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michaelbogild · 3 years

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Lines by Joanna Newsom

No one knows what is coming Or who will harvest what we have sewn Or how I've been dulling and dumbing In the service of the heart alone

Oh, silent, constant driver of mine: wordlessly calling from the end of the line, where, even though each hour I ever loved must queue and dive, still, you will not take my heart, alive.

And darling we will be fine but what was yours and mine appears to me a sandcastle that the gibbering wave takes But if it's all just the same then will you say my name? Say my name in the morning so that I know when the wave breaks

I fell, I tried to do well but I won't be. Will you tell the one that I love to remember and hold me?

See, I got gone when I got wise But I can't with certainty say we survived

Stay with me for awhile, that's an awfully real gun I know life will lay you down as the lightning has lately done

All we saw was that Time is taller than Space is wide

What happened to the man you were, when you loved somebody before her? Did he die? Or does that man endure, somewhere far away?

I don't know if you loved me most, but you loved me last.

Meanwhile, I will raise my own glass to how you made me fast and expendable And I will drink to your excellent health and your cruelty, will you have one on me?

It was a dark dream, darlin', it's over The firebreather is beneath the clover Beneath his breathing there is cold clay, forever A toothless hound-dog choking on a feather

the records they left are cryptic at best, lost in obsolescence.

The old veil of desire, like vessels that we fired, fell thin as eggshells.

But stand brave, life-liver, bleeding out your days in the river of time. Stand brave: time moves both ways, in the nullifying, defeating, negating, repeating joy of life;

Anyhow, I sat by your side, by the water You taught me the names of the stars overhead that I wrote down in my ledger Though all I knew of the rote universe were those Pleiades loosed in December I promised you I'd set them to verse, so I'd always remember

I called to you several times while the change took place and then arrived all night And I died But all these songs, when you and I are long gone, will carry on

That the meteorite is the source of the light and the meteor's just what we see And the meteoroid is a stone that's devoid of the fire that propelled it to thee And the meteorite's just what causes the light and the meteor's how it's perceived And the meteoroid's a bone thrown from the void, that lies quiet in offering to thee

Hardly seen, hardly felt– deep down where your fight is waiting, down 'till the light in your eyes is fading:

There's a big black spider hanging over my door Can't go anywhere, anymore

Who asked you? Asked you if you want to be Loved by me? Who died and made you in charge of who loves who?

And I saw straight away that the lay was steep But I fell for you, honey, as easy as falling asleep And that right there is the course I keep

And the tilt of this strange nation And the will to remain for the duration Waving the flag Feeling it drag

Hey, hey, hey, the end is near On a good day you can see the end from here But I won't turn back now though the way is clear I will stay for the remainder

You froze in your sand shoal, prayed for your poor soul Sky was a bread roll, soaking in a milk-bowl And when the bread broke, fell in bricks of wet smoke My sleeping heart woke, and my waking heart spoke

And it's my heart, not me, who cannot drive At which conclusion you arrived Watching me sit here bolt upright and cry For no good reason at the Eastering sky

bearing weight, taking fire, trading smokes, in the war between us and our ghosts.

And every little gust that chances through will dance in the dust of me and you, with joy-of-life.

We broke our hearts in the war between St. George and the dragon But both in equal parts are welcome to come along I'm inviting everyone

By the time you read this, I will be so far away Daddy Longlegs, how in the world am I to be expected to stay? In the night, in the night, you may hear me call Pa, stay your hand and steel your resolve, stay where you are, so long and tall

Our nature does not change by will In the winter, 'round the ruined mill The creek is lying flat and still It is water, though it's frozen

Our lived come easy and our lives come hard. We carry them like a pack of cards: some we don't use, but we don't discard, but keep for a rainy day.

Until the night is over, hold on, hold on Hold your horses back from the fickle dawn

I am easy Easy to keep Honey, you please me Even in your sleep But my arms want to carry My heart wants to hold Tell me your worries, I want to be told

There is a blacksmith and there is a shepherd and there is a butcher-boy And there is a barber, who's cutting and cutting away at my only joy

And that is all I want here To draw my gaunt spirit to bow Beneath what I am allowed

How I said to you, "Honey, just open your heart" When I've got trouble even opening a honey jar And that right there is where we are

My heart is a furnace full of love that's just, and earnest Now, you know that we must unlearn this

Squint skyward and listen Loving him, we move within his borders Just asterisms in the stars' set order

"Do you love me? Will you remember?" The snow falls above me. The renderer renders: "The event is in the hand of God".

And I been 'fessing double fast Addressing questions nobody asked I'll get this joy off of my chest at last And I will love you 'til the noise has long since passed

With your hands in your pockets, stubbly running To where I'm unfresh, undressed and yawning Well, what is this craziness? This crazy talking? You caught some small death when you were sleepwalking

And there was a booming above you That night, black airplanes flew over the sea And they were lowing and shifting like beached whales Shelled snails, as you strained and you squinted to see The retreat of their hairless and blind cavalry

You ranged real hot and real cold but I'm sold I am home on that range And I do hate to fold Right here at the top of my game

Then down and down and down and down and down and deeper Stoke, without sound, the blameless flames, you endless sleeper Through fire below and fire above, and fire within Sleep through the things that couldn't have been if you had not have been

You burned me like a barn I burned safe and warm in your arms

All the way to the thing we've been playing at, darlin' I can see that you're wearing your staying hat, darlin' For the time being all is well Won't you love me a spell?

And when the fire moves away Fire moves away, son Why would you say I was the last one?

And I rose, to take my shape at last, from the dreams that had dogged me, through every past, when, to my soul, the body would say You may do what you like, as long as you stay.

And, in your kindness, you put me straightaway in the cupboard with a bottle of champagne And then, later, on a train

Well I wish we could take every path I could spend a hundred years adoring you Yes, I wish we could take every path because you know I hated to close the door on you

And then a slow lip of fire moves across the prairie with precision While somewhere with your pliers and glue, you make your first incision And in a moment of almost unbearable vision, doubled over with the hunger of lions "Hold me close," cooed the dove, who was stuffed now with sawdust and diamonds

In martial wind, and in clarion rain, we minced into battle, wincing in pain; not meant for walking, backs bound in twine: not angel or devil, but level, in time.

The text will not yield, nor x-ray reveal with any fluorescence where the hand of the master begins and ends.

When cruel death debases, we believe it erases all the rest that precedes.

What’s redacted will repeat, and you cannot learn that you burn when you touch the heat, so we touch the heat, and we cut facsimiles of love and death (just separate holes in sheets where you cannot breathe, and you cannot see).

Here, the light will seep And the scythe will reap And spirit will rend In counting toward the end

All the livelong day If I have my way, I will love you But one can't carry the weight Or change the fate of two I've been waiting for a break How long's it gonna take? Let me love you

But it don't make no difference, now, and no-one's listening, anyhow, and lists of sins and solemn vows don't make you any friends.

I have got some business out at the edge of town Candy weighing both of my pockets down Till I can hardly stay afloat, from the weight of them And knowing how the common folk condemn What it is I do, to you, to keep you warm Being a woman, being a woman

And it pains me to say, I was wrong. Love is not a symptom of time. Time is just a symptom of love

Where i know that you can yield, when it comes down to it; bow like the field when the wind combs through it:

But though I tried so hard my little darling I couldn't keep the night from coming in

All along the road, the lights stream by. I want to go where the dew won’t dry. I want to go where the light won’t bend– far as the eye may reach–nor end.

I can't claim that I knew you best, but did you know me at all?

But it's mine. Or, at least, it's lent. And my life, until the time is spent is a pin-light, bent.

Though the long road begins and ends with you I cannot seem to make amends with you

In the folds and the branches, somewhere, out there, I was only just born into open air. Now hush, little babe. You don’t want to be down in the trenches, remembering with me, where you will not mark my leaving, and you will not hear my parting song. Nor is there cause for grieving. Nor is there cause for carrying on.

But inasmuch as that light is loaned, and, insofar as we’ve borrowed bones, must every debt now be repaid in star-spotted, sickle-winged night raids, while we sing to the garden, and we sing to the stars, and we sing in the meantime, wherever you are?

Rowing along, among the reeds, among the rushes I heard your song, before my heart had time to hush it

Easy, easy You must not fear You must meet me to see me I am barely here But like a Bloody Mary Seen in the mirror Speak my name And I appear

And the little white dove made with love, made with love made with glue and a glove and some pliers Swings a low sickle arc from its perch in the dark, settle down, settle down my desire

In our lives is a common sense that relies on the common fence that divides, and attends, but provides scant defense from the Great Light that shine through a pin-hole, when the pin-light calls itself Selfhood, and the Selfhood inverts on a mirror in an Amora Obscura.

When I've been trying with my whole heart and soul To stay right here in the right lane But it can make you feel over and old Lord, you know it's a shame When I only want for you to pull over and hold me Till I can't remember my own name

Then in my hot hand, she slumped her sick weight We tramped through the poison oak, heartbroke and inchoate The dogs were snapping, and you cuffed their collars While I climbed the tree-house, then how I hollered

At night, I walk in the park with a whip between the lines of the whispering Jesuits Who are poisoning you against me

And what do you remember most? The line of the sea, seceding the coast? Fine capillaries, glowing with cars? The comfort you drew from the light of the stars?

Failing this, failing this, follow me, my sweetest friend To see what you anointed in pointing your gun there Lay it down, nice and slow, there is nowhere to go

it was dark out, I was half-dead I saw a star fall into the sky like a chunk of thrown coal as if God himself spat like a cornered rat

but honey it’s been a long time since I’ve come to any use. And it hurt me bad, when I heard the news that you’d got that call, and could not refuse.

But always up the mountainside you're clambering Groping blindly, hungry for anything Picking through your pocket linings, well, what is this? Scrap of sassafras, eh Sisyphus?

Come across the desert with no shoes on I love you truly or I love no-one

And when I cut your hair and leave the birds all of the trimmings I am the happiest woman among all women

You asked my hand, hired a band "In your heart is all that you need Ask and you will receive," it is said I threw my bouquet and I knocked 'em dead

Haven't you seen what I've seen? Don't you know what you ought to do? I was born to love And I intend to love you

The borders of the land that man has girded All double-bolted and tightfisted Until we reach the open country A-steeped in milk and honey Will you keep your fancy clothes on, for me? Can you bear a little longer to wear that leash? My love, I swear by the air I breathe Sooner or later, you'll bare your teeth

From the top of the flight of the wide white stairs Through the rest of my life, do you wait for me there? There's a bell in my ears, there's a wide white roar Drop a bell down the stairs, hear it fall forever more Hear it fall forever more

And no amount of talking is going to soften the fall But, like after the rain, step out if the overhang, that's all It had a nice a ring to it when the ole opry house rang So with a solemn auld lang Signed, sealed, delivered, I sang And there is hesitation and it always remains Concerning you, me And the rest of the gang And in our quiet hour I feel I see everything And am in love with the hook upon which everyone hangs And I know you meant to show the extent To which you gave a god dang

Beyond recall, you severed all strings to everyone, and everything.

And in an infinite regress: Tell me, why is the pain of birth lighter borne than the pain of death? I ain't saying that I loved you first, but I loved you best.

And though our bones they may break and our souls separate, why the long face? And though our bodies recoil from the grip of the soil, why the long face?"

I think you saw their flares and kept me safely unawares In your arms

But there is nothing I adore apart from that whore's black heart

But I took my fishing pole, fearing your fever Down to the swimming hole, where there grows a bitter herb That blooms but one day a year, by the riverside, I'd bring it here Apply it gently to the love you've lent me

See how the infinite divides: and the divers are not to blame for the rift, spanning distant shores. You don't know my name, but I know yours.

We are tested and pained By what's beyond our bed We are blessed and sustained By what is not said

The wandering eye that I have caught Is as hot as a wandering sun But I will want for nothing more in my garden, start again In my hardening to every heart but one

So, across the years and miles and through On a good day you can feel my love for you Will you leave me be so that we can stay true To the path that you have chosen?

But for now, just dance, darling C'mon, will you dance, my darling? Darling, there's a place for us Can we go, before I turn to dust?

I see the blossoms broke and wet after the rain Little sister, he will be back again I have washed a thousand spiders down the drain Spiders' ghosts hang, soaked and Dangling silently, from all the blooming cherry trees In tiny nooses, safe from everyone Nothing but a nuisance, gone now, dead and done Be a woman, be a woman

I had a dream that i walked in the garden of Chabot, and those telescope ruins. It was there that I called to my true love, who was pale as millennial moons, Honey, where did you come by that wound?

Rushing, tearing, speeding home: bound to a wheel that is not my own, where round every bend I long to see temporal infidelity.

