#life settlement contract

[americanlifefund]

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[sxorpiomooon]

What the houses stand for in astrology

Paid readings

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1st house

- yourself, how you look, how you are perceived, the kind of people you attract the most, your facial features, how you carry yourself, what qualities of yours attract people, views on life.

This is the only house in astrology that is YOU all the other signs and houses represent something in particular but this represents entirely YOU

2nd house

- where your finances will come from, how your finances will come, your good preferences, your tongue, your mouth, your lips, your voice, how you speak and what you speak, what people think of your speech

3rd house

- your siblings, your connection with your siblings, what you think about them, what your neighbours think about you, what your neighbours are like, your communication (writing skills in particular), social life, early education

4th house

- your house, your family, how your house is like, what your house is like, what your family is like, your connection and bond with them, roots, foundation, also women at times

5th house

- your expression, how and why you express yourself, your way of expressing, how your thoughts work, your opinion on arts and creativity, your art, your children, how you are with kids, what kids you will have, romance, love, relationship, self expression, curiosity, memory, studies early education etc

6th house

- health, daily life, enemies, where your health problems come from, what kind of health problems, how you are like in your daily life, what kind of enemies do you have, how do they cause you harm, pets, system, the area that you work in, your surroundings

7th house

- business, partnerships, anything formal even communication, presentation, marriage, open enemies, sharing, what kind of partner you will have, where they might be from

8th house

- anything and everything hidden, stalking, cult, your deepest desires, you deepest secrets, your trauma, sex, shared finances, intimacy, property, contracts, religion.

9th house

- education, what you might like to pursue, if you'll go out for education, short term travel, your intelligence and knowledge, higher education, your wisdom, philosophy, learning.

10th house

- career, reputation, men, family men, authority figure, long term goals and desires, work ethic, structure.

11th house

- friends, internet, things you'll indulge in, society, groups, technology, gains and losses, hope, timing.

12th house

-your subconscious mind, your psyche, your dreams, your deepest dreams, long term travel or settlement, what your birth was like, spirituality, healing, afterlife, limiting beliefs.

Check out my paid readings!!

[magics-neptunes-things]

Collide (1)

Hello everyone!

Here we are finally in the series I talk about a few days ago. After the votes you chose Leah, but I might have kept some ideas for Alessia afterwards.

I have the beginning of the story and the end, but I have not yet decided exactly what would happen in the middle, so I am unable to tell you how many chapters there will be in this story.

I hope you will like it and as usual, I gladly take your comments, requests and suggestions :) Don’t hesitate to write to me.

Happy reading!

World count : 4.8k

TW : Mention of breaking up and angst. I think nothing else but if you notice something please let me know!

PART 2 I PART 3 I PART 4 I PART 5 I PART 6 | PART 7

The news of your transfer to Arsenal was like a little bomb in the football world. You were on the verge of another contract extension with Manchester City when the London club contacted your agent, offering you a contract that you couldn’t refuse. It wasn’t an easy decision to make, you thought about it long before accepting. You asked for the advice of your parents and friends footballers perhaps a little more experienced than you. Including Ingrid Engen, one of your best friends since you started playing on the Norwegian national team.

After weighing the pros and cons, you decided to accept and say goodbye to Manchester City. Some things will obviously miss you. Starting with some of your teammates that you consider your friends and who seemed really saddened by your departure.

You quickly got along with Laia Aleixandri and Leila Ouahabi, the spanish womens taking you under their wing just arrived in Manchester. They made your life easier and helped you include yourself in the club much more easily than you could have hoped. Leaving your home country at almost 18 wasn’t easy, but if you wanted to continue to follow your dreams, you really had no choice. Norwegian football being less in the spotlight, when you had the first proposal from an English club, you didn’t hesitate a single second. Your parents and relatives encouraged you to accept this offer as well.

Your life in Manchester has been pleasant and you can’t help but be a little nervous about moving to a new city. With other people, other places… In short, to start almost from the beggining. The only thing that has changed between your settlement between Manchester and London is that you have undoubtedly developed your athletic abilities and skills in all areas necessary to be able to play football properly.

Your contract was signed just after the end of the World Cup, so you were the last to announced at Arsenal. This didn’t allow you to find an apartment in time and that is why you find yourself in a hotel room for your first nights in London. It’s a little strange, but you’d rather that than take an apartment that wouldn’t suit you. It’s important for you to really feel at home when you cross the threshold of your door and you haven’t found the one who gave you this impression in those you have visited for the moment.

You only have a few things with you at the moment, all your furniture is stored in Laia’s garage in Manchester, ready to be sent as soon as you find what suits you. Very soon, let’s hope.

********

It��s a little nervous that you leave the Uber that accompanies you to the Arsenal training center for your first day under the colors of the club. You have already made the promotional photos, so you have already met several people belonging to the staff. You’ve already had a meeting with Jonas, but you haven’t met a lot of people officially when it comes to the players.

Last night, Alessia Russo contacted you via Instagram (you didn’t even realize she was following you on social media) and offered to wait for you at the entrance to make your way together. You quickly accepted, even if you also quickly understood that it was for you more than for her. Alessia knows a lot of people on the team, unlike you. But the gesture made you happy. Alessia having played at Manchester United while you were playing at Manchester City, you might have had a bad connection with her, being clubs enemy, but that’s not the case. Leila and Laia always took you with them when they were going out with Ona and her friends and that’s how you met Alessia. From saying you’re friends with her there’s a world, but you appreciate the blonde’s personality.

Alessia is already waiting for you when you arrive and you smile at her when you reach her height.

"Hi" you say with a slight smile, responding willingly to her embrace.

"Nervous?" asks the blonde, glancing at you.

You answer with a simple grunt that makes her laugh, before you go to the conference room where you meet the rest of the team. She asks you about your Summer and you ask questions back, learning that she went in her family in Italy.

Several of your teammates are already present when you enter the room, including Jonas who greets you both with a big smile. You find yourself following Alessia around like a lost puppy in the room, but she doesn’t seem to mind. On the contrary, she introduces you to people she already knows.

You’ve come across some of them on football fields in previous games, but aside from a few words exchanged with them, there’s never been anything more. You talk to Laia Codina, whom Laia and Leila described as an adorable girl, when a new trio arrives in the room. Lia, Leah and Katie.

"Katie terrifies me" Alessia jokes in your ear before Leah spots her and leads the other two in your direction.

"Do you know Y/N?" Alessia tells Leah after they greet each other with an embrace.

"Not really" Leah replies with a smile. "Welcome to Arsenal!"

"Thank you very much"

When your eyes meet, you feel a wave of shivers running through your entire body. Nothing to do with the terror that Katie can inspire in Alessia, but what it can mean does intrigue you no less. But you quickly recover, greeting all three. You realize too that Leah’s embrace lasts a few seconds longer than the others, her hand dragging in the hollow of your back when she laughs at a joke Katie made.

Shortly after, Jonas and his assistants arrive in the room and ask you all to sit down. You find yourself next to Alessia and Manuela Zinsberger and listens wisely to what he tells you. This mainly consists of a warm welcome from the new players, a reminder of the goals set for the team this year and the introduction of new staff members. After that, everyone is invited to a brunch and you find yourself around a big round table, once again with Manuela but also with Frida Maanum, who seems delighted to have a compatriot with her on the team.

"We’ll be able to show Stina and Amanda who the real Vikings are" she told you, amusing the people around you.

The least we can say is that you quickly feel comfortable.

Finally you were wrong to fear the introduction into your new team. You haven’t trained together yet, but you feel it won’t be a problem for you to fit in here. Despite you, your eyes are a little too turned towards Leah Williamson, who has lunch at an another table. You didn’t expect the injuries one to be here today, which was stupid of you. They’re just as much part of the team as you are.

In the middle of the afternoon, after visiting the different rooms and the training ground, you are free to leave. You stay a little longer than the first ones who do though, having fun making passes with Alessia and Manuela, while Leah, Lia, Beth and Viv stay a few meters from you to discuss. When you finally decide to leave the field to go home and you don’t follow them to the parking lot greeting them nevertheless, you see Leah arching an eyebrow.

"Where are you going?"

"Taking the subway? I don’t have a car yet" you answer smiling, shrugging your shoulders.

"Bullshit. Someone can bring you back" Leah says, turning to your teammates.

"I’m not going to force someone to make a detour for me, Leah, but that’s very kind, thank you very much."

Something in the blonde’s gaze makes you think that if she had been fit to drive, she herself would have made the detour, but being driven by Lia she doesn’t have the opportunity to do so.

"I can" says Alessia nicely. "Where do you live?"

A new wave of surprise attacks your teammates when you give them the name of your hotel.

"You live in a hotel?" Lia wonders with her kind voice this time.

"I didn’t find an apartment for now" you shrug your shoulders."It all happened so quickly that I didn’t have time to anticipate things properly."

Well, you must also say that you wanted enjoy your holiday without bother yourself with it.

"We have a guest room if you want to come and live there for a few days, the time to find something" proposes Manuela.

But before you have time to answer, Alessia suddenly resumes speaking, slapping her forhead, as if she had just remembered something.

"They’re looking to rent the apartment in front of mine, on the same floor. If it’s like mine, it’s really nice!"

********

It turned out that the apartment in front of Alessia is indeed very nice. A bright living room (Very rare for London said Katie when she was sent by Leah to come make the counter-visit with you to scare the seller in case of scam attempts), a bedroom, another room that you used as a guest room, a third to make you an office and a living room with open kitchen. You even have a small balcony overlooking the inner courtyard, separated from Alessia’s by a transparent wall. "We’ll have to do a housewarming party" several of your teammates got excited. And that’s how you end up with most of the players on the team crammed into your living room, laughing while watching a reality show chosen by Jen. You ordered pizza and a supply of beer and other drinks has been flooding your balcony since last night. But you feel good and that’s all that matters. At the end of the show, you don’t know who offers a drinking game, consisting of taking a shot of alcohol if we did more than the person says. For example, you find yourself having to drink when Lotte says "I took more than three yellow cards last season." "Katie should drink like five shots" jokes Viv towards. Katie glare at her as laughter rises around you, but the game continues. Finally, when one of them says "I slept with more than two people" you are surprised to see that finally not many of you drink. You do. "Y/N?" Manuela turns to you with a disbelieving smile. "We never said we had to justify ourselves" you answer pulling your tongue at her. A new round is quickly thrown after that, but you cross Leah’s eyes a few seconds later. She also drank, which is probably not surprising given the small reputation that precedes her.

After clearing your throat, you look away with a slight blush on your cheeks.

You regularly saw Leah, between the parties organized by the different team members and during training. If the blond doesn’t follow those in the field, she has her appointments with her physiotherapist at the same time as you play. And she now participates in strength training and physical maintenance.

You talk to her regularly, but you have a hard time staying away like you promised yourself to. Leah seems like a very passionate and kind person, but some of your former teammates in Manchester City have made you aware of her flirtatious nature. And a one- or two-night thing, are really not what you’re looking for right now.

A little later in the evening, when at least half of the squad has returned home, you find yourself tidying up a little in the kitchen accompanied by Lia, Leah, Alessia, Manuela and Frida.

"So you have more than two conquests?" teases Manuela, leaning on the central island of your kitchen.

You have the impression that Leah’s eyes will pierce your head when she hears Manu’s question.

"I’ve got like three" you says, rolling your eyes. "It’s not the end of the world"

"It’s not" Lia laughs.

Hoping to divert the conversation, you offer once again to drink to your teammates slash friends. But that was without counting on Manu’s spontaneity.

"Oh but it wasn’t you who dated Alina Meier who play in Aston Villa? Lia’s swiss teammate?" (n/a I don’t want any problem with anyone, this girl is all invented)

You feel your stomach contracting a little bit to her name. Manuela isn’t mistaken, but you usually avoid talking about your ex. Any of your interlocutors could feel the tension emanating from you, but Lia is the fastest.

"Can I have another beer please?" she cuts the conversation with a big smile.

You willingly accept and pivot towards the fridge to dive in. Alessia takes charge of changing the topic of conversation and you sigh of relief when your hear that it works. You spend two seconds more than necessary to take out the beer, taking a large breath before leaving the fridge. Alessia puts a comforting hand behind your back and you find yourself once again stuck in Leah’s eyes when your eyes cross.

An hour later, it’s just Alessia, Leah, Victoria and you. Manuela fell asleep on the couch and you will probably find her in the same place tomorrow morning. Vic and Lessi are in the middle of a conversation about a band when you find yourself on your balcony, enjoying some fresh air.

"Mind if I join you?"

Leah. You obviously invite her to join you, despite yourself very intrigued by the young woman. You’re not stupid, or at least not stupid enough not to realize that she seems intrigued by you too. She speaks at you more often than Manu for example and behaves differently with you than with Lia or Alessia. You can imagine how much she looks about you and to be honest you’re interested about her too. But on your side it’s not only physical interest, which changes everything.

"Are you okay?" asks Leah with sincere concern. "You seem a little down since Manu mentioned Alina."

You look at her thoughtfully for a split second before shrugging your shoulders.

"She doesn’t bring back pleasant memories. But it’s ok" you finally confess, looking at the sky.

It’s difficult in London to observe the stars, between pollution and public lights lit everywhere. You miss it a little.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Well… Everybody in the football world knows, no?"

Another disadvantage of dating a well-known player, in the end. It’s impossible to keep your privacy private.

