#i also asked her not to call people zesty and then had to explain that

[virgina-woolf]

one of my students called something “really cunt” and i said “WHOA, language” and she sincerely asked me “oh, is that a bad word?”

she had only ever heard the phrase “serving cunt” and had no idea what it actually meant

[that-sw-writer]

If you’re taking requests, hear me out...

Kylo x reader

Disney princess Mulan style. Reader is in the knights of Ren but no one knows she’s a girl! Kylo is the first to find out maybe by walking in on her changing or something idk whatever you think would be the best. I thought of this after reading intoxicated which both parts were awesome by the way!!

I’m so sorry that you’ve waited about a century for me to finish this... but I tried to make up for that by including a zesty meme to go with this lmao

Also I’m glad you enjoyed intoxicated, it’s literally one of my favourite things I’ve ever written!! I hope this one shot is what you had in mind!

MASTERLIST

Paring: Female Knight of Ren!Reader/Kylo Ren (Mulan inspired)

Word count: 4582

Warnings: mentions sex and kylo ren is briefly a bit of a dick

(context for the dank meme will be provided when you read)

I’ll Make a Man Out of You

You were struggling today, more than most months. Usually you managed to get through stomach cramps with a few painkillers, but today you were practically keeling over, and it hadn't escaped the notice of the other Knights of Ren.

"Nuren? You okay?" Kuruk had asked you in the midst of sparring, noticing that your movements were sloppy as you tried to ignore the crippling pain in your stomach.

"Yeah, I'm just feeling a bit under the weather." You tried to play it off, your voice coming off modulated due to your helmet. You were the only knight who always wore their helmet, the others took theirs off to socialise but you had to keep your secret safe, so you had told them from day one that you had taken an oath to never allow any sentient being to see your face, something you knew was common amongst the Mandalorian clans.

It was a solitary life, lying every day to the people whom you cared about more than anyone else, but you were in too deep to tell them to truth now. There had never been a woman amongst the Knights of Ren, and that wasn't likely to change - at least, not as far as anyone knew. You would just continue to miss out on drinking and eating with your brothers, being forced to sit in the corner and try your best to join in with their merriment.

Even your leader, Kylo Ren, had no idea of the truth. For years now you had concealed your gender from them, but you had never intended for it to go this far. You had joined the knights when they had come to your homestead seeking your brother, who was Force sensitive. He hid when they had shown up and you sent the knights on a cold trail to look for him, but after they left you had considered things. You were desperate for an escape and for adventure, plus you were also Force sensitive, so you had decided to drop everything and chase after them in place of your brother. You had concealed your identity by donning simple armour, which was soon replaced once they had taken you on board.

You took on the name Nuren, which meant 'woman' in your planet's dialect - hidden in plain sight, and you had never looked back. Sure, nothing about it was easy, but you wouldn't dare quit, you quickly found yourself enjoying the training, missions and most importantly: the brotherhood.

"Perhaps we should call it a day." Kylo raised his hand to stop the sparring, his gaze unsurprisingly fixated on you. "Nuren, go to the med-bay if you need to." Despite being a terrifying Supreme Leader to most, Kylo Ren cared about his knights, although little did he know that you had just gotten your period - there was nothing seriously wrong with you.

Over the years you had learnt a lot about concealing your emotions, particularly those where Master Ren was concerned. There were thousands of people in the galaxy whom you could have fallen for, but you had to choose to fall for Kylo Ren - the one man you could never have, for more reason than one. Most obviously: he thought you were a man who could under no circumstances remove his helmet in front of other people. But aside from that, even if he did know the truth, how could it ever work? You were one of his knights. Although admittedly, you had spent a lot of time alone at night dreaming that it could work.

"That's okay Master Ren, I think I just need to rest." You stood tall as you spoke to him, despite the sharp pain that was still twisting your stomach.

"Very well." He nodded, dismissing you all, but you could see the look of concern still on his face.  Curse these cramps for ruining training for you.

You retired alongside your brothers after that, still trying to ignore just how much pain you were in, but they were unsurprisingly teasing you about it.

"One little stomach ache takes Nuren down? This is the same guy I once saw singlehandedly take on a Nightsister right?" Cardo gave you a bolshy nudge and the others all laughed.

"He's right, I knew the food they served up on this base was crap, by I didn't realise it was that crap." Trudgen then jested, and you laughed along with them, knowing that this was just how they behaved.

"You think I eat that shit?" You snorted as you all made your way back to your shared common area.

There was a large communal area where the knights all socialised together and attached were seven bedrooms, each sealed behind private blast doors.

"Since we're done for the day, who fancies a drink?" Ap'lek asked the moment you all stepped foot inside, moving over to produce multiple bottles of beer from the fridge.

The others all mumbled in agreement, moving to take off their helmets and make themselves comfortable. Despite knowing that you would decline, the knights never failed to ask you to join them and they had no idea how much that simple gesture meant to you, let alone how much you wanted to accept it.

"How about it Nuren? Nothing like alcohol to cure sickness." Ushar grinned, but you reluctantly shook your head.

"I think I might just turn in and take a nap." You said, your brothers all bidding you farewell before you disappeared behind the doors that lead to your quarters.

As soon as you were alone, you shed yourself of the heavy helmet, as well as the outer layers of your armour. Carrying around that much weight on your body whilst on your period should have been a crime.

Rather than collapsing onto the bed, you moved to dig through your drawers where you had a stash of painkillers hidden for these exact moments - hopefully they would at least give you a few pain-free hours so you could spend some time with the other knights before they got too drunk.

Swallowing down the pill, you knew it would take some time to kick in so you opted to soak in a warm bath until them, that usually helped. From your refresher you could vaguely hear the others all laughing and having fun together. It pained you more and more every day have to be such an outsider, but you feared that if you revealed the truth to them they would never accept you.

You tried not to let your thoughts dwell on negative things whilst you bathed, but it was hard not to. You had everything you ever wanted - but you didn't have it, as far as anyone else was aware your brother was the one living this dream. Could you really go on like this forever? The answer was: yes. You had no choice, you would die with your secret one day.

You eventually left the refresher, a towel wrapped securely around your body. Thankfully, this time your painkillers were actually working, so with any luck you'd be able to join your brothers and simply watch them drink and wish you could join in - just as you always did.

When you pulled on your undergarments you wrapped tight bandaging around your chest to flatten it. It was beyond painful to wear every day, but definitely easier than explaining why you had breasts...

You tugged on your slightly baggy trousers, and your even baggier undershirt. You found that clothes with less shape worked better. However, before you could sweep your hair back into a clean bun and put your helmet on, you heard the blast doors to your room open.

The knights knew to never walk into each other's private quarters unannounced, and there was surely only one other person who could possibly be in the knights' common area.  But why would he be in here?

"I wanted to check that you're okay-" Kylo began, clearly not focusing as he entered.  But when his voice trailed off you knew that he had laid eyes on you.

With your heart in your mouth, you slowly turned around to confirm your worst nightmare. Kylo Ren stood staring at you, his mouth slightly agape. Clearly he hadn't known what to expect, but this was far beyond the parameters of his imagination.

"I can explain-" you quietly said, your voice coming out as nothing but a mere whisper. Your heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to burst out of your chest.

Clearly just as unsure how to process what he had seen as you were, he simply turned on his heel and fled the room, quickly marching out of the knights' common area altogether.

There was no time for you to panic, you forced yourself to take a deep breath, pulled your helmet on and took off after him, still only wearing your under-layers. As you dashed out, your brothers paid you little mind, they were too caught up in their conversation to notice the commotion.

"Master Ren, wait." You called to him as he was striding ahead of you.

In one sharp motion he turned to you, pushing you against the wall, his gloved hand clasped around your neck where he could see wisps of hair falling out from beneath your helmet.

"I want you to leave this base, and pray that I never see you again." He was cutting off your airwaves, but nevertheless you still attempted to choke out.

"M-Master Ren, please. I-I had to lie." You tried to explain, your voice coming out as a  strained croak.

"And now you have to leave." He hissed, the betrayal in his tone was clear. Without another word he released you and went storming off down the corridor again.

You had no idea what to do, or who to turn to. Perhaps it was just best to heed Kylo's warning and leave. You feared that if Kylo's reaction had been nothing short of death threats, you would be met with a very similar reaction from your fellow knights, but part of you also thought that they deserved to know the truth before you abandoned them.

Besides, now you had nothing left to lose.

When you arrived back in the common area, the knights were all lost in their merriment. Clearly a few drinks down, you could tell they were slightly tipsy, although perhaps that would make this easier.

"I need to tell you something." You planted yourself in the middle of the room, and were immediately met by jeering, something you would've normally embraced and enjoyed, but now your reaction was stone cold.

"Hopefully you're telling us that you're ready to have some fun!" Cardo bellowed, "c'mon Nuren, loosen up a bit."

"No." You grumbled, "I wish I could." Before you open yourself up to more teasing, you reached up and unlatched your helmet, silently revealing the truth to the knights. "You came to my planet looking for my brother, but you got me instead." You quietly explained, dreading the reactions that were to come.

It was so silent that you could hear a pin drop, and part of you feared that they would kill you on the spot for lying to them. Slowly, your brothers rose to their feet, seemingly sobering up in that moment.

"So for all these years, you've been pretending to be your brother?" Ushar asked, his voice level, so much so that you couldn't read his emotions.

"Yes." You hung your head in guilt.

The ominous silence fell once more, and you couldn't bear it any longer. However, as you opened your mouth to speak, a stifled laugh broke through the crippling silence.

You whipped around and saw Kuruk with a hand covering his mouth. "Sorry it's just-" before he could finish there were more uncontrollable laughs escaping his lips. Clearly this laughter was contagious, because before you knew it it was spreading throughout the room.

"I-I can't believe you said you had taken an oath t-to not take the helmet off!" Ap'lek struggled to get his words out through the laughter, "a kriffing oath!" He exclaimed, leaning on Vicrul who was beside him, as they tried to regain their composure.

"This... is really not the reaction I was expecting." Entirely unsure of what to do, you just stood and stared at them all as they continued to crease in fits of laughter. But after a few moments you found yourself unable to avoid the contagious laughter, but you of all people really had no clue what you found so funny.

You were all in stitches for another few minutes before it died down, and despite the circumstances the laughter made you feel as though some of the weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Knowing that your fellow knights weren't angry at you was a much needed relief.

"So why not tell us the truth?" Vicrul eventually asked once they could form coherent sentences.

"The Knights of Ren was no place for a woman." You sighed, throwing yourself down on the couch with your head in your hands, "I wish I had told you earlier, but I always thought you'd be angry - I really didn't expect the laughing fit."

"C'mon Nuren, you should have known us better than that. No matter what, we're brothers... well, now you're our first sister." Ushar chuckled, giving you a solid pat on the back.

As the others echoed his sentiment, you appreciated more than anything that they weren't treating you any differently just because of your gender. There was still that sense of familiarity, and the brotherhood... it was just a shame you couldn't stay.

"So why tell us now?" Ap'lek eventually asked.

"Master Ren-" your tone immediately became more downcast as you remembered the gravity of the situation, "he found out the truth, and he told me to leave. I thought before I go I at least owed you all the truth."

Glances were exchanged, before Cardo spoke up, "no, we won't let you leave."

Your heart nearly burst out of your chest at the gesture, but you couldn't allow yourself to fall into that safety blanket. "Master Ren will have my head if I stay. I betrayed him, and you all know how he responds to betrayal."

"But you forget Nuren, you're a Knight of Ren, and we never leave a brother behind." Trudgen said. "...Or a sister." He then hastened to add.

><><><><><><><><><><><

It had only been a week since everyone had found out the truth. Whilst your fellow knights actually gotten on better with you now that you could drink and socialise with them, the same could not be said for Kylo Ren.

Firstly, he was less than happy about being undermined when it came to you leaving the base. Now you were a constant reminder of his own empty threat. But more importantly, what you didn't realise was that he wanted you gone more than ever because he was developing an inexplicable attraction to you. The worst part was, it wasn't just physical. Whilst he would sit moping in the corner he could see the way you were around the other knights - they clearly adored you, and the fact that a female presence was actually having a positive effect on the group made it even harder for Ren to despise you. He saw the way you could light up a room, and he couldn't help but want you. He was angry for allowing himself to feel such a way, and that unfortunately manifested itself as anger towards you.

The other knights, meanwhile, couldn't possibly look at you in such a way. Perhaps had they met you for the first time as strangers, they would have relentlessly flirted with you as they did so many other women. But you had all spent too much time together in too many awkward situations to ever see each other as more than adopted-siblings.

You were so relieved to finally be able to relax around the knights, but there was always that tension whenever you were around Master Ren. You had been desperately trying to prove yourself to him to show him that you were the same knight you had always been, regardless of your gender - although deep down you knew that it had nothing to do with the fact you were a woman, it was the fact that you had lied to him...

Although for Kylo it was none of these. He knew he had overreacted when he'd first found out the truth, and now he was relieved that the other knights had vouched for you and made him change his mind and let you stay.

You were all sat in the common area, your legs casually thrown over Trudgen's lap for comfort. You each had a drink in hand, as was standard practise for you all on evenings when you had nothing else to do.

"I seriously don't think I can go much longer putting up with him constantly glaring at me." You scoffed, discussing Kylo's apparent hatred of you.

"Sure he used to do that, but now I don't think he's glaring... I don't know, I'm just not getting the same angry energy off him that I was last week." Ap'lek pondered, shrugging his shoulders.

"What do you mean?" Your brow furrowed, but Kuruk was quick to catch on.

"No, Ap'lek's right. He's not glaring, he's staring." He playfully smacked his forehead, "I can't believe we didn't spot it sooner."

"Holy shit, you're right." Vicrul was next to chime in.

You all had a low-level bond through the Force, so you knew pretty much what they were thinking, but that didn't mean you agreed with them.

"Oh come on, Master Ren won't even talk to me anymore and you think that means he likes me? He literally had his hand around my throat a week ago." You snorted, rolling your eyes.

"Yeah, well maybe you enjoyed that." Trudgen teased you from the other side of the sofa, suggestively wiggling his eyebrows, but you swiftly threw a cushion at his face to shut him up.

"It makes so much sense the more I think about it." Ap'lek laughed, shaking his head, "he won't talk to you because he doesn't know how to process emotions. Come on Nuren, when have you ever seen him flirt, or even be nice to a woman?"

Before you could reply, Vicrul summarised it, "it's because he doesn't know how!" At that they all hollered and nudged each other in agreement.

"You're all out of your minds," you laughed, "he wants me dead, not-" before you could finish your sentence with a crude joke, the blast doors flew open to reveal the man himself, and you immediately all fell silent.

It wasn't necessarily unusual for him to come and join you all in your living area, but he hadn't done so since he found out the truth about you. Not to mention, he had picked an awful moment to enter.

"What? You all look like someone's died." He huffed, helping himself to a drink before moving to sit down.

You meanwhile did the opposite and removed your legs from Trudgen's lap and stood up, retiring to your quarters without another word. You didn't particularly want to put up with his glaring, or 'staring' as the knights had now deemed it.

There was nothing to do in your quarters, and you immediately realised that you had just stormed off and now were stuck, so you made a point of dressing in some simple training clothes and heading back out to walk through the common area with your helmet in hand. You pulled it over your head before leaving the rest of the knights alone with Kylo and went off to your training area to run some drills alone.

In your absence, and after their apparent revelation, the other knights decided that that it was time to address the elephant in the room with Kylo.

"Master Ren, you know Nuren thinks that you hate her, right?" Ushar said, to which Kylo just tried to play it off with a nonchalant shrug.

"I don't hate her." He said, his tone not wavering. He certainly didn't want any of them finding out the truth behind his cold behaviour.

"Trust me, we know that." He replied, in a very pointed tone which made it clear that they had worked out the truth about Kylo's feelings, "but she doesn't know that." He then added.

He clearly wanted to protest, but it was obvious that the knights could see right through him and his nonchalance.

They simply all stared at him, expectantly, until eventually Kylo exhaled a heavy sigh, taking a long drink before speaking again. "Fine, I get the point." He rose to his feet, "I'll go and talk to her." He reluctantly agreed to do what he had been dreading. He had no idea how to process any emotion that wasn't anger.