My mind is failing and my body grows weak My lips won't form the words I speak I'm floating away on a barrel of pain New York City won't see me again

Save up, up where the light, undiluted, is weaving In a drunk dream at the sight of my baby, out back Back on the patio, watching the bats bring night in While, elsewhere, estuaries of wax-white Wend, endlessly, towards seashores unmapped

Bleached the night with dawn deleting In that high sun after our good run When the spirit bends Beneath knowing it must end

Recall the word you gave: to count your way across the depths of this arid world, where you would yoke the waves, and lay a bed of shining pearls!

When the sky goes pink in Paris, France, do you think of the girl who used to dance when you'd frame her moving within your hands, saying This I won't forget?

Hey little leaf, lying on the ground Now you're turning slightly brown Why don't you get up on the tree Turn the color green the way you ought to be

Now the towns and forests, highways and plains, fall back in circles like an emptying drain. And I won't come round this way again, where the lonely wind abides, and you will not take my heart, alive. You will not take my heart.

I saw a rabbit as slick as a knife and as pale as a candlestick And I had thought it'd be harder to do but I caught her, and skinned her quick

I said a sort of prayer for some rare grace Then thought I ought to take her to a higher place Said, "Dog nor vulture nor cat shall toy with you And though you die, bird, you will have a fine view"

till we hear the telltale Boom, too soon– hotdogging loon, caught there like a shard of mirror in the moon!

There's an old trick played, when the light and the wine conspire to make me think I'm fine. I'm not, but I have got half a mind to maybe get there, yet.

It was dark, I was drunk and half-dead and we slept, knocking heads

And the moment I slept, I was swept up in a terrible tremor Though no longer bereft, how I shook and I couldn't remember And then the furthermost shake, drove a murdering stake in and cleft me right down through my center And I shouldn't say so but I know that it was then or never

Down in the valley where the fields are green Watch my luck turn, fro, and to Pluck every last daisy clean till only I may love you

I saw a life and I called it mine I saw it drawn so sweet and fine And I had begun to fill in all the lines Right down to what we'd name her

I wasn't born of a whistle or milked from a thistle at twilight No, I was all horns and thorns, sprung out fully formed, knock-kneed and upright So enough of this terror we deserve to know light and grow evermore lighter and lighter You would have seen me through but I could not undo that desire

A goose, alone, I suppose, can know the loneliness of geese, who never find their peace,whether north, or south, or west, or east

I'll hunt the pearl of death to the bottom of my life, and ever hold my breath, till I may be the diver's wife.

I call and call for the doctor but the snow swallows me whole with ol' Florry Walker and the event lives only in print.

This is blindness beyond all conceiving Well, behind us the road is leaving, yeah, leaving And falling back Like a rope gone slack

Bottle of white, bottle of red Helpless as a child, when you held me in your arms And I knew that no other could ever love me as you loved Love me as you loved but help me, I'm leaving

Dig a little hole not three inches round Spit your pit in a hole in the ground Weep upon the spot for the starving of me Till up grows a fine young cherry tree When the bough breaks, what'll you make for me?

But I saw the Bering Strait and the Golden Gate, in silent suspension of their golden age

And everything sloped like it was dragged from a rope in the mouth of the south below

Do you remember staring up at the stars So far away in their bulletproof cars?

I found a little plot of land in the garden of Eden It was dirt and dirt is all the same I tilled it with my two hands and I called it my very own There was no one to dispute my claim

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papergirllife · 5 years

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有缘再见

（If Fate Allows We'll Meet Again)

Liu Yang Yang

" What was the most impulsive thing you did before coming to SM ? "

It was another session of soju and wine among the wayv members on a typical Friday night.

All of them exchanged stories of their lives before wayv during these times, and now the question is directed at Yang Yang.

" I had a girlfriend for 4 hours and she's the only girl I dated. "

The mall was crowded as usual, both tourists and locals shop here in Germany.

All of Yang Yang's friends left him to hang out with their girlfriends.

' So much for the bro code ' , he thought.

He walked towards the entrance of the indoor amusement park in the mall.

' Nah it's ridiculous coming here on my own. ' , so he halted his tracks and prepared to leave.

That is until someone tapped him on the shoulder.

He turned his head to see a girl who's significantly shorter than himself, what surprised him was that she was Asian.

" Hi, I'm Y/N, and I'm here alone because my parents are in the concert hall next door. Their concert is going to end at 12, so I have nothing to do and I'm unfamiliar with this country. So I was just wondering if you wanted to be my boyfriend for the next 4 hours ? Show me around, stuff like that. This seems like a huge mall with lots of nice dating spots. "

" Sure. "

Next thing Yang Yang knew was that Y/N bolted towards the ticketing counter and bought back two entry tickets to the indoor amusement park.

" Come on ! We only have 4 hours. "

She took his hand and dragged him to the nearest ride.

" Don't worry, this is really safe. " Yang Yang said as they got into the roller coaster.

" Who says I'm scared ? "

And true to her words, she wasn't.

Yang Yang was surprised to see that she enjoyed every moment of the thrill of the exhilarating ride.

She even laughed aloud after they finished the ride. She truly was a girl Yang Yang had never encountered.

Yang Yang and Y/N got on all the rides that girls usually never go for, the ones that make your hair all messed up, the ones that get you a little wet, even the scary ones that his homies' girlfriends avoided like the plague.

When Yang Yang asked her why she said, " because the more scary they are, the more complicated the mechanism is, the more complicated the mechanism is, the more expensive the cost of the ride is. In conclusion, I'm making my money's worth instead of wasting it on the plastic ponies. "

She pointed at the carrousel which was filled with girls their age with full fledged make up, taking selfies in front of the magical lights.

That was when Yang Yang noticed that she wasn't wearing any make up, unlike all the German girls he's seen. The only thing she's wearing is probably coloured lip balm, a bright shade of orange red adorned on her lips.

Even her clothes were different, more eastern style he suspects.

Instead of the gym tights girls like to wear, she's wearing black skinny jeans and a silk button up. A tiny jade replica of a dragon dangles from a yarn necklace, similar to the one his mom has. Y/N's Chinese, just like him.

' That would explain her opinion on rides that are worth her money. ' Yang Yang lets out a smile at that thought.

" What are you laughing about ? Is it about my hair being messed up ? "

She reached her hand up to tame her messy hair.

" No I was just thinking about your theory on rides that are worth your money. "

" I should be eligible for Harvard for that. "

Yang Yang realised how much he truly enjoyed Y/N's presence, the way she jokes and the way she sees things differently.

Yang Yang shook his head of these thoughts.

' You only get to be her for a few hours, don't overthink this, just enjoy it while it lasts. '

" How about we grab something to eat ? My treat. "

" I'd love to. "

They arrived at a classic German cuisine restaurant.

" Are you sure about this, Yang Yang ? This place looks kinda pricey. "

" Don't worry, I bought extra money thinking my friends wouldn't bail me out on this. "

" You were with friends? "

" Yeah, they ditched me for their girlfriends. "

" My girls do that to me too, I'm always jealous of them, running off like that. They always say I'm too shy to date anyone. Y/N, the one who's never impulsive when it comes to dating. "

" How about we take a photo together ? You can brag about our little rendezvous here. "

" Your ideas are always appealing, Yang Yang. "

She scooted over her chair to Yang Yang whilst he asks for a waiter's aid in taking the photo.

After they finished their meal, they went to the clawing machines.

" You didn't seem like the type to like these. "

" I used to get them for my mom when I was young. I want you to have one too, something to remember me by or this moment. "

Yang Yang got it on his 5th try, which probably costs the same as if you bought one at a store.

' But it's the sentimental meaning that counts. ' Y/N thought to herself.

Yang Yang placed the plushie in her hands. It was a Stitch.

" Why the Stitch ? "

" You don't like it ? "

" I do. But I want to know the reason behind your choice of plushie for me. "

" In Hawaiian, Lilo and Stitch means lost and found. You were sort of lost tonight, but you found me. Now that I've given you a Stitch, I'll always be beside you wherever you are. Whenever you feel lost in life, give it a hug, think of it as me being there for you. "

Y/N enveloped Yang Yang into her tiny, but warm embrace.

" Thank you so much Yang Yang, I'll remember you forever and this moment we're having. "

Both Yang Yang and Y/N are tearing up now, both of them have never encountered such a special person in their lives, and the thought of separating after tonight seems to hollow out their hearts.

Yang Yang checked his watch, 11.30 p.m. .

" We only have thirty minutes left before your parents come back to fetch you and the mall closes. How about we break your rule about rides that are complicated only and take a ride on the ferris wheel ? "

" Sure. "

Yang Yang took Y/N's hand into his and led her to the queue of the ferris wheel, they didn't let go all the way throughout the waiting, even as they boarded the compartment.

The ride was silent, the both of them leaned into each other's embrace. Y/N's head on Yang Yang shoulder. Yang Yang's hand around her waist.

As they reached the top of the ride, Yang Yang broke the silence.

" This is going to be the most cliché thing you ever heard. But can I kiss you? "

Y/N had the biggest smile on her face as she put her hands behind his nape to lean in and connect their lips.

The happy couple was inseparable as they wandered through the flee market in the mall, Yang Yang's arm slung over Y/N's shoulder, keeping her by his side.

Y/N stopped her tracks at a jewelry stall. She picked up a pair of earrings that were placed on the table.

" How much is this ? "

" 8. "

She paid for the earrings and took off one of her own, and slipped it into her wallet

It was a star, the other was a crescent moon.

She handed the moon to Yang Yang.

" Wear this as long as you still like me, and take it off when you no longer like me. So when the next time if we ever meet again I'll know if we still share the same feelings. Deal ? "

" Deal. "

Yang Yang removed his earring to put on the one you have him.

" Dear shoppers, closing time is in two minutes. Please finish your shopping and proceed to the exits. We're opening at 10 a.m. tomorrow morning, we welcome you again then. And remember to drive home safely. "

" My parents should be waiting for me at the main exit about now. "

" I'll walk you there. "

Yang Yang wished this mall was when bigger than it is now, just so that he could spend more time with Y/N.

Y/N stopped her tracks at the side of the escalators at the first floor.

" Those are my parents. It's best that they don't see me with someone they don't know, they're rather protective. "

" So this is goodbye ? We could keep in touch, Instagram or Twitter or Snapchat ? "

" I live on the other side of the world, Yang Yang. But there's still a chance we'll meet again, let fate decide for us. "

She gave him one last kiss on the lips.

“ 有缘再见。”

“ 有缘再见。 ”

Yang Yang was starting to let her hand go, but he suddenly thought of something he hasn't asked.

" Wait. I still have one more thing I need to know. Why the moon and the star? Out of all the other ones. "

" Because in the vast night sky, the moon and the stars will always belong together, no matter where they are. "

She squeeze his hand for the last time, and let go.

Yang Yang watched her until she reached her family, he could see her smile from here.

Y/N turned back to look at Yang Yang one last time.

' I'll never forget you and I'll probably never move on. ' She thought to herself.

After Yang Yang finished the story, he grabbed the nearest soju bottle and downed the remaining of its contents.

" Thank goodness we don't have any schedules tomorrow. " Kun muttered to himself.

" So that's why you never take off this earring unless the stylists tell you to. " Ten said to the others.

" You never found this girl? Instagram, Twitter, Snapchat ? " Xiao Jun asked.

" No, she's like a ghost. "

" Get some sleep soon, Yang Yang. " Kun told him.

Yang Yang only nodded, too far down the memory lane to heed Kun's words.

One by one all of them retired back into their own rooms to rest for the day.

' Will I ever meet her again ? " Yang Yang asked himself.

A week has passed since Yang Yang retold his story. All the members avoided triggering his mood. He was still smiley Yang Yang in front of the fans, but he shut himself in his room more often than usual.

Yang Yang and Hendery were messing around in the dance studio while the rest of the members were doing their own things, Kun and Xiao Jun practicing a song, Ten and Winwin choreographing.

Suddenly, their manager popped his head in.

" Guys, I'd like you all to meet the members of SM's girl group that are going to promote in China along side wayv. Lee Soo Man said that you guys have to get to know each other in order to work alongside each other. "

He ushered in a group of girls and shut the door behind him.

Kun, being the dutiful leader he is started introducing the wayv members to the girls as they stood in a line.

Yang Yang was typing away on his phone to tell Jaemin when Kun told him to turn it off.

He slipped his phone into his pocket and looked up.

It's her, Y/N.

The both of them had shocked expressions on their face. Y/N's leader was telling her to introduce herself, but she couldn't hear or see anything else other than Yang Yang.

Yang Yang shifted his gaze to her ears, there it was, his star. Y/N did the same to him, seeing the moon made her breath a sigh of relief.

" Hi Stitch. Lilo's back. "

Yang Yang pulled her into himself, holding her close.

" Don't ever leave me again. "

" Never again. "

The rests of the people in the room carried on with their intros, letting the couple have some time to themselves.

Y/N pulled away slightly and looked into Yang Yang's eyes.