"I don’t think so?" said Leah, frowning. "I don’t, anyway." You look at her again for a few seconds and it doesn’t take you any longer to understand that she’s telling the truth. "We dated for almost a year, until I found out she had been cheating on me with someone in the man team from her club for almost four months." "Oh... I’m so sorry" A new glance in her direction allows you to understand that she really is. Frowning, she seems upset by this story. Like all the people to whom you tell the truth of your break up with Alina. You assumed that everyone knew why, but it would seem that they didn’t. It kind of cheers you up to be honored. "Jordan’s playing with her now" you say thoughtfully. Leah grunt at the mention of her ex and you take advantage of the fact that she looks in front of her to observe her. Leah is a very beautiful woman, it’s not surprising that people like her so much. You see regularly video on her in your "For you" on Tiktok. "You’re not the only one having a bad relationship with your ex" ended up sighing Leah. "Do you want to talk about it?" you ask, repeating her words from before. "There’s not much to say. She’s just, you know... gone." Maybe you shouldn’t get close to her to put your hand on her shoulder, her proximity triggering strange sensations throughout your body. You realize that the joints of Leah’s hands that are attached to the fence are white, and your hand quickly leaves her shoulder to be laid on one of Leah’s, stroking it. When Leah turns her head in your direction, you realize how close your faces are. Your breath is cut off and the infinity of the blue of her eyes makes you lose yourself. When Leah puts her hand around your waist to take you against her, you feel like your heart rate has never been so fast.

But it’s nothing compared to how you feel when her lips land on yours. One hand is automatically behind her neck and the other on her cheek. Your lips begin a passionate and sensual dance and that’s exactly how you imagined things when you thought about how Leah kiss.

The blonde takes advantage of a wimper from you to deepend the kiss and request access to your mouth with her tongue. You leave it to her, carried away by these waves of emotions and sensations that make you turn your head. You find yourself quickly having legs in jelly and you can’t tell how long this moment happened.

You need all your concentration and willpower to break that kiss, snatching yourself from Leah’s arms.

"I’m sorry" you mumble out of breath, facing Leah’s surprised face. "I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry"

With one last mumble, you hurry back inside. If the remaining guests suspect something, they don’t show it. You take the excuse to clean up a little more to mask your trembling hands and let your heart rate returning to normal. Five minutes later, Leah came back inside, excusing herself and leaving your apartment, calling it a night. She didn't even look at you and well, that's hurt. But it shouldn't, aren't you the one who pushed her away?

After kissing your cheek and saying goodbye, Alessia left you too. You throw a blanket on Manu’s sleeping body, you go to your room. It’s late, but you know that Ingrid sometimes stays up a little later than other people.

From You Are you asleep?

From Ingrid 🩵 No. are you okay?

From You Can we call each other?

You don’t get messages back, but Ingrid tries to call you while you’re brushing your teeth. You pick up, mouth full of toothpaste and greet your friend with a hand sign when her face appears on the screen.

"What are you still up at this hour?" smiled Ingrid

"I could ask you the same question" you point out to her after rinsing your mouth.

Ingrid just turns your phone screen and you realize that she shows you her living room, in which she seems to be installed with Mapi and Baghera watching TV.

"Hola Mapi!" you smile to the tattooed when she greets you with a wave of hand.

"What about you?"

"I invited the girls to my apartment to celebrate my move in" you explain before leaving the bathroom and going to lie on your bed.

"Was it nice?"

You hum for any answer, the memory of the kiss you just exchanged with Leah coming back full force. After spending years paying attention at you, Ingrid knows you very well and she realizes in the second that the reason you called her is related to this evening.

"What’s going on, Søtnos?"

Mapi being next to Ingrid, you are relieved that you started this conversation in Norwegian. Since Leah’s name is rather all-purpose, you hope that when you mention her, Maria will not realise. You never understood why there is such tension between the Spanish women and the English women, at least for some of them. But Mapi will probably never be friends with Leah.

Ingrid is a person you could easily confide in, even if there are parts of your life that you have never talked to her about. But you trust her with your life and you know that she will always be able to see things in a neutral and mature way. Which is not always your case.

You explain the situation to her, trying not to take too much time while giving her all the necessary information to have a clear vision of things.

"For summary" resumes Ingrid after your monologue "You like her, she seems to like you too. She kissed you, you pushed her away and she left without looking at you?"

"Uh… yeah"

"And you’re surprised?" laughs softly the brunette shaking her head.

"No, on the contrary. I should never have accepted that kiss in the first place, it was a serious mistake on my part."

"Why?"

"Because she doesn’t see things the way I do, I guess. Leila told me to beware of her and she didn’t want anything serious for a long time" you sigh as you roll to the side.

"Did you talk to her about it?"

"No, we didn’t have time between the kiss and the moment she left my apartment slamming the door" you laugh.

"Be careful with your bad attitude" warns Ingrid pointing at you.

But you smile at her in return. You know she doesn’t scold you for real.

"Anyway, I doubt that she will want to speak to me again after that" you sigh again.

This information shouldn’t depress you as much as that, but still. And this doesn’t escape the keen eye of your compatriot once again. She smiles softly at you.

"I like Leila and I don’t doubt that she means what she says, but trust me, you’re never better served than by yourself."

Her look from the side and you know she’s looking at her own girlfriend. You remember perfectly well that Ingrid was also told to beware of Mapi. But when you see where they are today, you tell yourself that she did well to trust her own idea.

"You have a better conscience than me to judge people" you remind her.

Ingrid answers you with a grunt and you know that she thinks about what happened previously in your love life. You make a grimace and decide to change the subject, questioning her rather on Mapi, her trainings and what she has to tell you again in her life.

Your call lasts another ten minutes before you decide to stop, promising to call you back quickly. What you usually do once a week at least, determined to keep in touch despite the fact that you are not in the same country.

It’ll be a long time before you can fall asleep that night, Leah deep in your mind. Part of you is bitterly sorry you pushed her away, but on the other hand, no one can blame you for wanting to protect you, right? No one knows your past and what you went through before you came here. But you can’t help but feel guilty, despite the little time you spent with Leah, she confided in you about her relationship with her ex and even if it was just a few words, you feel like she wouldn’t do it to just anyone. Your last wish is to hurt her, she asked nothing for it.

You will have to wait until the sky clears, heralding a new day for you to finally find sleep, long hours later. Little did you know that Leah experienced the same thing in her own bed.

********

As you have imagined, Leah was particularly cold the next time you saw her. She greeted you, but only from a distance. Her affectionate smile and the little touches if attention she offered you on a daily basis now seem to need to be evoked in the past. And it bothers you too much for your taste.

This obviously caught the attention of the girls you were closest to in Arsenal, starting with Alessia.

"Is everything okay with Leah?" she asked you one day when you ended up in her apartment after a game.

"Yeah, why?"

Thank God you were on your phone and you were able to use this pretext to pretend to be absorbed by what was on it. Otherwise Alessia would have seen the slight panic take hold of your gaze.

"I don’t know, I think she changed her behavior with you… It’s not so much in her habits"

Alessia is far too observant, but given her character and personality, it doesn’t surprise you. It's also probably thanks to this that she saw your hesitation and she got closer to you before starting to speak again.

"Leah is my friend but you are too, so if you need to confide in someone, you can do it with me ok? I know how to keep secrets"

"Even for Tooney?" you asked while arching an amused eyebrow.

You met the energetic Englishman recently, when she came to London for an interview and took the opportunity to attend a match of Alessia.

"Even for Tooney" laughed Alessia gently shoving you with a shoulder.

You laughed too and you both went back to your respective phones, but in truth Alessia’s remark began to spin in your brain.

"Thanks"

Is all you added before you letting your head on her shoulder. Alessia responded by tapping you on the top of it, without taking her phone out of her eyes. And that was enough.

********

"Your tattoo is amazing!"

Katie’s exclamation makes you turn in her direction and you smile timidly when you see her watching your back carefully.

"Thank you?" you whisper in response.

Even if you prefer showering at home, this is not the first time you change in front of your teammates. So you don't know it Katie have never dared to ask you about it or if they have never really make attention the tattoo you have on your back. Yet it’s hard to miss. Drawn on all your right shoulder blade, it goes down to the hollow of your hips and shows up to your right shoulder.

"Wow, invite the girl on a date before" jokes Manuela when Katie advances towards you, without detaching her eyes from your back, her head slightly tilting on the side to have a better view.

"Sorry, I already put an option on it!" Caitlin exclaims at the back of the locker room, causing a general laugh.

Katie rolls her eyes, but you realize that she has been joined by Lia and Leah, all three of them carefully observing your tattoo. Your gaze lingers on Leah, who seems to resist as much as possible her desire to come and look closer. She stands behind Lia and when your eyes cross she silently observes you for long seconds before shifting her attention to your back.

"Sorry about the invasion" Lia smiles gently.

"It makes me think of a painting" Leah thoughtfully made next to her.

"By Van Gogh yes. The Starry Night. It was my grandfather’s favorite painting. Well, it’s a modified version obviously, but the inspiration is there"

The surprised look of Leah doesn't escape you. Lia is watching you silently and next to you Katie and Manuela have started a conversation about tattoos. As for Alessia, she finally emerges from the shower after her eternal routine of care.

"Do you like painting?" Leah asks carefully, looking at you with the same apprehension as if your gaze could ignite her alive.

"My grandfather was a painter, not very well known but he introduced me to this world" you answer by shrugging your shoulders.

"What she paints is incredible. She has a room dedicated to this at home, behind her bedroom" Alessia intervenes.

You turn in her direction, frowning. It's a part of you that you don't really want to share with everyone, fearing their jugement. You don't think you're a great painter, but you like painting. It's sort your mind. Your glance is quickly captured by your friend.

"What? It’s true" she mumbles, shrugging.

You roll your eyes and turn around to finish dressing, putting on a t-shirt and a sweatshirt to accompany your ripped jeans. The little troop that surrounded you has dissipated, but Leah’s gaze remains thoughtfully on you. You cross it when you glance in her direction and you blush slightly.

The effect that woman has on you… It might be a good idea to talk to someone about it again instead of thinking desperately about her every night before you fall asleep.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Villain: The Knights of St. Kazvarin

There's pious and selfless devotion, and then there's whatever these weirdos have going on

Riding forth from their brooding fortress-abbey to do the will of a long dead holy man, these inscrutable warriors have long been the subject of rumour and suspicion. It's not an undeserved reputation, as apart from looting tombs for ancient relics or ominously observing the goings on of the common folk these forboding knights are most often acting as the hired muscle for unscrupulous nobles who have no regard for the legality or virtue of the orders they enforce.

Far more than mercenaries with a patina of piousness, the Knights use these contracts to fund a secret and sinister endeavour that they have undertaken for centuries.

Adventure Hooks:

While delving through a dungeon the party follow a trail of slain monsters to a gravely injured knight and his thoroughly overwhelmed young squire. The boy will introduce them as Tilaen and Ser Darrik respectively and ask for their aid in tending to his master's injuries, before the dour Knight chides him for speaking on his behalf and tells the party to be about their way. Ser Darrik wants no help from "the faithless" and is willing to use the last of his strength to get violent about it. If cooler heads prevail, the party will learn that the two were after a rare manuscript hidden somewhere within the dungeon, and the offer of collaboration might be explored. If the party don't help, they'll find the squire waiting for them at the dungeon's entrance, requesting their help to bury his master and guide him back to their order's abbey. It's only after a few days of travelling together will realize that Squire Tilaen is muchabused by his sect, and that steering the boy away or outright adopting him might be the real kindness.

Acting as a stern and imposing shadow to whatever asshole noble or callous merchant the party have recently pissed off, the towering and always helmed Ser Gelceiras has "Bossfight" written all over him. However when the adventure's final confrontation looms the party find him cleaning off his massive axe, his employer's head in a bloodsoaked bag waiting to be delivered to them. "We got what we wanted from him" he rumbles as he exits, " you can have what's left. no hard feelings."

Just a new threat encroaches on the settlement, a mace wielding bruiser in burnished armour rides up and pledges to fight alongside the party in its defence. Ser Portia's skill as a fighter is sorely needed, perhaps enough to overlook whatever agenda it is that drew her to the settlement in the first place. Shortly after the final battle is fought and the dust clears, the party will realize Portia is nowhere to be seen... having escaped sometime during the aftermath after inexplicably kidnapping one of the locals.

Background: Before he was a sacred corpse, Saint Kazvarin was a necromancer of great talent, having dedicated his life to the study of thanatology and the many loopholes around death. This earned him great renown and wealth in his day, amazing the masses with seances while charging the powerful dearly for cut-rate resurrections. He amassed generous patrons and fanatical followers, only to have it all fall apart when the Raven Queen took an interest.

Kazvarin had and constructed his own bootleg afterlife, a place where his most loyal followers would rest forever in glory before being called back in time of greatest need. Atleast that was the sales pitch, in reality the "saint" had stopped just short of lichdom delving into the shadow to create a demiplane where his own soul would reside undeminished after death, sustained by the faith of his followers as the realm hollowed them out.

Such villainy inevitably created it's own downfall in the form of a young woman who's family were taken in and exploited by Kazvarin's cult. Though her name was not recorded by history, she was marked by the Duskmaven for greatness when she swore to tear down the saint who would conquer death, years later succeeding along with some allies in not only killing the necromancer but cursing him with a most ironic fate. Denying him the afterlife he had so meticulously constructed, the raven queen cursed Kazvarin with reincarnation, forcing his soul to live out a new life where it would forget all he knew and be remade.

It would have been a perfect punishment had the Saint's followers not been so fanatical. Though their organization had been shattered by their "benevolent" leader's apparent assassination, the most loyal of his inner circle poured through his research, finding the spells nessisary to seek out his soul in its new vessel. Thereafter they engaged in a grim hunt, crossing the realms to ritually sacrifice the youth their leader had grown into and pulling free his undigested soul. This is the cycle Kazvarin's followers have been following for generations, spending decades hunting for signs of their leader's return before using murder and necromancy to forcibly deincarnate him. Thereafter Kazvarin has a few months or years to act freely before he is swallowed back up by the tide of souls and the hunt begins again

Future Adventures:

Though they begin as a comparatively minor oddity, the knights become a true threat to the campaign as soon as they figure out who Kazvarin's current incarnation is and manage to wrest his soul out. Ideally this should be someone the party knows, to make it all the more tragic that they were sacrificed to bring about the villain's return.