As soon as he left, the knights began discussing every possible outcome. Little did you know that they had practically planned your wedding, since they had decided that not only would you be good for Kylo, he would be good for you.

Blissfully unaware of everything that had just happened, you were alone in the training room swinging a blunt training weapon against a dummy, who was taking the brunt of your frustration. You had left your helmet by the door.

When the blast doors opened to reveal a sheepish looking Kylo Ren, you were less than happy - and it was written all over your face. Nevertheless, you stood to attention.

"Master Ren." You nodded, "I thought you were with the others." You desperately wanted to replicate his bad attitude and make a cutting remark, but you knew that simply wouldn't help your case. No matter what, you had to show respect to your leader.

"I came to talk to you." He said, his tone coming out much darker than intended.

"With all due respect Sir, if you want me to leave that badly, it's the other knights you need to talk to - they're the reason why I'm still here." You relaxed your stance and went back to swinging at the dummy as you spoke.

"That's not it." He said, walking around to stand behind the dummy so he was in your eye-line, "I'm glad you're still here." He eventually admitted, practically through gritted teeth. Every muscle in his body had stiffened.

You stepped back from your training, brow furrowed, "you are?" You hated the way your heart rate increased at his words. Through it all, you still couldn't deny your own attraction to Kylo Ren, perhaps that was why his cold attitude had been so hurtful to you.

"Yes." He plainly said, having no inclination of what else he could possibly say.

"Then why are you acting so off with me?" You hesitantly asked, at which point he looked down at his feet. This had been the question he was hoping you wouldn't ask, because he was afraid to answer it.

"I-" he began, before sealing his lips again. Whatever words he wanted to say simply wouldn't form in his mouth. He was truly tongue-tied, but thankfully his body decided that it was ready to move again - actions did tend to speak louder than words.

Boldly, he moved towards you and captured your lips in a heated kiss, pouring all the words he couldn't say into this gesture.

You were stunned to say the least, your training weapon falling to the floor. But it wasn't long before your lips responded and returned the kiss. Kylo's arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you flush against him, your hands resting on his chest.

However, it didn't take long for your brain to catch up and you briefly pulled away from his lips for long enough to speak. "So you... like me, like me, and you tried to show me that by being miserable around me?" You asked him, just needing to clarify his odd behaviour.

Suddenly feeling much looser now that he had made a move, he responded with a smirk, "did it work?" He teased.

"Not so much, I think you perhaps need to try being less of an asshole in future Master Ren." You responded with a snarky remark, knowing that you could definitely get away with teasing him now.

"I think from now on, just Kylo is fine." He exhaled a short laugh and leaned back in to kiss you.

It wasn't long before you either had to break away, or have sex right there in the training room and you both silently agreed that the latter wasn't really a practical option.

"Your quarters?"  You prompted, still tangled in his arms.  Really this whole scenario still felt surreal to you.  You had crushed on Kylo Ren for longer than you cared to admit, then when he had found out the truth about your gender he had reacted less than favourably... and now suddenly here you were.  Only he could react to developing feels for you by acting as though he hated you.

His face dropped and he grimaced slightly, "we-uh, we can't."  He sheepishly explained.

"Why not?"  Your brow furrowed, immediately thinking that taking him back to your quarters would be quite an embarrassing affair with all of the other knights being in the common area.

"There are technicians in there repairing Lightsaber damage."  He said it casually, but you could read between the lines well enough to know that 'Lightsaber damage' meant that he'd had a tantrum and trashed his own quarters.

"Are you brave enough to come to my quarters?"  You smirked up at him with an eyebrow raised.

"I think you're overestimating how much they'll care."  He said, and you definitely couldn't fault his optimism, but you knew that the knights most certainly would care.

With the steamy moment beginning to waste away you hastily walked side by side back to the Knights of Ren's common area.  You had your helmet on again as you walked, but as soon as you entered you removed it, and it still felt surreal that you now had that freedom.

"Nuren, is that you?"  Kuruk's voice was the first to call out, none of them turning around from where they sat, still with drinks in hand.

"Yep, it's me."  You quickly said, ushering Kylo into your quarters in the hope that none of them would notice.

"Did you and Master Ren kiss and make up?"  Cardo asked, clearly teasing you, but chose to turn around at simply the perfect moment to catch you in the act.

Halfway through the blast doors to your private quarters you and Kylo froze, and a sheepish grin rose up onto your lips.

"Oh so you literally kissed and made up."  Ushar then said, the smirks appearing on all of their lips foreshadowing some relentless teasing.

"Well... kinda."  You tried to play it off, but before you could make any poor excuses, Kylo simply pulled you through the doors and had his lips on yours as they shut behind you.

As you guided him back towards the bed, you could hear the knights outside loudly wolf-whistling and jeering.

You had only wanted to be able to take your helmet off comfortably around the knights - now you not only had that, you had Kylo Ren too.  In exchange for that you could definitely put up with the teasing from your brothers.

[tyk-tyk-tyk]

(its iwontknock, i wish tumblr would let us send asks from second blogs) on my post you said your first d&d character was the lodger and i am SO curious about that!! can i ask more about that, like what his class was? id love to hear about your portrayal!

Well, I hope my fellow players don’t pay attention to this blog lol. If you are GO AWAY YOU NERDS Tw for child death and unethical experimentation juuuust in case, I know Knock-Knock has a lot of that regardless but if D&D folks see this too I want there to be a heads up

Looong post under the cut, adding tags in a sec

I’m actually kinda thrilled that you asked, we haven’t started the reboot yet, but hopefully we will soon! When I first started playing him, I was hella inexperienced and a little shy, so I didn’t quite get to fully do what I wanted with him & had a HORRIBLE backstory, but I’ll give a few details anyways. Then I’ll explain what I’m gonna do with his reboot haha

To also save some confusion, I named The Lodger “Bormot” as that’s what some of his voice files are called, it’s just a Russian name that means “Mumble” :)

I made him a half elf druid! It was a lot to tackle at first, but I really felt like it fit his character. Whereas druids are usually blessed by the Earth and such yadda yadda, I made it so that the Earth borderline cursed him by being in the wrong spot at the wrong time. He comes from this long line of elf intellectuals, and still does his worldology stuff out in the middle of nowhere. After he gets cursed though, his home starts dying and he pulls a “Well, this isn’t good!” and runs away and ends up meeting the party. Did I mention that he’s a half elf that doesn’t believe in magic bc of his sheltered life? More on that later. Some fun stuff that ended up happening is he literally met half plant people (my DM had no idea LOL) and Bormot proceeded to have a panic attack and casted Call Lightning by accident. We were like level 15 btw I came in LATE He also managed to talk down a dragon despite his low charisma score (I think I actually rolled well and my DM took pity on me, a new player)

The ‘rebooted’ version of him is still largely the same, a half elf druid, just with more of a fleshed out story. His Grandfather is kind of this disgraced elf who hates magic since he thinks his peers rely on it too much, they don’t use their braiiiiins. So he then raises Bormot’s (half elf) dad to reject magic, and continue their worldology science that’s Definitely A Real Science I Swear. Bormot’s dad gets married ofc and decides to live in the middle of nowhere where he can conduct his science in peace with his family. The wife gives birth to a beautiful baby girl shortly after! While on a hunting trip, Bormot’s dad shoots at something he thinks is a deer, but ends up being an old & weak God. Oops. So he does what any responsible scientist does and vivisects the thing before it dies, taking lots of samples of its blood. This kinda makes him lose his mind as now there’s real, physical evidence in front of him that higher powers and magic might be a pretty valid thing. So of course he does what any highly responsible father does and puts some zesty ichor (God Blood) into his child just to see what happens! She dies, unfortunately, as the powers that be of a god isn’t something a really tiny elf girl’s body can handle. The mother enters grief and becomes more overprotective. having no idea that her husband accidentally killed their child. She gives birth to Bormot a long while later. Daddy-o doesn’t want the wife to know about his experimentation since she’ll whine about MoRaLs and refuse to let him inject more blood into their son, so he keeps it a secret for as long as he can. When Bormot is older, he tries again, and it works! ... Sort of. Now the poor kid is having constant nightmares and hallucinations, and is having trouble both sleeping and meditating. He’s freaked out about the potential magic that he has, since his dad said that magic isn’t real, and his dad is definitely always right and doesn’t lie! He grows up like this his whole life. Bormot’s mom does actually end up finding out about it and gets into an argument with the dad, so the dad does what any responsible husband would do and kills her after it escalates. At least he feels guilty for this one. Her body is buried next to the sister’s near some pine trees so the roots will hopefully grow over them and conceal the bodies more. Bormot has no idea he even had a sister, and his dad lies and says that his mom left. When Bormot’s old enough to live on his own, his dad peaces out to conduct more research and tries to prolong his own death, even if he has a lot of years left. Bormot starts the game around when he leaves his house, wondering where his dad ran off to & wants to learn what the hell is up with his hallucinations and Not Real Magic.

I left out details since this was already getting so LONG, sorry mobile users Anyway the TLDR is Bormot’s dad makes a lot of bad decisions that leads to Bormot being a druid hermit that doesn’t believe in magic, and his journey with his friends is all about realizing that he’s more than his worldology ‘legacy’ and that magic is indeed real and it isn’t bad to embrace it. But we’ll see if he makes it to the end or dies to a goblin or something

Thanks for reading my self indulgent D&D rambles, I can give updates if anyone is ever curious about it later

[i-did-not-mean-to]

School AU - Chapter 2

So, just to be thoroughly done with this experiment, here's Bilbo's POV of the same scene.

There it is :D It was worth a celebratory little story...:)

Love you all <3

“Go to school”, they said, “It will be fun”, they said.

Bilbo rolled his eyes at his own naïveté. Of course, it would not be fun to change schools in the middle of the year.

The headmaster, a fearsome old man with a face like a death mask, waved him out of the office before he could even protest; they had decided to put him into a class with all the other “maladjusted” kids.

He was not maladjusted; he was merely new in this school.

“You will be fine.” The gentle old man, his headteacher as far as he had understood, promised him and the mere fact that this was the kind of thing he needed to be told, did nothing to ease his nervousness.

“They got a new teacher already today and now you, really, what an exciting day for the class.” The man went prattling on and on. Bilbo had no interest in being a novelty and he felt increasingly like he was a sacrifice or chum about to be thrown into the cold water, figuratively, physical education was not on the program for a few days at least.

Small mercies.

The headteacher rapped his knuckles against a closed door and then just shoved his head in without waiting for the teacher to accept his brusque announcement. He informed her, quite casually Bilbo found, of the fact that there was a new student and shoved him into the classroom before just leaving.

Bilbo looked at the woman in front of him; her eyes were dreamy as if she had been torn from a particularly pleasant reverie and her mouth curved into a warm smile almost immediately.

She made an off-hand comment about how all the students were new to her and Bilbo felt less alone instantaneously; he had been afraid to find himself confronted with a hermetic group of people who had all grown up together and who had no interest in getting to know a pudgy youngster who talked too much.

The headteacher had called her “Kira” and Bilbo had already noticed that they went by their first names here, so he greeted her as politely as he could and enquired if he had not missed too much of her class.

It would be hard enough to stitch together what he had seen in his last school and what was expected here, he didn’t want to start by lagging behind right away.

“I’ll fill you in.” A voice called out and he flinched. Again, Miss Kira’s presence was a comfort and a rock, for she twitched as well, but probably not for the same reasons. Except if she was a pervert; she didn’t look like one.

Turning his head ever so slowly, Bilbo searched for the face that went with the most beautiful voice he had ever heard: deep and slightly gruff, it had rippled down Bilbo’s spine like a current of silk and pure electricity.

Please, let him be ugly as sin, please, he begged his guiding stars. He did not want another debacle, not on the first day of school, not in a new environment.

Of course, that had been too much to ask and the face belonging to the voice turned out to be just as charming. Figures!

Bilbo had thought of himself as a rather lucky kid for the longest time, until he realised that it was voices and faces like the one just a mere stone’s throw away from him that set his insides on fire.

Another boy was sitting next to “the voice” and he was now ousted with a hearty shove while Bilbo tried to shuffle those feet he hadn’t quite grown into yet along the narrow empty space between the benches. It would just serve him right if he landed straight on his face in front of that…being.

He looked much more like a man already than a boy, a fact the parts of Bilbo he had definitely grown into already noticed with vivid interest. Feeling the treacherous heat crawl up his neck and into his face, Bilbo approached the bench, getting his feet tangled in his rucksack as he sat down on the now empty chair.

The chair was disgustingly warm, but he didn’t mind; he couldn’t even tell with certainty that his own body was not on fire in this very second and he was the one making the scratched plastic melt.

Oh Lord, his own ass was the last thing he wanted to think about now when that face was so close to him that he could smell the fresh, slightly zesty smell of the dark hair surrounding it. Good, he had been mocked mercilessly in his old school for the way he wore his own hair, but it was really nothing compared to those luscious, dark waves…

BILBO! He called himself to order. His polite instincts kicked in and he rearranged his slack jaw into what he hoped would be a pleasant smile.

The boy frowned at him, a mask of guarded suspicion, and Bilbo’s heart immediately mellowed. Here was someone who had known hardship, he knew instinctively, and it made him redouble the brightness of his smile. Had he ever seen eyes that blue? They were hard and glistening like shards of ice, but Bilbo felt that they might warm up to summer lakes in time.

Not on your first day of school, he tried to remind himself, but it was already too late; his mouth had run dry, and his stomach twitched with that all too familiar twinge of admiration. He was a boy who knew simple pleasures: a sunny meadow, a good meal…and a face like that.

Clearing his throat, the other boy shoved over a piece of paper, filled with chicken scratch writing. As soon as he pried his watering eyes off the boy’s face though to glance at it, he retracted it again, slamming a solid forearm down on the page. “Might have some spelling mistakes.” The boy mumbled. Ah, the idiot class, Bilbo remembered, more interested than ever.

“My name is Bilbo.” He spoke gently, putting one finger on the edge of the page and trying to pull it loose from under the massive bulk of the other one’s arm. “Thorin.” He rumbled, sighing a little. “Really.”

“Yes, why wouldn’t it be your name?” Bilbo chuckled. “Mistress Kira didn’t believe me.” He explained in a low voice, finally letting go of the sheet and allowing Bilbo to read through the notes.

There were indeed one or two hasty mistakes, but Bilbo was astonished to find that Thorin seemed to have chronicled the class faithfully. “If you don’t…if…” He stammered and Bilbo looked up, thankful for the quality of the notes because he knew that he was not processing any of the explanations Thorin was providing in that low voice.

He sounded like rough skin on silk sheets, Bilbo thought, another painfully inappropriate thought.

“Hmmm, thank you, Thorin. These are some good notes.” Bilbo mumbled hazily, his heart giving a sudden jerk when a tiny, thin-lipped, careful smile started tugging at the corners of Thorin’s mouth. Pride and awkwardness mingled on his face and Bilbo was quick to reactivate his sunniest smile in return.

Mistress Kira seemed to have given up on her teaching meanwhile; she was engaged in a low conversation with an awkward blonde boy who seemed to have been drained of all colour. The burly boy who had made room for Bilbo said in a challenging tone that nobody liked them, and Bilbo felt Thorin stiffen beside him.

As he looked over, he could see those beautiful eyes grow ever harder and colder in genuine fright and, when they snapped for a second into his direction, Bilbo felt a shiver of apprehension rustle through him like the North wind blew the leaves off the barren branches.

Looking up, Bilbo once again felt like Miss Kira was a godsend, for he could read the same horrified incomprehension in her eyes that he felt surging within his chest. She looked positively indignant when the class challenged her on not screaming at them, and Bilbo could see her hands clench and unclench rhythmically.

“How do you feel about dwarves?” Bilbo whispered to Thorin to distract the boy from the pain setting his gaze aflame.

“Dwarves? Yeah, they’re cool.” Thorin tried to hide his confusion, but failed miserably, which made Bilbo chuckle.

“Thorin and I will do a presentation about dwarves!” Bilbo announced to the teacher who nodded, slowly, her gaze heavy and warm on their faces. Bilbo knew that she had understood his meaning: I am here, and I am ready to roll up my sleeves and be a part of this.