" I still have the Stitch you gave me. "

" I'd like to see it again. "

" Deal. "

#nct fluff #nct smut #nct angst #wayv scenarios #nct wayv #wayv imagines #wayv yangyang #liu yangyang #yangyang #wayv #nct127 #nct u #nct drabbles #nct daily #nct dream

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dzamie-oc · 4 years

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Smaugust 11 - Celestial

Spike is anxious about the future. He goes to ask Celestia for help - after all, if anyone knows the woes of a long life, it would be her! (1134 words)

Spike jogged through the familiar halls of Canterlot Castle, waving at some of the Royal Guard as he passed them. Most of them maintained their professional, steely, serious gaze, but he did get a few of them to soften into a slight smile for the young dragon. If he watched closely, he saw a few of them widen their eyes slightly; he knew them from before the whole Nightmare Moon thing, and hadn't seen him with his new wings. Spike only paid half-attention to the route he was taking, letting his feet move on autopilot down the carpeted halls and around corners while he checked out how the decor had changed since his last visit. Although he had been living in Ponyville with Twilight and her friends - well, Rainbow technically lived in Cloudsdale, but she was pretty much an official Ponnyvillian - he still knew each corridor like the back of his claw. One more turn brought him to the grand entrance before the throne room, where he was thrilled to see only a single pegasus mare waiting before the huge, ornate doors.

Flapping his wings, Spike danced over the remaining distance before coming to a stop in the very short queue. "Hi there," he greeted her, "whatcha looking to ask Princess Celestia about?"

The mare turned her head, then looked down at him. Seeing him as a young dragon rather than an older one, she gave him a friendly smile rather than the terrified gasp Spike had seen Smolder get. "Oh, I'm a gardener - I grow special plants up in the clouds - and the Earth ponies in my town have been accusing me of stealing their livelihoods, even though I grow completely different plants." She pointed with a primary feather at her flank, which had what looked like a multicolored daisy on a raincloud for her cutie mark. "See this plant? That's a Bellis prismata, native to Cumuloria. It suffocates in dirt, and it's about eighty percent of what I grow." She refolded her wings to her sides before continuing, "I suppose I'm just looking for, like, a royal mark of approval or something. Or, hay, just somepony of authority to tell me I'm right." She and Spike shared a chuckle at that.

"If the flower looks anything like your cutie mark, that's really cool! I hope I get to see one someday!" Spike said.

"Well, swing by the outskirts of Trottingham sometime, little guy, and maybe you'll see my cloud!" the mare replied. "So, what are you here for?"

Spike scuffed his foot against the ground. "Ah, just, y'know, life advice. About growing up and stuff," he said, a little self-conscious, "I guess that's pretty silly compared to your neighbors trying to trample your garden... metaphorically, if it's in the clouds."

The pegasus shook her head and gave him a bright smile. "Not at all, kiddo. Heh, I wonder what I would've done if I'd thought to ask Princess Celestia for guidance when I was a filly..."

The guard called the mare's name, and she bade Spike farewell before walking into the chamber, passing a unicorn stallion engrossed in the scroll floating in front of his eyes. Spike took the time to think about what he'd say to the Princess, and also to see if he could tell the guards apart, to no avail. A few minutes later, the one on the right called out, "last one, Spike the Dragon," and Spike stepped up for the doors to open. As he went in, he passed the gardening mare.

"Went well?"

"Yes! Nothing like a note, but she gave me advice on not letting them bother me!"

"Nice one!"

"Yeah! Good luck, kiddo!"

The dragon entered the spacious room. He had grown up in the castle, had probably been in this very room countless times - especially as the Sibling Supreme - but it still was a sight to behold. A huge, vaulted ceiling, numerous stained glass windows depicting the exploits of Princess Celestia, Twilight, and her friends. And, in one, Spike held the Crystal Heart. The young dragon always held his head up a bit higher after seeing it. Finally, his view settled on the two velvet-lined thrones in the focus of the room. One with a yellow sun atop the back and a white alicorn sitting on the cushion, and the other with a silver moon and a blue alicorn. Judging by their relaxed posture and the guards in the room standing at ease, Spike figured they had heard who, exactly, was the last "petitioner" of the day.

"Hi, Princess Celestia and Princess Luna!" he called as he walked up to the throne. One of the guards on the side stiffened when he walked past where most petitioners stopped, but his counterpart smiled at him and shook his head. Spike was fine. "Were both of you running Day Court today?"

Luna shook her head, her ethereal mane swirling behind her. "I am afraid not, Spike Sparkle. I merely stopped by to invite my sister to enjoy dinner with me."

Spike cringed and took a step back. "I can, uh, come back some other day?" he offered, "I don't want to get in the way of your sisterly bonding."

"That's quite alright, Spike, Day Court is still in session," Celestia said, her voice calm, even, and inviting, "and besides, I wouldn't do that to a friend. I'm sure Luna will live even if we run over time and I'm a few minutes late."

Luna stuck her tongue out at her older sister. "I shall order extra alfalfa for you, sister, if your tardiness is excessive." Celestia drew back in a mock gasp, looking as though the Princess of the Night had threatened to drown Philomena. After a second, they broke down into laughter, and Luna walked away from the throne and through her curtain out of the throne room. "I wish you two well in your talk! But tarry not for too long, dear sister, or I shall ensure you stick to your diet!" And with that, she was gone.

Celestia and Spike turned to face each other. "So, my little dragon, what did you come here to talk about? Not that I don't love your visits no matter the reason, but you usually don't register for Day Court when you just want to talk about your latest adventure with the girls. Or especially Rarity."

Spike blushed a little, recalling his and Rarity's last trip into the gem mines near Ponyville. "Yeah, well, this feels serious. Er, more serious? It has that 'weight' thing that Twilight reads about in her crime drama novels."

The alabaster alicorn rose from her throne and descended the steps to stand next to the dragon. "Well, I will do my best to help support that weight with you."

"Thanks, Prin- thanks, Celestia," Spike said. He had to crane his neck up a bit further, but this felt more like an easy, casual conversation. "I've been thinking about growing up, and I'm worried. Dragons live a long time."

"Oh, Spike," Celestia said in a motherly tone, "you're far too young to worry about outliving your frien-"

"No, no, not that," Spike interjected, "I think I've got a decent handle on that. Well, I'm sure it'll pop up again when the time gets closer, but I think I've got it for now. No, it's more..." He sighed. "When Twilight and I first came to Ponyville, she was against making friends, and kinda bad at the whole 'friendship' thing for quite awhile longer."

Celestia giggled. "Oh, yes, I do remember her mentioning that in her first Friendship Report, to show how she had grown." She tilted her head, trying to read him. "Are you...? Ah, my apologies, Spike. I'll let you tell it at your own speed."

The dragon smiled at her. "Thanks. And no, I'm not wondering if there's anything I'm wrong about or missing out on. I may be Spike the Brave and Glorious, but I'm not Spike the omnisss... omnisha..."

"Omniscient?"

"Yeah, that. I don't know everything. Nopony does." His smile twisted into a wry smirk. "Not even you, Princess. I've heard how often Luna pranks you."

"Would you believe I fell for them on purpose to cheer her up?"

"Nnnnope."

"Drat."

Another shared laugh. "No, but..." Spike's smile fell. "The thing is, ponies change. Griffons change. Changelings change - hay, I sang a whole song about it! And Ember and Garble have shown me that dragons change, too." He looked up at the co-ruler of the land, eyes wide in a sad, pleading stare. "What if I change too much? What if I grow up to be like that Power Ponies villain, Wild Card, and start thinking that Equestrian society is bad at the roots? What if-"

A look of horrified realization spread over his features. His crest and fins sank, and he trembled as he finished in a small voice.

"What if, like Tempest Shadow, I start thinking that friendship and being nice was a thing for foals and little hatchlings?"

"Aw, Spike..." Celestia said in a soft voice. She leaned her head down and gently nuzzled him before continuing, "there's no way to predict how you'll change. But remember, Twilight ultimately showed Tempest the magic of friendship anew. I have faith that friendship and harmony will prevail in everypony, and as an alicorn and a dragon, we have so much more time for it to return in us, should we falter, ourselves."

Spike still looked close to crying, but he had a small smile on his face. "What, you, falter in friendship?" He snorted and waved a claw dismissively. "You're Princess Celestia! You're, like, the epitome of peace and harmony!"

"Don't say that around Luna," Celestia quipped, "she's seen my nightmares. But, Spike, would you like to know one of the best ways of keeping yourself from... becoming a Power Pony villain?" The alicorn mare leaned in, as though about to divulge a particularly juicy secret.

The dragon stared at her, cautious hope in his wide eyes, and nodded.

"It's... friends," the Princess said with a smile, "friends who can cheer you up when you're down, friends who give you a reason to keep on trotting..." she paused, her expression turning wistful as she gazed toward's Luna's throne. "Friends who notice when you feel like the world is against you, and can bring you back before it's too late..."

Spike followed her gaze, then reached out to reassuringly pet her foreleg. "Princess, I'm sure you didn't know any better."

Celestia looked back at him, and returned to smiling softly. "You're right, Spike, I didn't. I wasn't used to being a Princess back then, and I lost my dearest friend for that change." She took a deep breath, then straightened and gave him a more confident smile. "But, again, I learned the error of my ways, and that was also a change, as was the rest of those thousand years. And believe me, since she's returned, we've also changed quite a bit with how we think of and talk with each other. I honestly believe it will all turn out for the best in the end, as long as you keep on learning. Even when you're as old and ancient and know-it-all and boring as me!" Celestia's eyes widened and she covered her mouth with her hooves, then glared around the room.

"Oh, come now," the disembodied voice of Discord said, "surely you weren't going to lecture one of my O&O buddies about change and not even invite me? I even brought you a cake! Banana-vanilla, your favorite."

"Pardon me if I don't exactly believe you," Celestia said, testily.

"Well, too bad. You get me anyway!" The draconequus's upper body popped out of Celestia's billowy mane, holding a one-layer cake with a crude drawing of Celestia on the icing. He immediately smashed it into her face. "Well, that's my gag for this. Discord away!" Discord's body liquified and fell to the floor, where it slipped away through the cracks in the tiles.

Celestia sighed and lifted the cake away from her in her magic. She looked at Spike, then at the cake. "Don't tell Luna?"

Spike mimed zipping his lips; Celestia licked hers. Just before she took a bite, she smiled serenely down at the young dragon. "I hope I was able to help you, my little dragon."

He gave her a grin and a thumbs-up. "I think I got it. Thanks, Celestia!"

"Anytime, Spike. Have a good day," she said, and the two of them parted ways, to opposite ends of the throne room.

Spike was distracted again as he left the castle. But this time, his smile wasn't from the gorgeous architecture and decor, but rather the memory of his conversation, and what he learned from it.

#My Little Pony #mlp #smaugust #fanfiction #dragon #Princess Celestia #spike #writing #writers on tumblr #smaugust 2020 #text

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aurlyn · 5 years

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Written for the 2019 @fic-or-treat exchange for the amazingly wonderful @bexterrr

I hope I’ve done your request justice. :)

Summary:

Halloween is Cullen’s least favorite holiday, but he endures, because it happens to be his husband’s favorite holiday. -- and there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do to make Alistair happy.

Antici…pation

(A Modern Day Dragon Age AU With a Side of the Rocky Horror Picture Show)

Cullen hung his costume bag in the farthest back corner of his closet where Alistair wouldn't see it. Usually he dreaded Halloween; there was too much candy, the costumes were embarrassing, and the nonsensical frivolity broke up the well structured monotony of his day. Even though it was Cullen’s least favorite holiday, he endured, because it was his husband’s absolute favorite holiday -- and there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to make Alistair happy.

Usually, Cullen dreaded going to the annual Halloween party their apartment complex threw. It always had a theme he had to follow --whether he liked it or not-- and was attended by more of their neighbors than Cullen actually enjoyed hanging out with. But this year… this year, their friend Lyna convinced him to try something a little different. And though he was a little nervous at the choice of costume, the excitement at surprising his husband, had Cullen feeling tingly with anticipation.

The annual Halloween party was only a few days away and as of yet, Alistair hadn’t made his usual big deal about the event. Normally, he would have started bugging Cullen weeks ago to make sure he was prepared and ready. Thankfully, this year, he'd been too busy to bother. After stashing his things, Cullen came downstairs just in time to see Alistair trudge through the door from work.

“What’s wrong?” Cullen asked, taking Alistair's jacket from him to hang up.

“Nothing,” Alistair mumbled, kicking off his shoes and slumping into a kitchen chair.

“Hey, it’s not nothing. You look like someone just kicked your mabari.” Cullen frowned with concern; this wasn't like him. Usually the entire month of October, Alistair bounced around like an excited little kid.

Alistair pillowed his head on his arms and sighed. “You won’t let me get a mabari while we live in this apartment. You said they need more room than we can provide here.”