Though it is much deminished, Kazvarin's demiplane (called the Howling Basilica) still traps the souls of those who have sworn their lives to him, acting as a vault from which he can pull rank upon rank of shadow-maddened spirits to his bidding. His most loyal retainers are allowed to keep their skills and individuality while being deprived of their will, meaning he has a backlog of highly skilled Knights just waiting for new bodies to possess no matter how many times the party defeat them on the field. What's worse is that the saint still remembers how to manipulate people with the offer of offbrand immortality, and will likely begin reaching out to powerful individuals shorty after his return.

Art 1

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[lathalea]

Entangled 4/10

Relationships: Thorin Oakenshield x Dwarf OFC (The Hobbit) Rating: G (subject to change) Warnings: ANGST Summary: Arranged marriages are common among the dwarven nobility. After reclaiming the Lonely Mountain, the Kingdom Under the Mountain needs to be rebuilt. Thorin agrees to marry a lady from the Blue Mountains, securing a mutually beneficial alliance with the Broadbeam Dwarves. Lady Mista is said to be a practical and hard-working dwarf-woman, willing to give him an heir who would secure the line of succession. A decent queen material, his advisors say. If only Thorin could let go of his past… You can find this fic on AO3 (search for lathalea).

A/N: First of all, sorry it took me so long to update this story but your comments and messages kept me going! TRSB and Real Life™️ hit me hard, but I haven't forgotten about this story. In fact, I have a treat for you: an XXL-sized chapter as a thank you for your patience 💙 Special thanks to @legolasbadass and @absentmindeduniverse for your help. You are amazing and you made this chapter so much better than it originally was! 🤩🙏💙 -*-*-*- KHUZDUL: ‘Urdêk - ereborean variant of Lonely Mountain (referring to the Halls within the mountain) Nadad - brother Nan’ith - little/young sister Zabdûna - the Queen Zabdûna undu ‘Urd - Queen Under the Mountain Khagal'abbad - Ered Luin, the Blue Mountains Azsâlul'abad - the Lonely Mountain (both the mountain and the dwarven kingdom known among Elves and Men as Erebor) Tumunzahar - an ancient dwarven city in the Blue Mountains rebuilt by the Broadbeams in this story. The Elves call it “Nogrod”. Gabilgathol - an ancient dwarven city in the Blue Mountains rebuilt by the Firebeards in this story. The Elves call it “Belegost”. Thorinuldûm - Thorin’s Halls, the settlement of the refugees from the Lonely Mountain in the Blue Mountains Iglishmêk - the sign language widely used by all the dwarves -*-*-*-

✨ Chapter list: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4... ✨ Entangled Masterlist

Thorin opened his eyes with a gasp. That cursed dream again. Those eyes…

Several deep breaths helped to banish the haunting afterimages from his mind for good. Deep inside the Mountain — much deeper than the Royal Chambers — the mine bell struck eleven times. One hour before noon. It was later than he expected.

Thorin’s head was pounding, and the bitter aftertaste of rowanberry brandy in his mouth made him yearn for a mug of water. Slowly, he rose, noticing that he was not in his bed but in his armchair, still wearing some of yesterday's clothes. His finely embroidered undershirt and similarly adorned trousers — now crumpled. Parts of his wedding attire. His wedding.

He truly needed a drink.

The only thing he found in his chamber was an empty brandy bottle that lay forgotten on the floor. For a moment, Thorin wanted to ring for a servant, irritated at the fact that he slept so long — and his usual breakfast tray was nowhere to be seen. Had they overslept in the kitchens as well? What could have been so important that… Of course. His wedding.

He grunted. There was not going to be any breakfast tray and no servants. Not until he rang for them, at least. No one would disturb him in the morning after his wedding night. Frowning, Thorin managed to recall that a celebratory dinner was scheduled later that day — not only for the people of ‘Urdêk, but also for the whole royal family and the family of the bride. His wife.

Thorin ran a hand down his face. He was a married Dwarf now. A husband. Years and years ago, in another lifetime, that thought would have made him enormously proud — and happy. And yet, on this very morning, the only thing he felt was that bitter taste in his mouth — and shame; his foolish dreams of youth long forgotten. The weight of a new braid in his hair, the marriage braid, was not a symbol of perfect, eternal love he had foolishly envisioned as a youth. This braid only denoted the contract between the two dwarven houses: the Longbeards and the Broadbeams. 

A memory from the previous day appeared in his mind: pale, small, pale fingers nervously sliding through his hair, braiding a pattern that was unfamiliar to him. The personal pattern of the lady who now occupied the adjacent bedchamber — Lady Mista. The woman he had barely met and knew nothing of. His wife.

He should have felt something about this image, anything — sadness or perhaps the satisfaction of yet another duty he fulfilled as the King; hope or disenchantment. There was nothing — only a gaping hole deep inside him where his feelings should be. He stared with disappointment at the empty brandy bottle in his hand, and placed it on the table beside him with a clank. 

Perhaps everything was as it should be. His was an arranged marriage, after all. The Kingdom Under the Mountain needed an heir to the throne. The future and prosperity of the realm depended on it. It was Thorin’s duty to fulfil, and time was of the essence. As the ancient scriptures stated, only the firstborn son of the firstborn son — of the current king — had the right to the throne of this realm. The Book of Law emphasised that it had to be the direct descendant of Durin — as the line remained unbroken since the beginning of time. If the direct line was to be lost, the next in line was the second son and his progeny. Thorin closed his eyes and Frerin’s kindred face appeared before him — and quickly disappeared. That future perished more than one hundred and forty years ago beneath the East Gate of Khazad-dûm before it even had a chance to come to fruition. As for the other possibilities… they were just as painfully non-existent.

“Is there truly no legal way to name Fili or Kili as my heir apparent, Master Maldur?” Thorin crumpled a piece of parchment in his hand.

“I am afraid not, Sire.” The elderly scholar adjusted the emerald pince-nez on his nose. “They are both the sons of a daughter of Durin.”“Besides, since Fili is married to Lady Fridvi of the Firebeards. According to the treaty between our houses, their firstborn child will rule in the Blue Mountains,” added Balin with an apologetic smile.

“Aye. Even if it’s a daughter,” Thorin said and added, as if to himself, “I have always thought the Firebeards to be more sensible when it came to the laws of succession.”“Yes, well, Your Majesty…” Master Maldur cleared his throat in ill-disguised disapproval, shuffling some parchments in front of him. “The Longbeard laws, however, clearly state that if no male heir is procured by the current king before his 200th birthday, the next Dwarf in line — albeit one who is not a direct descendant of Durin — would be the grandson of your Grandfather’s brother, Grór, the firstborn son of his firstborn son, Nain, your…”

“I do know the lineage of my cousin, Dain Ironfoot, quite well, thank you,” Thorin remarked curtly. Genealogy, lineages, and recounting endless familial connections always made him irritable.

“And hypothetically speaking, if your revered cousin was not there to claim the crown of the Kingdom Under the Mountain, may Mahal give him long life,” Maldur spoke in his hoarse voice that made Thorin think of crumbling stones, “the next in line would be, of course, Lord Balin, the firstborn son of Fundin, the firstborn son of Farin, who, in turn, was the firstborn…”

“Thank you, Master Maldur.” Thorin nodded to him, having heard enough, and then turned to the firstborn son of Fundin. “Balin, how would you feel about becoming the next king?”

“I would rather not. Unless you and Dain plan to drink your way to the Halls of Awaiting together anytime soon?” Balin chuckled, shaking his head. “I have other plans, laddie, and besides, I’m not getting any younger.”

“And yet your wit is as sharp as it was one hundred years ago,” Thorin offered him a half-smile.

“Your Majesty, may I take this opportunity to point out how crucial it is that a direct descendant of Durin sits on the throne of Azsâlul'abad?” The frown on Master Maldur’s forehead deepened. “Additionally, the unfortunate discord between Your Majesty’s Grandfather and his brother, Grór, is vividly remembered by your subjects. Sadly, because of this, Lord Dain is quite an unpopular personage here. Not a favourable position to be in for a prospective ruler. If such an event were to happen, of course.”

“Of course.” Thorin sighed. “Any more ideas, Balin? Lord Bori?”

Balin slowly shook his head.

“May I remind you, Your Majesty, that we have received several offers of alliance through marriage?” said the white-haired chancellor, who — until that very moment — remained silent. Lord Bori always picked the perfect moment to strike.“Very well.” Thorin stood up, signalling that the meeting was adjourned. “It seems that we have run out of heirs. Balin, would you be so kind as to discuss the matter with my sister? I entrust you both with choosing a suitable royal consort for the King Under the Mountain.”

A thud brought him out of his reverie. It came from the adjacent bedchamber. Thorin heard two distinct voices, although he could not quite make out the words. It must have been Lady Mista discussing something with her maid, he suspected. He clearly recognized the soft lilt of his spouse’s voice, so characteristic among the Broadbeams. Perhaps she was readying herself for the day, as he should as well. Thorin was about to ring for his servant when a resonant voice reached his ears despite the thick door between their rooms.

“Why doesn't it surprise me, Mista?!” The voice was definitely feminine. “You had one job…” “Let me explain…” That was Lady Mista speaking. Thorin was able to recognize only one or two words.

“There is nothing to explain!” The first voice returned. “It was your wedding night, for Mahal’s sake! Couldn’t you have made an effort? Just look at yourself! For once in your life…”

“Mother, you don’t understand, I…” Lady Mista’s words trailed off. She sounded tense.

The pounding in Thorin’s head intensified. He glared at the door.

“Have you forgotten how hard your father and your uncle worked to achieve this?! Is that how you repay your family, Mista? By ruining everything? On the very first night?”

Without thinking, Thorin placed his hand on the door handle and pressed. He had heard enough.

“What is the meaning of this?!” he demanded.

In the silence that filled the room, just after he stepped into Lady Mista’s bedchamber, he saw Lady Mista sitting in her bed. Her face was as pale as the bed linen, her eyes wide, and her quilt pulled up to her chin. She looked at him as if she wanted to disappear underneath it. With her hair tousled and her slightly skewed spectacles, she looked more like a defenceless young maid than an adult Dwarf-woman.

Next to her bed stood a corpulent red-haired matron in a fashionable green-and-gold gown, her hair immaculately dressed, her neck and wrists adorned with elegant jewellery, her fisted hands resting against her hips.

“Your Majesty.” The matron executed a customary curtsy, offering him a sweet but artificial smile. “What an honour to see you in my daughter’s bedchamber. I believe…” “Lady Milva.” He gave her a curt nod of recognition and graced her with a cold stare. “You will have to forgive me, madam, but I do not intend to reciprocate. I, for one, cannot understand why you would choose this particular time to visit Her Majesty the Queen.”

“Ah, but Your Majesty would surely understand that I wanted to see to my daughter’s comfort on the very first day of her rule.” Her smile widened.

“Do you wish to imply that I am incapable of such a feat, madam?” Thorin hissed.

“Oh no, Your Majesty, not at all!” The matron attempted a giggle. “On the contrary, I believe it is my daughter who failed to see to your comfort.”

Thorin’s head seemed to be pounding even more than before.

“Mother, please…” He heard Lady Mista’s strained voice behind him.

“Enough, Mista, you should be apologising to His Majesty for disappointing him!” Lady Milva turned to her daughter and Thorin decided that he had heard enough.

“My lady, you are disturbing me and my spouse in our private chambers. Only because you are my wedded wife’s mother, My Lady, I am going to ask you kindly.” Thorin hissed. “Leave now.”

Silence filled the chamber for several heartbeats. Lady Milva’s gaze moved between her daughter and Thorin before she spoke again. 

“Very well, Your Majesty,” she replied stiffly, abandoning her insincere manner. “Mista, I will return later, to prepare you for dinner.”

“Is that what you wish, My Lady?” Thorin turned to Mista.

“I… Thank you, Mother,” Lady Mista’s words were a mere whisper as she clutched the quilt, “but I think I will manage on my own this time.”

Her mother stood there for a moment longer, her brow furrowed, and then she replied, “If that is what you wish.”

She made another curtsy to Thorin, and then, in a swift flurry of her opulent gown, she stormed out of the bedchamber.

“Forgive me, My Lord, have we woken you up?” The bedclothes rustled, making Thorin gaze at Lady Mista — the woman he wed yesterday. As she left the bed, he caught a glimpse of her bare feet, so much smaller than his, and so dainty. Her sleeping gown flowed elegantly down her body, hugging her figure and revealing patches of smooth skin that only a husband was allowed to see. Quickly, he looked away. He did not feel like one.

“I was already awake,” he offered, glancing around the chamber. “Have you broken your fast yet, My Lady?”

“No, My Lord,” she replied. “I’m afraid I lost track of time. I was reading.”

Thorin followed her gaze to the thick tome that lay open on the bed. It looked like something from the Royal Library of Erebor, but he did not recognize the cover.

“I’ll ring for breakfast for you then. You must be famished,” he offered. 

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you,” Lady Mista replied, her words barely audible, like the chirping of a frightened little bird. “Would you… would you like to join me?”

Thorin shook his head decidedly. 

“I am expected elsewhere. The meeting of the Guildmasters is going to be held quite soon,” he was amazed at how easily this half-truth slipped out of his mouth. That meeting was on his general agenda, but no one expected him to join it, not so soon after his wedding.

“Oh, I see,” Lady Mista’s voice wavered, but she continued after a pause. “In that case, allow me, My Lord, to thank you for your… intervention. My Mother can be tempestuous at times, but she means well.”

“Forgive me, My Lady, but her behaviour was out of place,” he said, attempting to ignore the insistent pounding in his head. “You are not only her daughter but — first and foremost — the Queen. No one is allowed to treat you so, no matter the circumstances. No one. Not even her.”

Thorin took a deep breath in order to rein in his temper. He was abrupt, his words far from courteous, but his patience was wearing thin. The last thing he was willing to endure was a lady on the verge of tears, bullied by her own kin. A half-forgotten memory surfaced in his mind: those sobs, that lavish but abhorred wedding dress, and his sister’s words: “You can’t help it, nadad. This is women’s lot in life.” 

This time, unlike that other time, Thorin could help it — and so he did. That was the least he was able to do for this terrified woman. His wife.