Thorin’s head whipped around, his eyes huge now and, for a second, Bilbo could see behind the carefully closed-off façade of a slightly constipated and very ill-tempered young man; he saw the kind of desperate hopefulness that never failed to break hearts. Had Miss Kira seen that as well?

“Will we?” Thorin asked. “We shall, your notes tell me that you’re a smart fellow. You can come over to my house if you want to and we can work on it…or…we can go to the library.” Bilbo could have swallowed his own tongue in embarrassment; he had been overzealous once again.

“I’d invite you to mine, but…there’s a lot of people.” Thorin replied with a small chuckle that betrayed discomfiture but also a good deal of genuine humour. How interesting it would be to see more of that, Bilbo thought.

“Sure, as you wish.” Bilbo shrugged. He caught Miss Kira’s eyes and realised that he had stared at Thorin with maybe a tad too much intensity…somehow, he felt like Miss Kira saw everything. As it should be. She was a teacher after all.

She was not teaching though, she was observing the class with calm, interested eyes, trying to get a feeling for the children within it. Only, they were barely children, Bilbo was almost certain that he was one of the younger ones.

It was a small-town school, maybe they mixed different ages, he did not know, but it felt strange, nonetheless.

He was curious who that Mister Smaug had been and why he could sense a hint of pain in his classmates’ voices when they spoke about him. Miss Kira had picked up on that as well, he saw, as her own eyes darkened, and her lips quivered.

Healthy anger flashed in her eyes when she repeated that this man was gone. I am here, Bilbo heard between the lines. She was. And so was he.

Bilbo wracked his brains to find something witty and funny to say to that wondrous boy next to him who had relapsed into brooding silence, as if the mere mention of their former teacher was enough to ruin his mood.

“Did he really hate you?” Bilbo found himself asking and immediately, he was met with a withering stare.

“Yes…Things have happened and my family and I…we’re not the best regarded in this town.” Again, that flash of mortification that made his face look like it was carved from stone.

“Well, I am a newcomer and I’ll make up my own mind.” Bilbo said reassuringly. “And I don’t feel like Miss Kira hates you.” He added with a soft smile.

“Yet.” A resignation too old and deep in one so young hit Bilbo square in the chest and his heart gave another painful twitch; had he been less mindful of common rules of decency, he would have put his small, pudgy hand on top of the broad, callused one resting just a few inches away.

A knock interrupted their conversation and another teacher rushed in. He was impossibly tall and intimated that he had been worried that Miss Kira had been slaughtered by the class. Weird, Bilbo thought, as far as he had understood, it had been the class who had been subjected to the abuse of their former teacher and not the other way around.

He had been so focused on Thorin’s shy smiles and overwhelming beauty that he had only half-listened to accounts of a damaged car. What was a damaged car compared to a damaged soul?

Even though she was considerably shorter than her colleague, Miss Kira interposed herself between him and the class, shielding them with her own body and this instinct of a woman reminded Bilbo so much of his own brave mother that it made him miss her even more.

“Asshole.” Thorin muttered under his breath with barely held-back indignation.

“Miss Kira didn’t believe him. Listen, she volunteered to stay here.” Bilbo tried to assuage the flaming, helpless anger in the other boy’s face. “They’ll not keep her for long if she’s to be exposed to us all the time.” Thorin prophesied darkly.

Bilbo had no idea what had happened here, but, hitherto, Miss Kira seemed perfectly fine. She was presently reading a book and chuckling to herself.

“Mistress Kira…” The shy blonde boy handed her a drawing he had made, and she gushed over it for a few minutes, slowly drawing out confessions from him: he was a good athlete, swift and enduring, but he was nowhere near Thorin’s or Dwalin’s level when it came to brute force.

Dwalin must be that other tall boy, Bilbo thought, eyeballing the dark-haired grump with interest.

“Do you not intend to give us something to do?” That very same person then asked the teacher gruffly.

“Can you not find something for yourself to do?” She gave back pleasantly and turned back to her book, but her fingers gripped the cover a little tighter than before.

“He didn’t mean no offense, Mistress. It’s just…Mister Smaug didn’t like to see us idle.” The smaller boy in the last row provided an explanation. Bilbo thought that he looked incredibly gentle and maybe just a little shy.

“I shall teach you during my teaching hours and I can teach you now if that is your desire. Nonetheless, I think we should go out into the courtyard and get some fresh air. As we’re all bound to be here, we might as well have some fun.” Miss Kira closed her book and shoved it back into her satchel before getting up.

“You want to take us out?” The blonde boy, Legolas, seemed thunderstruck.

“You’re almost grown-ups, are you a flight risk?” Miss Kira cocked one eyebrow and pointed at the door.

“Bilbo and me, we’ll see how we fare with you lot, won’t we?” She turned to him, and Bilbo blushed again, hadn’t that been his exact thought?

He nodded enthusiastically and sniggered when she gave him a discreet wink before tilting her head into Thorin’s direction. “Why don’t you all tell me something about you?” She asked.

Silence.

Bilbo was not about to tell her that he was an orphan and that he had changed schools after a deplorable incident with another boy at his last placement. Only a few months more and he’d be officially emancipated and grown-up.

Maybe, he’d leave school and everything behind and start a new life somewhere else…

“Why don’t you tell us how you ended up in this miserable place to try to teach those everyone has given up on?” Dwalin hissed with unveiled cockiness.

So, that was why he had been put in this class, Bilbo thought, the headmaster thought him damaged beyond repair.

The teacher seemed to hesitate, then she said quietly: “Things have happened…and it is true that I have not chosen you, but I’ll keep you.” She smiled. “If they offer you a normal class, you’ll say: Nay, I’ll stick with the dumbasses?”

Clearly, Dwalin was not about to believe her and again, Bilbo could feel Thorin tense up beside him as they stepped into the courtyard and moved towards a big tree in the middle.

“No, I will not say anything of that sort. I’ll say thank you very much, but no thank you.” Miss Kira’s voice was sharp-edged now. “And why is that?” The blustering air seemed to falter and Dwalin looked a little deflated now.

“Because I don’t hate you and no matter how much you try to get me to, Master Dwalin, I shan’t.” She shrugged and sat down against the tree, taking out her book again and continuing to read as if nothing had happened.

“She’s something.” Bilbo whipped around, had Thorin actually laughed? Yes, yes, he could clearly see a row of white teeth between the stretched lips that looked so sinfully inviting to him.

He also could see the rest of the boy now, even though looking at it was the single worst idea he had ever had in his whole life it seemed to him.

Thorin was tall, a good deal taller than himself and he looked as solid as the tree their teacher was leaning against now.

“All brawn, no brains.” Thorin muttered when he caught the appraising gaze of the new student.

“Yeah, that’s what you want people to believe so they’d feel less intimidated, huh?” Bilbo replied automatically before he could reign in his loose tongue. Thorin stiffened, rubbing the back of his neck absent-mindedly before admitting: “No, that’s what…”

“If you bring up that Smaug again.” Bilbo warned him and Thorin fell silent. Sitting down on the patch of lawn surrounding the tree, Bilbo patted the grass next to him and was pleasantly surprised when the other boy plopped down immediately, a little too close for comfort maybe.

“Miss Kira and me, we are thoroughly fed up with your former teacher already, aren’t we, Miss Kira?” Bilbo felt the need to make this clear and to stand up for his potential friend and definite crush.

“He sounds like a brute.” Miss Kira replied without looking up from her book, but Bilbo could see her mouth curl into a smile behind the pages.

“You know nothing about us.” Thorin mumbled under his breath, honest regret tinging his voice.

“Then tell me, what makes you all so terrible?” Bilbo gathered his courage and placed his open palm on the clenched fist of the boy sitting next to him. “I am just not nice. Blondie is shite at reading. Dwalin has brawls, quite a few of them. Bombur is just fat. Redhead is from the wrong side of the tracks.”

“You’re very nice.” Bilbo demurred, which got him a wide-eyed stare from Thorin. “You think so?”

Bilbo nodded. “Ah, we’re just the kind of people other self-respecting people don’t like to look at.” Dwalin interjected as he passed by with a wooden plank that had detached from one of the nearby benches.

“Look at?” Bilbo thought that maybe, they had switched codes and language somewhere in the middle of the conversation because he could not understand what was going on.

“We make people uncomfortable.” Thorin supplied softly, brushing his long hair out of his face and pressing his lips into a thin line. “Miss Kira, do you know what’s going on?” Bilbo asked helplessly, because yes, Thorin’s looks made him uncomfortable but certainly not in the way suggested here.

“No idea, never seen more handsome teenagers in my life.” Miss Kira replied disinterestedly, her eyes still glued to her book. “Ah, I am not alone then. Are we in an alternate universe?” Bilbo replied, happy to have at least one other person here who was not part of this grotesque play of innuendo and stubborn misbelief.

“Have you seen my father?” Legolas spluttered and then pointed miserably at his scrawny frame hanging from a tree branch. “I have, what does that matter?” Now, Miss Kira looked up, questioning.

“We’re just…” Ori sighed. “You’re “just” nothing at all; you are what you are and, as far as I am concerned, there’s nothing wrong with that.” Miss Kira said with an air of finality and returned her attention to her book.

When the bell rang, Thorin gathered up his things and made to leave.

Bilbo wondered if he should say something; sucking on his lip, he searched for the right combination of words that would sound casual but also express how grateful he was for the care the other boy had taken today.

“Do you want to walk with me?” Thorin asked a particularly nice pebble sitting right next to Bilbo’s right foot.

Bilbo waited for a few seconds to see if the pebble would reply, after all, in a world where people would NOT want to look at Thorin it was about as probable that pebbles were alive and capable of speech.

“Or not…see you tomorrow.” Thorin mumbled hastily and turned away.

“Wait, wait…” Bilbo called out, not taking the time to put on his rucksack which now slapped painfully against his legs as he hastened after the tall, retreating figure. “I do, I do.” He exclaimed breathlessly.

“There are not that many roads around here…so…” Thorin explained sheepishly as they walked along the main road.

“Hey, idiot!” A stunning girl caught up to them, slinging her arms around Thorin’s neck and planting a wet kiss on his cheek. “How was the new teacher?” She asked as he slung his arm under her behind and lifted her apparently effortlessly up.

Mortification and a fierce jealousy rose in Bilbo. Of course, what had he expected? A boy that gorgeous would obviously have a girlfriend just as beautiful and boy oh boy, she was a marvel if ever Bilbo had seen one. Her hair was luscious and intricately braided and the way she laughed expectantly up at Thorin put the very sun to shame.

“We have a new student.” Thorin grumbled, still carrying the girl in one arm as if she weighed nothing at all.

Her radiant face turned to him, then edged sideways in a slow, deliberate motion. “Oh, he’s cute.” She half-whispered.

“Dís…” Thorin hissed warningly, and she lifted both her hands. “I’m just saying…Such a cute little nose and those warm, greenish eyes…” She purred into his ear.

Bilbo was scandalised to see Thorin pinch the girl in the thigh rather unceremoniously.

“Hi, I’m Dís.” She extended her hand to Bilbo over Thorin’s shoulder. Annoyance washed through Bilbo’s befuddled mind, not only was she stunning, no, she had to be nice and charming as well. So much for being a lucky boy.

“Bilbo…” He said, mustering up his polite smile that was just a tiny bit wobbly around the edges.

When he saw his street coming up, he muttered: “This is me. I’ll leave you with your girlfriend then, see you tomorrow.”

“Funny, I was about to say the same thing.” The girl grinned and plopped heavily onto the pavement when Thorin just let go of her. “Ouch, you idiotic moron of a…” She hissed and brought her fist down on his upper arm, which had next to no effect at all on the sturdy limb.

“That piece of wood remotely resembling a human is my brother.” She explained to Bilbo, and he could not suppress the sudden relief that, no doubt, showed on his face if her broad smile was anything to go by.

“He certainly looks sculpted.” Bilbo sighed and then, realising that he had said that out loud, he hurried towards his street. To his utter dismay, other footfalls seemed to follow his hasty retreat.

Damn!

“Hey, new boy, Bilbo, wait…” The girl, Bilbo realised, her voice a song and her steps a flurry of featherlight touches on the stony ground. “Wait, wait…So, you think my grumpy brother is cute, yeah?”

Her arm snaked into the crook of his as she sauntered alongside him, grinning up at him as if they had been friends forever. “He’s not really very dumb, he just likes to pretend he is, so people leave him alone.” She chattered on.

“I had figured as much, yeah.” Bilbo murmured, overwhelmed by the intrusive curiosity of the young girl.

“Leave him alone, Dís.” Thorin barked from behind, that note of utter mortification and humiliation making his voice sound even rougher and deeper than before. “You think he’s cute?” The girl whispered confidingly now.

“He’s…yeah, he’s cute.” Bilbo stammered under his breath, unable to withstand the onslaught of her good-humoured questioning. Did it even matter? It was obvious, everyone could see how fucking gorgeous that boy was.

“Want to go have an ice-cream with me and that cute brother of mine?” She invited him.

Bilbo looked at the house where his elderly cousin was certainly already waiting for him and then back at that glorious new classmate who just stood a few paces away, shuffling his feet awkwardly and skewering his bouncing sister with glares. It was good to make new friends, Bilbo told himself, it was what his cousin had encouraged him to do and if those friends turned out to be the most contrarily grumpy, awkwardly shy and blindingly handsome boy and his sister, who would fault poor Bilbo for it?

“Yeah sure, let me just…” Bilbo just threw his rucksack into the front yard and let Dís lead him back up the road.

@lordoftherazzles So, there's the second chapter with a bit more hurt than anticipated and a tiny bit of pining...If you're looking for me, I'm buried alive somewhere in the forest :S

[namfine]

Motherlode | Namjoon x Reader | Gold Rush AU | Part 1

❂ pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader

❂ word count: 5k

❂ summary: Following the death of your father in 1849, you travel across the United States in search of finding gold in California. There you stumble upon a young geology professor eager to find his way in the world as well. 

❂ tags: 18+, smut, virgin reader, first time sex, oral sex (fem receiving), foreplay, light dirty talk, falling in love, mutual feelings, gold rush au, time period au, alternate universe, outdoor sex? (they’re in a tent so?), smut with plot

❂ part: 1 of 2

Part 2

❂ a/n: Hello everyone, Admin Zesty here! This is the first in a two part series of a new alternate universe set in the California Gold Rush with our dearest Namjoon. I’ll update this and post the next chapter when it’s finished. Hope you enjoy!

- ☆.｡.:* Zesty .｡.:*☆

The sunrises out here really were beautiful. That gave you something to look forward to each day, at least. You urged your horse forward, eager to catch up to the rest of the caravan. It was just a few more miles until you reached the border of California and then a bit more to reach the American River. You had made it. For the first time in a long time, you felt a glimmer of hope.

The trek across America had been harder than you expected. You had been so overcome with grief from the death of your father that you had leapt at the opportunity to find riches in the unexplored west after James Marshall found that massive gold nugget. New York had nothing for you now, it’s only purpose serving as a stark reminder that you had no one left in the world to look out for you. Only mean neighbors who trusted your bookshop owning father on his peculiar way of raising a young lady.

“I do oppose young ladies learning how to read, it’s quite unbecoming.”

“If you keep encouraging those debates, Mr. Y/L/N, you’re going to raise her to have a mind of her own!”

“Ugh, did you see what Y/N was wearing around the store the other evening? Pantaloons!”

You shoved down the memories. Yes, leaving New York after the death of your father had been surprisingly easy.

The sun finally tipped over the horizon and flashed in your eyes. You pulled down your cap, careful to keep your hair tucked under it in an effort to block the sun. It was dangerous for a single young lady without a male relative or husband to travel alone. With no known family left, you had done the only thing you knew to avoid it: became a boy.

As a boy you were inconspicuous, you could easily slide under the radar. Men stopped paying attention to you and the streets were safer at night. Your last night in New York all it took was a pair of scissors and a quick raid of your father’s closet and you were ready to go. But now, five months into the journey, your hair was starting to get long again and you knew your face well enough to know that if you didn’t pin your hair, it would soon be easy to tell. You had lost your knife a few months back and sorely felt the loss.