Cullen pulled up a chair and rubbed Alistair's back. “They do, my love. But that doesn’t mean we can’t get one someday." Cullen nudged Alistair until he looked up, then smiled. "I was actually hoping we could start looking for a house once we got through the holidays. Then once we get settled into our home.. then maybe we can start adding to the family.”

“Wait… What? You have? Isn’t that kind of sudden for you? Usually you deliberate for months before making decisions like that.”

Cullen laughed. “Who says I haven’t? Just because I haven’t discussed it with you doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking about it for a while now. I was hoping to bring it up when we take our vacation this winter. ”

“Really?”

“Really. Now why don’t you tell me what’s got you so unhappy today so I can figure out how to make it better.”

Alistair sighed. “I was just thinking about the party this year. I don’t really want to go.”

“What? Why?" Cullen asked. "This is your favorite event of the year!”

“But, it’s not yours," Alistair said. "And every year I make you go and you end up grumpy by the end of it. It’s not fair to you. I think I’d rather just stay home, watch cheesy horror movies and pass out candy to the trick-or-treaters.”

Cullen gently cupped Alistair’s face and kissed the tip of his nose. “Sweetheart, this year isn’t just a party, you’re putting on a production of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. You guys have been planning this event for months: rehearsing, making costumes; hell, you’re even playing one of the lead characters. There are people counting on you to be there.”

“Yeah, but it’s silly and frivolous.” Alistair pouted.

"Now you're just tossing my own words back at me," Cullen said. "And even though it's not my favorite holiday, that doesn't mean I don't find enjoyment watching you get excited, and --don't tell anyone-- but, I'm kind of looking forward to seeing you perform this year."

Alistair shrugged. “I don't know. I wish you were in the cast with me. As much as I love Lyna, I think you’d make a prettier Janet.” He ran his fingers through Cullen’s curls with a smirk.

Cullen huffed and tried to repair the damage Alistair did to his hair. “I think Lyna would take offense to you replacing her so quickly. But, I’ll tell you what, if it’ll make you feel better, I will dress up as a Transylvanian. It may be too late for me to actually be in the cast, but I’m sure I still fit in my tail coat from our wedding, and I can whip up the rest of the costume fairly easily.”

“You’d do that? For me? Even wear spandex?”

“Oh, honey. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.” Cullen held him tight. “I do have to warn you though.” Cullen paused, biting his lip. “I’ve been asked to work on Halloween. You know how busy the precinct gets this time of year, but I’ve been promised the early shift, so I can hopefully be there by the time you go on. Okay?”

“I figured you’d have to work. You always do. But I’m going to hold you to being there in time to see me running around in my underwear.” Alistair grinned, the usual excitement back in his eyes.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Cullen said with a devious smile.

~*~

Alistair paced the room. It’d been hours since he'd heard from his husband. The show was about to start and Cullen was nowhere to be seen. Every year, Alistair and his friends rented out the community room on the first floor of their apartment complex and threw the largest Halloween party in Denerim. This year, they decided that the Rocky Horror Picture Show would be the theme and not only would they have movie-appropriate costumes and refreshments, they were going to put on a full production of the movie in front of a projection screen for the party goers; just like they do in the theaters in Orlais. This was one of Alistair’s favorite movies and he couldn’t wait for Cullen to see him perform as Brad Majors. He just hoped Cullen could get off work before the curtain went up.

Alistair checked his watch again. “Damnit Lyna, where is he?”

“Don’t worry about it, Al. He’ll be here. He’s never broken a promise to you and I don’t see him starting now.” Lyna said, soothingly. “Finish getting your suit on so we can get started… and don’t forget the ring!”

He rolled his eyes and patted his coat pocket. “I have the ring and my glasses, just worry about your bouquet and newspaper.” With that, Alistair lost himself in last minute performance preparations and forgot all about worrying about his husband.

As the curtain went up and they took their places on stage, Alistair realized he couldn't see anything but the vague shapes of people in the audience. There would be no way to know if Cullen was there until after the show. Deciding to just have faith he was there, Alistair lost himself in the dialogue and songs and genuinely enjoyed performing with his friends.

While the Transylvanians were all lying on the ground trying to catch their breath after performing the Time Warp (again), Alistair and Lyna, or rather, Brad and Janet, backed their way up to the elevator cage where Anders would be making his appearance as Dr. Frank-n-Furter. This was the part of the movie Alistair truly enjoyed. Being thrust into a world his character knew nothing about but was strangely drawn to explore was truly art reflecting Alistair's actual life. He used to believe himself to be straight but awkward... never really connecting with any of the women he tried to date. But, then he met Cullen, and like Brad, he was inexplicably drawn to another lifestyle, diving in unabashedly and embracing the freedom to love whoever he wanted... and for the past thirteen years, his heart belonged only to Cullen.

Lost in his own thoughts, Alistair almost missed his queue to turn around; Janet’s telltale scream sucking him out of his reverie. Thinking he would be coming face to face with Anders, who they'd been practicing with, Alistair was not prepared for who was actually in the cage playing Frank-n-Furter.

It definitely wasn't Anders.

It was Cullen !

He would know that lip-scar anywhere. But if not for that, he would've found it difficult to recognize the gorgeous man in high heels, black wig, fishnets, satin cape swishing with his hips and, most of all, the lascivious smirk that even Tim Curry himself would've been proud of.

Alistair gaped as Cullen swept past him and flung the cape from his shoulders. He was in awe. He'd always believed his husband handsome, but he'd never seen him looking so confident and cocky as he was as he strutted his stuff --his very visible stuff-- dancing his way across the floor. It was a very, very good look for him. And maker help him, Alistair was going to have to get control of himself, because his clothes would be coming off soon too, and no one needed to see the effect that Cullen's had on him.

Andraste must have heard his prayers, because somehow Alistair made it through the rest of the performance without embarrassing himself. And by the time they finished the curtain call, it was all he could do not to push Cullen into the dressing room and have his way with him. It was close though, and they definitely didn't stay to mingle much after the performance.

~*~

Hours later when they were both showered, sated, and in their own bed, Alistair rolled over and kissed Cullen. “This was the best halloween ever.”

Cullen gently caressed Alistair’s bare shoulder with his fingertips. “I will admit, surprising you was fun. The look on your face when you saw me was priceless.”

Alistair propped himself up, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I thought I was going to have an aneurysm. You looked fucking delicious."

"I enjoyed it." Cullen blushed. "And I'm glad that you appreciated my little surprise."

"How did you manage the blocking? You never made it to any of the rehearsals," Alistair inquired.

"I met with the cast while you were at work, they were all in on it. And once Anders realized what I had planned for you, he was more than happy to step aside and let me be Frank. It may end up costing me though."

Alistair quirked an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Sebastian and I found a litter of kittens on our last bust." Cullen chuckled. "I had to promise Anders that he would get first pick of the litter before we took the rest of them to the humane society."

Alistair laughed. "Bribing him with kittens... you don't play fair!"

"Well... I had a very good motivator to do this for you." Cullen pulled Alistair in for a tender kiss. "And it was worth it; the makeup, the heals, even the panties - seeing you ogling me all night, was totally worth it." Cullen grinned.

Does this mean I can dress you up again next year?”

With a reluctant groan, Cullen said, “We’ll have to see. What kind of theme are you thinking about? That may sway my decision.”

“Weeeellllll,” Alistair teased. “I’ve already seen you prancing around wearing women’s underwear, how ‘bout we go with characters from that video game we’ve been playing?”

Cullen looked at Alistair fondly, brushing the unruly hair from his forehead. “You know… I think you would make a very handsome, reluctant king.”

Alistair grinned. “And you would look fantastic in one of those Templar skirts!”

“Maker help me.” Cullen chuckled, pulling Alistair’s head back down onto his shoulder and kissing him on his forehead. “Fishnets or Templar skirt, you know there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.”

“I love you, you know that, right?” Alistair asked.

“I love you too, sweetheart. Happy Halloween.”

“Happy Halloween.” Alistair whispered.

Sweet Transvestite (RHPS) - Where Cullen First appears as Frank-n-Furter

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AR6wKRWFOoE

A/N - I have to say, I love picturing Cullen in this scene with Alistair looking so stunned! :) It’s the little things in life that make me happy.

RHPS/DA Cast List

Dr. Frank-n-Furter - Anders (ahem… I mean, Cullen)

Brad - Alistair

Janet - Lyna (Warden)

Magenta - Isabela

Rif Raf - Zevran

Columbia - Leliana

Rocky - Sebastian

Eddie - Iron Bull

Dr. Scott - Dorian

Transylvanian’s - Everyone Else

A/N Part 2

Little known fact... I used to perform with the RHPS cast (Sins of the Flesh) in Santa Monica, CA every Saturday night for almost three years. Our Halloween show was ALWAYS our biggest show of the year. So much fun, so many great memories, and (*cough* 20+ years later), still some of my dearest friends ever. Thanks for humoring my little trip down memory lane, and for letting me bring the boys along for the ride. ;)

Notes:

Thank you to my dearest @tatteredleaf for being my beta on this one. To @ginnyq for giving me that little bit of encouragement I needed when I wanted to just scrap this whole idea and start over. And to @cullenlovesmen for unknowingly helping me flesh out some of my ideas. ;)

#fic-or-treat #2019 #dragon age #cullistair #rhps #alistair theirin #cullen rutherford #obligatory sebastian cameo #modern au #cullen in drag #alistair appreciates it

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cregan-starks · 3 months

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tagged by: @carmybcrzatto tysm, and sorry it took me so long!! 🫶🏻

picrew link

no pressure tags: @aemondtargaryen @blogofbonbon @sylasthegrim @fairysluna @axreliono @mandaloresson @thecheesyreader

#tag games #then the queue broke and the dragons danced

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detectivesantiagostyle-blog · 7 years

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You are the best thing that’s ever been mine

/Because thinking about Jake in prison hurts so I added some Taylor Swift to lighten the mood/

It took Detective Amy Santiago just under ten minutes on her first day at the 99th Precinct to learn three things about her new partner, Detective Jake Peralta. One, he was devastatingly disorganised, two, he was sure he was Brooklyn’s best detective (it took her two weeks to begrudgingly begin to agree) and three, he adored Taylor Swift. Yes, adored. Not tolerated, not enjoyed, not secretly sang in the shower, but adored. Like most things with Jake, she rolled her eyes and assumed he would eventually grow out of it.

Many years later Jake was slightly more organised, slightly more humble, but still utterly infatuated with Taylor Swift. A lot had changed in the years in between – Amy and Jake had travelled from reluctant partners to successful partners, and eventually from friends to so much more. Jake had grown and developed in ways Amy couldn’t have predicted: putting others first, relying on his team, expressing his feelings honestly…but he still loved Taylor Swift and Amy had given up hope on ever shifting him. So she smiled and rolled her eyes and sang along to Fearless in the car and bought him concert tickets for his birthday and accepted that loving the only thirty-something male in the queue for 1989 was just part of her life now.

Besides, Amy had bigger problems now. There’s something about seeing the love of your life and one of your best friends framed for crimes they didn’t commit and sentenced to 15 years in prison that makes everything else fade away. And it hurts. It hurts more than she ever thought anything could. It hurts when she can’t quite crack a difficult case and Jake isn’t sitting opposite her, smirking as if it’s the easiest puzzle imaginable. It hurts when she comes home after a long day to an empty apartment and sees the piled-up cardboard boxes of Jake’s possessions which he never got the chance to unpack. It hurts when she visits him and barely recognises the shell of a man sat in front of her, with a smile that never quite reaches his eyes and a laugh that sounds like someone who hasn’t quite mastered their Jake Peralta impression.

One evening it all just gets too much. Another dead end on a possible lead against Hawkins, a frustrating case she just can’t seem to close, a visit to Jake that seems too long and yet not nearly long enough at the same time. On one hand, the second she enters that hideous building Amy can’t wait to leave. She hates it – the grim efficiency of the guards, the bleak sterility of their surroundings, the dead look in Jake’s eyes and the hollowed cheeks that give away how little he’s coping. But at the same time, these visits are the highlights of her week – seeing Jake alive, breathing, real, means everything to Amy and having to walk away and leave him there kills her. The second Amy gets home the floodgates break and she sobs, not quite sure why. It wasn’t a bad visit – there’s been plenty of those over the last few months. They’ve had angry visits where, without meaning to, they’ve turned on each other, just needing to unleash some frustration but bitterly regretting it after. There’s also been awkward visits – times where Amy and Jake have been so overwhelmed by everything they feel and think that nothing comes out and they sit in silence, or worse, chat about meaningless rubbish until she has to come home and scream. But this was none of those – and that’s the worst bit. It was a good visit, a visit where, for the first time in far too long, Jake smiled, like really truly smiled, and even (dare she say) giggled and Amy felt her heart break all over again.