He did not find the strength to look into her face once more and see those glossed-over eyes and those trembling lips. Instead, he excused himself under the pretence of procuring breakfast and left her bedchamber.

He found his reward in the form of a full jug of water in the adjacent parlour. Quenching his thirst, he rang for a servant. Katla, Lady Mista’s new maid, arrived soon after. She was one of the maids who worked for their family when they lived in the Blue Mountains. Now, however, Dis decided that Katla was exactly the person Lady Mista would need. The girl was unusually agitated, and as soon as Thorin asked about Lady Milva’s presence in the Queen’s bedchamber, her countenance wavered. 

“Forgive me, m’lord,” she curtseyed, her gaze lowered reverently. “I had no means to stop Her Ladyship, I asked her not to disturb Your Majesties, but she said that she was the Queen’s mother and the Queen would dismiss me right away if Her Ladyship was not allowed to enter, and I thought…”

“Thank you, Katla, I understand,” he said. “You are not going to be dismissed. However, Her Majesty does not need such disturbances. Should someone attempt to storm into Her Majesty’s private chambers without her consent again, do not hesitate to call the guards.”

“Of course, m’lord,” Katla nodded stiffly. “And… Thank you. For not dismissing me.”

“My Mother, the Dowager Queen, always spoke highly of you. Now, I need you to take care of the new Queen in a similar manner. This is her new home, and we need to make her feel like it. Can I rely on you?”

“Always, m’lord.” A hopeful smile appeared on her face. “Does the Queen need anything now, m’lord?”

“She is requesting a hearty breakfast,” he ordered.

“I’ll be right back with her tray! Shall I bring one for you as well, m’lord?”

“No, thank you. I have matters to attend to.”

With these words, Thorin directed his steps to the Royal Baths. Hot water and steam were exactly what he needed at that very moment. A sizable pile of documents waited for him on his desk, but he needed to clear his head first.

***

“Here you are, nadad! I’ve been looking all over for you!” Dis’ voice made him raise his gaze from a parchment.

“Where else should I be?” Thorin tilted his head, observing his sister as she approached his desk. There was only a handful of braids in her modest hairdo — her wavy strands as dark as his own — and she wore a simple day dress. Yet, Dis looked more elegant than many other ladies in their finest gowns. She inherited her noble bearing and facial features from their paternal grandmother, after all.

“Where should you be? Let me see…” she tapped her mouth with her index finger and then asked innocently. “Perhaps with your wife?”

Thorin cursed inwardly. Dis inherited their grandmother’s wit, too.

“If only those trade licences could somehow sign themselves…” he grunted.

“And while you are drowning in parchments, your newly-wed wife is halfway through the second volume of The Golden Age of Azsâlul'abad,” she grunted back.

“The second volume?” Thorin’s eyebrow rose as he recalled the size of that monstrous twelve-volume work. He never managed to make it past the first one.

“Yes. Apparently, Mista finished the first one during lunch. Which she ate alone.” Dis folded her arms on her chest. It had never been a good sign when Grandmother Birgit folded her arms like that.

“I ate my lunch alone as well.” He pointed at a plate with a forgotten piece of dark bread left, half-covered by a couple of documents.

“On the first day of your marriage,” Dis retorted.

“These licences are vital for…”

“Thorin…” His sister rolled her eyes.

“Dis…” He sighed. “You know what I mean.”

“Some things need time,” he heard himself say.

“I know, Thorin,” Dis stepped to him, placing her hand on his forearm. “Of all the people in the world… I know.”

“At least you knew Vili before your wedding,” Thorin put his quill aside.

“Vaguely. While you managed to spend a whole evening with Mista in Tumunzahar.”

“Which apparently happened a long time ago — and of which I remember nothing.” He admitted with a frown and then drummed his fingers on the desk. “Nan’ith, I may have made an utter fool of myself yesterday.”

Dis sat heavily on a chair beside him, “Let me hear it.”

“Lady Mista was convinced that I remembered meeting her at a feast. Apparently, we danced and talked, and she expected me to…” He sighed. “I don’t know. The problem is that instead of playing along with it, I told her that I did not remember it at all.”

“Nadad, I have always admired your disarming honesty, but…” Dis paused and then grinned. “Well, it looks like you have figured it out yourself. You are an utter fool.”

When she elbowed him, as if they were smooth-cheeked youths again, Thorin simply had to elbow her back.

“Thank you, dearest sister. I know I could count on you.” He let out a lukewarm chuckle.

“How did she take it? Is that why you are hiding in here?” Thorin shook his head, “Lady Mista did not seem offended. I’d say she was perhaps… surprised? Disappointed?”

“I would be too if my future husband first sent me a letter in which he spoke fondly of our meeting years ago and then admitted to not remembering it at all,” Dis waved her hand in despair.

“A letter?” Thorin’s frown deepened.

“The letter. Don’t tell me you haven’t read it.” A frown appeared on her face as well. “Balin and I spent half a day composing it before it was sent along with the marriage contract.”

“For which I am very thankful. I have no head for this sort of letters, as you know.” “That was precisely why you were supposed to read it before it was sealed, Thorin.” She rolled her eyes.

“I knew I could trust you with its contents. Dis, we were rebuilding the Forges at that time! I barely had time to eat or sleep; that letter was hardly on top of my agenda.” 

His sister let out a long sigh.

“It is not me you should explain yourself to. What happened, happened. Tell me, do you truly not remember anything from that meeting?”

“This was one of many feasts I was obligated to appear at. Amicable relations with our allies, and all that,” he offered.

“We were there together, you know.”

“Were we?” Thorin searched his memory. To no avail. All those feasts seemed like a blur in his mind.

“Balin was there, too. And Dwalin, I think.” Dis added. “And Mother. She wore that emerald green gown.”

He tried once more. Still nothing.

“There was lots of food, lots of political scheming… Oh, and there were quite a few mothers flaunting their offspring at me and you. Mostly at you, the Crown Prince,” she snickered.

“You have just described most of the feasts I have attended in the past.” He ran a hand over his face. “Every time I felt like game during hunting season. Did I really spend the whole evening with Lady Mista?”

“Quite a bit of it.” Dis nodded. “You were seated next to a matron who insisted on making you dance with each of her daughters — I think she had two or three of them — and then you did what you usually used to do. You disappeared. When you returned, Mista was with you already, and then you danced. That matron, together with her cronies, was of course appalled, because you never even looked at anyone else. And Mista was not even formally out, she was maybe a few years over half battle-age at that time!”

“It seems that I scandalised the matrons of Tumunzahar and nearly robbed a cradle. What an achievement. And I cannot even remember it.” Thorin smiled wryly, although an image or two flickered before his eyes. A handkerchief with his monogram in a lithe hand. Grey-brown hair adorned with pearls.

“At least no one bothered you afterwards,” she put her hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. “Now, I hope you find a way to make amends with your wife, nadad.”

Thorin gave her a nod, “You and me both. I simply do not have the slightest idea how to talk to her. I feel as if she is afraid of me.”

“We both know that you are not the greatest charmer when it comes to the matters of the heart,” she offered him a smirk. “And neither am I. I can only tell you what Mother told me once. Marriage is like the endless forging of a sword. If you want to make a great blade, you have to keep the fire going, and work the metal every single day. Draw it, shape it, and then keep on tempering it so that it never breaks.”

“She knew her way around the forge,” Thorin admitted fondly. He liked to think that he inherited his bladesmithing skills from their Mother.

“She knew how to deal with Father, too. I took her words to heart, and it worked for me — for us. Vili and me…” Dis cleared her throat. “We had nothing in common — or so I thought at first.” 

A sad smile softened her features, and Thorin covered her hand with his. 

“He was even younger than me,” she continued, “so rowdy and boisterous, and talked only of mountain goat races and throwing knives. Remember how terrified I was when I had to braid his hair?”

“You? Terrified? You were as decorous as Grandma Birgit would,” he said.

“That was because I knew Grandma Birgit would have been appalled if I fainted halfway through the ceremony. You cannot believe how mortified I was before the wedding night!” His sister chuckled.

“You asked me for two pints of the strongest malt beer we had,” Thorin offered lightly. It was good to see her smile.

“I only wanted to take the edge off things!” Dis grinned. “How was I supposed to know you spiked it with Dwalin’s horrible brandy?”

“You weren't. And you and Vili were supposed to drink them together. How should I know he would down them both at once?” He shrugged as if he had not seen it coming.

“I think I was the first bride in the history of Arda who spent her wedding night listening to her new husband’s loud snores.”

“You should talk with Bombur’s Ronja,” he quipped.

“Nadad! I shall not discuss their wedding night with her!” Dis feigned outrage only to burst out in laughter.

“Be glad that you did not hear his snores during the Quest. Every. Single. Night. He even made us think a storm was coming! And once, in the Misties…” It was so easy to fall back on the anecdotes from the past, and Thorin was awarded with another bout of laughter. Since Dis arrived back to the Mountain — their home — for the first time in years, it was easy to make her smile. There was a new spark in her eyes too, one that Thorin saw in countless eyes these days. A glint of hope for their reclaimed homeland they were rebuilding — and for their future. Was the same glint present in Lady Mista’s eyes last night? He could not say.

“Thank you”, Dis startled him, pecking him on his cheek.

“For what?” He met her eyes.

“For many things… like not terrifying your bride too much.”

Thorin swallowed, “What do you mean?”

“You know how you can be sometimes.” Dis patted his hand.

“Are you going to tell me once more that I scare others away with my ‘brooding’, or whatever you call it?” He rose from his chair and looked down at her.

“Not at all! Brooding is not as loud as snoring.” Tilting her head up, she winked at him. “Do you know you sometimes come off as quite intimidating?”

“I have never heard of such a notion,” Thorin let his lip curl up. “Especially from you.”

“What about that agreement you managed to hammer out last week with those stubborn donkeys, the Guildmasters?” Thorin knew better than to offer a reply.

“I heard your voice all the way to the warehouses! And when the Masters left the council chamber, they were meek as lambs, even the fiery Master Karg!”

“I simply reminded them that the world did not revolve around their coin pouches. Loudly.”

“I am glad you made use of it this morning.”

“You heard about what happened,” Of course. His sister had a knack for knowing things that did not happen in her presence.

“A word or two.” “Lady Mista’s mother needed to be put in her place,” Thorin quickly recounted his confrontation with Lady Milva. 

When he finished, Dis pressed her lips in a thin line.

“What a viper,” she huffed. “Now I know why Mista looked so shaken today. But we are in luck. The whole Broadbeam delegation is leaving in a week or so. We will manage.”

“We have managed worse.” He finished the thought, their private saying, one that they used since the vile Smaug ravaged their kingdom. Last time they spoke it happened just before the Quest to reclaim their homeland. Now, both the current circumstances and stakes felt vastly different, and Thorin could not help but wonder — would he manage?

“I must say you did wonders with the Queen’s bedchamber in such a short time.” Thorin admitted in a hasty attempt to change the subject. “It looks quite… comfortable. Especially with that tapestry from Grandmother’s chambers. And to think it survived Smaug almost untouched…”

“Oh, so you did spend some time with Mista after all?” Dis raised an eyebrow, her eyes twinkling. “Were there two pints of malt beer involved or not? Don’t you make that face at me, nadad! This was your wedding night and everyone will jest about it, whether you like it or not!”

Sadly, she was right.

***

Dis’ prophetic words proved true in the evening at the celebratory dinner. It was held in the largest cavern under the Mountain, the Great Hall. It was as tall as several levels of the Dwarven kingdom, making it easy for people to freely join and leave the festivities, catch a glimpse of the royal family or listen to the music while feasting in their local quarters. Thorin remembered that this natural formation in the depths of the Mountain was where all the largest festivities happened when his Grandfather, King Thrór, ruled. He himself did not expect to celebrate his royal wedding in these legendary chambers as well. After all, marriage had not been a part of his plans for the future.

Upon entering the Great Hall, it was difficult not to notice all the lavish adornments he remembered from the day before, countless tables filled anew with various dishes, lanterns and candles that cast their golden glow on the walls, brightening everyone’s faces — and the fact that all the eyes were now set on Thorin and his new royal consort. They were both clad in matching attires made especially for this occasion; every detail, pattern, and jewel on those black, silver, and gold garments was supposed to symbolise the imperishable beauty and opulence of the Kingdom Under the Mountain. Judging by the reactions of his subjects, the newly-wed royal couple made a favourable impression on them. 

Casting a sidelong glance at Lady Mista, Thorin expected to see the joyful or perhaps even triumphant smile of a new queen. Instead, he noticed the strained lines of her face, the paleness of her cheeks, and her bespectacled gaze set somewhere above the heads of the guests. Only the crown over her temples softened the solemn impression somewhat and lent her a regal air. Lady Mista’s palm rested stiffly on his forearm as Thorin led her through the chamber towards the royal table. He could feel how stiff her muscles were, as if she was a wooden doll controlled by an invisible puppeteer.

Thorin made an effort not to look at Lady Mista’s kin, who had already gathered at their side of the royal table. After what he experienced with the members of this family so far, it was not at all difficult to infer what face — or rather, faces — that puppeteer bore. 

That poor, terrified girl. His wife. The new Queen Under the Mountain.

“Our people are curious about you, My Lady,” he whispered just as they walked onto the stone dais where the royal table was placed.

“Oh?” Quickly, she turned towards him, her eyes wide. “About me?”

“They do not know you yet, and many of them are wondering what they can expect of you, their new Zabdûna,” he murmured, leaning slightly closer to her.

“Of… of course I will do my best to care for them,” she lowered her gaze and a blush darkened her cheeks. Then she added, “There is no Kingdom without its people.”

The last time Thorin heard those words, he was barely a youth, and his days were filled with endless studies and training. One of his Grandfather’s sayings — words of Dagur Sture, an ancient philosopher from Khazad-dûm — spoken in the trembling voice of a Broadbeam lady from the distant Khagal'abbad, the Blue Mountains. 

“Indeed,” he said, shaking off the surprise as they both turned towards the guests, an endless sea of faces before them . “Pray, show it to them, My Lady.”