“How are the pains?” A soft voice drew you from your thoughts and you turned to see the minister’s wife astride her sorrel mare beside you. As one of the few women in the group, she had the ability to move quietly when she needed to. She was older than you and had a kind face. Her and her husband were heading to California to spread the gospel of the lord and had been kind enough to let you tag along with their group on the journey. Most of which were practicers of religion or men hoping to find riches for their families. The caravan totaled to about 25 people and of them all, she was the only one that knew you were a girl.

She’d figured it out quickly, given the fact that your period the first month on the road had been brutal. She had recognized your pain, offered you some herbs, and didn’t ask any questions.

When you offered an explanation later, stating how you wanted the opportunity and safety only a man’s appearance could offer, she said you didn’t need to explain. That your reasonings were your own and she understood what would happen if you were discovered. Of the freedom that could be taken from you and the things that could be forced upon you in an instant.

And that was that. Your companionship had grown from there, simple but welcomed.

“They’re better,” you respond. “Thank you for the herbs.”

The woman smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Have you figured out what you’re going to do when you get there?”

You tightened your resolve and flashed her a smile. “I’m gonna kick the West’s ass.”

***

It turns out, the West’s ass didn’t want to be kicked. By the time you had reached the base on the American River parts of your group had dwindled down. The minister and his wife stayed with you and the other panners for a few days before continuing on their journey to San Francisco leaving you, for the first time on this journey, completely and utterly alone.

The base was huge, an expedition set up by a mean old man who called himself The Warden. What his real name was, no one knew. You had that in common with him at least, having kept your true name secret to all who you’d encountered.

It was now, standing in his massive tent surrounded by his men, that the sinking feeling of being a woman in disguise in a camp filled with rascals settled in. If any one were to discover you, god knows what would happen.

“How old are you anyway, boy?” The warden asked. He was standing behind his desk. On it was a map of the American with circles indicating where gold had been found. “You’re a scrawny fella.”

“Sixteen, sir.” 23. But tall, for a girl and well past marriageable age in your neighbors opinions.

The older man scoffed, stroking his mustache. “And you out here searchin’ for riches, son? Gonna blow it all on hookers and booze, I betcha.” The men around him laughed. You kept your face neutral.

“Something like that, sir.”

“Well,” he took a swig from the metal mug. “All walks of life are welcome here. We’re all runnin’ from somethin’ and searchin’ for the-” he held up a finger “-one thing that will help us escape.” He put down the mug and grabbed a piece of paper from his desk, careful to avoid smudging the ink on the map. “Sign here and you can start tomorrow.”

You looked at the paper. Lucky for you, your father had believed that everyone, regardless of gender should be taught to read. You couldn’t say the same for the parents of other girls your age. He had also taught you to be wary of a contract. “What is it?”

“An agreement, boy. You sign away 60 days of honest work to me, panning for gold and helping assemble my mine. After that, I’ll let you pan here for free. Anything you find, you keep.”

Seems fair.

“What if I find something before my days are up?”

He looked at you. “Then it’s mine. I’m letting you sleep here and eat our food, I gotta pay for it all somehow and aren’t we all in this for profit?”

Touche.

“Deal.”

***

The days were long and the work was hard. Regardless, you found yourself quickly settling into a routine at the camp. You started most mornings down by the river, panning for gold. The cool water managed to balance out the hot sun and compared to the noisy streets of New York, you were loving the sounds of the birds and the wind.

In the afternoons you would sometimes continue panning or they would send you into the mines to help clear paths. You hated it down there. There was something unnerving about going deep into the earth and digging into her crevices. The air smelled damp and the only light was the lanterns that were hung haphazardly along the walls. You tried to avoid this work as much as possible.

On the eighth day of your sentence your routine was broken by a disturbance on the outskirts of the main base. A young professor had arrived a few days earlier and you had paid him little mind, as did most of the other miners. Still, it seemed his time of going unnoticed was over.

“What did you say about my gold?” An angry man had the lanky professor by his collar and up against a tree, two of his friends closing in on either side.

The professor waved his arms in surrender, trying desperately to fix whatever it was he seemed to have started. You stopped along the path along with a few other panners to observe and a small crowd gathered shortly.

“I merely spoke the truth,” The professor said, his voice even and calm. “What you have there isn’t gold at all. It’s pyrite. You trading it for time off his sentence seems hardly fair considering it's pretty much worthless.”

You shook your head at his honesty in such a compromising position. What an idiot.

“Look,” The panner said, tightening his grip on the professor's collar. “ I may not have some fancy degree from some big college but I’ve been working these waters a lot longer than you, boy, and I know gold when I see it.”

“It’s an easy mistake to make, when you don’t know the differences. I hardly blame you.”

Your mouth dropped open. The men around you shifted on their feet, sensing a scuffle.

The man fumed. “Are you calling me a liar?”

The professor looked down at his collar at the spot where the man gripped his collar before tracing the man’s arm with his eyes slowly back to his face.

Oh god, you thought. Please don’t say it.

“I don’t think you’re a liar,” the professor stated.

Oh, good. He has some sense at least.

“Just an idiot.”

Here we go.

The man pulled back his other fist, his friends egging him on, ready to throw the punch. The professor shot another one of his goofy grins and this time you could have sworn it was in your direction. You stared at him in abject confusion.

“Stop!” A shout rang out across the group and everyone froze. “What’s going on here?”

You turned to see the warden fast approaching, his usual squad hot on his heels. “Men, release the professor and explain!”

The man holding the professor’s collar dropped it and the professor brushed off his shirt, giving him another small smile. “This here smart guy,” the assailant started. “Was accusin’ me of lyin’. Sayin’ that I was rippin’ ole Jimmy off with a piece of . . . uh. . .” he looked at the professor.

The professor leaned forward. “Pyrite,” he supplied.

“Ah, yeah,” the man continued. “Pyrite! He said I was rippin’ Jimmy off with a piece of this here Pyrite!”

The warden looked up at the heaven’s like he was hoping today would be his last day on earth. “Could I see the mineral in question?”

The man supplied the gem out of his pocket and handed it to the warden. The crowd stood on their tiptoes as he examined it, eager to see the verdict. The professor didn’t show any emotion, merely crossed his arms in quiet confidence. You studied his movements.  

The warden turned the piece over in his hands, examining the mineral before bringing it to his mouth and biting down. When he was satisfied he turned toward the assailant.

“The professor accused you of lyin’ not because he thought you were,” the warden began, startlingly calm. “But because he knew you were a FUCKING IDIOT!” The warden threw the stone against the tree, mere inches past the assailants head who cowered at the tone. “That is pyrite you imbecile!”

The crowd burst into conversation. Some laughed and others stated their opinions on the matter but your eyes stayed  glued to the young professor. He watched you for a minute in response before turning to address the warden who was explaining his position to his lackeys. You moved closer so you could hear better, eager to learn more about the strange man who had appeared on the base. You had to admit, he was handsome but the pretty ones always brought trouble.

“Gentlemen, this is Professor Kim,” the warden introduced the young man to his group. They all nodded and introduced themselves in return but you didn’t bother to remember their names. “He is visitin’ us from a University overseas. Here to assist in discoverin’ where to best find the most valuable of Earth’s metals. He’s a . . . uhh. . . geographer or somethin’,” the warden explained. “Studies dirt and the like.”

“Geologist,” Professor Kim corrected. “A mining geologist to be specific. I study the  extractions of mineral resources from the Earth.”

The group stared at him.

“Rocks,” he sighed, defeated. “I study rocks.”

A chorus of ‘Ahh’s’ broke out amongst the men. You stifled a laugh. You may not have traveled much but growing up in your father’s bookshop you had read a lot and even you knew what a geologist was.

“Regardless,” the warden continued, casting a dismissive hand in the Professor’s direction. “The higher ups seem hell bent on makin’ sure he makes progress in his work and comes out with as few - er - scratches as possible.”

Professor Kim tilted his head. “I would also very much appreciate that.”

“That being said,” the warden turned around looking over the crowd. “You there, boy!” The warden pointed in your direction. Surprised, you looked behind you. No one was there. You looked back at him, pointing at yourself.

“Me?”

“Yes, you,” the warden spat. “You’re to assist the professor during his time here. Make sure he has everythin’ he needs and most of all, make sure he stays out of trouble.”

The warden turned on his heel to leave, clearly believing the matter to be settled.

You chased after him, as the crowd began to disperse, struggling to maintain your composure and keep your cool. “Sir, with all due respect I need to be on the rive-”

“Look, boy, I don’t have time to deal with this. You heard my command,” He turned lowering himself closer to your face. He reeked of body odor and whiskey and you struggled not to cover your nose. “-and my command is law. You signed that there contract, you work for me. And I say: you’re to be assistin’ the professor for the rest of his time here, and that’s that.” He spun on his heel and was gone. In a few short minutes the crowd was fully gone, leaving only you and the young professor.

Defeated, you cursed under your breath, not sure what you had done to deserve this. You were supposed to be out here finding gold, getting rich, and starting a new life far away from your troubles in the East and now you were supposed to babysit some yippy foreign professor because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

You finally turned to face Professor Kim. He raised an eyebrow in your direction and flashed a big smile, unaware the damage he was causing to your patience. He was tall, wearing a simple loose long sleeved white shirt tucked into snug pants. He had enough sense, it seemed, to leave behind the suit jacket and hat but had chosen to keep the suspenders. You fought the urge to roll your eyes. Ever the gentleman.

“Look,” you addressed him directly for the first time. “I don’t have time to be your  babysitter. I need to find some gold and get the hell out of this shithole. So, I’d appreciate it if you could keep yourself out of trouble.”

He sized you up, eyeing your garb with an intelligence that was completely different  from the bumbling professor he had been mere minutes before. He  raised his eyes to meet your own and you struggled to not falter under his gaze.  His eyebrow quirked again, a sly smile on his lips. “You have quite the dirty mouth for a lady.”

You froze, fighting the urge to touch your cap. It’s still there, you’re okay. You could feel the wrappings on your chest and knew that they were intact as well. How did he . . .?

“I don’t know to what you are referring,” you kept your tone calm and cool.

“Don’t fret,” he responded, brushing off your glare. “I don’t think anyone else here has noticed.”

That did it. You grabbed his arm and pulled him along behind you, dodging the panners and workers that flitted about searching for the one thing that could make their lives less miserable. Finding a quiet alley between two tents you pushed him against the wall. The professor put his hands up in surrender, his eyes wide in surprise.

“Okay, talk,” you whispered. You were surrounded by chaos but who knew who may overhear. “How did you figure it out? Did someone tell you?” The minister’s wife?

He laughed, shaking his head. “No, no one told me. It’s just-”

You shook his shoulders, your brow furrowed. Here he was laughing when your future was literally at stake. “It’s just what?!”

He stopped laughing and looked at you. Really looked at you, his expression serious. “It’s just . . . you’re too pretty to be a boy. I could tell right away.”

Shocked, you released his arms and took a step back.

“It’s a miracle no one else has figured it out, really,” he continued. “Your walk is all wrong. You still walk like a lady, pretending there’s an invisible string that holds you up from your head. If you want to be believable, you have to walk pelvis first-” he demonstrated pushing his pelvis out and bending his knees before motioning at his stance “-like this.”

You snorted. “Well, it’s gotten me this far.”

“Well,” he replied, straightening himself up and brushing some dirt off his pants. It didn’t really help, he was still covered. “To be fair, you’re surrounded by idiots.”

You laughed. He was right there.

The professor held out his hand. “You can call me Namjoon.”

You looked at his outstretched hand for a second before relunctantly shaking it back.

“Y/N”

***

“So what is it you even do?” You asked bright and early the next morning. You had reported to Namjoon’s tent, as commanded, and stood there watching as he shoved some strange looking tools into his bag.

“My job,” he began, holding up a paintbrush. “Is to discover what minerals exactly are in the area around here and to learn as much about gold and how to find it as possible in the next few weeks.”

“And how,” you asked, watching him toss a few shovels into his bag. “Are you going to do that?”

“Well, my dear little guardian,” he tightened the latches on the bag and threw it over his shoulder, “why don’t you come along to find out?”

You followed him to a spot on the southern tip of a branch in the American river. From here the base appeared tiny and peaceful, the tents gently swaying in the breeze. It was another perfectly sunny day and you readjusted your cap to wipe the sweat off your brow  as you struggled to keep up. The professor may have appeared slim and studious but clearly, the man had some muscle on his bones because he was booking it up the trail.

Namjoon stopped when he reached a curve in the river far away from the other panners and plopped his bag on the ground.

“What do you know about gold, Y/N?” he asked, unlatching the bag to pull out a pan.

“That you can sell it and get a lot of money.”

Namjoon laughed. It was a pleasant sound that held none of the malicious intent you sometimes heard in the laughter of other men. Namjoon’s laugh was carefree and seemed to convey true joy. You liked it.

“Aye, yeah. You can indeed sell it and get a lot of money. Especially nowadays.” He dipped the pan into the running water, scooping up some of the grit down at the bottom and beginning to sift through it. “I was hoping you could tell me a bit more about gold. Like, where it comes from?”

“Isn’t that your job?” You remarked, sitting on a rock beside him, careful to avoid wet spots. He was mesmerizing to watch, the way his hands dipped in and out of the water, his long fingers searching through the grit when he thought he saw something that caught his eye.

“Come on, Y/N, give me something to work with here.”

You sighed, giving in. “A lot of gold is found in water. It’s malleable, hence why the warden bit the stone yesterday to prove that it wasn’t gold. Uhhh . . . it’s yellow?”

Namjoon chuckled as he made a selection from his pan. He held it up so that you could see the reflective deep yellow surface. The sun bounced off the metal making it hard to look anywhere but the gold that Namjoon had found in literally ten minutes.

“This,” Namjoon began. “Is true gold. Do you know how I can tell?”

You shook your head. Namjoon turned the rock over in his hands.

“One, as you already said, hardness.” He took a nail and flecked off a piece of the small rock. “See how it just scraped off there? That’s a telltale sign.”

“Second, smell. Pyrite sometimes has a slight sulfur smell when rubbed. Gold will not.” He handed you the gold. You turned it over in your hands before bringing it to your nose and inhaling. Nothing.

You met Namjoon’s eyes. “Nothing.”

“Third,” he continued. “Shape. Gold, as you can see is a small malleable lump. Pyrite, like the one yesterday, is larger and more cube-like in structure. More impressive to look at but, less money when sold.”

You nodded and handed the gold back to Namjoon. “How much would you estimate that piece to be worth? If you had to take your best guess?”

“Well,” Namjoon began. “I’m no jeweler. I’m better at finding the minerals than pricing them but if I had to hazard a guess . . . .huh. . . It’s quite a few ounces, at least. Honestly, quite a nifty little chunk there. I’d say possibly upwards of $500?”

Your jaw dropped open. “$500?”

Namjoon shrugged. “I mean, it’s a guess.”

“Holy shit!” That was more money than your father made in three months. You would know, you helped with the books.

“Well, anyway, that’s gold.” Namjoon shoved the gem in his pocket and stood up.

You darted up after him. “Wait, a second! That’s it! What are you going to do with that? Give it to the warden?”

Namjoon smirked at you. “I don’t work for the warden. I’m going to keep it. I need it for research anyway, that’s why I brought you here. Now, we study it.”

You stared at him. Shocked that he could care so little for the fiscal amount of the stone in his pocket. Namjoon, oblivious as normal, merely scooped his belongings into his bag and motioned for you to follow. “Come along, Y/N. We have a long day of documenting ahead of us.”

***

Life as Namjoon’s assistant wasn’t the worst thing ever. Most days would start with you both checking specific points around the river for gold, pyrite, and other expensive minerals. He would bring along a sketchbook and draw the most interesting ones or make a list of the scenarios in which they were found. You followed suit and eventually took over this part of the job for him, since your drawing was exponentially better.

If you were being honest with yourself, it was fun work. Namjoon was great company and always had a variety of fun stories to tell. You couldn’t believe the places he’d been, the environment in which he had grown up, and the people he had met along the way.

