mind wander immediately, what you could get up to if only you were with him. You’d always talked about the kind of things you could do on tour if only you could go with him.

“Amore?” Copia’s voice crackled through the telephone and brought you back to reality, making you realise you’d gone quiet. You cleared your throat.

“I’m here.” You said quickly, trying to mask the awkwardness you felt as you pushed the images of you and Copia to the back of your mind.

“Is everything alright? You seem off, tesoro. You would tell me if something was the matter, si?” The concern in his voice made your heart melt.

“Of course I would, I just miss you is all.” You sighed.

“I miss you too, amore. I wish you could be here with me, this room has quite the view.”

“Describe it to me.”

Copia gave a little laugh and you could hear bedsprings creak as he stood followed by the sound of fabric rustling as he drew back the curtains. He took in a breath before speaking again.

“Well, it’s raining here. My room is high up so I have a nice view of the city below, lots of pretty lights. In the distance I can just about see the mountains with a little bit of snow on their peaks. Oh and I can see the moon now, it’s just peeking through the clouds.” You could swear you heard him say a little ‘hello’ after that last part.

“Maybe next time I can convince Imperator to let me come with you.”

Copia hummed in agreement and you heard him shut the curtains again.

“If only it were that easy, amore. Satanus, how I wish I had you here with me. I’d give anything to get my hands on you.”

You felt that desperate longing in your stomach, your heart ached in your chest for him at the sound of those words. Hell, if he felt like this too you saw no reason not to at least dip your toes in the water and see if he would take this phone call a little further.

“And just what would you do if I was with you?” You asked.

Read the full fic here!

[harlothane]

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied Who told me time would ease me of my pain! I miss him in the weeping of the rain; I want him at the shrinking of the tide; The old snows melt from every mountain-side, And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane; But last year's bitter loving must remain Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide. There are a hundred places where I fear To go,—so with his memory they brim. And entering with relief some quiet place Where never fell his foot or shone his face I say, "There is no memory of him here!" And so stand stricken, so remembering him.

Edna St. Vincent Millay, Time does not bring relief (Sonnet II)

[ask-healthy-light]

As Light stepped down the other side of the Mountain, the Sun quickly vanished beyond its peak, and the pleasant warmth they felt a moment ago faded away as they started to walk down the steps in the side of the Mountain, leading further North; but it was clear the Sun had not shone on this side of the Mountain in a long time, as every step was covered with a thick and very slippery layer of ice.

Since they were wearing a pair of insulating gloves as protection from the greatest cold, Light was unable to use their own flames to melt away the ice and create a safe path down the stairs, so they decided to step into the snow on either side of the stairs down; to their relief, the layer of snow was soft and thick, and would provide them with a softer landing, should they miss a step and fall.

Making their way through the thick layer of powder snow that stuck to each part of their insulating clothing, Light checked each step they took to make sure their hooves touched solid ground, even if the snow rose higher and higher up their body, approaching their neck, forcing them to more tightly zip up their jacket, almost catching their mane, which barely fit inside their coat, in the zipper.

When they approached the valley near the base of the Mountain after slogging through the snow for a while, Light breathed a sigh of relief when they stepped out of the snow into the sunlight and onto the carved stairs, which were safe to set hoof on again; they opened their jacket to let their mane hang out, and they thought it might be clever to trim their mane next time they wear these clothes.

In the valley, after finding a clear rock to sit on where they took out their book and notes, Light tried to figure out whether the path they had followed was leading anywhere but Yakyakistan further to the North; quickly flipping through their book again, they found the mentions of harsh frost and storms, and a nigh identical description of the view over the Empire when they reached the plateau.

But as there were no clear directions written in the book about the path of the Crystal Princess of Old, Light knew not whither they had to head now, so they decided to continue following the ancient path; but before they left, they wanted to make sure the others knew their heading, so they grabbed their bracelet to focus their thoughts upon it, hoping the others could hear the message they sent.