“But how?” Lady Mista blinked, adjusting her spectacles on her nose. “I do not know what to do…”

“Simply greeting them will be enough,” Thorin attempted to say these words with an encouraging smile. “Acknowledge your new subjects.”

Lady Mista nodded slightly and swallowed, lifting her gaze upon the crowd. He felt her right hand tighten on his forearm, but then her left hand rose into the air, and she waved to the gathered crowd. An avalanche of cheers went through the cavern; some of the guests responded to her greeting in turn, their faces brightening.

Thorin chose this moment to greet the gathered Dwarves in the same fashion, enhancing their jubilation even further. All it took was a wave. A simple trick his Grandfather taught him a lifetime ago, but one that never failed.

When he glanced at Lady Mista’s face again, there was a new glint in her eyes and a timid smile on her lips as she took in the enthusiastic response to her gesture.

“They like you already, My Lady,” he whispered, nodding to her in approval and seeing her features finally soften when her lips curled up slightly. A welcome change, he thought. People needed to see their rulers glad, especially on such an occasion. Appearances mattered more than one’s true feelings; he had learned that bitter lesson well.

After the customary welcoming speech — Thorin somehow managed to keep it short — he led Lady Mista to their chairs at the centre of the table, and then the feast began. Soon, he found himself in a lively conversation with Glóin, Dwalin and Lord Taran, Lady Mista’s uncle, discussing the strategy applied in the siege of an Orc stronghold that happened during the Great War. Various pieces of golden tableware turned into numerous units of dwarven troops, a nearby platter with fruit acted as a mountain range, the octagonal brass salt cellar became the stronghold, and leftover pheasant bones served as Orcs.

“What a battle it was! We hadn’t slept for three days in a row!” Glóin announced as the culinary re-enactment of the battle came to an end. “When we were done with the Orc scum, Thorin looked every bit as tired as he looks now after one night with his bride!”

Thorin grunted.

“Aye, he does, but can ye imagine his state after three nights of storming her stronghold?” Dwalin roared with laughter.

Thorin glowered at his friend, who, in response, laughed even harder.

“With such a meek lass like our Mista, he doesn’t have much storming to do!” Lord Taran bellowed, the tattoos on his cheeks stretching in a wide grin.

Thorin clenched his fist. 

Dis threw him a meaningful glance from across the table. We will manage. Mahal, give him strength. Casting a fleeting look at Lady Mista, Thorin saw that she was deeply immersed in a conversation with Balin, who at that very moment patted her on her hand.

“May Your Majesty strike a gold vein quickly so we have a new reason to celebrate soon, a naming ceremony!” Lord Tair, the new Queen’s father, raised his goblet, meeting Thorin’s gaze. “May Mahal bless this union with many children!”

Other cups shot into the air, and the toast echoed across the hall, countless eyes set on the royal couple. Thorin gritted his teeth. This was not a purely well-meant wish, not in Tair’s mouth. The Broadbeam lord, who negotiated the marriage contract himself, alluded to its crucial clause: children from this union meant prosperity for both of their houses. On the other hand, no offspring by Thorin’s 200th birthday meant the dissolution of the marriage, the end of the vastly profitable trade agreements for the Broadbeams, and the end of the direct line of Durin for the Longbeards — and Thorin. The stakes were high for both houses.

Decidedly, Thorin grasped his own goblet and returned the gesture. A quick glance to his left told him that Lady Mista followed his lead, her fingers stiffly holding her goblet’s stem. He felt her eyes on him, but he found himself unable to reciprocate her gaze.

Another toast came after the first. This time, it was Dis wishing the newly-wed couple a long and happy marriage. A couple of toasts full of platitudes followed, and when everyone in the Great Hall drank their fill, conversations returned. Thorin’s sister was talking with Lady Mista now; he thought he heard them speak of a library when a sonorous voice reached his ears.

“Such a match happens once in a lifetime, Lord Balin, wouldn’t you say?” Lady Mista’s mother gave the older Dwarf a charming smile.

“As you say, Lady Milva. And it is a prosperous one, too,” Balin nodded with a twinkle in his eye.

“I am truly overjoyed that I had this idea! I told my husband: ‘Remember that winter feast we had in Tumunzahar, love? The one when Prince Thorin — for His Majesty was merely a prince then — danced only with my dear Mista?’ He only had eyes for her that night! So many mothers had fits of jealousy, because he did not even spare a glance for any of their daughters!” Lady Milva chuckled.

“That must have been quite an event,” Balin admitted. 

Thorin gritted his teeth, acutely feeling the weight of his crown on his head — and the eyes of his subjects on him. Instead of addressing a few curt words to Lady Mista’s mother, he took a large gulp of wine.

“So it was, Lord Balin, so it was! If you only had been there to see it!” She dabbed an invisible tear from her eye. “They danced, and danced, and afterwards my sweet daughter would sigh, and dream away, and ask if Prince Thorin would attend the next feast! So when the Lonely Mountain was finally reclaimed, I told my husband: ‘My love, if you are not going to send that marriage proposal to King Thorin, I am going to take her to Azsâlul'abad myself!’. And do you know what he said?”

Thorin’s old mentor declared, “I have not the slightest idea, My Lady.” 

Neither had Thorin. He refilled his goblet. Beside him, Dis asked Lady Mista a question he did not quite hear, but she received no answer. Lady Milva’s daughter, the new Zabdûna undu ‘Urd, sat unmoving, staring at her empty plate, her lips pressed into a thin line, while her relentless mother kept on talking. 

“Well, my dear Tair said ‘No need to do that, my dearest, for I have already sent the proposal!’. I swear, we act and think as one, is it not so, my lord husband?” Lady Milva turned to her spouse and loudly pecked his cheek.

“You speak the truth, my dove,” her husband replied, running his hand down his thick silver beard braid with clear contentment. “It was a great honour that His Majesty agreed to our offer this time!”

“Oh, hush, my gem, no need to bring that up, it happened such a long time ago,” Lady Milva waved her hand. “It is of no consequence now.”

“May I ask what you mean, My Lady?” Óin put his fork aside and brought his hearing trumpet to his ear. “Is there another layer to this charming love story?”

“Indeed, there is! I can tell you in confidence,” Lady Milva clapped her hands, leaning towards Óin, although Thorin noticed that she did not bother to lower her voice, “that we sent a marriage proposal to Thorinuldûm a few years later, but we were informed that King Thorin was not interested. I must admit that we made a grave error that day! You see, dear Lord Óin, we offered the hand of our daughter Adla in marriage instead of Mista! Therefore, it was not at all surprising that His Majesty was not interested. She was simply not the right daughter! The whole Blue Mountains wondered why he would not marry our Adla — for you must know that she is considered one of the greatest beauties of our clan — nor any other lady for one hundred years!”

“A true mystery indeed,” Óin agreed with a chuckle.

Thorin glared into his goblet. It was not a mystery to him. He clearly remembered the day the first proposal arrived. This missive from Tumunzahar came together with another letter from Gabilgathol, the city of the Firebeard Dwarves. The city he vowed never to return to. The memories he buried on the bottom of his mind, never to revisit. The eyes he would never look into again.

“...so when we sent our second offer,” Lady Milva placed her goblet on the table with a loud thud, “the answer came swiftly. And now — just look at these two, My Lord, and tell me this was not a match carved in stone.”

“May Mahal grant them happiness!” Óin said, lifting his goblet.

Lady Milva did the same, stood up and added loudly, “Let us drink for their long-awaited reunion! Will our royal lovebirds sweeten the toast with a kiss?”

“A kiss! A kiss!” Several voices from among the guests were heard at first, and then more and more of them joined in the chant. “King and Queen! King and Queen!”

What a viper, Thorin cursed inwardly. So that was her revenge. He should have seen it coming. At that moment, he could no longer pretend that he had not heard Lady Milva’s words. Neither had Lady Mista. Their gazes met; her spectacles slid slightly down her nose, uncovering a pair of brown eyes — wide open and terrified.

Thorin leaned towards her, whispering into her ear in order to be heard despite the continuous chanting.

“Forgive me, Lady Mista. This is not how I…” He paused, searching for the right words that did not seem to come. “I am afraid that we may need to make a little spectacle of ourselves, if you do not mind.”

“Kiss! Kiss!” The chanting grew louder, just like Lady Milva’s vicious smile, as people started clapping their hands, stamping their feet, and banging their goblets against the tables.

“I understand. I apologise for my mother.” She signed discreetly in Iglishmêk. Her fingers trembled when she added, “Let us turn it to our advantage and give our people the fairy tale they expect.”

Our people.

“Very well,” Thorin signed back, offering her his hand, palm up, and trying to empty his mind of all the importunate thoughts. With everyone in the Great Hall staring at them expectantly, they had to do it. There was no other way. Lady Mista took his hand, and it seemed to him that in that very moment, a spark of understanding passed between them. This was something they had to do together, something they were expected to do as the King and Queen Under the Mountain. A duty. Nothing more.

“Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” The guests continued to chant.

Thorin stood up, waiting for Lady Mista to gather her skirts and do the same. A moment later, they stood, arm in arm, before the gathered crowd, their hands joined. The continuous chanting echoed against the ceiling of the Great Hall when he turned to face her. Their gazes met; in the candlelight, her eyes looked like molten amber. The new Queen nodded almost imperceptibly, her fine hand gave his a little squeeze, and he could not stall any longer. Thorin lowered his face towards her and his nose bumped against hers,  so he tilted his head further, mindful of her spectacles, and let his lips gently brush against hers. 

Her breath hitched, and he carefully moved to press his lips against hers, and she must have stood up on her tiptoes because he met the softness of her lips much sooner than expected, and she smelled, or perhaps tasted, like an apple orchard, sweet and innocent, and—

An enthusiastic storm of cheers washed over the Mountain, drowning all the importunate thoughts of his for a long while.

To be continued...

✨ Chapter list: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4... ✨ Entangled Masterlist

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[raviollies]

Introducing Lorelai & Raha! Some lore tidbits for them below cut (& an update to Blythe's sheet to adjust to this change :)

Lorelai Von Berdusk - A half elf born to one of the many noble families in the city of Berdusk, Lorelai spent much of her life sheltered by a controlling patriarch of the family. Through unknown methods, her father had contracted Vampirism, and using his newfound power had turned his wife and daughter into spawn. Unwanting to remain subservient now in a more literal sense of the word than ever before, Lorelai devised a plan to ambush her father and drink of him, in order to become a fully fledged vampire herself. Unfortunately in the scuffle, she had accidently fatally wounded him. Unable to face what she has done, and her mother's possible reaction, Lorelai fled the estate. She now explores the world with her companions, experiencing life for the first time.

Raha Faeli - An elf displaced by humans during a campaign to lay claim to their land, Raha lost his parents and was forced to relocate to a different Elven settlement as a young child. Unfortunately due to the proximity of his home to the human city, he along with many others struggled with Elven, some not speaking it all. Feeling ostracized, and not-quite-elf-not-quite-human, Raha left the settlement upon becoming an adult, preferring to earn his keep through monster hunter and mercenary work. Quiet, stoic, and brooding at first glance, he is a stark contrast to his more lively of companions, so it's curious how he fits into this dynamic (Don't mind the little lizard that lives in his pocket - he is a sweetheart) Blythe is not much different - though the recurring raven of Poe is now a familiar of hers. A rather silly and air headed raven that often soars above the party.

[okimnerdy]

Trolls Headcannons

(BROZONE Edition)

[Hi yes. Welcome to another fixation.]

•The brothers got out of the troll tree BEFORE it got caged in by the Bergens. They only heard about the outer trolls being hunted, but never thought it would make it to the main settlement. All of them believed that Branch and Grandma were still alive.

•The brothers knew of other genres of music, even dabbling into a few of them. JD and Clay enjoyed techno and funk. Bruce enjoyed classical. Floyd enjoyed rock. No one really fancied country music.

John Dory

°JD felt like the group had to be perfect and loved due to their parents. Their parents (before they got "chosen" or before leaving after the last kid was born) had a wish-wash way of parenting, only giving positive attention when the boys did something of merit.

°JD acted more like a parent than a brother, assigning roles he felt fit his brothers in order to give them a better foothold in their life and career in the group. He blamed himself if they didn't seem to succeed.

° JD hasn't truly showered in like 10 years. Man is a "water's clean" kind of guy, and was promptly held down by his brothers for a cleaning. Rhonda helped by essentially being a pressure washer.

°JD found Rhonda as a baby pill bug and didn't expect her to get so big. He felt a little bad decorating her once she was big enough to house him, fearing that he was hurting her.

Bruce

°Bruce let go of his ripped image because of Brandi's cooking. This man fell in love with her food THEN her. He felt at ease with her, especially since she didn't know Brozone.

°Bruce grew his hair out for his little girl to play with since her brothers won't. He lets her put little braids and clips in from time to time, and he wears them proudly.

Clay

°Clay tried to go back for Branch during the escape, but got caught in a wave of escaping trolls. After seeing the collapsed tunnels, he believed that his family got out safely even though he never truly knew for nearly 20 years.

°Clay made it to other Troll settlements and became a CPA after leaving Brozone and before he attempted to go back.

°Clay bonded with Viva over the loss of family due to the split™. He would share all these stories about Branch and she would try to do the same for Poppy, even though she was barely a year old when they got separated.

°Clay's little admin hut actually is bigger on the inside. He dug out a little living space underneath to hold his bed, desk, and a small kitchenette. Its like his own little bunker.

Floyd

°Floyd did a self-discovery journey through the other genres. He hung around the rock and country trolls the longest due to them being more land-based tribes, even though country trolls don't particularly like visitors.

°Floyd made a name for himself in the indie scene, eventually making his way to Mount Rageous where he had a new contract in the works. He had hoped this small push would bring his family back.

°Floyd suffers from muscle spasms and PTSD after his time in the bottle. Branch was kind enough to help develop a wheelchair and other mobility aids for him to use in the jungle gym called Pop Village.

°Floyd experiences fatigue easier. One of the brothers is always ready to be a pillow or a helping hand when he needs to rest. Poppy goes to him when she wants to know what else the village can do for others like him.