“Y’know,” he said one day after finishing a story about a strange magician he had met on the streets of Singapore. He  was bent over his desk, scribbling notes into a leather bound book. You were on the opposite side of the room, drawing some of the gold specimens you had gathered that day. The candles were low and the sun setting, providing a warm, evening glow inside the tent. You looked over at him, ink smudged on his chin and hair tousled from his messing. “You’ve had miraculous adventures yourself. Growing up in New York City? Traveling across the entire continent of North America, essentially alone, in search of a new future?” He looked up from his notebook, meeting your eyes from across the room. “It’s pretty impressive stuff.”

You shrugged, breaking eye contact to continue your sketch. “Not really. It was just survival.”

“That’s all adventures are, really,” he murmured, returning to his work. “Surviving.”

***

It was late one evening and the camp had finally quieted down. Namjoon had fallen asleep hours ago covered in a blanket in his favorite chair  next to the crackling fire while reading through some manuscripts. You were still awake, concentrating hard on a drawing you had started on a piece of pyrite the two of you had unearthed earlier. You were trying to get the cube like structure of the crystals perfect and it just wasn’t working.

Frustrated, you pressed too hard on your graphite snapping the tip. You flung it across the room with a noise of exasperation and nearly jumped out of your chair at the deep rumble of laughter that followed.

Your head turned to find Namjoon staring at you from across the room, his eyes half lidded with sleep and his hair in it’s permanently mussed state. “I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

He shook his head. “I’ve been up for awhile.”

“Why didn’t you say anything? I could have brought you some tea.”

“I like watching you work. It’s . . .” he seemed to be searching for the right word. “Mesmerizing.”

You averted your eyes to the floor struggling to keep the blush that had crept up into your cheeks from his view. You hoped he wouldn’t notice in the dim lighting. “I can’t imagine it’s all that interesting.”

“Believe me, it is.”

You met his eyes again and struggled to calm the rapid pace of your heart. When did Namjoon become so handsome? And why was he saying such things?

“Anyway,” you started, standing up from the desk. “It’s getting late and I should be getting to bed.”

“Would you like me to walk you back?” he asked, making to move.

You laughed. “Wouldn’t people find it strange that you’re walking your young male apprentice back to his tent late at night? Don’t want people to think you’re out here doing anything scandalous.”

He smiled at you. “Oh, I’m already a scoundrel in many ways, Y/N.”

You didn’t answer him but hid the smile it caused as you packed up your belongings and bid him farewell.

You pondered your relationship with him the entire walk across camp to your meager tent. With Namjoon, you could be yourself. He didn’t reprimand you for your use of ‘unladylike language’ or tell you to cross your legs when you sat. He also didn’t mind that you wore men's clothes or could outread him in a flat out race. He respected you enough to keep your secret and didn’t treat you any different when the two of you were alone in his tent, allowing you to assist in the work just as much as he.

It was amazing how fast acquaintances turned to friends in the West.

***

“I’m going into the mines today,” Namjoon announced one day, taking a long sip of his tea. He sat in a chair by his desk, flipping through one of his journals. You weren’t sure exactly what it was he was doing but you would be willing to bet money he was searching for some image of a cool rock you sketched a week ago.

“Why on earth would you willingly go into that shithole?”

Namjoon shot you a look before resuming his search. “That shithole, as you so eloquently put it, has apparently yielded some strange stone that the warden wants me to inspect. See if it’s worth any money.

You scoffed. Of course, the warden was searching for a profit, as usual. “Do you want me to come?”

Namjoon laughed. “Want? Yes. Need? No. You stay up here and keep checking the rivers for more pyrite or gold. See if you can find any more samples on the American. I won’t be long, and then I’ll join you.”

***

The hours passed slowly without Namjoon’s conversation. You didn’t think you would ever miss his incessant chatter about rocks and whatever cool facts he could spout on command, yet here you were. You were almost done checking the southernmost point of the American for any recent discoveries from the panners when the earth began to quiver.

You quickly gripped a nearby tree as the shaking intensified, small cracks breaking through the surface nearby. Men screamed as the earth let out another massive quake, and in the distance you could see the  tents swaying back and forth. You had felt some minor earthquakes on your journey over, but nothing as huge as this.

In a few seconds the earth settled, resuming her quiet existence, and you let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. You couldn’t wait to see Namjoon later and listen to him ramble on about tectonic plates and the earth’s molten core and whatever other nonsense you had grown fond of.

You stopped in your tracks. When had you grown fond of anything that ridiculous man did?

The realization of your feelings hit you like a wall and you barely moved out of the way in time as a group of men ran towards the camp.

“Hurry!” One of them shouts at you. “Pull yourself together, boy! The mine is collapsing! We need to get those people out!”

You blink, coming out of your stupor. The mine is collapsing?

Your eyes widened.

Namjoon is in the mine.

[rayonfrozenwings]

Waiting in the Freezing Dark: Chapter 8 - Illyrian Blades

Spoiler Alert: Contains references to ACOFAS.

Authors Note: So it’s been a very long hiatus, because Kingdom of Ash destroyed me and stole all my creative energy. But I have 5 new chapters that I will post soon. :D

A Nessian Fan Fiction: Characters all belong to Sarah J Maas and her book series A Court of Thorns and Roses. This Story takes place after ACOFAS. The story has Multiple POV’s, taking place in the Illyrian camp, Windhaven, Nesta and Cassian are living together at the behest of the high lord and lady of the night court. 

Chapter 8 - Illyrian Blades 

Previous chapters are here: 1, 2, 3, 4 , 5 , 6 7 and Masterlist here.

I have also put this on AO3: Series Link  :)

WC: 2538

Chapter 8 - Illyrian Blades Nesta

Nesta awoke slowly, sleep clinging to the edges of her eyes and assessed her surroundings, her bedroom stared back at her, that voice inside asking her, ‘where else would she be?’ It had become a habit, never sure of what was a dream and what was reality. It was surprisingly comforting to know exactly where you were and that you were safe.

Stretching like a cat in the sun, Nesta rose, grabbed her clothing and headed for the bathroom. She would avoid a bath today, using her washcloth instead, no point in torturing herself if she didn't have to. The small stash of perfumed soap she had acquired in Velaris was lasting well, one of the perks of leading a sedentary lifestyle - she needed ways to avoid being submerged each day and the zesty smelling soap did the trick. At least for now, she had an eternity to figure out how to have a bath.

Ready for the day, Nesta walked into the main room and remembered - he was gone.

The hollowness entered her again.

He was a big dumb bat! She didn’t need to feel this way. Grabbing her bag and book she took off and walked up the winding road Emerie’s.

Nesta had been reading the illyrian history book well into the night and early morning. Surprisingly it was more interesting than she thought it would be. A lot of statements rang false to her ears, but she couldn’t explain why except to say she knew that they were wrong. They say history is written by the victors and it seemed the illyrians won more than they lost, but the ways they won didn't seem to be accurately recorded. Lies fought for freedom, jumping off the page like they had been held against their will. A convenient facet of her power, finding things that didn't want to be found; taking notice of things that didn't want you to take notice, seeing the truth behind a glamour. The history book was captivating and something she would keep looking into and something that she would listen carefully to, find out what the truth really was. Maybe it was just a fantasy novel hidden in between the pages and had no history to it at all.

Female Warriors walked down to the training ring, Nesta eyed them up and down, chin raising in disapproval as she passed - a seemingly late start for them since they were supposed to be training with the males and they started at dawn. She couldn’t help but think that they were wasting an opportunity. One of them smiled at Nesta and the second one crashed into her shoulder while passing as neither her or the illyrian had given way to the other.  Nesta watched them go, silently cursing them and hoping they received their due in the training ring.

Their illyrian leathers appeared to be of an older style; older than anything she had seen Cassian or Azriel wear, clumsy and large. Possibly even made for the males as they didn’t seem to fit their bodies quite right. How on earth were they meant to train if their armor didn’t fit correctly? Nesta could feel her anger rise, females being treated as less than the males. Temper rising with the bile in her throat at the injustice.

The world tipped and the ground came up to meet her, a hand shot out and grabbed her, the smell of leather taking over her senses, protecting her from falling flat on her face. Nesta turned and looked to her saviour. A beautiful illyrian with warm brown skin and golden eyes was holding her still, the muscles corded in her lean arm from the effort. Nesta blushed and stood quickly, brushing her skirts down.

“Thank you,” she quickly huffed out, her heart still racing from her fall. The female just looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“Next time you really should look ahead - you know,” she made a pointing gesture ahead of her with her hand, “at where you are going.”

The smile she wore was brilliant, her perfect teeth gleamed and a pair of slightly elongated canines caught Nesta’s attention, like this warrior was about to devour her prey and Nesta struggled to take a breath.

“Or perhaps you rather like gawking at us all walking down the street? Are we really that damn attractive? I’ve seen a few good asses in my time, but none of these lot have what I would call a perfect one.”

Nesta’s shock flashed across her face, she hadn’t had the chance to meet many illyrian females as they were always busy with chores or training, Emerie was an exception as she didn’t train. It was the first time in a while that Nesta had no words. Her grey eyes wide and open trying to figure out the situation.

“Look, I can stand here and look stunning all day, but I actually have somewhere to be... and I’m already running late, so i’m just going to go and catch up with the others. I won’t mind if you watch me walk away.” She said with laughter in her voice and off she went down the street, with Nesta watching her go, still stunned in silence.

Emerie

Emerie had been waiting for Nesta to arrive all morning. She wasn't a gossip but needed to know how her talk with Cassian went, especially if she was going to ask him for a favour. Having Nesta and him on good terms would make it infinitely easier than if they were at war.

Mara had been in earlier, trying to persuade Emerie to join her in the training ring but it just wasn't convenient. Her friend just could not see it from Emerie’s point of view no matter how often she told her. She found it hard to see what held Emerie back, Mara had jumped at the opportunity to train, why didn’t Emerie? And although Emerie was technically in the same position, the shop and her ambitions meant she needed to bide her time. So Mara left and caught up with the others, Emerie tidied the shop and promised her that she would meet up later, which only made Mara grin as she skipped out the door.

The bell above the door rang and Emerie turned from her cleaning and thoughts, Nesta was standing in the doorway like a plank of wood. No expression and body rigid.

“It’s not that cold today Nes, it’s warming up. Stop being a drama queen.”

“I just… I’m just trying to think”

“Think?” Emerie laughed.

“I just, I don’t know what just happened.”

“What?”

Nesta blushed and shut the door, quickly coming inside and explaining what happened. Leaving out a lot of the details. In fact nesta really only told emerie two things, that she tripped and that someone stopped her from falling flat on her face.

“That’s it?” Emerie asked, with an eyebrow raised.

“It was mortifying.” Nesta calmly reiterated.

“Nesta, sometimes we trip and fall and we actually hit the ground, you should be happy someone helped you.” She shook her head at Nesta’s stubbornness, “Sometimes you don’t make any sense, so new topic, how did the talk with Cassian go?”

“I thought you were going to tell me about your blades?” Nesta replied calmly.

“Only if you tell me about your talk.”

“If I remember it correctly, you just said I needed to go home and talk to him, but he actually wasn't at home, so it was impossible for me to perform the task and therefore no longer a requirement for you to tell me about the blades.”

“So where is he?”

“I don’t know. Don’t change the subject.” Nesta snipped.

Emerie looked her friend over and saw the rawness there still. There was something more she wasn’t saying but Nesta was never one to give up secrets, especially her own.

“Fine, do you want a drink first? Or can I get you working for me while I tell you the story?”

“I’ll clean but the story better be good!”

So Nesta and Emerie cleaned the bookshelves near the fire where black soot from the flames had built up before escaping out the chimney, and Emerie told her about the blades. Blades that she had had commissioned after her wings were clipped. After she realised that a female might need more protection than that which was offered by males. Males who held no loyalty to her. The blades had not seen a war yet or even been used for protection but they had been used in training and polished to a high shine.

“I have two fighting blades, I trained with my friends Mara and Ceinwen in the forest near the north edge of town, there is a place right before the mountain ridges form. It’s quiet and no-one but us goes there,” Emerie continued.

“When did you last train? It’s just that I haven’t seen you leave the shop and I would like to think that I noticed if you stunk up the place.” Nesta’s tact needed improving, there was a reason she kept her thoughts to herself. When she shared them she was seen as blunt and unfeeling.

“Not since the war” not since her father died Emerie wanted to say.

“Do you miss it?” Nesta raised her chin and looked at Emerie with her grey blue stare, the frosty depths seeing the truth.

“Everyday”

“Why?”

“Why do I do it? Well, when I was clipped, there was a scene, I didn’t go quietly, and that is the short version.” a lump caught in Emerie’s throat, when she was usually so sure of herself, this was a story so few knew. Then she said very quietly “No one should be forced at the hands of another, and I never. Never will be again.”

Nesta’s eyes turned glossy and distant, then quietly she said,

“I meant why haven’t you been training?”

“It’s not easy now, to make time.” she gestured to the shop around them.

“I will help you.”

“How?” the word came out on a wisp of air.

“I will make sure you can train, and that you treat people the way they truly deserve to be treated.” Nesta’s eyes had milky swirls gliding over the grey-blue and her voice didn't seem to be her own. Like some god possessed her swearing an oath. Emerie would never admit it but she was actually a little in awe of Nesta in this moment. This side to her she had only heard about but never seen. A rumor that came back from the war. The warrior witch who fought Hybern.   “But how?”

Nesta looked up at her again, the silver shadows dissapaiting and Nesta’s eyes were left as they once were.

“I ask.”

Nesta

Nesta and Emerie spent the day together, cleaning some more, and discussing ways they might enable Emerie to join the training with the other females. The hurdle of “who would look after the shop” always remained. Nesta wasn’t illyrian and it was hard enough getting customers, so the shop would still be run by Emerie during the day with shorter hours of availability. After much discussion and back and forth they realised training would need to remain secret and occur in the early evenings, the sun was staying in the sky longer, laying the way for more daylight later in the day. It worked to Nesta’s advantage as well. Having had no training of her own she would learn from Emerie and prepare herself for the day when Cassian left her alone. It was great living with an illyrian warrior but she was under no illusion that it would last. Especially since their fight. Emerie thought she might also be able to rope in Mara and Ceinwen, her friends in the camp, to join their training. Giving them some extra practise, and passing on what they learned from their day practices with the males. It all started coming together. The best part of this plan was that is was all coming together without the help of a certain overgrown bat. Emerie closed up the store early and made dinner, Nesta deciding to stay because she never did make it to the market.

It was peaceful, and pleasant, and just like the easy calm she had settled into with Cassian in their own home. She missed him… or maybe she just missed the idea of him?

The ladies finished dinner and sat down with some port, the wine was too awful last night to try a repeat performance today.

“Do you know much about illyrian history?” Nesta asked.

“I know a little, why do you ask?”

“I was reading a boo- “

“Of course you were.” Emerie interrupted, rolling her eyes.

“Let me finish! I was reading a book about illyrian history and it just seems so wrong. It feels wrong.”

“Do you have it with you?”

Nesta went and got the book out of her bag and gave it to Emerie, Emerie’s eyes lit up and she opened the book with awe.

“Why are you looking at it like that?”

“This book is the High Lords book.”

“So?”

“High Lords have books that show things as they want them to be. I mean that the books are history according to them, if it feels wrong, then the history they are passing down isn’t an accurate history of what really happened.”

“I see, that would explain why it feels like lies are slithering across the pages. How do illyrians keep their history then, if not in books? This was the only one I could find on the topic in our house.”

“We tell stories. Pass them down. Talk about heroic feats and celebrate our greatness”

“That seems a little arrogant”

“Have you ever met an illyrian who wasn’t arrogant?”

Nesta looked back at her friend who had that same grin as the female earlier, lighting up her whole face.

“Maybe if you weren’t all so beautiful you wouldn’t be so arrogant!”

Emerie let out a great laugh, “Maybe” was all she said as she went back to drinking her port and picked up her own book to read. Nesta continued to flick through the illyrian history book, getting angrier at what she read. Time ticked on and Emerie was still immersed in her book when Nesta asked,

“Will you tell me?” looking up at Emerie.

“Tell you what?”

“The history?”

Emerie closed her book, “There’s quite a bit, and it’s not usually for the females to tell.” she evaded. “The storytellers get to share the exploits of great heroes, for us all to stand in awe and feel grateful that the mighty male illyrians who came before us have done such amazing things. I wouldn’t be able to share them here incase someone came in.”