And, of course, she’s absolutely head-over-heels delighted to see him smile and laugh, even if it’s only for a few seconds, but she’s also devastatingly heartbroken because Jake’s smile and Jake’s laugh don’t belong in that cold, brutal place, they belong at the nine-nine or at home with her. And, although if anyone were ever to ask she’d 100% deny it, she’s a tiny tiny bit pissed off at what it was that finally made him crack a real smile. It wasn’t the overwhelming joy of seeing the love of his life walk through the door, it wasn’t hearing her tell him that she loved him and would never stop fighting, it wasn’t even adorable stories about baby Enigma Linetti (who was objectively the cutest baby in the entire world). The one thing that finally reached her ridiculous, mid-thirties, NYPD detective boyfriend was the fact that Amy accidentally quoted a Taylor Swift lyric in the middle of a sentence. Seriously.

They’d been discussing Jake and Rosa’s case, poring over the details (yet again), when Amy had been in the middle of speaking, telling Jake that it didn’t matter what anyone said because “you’re still an innocent-” and that’s all it took. He started to laugh, scaring the hell out of Amy who genuinely started to worry that he’d finally lost his mind and was becoming hysterical and then broke into song, finishing with a delightful rendition of the chorus of Innocent before laughing again and demanding that Amy pay up. It took her a minute to remember – to rewind past the last few months, back to when life seemed simple and her biggest concern of the week was that Jake just would not stop speaking in Taylor Swift lyrics. She remembered that week – a week which began with Jake declaring that the answers to all of life’s questions could be found in Taylor Swift lyrics and that he never needed to say anything else, ever again. It had been a long, long week and by the end she was severely tempted to throw the Red cd case at his head and change her locks. Instead it ended with a bet (as most disagreements did) which involved Amy vowing that she would never, ever, speak in Taylor Swift lyrics. It’s been so long and so much has happened that she can’t even remember what they actually bet but right now that’s not what matters. All that matters is that Amy desperately missed that smile and that laugh and the trademark Jake Peralta smug ‘i-just-won-a-bet look that made her want to kiss him and stab him simultaneously. Don’t get her wrong, Amy is competitive and hates losing (having six brothers does that to a girl) but more than anything she wants to see that smile and know that wherever Jake is, whatever is happening to him, he knows that she would do anything for him. Including speaking in Taylor Swift lyrics.

An hour and a lot of googling later, Amy is ready. Although she visits Jake as often as possible in prison, she still writes to him often, knowing how much having something physical to hold onto means to him. Beside her laptop are a dozen photographs, each with something written in Amy’s neat handwriting on the back.

A photo of them at Terry’s daughter Ava’s christening when Amy wore her (and Jake’s) favourite red dress with the caption I got that red lip, classic thing that you like.

Another photo taken during the salsa dancing class they took on their cruise with not much for dancing, but for you I did.

One with the entire nine-nine squad smiling at the camera and the words welcome to New York, it’s been waiting for you

And Amy’s particular favourite – the slightly terrifying photo of her and Jake which commemorated their victory over the Vulture, on which she wrote (with a smile) I had the time of my life fighting dragons with you.

And that night, for the first night in a long time, Amy sleeps soundly. Things aren’t fixed yet, not by a long shot, but she knows that until they can crack the case, until they can get him home, at least she can be sure that he’s going to smile. And for now, that’s enough.

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w0uldyoubemine · 7 years

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My Asylum 18

Okay folks so here I’m going to attempt to write up my weekend at Asylum 18 in Blackpool. For those about to read, I salute you. Imma try and keep it to the highlights but bear with it’s gonna be a big post.

Four hour drive up on Friday morn and then a lot of waiting around after finally meeting the awesome @teamfreewill-imagine. Got registered around 2.30pm then waited for Jamie to come out of the pre-orders queue (I didn’t even attempt joining it was loooong). Queued for the autograph room as they decided to do some that evening. Head in and make a beeline for Briana who is stunning and just fucking lovely. I won’t tell Jamie’s story for her so check out her blog for more. My turn and I tell her “I bloody love you” and she grins and says she loves me too. Bless her for signing her character underneath her name before I could say I loved her.... I think she was worried people wouldn’t know who she was.

Off to Osric (I don’t remember the exact order we went in but sure I’ll say this next. He sent me a snapchat a while back in response to one I sent about being at the GOTG Vol 2 premiere and I brought it up leading the three of us into a Marvel sequels debate. I said I thought it broke the sequels curse (Thor 2 excluded), he disagreed but we all agreed on the Wolveerine origin story at the same time then he said Spiderman 2 with Tobey Maguire and I said it was terrible where he sat back in his chair and was appalled which just made me laugh. We argued a touch then I said “But I still love you, though” and he says “And I still love TOBEY” to which I just laughed more as he did and said “My poor little frozen heart.” Not sure why that was my response but sure.

Went to Kim Rhodes who said “I fucking love your shirt” - it was the Wayward AF Creation Stands one - and I said “Well I fucking love you” to which she had the most gorgeous grin and said it back. Mark Pellegrino was pretty chuffed that him liking my tweets managed to persuade me to come to con.

Friday evening - all of my inclusive autographs already done and fish and chips back at the hotel. Winner. Saturday morning we head in and head to the pre-orders queue... which is not open yet as so many still need to register. I go to the stewards meeting instead and agree to volunteer in the panels hall for the day and run the mic.

Have a hilarious day of running the mic, chatting with other fans and even getting to ask my own questions when there was no one in the queue and also at the beginning of Misha’s panel.

Got to ask Kim and Briana a question in the first panel - I asked if their characters could appear in any other film or tv show what would they appear in and what would they get up to - Briana said she’d loved to see Donna in Game of Thrones and she and Kim joked about her trying to clear fire hydrens for dragons. Kim said she’d like to see Jodi on The Walking Dead kicking ass.

A fan forgot her question in the queue so asked me for one and I told her to ask Adam and David if the boot had been on the other foot would Mick have killed Ketch and how would it have gone down.

Asked Misha the same question about different film or tv show but after I said hello he mimicked me then did his British accent and laughed about how people said he accent was terible. He said it was niche and that it was someone born in Southern England that had spent ten years in Leeds and then a year in Australia so actually it was spot on we just didn’t get it. He then said he’d love to see Castiel in Debbie loves Dallas.

Another fan forgot a question for Mark P and Alaina so I suggested they ask who would they possess and Mark said Trump, Alaina said Mark Sheppard.

Mark Sheppard broke all the panel rules and went walk about which was brilliant. I have dubbed him ‘the savage wanderer’ and he was absolutely hilarious. Standing with the people waiting to ask questions was funny too as he kept coming down to intimidate them and getting really close to them. On around the fourth time around he looked at me and went “You still here?” To which I just laughed and said “Looks like it.”

The Hillywood Show - I didn’t know much about them but really enjoyed their panel and had a great laugh dancing with fans at the back of the hall waiting for them to come on. Asked them if they had any show or movie they were too protective of and loved too much to want to cover or do a parody of it and they said no.

Day 2 done and still have all my photo ops and two more autos to go.

Sunday another early start and a big day ahead. Decided not to steward in the morning as the likelihood of being free to help was pretty slim and this turned out to be a good call. My group was called for the Misha photos pretty early so I went there pretty much straight away. It was hectic as they had so many to get through so it was get in, get out but he said hello and smiled, I thanked him for coming, he thanked me too then we had our picture and he took my hand and squeezed it as I left. Now I should preface this with I hate pictures of me taken by other people. I rarely like pictures I take myself, to be honest. But I am beyond thrilled with the picture of us both and so relieved I love it. So chuffed!

I had a little while in the panel room then Misha autos were called so I took the card I had put together with the messages from all the donors of my fundraiser with me. When I went in they were actually doing Mark Sheppard’s autos too and the line was shorter so I went there first but got told to go to the front because I was volunteering, I didn’t really want to but since the line was so long for Misha and I was worried about giving him the card I did and Mark grinned at me saying I was being sly sliding in. He called me sweetheart, said thank you when I said he was awesome and signed my poster.

Went over to Misha and joined the queue. I could’ve skipped but I don’t like to and I was nervous as fuck to give him the card. Finally got to the front and he looked up and smiled and said hi, I said hello and gave him the card, he asked what it was and I said I’d raised over $2000 for Random Acts this year to which he did my favourite shocked face and sat back a little to look at me. I said that a few of the donors wanted to share messages to thank him for inspiring them and I did too. He put the card to one side and held out his hand which I took and thought he wanted to shake it but he held on then said “Thank you so much, it means a lot” and I said something along the lines of “No thank you for inspiring us, you help more than you know.” He squeezed my hand again and thanked me again then I went to go and nearly forgot my poster so he pulled it along for me and I said “I’d better take this” and he grinned, winked and I left.

Got back in time for the end of The Hillywood Show panel and got to watch Mark S be the wandering savage again. He went from ignoring us and making Adam tell jokes to taking the piss out of fans and eating then to a really heartfelt speech about the SPN family at the end. A rollercoaster of emotions but just awesome from start to finish.

Watched Adam & David’s second panel and asked them a question this time - As there is a British Men of Letters, presumably there is a Canadian branch and an Irish one- would their policies be different and what would they be like? David said the Canadian side would be very polite and Adam said to get into the Irish side you’d have to be the last man standing on a boozy night out. I also mentioned how I’m moving to Vancouver (as I found David’s references funny) and they wished me luck which was sweet and something about ketchup chips? A fan brought the song that David used to have to dance to (Whip It by Devo?) he mentioned in Saturday’s panel and like a true sport he got up and danced for us all which was brilliant (and hilarious).

From there I went for my Misha and Mark S photo op. Walked in said “Thanks love” to the volunteer/crew member and said hello to them both, Misha grins and says “What would you like to do ‘love’?” the accent again hah and I said “I’m happy, do whatever you want with me.” realising the second after it left my mouth what I’d said, both guys grin and give me a look then Mark S says “We’ll take you home then” to which I said “Don’t tempt me” and Misha wrapped his arms around me as Mark put his arm around and it looks like he’s trying to steal me in our op. Thanked them both and got a squeeze from both then left.

Straight to Adam and David’s op which I shared which Jamie and we could not stop laughing. I had such an epic time with her this weekend and we’d never met before nor did we really know each other so I was really lucky to have someone so awesome to hang with for the weekend. We were almost crying with laughter in the queue and couldn’t work out what to do for our op. We then got told no poses which we were relieved about because we couldn’t think of anything despite having had three days to come up with it. We got our photo with the boys who were lovely and the photo is great! We all look like we’re siblings who’ve been shoved together for a family photo- I love it.

Made it back for Kim and Briana’s panel and they were a steward down so I ran mic again for that one and then Misha’s to finish the weekend.

I will post quotes that I remember separately - I have very few photos but I’ll probably post my ops at some point too.

Thanks to everyone I saw over the weekend, especially Jamie and her friend Laura for being great company and to everyone for being so great when I was stewarding. My first Supernatural convention and I loved every second of it.

#asylum 18 #misha collins #spn #spn family #mark sheppard #briana buckmaster #teamfreewill imagine #kim rhodes #osric chau #con #mark pellegrino #adam ferus #david haydn-jones #alaina huffman #spn cast

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corvidfeathers · 8 years

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kill your heroes

“I fancied myself a hero,” Kynan said quietly. “In the stories, the heroes always cross paths with some old man or women in need of help…” “Who reveal themselves to be a celestial or a god or somesuch, and rewards the hero for their kindness,” Jarrett said. “I’m familiar with them.”

[The ballad of Kynan Leore and Anna Ripley]

ao3 link

In the fury of the storm, the ship danced.

Kynan’s world had shrunken to the lengths of the wooden craft. Beyond its boundaries, there was nothing but the storm. Even the line between the hungry sea and the clouded sky was blurred; the ocean reached up to the skyline with each wave, caressing the horizon with fangs of foam, and the sky reached back with perpetual lashing rain and caresses of lightning that crackled down into the waves. Behind them, Marquet and the port from which they were sailed was nothing more than a distant memory, long since vanished from the horizon. Their destination was nothing more than a handful of half-remembered stories of drunk old sailors, and Kynan’s anticipation of setting anchor at the Isle of Glass had long since been swallowed by the storm.

For the first time in a day, Kynan had forced himself out on the deck again.

The sailors went about their work with downturned heads, their cloaks and coats pulled up to protect them from the rain. The only words exchanged were hoarse orders screamed over the wail of the wind. Even for these experienced seafarers, thoughts and conversation had given way to the struggle to keep the ship afloat.

Terror had been such a constant companion to Kynan in the last day that it had dulled, giving way to an empty sort of acceptance. Or that was what he told himself. They would survive this storm, or they wouldn’t. They would find the next Vestige, or die trying. It was just a fact of life.

Ripley would never turn back.