Branch

°Branch's muted color is due to his many years in the gray. He still feels the effects of the fight™ and grandma's capture, and personally blames himself from time to time. He leans on Poppy and his brothers who assure him that things are okay. No one really knows if he'll fully get back to his bright blue.

°Branch kept an item from each brother, even if they don't know it. They're buried somewhere in storage. He only wears Floyd's vest cause he missed him the most and held no animosity to him.

°Branch knows exactly how to deal with his nephews and niece when their energy gets too high because of Poppy. Sometimes, he'll ask her to help since she already teaches the younger trolls in the village.

<<prev || next>>

[saliinthia]

The Salii’Qi - Saliinthia’s Sophonts

The primary sophont species residing on the warm, Earth-like world of Saliinthia are the Salii’Qi, a race of strange mammalian-insect creatures. They have dispersed into four main subspecies, two sedentary groups who live in the forests and islands respectively, and the two nomadic groups who call the grasslands and deserts home. Through this blog I will delve deep into their various cultures, religions, technology, and day to day lives living on Saliinthia!

Basic Biology

The Salii’Qi evolved from intelligent, largely carnivorous pack hunters, with the grassland subspecies being the oldest ones. They have intelligence equivalent to that of human beings, though tending to be better at problem solving. Their mammal-like biology gives them warm blood and dense bones, though their skeleton is derived from a graphite filled exoskeleton similar to that of insects, that was slowly internalized over the course of millions of years. They are egg layers, and have a complex life cycle not unlike that of an Earth caterpillar or beetle.

Salii’Qi have three sets of eyes, two are simple and detect movement and light only, while the third pair is complex and has an expanding and contracting pupil like Earth’s vertebrates. They hear through bright colored ear flaps held up by cartilage, able to swivel and pin to show emotion or focus in on certain sounds.

Salli’Qi have four pairs of limbs, two are used for walking while the other two are used for physical manipulation. One pair of limbs are attached to the skull. These “arms” evolved from pedipalps, now used for eating and handling weapons or other objects. The pedipalps are weaker than their forearms, so they usually use those for heavier work like lifting large objects. With the evolution of centaurism in these creatures, they lost a lot of flexibility in their backs, and so can no longer keep their forearms on the ground for long periods of time.

The skeleton of the Salii’Qi have a dark color due to the high amount of graphite present in their bones, with black teeth stronger than ours. Their bones are dense and very similar to ours, although the ribs are free floating and connected with cartilage. Some of the vertebrae located near the end of the body are fused, which aid in supporting the back. Ancient relatives had a connected skeleton below the skin, which resembled that of insects. To allow for more flexibility and dexterity, those bones have now been reduced to cover less area.

Salii’Qi have organs very similar to ours, but have a unidirectional respiratory system. They breathe in through two spiracles beneath their eyes, and after passing through the lungs, it is exhaled through the two spiracles placed behind the first pair of leg’s shoulders. This allows faster replacement of oxygen in the bloodstream, fueling their insect-like biology.

Their digestive system extremely similar to ours, the only notable difference being the tiered stomach, which allows for tough protein rich plant matter to be digested.

Salii’Qi have a gonochoric reproductive system, meaning they have two sexes. Both sexes have bright colored ear flaps and antennae, but during the spring the male coloration deepens for mating. Females are slightly larger than males, and have duller colors. Depending on the culture, females may take multiple male partners during the mating season, or only keep one partner for their whole life.

Subspecies

The Salii’Qi are spread over four main subspecies, and are regional variants. As mentioned before, the nomadic grasslanders were the first successful variants, which then radiated into the forest, desert, and island subspecies. As the names imply, they live in settlements and groups around specific biomes they are best adapted to.

The foresters are mostly a sedentary group, and also physically the largest. They eat the most fruit and plant matter out of any other , and have learned how to farm and selectively breed crops. They have long, thin limbs for reaching up into the vegetation, and upturned simple eyes to see differences in the shadows above. They are skittish and try too keep to themselves, but enjoy trading their crops with other groups. Grasslanders are nomadic, but have specific areas they return to during nesting season. They follow the herds of large grazers who roam the grasslands, using their good stamina to their advantage. They are a proud and strong group, seen as kind and humorous. They are artisans, creating unique goods and clothing out of hides and pelts for trading with other groups. Desert dwellers live in smaller groups, and instead of hunting, they primarily ranch and travel with herds of domesticated livestock. Desert Salii'Qi forage desert fruits, roots, and other plant matter before a harvest. They travel to feeding grounds during the fall and winter, but return to fertile river communities during the spring and summer where plants for livestock flourish along the banks. During this time, the desert Salii-Qi raise their children to take on their next journey. Islanders are small, social Salii'Qi who settled on an archipelago millions of years ago. They are the most well adapted group and the second oldest subspecies. Islanders have partially webbed feet, seal-like fur, powerful limbs, and higher back spiracles which makes it easier to spend time in the water. They primarily feed on fish and island fruit which they've selectively bred. Islanders mainly spearfish, but also use boats for fishing and trade. They routinely voyage to the mainland to trade goods, and some have even settled on the mainland shores.

[harley-sunday]

Feels Like Home [01]

Summary: When an unexpected three-week break between Monza and Singapore finds Daniel back on his farm in Perth he’s desperate to use this time to clear his mind, figure out his future in Formula One, and find his way back. He didn’t expect a new neighbour, a sassy two-year old, and three alpacas would make him realise that sometimes, what you’re looking for is right in front of you.

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x reader (unnamed OFC)

Warnings: Language

Word count: 2.7k

AN: Yes. Hi. Hello. Believe it or not but I started writing this fic because I desperately needed some good guy!Daniel being cute with kids in my life. The idea was just a short one shot. Ha. Who was I kidding? Because here we are, six months and nine chapters later... I really hope you like it, please come yell at me in the comments, on anon, or in my DMs about any and all things about this story you want to yell at me about. I probably deserve it. ♥

Masterlist

There’s something about being here, on his farm outside of Perth, that he doesn’t experience anywhere else in the world. Not in Monaco, not in Los Angeles, not even in Austin, or Montana. 

Because here- Here, he doesn’t have to be Daniel Ricciardo, Danny Ric, DR, or the Honey Badger. He doesn’t have to be a Formula One driver, an eight-time race winner, the most beloved driver on the grid, and the fan favourite. He doesn’t have to be Red Bull’s wild card, Renault’s saviour, or, most recently, McLaren’s scapegoat. Here, he is Daniel. And it’s enough. 

Or, at least, it used to be.

Lately, there's been a yearning in his heart that he's unfamiliar with. Or he pretends to be anyway because he’s not ready to put it into words yet, not ready to speak into existence what he really wants from life. Afraid he'll jinx it if he does. 

And so he keeps it to himself and lets his heart ache for something more in silence while the life he does know slowly keeps on falling apart around him.

***

Daniel rests his wrists on the handlebar of his dirt bike and lets out a breath he seems to have been holding in ever since he retired on lap forty-five of the Monza Grand Prix four days ago. Looking out over the valley below, he feels more grounded than he has in a long time and he hopes that the next two weeks will give him the peace he so desperately needs after the shitshow that has been his season so far. 

The sun’s already low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the somewhat still barren trees and shrubs even though he can tell winter is slowly coming to an end from the sprouts of green that have started to grace the landscape with their presence. There’s a kookaburra laughing somewhere in the distance and he takes it as his cue to fire up his engine again for one last run around his dirt track before it gets too dark. 

He knows technically he isn’t supposed to ride his bike during the season, knows technically McLaren could issue him a hefty fine for breaching his contract, but if they ever were to find out he figures they can just take it out of the settlement they’re due to pay him at the end of the year. He’s promised Zak he’ll do whatever it takes to score as many points as possible in the last six races but he also decided early on that he’s no longer going to let the team dictate what he can or cannot do in his time away from the track. 

There’s a meeting tomorrow, with Blake and Michael, where they’ll try to figure out his future in Formula One. There have been a few offers, both from teams who want him as their second driver and from teams who want him to become their reserve driver, but he’s still undecided, not sure if he wants to settle for another midfield team or stay in Formula One without really being in Formula One. 

By the time he completes his lap his head is somewhat empty, too busy instead to focus on keeping his bike under control and not ending up in the dirt. It’s almost dark now and so he opens the throttle wide and guns it home, a race against an invisible clock that, unlike this past season in Formula One, he wins every single time.

Once his bike is safely back in the shed he makes his way over to the house, hosing his boots down before he takes them off at the back door and leaves them to dry on the shoe rack his Dad made for him when he bought the farm. He changes out of his gear in the mud room, making a face when he takes his socks off and catches a whiff of the smell but laughing then because he remembers them smelling so much worse after a race in, oh let’s say, Singapore. With nothing but his boxer shorts on he steps into the kitchen and heads straight for the fridge, taking out an ice cold bottle of water. The sigh of relief when he rolls it against the back of his neck almost obscene. It might be winter but temperatures in western Australia are still as high as a beautiful spring day in Monaco.

It’s then the intercom rings and for a moment he debates ignoring it, not sure if he’s up for telling yet another local journo looking to make it big by trying to get an interview with ‘shunned McLaren driver Daniel Ricciardo’ that now really isn’t a good time  and that any requests for interviews should be made through Blake anyway.  

Plus, he gave his family and friends the access code to the gate when it was first installed, so he doubts any of them are waiting for him to open it, not in the least because they know better than to just show up without a text or call in advance.  

In the end, his curiosity gets the better of him and so he walks over to where the control panel of his alarm system hangs in the living room and pushes the button needed to connect to whoever’s at the gate, “Hello?”

“Hi,” the screen comes on then, the black and white image showing a woman wearing a Stetson hat. She’s staring somewhere into the distance, her face obscured by the shadows the brim of her hat casts under the streetlight, but her voice comes through loud and clear, “Sorry to bother you this late-”

“It’s seven thirty,” he shoots back almost effortlessly.

“-but I wondered if I could maybe ask you to keep it down with the dirt biking a little?” 

“I’m sorry, what?”

She looks up and into the camera then, pushing her hat a little higher so he can finally see her eyes, “It’s just- We’ve got a flock of alpacas over in Eagle's Nest and they tend to get a little jittery from all the noise. Especially when they try to settle in for the night and-”

“I’m sorry,“ he can’t help but grin, running a hand through his hair, “but I’m going to need a little more context here.”

She laughs and he thinks it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard and so he’s a little distracted but then he sees her taking her hat off, revealing her face and- Fuck. She’s gorgeous. He watches her as she shakes her head, a smile tugging on the corners of her lips, “Shit, sorry. I probably should have given you a bit more to go on.” Putting her hat back on she straightens up and points to somewhere over her shoulder, “Your neighbour on that side, Oscar Linton? He’s my granddad. I think you know him, right?”

“Old man Linton!” He smiles and nods, “Of course I do.” When he first bought the farm he made sure to introduce himself to his neighbours and while he likes to think he has a good relationship with all three of them he’s always had a soft spot for the elderly man further up the road. So much so that he always makes sure to drop by for a chat whenever he finds himself back in Perth. It’s then he connects the dots and recognises her from some of the pictures Oscar has up in his living room. All of a sudden he feels guilty for not going to see his neighbour yet even though he has been home for two days already but maybe he can do that tomorrow or-

“He fell a few days ago-” her voice pulls him out of his thoughts unintentionally and his guilt triples in a matter of seconds. There’s a sad smile tugging on her lips which makes him prepare for the worst. 

Surely they would have let him know if- He remembers the pile of unopened letters waiting for him on the kitchen counter then and curses quietly, “Shit.”

“He’s ok,” she’s quick to reassure him, as if she knows what he was thinking. “He spent a couple of nights in hospital and still has a long way to go but at least he’s home again.” She takes a deep breath, “They had to replace his hip and he’s got a broken wrist but,” she shrugs, “it could have been worse.” 

It’s then the absurdity of the situation hits him, with him in his boxers in his living room and her on the other end of his kilometre-long driveway, talking into a metallic box. He shakes his head and pushes the button that opens the gate automatically, “I think maybe we shouldn’t have this conversation over an intercom. I could make you a cup of coffee if you want? Or something stronger? I make a mean-”

She bites her lip and seems to hesitate.

“Just a quick cuppa. It’s the neighbourly thing to do, right?”

He sees her nod, “Yeah, ok.”

He can’t help the grin that spreads across his face, “Happy days.” 

***

The house is not at all how you expect it to be, much more modern and open-planned than any of the other farm houses in the area. The west-facing wall has been completely redone in glass panels, offering a stunning view of the valley and surrounding paddocks and you can’t help but admire the interior design of both the kitchen and the living room, which is masculine but still inviting. You wonder if he decorated the place himself or if he hired some interior designer to do it for him.

“Here you go,” Daniel, who told you ‘You can call me Dan’ when he greeted you at the door with a bright smile and an outstretched hand- offers you a cup of steaming hot coffee and motions for you to join him at the kitchen table. He’s wearing white sweatpants and a matching white sweater that look incredibly comfy and that make you want to wrap yourself around him and hang onto him like a koala bear. Wait. What? 

You take your hat off to try and keep from ogling him, placing  it on the chair next to you before you sit down and smile at him, “You know, all these years I thought you were called Danny Ric because that’s what Granddad keeps calling you. I’m not sure I can get used to Daniel.” 

Daniel laughs, the laughter lines in the corners of his eyes even more prominent now, “Trust the old man to keep that gag going.” He shakes his head then, “I can’t believe he fell though.”

“Yeah,” you agree quietly, blowing into your coffee. “We’re lucky Mrs Mackenzie found him when she did or-” You let out a ragged breath and see him nod, his eyes kind, and it makes you continue, “His hip was completely shattered and his wrist is broken in three places so it’s going to take a while before he’s up and running again- I mean, if his new hip ever heals completely- He’s already seventy-eight so-” You hear yourself starting to ramble and so you fold your hands around your cup and try to calm down a little. You’re not even sure why you’re even telling him all of this, but he’s a friend of your granddad and so you figure he’s good people. “Mum and Dad wanted to come back from New Zealand to help out but-” you look up at Daniel and shrug, “I spent a lot of time on the farm as a kid, right until I left for uni, so it made much more sense for me to move in with him for the time being.” 