“Tell me them at training, I feel like I need to know.”

Emerie looked at Nesta and smiled, tongue in cheek she said “sure, but just remember i’m only a female and I don’t know how to tell it right.”

Nesta laughed and put the history book back in her bag, and packed up ready to go, before the darkness well and truly descended.

Tagged by request: Sorry if some of the urls are wrong.. its been a while since I updated this fic, urls have changed its been so long lol,  just let me know via ask if you want to be added or removed from my tag list for this. :) @fucking-winchester-trash @rhysanoodle @velarxs @lorcanswife @my-fan-side @wolffrising @bellsqueen @aelinashgalathynius @booksaremymate@themoonunderstoodmynightmares @prxthian @nessian-girl @fuzz-dog @archeron-queens @acotar-feels @wickedfangirl99 @empress-ofbloodshed@ame233 @tswaney17 @kefeira @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @abillionlittlepieces@ofstarsanddreams @booksaremymate @ambrosemiller@saltydreamcollector @imfandomtrash-vi @aedionashryver-wolfofthenorth @pinkjem30   @urbisie, @howtotameyourillyrian, @illyrianbeauty, @fae-queen-of-the-easton, @faeriequeenofthewest, @aqueentorattlestars, @acoaas @nephelle-warrior-scribe @librarian-of-orynth @anoverstuffedkindle, @miladyaelin, @acoaas, @tntwme @photofeesh @theyretheirthere

[certifiablyplatinum]

Can you save my heavydirtysoul?(Please say you can.)Twenty One Pilots concert story, 10/22/19

As I had missed my GA Floor seat show in June at home in Cbus due to my woeful injury,  I decided to buy tickets when the boyz announced their second leg and  stop in Cincinnati.  I mean, why not? Fangirling all over the place here. Of course, I was taking Jordan, as the summer of 2016 was the Blurryface summer and we played it out on our deck almost every night. I am secure in my vast music knowledge and boldly admit my love for Twenty One Pilots just as I do my more bizarre and obscure bands. Diversity is where it’s at, babies, ya like what ya like.

The brilliant blue October day arrived, and my preparations were made.  

First, I chose a hotel north of Cinci. I had a work retreat on the south side of Columbus the next morning, so shaving off those ends saved me time.

Secondly, I told the wayward Jordan “Meet me at XXX South High Street with your bags packed at 3:30 pm.” (referring to the event space I needed to be at the day after the show.)  Jordan: Huh? Where? Why?  Me: Just meet me there.

Third, I called the event space to ensure I could leave a car parked there overnight.

Fourth, I packed an overnight bag with 17 different outfits. I am not sure why.

 I left work and drove to the space I was to be at the next morning, and Jordy showed up VERY promptly. (Me texting her: It’s just past the bridge going over 71.  Her reply: I have GPS.)

 She tossed her bags in my car,  locked her car up, and off we went together.  She drove, as I needed to focus up with a call and verbal beatdown to  A T & T and a little light  bill paying. An hour and a half later we arrived at our Blu hotel in Blue Ash, freshened up, poured a Citron and G2, and called an Uber to US Bank Arena.

 Our driver pulled up, we tossed our cardboard coffee cups in the trash, and hopped in. He looked back at us randomly asked, “Do you like country music?”  I diplomatically and cheerfully answered, “I do if you do!” He seemed to doubt my sincerity, as he wordlessly handed me his phone. I chose a 90s alt-rock playlist and, well…. Pearl Jam’s Jeremy came on first.  I believe this set the tone for the whole evening and led to my overall uninhibited abandon. Because here’s the deal—I have this thing where I have a primal need to sing Pearl Jam loudly and also in a PREEEEETY spot-on Eddie Vedder voice. I simply can’t not do it. So when  I began to bellow along in my Eddie voice, Mohammed turned the radio up so loud that my ears were bleeding, as if to urge me along. Still, I sang on. (OOoooh my jaw left hurtin’, OOoohhh dropped wide open…)

 Anyway, we got dropped off and headed to get food and drinks at the Holy Grail Tavern.  Both Jordan and I couldn’t stop looking at our attractive server.  It got so that we were laughing out loud when she whizzed past us because we (the server and me) were always accidentally locking eyes.  I said, “Oh my God she’s going to think – who is this perv staring at me?”  And Jordan said, “Well,  *I* get to see her as she walks away and she has a great butt.” This led us to the conclusion that we couldn’t stop looking at her because we, as a species, are so used to ugly being the norm  (“Have you BEEN to the BMV, Elaine?”) that we can’t stop looking at people who are attractive.  We drink them in like a scarce hidden spring in a dusty desert.   The server asked, “One check or two?”  as soon as we finished our food and apparently I spoke loudly and with a bit of shock: “Well I am HAVING another drink!”  

 We chugged away and then around 7 we headed out the door.  I was in a bit of a conundrum because I had already walked a great deal and I didn’t know what side of the stadium we were on, and I didn’t want to walk in circles for nothing, as BabyCalf and BionicTendon were a lil sore. Just then, (of course, because this is how things happen to witchy little me), a jolly man called from one lone open-air shuttle across the street: “Need a ride?”  And how!  Not only did we get a ride, we got the VIP drop off at the secret back elevator!  Up we went,  got scanned in, and found our kickass seats—basically 6 rows up from the floor.

 Once we knew where our seats were, we went up to the stuffed and crammed hallway overflowing with yellow and camo-clad Cliquers, and made our way to a hallway bar cart.  The windows behind the bar cart looked out to the open air terrace.  We figured we would go out and get some fresh air rather than wait in our seats, and asked the bartender, “Can we have someone let us back in if we go out there?” She said “No, but you can keep walking around the corner and come back in the main entrance.”  No problem! But was it? We soon found it was, as we wandered back up to the main entrance with our brazenly open containers and were told, “No re-entry!” by a shocked looking person who may as well have added, “You dumbasses!”

 “BUT! BUT! She said we could come back in this way!” I eloquently burst forth.

The ‘who are these stupid people’ gate attendant said with some ‘tude: “Who. Is. ‘She’?”

“The bartender!” I pouted.

“You can’t have open containers either!” he parried again, noticing our drinks.

“Well what do we DO!?” I demanded, my Scarlett O’Hara inconvenience bubbling up.

He sighed and pointed. “That guy in the blazer is the manager. Go talk to him.”

 Another witchy win: the plaza was empty except for the one, lone, blazered manager, talking to a cop! What are the chances he was right there?  I strolled up, my drink still blatant AF, and explained our predicament.

“No re-entry,” he said.

“Oh my God! We were clearly here! We had to get in to even be here with a drink in our hand. She told us we could go out on the terrace and walk around to get back in!”

“Who is ‘she’? And no open containers.” he chided.

 Amazingly,  our damsel in distress act got us back in and the manager bellowed “Let ‘em through!” to all the ticket attendants, and we sailed on through, triumphant. “Comin through!” I waved my hands. Back to our seats we went!

 MIsterwives opened up, and I get it, auburn-maned singer Mandy Lee has a wild falsetto that yips and yodels and leaps around, putting me in mind of Kate Bush’s vocal style. Their wavy, colorful set and lighting was bright and cheery with rainbow tones and pops of pinks and yellows. The highlight was their cover of Lizzo’s “Truth Hurts”.   Ballsy move!  They bopped, boogied and bounced with great gusto all over the stage and when they finished with a rollicking “Our Own House”  with its zesty horn riffs, the crowd was getting into it.  (Jordan and I happened to be sitting in the “Family Section” and felt chastened by the uncertain-faced teens at their first show, not quite sure how to let loose, and their basic and somewhat resigned parents – neither of which group had a drink in their hands. Jordan made several trips up and back, soaking these poor people with vodka as she sloshed her way back to her seat.)

 FINALLY – the main event! The arena seethed with anticipation when the curtain billowed back and forth, sooo close to unveiling the set and stage. Finally, in a burst of red lasers and flames, Josh and Tyler appeared on the scene and ripped right into Jumpsuit, performed as a car on fire burned behind them. JUMPSUIT! JUMPSUIT! COVER ME! He screamed at the close, as we all did.

 Visually, the evening was a treat for the senses.  Kaledoscopic shifting colors and shapes, lasers, catwalks, a B Stage…. Costume changes and bridges,  Josh Dun and his abs on full display, Tyler with his various hats and costumes and instruments,  a glittering swath of twinkling lights for the gentle “Neon Gravestones” shining like stars caught in a net: The production of this tour was top-notch and stunning, allowing for a visual orgy to accompany the talent of the hometown boys. I stumbled across a line that I think puts it perfectly:

“This wasn’t a band rocking out, despite how hard Dun plays the drums. This was a post-apocalyptic rapper-hero performing songs with his drummer-sidekick nearby, in the midst of lasers and explosions.” They really do have a kind of anime’,  lone-wolf kind of renegade vibe going, especially with the way their albums tend to run with storylines: The Blurryface character, and now the bishops and mysterious DEMA of Trench.

Their setlist was packed full of the goodies…. Stressed Out (“what’s my name?” Tyler would chant rhythmically.)  The frenetic insanity and staccato rapping of Heavy Dirty Soul. My favorite from Trench, The Hype, or as I say “The song with the best ukulele-backed bridge ever written.” God that song is tight! They shifted stages during the end of “Nico and the Niners” and returned back on the main stage by the time Holding On To You started….. ahhhh, where Josh does his perfectly timed backflip from the piano! Lean with it, rock with it. Swoon, y’all.   Tyler’s laid-bare confessions are what resonate, causing the band’s wildfire-like leap to global fame.

 Something that is becoming a bit of tradition with the duo is that every show, as far as I know, has always ended with Trees. It’s a euphoric communal outpouring to close the night, everyone jumping up and down singing “LA LA…. LA LA LA LA LA LA….. HELLOOOOOOO!”  It’s a soft start, a gentle and sad build, and then a sweaty screamfest at the end. PERF!

 As we made our way out the doors and across the plaza, we made up songs like “My momma needs to take an elevator because of her busted tendon” – Jordan, and “OOooh but I got ma fishnet stockings on, yeahh” -Me.  Jordan also stepped on my foot and I howled in pain as she knelt before with remorse, boozily patting and stroking my foot.

 Sooo we grabbed another Uber, and here’s where things shifts from a normal boozy concert night to one for the books. Our dude, Dean, pulled up with the license plate that began with LGR.  Our relationship began with my opening sentence: “Your license plate says LIGER, like Napoleon Dynamite.  It’s a lion—and a tiger!”  And bam! Merrily we roll along!

 I am not quite sure how this went from polite chatter to veering off the rails, but I will condense and recount what went down as best I can recall.

Jordan: She had her achilles’ tendon repaired!

Dean: Oh, I can fix that.

(Like, totally matter of fact. Oh, I can fix that.)

 Jordan: Really?  YES!

Dean: Sure. We’re all made of electricity.  We’re just made of electric particles and neurons. I consult all over to doctors because I fix people.

Jordan: Why are you driving an Uber?

Me: .

Dean: Don’t worry, I’ll fix it.

Me: …How???

Dean: Electricity.

Jordan: How do you know how to do this?

Dean: I’m just kind of brilliant with this kind of stuff.

 OK, so, I’m kind of brushing it off at this point, thinking I’ll ditch him when we arrive at the ol’ Blu. Dean says he’s going to find a place to park and he will be right in. Jord and I get out and stand outside for a minute as we watch him drive around the corner.  “Let’s just go in,” I say.  “Yeah,” she agrees, “I think he left.”  My brain was so jumbled with confusion I wasn’t sure what was going on.  Was he actually planning on coming up to the hotel room?  “Let’s get inside,” I said, relieved that he probably was just messing with us and took off.

 The automatic glass doors blew open to the lobby and we walked in. Right behind us, a dude with a bag of City BBQ carryout and a gray medical-looking case followed us in.

Jordan: What’s that?

City BBQ dude: This is my (blah, blah, blah.)  It uses electricity to heal injuiries. (He says a name similar to   something like the Electralux El Diablo 5000.)

Jordan: She tore her achilles!

City BBQ dude: Yes, this equipment will heal it.

ME: (whipping my head back toward him):  OH MY GOD!!!! MY UBER DRIVER JUST SAID THAT TOO!  WHAT ARE THE CHANCES!?

Like, seriously, I am thinking this guest of the hotel is maybe a doctor in for a conference, or whatever.  It was only through muddled bits and pieces clicking together in my brain during the ride up in the elevator and ending when the bbq-toting man did not go to his “room” but walked in OURS that I fucking realized…

This guy WAS MY UBER DRIVER.

Not 2 separate people, both coincidentally on a mission and willing to fix bodily injuries with a machine with the equipment on their person.

 I was so confused when faced with this reality it was like I was living in an alternate universe.  As I am sputtering around saying, “Oh my God, I never really saw your face in the car, just the back of your head” Dean is busily and efficiently placing electrodes on my ankles, calves, shins, even my goddamn glutes.  I find myself saying, “You know, my shoulder has hurt a bit lately too” and he briskly whips my arm around and jams his thumb right where it hurts, murmurs the word “Release…..” and then slaps an electrode on my shoulder. THEN he hooks Jordan up. “Is this a TENS unit?”  I ask. “Pfft.  This makes a TENS unit look like child’s play” he retorts proudly.

Jordan and I are now are standing next to each other looking like inmates of The Green Mile and sizzling with pulsating electricity.   Dean eats his corn pudding, yanking the current up and down based on our grunts of discomfort. My phone is in my hand at all times with the first two numbers of 9 – 1 punched in and on high alert.  But as he contentedly moves on to his green beans with his feet kicked up on the table in front of him, I have to admit he looks pretty harmless.  

 I think Dean the Electrode Machine was in our room until midnight, giving us confident tips on how to heal, saying he could bring his machine anywhere in the world, and I finally started giving signs of get-out-I’m-tired. In a gentlemanly way, he bid us adieu, as I babbled on about leaving him a big tip.  I mean, he invited himself to cure me, but isn’t his time and trouble worth something?  I tipped him 30 dollars and added him on Facebook.  

 Jordan and I try to get ready for bed but she then runs into a couple of questionable characters and starts talking to them. The three of them are standing outside (why did we go back outside? Perhaps to bid Dean adieu, I believe.) They start cooking up plans like long lost homies.  I say “Get upstairs” and take her arm.  (She can be hard to manage once she crosses that line.)  We get in bed.  It is nearing 1am. Jordan lays on top of me crying and blubbering “Promise me you won’t ever die.”   I say kindly as I smooth her hair, “I will though.”   We laugh about being electrocuted by our Uber driver.  I say I can’t believe he just invited himself to our hotel room.  She casually says with the air of a jaded and well-worn matriarch: “Please, Mom, everybody hangs out with their Uber drivers in their hotels now.” Then she gets up again and walks out the door.  I am fading fast but I manage to say, “GET BACK IN HERE! Where are you going?”  I close my eyes for a minute and I open them when I hear the door open again and Jordan puts her face right next to mine and whispers in a low, clear, concerned voice:

“Mom. There is a naked man sitting in the egg chair in the hallway masturbating.”

“Huh?” I whisper back.

She repeats it.

With STRANGE AND STOIC CALM considering my inebriated and disoriented state, I pick up the desk phone.  The next thing I know, I am whispering as calmly and clearly as Jordan did: “Hello. This is Room 303. I want you to know there is a naked man masturbating in the egg chair up here in the hallway.”

 DEAD ASS PAUSE on the other end. Finally: “Umm, ahh, ok, I… I .. uhhh… I’ll come check it out.”

Five minutes later the phone startles me out of my slip into slumber.  

“Hello?” I answer.

“He’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“Yes. The man. No man.”

“Okay.”

 It is 2:30 now and I don’t just fall asleep—I hurtle into it like a plane crashing into the ground, fading to black.  I don’t wake up until I hear something.  It sounds familiar.  It’s a ringing sound.  It’s that thing that makes you wake up. But where is it?  “Jordan,”  I hiss. “Huh?” she moans.  She bolts upright and grabs her phone and stares at it. “This is new,” she whispers.  “Make it stop!”  I cry. The ringing continues.  I realize it’s coming from my phone which is on the floor.  I remember how to make it stop.  It’s 6:45 am. I lay in exhausted torment until 7:15. Then 7:30.  Then with every ounce of strength I can muster, I get my ass up and get to the excruciating business of  getting my shit together and getting my shit together…( sayin’ wake up, ya need to make money!)  At 8:10 Jordan and I are both in the car with a cup of coffee.  You’re not hard core unless you live hard core, like Dewey Finn says.