She, alone, was unaffected by the storm’s fury.

She stood at the prow of the ship; she’d taken up vigil there when they first entered the storm, and as far as Kynan was aware, she had stayed at her post since. He could see her silhouette against the frothing gray oceans beyond.

He stumbled across the deck, clinging to the ropes the crew had tied at waist-level around the ship to aid in navigating around the ship during the storm. With each wave the bow broke against, water ran across the deck, threatening to sweep any hapless sailor off their feet.

As Kynan approached the figure at the bow, a crack of lightning cut across the sky, illuminating Ripley.

The wind had freed her hair from its usual queue, and it blew wildly, whipping her face and shoulders. Her clothing clung to her body, soaked through by the rain- except Cabal’s Ruin, which seemed impervious to the weather. The stolen cloak was draped over her shoulders, and every few moments, veins of the lightning crackled through the fabric, matching the patterns in the sky.

Ripley’s gaze was fixed on the seas. Her pale eyes reflected all the stormy grays and greens of the water below.

Her teeth were bared in a grin.

The wild joy written across her features brought Kynan to standstill. He had never seen Ripley look so happy before, and in that moment that scared him, more than the sea, more than the lightning, more than the storm. More than whatever lay in wait for them in the island.

Ripley would never accept failure.

He shook the thought off, and maneuvered carefully across the last few feet between them.

Just as Kynan was close enough to reach out to Ripley, something slammed the side of the ship. The deck tilted under his feet as the ship listed sideways. For a moment, the screech and groan of wood pushed to the point of breaking was louder even than the storm.

The ship was maintaining its list, the deck tilted at a dangerous angle. To Kynan’s left, he could see the sea raging, hungry teeth of foam gnashing.

Kynan managed to keep his feet, but he glanced up just in time to see Ripley stumble. She tried to catch herself on the railing at the prow, but the rain-slick wood slipped from her fingers.

He let go of the rope and lunged for Ripley. His hand caught her shoulder, and he managed to steady her before she tumbled down the deck. The ship shook underneath them, the deck righting itself just in time.

Ripley’s eyes met Kynan’s, and she nodded. Her expression was perfectly composed, but Kynan didn’t miss the way her hand trembled as she raked back loose strands of hair from her face.

“What was that?” Ripley called, squinting through the curtains of rain and sea spray, looking back towards where something had impacted with the side of the ship.

The ocean was frothing and churning, and beneath it lurked a dark shape. A geyser of water spewed upwards. Between the distance and the storm, it was hard to tell exactly how high it rose, but Kynan would bet on at least as tall as the ship’s largest mast.

“Some sort of behemoth!” a voice cried back, hoarse from shouting through the storm. One of the sailors.

The storm was worsening, the winds howling to a crescendo-pitch, each wave carrying the ship up and tossing her down into the fray more violently. The old beams and boards creaked and protested around them.

Ripley and Kynan stayed rooted at the prow, eyes focused back on where the ship had been rammed.

Kynan’s eyes tracked the dark shape, trying to see where it began and where it ended. The shifting waves made it impossible. Once or twice he thought he saw something dark and shiny breaking the surface of the water, but it might have been nothing but miscellaneous debris or a trick of the light on the water.

Several minutes went by with nothing but the howl of the wind and the protest of old wood.

Just as Kynan had convinced himself whatever had knocked into the ship wasn’t following it, something rammed into the ship again. The impact wasn’t enough to tilt the ship this time, but the disconcerting sound of cracking wood wasn’t any less terrifying.

The scariest thing was the impact hadn’t felt violent; it had felt like nothing more than curious nudge from the behemoth. Kynan’s eyes picked up its dark form again under the water… the storm still made it impossible to see the details, but it was far, far larger than anything he had ever imagined. Larger than the dragons that had wheeled through the sky of Tal’dorei the day Emon burned, large enough to make the ship look like toy.

The sea split, and one, single enormous eyes rose from its depths. Waves broke over its form, lapping against the great black pupil that stared up at Kynan.

“Look!” he shouted, grabbing Ripley’s shoulder.

Ripley’s head whipped around. Her eyes widened, a strangled sound escaping her mouth at the sight. The sheer terror that flashed across her face made Kynan’s blood run cold. A month ago, he would have sworn there was nothing in existence that could terrify Ripley.

A moment later, her revolver was in her hand, and aimed out into the sea towards the enormous eye.

Darkness swelled in her eyes, her pupils opening first to swallow her pale irises, and then the whites of her eyes. Darkness poured from inside her shirt and down her left arm, pressing at the leather straps that bound her prosthetic in place until they snapped. The darkness solidified around the stump, creating a shadowy facsimile of an arm and a hand that came to sharp point, more like claws than fingers.

But with the gun in her hands, she couldn’t grasp the railing; the ship was being tossed by the sea, and each sudden movement made Ripley stumble a little, losing her footing on the deck. Her face was bone-white, her flesh-and-blood hand trembling, knuckles white on the stock of her revolver.

The first shot she fired splashed into the waves somewhere far from the eye.

The massive pupil contracted, and shifted, staring up at Ripley.

Kynan let go of his death grip on the railing, and stumbled towards Ripley. He managed to anchor one hand on the railing next to her, and loop the other around her waist, anchoring her for the time being to the deck of the ship.

A moment was all she needed.

Electricity crackled through her cloak, and then sparked through her body, sparking through the shadowy darkness of her strange arm, and then down into Animus. The lightning played across the barrel for a second, before she pulled the trigger.

The crack of a shot split through the storm.

In the distance, a small, dark hole appeared in the eye. Jagged bolts of lightning played across its surface.

From beneath the waves, a great sound rose. It echoed out from the water, a noise indescribable and impossibly loud, even muffled by the water and the shriek of the wind.

The eye disappeared from the surface of the water, sinking back beneath the waves.

Kynan held his breath, sure that something would slam into the ship and destroy it, or some great mouth would open up in the sea below them and swallow the ship whole. The storm raged, but the ocean beneath them gave no indication of anything but waves. No matter how hard he strained his eyes, he couldn’t make out the dark form lurking beneath them anymore.

Ripley didn’t react, showing no triumph, and no fear. Blackish, purplish smoke was still pouring from her body, and her gaze was still inhuman, eyes glossy voids of swirling shadow. He was suddenly very aware of how close he was pressed to her. He remembered well how fickle the thing that had taken up residence in her was, even if she called it an ally. He let go of her and the railing, taking a step back.

A wave broke over the bow of the ship.

A wall of cold water slammed into Kynan. In the shock of the frigid water, he gasped, and then choked as the burn of saltwater filled his lungs. He reached around to find a rope, but in his mad scramble to keep Ripley from tumbling into the sea, he had forgotten to keep himself anchored to the deck. Before he could find one of the ropes, his feet had slipped out from under him, and he was being carried by the water.

He was going to die. He was going to drown. He lashed out, clawing desperately, trying to catch hold of one of the ropes, but to no avail.

And then a hand had his wrist, and was hauling him to his feet. He came up sputtering, coughing up saltwater, with salt-blinded eyes and burning lungs.

He blinked saltwater out of his eyes, and met Ripley’s.

They were full of darkness. Something was biting into his wrist; her shadowed hand was gripping him so tightly her claws dug into his flesh.

Slowly, the darkness in her eyes receded back to her pupils. The shadowy hand dissolved, and Kynan would have fallen, if she hadn’t reached out and grabbed his shirt with her flesh-and-blood hand, pulling him close enough to the railing that he could lean against it.

A grin cut across Ripley’s face. “I think we frightened it, whatever it was.” She laughed, letting go of his collar.

Kynan took a shaky breath, wincing at the protest of his abused lungs. “I… I’m surprised… one little bullet was enough.” Spots danced before his eyes. It took all of his focus just the remain upright.

Ripley’s grin widened. “A shot from Animus is hardly one little bullet,” she said. Her eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

A ragged laugh escaped Kynan. “That’s true,” he said. He stared out into the sea. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop trembling. What else lurked in this perpetual storm? What other sorts of monstrosities? He took a deep breath, and then let it out.

He could feel Ripley’s eyes on him.

“Do you think we’ll make it?”

To his surprise, Ripley laughed. “Of course,” she said, shrugging. “We have to. The fate of humanity is resting on our shoulders.”

“I don’t think this storm cares,” Kynan said.

“You’re right,” Ripley said. “But we’ll survive it. It’s the nature of humanity overcome obstacles, and this is just one more obstacle in our path. We’ll survive.”

Kynan didn’t say anything. His head was still swimming from his brush with drowning, and it felt like the cold water had sapped all energy from him.

“Kynan,” Ripley said. “Kynan. I’ll get us there. Trust me.” A hand settled on his shoulder.

“I do.” Kynan shut his eyes, trying to shut out the storm. Focusing on nothing but the small point of physical contact and the memory of Ripley facing down the behemoth.

That would be a story for the ages.

Finally, he had a handle on the fear. “I’ll be glad to reach this Isle of Glass. Compared to this, whatever waits there…” He cut himself off. “I shouldn’t tempt fate.”

“Tempt fate all you like,” Ripley said. “I’m glad you didn’t accidentally take a swim before we reached the Shrew.” She laughed. “It seems the sea has already taken a liking to you.”

Kynan grimaced. He wasn’t looking forward to the dive Ripley had planned for. No matter how many times they tested the potions and found them trustworthy, there was something viscerally wrong about voluntarily breathing in water. Add to that the task of diving down to some wreck buried gods only knew how deep, amidst the wreckage of countless other ships…

“Remember,” Ripley said. “The ship is likely not the only obstacle we’ll face in the days to come. Vox Machina is on our trail as we speak.”

That, at last, made Kynan smile. “We’ll be ready for them.”

Ripley’s grin was wicked. “We will.”

Kynan traced patterns on the wooden table with his fingers. The bar in Whitestone was quiet; it was long past the hour where most respectable people headed back to their beds, and the city hadn’t had the opportunity to develop much of a nightlife yet. Or that was what the sleepy bartender had told him and Jarrett, when they had roused the man from his nap behind his bar to buy drinks.

Jarrett’s expression was still caught between amusement and awe. “You might be one of the only people in the world to have survived a violent encounter with one of those beasts,” he said. “I never was much of a seagoing man myself, but everyone in Marquet’s heard stories.” He laughed. “You’re damn lucky the creature didn’t take offense at your employer poking it in the eye.” He shook his head, taking another swig of ale. “I’d be blown away by the sheer arrogance, but then, I think our current employers share the alarming tendency to poke big, nasty things without thinking it through.” He grinned. “How do we fall in with such careless folk, eh?”

Kynan nodded numbly. The question was clearly supposed to be rhetorical Jarrett didn’t know the whole story; exactly who Ripley was, or all she had done. Or at least, he didn’t think Jarrett knew, and he wasn’t going to ask, because it was a relief to let the words out. During the day, he threw himself into the task he had been given: training the soldiers of Whitestone how to use Ripley’s guns. When he wasn’t doing that, he was sparring with Jarrett, or guarding Cassandra, and the tasks at hand were enough to distract him from the thoughts that threatened to consume him.

But at night…

Well, he was glad Jarrett had invited him out like this. Jarrett never asked him questions about where he had come from, or how he had come to be here. He didn’t really seem to care one way or another, but he did like trading tales. And he was a good listener.

“I fancied myself a hero,” he said quietly. “In the stories, the heroes always cross paths with some old man or women in need of help…”

“Who reveal themselves to be a celestial or a god or somesuch, and rewards the hero for their kindness,” Jarrett said. “I’m familiar with them.”

Kynan stared into his mug and swirled the dark liquid around, bracing himself to take another sip. A taste for alcohol was something he had never tried to acquire in Emon; his father did enough drinking for the both of them, and all the money Kynan had managed to save had gone to equipment and tools for the day when he would finally leave to become a hero.

That thought was more bitter than the dark ale.

He lifted the tankard and took a long draw. It was all he could do to swallow it all, but he managed it, coughing only a little. It felt like the eyes of the whole tavern were on him.

There wasn’t much entertainment to be found in this tavern, not tonight. The whole of Kymal was under a pall of fear. The Cock’s Crow, one of the many disreputable establishments in the thoroughly disreputable town, was a shadow of its former cheer. Most folk had opted to stay at home, with their families or friends, in light of the events at Emon, and the enormous shapes that had flown over the city just days before.

To the west, on the horizon, Emon glowed, set aflame by the rage of a great red dragon. Scattered reports had trickled in from survivors who escaped the conflagration. The city had fallen under the attack of four or six or eight enormous dragons, working together to reduce the city to ruins, so the survivors claimed. Some had dismissed their stories as the ramblings of shock, until dark shapes had begun to fly overhead, heading east, and north, and south.

Kynan had dreamed of fighting a dragon one day- what kid didn’t, raised on the tales of Allura Vysoren and the other heroes of Emon?- but when he’d seen a great black form swoop over the city, glittering in the light of the dawn, his blood ran cold. For a full minute he had been frozen, staring up at the sky.