“That’s a pretty big thing to do,” Daniel says with a kind smile, a warmth to his brown eyes that you can feel yourself get lost in. “You sure your family can miss you that long?”

You don’t really know what he’s getting at, whether he’s talking about your Mum and Dad or the husband and kids he thinks you might have left behind to come back to Mundaring, and you don’t really know you want to tell him your truth either, after all you’ve just met him, so in the end you shake your head and settle on an honest, “I’ve got everything I need right here.” 

He eyes you suspiciously but doesn’t push it and instead he says, “If you’d have me I’d love to come over to see him some time. I’m still here for almost another two weeks  and-” 

“I’m sure he’d like that,” you offer with a smile. “He always tells me what a nice bloke you are.”

Daniel leans back in his chair and grins, spreading his arms, “Can’t say I blame him. I’m the best.” 

“He says the same thing about the postie,” you tease with a casual shrug, “so don’t get too excited.” 

“Ouch,” Daniel brings a hand to his chest, “that hurts.” 

You pout, “So sad.” 

“Very,” Daniel agrees quietly, trying his best to keep a straight face. He puts his arms on the table then and leans forward, “Before you stomp on my ego some more, why don’t you tell me the real reason you’re here. What’s up with that eagle’s nest over in some paddock?”

“Oof,” you pull a face and shake your head, “you were so close.” You can’t help but laugh when you see him pretend to be hurt at your comment. You take a sip of coffee before you explain, pointing in the general direction of your paddock, “Your dirt track borders Eagle's Nest, the paddock Granddad uses for the alpacas in September and October, and I guess normally it isn’t a problem because you usually aren’t home during this time of year but I heard you yesterday and today and-”

“Yeah, we had an unexpected three-week break this year so I figured-” Daniel waves his hand around for you to continue then.

“It’s just, we have three pregnant females this year and- I don’t know if you’re at all familiar with alpacas?”

He shakes his head, “I didn’t even know you guys had alpacas. Your granddad and I just tend to talk shit about Mrs Mackenzie and them over a cuppa but I've never really asked him about the farm to be honest."

You throw him a look, knowing all too well your granddad doesn’t drink coffee.

He quickly backs down, “Fine, I drink coffee, he drinks tea.” 

“There you go,” you mouth with a wink. “Anyway, alpacas are basically scared of everything, even their own shadow, so you know, someone riding a dirt bike close by doesn’t really help with keeping them nice and calm during these last few weeks of their pregnancy.” 

“Gotcha.”

“They’re usually out on the other side of the paddock during the day, so anything until five in the afternoon is fine” you offer, not wanting to deprive him of his hobby completely, “but we have their feeders and the shed they can hide in during the night out over in your corner, so-”

“You’re giving me a five pm curfew, basically,” he says with a raise of his eyebrows.

“Just until the end of October.” You bite your lip, “I’m sorry, it’s just-”

“Nah, no worries,” Daniel puts his hand on your forearm and gives it a squeeze to let you know he means it. “I’d do anything for old Oscar.” Then, with a grin he adds, “And his girls.” 

You can’t help the heat that rises to your cheeks and try to hide it with a smile, “Thank you.”

He squeezes your arm again, “He’s gonna be fine by the way. He’s tough, that one.”

“Speaking of Granddad,” you risk a quick glance at your watch, letting you know it’s almost eight fifteen, “I should probably head back.” You push your chair back and grab your hat, putting it on as you tell Daniel, “Thank you for the coffee.”

“Anytime,” he says with a grin as he stands up as well, following you to the front door. “Tell him I’ll come by soon, ok?”

“Will do.” You turn around then and smile again, something about not getting your hopes up but doing so anyway when you ask, “I’ll see you around then?”

Daniel tips his imaginary hat, “Yes ma’am.” 

[bug-oc]

Bug Fables OC Tournament Round 3

Apollyon (They/It) from @fallenaither

Apollyon is a Death's Head Hawkmoth that is really just one of several characters involved in a story/bit of worldbuilding I'm making. They were born in an isolated village far to the south-east of Bugaria that borders an area of the Deadlands. It was raised from birth to take part in the worship of a "goddess" that protects this lone village from the supposed end of the world in exchange for tribute paid in the form of sacrifices. This "goddess" is truly just a bug herself, but Apollyon doesn't learn the full truth of this.

At least not for a while.

All they know is what their father, the head acolyte of the goddess, teaches to it. For most of Apollyon's life, it spends its time forced to follow their father's footsteps. This is something they despise though. They're far more drawn to the world around them than any religious duties they have and spend any free time it has trying to learn more about the plants and environment it has access to.

Later in life due to…circumstances they'd like to say they couldn't fully control, Apollyon ends up having to flee from its home. Not a single bug goes after them since, as far as they're all aware, Apollyon is condemning itself to death by leaving the village. This ends up not being the case, thankfully, and after a long while Apollyon ends travelling all the way to Bugaria. They wander around a bit, struggling to comprehend a world they were taught didn't exist, and eventually stumble into the Golden Hills.

It thankfully gets found, taken in, and nursed back to health by a beetle in the Golden Settlement named Pan and is able to eventually take up a far different path than the one given to them back in their homeland. Apollyon's knowledge and skills eventually earn them a job as a botanist for the Bee Kingdom, where it's able to take part in the study and upkeep of the flora that acts as pollinator plants for the Hive.

Zabava & Roseline (she/her for both) from @mouse-drawings

Roseline is a traveling merchant and a silkworm shepherd. She mainly sells moth silk and products made from it, but she also offers some other silk-making-related goods and services.

Now, what is a traveling merchant without her trusty mercenary? Zabava is here to make sure that nothing happens to Roseline or her goods. Though her main weapon, a spiky yo-yo, might look silly at the first glance, it hitting you in a face has quite the impact. Not to mention the force of a grasshopper’s kick…

They’ve been together for many moons now, traveling all across Bugaria and beyond. They think fondly of each other. The fondness is far more than what two business partners would feel for each other.

They are two parties in a contract. They are two travel buddies. They are two comrades. They are good friends. They are…

“Oh. But she doesn’t feel the same, does she?”

So, vote for Zabava and Roseline to promote a small business! And to hopefully set them up on a nice date. All proceeds will go towards raising larvae in Roseline’s herd.

[bitchfitch]

How did Vincent's family react to seeing whatever he is for the 1st time

Poorly! "We should kill this newborn baby" levels of poorly.

So here's the thing, Vincent isn't weird by the standards of this setting. he's literally just a guy. This is a post turbo nuclear apocalypse world where Basically everyone is some degree of ultra fucked up. Lino is weirder looking than him by current standards because of how mostly normal he looks. (like he's a stunted albino with 8 hands, four arms and five kidneys. but he's still like. dude shaped.)

But Vincent's family were some of if not the last holdouts still hiding in the radiation proof bunkers. They were all what we'd consider to be perfectly normal and natural humans. "Classic looking" in the language of the setting. they where also hyper-religious and considered the mutated people they saw of in the cameras and knew of from communication with long abandoned bunkers to be vermin. People made monsters by God's wrath as punishment for the peasant uprisings that lead to the wars that destroyed the planet.

None of his family had left the bunkers since they were sealed until his mother managed to escape.

She left and joined up with a nearby settlement, and like. had a life there with this new kind of people. There were hurdles and things she needed to unlearn but she was happy. She had friends and casual partners and then a more serious relationship that turned into the equivalent of being married. They eventually decided they were ready to be parents, the world looked so hopeful after all now that it was beginning to heal from the war.

and then there were complications. Things the meager medical supplies of people rebuilding after Armageddon couldn't treat. If it had just been a matter of loosing the pregnancy, she would have stayed and gone through with an abortion. It wouldve been devastating but they might have tried again eventually.

But it wasn't just a matter of loosing the pregnancy, she was having false contractions and was pre eclamptic. It was choice between going home to the bunker full of prewar capitalist utopia medical supplies or dying.

She went home. She knew she would never see her partner again. She knew she would never see anything outside of the bunker again. But she'd be alive.

Her family welcomed her, she got treatment and a few days later Vincent was born. He looks a lot like his father. She's weak, she's been through so much. She refuses to let her mother take away her child because she knows she'll never see him again if she does.

Vincent's family saw him as a punishment from God for his mother. They saw him as vermin. They raised him making sure he knew he was filthy and unwanted no matter how much his mother insisted she loved him. And he believed them.

[cowboymaterials]

The U.S. military’s recent $35 million contract to do construction at its secret base in Israel went to a joint venture that includes an American firm and an Israeli one. The Israeli company, Y.D. Ashush Infrastructure, has been involved in many large-scale infrastructure and public works projects — including building an illegal settlement in occupied Palestinian territory.

In a section on its website touting its projects, Ashush mentions construction work in the settlement of Leshem. Originally planned to include nearly 700 homes, Leshem was constructed in the 2010s as a satellite of Alei Zahav, a settlement established in 1982. 

“I estimate that Leshem has tripled the number of settlers in Alei Zahav.”

“Leshem is an Israeli settlement that was established in 2010, officially as a ‘neighborhood’ of an older settlement called Alei Zahav,” Dror Etkes — founder of Kerem Navot, an Israeli organization that monitors Israeli land policy in the West Bank — told The Intercept. Etkes said describing new communities as “neighborhoods” was a “trick” used by settlers to make it look like no new settlement was being constructed, since such moves have often drawn international condemnation. [...]

Leshem has been in the news in recent years for hostility to its neighboring Palestinian villages. In 2020, the settlement was accused of deliberately dumping its sewage into the farmlands of nearby Deir Ballut, preventing its olive harvest and destroying trees, some of which date back to Roman times. [...]

Considered illegal under international law and by nearly every country in the world apart from the U.S. and Israel, settlements have continued to grow even as international opinion tilts strongly against them. An occupying military force like Israel transferring civilian populations into occupied territory such as the West Bank is a war crime under the Fourth Geneva Convention. [...]

The company was referenced in the Pentagon’s August 2 contract announcement for the construction of a “life-support area” in Israel. Other documents revealed this to be a euphemism for the construction of barracks-like facilities to house U.S. military personnel on its unacknowledged base deep in the Negev desert, code-named “Site 512,” as The Intercept reported. Four other bids were considered, according to the Defense Department’s contract announcement.

It is not clear how much of the $35 million joint venture contract, shared with the Colorado construction company Bryan Construction, went to Ashush. Bryan Construction did not respond to requests for comment. Ashush does not appear in public databases that track U.S. government contracts, meaning there is no transparency around how much public money is flowing to the company. [...]

In 2015, when U.S. diplomats investigated allegations of vandalism, including the uprooting of thousands of Palestinian-owned olive trees in the West Bank by settlers from an Israeli “outpost,” the settlers assaulted them with stones. Though the State Department confirmed the incident and provided a video to Israeli authorities, the controversial head of the Samaria Regional Council Yossi Dagan, an ally of Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, called for the diplomats’ expulsion, accusing them of being spies.

“The land which the settlement is sitting on was looted by the Israeli government from two Palestinian communities.”

A report from January 2022 described settlers from Alei Zahav destroying a Palestinian farmer’s olive trees with assistance from the Israeli military. The military, at the behest of the settlers, ordered the farmer off the land and seized a tractor, claiming that the land was owned by the Israeli state. 

“The land which the settlement is sitting on was looted by the Israeli government from two Palestinian communities … in the 1980s by declaring it as ‘state land,’ which was allocated to Alei Zahav later,” said Etkes, the Israeli expert on settlements.

Months later, in July, another report described settlers destroying another nearby farm.

November 3, 2023

[mercless]

@windchaser: the   heart   (   or   is   it   a   bell   ?   )   in   his   chest   hammers   in   his   ears   ,   setting   his   teeth   on   edge   ,   each   pearl   tremorous   and   sending   vibrations   outwards   ,   shaking   just   beneath   the   first   layer   of   his   skin   until   that   too   grows   quiet   and   still   ,   not   in   peace   or   any   true   absence   of   sound   or   movement   ,   but   in   the   way   that   one   goes   deaf   over   time   ,   or   the   way   an   inexperienced   rider's   legs   grow   numb   .   each   breath   is   effortful   ,   shallow   when   he   tries   for   deep   ,   more   inhales   than   exhales   ,   and   it's   silly   ,   all   of   this   comparison   :   after   all   ,   there   isn't   and   hasn't   been   any   life   in   his   chest   for   a   long   time   ,   no   need   to   draw   breath   and   risk   someone   hearing   ,   and   despite   how   real   the   threat   feels   ,   the   walls   seeming   to   enclose   around   both   of   them   like   a   tomb   ,   his   tomb   ,   any   actual   danger   lies   just   beyond   their   only   exit   .   it   is   all   in   his   head   . he   knows   this   .   he   knows   this   ,   and   yet   — the   edges   of   his   vision   begins   to   dim   like   the   mouth   of   a   tunnel   ,   and   with   the   slightest   buckle   of   his   legs   ,   he   slumps   forward   ,   head   pressing   into   the   wall   just   over   talon's   shoulder   for   support   as   he   squeezes   his   eyes   shut   .   this   ,   however   ,   is   as   effective   as   trading   one   closed   space   for   only   a   slightly   less   closed   place   ,   but   his   hand   ,   trembling   against   the   wall   ,   contracts   ,   and   it   is   almost   grip-like   ,   almost   reaching   ,   and   is   stopped   only   by   the   stone   that   claws   embed   themselves   in   .   he   will   take   whatever   he   can   ,   he   thinks   ,   or   at   least   it   must   be   him   thinking   ,   for   who   else   would it   be   thinking   this   thought   ,   this   thought   that   rises   to   the   top   of   his   mind   like   the   air   bubbles   of   one   drowning   .   there's   a   something   of   a   sigh   ,   more   like   a   quick   puff   of   air   ,   and   he   deflates   ;   his   neck   gives   in   to   the   heavy   ,   weak   lean   of   his   head   ,   slipping   from   the   wall   and   lolling   upon   talon's   shoulder   .   it   is   unclear   whether   or   not   he   fully   or   at   all   registers   this   contact   ,   a   touch   that   would   appear   intimate   if   drawn   from   any   other   context   .   the   way   his   claws   dig   further   into   the   wall   could   mean   anything   .