 I sail up 71 without incident.  The coffee kicks in and I’m actually feeling pretty okay. At 9:49, I pull into the venue we are at for the day at work. Jordan’s car is safe and intact.  I find a parking spot, wave to my friend, and tell Jordy to wake up.

 She sits up, opens her eyes, retches, opens the door, and promptly vomits down the side of my car.

I squeal, then chant prayerfully: OMG PLEASE DO NOT PUKE IN FRONT OF MY CO-WORKERS!

 I don’t even see her leave.  She is gone, slinking away to her car, as I had practically pushed her out of a moving vehicle.

 So.  That’s my review of Twenty One Pilots and a little story thrown in to boot.  

 PS My foot doesn’t feel any better.

PSS Pics below of Tyler, Josh, me, Jordan,and Dean.

[byfatedchance]

First Meeting — 12.28.18

Alek hadn’t anticipated the large turnout this evening, which was why he was short-staffed, forced to slay the fiery pits of his kitchen, cooking up his zesty Italian recipes, to bartend, and to bus tables; wherever he was needed he was the hands-on kind of restaurant owner, proud that after a couple years in culinary school and some business courses he finally had a restaurant of his own. Alek pulled out a chair for an elderly woman. “My pleasure. Thank you for your patience,” he set the menus down on the table. “Someone will be right with you,” with a polite smile he excused himself, slipping behind the bar, to take drink orders. “Gin and It? Coors. You got it.” Turning on the beer tap he simultaneously poured the gin, sweet vermouth, and orange bitters into a shaker with ice, then strained the mixture into a glass and garnished with an orange peel, all while making sure beer didn’t overflow from the glass which contained it. Over his shoulders someone called out to him from the kitchen, “Boss, we need you back here.” He made a mental note to hire more people. “Excuse me, ladies.” They had been trying to flirt with him, but he was too oblivious to notice, being friendly was what he thought. A murmur of disappointment came from the women when he left.

Word of mouth spread quickly, especially when it came from his twin sister Alessia, who in the week prior had bragged to everyone, neighbors, strangers, pets (poor souls probably developed tinnitus from her talking their ears off) that her brother would be opening his first restaurant, the best pizzas and pastas in all of Manhattan promising foodgasms, a term that had to be explained to him and that he instantly regretted. “Ok, I got it. I know what an orgasm is,” Alek cut her off. He had a feeling she got into extra details to make him squirm and to poke fun at him for not being caught up on the times, “hip enough,” her words. Next time he would consult urban dictionary for whatever phrase was coined by millennials these days. “Do you really? When’s the last time you got laid? Or went on an actual date.” It was not like Alek was celibate but being a single father made it difficult to pursue any romantic relationships, plus he had the upkeep of the restaurant. Changing the subject, “You know people could sue for false advertising, right? If they aren’t satisfied. They could sue us for claiming to be the best when we’re not. I’ll be out of business in court fees before I can get my restaurant running,” Alek told his sister, who rolled her eyes at him. “Brother, you’re too modest. It’s annoying. Can’t I be proud of you and gloat? You’re welcome, by the way.” As a grin spread across his sister’s lips, confusion crossed his face, “Like you aren’t already doing that. For what exactly?” Something in her grin suggested she was up to one of her schemes. Alessia simply shrugged her shoulders as she went back to helping him stock the bar for the opening. “You’ll see.”

——

If ever there was a day where the universe was against her, today would be it. The morning line at Birch Coffee was held up by a broken expresso machine. Naomi kept glancing at her watch to make sure she wouldn’t be late to the staff meeting. Rather than order her usual, she asked for an iced chai latte and bagel, hoping it would get her in and out quicker. While she waited for her drink Naomi opened the package of cream cheese and spread it over her bagel, her eyes skimming the notes on her tablet. Often she was trying to do too many things at once. When her name was finally called she picked up her drink from the counter, sighed that her name had been misspelled, how many variations of Naomi could there be the brunette wondered, then came a curse when the lid over the drink hadn’t been secured properly that it spilled onto her white blouse. The brown liquid seeped through her top. “Fuck!” She shook off the coffee from her clothes.

A meek but grateful smile graced her features when the woman next to her offered her crumbled up napkins from the napkin dispenser so she could clean herself up. “Thank you. I’m having the worst start to my day,” Naomi overshared with the stranger, blotting coffee off her blouse. “I lost my work. I’m running late.” After staying up all night rewriting an article she lost to a electrical outage, the result of too many devices plugged in at once and a lifeless laptop, Naomi desperately needed coffee to function. “And my skirt is on backwards.” She discovered the buttons on the wrong side. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this.” Alessia quickly dispelled Naomi’s worries. “We all have days like that. Here take this.” Shrugging off her cardigan she offered it to the brunette. A blush filled her cheeks as Naomi folded her arms across her chest, self conscious that her blouse, now see-through and still wet from the coffee, left her exposed. “Oh, no I couldn’t.” But the woman insisted so Naomi took it. There was no time for a change of clothes and she couldn’t walk into the office currently dressed. “Thank you. Won’t you miss this? How am I going to return it to you?” she wondered. Naomi put on the cardigan and clipped on her New York Times badge, which Alessia noticed. “You could do the biggest favor for me. My brother actually,” she started to say. “Anything!” Suddenly Naomi realized that maybe she couldn’t promise anything, that it might be a mistake, but the woman had been kind enough to help her, so she shook away her concerns. “You’re a journalist for the Times. My brother is having the grand opening of his restaurant in three days. Any chance you could swing by? He’s worked so hard and I know having press there would help and give it the exposure he needs.” Naomi thought it over. “I’ll see what I can do. What’s it called?” She typed Cassano into her tablet, thanked the woman again, then hurried off.

Outside Alek deposited some spare cash into the Salvation Army bucket. “Merry Christmas,” he smiled then stuffed his hands back into his pockets. Naomi sped past him. Even in heels she outpaced most of the pedestrians. “She appears. Finally! I was beginning to wonder if you had took off with my coffee and left me here to become a human popsicle.” Alessia thrust the hot coffee into his eager hands, rolled her eyes, quipped back, “Too bad I didn’t leave you out here longer. Come on you’re late for work.” Alek shook his head and chuckled slightly, following after his sister. “I’m the boss. I’ll give myself a pass this time.”

——

“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner? How long have you known?” Seconds ago Alessia informed him that he would have a special guest dining at the restaurant, the journalist from the New York Times, announced so haphazardly as if were trivial information. “Now you know,” she shrugged, already halfway out of the kitchen with a large grin. Honestly Alessia didn’t know if she would show but then saw her come up to the bar. The woman had as much grace as when Alessia met her at the coffee shop, nearly tripping over her own feet in heels that looked new and needed to be worn into. “That afternoon when you were helping me with the bar,“ also helping herself to some of the tequila, which he didn’t mention, “you knew didn’t you?” Alek began to piece it together. “I knew you acted suspicious. How will I know who it is?” The present grin on his sister’s lips grew bigger. “I didn’t tell you because I wanted you focused on the restaurant. She’s nice. Pretty,” Alessia added as if for her brother’s benefit, “Kinda nerdy chic. You’ll know when you meet her. Bye now.” Alek called after his sister but she had already waved and disappeared through the swinging double doors, “Come back! What does that even mean?” Not only did the launch of the restaurant leave him stressed, impressing someone he didn’t know added more pressure.

In contrast to her appearance at the coffee shop Naomi wore a floral dress, with a trench coat over it, an outfit she borrowed off the racks from a new up and coming designer that she would return the next morning before anyone noticed. She didn’t want to show up in her work clothes and draw attention to herself. While she waited for her table Naomi approached the bar and ordered a glass of red wine. Taking out her tablet she made observations about the restaurant. The scent of margherita pizza wafting through the air made her stomach growl. She hadn’t noticed how hungry she was or how long she went without eating. Sometimes absorbed in her work she forgot to eat. Before she left the office, the surrounding cubicles empty, she looked up Cassano and discovered it was within walking distance.

After hanging around the bar for thirty minutes, the hostess showed her to a table. By then most of the dinner crowd had cleared. “I’ll have the chicken piccata,” Naomi closed the menu and returned it to the waiter. Removing her reading glasses she put them away in her purse. She could hear compliments on the food interspersed among conversations from tables close by. Before the waiter stepped away Naomi asked for an appetizer as well, “The chickpea bruschetta too please.” Gently nodding she signaled that she was done ordering. The bruschetta tasted heavenly and within minutes after they were brought to her Naomi devoured each piece, relishing in every bite.

Alek still had no idea who the journalist was and wondered if maybe he had missed her. Not unlikely since he hadn’t left the kitchen from when Alessia told him about her. Once the chicken had properly cooked he removed it from the pan and put in on a plate. He garnished the piccata with parsley then poured over a special sauce, his grandma’s recipe. The heat from the kitchen brought sweat to his forehead, which he wiped at with the back of his hand. “Boss, we’ve got it covered in here. You should talk to the journalist and introduce yourself,” one of the cooks nudged him. Either everyone knew about the journalist’s visit except him or he had overheard his conversation with Alessia. “Aw come on. You’re trying to get rid of me aren’t you?” he joked. Alek knew he could count on his chefs, that they were more than capable of handling the food in his absence. “Thanks guys. Great work tonight.” In good nature he gave his waiter reprieve from bringing the finished food out, offered to carry the chicken piccata and other dish to their tables.

As he looked for tables 22 and 14 he glanced around the restaurant for any signs of the enigmatic journalist. “Tuscan Shrimp Penne.” He set down the pasta. “I didn’t order this.” Alek’s hazel eyes met the brown pair looking up at him. “I’m allergic to shrimp,” Naomi told him. He couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she was, how besides the red lipstick that her adorned her lips she had minimal makeup on but still captured his attention. After realizing his mistake and that he might have been staring too long, Alek stammered, “Shit. I’m sorry. I promise I wa— wasn’t trying to...” Brows raised Naomi teased, ”Kill me?” Alek’s face turned deeply crimson. “Relax I’m not going tell anyone. Is that my piccata?” Her mouth practically salivated, already forgetting that he nearly poisoned her. He swapped the two dishes. “Can I get you another glass of wine? It’s on the house.” Naomi mulled it over, she’d had two at the bar. “One more couldn’t hurt. Are you sure you can do that?” It did occur to her that he didn’t look like the other waiters, that he had a rebellious streak. He certainly didn’t abide by the rules if he broke dress code. Instead of the dark, long sleeve button down shirts that the male waiters wore he had on a grey henley, rolled up at the elbows. Shrugging Alek smiled, “It’s the least I could do.” Not paying attention to the person behind him he bumped into the customer who rose from his seat, quickly apologizing. Naomi stifled a laugh, but couldn’t contain the grin that emerged behind her palm. Charming, she thought to herself.

It was as he was returning with the wines that he caught the woman scribbling something down with her stylus pen. “You’re that journalist my sister was telling me about. What are you writing down?” Naomi glanced up. “That obvious? I am. You weren’t exactly forthcoming with who you are either. Those for me?” Realizing he was still awkwardly grasping onto the wine bottles, he brought over the Merlot and Pinot Noir, not knowing which she preferred but they were his most popular red wines. “I didn’t know which you liked. I forgot to ask.” Naomi told him her preference. “Do you have a moment?” She gestured to the empty seat across from her. Alek pulled out the chair and sat down. “About earlier, I was distracted. I hope it doesn’t reflect poorly on the restaurant.” She raised the wine glass toward her lips, smiled, “All forgiven,” then took a sip. “How’s the food? Is it ok?” From the looks of her plate Naomi had taken a couple of bites. Whether she stopped to write or didn’t like the food, Alek wasn’t sure. “Honestly...” Naomi chuckled, sensing his unease, “Seriously, am I that scary?” Alek pondered how to respond. “Kind of. Yes,” he admitted. “You do have the power to make or break me.” A slight tilted nod to indicate she agreed, that he made a valid point, Naomi grinned. “I promise, you have nothing to worry about. It’s delicious. Almost like,” she lowered her voice, even though there were only two tables left and they were on the opposite side of the restaurant, “having an orgasm in your mouth, that good.” Alek laughed. “That’s what my sister said. A foodgasm. I thought she was biased and overselling it.” Naomi laughed with him. “It’s true. That reminds me. I still have the cardigan she let me borrow. I’ll bring it by the next time I’m here.” Alek smiled at the thought of seeing her again. “So, tell me about your restaurant. Why Cassano?” Pen in hand she was prepared to jot down his response. “It’s my family’s name. I thought about naming it Cassanova, with two s’s. Sounded clever but then I realized it might give people the wrong idea.” The corners of Naomi’s lips curled into a smirk. “Right, because no one likes a player and a place named after one could be bad for business, especially if it’s a family restaurant. I’d still eat there though,” reaffirming to him that she liked the food.

Soon it was only the two of them, chatting until after the restaurant closed. The longer they talked the more Alek eased up, even opening up a little about himself. Somewhere between the questions they ended up talking about each other, their interests. “You’ve never seen a NY Rangers game? But you’re from New York. You have to go to one.” Naomi laughed at his display of dramatics, the over the top gasp. “Never. If I go to one will you stop judging?” Alek grinned, “It will be hard. I’ll try.” It would have been the perfect segue way to ask her to go with him to a game but he missed the opportunity and didn’t think it it appropriate, mostly due to his own nerves. She told him about her love for traveling and he asked what her favorite place was to visit. “Africa. I try to go there when I can to volunteer with their refugee relief. Play with the kids and teach them English.” There was a fondness with which she spoke of the children and hearing her passion in helping the underprivileged made Alek smile. “I’ve never been. I’d like to some day. It’s really great what you’re doing.”

The silence around them reminded Naomi of the time. “I didn’t realize how late it is. I should call a ride home.” Naomi pulled out her phone and opened the Uber app. There was a ride 10 mins away. After the wine she had she felt it safer to have a ride home. While she arranged for transportation Alek went back into the kitchen and brought her some Zabaglione with strawberries. “What’s this? I didn’t order this,” Naomi protested. “Dessert, while you wait. Don’t tell me you’re allergic as well,” he teased. “No. I love strawberries. But I’m still full,” she whined. “Listen if you don’t want it...” But Naomi swiped the spoon from him, took a scoop and tried some. He waited for her reaction, confident she would love it. “You’re the devil. Giving me this evil goodness.” Alek held both hands over his heart, fake offended. “Your words, they wound me. I’m doing this out of the kindness of my heart.” Naomi rolled her eyes, licking off her spoon. “You going help me eat this or what?” Alek grinned and picked up the other spoon on the table. Their spoons clashed, vying for the same piece of the dessert when they both went for another bite. “All yours.” Alek chuckled. “Don’t mind if I do.” Naomi ate another bite, grinning. After a few more bites in, the Uber app alerted Naomi that her ride had arrived early. “I gotta go.” She gathered up her things, put her tablet into her purse. Alek stood up and walked her to the car. “Thank you for dessert. It was really nice meeting you.” He opened the door for her. “It’s my pleasure. Stop by anytime.” When she got in and buckled up, he waved at her. It was only when the car drove away that he realized he never even thought to ask her for her name.