By the grace of the gods, or simple luck, Kymal had been passed over.

On the horizon, Emon still burned.

Father… Kynan shook his head. His house, the slums, he had vowed to leave all of that behind him when he left Emon. He would return to the city as a hero, or not at all, he had pledged under the shadow of the gates, still smarting from the rejection of his heroes.

Well, it looked like ‘not at all’ was looking more and more likely. It was likely his home didn’t even exist anymore. It was likely his father was dead.

Kynan took another swallow of the ale, turning that thought over in his head. Tears pricked at his eyes, but he blinked them away. There was a tight, painful knot in his chest that hadn’t eased since he had heard of Emon’s destruction. He left home without looking back, and the thought of returning… well, facing his drunkard of a father sounded no more appealing than it had before. But… His father was dead, along with most of his friends, more like than not. And… countless others.

I should have stayed. The thought pried its way into his mind, for the thousandth time that evening. He pushed it away. If he had stayed, he would have been dead too. What good would that do? Of course, he had vague heroic notions of facing down the dragons by himself, but if all the heroes of Emon had not been enough to fight off the dragons, what use would Kynan, the drunkard’s boy, have been?

He was useless now. That had been proven to him well enough.

No, he wasn’t quite useless. He was better than he had been before. He had been practicing, with daggers, and with a short sword he had gotten from one of the vendors in the marketplace in exchange for ridding his family’s basement of an infestation of particularly large and nasty rats. The ugly gashes he’d gotten on his hands and ankles from that job had been more than worth it. The weapon was of good, sturdy quality, and he’d even gotten a few pointers in how to use it from one of the mercenaries who frequented the Cock’s Crow.

So he was… slightly less than useless. Still not good enough to fight four or six or eight dragons.

“Are you going to drink that ale, or just brood into it?” a scratchy voice interrupted his introspection.

Kynan started and sat up. The old mercenary who had been sitting beside him before had left, and in his place an old woman had come to stand at the bar. Her rounded ears marked her as human; her deeply-lined face and ragged gray hair put her on the far side of seventy. The clothes she wore were travel-dusty and worn down to a uniform drab gray. They looked like they had been patched even more than Kynan’s garb.

Kynan started to snarl something rude, but something in the old woman’s gaze killed the words before they made it to his tongue. Her eyes were pale and flint-grey, and too piercing for the rest of her face. He turned away from her, and took another gulp of his ale, opting for the dignity of a stony silence.

The ale really wasn’t so bad, after getting through most of the tankard.

“Don’t sulk, boy,” the old woman rasped. “If you can’t take the jests of an old woman, you’re not like to make it far in this world.”

Kynan clenched his teeth, and gripped the handle of his mug tighter. To his mortification, tears were welling up at the corners of his eyes again. He tugged at the edge of his hood and used the gesture to covertly wipe his face. “What do you want?” he said.

“Just a little information,” she said. She eased herself down onto the barstool, moving slowly and bracing her weight on one of her knobby hands. Kynan’s eyes were drawn to the outline of a dagger that just showed under her coat. Armed, but what could a woman of her years do with a dagger? “I haven’t been in this town for quite some time, and I find myself in need of some supplies and without the knowledge to acquire them.” A grandmotherly smile flickered across her features. “Everything is much more… complicated now, than it was before.”

Kynan shrugged. “It’s not that big of a town,” he mumbled into his mug. “You’d do better asking someone from around here.” He glanced around the bar. Anyone else.

Admittedly, Kynan was probably the least intimidating person in the bar.

“Another traveler, are you? Where are you from, boy?”

Kynan gritted his teeth. “Emon,” he said. “Though it’s none of your business.”

The woman’s smile faded, but before she could say anything, Kynan cut in. “Look, there’s a general store a few streets over. The owner’s a bit of a bastard but if you get on his good side he’s usually willing to cut you a good deal. And there’s a marketplace a bit further down. That’s about all there is in terms of buying supplies.”

The old woman nodded. “Are there many smiths in town?”

“A few. Mostly they make plows and farming things, I think,” Kynan said. He’d been by a few blacksmith’s shops in his first few days in town, in search of good daggers, but the sound of metal on metal and the smell of the forge put him too much in mind of his father’s shop. Plus, most of the weapons to be bought in Kymal came second-hand from larger cities, whose smiths could make a living crafting weapons for adventurers.

Emon…

The old woman was quiet, not looking at him, but Kynan was suddenly struck with a thought. “Hey, look,” he said. “If you’re looking to buy provisions and well… much of anything, but especially provisions, you’ll want to buy them now. And probably skip town as quickly as possible. You’ve heard about the attack on Emon?” Kynan’s ears flushed as soon as the words left his mind. Of course she’d heard about them. No one could ignore the conflagration on the horizon.

The woman’s eyes glinted. “Of course,” she said. “I never could have imagined such destructions… what a tragedy.”

Kynan blinked quickly. “Yeah,” he said, swallowing. “Well. Um. Most of the produce comes from, uh, the farms around Emon, I think.”

“And they’ve likely one up in flames,” the woman said. “Food is going to become very costly shortly.” Her tone was musing. “Thank you for your advice.”

Kynan nodded. Now that it had occurred to him, he didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it earlier. In the scope of everything else it seemed so… small, but things were going to get harder for him. He was barely scraping by as it was, rooming in this hovel of an inn and doing odd tasks for the townsfolk.

Fuck.

The woman seemed to have forgotten him entirely, lost in her own thoughts. She had turned partially away from him, and was resting her chin on one of her hands, gazing contemplatively at the wall.

Kynan took another drink of his ale and eyed the other patrons. The hour was getting later, and more patrons were crowding the bar. It was still eerily quiet; everyone seemed content to speak in hushed whispers or drink in silence. The bartender was moving back and forth between patrons even more quickly than usual, but drawing significantly less cursing and heckling than usual. All in all, the atmosphere was remarkably subdued.

Which made the two men in the corner stand out.

Kynan didn’t recognize them. That didn’t mean much; Kymal was an ever-shifting city, full of all sorts of travellers. But in the solemn atmosphere of the tavern, they were just a little bit too bright-eyed. One of them kept throwing glances at the exits: the door to the main street, and the smaller door behind the bar that led out to an alley.

The other one had a hood up, and his head down, but seemed to be staring intently at… something. Kynan leaned forward slide another copper coin across the bar to get another drink from the bartender, and managed to shift into just the right position to follow the man’s gaze.

He was staring right at the old woman beside Kynan.

Kynan glanced at her. She seemed oblivious to the scrutiny. She had ordered something from the bartender, and was sipping it. Her striking gray eyes were still staring out at the wall, fit to bore holes in the wood.

The men looked like woodsmen; maybe rangers from the nearby forest, in town to resupply and sell deer pelts and basilisk teeth. There were plenty of people just like them who passed through Kymal every day.

But something about them felt… off.

Kynan forced his attention back to his fresh mug of ale. He was jumping at shadows. Or, worse, jumping at chances to be a hero. His father had always accused him of that, of living with his head in the clouds. Of wanting a life out of the legends. Those sorts of lives were for the rich and the supremely gifted. Kynan should have been content to be an apprentice blacksmith.

Maybe he would have been, if his father wasn’t such a bastard.

He shook his head. Well, he was here. Living the life he had always wanted. He hadn’t managed to get far from home, but what did that matter, when home had been utterly destroyed?

By the time the old woman finished her drink and stood up, Kynan had gone through another mug and a half of ale, and was pleasantly buzzed enough that some of the edge had been taken off his dark thoughts. He glanced up idly to watch the old woman leave, vaguely disappointed he hadn’t learned the slightest thing about her.

He threw another glance at the men. One of them was definitely watching the old woman. Sharp eyes tracked her across the room of the bar, to the door.

One beat. Two beats. Then one of the men stood up and stretched. His movements were unhurried, but just a little bit too… purposeful for someone casually deciding to leave after a few hours at the bar. A little too quick.

He slipped through the crowd with ease and was out the door in a few moments.

The second man headed for the doorway that led to the alley a few moments later.

Kynan was on his feet and heading to the door before his reason could catch up with him.

Stepping into the street, he caught a flash of the first man disappearing around the corner, into the alley that the back entrance of the tavern led into. Kynan quickened his pace, slipping through the semi-crowded street as quickly as he could without causing a commotion. One hand as already reaching for one of the daggers he wore on his belt.

The alley was shadowed, lit only by the faint flicker of a lantern outside the tavern, but Kynan made out two figures immediately: the man he had followed, who was pulling a crossbow from his belt, and the old woman, a few steps ahead of him, ignorant of the danger.

The other man would be wait further down the alley, somewhere in front of the old woman. There wasn’t time to look for him now.

“Look out! Ambush!” Kynan shouted, and threw a dagger at the first woodsman. Just as he shouted, the man’s hand jerked outward to aim the crossbow between the woman’s shoulders.

Kynan’s dagger hit him just as he pulled the trigger. His hands were jolted, and the crossbow bolt went wide, glancing off the old woman’s shoulder before pinging against the stones of the neighboring building.

The woodsman spun with a yell, reaching for the dagger that had buried itself in the back of his shoulder. Blood was already beginning to soak the back of his tunic, but he seemed more enraged than angry. In the low light, Kynan could just make out the gleam of his eyes as he reloaded his crossbow.

Kynan dove into the fight, trying to pull out his shortsword. The damned thing stuck in its scabbard for a moment, and he had to duck to the side to avoid getting a crossbow bolt in the neck.

Finally he managed to yank the shortsword from its scabbard. He lunged at the man, trying to stab him before he could have another chance at reloading the crossbow. The blow glanced off the side of the man’s armor, but Kynan couldn’t afford another one; there were two men in this fight, and he doubt the old woman would be much help, even with her dagger.

He hit the ground and rolled, springing to his feet beside the woman. The other woodsman had come out of the shadows, and had a crossbow levelled at her chest. At Kynan’s sudden appearance, his focus wavered for a second.

That was, apparently, all the opportunity the old woman needed.

She pulled… something from her belt, and pointed it at the second woodsman. In the shadows of the alley and the heat of the moment, all Kynan saw was a flash of metal in her hand.

Something exploded, loud enough to make Kynan’s ears ring, and the second woodsman fell. Something had torn a chunk of his chest away. He didn’t rise.

Kynan froze, stupefied for a moment.

He realized his mistake a moment later, and ducked. A crossbow bolt grazed the top of his left shoulder. In his panic, he lost hold of his shortsword, and had to scramble for it, knowing that each second brought him a second closer to a painful death. But the old woman spun, and the thing in her hand made an ear-splitting noise again, and something- someone- hit the stones of the alley behind him with a stifled scream.

Just like that, it was over.

Kynan blinked, staring at the two dead men in the alley.

The old woman cursed. “Damn. I was hoping to get something from them.”

Her voice sounded… different. Sharper.

In the low light, Kynan hadn’t noticed at first, but the old woman had… changed. In fact, she wasn’t an old woman at all.

In place of the wizened old matron he had spoken with in the tavern was a much younger woman. She looked somewhere in her late thirties or early forties; her hair was black, and pulled back, and her clothing looks much finer and in better repair than it had before. There was nothing feeble or wavering about this figure; her body was lithe, with all the tension of warrior wound up in a tight coil, ready to snap.

Her eyes were the same light shade. In the low light of the alley, they seemed almost to gleam with their own glow.

One of her hands was gone.

In the other hand, she was holding a familiar weapon.

“That’s… that’s a gun,” Kynan blurted, before he could stop himself. The momentary pride that he had recognized the exotic weapon- one of the weapons wielded by Vox Machina, so he should know it- was overwhelmed by embarrassment, and then horror.

Surprise flashed over the woman’s features. “How do you know… Never mind. It’s not important now,” she said, glancing at the bodies on the ground, and then at the mouth of the alleyway, and then at Kynan.

Kynan saw the woman doing the arithmetic in her head, weighing the factors. Her eyes went from the knives at his belt, to his face, to the gash on his shoulder.

He could already hear inquisitive calls, and the heavy footfalls of guards approaching the alleyway. The woman’s gun- how had she gotten one, anyway?- wasn’t exactly a subtle weapon. It wasn’t an indistinct weapon, either, but if Kynan was found in the alleyway with the two murdered men, one of his daggers still stuck in one of them, it was unlikely the guards would look too deeply into the strange nature of the woodsmen’s other wounds.

Kynan stood there for a moment, totally helpless. Again, at the mercy of someone of greater skill and power.

The moment stretched, and snapped, and the woman lowered her gun.

“Come on,” she said, stepping towards him. Her good hand reached out to him, and plucked a dagger from his belt. Kynan stepped back, lifting his shortsword, ready to defend himself, but the woman’s attention had turned away from him and back to the bodies.