Within the Spirit Realm, echoing throughout the entire aura, the voice of Light spoke to the others to tell them they were on their way through the Mountains, whereafter they asked those in the Realm to let Discord and Spike know; though she did not understand why Light was going thither, Nox spoke through the Void to Discord, still wearing her Amulet, adding that she wished he recovered quickly.

In turn, as Light continued following the ancient paths, and the minds of those in the Spirit Realm were slightly eased, knowing their friends were working on a solution to help them, Discord quietly and weakly told Spike of Light's actions, whispering to avoid waking up Sunburst, who was asleep on the couch, or Flurry, who was covered by his blanket, and very close to falling asleep in his arms.

Though they had heard from Light again, worry continued to grow within the mind of Spike, who asked Discord if he could snap them back to Ponyville so they could find more knowledge for their friends in the Spirit Realm; but Discord merely smiled with tears in his eyes and shook his head, before he gestured to Flurry in his arms, and mouthed an apology to Spike, who turned away from him to think.

But Discord whispered to him again, and said that he could ask the little Wisp for help, even if it was just to let Light know that they had heard their message; a bright smile grew upon Spike's face while Twila only grew confused, and she asked them who they were talking about, since they had told her and Sunburst it was just them who had come hither, to which Spike chuckled nervously, and said:

"Well, he's here, but he's not here…"

(Thanks for reading! And if you enjoyed, please reblog! Thanks in advance!)

Send an ask or request! | Start at the beginning! | Next part!

[thesolitarysoul]

"Time does not bring relief; you all have lied"

BY EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY

Time does not bring relief; you all have lied

Who told me time would ease me of my pain

I miss him in the weeping of the rain;

I want him at the shrinking of the tide;

The old snows melt from every mountain-side,

And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;

But last year's bitter loving must remain

Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.

There are a hundred places where I fear

To go, so with his memory they brim.

And entering with relief some quiet place

Where never fell his foot or shone his face

I say, "There is no memory of him here!"

And so stand stricken, so remembering him.

[omegarising]

Part two

Khoksar! The place is usually filled up with snow in the snow months but by now it was all melted up snow and just a sad slush. But you'd not be able to tell that by the rush of vehicles that were going up there. It felt like the good rush and there was a literal race on the twisting hill roads.

Then the next roadblock happened and every car was stuck.

The driver left us near a path of snow where the tourists were doing touristy things. There were sardar families rolling in the snow and they were making snowballs from dirty snow. It was horrible and hilarious to watch as they got their clothes wet screaming and yelling and sliding in the snow. I doubt they had brought spare clothes. Also, tons of South Indian families. My inner racist was in maximum turmoil seeing their behaviour. Families dropping packets of chips from their cars, throwing out empty pet bottles of Coke, beer cans and liquor bottles littered the mountains.

Once I'd had enough of that place, found the driver as he had parked a bit further away, and because all phones had no signal, just had to do the regular looking and seeking. It's strange how we get so used to the phones that doing things the old fashioned way seems absurd.

Onwards to a place called Sishu which is famous for a lake and a helipad. That's it. That's all that is there. But the views of the mountains there were insane. This was in Lahaul district.

Funny thing happened at the entry point to Sishu. There was a toll point where the staff was charging "development fee" of 200₹ per vehicle. And the dude in front of me tried to be snarky with the guy giving the receipts. "why are you charging the development fee? What kind of development is happening here?"

The clerk at the kiosk asked the guy which car he was driving. Guy said creta. Clerk said that's an SUV so you've to pay 300₹. The guy had already handed a 500₹ note and clerk threw a 200₹ note back at him. And the guy started to grumble about it. That's creta is not an SUV, it's a car, says so on the RC etc etc. The clerk ignored the guy and started asking me which car and car number. The guy cursed the clerk once like old women do, "ye 100₹ tujhe bahut mehnge padenge!" And left.

Do some people really live their life in a movie? Such insane main character syndrome....cuz what was the guy trying to accomplish? Also, there is a time and place to open your mouth. And a time and place to keep it shut. Wisdome is in knowing which time is which.

Sishu was so so. Saw a ton of goats on the mountain side. They'd climbed up there to lick salt off the rocks.

They looked like tiny white dots on the side of the mountain.