[backroadblues]

June 1st, 2017 - Headed to Rossdorf Germany - Rothenberg Hello everyone! Today is June 1st. The stunning realization has befallen both Trent and Carolyn that their vagabond trip will soon be coming to an end. It has been a trip that has taken them across much of Italy, into Austria and Germany. Before their trip is done they will have also traveled into France. They have visited some amazing places, seen so many wonderful things and got to meet and mingle with so many locals in theses countries. However, today and tomorrow are their last full days here and they will head home on the 3rd. Today we will be in transit. We will leave our cozy and cute nest in the little town of Grainau, located just outside of Munich. We spend 3 really wonderful and relaxing nights there. We will be headed up towards Frankfurt, where our flights will be departing - theirs on the 3 and ours on the 6th. I had a difficult time finding an apartment to rent on VRBO or Air B&B up here. We had hoped to stay in Heidelberg but we weren't able to book anything. What we found was a home to rent in the little town of Rossdorf which is a suburb of Frankfurt and sits outside of Darmstadt. The home is quite large and spans across 5 floors - basement to attic. We meet with Maximillian who is our host to pick up the keys to our home of the few nights. "Max" is young - maybe mid to late 20s. The home we are renting was his childhood home that he grew up in. Max speaks excellent English and shows us the home. His Father, who owns the home now lives in another city and he has left the home to Max to rent. Regrettably, it is rather sparsely equipped and will probably rank as our least favorite rental. Another reason, we aren't thrilled with it is because of the town where it sits. We are no longer in the touristy confines like those that we've been in, and we have probably forever been spoiled by our last stay in the Bavarian Alps. Rossdorf is a working mans town. It does have a small cathedral for the towns people and it is currently being renovated, but there is no quaint little town square with wide pedestrian boulevards with little shops. For Trent and Carolyn, they will only be spending 2 nights here and then heading back home. As we head out of Grainau, we must head back into Austria to go around the mountains once again. We are taking the same route as we did when we headed to Fussen. This will allow us to hit the Autobahn and take a pretty direct route to our first stop - Rothenberg. The trip up takes us somewhat longer than the planned 2 hours due to there being a lot of roadwork on the way. We depart at about 9:30 am and arrive in Rothenberg at around 12:45. We have lunch at Hotel Reichskuchenmeister, it is a beautiful hotel with a reputation for a great restaurant and Beer Garden. Today we are dining in the garden. I have the schweineschulter (pork shoulder), Trent the sauerbraten (braised pork loin) each of our dishes are served with a potato dumpling and some sauerkraut - his made with purple cabbage and mine with white. Elisa has the wiener schnitzel and Carolyn a flammkuchen (flame cooked flatbread) with salmon. Carolyn's dish is not what we ordered, there may have been a communication problem with the waiter, but rather than send it back she keeps it because it looks good. We have been spoiled with pizza in Italy, but this is a little different. The crust is softer and more bread-like, but it is still thin, The cheese is really soft and zesty tasting - not like a mozzarella. It has almost a cream cheese consistency. Lastly, there is no red sauce on it. The salmon is spread generously across the "not-quite-like a pizza" dish and it is delicious. My pork shoulder is very good the brown gravy served with the generous portion is also delicious. Both Trent and I find the potato dumpling to be a little different with a soft and sticky consistency - similar to Japanese moochi. With the gravy it is tasty, but they are very heavy in consistency. I can barely eat one of them. Elisa's "original" wienerschnitzel is well prepared but it needed some sort of sauce or gravy on it, but she declares it to be "not-offensive". After lunch we had only about an hour and an half to do some sightseeing and shopping. Clearly not enough time to thoroughly explore the town of Rothenberg. Rothenberg is probably one of the best preserved medieval walled cities in Germany. Although it was severely damaged during WWII it was beautifully restored. We stroll through the narrow streets and see the town square and the cathederal. We see the main gate to the city and the oft photographed Ploelien - which means little square. Elisa and I also are shopping for a cuckoo clock to take back home. There are lots of tourists visiting Rothenberg on this day, but it is not overly crowded. We are all surprised by the number of Americans visiting, but also the many Chinese tourists that are there. This may explain the Chinese restaurant, we saw as we walked to the Reichskuchenmeister restaurant. A little about cuckoo clocks - they were originally designed and built in the German Black Forest region of Bavaria. The most distinctive features of the cuckoo clock is the small bird that will appear from behind a door to call our the hour of the day with its unique "cuckoo" sound. They are traditionally made from native wood and are hand carved. The oldest known clocks date back to the 1700's. There is a society, that strictly regulates the manufacture of these clocks today. The finest clocks must be made entirely of wood that is hand carved and hand painted. The cuckoo sound is made from tiny bellows and music comes from Swiss made music boxes. The clock movements are made from brass and hand assembled in Germany. There are 3 primary makers of cuckoo clocks here in Germany. Since we will be soon leaving Bavaria, Elisa and I are on the hunt for one. Rothenberg is an excellent place to shop for one. Many of the shops carry fine cuckoo clocks along with less expensive versions that do not carry the guild certification. We end up finding one we like at the Uhrenhaus - a Kathe Wohlfahrt store. We arrange to have our clock shipped to our home. This way, they do not charge us the 19.7% VAT tax that is built into the price of the clock. Also, they fully insure the clock and will warrant it for 2 years. There are authorized repair shops throughout the US and if repairs are needed they will make the arrangements. Another advantage of buying it through the large Kathe Wohlfahrt store a large chain throughout Germany, is that we get a gift card for our purchase that can be used in any of the Kathe Wohlfahrt stores on a subsequent purchase. Coincidentally, there is a huge and world famous Weihnachtsdorf - "Christmas" store right here in Rothenberg. As I wind up the purchase of our cuckoo clock, Elisa, Carolyn and Trent head to the Christmas store to take advantage of the 40 Euros on our gift card. With the sightseeing done and the gift shopping completed, we head back out on the road to make the 2 hour drive to our temporary home in Rossdorf. We meet young Maximillian and take possession of our large but albeit sparsely equipped home. When we get settled in, we make a quick run to the grocery store before it closes to buy some supplies for breakfast. At around 8:00 pm we set out to find a local restaurant. The 2 restaurants that Maxmillian has suggested are both nearby. His favorite, is a restaurant called Zur Sonnen (to the sun), but it is closed on Thursdays. It seems odd to us, but since these are family run establishments, they too need a day off now and again. Max's second suggestion, Zum Schutzenhof is open on this night. We walk in, and the person that greets us at the door speaks no English. I trot out my limited German and we ask for a table for 4. He says something back to us in German after looking in the dining room and beyond and all I can pick up is "nichts" which means nothing. As we are about to turn and leave to look for another restaurant in this small town, the lady of the restaurant says something to him in Italian. Elisa overhears it and turns back to to the lady speaking Italian and her husband that has now joined into the conversation. They tell us in Italian that they are really busy right now and if we could wait about 15 or 20 minutes they will be able to seat us. They seat us in an indoor dining room, but since it is warm today, everyone is dining outdoors on a nicely shaded and breezy patio. We are served some complimentary Prosecco for our inconvenience. Once seated, we are surprised that Zum Schuetzenhof has an entirely Italian menu. We are all humored by the fact that after we've eaten our way across Italy, we end up in Germany only to be eating Italian. However, our host are Italians that immigrated to Germany 48 years ago to open this restaurant. The food is good and authentic. The portions are huge, seemingly the way Germans like them. Carolyn has a veal parmigiana - this way she get a prosciutto fix in. Elisa has the Veal Limone, Trent and I both have the steak with mushrooms. All of our food is good and we are given boxes, almost unheard of here in Europe, so we can take our leftovers home with us. There is enough left to make a decent sized lunch for us all. After dinner, our hosts spend some time chatting with us in Italian and we are treated to a very nice limoncello. After than, we call it an night and all turn in around 11:00 pm. Tomorrow, we are off to Strasbourg, France. Aufwiedersehen for now!

[trishbsblog]

Can you tell those who don't know you a little bit about yourself? -       My Name is Victoria Browne, but my friends call me Vix. I write chick-lit and cozy supernatural mystery. I’m a transplant from South London to Los Angeles, California and live happily with my husband and UK rescue cat, Poppy. My cat is my best friend and knows my deepest secrets. I enjoy, writing (obviously,) all books including audio. I love all things physics and have trained in Muai Thai Boxing since I was twenty-two, I am now Thirty-eight!       How would you describe each of your books in 3 words? Gut Feeling: 1) Fun.  2) Friendship. 3) Feel good. Third Time Lucky -       The Honey Trap: 1) Relationships. 2) Real. 3) zesty. -       Notting Hill Gossip: 1) Drama. 2) international. 3) Eye opening. Slip: 1) Touching. 2) Thought provoking. 3) Family. When you are not writing what do you do? -       If I’m not writing, I’m normally down the YouTube rabbit hole watching videos on physics or parallel universe theories, to name a few. If not you will find me in my gym or spending time with my husband and friends, at the cinema or camping. Apart from books, what films or tv shows do you like? -       I go to the cinema at least once a week! I love all films. All-time favorite, Gladiator. TV shows? Currently I love a new American show called “This is Us.” Other than that I’m a Netflix and Hulu binge junkie! Stranger Things, The OA and The Handmaids Tale, all get my vote. How do you choose your covers, must be difficult, they are all wonderful? -       Firstly, thank you. The first book Gut Feeling, I looked on iStock and found and image, then I sent it to the designer and he did the rest. The Honey Trap and Notting Hill Gossip, I had a rough idea in my head so drew stick people on paper and gave that to an artist to work their magic haha. And with my latest book Slip, I told my designer in words what I wanted and he picked some images from Shutterstock, then he merged them. How long does this normally take? -       The artist drawn covers take longer, maybe 3 to 4 weeks. The photo stock images, days, depending on the designer’s schedule.   Have you ever had any one not believe you can do it? -       I’m sure there have been people not believe in me, but the only person ever to voice it was a teacher. When I was about fourteen a teacher told my parents that I would not amount to much! I left school at fifteen, so many people probably didn’t believe in me on any level.      Have you had to overcome any learning difficulties such as dyslexia? -       Yes, I have dyslexia. After leaving school I had to find creative ways to study in order to pass adult education exams. At twenty-four, I sought help, determined to learn to spell. I found out that I also had a weak short-term memory. In short, it went in one ear and out the other! I worked on developing my memory with a therapist, which helped me go back to the basics and teach myself to spell. Toward the end of my program, my therapist asked me to write a diary to help develop my reading and writing skills. I explained that I did not like writing diaries but had written some romantic scenes. My therapist suggested building a beginning and an end to one of the scenes I had written. This was the birth of my first book, Gut Feeling. What is your writing process? -       To start, I think of a story. Write out a plot. Talk through the plot with my husband and friends, and then write the story. -       I like to write in coffee shops or at home. Walking and running helps me think. -       Once I have a first draft, I get my editor to critique my work, sometimes I’ll have a few critique’s. -       Then it is ready for a full copy edit. -       I have now added another step and, I have a second editor proof read the final edited work, for typos that my editor and I may have missed. This was done on the re-release of Gut Feeling in 2017, and Slip, available November 1st 2017. -       Editing is expensive so some self-published authors are reliant one editor getting all those nasty typos!! But if you can afford it, a second proof reader is ideal.    Which of your books is your favorite? -       Goodness, that’s tough. I’d say Gut Feeling because it was my first, and how it was born. It is also being made into an audio book which has been fun (release December 2017.) But I like Slip because it’s based on a true story about my mum and one of her sisters. I enjoyed talking to my mum for research for my story. What got you in to writing, did you always want to do it? -       I always wanted to write and loved reading, but it was very difficult with dyslexia. However, my mum would read to me every night. If you were to do it again, writing each book, what would you do different? -       “Experience is merely the name men gave to their mistakes.”  Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray -       My books have given me a lot of experience, and I wouldn’t be the writer I am today without them.    Who is your writing inspiration? -       Sebastian Faulks, and Danielle Steel are always my go to authors.   Which other authors are amongst your favorite and why? -       I like, Alice Sebold for the writing style and description. Paula Hawkins for her story and plot, and Cecelia Ahern for her fun.  What is your favorite book or books? -       Easy, Bird Song by Sebastian Faulks.   Who gets to read your work first? -       My editor haha. Then anyone who wants to! As long as they promise to leave an amazon review. Are family and friends critical of your work? -       Not to my face! But my editor is, and that’s why she is still my editor. Does this make you change your story if they don't like it? -       If my editor, or anyone questions something I may change the story, or I may just need to work in some clarity to whatever they question. If you could have a book club meeting with anyone deal or alive who would it be? -       Sebastian Faulks and Danielle Steel. If you weren’t a writer what would you be doing? -       I would be living in a parallel universe!   How long does it take you to write a book? -       To write a first draft for a short story (8-10k words) about a month. To write a novel (70-90k words) about 6-8 months. What do you do if you feel your book is going down the lines of another book you have read and how do you correct it. -       The book I’m currently working had similarities to “Lovely Bones” by Alice Sebold. However, because I write my plot out before I start, I was able to see this and make a few changes so those parts of the story. It was important to me that my book fits into the same genre but with its own personality and voice throughout.

[tyleroakley-obsessed]

Ed. Note: I’d been meaning to try Two Vegan Sistas for a while, even though I’m obviously not a vegan. When I found out that contributor Baylee Less was, I had to get to her go with me to try out this Bartlett-area restaurant. Here’s what she thought.  When I tell people I’m vegan, they always ask two things. “How can you live without meat?!” or “How can you live without cheese?!” Sometimes I stick to a short and sassy reply, other times I explain that food can taste just as good and be just as filling without meat and cheese. You just have to know where to go. One place that caters to both lifestyle vegans and curious foodies is Two Vegan Sistas, owned by two real-life sisters with a goal to make healthy eating affordable and convenient. Certified vegan restaurants are few and far between in Memphis, so I was thrilled to hear about Two Vegan Sistas. Although my first visit to the quaint Bartlett eatery was a slight let down, I was eager to give it another try when Holly called and asked if I’d like to review it. I arrived before Holly and ordered the pineapple shake and cauliflower salad. The cauliflower salad was fresh, crisp, perfect for a summer snack. The spices added heat that balanced nicely with the crunchy raw cauliflower, celery, and red onions. I expected this dish to come out hot, but quickly realized that Two Vegan Sistas specializes in raw meals in order to attain optimal nutrition from foods. The pineapple shake blends almond milk, pineapples, dates, maple syrup, and bananas into a refreshing, sweet smoothie. I will definitely swing by again for this thirst-quencher this summer. While we snacked on cauliflower and sipped shakes, Holly and I sat bewildered at what to order. The menu is filled to the brim with things that sounded spicy, tangy, sweet, and succulent. (Holly: I’m not sure why I expected a limited selection just because it was vegan, but I was surprised at the variety of different kinds of dishes offered.) During my first visit, I ordered the lentil burger; although it was tasty, it fell apart while I ate. I was hesitant to try another burger, but the cashew burger didn’t let me down. Topped with lettuce, tomato, mustard, and ketchup, the hearty cashew burger is the answer to a burger-craving vegan’s prayers. I choose the kale salad as my side, and it was the perfect light, crunchy complement to my burger. If you aren’t sure about kale, this is a great starter dish topped with plump tomatoes, ribbons of carrots and zucchini, and a peppery dressing. Holly ordered the spaghetti with vegan meatballs; we were both eager to try the meatballs to see how they measured up to their meaty counterpart. The shining star of the spaghetti was the flavorful tomato-based sauce topped with fresh herbs (we guessed thyme and sage, but it’s a house secret) which verges on the edge of ambrosial. The vegan meatballs ended up being the cashew burger base crumbled over the pasta, but oddly the flavors join together successfully in one zesty bite. (Holly: I really liked this dish, so I was shocked to learn the “meatballs” were made from cashews. I mean, how? It was crazy good.) Yes, sweet potato fries as a side to spaghetti because Holly was really curious about them. Overall, Two Vegan Sistas succeed in their mission to provide the Mid-South with vegan, healthy, savory home-cooking. Two Vegan Sistas features a rotating weekly menu and they offer meal plans. At the reasonable rate of $60 for 10 meals, anyone can try out the vegan lifestyle even on a budget. They also offers daily specials including: small meal platter for $15 that includes an entree and two sides, or a large meal platter for $25 that includes an entree and four sides. They also included beverages and desserts as sides (so grab that pineapple shake while you’re there). Go with a group and chow down, or go alone and enjoy. Two Vegan Sistas are open Sundays 11 a.m. to 7 p.m., Monday through Thursday 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. and 5 p.m. to 7 p.m., and Fridays 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. Go There: 6343 Summer Ave Suite 110 Memphis TN 3813 twovegansistas.com Are you a home owner in Memphis, with a broken garage door? Call ASAP garage door today at 901-461-0385 or checkout http://ift.tt/1B5z3Pc

http://ilovememphisblog.com/2017/05/two-vegan-sistas/