She flipped one over quickly, and drove the dagger into the circular wound in his chest. She plunged the dagger in again and again, until the damage caused by her gun’s ammunition was entirely covered up. Kynan moved to do the same to the other corpse. His limbs seemed to move without any input from him; it just seemed a natural thing to do.

Covering up murder.

Well, he had helped kill at least one of them.

The deed done, he stepped back, and looked to the woman. She glanced down at his work, and nodded. “Come on,” she said, reaching out and seizing his wrist. She pulled him further back into the alley, and pulled him into a small alcove. As Kynan watched, her image shimmered and then vanished. A voice whispered some incomprehensible syllables, and something tingled against his skin. When he looked down, his body, too, was invisible.

A shudder ran through him. He could feels his hands, and knew where they were… and yet he couldn’t see them. The dissonance was making his head spin.

Footsteps made their way down the alley, and several loud voices called out. One of the investigating figures was holding a torch, throwing the alleyway into much brighter light.

Kynan’s heart hammered in his throat. Every instinct was screaming at him to run, to run and not look back. But his clothing was splattered with blood, and he was at least complicit in the death of those two men. These flimsy illusions were his best bet.

The woman was utterly silent. Her light eyes were focused on the light further down the alleyway. The spot where the crossbow bolt had scraped her shoulder was beginning to bleed more heavily, the blood taking on the appearance of dark water as it coursed down her stone-pattern coat, but she didn’t seem to pay it any mind.

They waited there an agonizing amount of time, listening to the guards confer about the two bodies in the alley.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, two of the guards left to get someone. The woman tugged on Kynan’s wrist, and they crept further down into the alley.

In only a few paces, they were in another alley, and heading back towards the main streets of the town.

Before they stepped out of the alley, the woman murmured something and made a gesture with her hand. Her form shimmered and shifted into that of the old woman Kynan had met in the tavern before.

The woman glanced back at caught him staring. Her face twisted into a smirk that was entirely unsuited to the kindly, grandmotherly face she wore.

“Care for a drink, boy?” she said. “Perhaps we can help one another.” Her smile widened. “You certainly know certain things… and I’d guess that I could give you a thing or two you’re seeking too. Especially if you’re looked for justice for your city.”

“What?” Kynan said. He followed her out of the alley. In the street, they didn’t draw a second look, but he couldn’t help eyeing each guard they passed nervously.

The woman sighed. “We’ll speak of that later.”

Kynan blinked, but didn’t question it. He could, he realized, just stop following the woman. He could leave. She couldn’t risk picking a fight with him in the middle of the relatively busy street, especially if she was trying to keep her unusual weapon a secret.

But… it wasn’t as if he was doing anything important.

He followed her.

The woman’s name was Anna Ripley.

That was the only answer he managed to get from her at first. Questions slid off of her like water off the back of a duck, and each stab he made at asking just what she wanted with him was parried and deflected back. In the low light of her rented rooms, her gaze was softened from flint to warm silver, and between the sympathy in her eyes and the stinging liquor in the flask she shared with him, it wasn’t long before he told her everything.

In light of Emon’s destruction, his own personal tragedy was almost comedic, but it still was painful to recount. Even with the pleasant burn of Ripley’s alcohol in his throat and the accompanying haze settling over his mind, he was acutely aware of how ridiculous his story was, and was sure, any minute, that Ripley would start laughing.

But she didn’t. She listened to him talk in silence, her expression attentive but closed-off, giving no clue to her reasons for asking. The inn room had only one chair, so Kynan had forgone chairs to settle in front of the fireplace. Ripley was settled in the chair, looking at easy and regal as a reigning queen.

She had put up her illusory persona for a time, when they made their way through Kymal, but in an alleyway she had dropped it and walked to rest of the way to the inn wearing what Kynan had to assume was her real appearance.

He finished his story with “And I’ve been in Kymal ever since.” Ripley was silent, taking a sip from the flask, and then handing it back to him. Kynan took a sip self-consciously. He had put too much himself on the line for the silence to be comfortable.

At last, Ripley laughed.

Kynan flinched, color rising to his face. He had a hundred arguments to defend his actions ready, but before he could start any of them, Ripley began to speak.

“Don’t get the wrong idea, Kynan. I just find it amusing that the mistakes of Vox Machina led our paths to cross. Fate is not a force I generally reckon with, but perhaps it had a hang in our meeting.” Ripley ran her thumb thoughtfully over her bottom lip, her eyes turning from him to the fire. “You were led astray. The heroes you worship- Vox Machina- aren’t heroes at all.”

“What do you mean?” Kynan asked, giving her a hard stare.

In the comfort of the inn room, he had his first opportunity to really get a good look at her, sans illusions. Her pose, chin resting in her singular hand, gave him a good view of her. Her dark hair was shot through with gray, and a few strands of hair had escaped their tight queue in the fight. They fell around her face, giving her a bit of rakish look. Her piercing eyes were framed by thin lines that spoke of her age and shadowed her dark circles that spoke of little sleep.

Nothing in her appearance gave much of a hint as to who she was, or what she did. Nor was there much in the room in way of possessions. Most of the furnishings looked like they had come with the room; the only thing that looked out of place was a toolbox sitting on the table at the far corner, with a few strange tools and pieces of equipment scattered around it, and a few metal fragments. Perhaps she was a tinkerer of some kind? That would fit in with the unusual weapon she carried.

“What I mean,” Ripley said. “Is that you’ve been duped. Don’t feel too bad about it- you’re hardly the only one. I believe Vox Machina have gotten quite good at it, over the years. They’ve perfected the art of looking like heroes to advance their own agendas.”

Kynan blinked. “Their own agendas?” he said. His feelings on Vox Machina were… complicated, but… “They saved Emon. They saved the Sovereign, too. I mean… you can’t really argue that they’re heroes.”

“Certainly not, if you believe that,” Ripley said. “But don’t you find it convenient? One tragedy after another strikes, giving this group of nobodies just the right sequence of opportunities to work their way into the good graces of Emon?”

“I… guess I didn’t really think about it,” Kynan said. “I mean… that’s the way it is. Anyone could have come along and saved the city ot the Sovereign. I mean, not anyone. But any hero. It just happened to be Vox Machina.”

“And yet, when these dragons attacked the city, Vox Machina did… what? Did they rush to the aid of the citizens? Did they drive back the dragon threat?” Ripley said, then shook her head. “No. Isn’t that strange? The heroes of the city, letting dragons stroll in and set the place aflame?”

“Well… nobody knows for sure what happened yet,” Kynan said, trying to keep his voice even. Trying to pretend it was someone else’s city, someone else’s hometown. “For all we know… they could have tried to defend the city, and been defeated. Killed.”

“That’s true,” Ripley said. “If they were any ordinary group of heroes, that would be perfectly plausible. But as it happens… I know more of them than you do.” Her hand went to her belt, and she pulled out her gun. Kynan’s heart jumped into his throat, but she made no threatening moves with it, just held it out to show him.

Kynan knew very little of these strange weapons, but this one looked like a marvel. It was all streamlined, straight lines of steel. The butt and sides were inlaid with a smooth-looking stone, so white it almost seemed to glow in the lamplight. The overall aesthetic of the weapon wasn’t overly ornamented, but it was… beautiful.

“You know what this is,” she said. “I heard you say it.” Her lips curled into a smile.

Kynan nodded. “Vox Machina calls them guns.”

“Percival- you know him?- named them that. He built the ones he carries,” Ripley said. “He’s… responsible for their invention. After a fashion. It’s more complicated than I originally thought.” Her eyes lit up for a moment, and Kynan got the impression that there was much more she could say on the matter. “But that’s not the issue at hand. They’re fascinating weapons, they really are. In the hands of a talented fighter- like Percival or myself- they are terrifyingly effective, but in the hands of a talented fighter, any weapon can be. Their real strength lies in their simplicity.” She produced a small metal ball from a pouch at her belt, and showed him how the gun was loaded. “With a bit of tinkering, they could easily replace crossbows. They’re easier, and quicker to use, once one understands the basics. And they don’t require the raw strength of a bow. Arm a small force of men with them, and give them rudimentary training, and they would be a problem for any creature that comes to threaten civilization.” Her smile widened. “Or an enterprising magic-user.”

She tipped the ammunition back out of the gun. “Of course, that’s all in theory. In practice, these inventions are a bit too unreliable, and far too rare. But if dozens of inventors and smiths had their hands on the instructions, it wouldn’t be long before these things were a boon to humanity.”

Kynan nodded, not quite following her. “What does this have to do with Vox Machina?”

Ripley put the metal ball back into the pouch at her belt, and holstered the gun. “Percival’s a smart man,” she said. “He’s thought this through just as I have. He knows the power he holds, and the potential that is has for humanity and civilization. He’s probably dreamed up things far more ambitious and clever things that could be done, if he spread his inventions. But he’ll never do that. He’s more interested in holding that power for himself.” She smiled. “He’s a coward, and an egotist. He thinks he can use these inventions for his own gain, and then take them from the world when they no longer serve him.”

“The rest of them are the same. They wear the guise of heroes because it serves their purposes, not because they want to help humanity. All the good they have done up to this point has been only to gain the trust of Emon, and of others,” she said. “They gained that trust to betray it. They are the people responsible for the destruction of Emon, and all the other civilizations that are now falling under the attack of these dragons.”

“Your interaction with them was no coincidence. What sort of man nearly kills a boy to make a point?” she said. “Not a hero. That’s the actions of tyrant, someone in love with their own power.”

As she spoke, she leaned closer to him, resting her chin in her singular hand. Her pale eyes reflected the flickering hearth in front of them, picking up the oranges and yellows and reds of the flames. He had heard Sovereign Uriel speak before, at Winter’s Crest and other yearly events; he had always thought that the Sovereign was the epitome of charisma, with his regal appearance and his deep voice that could reach the back of a crowd without the aid of magical projection. The Sovereign could give a speech like no other.

But all of those speeches, all of those grand words and regal posturing seemed hollow in comparison to the way this woman talked.

She told him more of the details of Vox Machina’s scheme; she played for him what she had overheard from a spying spell she had on one of Percival’s guns, which he had stolen from her. Kynan was spellbound, listening to the familiar voices of the heroes he had loved talking of their responsibility for the destruction of Emon.

There was only one question left in his mind.

“Why are you telling me all of this?” he asked at last, when she was finished talking. “Why did you bring me here?”

Ripley’s expression was suddenly serious. “I will be honest, Kynan,” she said. “I’m not a hero. I’ve done a thing or two in my life that most people wouldn’t be proud to recount. But I’ve decided to stop Vox Machina, and that, at least, is a heroic goal. But I can’t do it alone.” She ran her thumb over her bottom lip, looking at him inquisitively. “I need someone with fast hands, a light tread, and a mind keen enough to keep up with me,” she said. “I’m not a hero… but if you help me thwart the tyranny of Vox Machina, you could be.”

Kynan considered her words, turning them over in his mind. A hero… That was all he had ever wanted to be. All he had ever strived to be. It seemed almost too easy.

“I’ve been betrayed before,” Ripley said, drawing Kynan’s attention back to her. Her posture was still relaxed, but there was a weight in her expression that hadn’t been there a moment before. “I’ve had my trust broken many times. I know this endeavor will require a great number of people- perhaps it will require bringing one of my ideas as to the use of guns to fruition. In doing that, I will likely have to employ people I can’t and won’t trust.” She sighed. It was a tired sound. “In order to pull this off, I need someone someone I can trust. Someone to watch my back.” A faint smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. “You fit those criteria.”

“I… I do?” Kynan asked.

“You came to the rescue of a rather rude old woman who you didn’t know,” Ripley said. “That says something about you.” Her smile widened. “You’re not bad with a blade, either.”

“So, what do you say?” Ripley asked.

Nobody had ever seen Kynan like that before. He tried to think it through, but his mind was already made up. Staying in Kymal, eking out an existence trying to be an adventurer, compared to being a hero? Getting revenge for Emon?

… Going with Ripley?

His mind flickered back to the moment in the alley, in the moments between the fight and their escape. In those moments, Ripley had leaving him. How close had she been to this heroic, naive boy take the blame?

He looked up at her. Silhouetted in the faint light of the hearth and the candles, her eyes were molted like metal. Each etched line of age and smudge of weariness around her eyes stood out in definition. Her eyes met his.

Someone to trust…

She wasn’t claiming to be a hero. She was a force of vengeance, a destroyer of tyrants, a leveler. She was the sort of person who would weigh the lives of people like him against her own life, against the continuation of her quest, and, if convenience demanded it, would throw people like him aside for the sake of herself and her goals.

But she had judged him, and found him useful. Trustworthy.

“I’m yours,” he said, and held out his hand to her.

#critical role fanfiction #critical role fanwork #kynan leore #anna ripley #critical role fic #critical role #corvid writes #my fic

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