Eyes alight with adrenaline dart about the confined crawlspace the unlikely duo had taken cover in. With the threats lurking just outside of the makeshift cover, not even the shadows seem trustworthy in their cool embrace. A worn boot gets shuffled further away from the band of light that acted as the border between false safety and hellish peril. The slow, even breaths moving their frame did not match the wild rhythm trapped behind their ribs. It was eventual that their paths would cross with the worst creatures the bowels of Hell could regurgitate into this humble, dusty world. The gunslinger at least was smart enough to know when his match was met, seeing as he went for cover rather than try his luck with the mess of brimstone and bone that was making its way through whatever was left of this unfortunate settlement. And if the situation weren't so dire, Talon could have conjured some words to compare this fact to how not even that sense of his had helped the dead man from not being stuck with this state. Or how he should put the same train of thought toward this doomed quest to stop the Harbingers…

It wasn't the heavenly glow of their blasted feathers desperately trying to be hidden from sight, nor the stink of their brimstone, that worried Talon on the effectiveness of their hiding from the monstrosity that needn't fret over one haunted man and a poor excuse of a demon. When they're certain that there was nothing else creeping just beyond their vision, Talon's hat lifts so that their eyes of embers could next see what their soulful associate made of their situation, only for brows plastered with blonde strands and drenched in salt and grime to crease at his struggle. But they know what it is; so close stuck between those cobbled walls they can feel the trembling and hear the hitched breathing searching for receding air. They know, because there was only one other time they've ever seen him in such a state. When the wooden beams had collapsed and there was more smoke than sense in the air.

The realisation feels like a veil lifted from their eyes, but it's of no help when Yone lurches forward. Toward them. Locked into place with lungs constricting and veins tensing, Talon waits for the blow that has been threatened all too many times before. The one given to the demons he's hunted down again and again, only waiting for the hellspawn's guard to drop even slightly to be his opening. Trapped between his face and that reaching hand, they brace for the worst. Only for the sound of scraping gravel, and a pitiful exhale, to wring them back into the present instead of their fearful, fictional scenarios. Strands of white settle over their shoulder and they dare not move - cannot move - as the gunslingers head finds their shoulder to lean on instead; Their protruding feathers, ruffled from the situation, act as a far softer pillow than their clammy skin or rigid brimstone. Eyes as wide and glistening as coins do not blink as he remains in this resting place. Every follicle of hair and keratin stood on end. Their own hands finding purchase in the wall to their back to help with the added weight upon them. Even as clear as it is, that he is in no state to scheme, there is still hesitance stemming from the demon's unease.

Focus ticks from features hidden away in cascading locks to the extended hand enclosing them, and finally to over the gunslinger's shoulders into that blinding light beyond their hiding spot. The grumblings of an old nature is cold to his woes of being stuck in such an enclosed space, urging Talon to save themself before he brings them down with his folly. And the thing with a pulse cannot help but wonder why he sought comfort in their presence. If it was even a passing thought... Thankfully, time is of the essence, and as the rumbling danger quietens, Talon knows that the small, fleeting window of opportunity is an unforgiving one. Their neck, which had craned away from the other's head, now leans their own toward his ear until the rim of hats meet. Words as quiet as a blade through the air slither from their tongue, hot breath disturbing the fine hairs shielding the other from sight,

"Stay with me, gunslinger." Gingerly, their own claws find his shoulder and take a hold of his coat. Not to move him - in fact they aren't too sure why at all. This wasn't the time to help gather strength to push through his fear, nor resolve what clutched at his heart. But then, when would it ever be? Certainly never if they didn't leave this cranny. Talon holds then, expecting the very walls enclosing them to be torn through at any moment. But when their fears are once again left wanting, they return their focus to Yone with another attempt to rouse him. The bed of feathers beneath him being pushed upward, encouraging that he rises.

"You need to be here in the waking moment. This interstice ain't our grave." Their worn, silvered tongue promises no plan against the doom lingering just out of sight. But despite every dispute and argument against their chances, they were going to need to face it together to have any hope in hell.

[kemetic-dreams]

"The original "Uncle Tom",

Rev. Josiah Henson and wife; Dresden ,Canada (c1907)

Josiah Henson (June 15, 1789 – May 5, 1883) was an author, abolitionist, and minister. Born into slavery in Charles County, Maryland, he escaped to Upper Canada (now Ontario) in 1830, and founded a settlement and laborer's school for other fugitive slaves at Dawn, near Dresden in Kent County. Henson's autobiography, The Life of Josiah Henson, Formerly a Slave, Now an Inhabitant of Canada, as Narrated by Himself (1849), is widely believed to have inspired the character of the fugitive slave, George Harris, in Harriet Beecher Stowe's Uncle Tom's Cabin (1852), who returned to Kentucky for his wife and escaped across the Ohio River, eventually to Canada. Following the success of Stowe's novel, Henson issued an expanded version of his memoir in 1858, Truth Stranger Than Fiction. Father Henson's Story of His Own Life (published Boston: John P. Jewett & Company, 1858). Interest in his life continued, and nearly two decades later, his life story was updated and published as Uncle Tom's Story of His Life: An Autobiography of the Rev. Josiah Henson (1876).

Josiah Henson was born on a farm near Port Tobacco in Charles County, Maryland. When he was a boy, his father was punished for standing up to a slave owner, receiving one hundred lashes and having his right ear nailed to the whipping-post, and then cut off. His father was later sold to someone in Alabama. Following his family's master's death, young Josiah was separated from his mother, brothers, and sisters.His mother pleaded with her new owner Isaac Riley, Riley agreed to buy back Henson so she could at least have her youngest child with her; on condition he would work in the fields. Riley would not regret his decision, for Henson rose in his owners' esteem, and was eventually entrusted as the supervisor of his master's farm, located in Montgomery County, Maryland (in what is now North Bethesda). In 1825, Mr. Riley fell onto economic hardship and was sued by a brother in law. Desperate, he begged Henson (with tears in his eyes) to promise to help him. Duty bound, Henson agreed. Mr. R then told him that he needed to take his 18 slaves to his brother in Kentucky by foot. They arrived in Daviess County Kentucky in the middle of April 1825 at the plantation of Mr. Amos Riley. In September 1828 Henson returned to Maryland in an attempt to buy his freedom from Issac Riley.

He tried to buy his freedom by giving his master $350 which he had saved up, and a note promising a further $100. Originally Henson only needed to pay the extra $100 by note, Mr. Riley however, added an extra zero to the paper and changed the fee to $1000. Cheated of his money, Henson returned to Kentucky and then escaped to Kent County, U.C., in 1830, after learning he might be sold again. There he founded a settlement and laborer's school for other fugitive slaves at Dawn, Upper Canada. Henson crossed into Upper Canada via the Niagara River, with his wife Nancy and their four children. Upper Canada had become a refuge for slaves from the United States after 1793, when Lieutenant-Governor John Graves Simcoe passed "An Act to prevent further introduction of Slaves, and to limit the Term of Contracts for Servitude within this Province". The legislation did not immediately end slavery in the colony, but it did prevent the importation of slaves, meaning that any U.S. slave who set foot in what would eventually become Ontario, was free. By the time Henson arrived, others had already made Upper Canada home, including African Loyalists from the American Revolution, and refugees from the War of 1812.

Henson first worked farms near Fort Erie, then Waterloo, moving with friends to Colchester by 1834 to set up a African settlement on rented land. Through contacts and financial assistance there, he was able to purchase 200 acres (0.81 km2) in Dawn Township, in next-door Kent County, to realize his vision of a self-sufficient community. The Dawn Settlement eventually prospered, reaching a population of 500 at its height, and exporting black walnut lumber to the United States and Britain. Henson purchased an additional 200 acres (0.81 km2) next to the Settlement, where his family lived. Henson also became an active Methodist preacher, and spoke as an abolitionist on routes between Tennessee and Ontario. He also served in the Canadian army as a military officer, having led a African militia unit in the Rebellion of 1837. Though many residents of the Dawn Settlement returned to the United States after slavery was abolished there, Henson and his wife continued to live in Dawn for the rest of their lives. Henson died at the age of 93 in Dresden, on May 5, 1883.

[strangegutz]

Hey, your ocs from heartbreak gulch intrigue me. Is there a synopsis of the story so I can get a better idea of the world and such?

Here’s something quick I just typed up!!

Weird west, retro-futurism, and life in a societal collapse.

Heartbreak Gulch takes place in a strange future- The desert has sprawled halfway across the USA, and desperados reign supreme. Your neighbor is a robot, you probably have a cyborg hand after catching a stray bullet, but at least you have some groovy bell bottoms.

The central location is Heartbreak Gulch itself. Located in a canyon is a small valley, a great settlement location- in theory. Previous attempts at setting up a small village failed with the difficulty to set up trade routes. Haven Valley became a ghost town, and rumors of squatters and criminal activity came down the grapevine to surrounding law enforcement. No lawmen wanted to get sent down there to look after the town, so they hired whoever would take the job. They hired an old CompanDroid named Eddie Ramirez.

Eddie, better known as legendary outlaw Los Ojos Negros, took over the town, contracting work over the course of 8 years to fix things up, and there’s still a lot of work to do. He’s been collecting other lone wolf ne’er-do-wells and outlaws to join his gang, or just giving a place for criminals to lay low for a while.

Heartbreak Gulch as a comic, whenever that may happen, will be a comedy focusing on character interaction

[homelesstravelerssp]

Aizawa Shouta Phoenix Fantasy Au!!

1. Aizawa Shota | Phoenix | Immortal | Moeru Sennin

2. 50049 years

3. In an era so ancient that the yellowed rustling pages are not able to capture, there lives a boy, just a teenager. A peasant, pointing his finger at everything outlandish, and running through ripe rice fields. His life is leisurely, monotonous, and calm. Until one day, running out to a loud bird cry, he stumbles upon something unclear, terrible and scary.

The immortal majestic Phoenix prepares for rebirth.

His feathers fall, turning to ash before they even touch the ground, he howls about his pain, burns to ashes, outside and inside, and along with him, an involuntary observer, an ordinary peasant boy, burns.

Thus a man was born, not born a phoenix, but becoming one.

The teenager does not immediately understand what has happened. Time leaves no trace on him, but takes his friends in exchange. The immortal learned, understood and accepted the unshakable laws of birth, life and death. And yet...

His body did not grow. He did not burn to ashes, receiving mortal wounds. When he was torn apart, his flesh and mind destroyed, he did not burn, did not reborn in ashes. Instead, he bled, unable to move, feeling endless pain, feeling how his skin knits together painfully slowly, how his bones line up into an understandable mechanism, and how muscles lick over them. Every part, every second he felt it. And it was not fast, like his birth, oh, no. The treatment remained ordinary, human, just stepped further, capable of restoring the impossible. He is not a real phoenix, and not a real man.

He watched an era die and a new one be born. He held the hands of a tentative but new beginning, only to watch it wave goodbye soon after. The world had not been kind to him. The world had not been kind to anyone. An immortal must fight over and over again, to protect himself, to protect someone else, so often that it is nothing more than another breath he takes.

He suffers many betrayals. Those who trust him most are wounded by him. He remembers all the good, and does not erase the bad. But everything has consequences. For every blow he missed, for every time he forgot himself and gave more than he had, his feathers scattered across valleys, across vast waters, across continents. And with them, he gave away precious memories. Of any and all friends long gone. Of the simple tune he whistled into a torn leaf as the page of history turned. Of the rare, quiet nights he spent with a full stomach at someone's hut.

The immortal considers himself an observer. Someone who carries the stories of the past within him, lives in the present, and moves into the future. There are no legends about him, he does not try to interfere with the course of events. He is a wanderer, a silent traveler who does not know the way. But he does not always remain so.

When a tiny life trembles, when motens knock and palms clap in confirmation of a contract, the immortal lets the fire flare up. His fiery fists tear, snatch a small man from the clutches of, no more and no less, human monsters.

He takes him. At first, Phoenix plans to simply take him to the nearest settlement, and leave him there, let kinder and more honest people take care of the child. And that's when he learns why the boy ended up where they met, and why no one else will take him in.

Shinso Hitoshi. A child the new world abandoned. And who is he to dictate fate?

Easier said than done. At first, Phoenix has no idea what to do with Shinso-kun. He's long forgotten what healthy food, a permanent home, and a sense of stability are, and now he must give them to someone else. Everything is tough, the immortal catches bugs, hunts game, and boils water with his hands, hiding from the world.

It gets better with time. He takes care of the boy, raises him, and tries to pass on the knowledge accumulated over thousands of years. This boy, who became his son, allowed him to catch a thin, taut thread, to fish out of memory a name that the phoenix thought had long since disappeared in one of the feathers in some valley.

Aizawa Shota. That was his name. That is his name.

The child grows. Aizawa learns tricks that used to seem stupid, but now seem like salvation. To pressure that older sorcerers probably go to bed on time to be strong. And they always wash themselves, because otherwise they will spoil the ingredients. And, of course, they eat all the things that are unpleasant for children. Aizawa learns to disguise himself with his son in order to take him to festivals, to allow him to grab at least a small piece of ordinary, green happiness, and hopes that he will not become a hermit like him.

It is Hitoshi who makes the immortal step towards the two boys, whose eyes are still barely shining with hope. It is so stupid, he is as old as this world, older than the dirt under their feet, but it is... refreshing. Allows him to vaguely remember the times when he carelessly carried water into barrels and seasoned fish with rice and salt for the winter. Friends. The concept is so distant, and so close.

But time flows, no matter how the immortal tries to stop it. His friend dies. And he is not a real Phoenix, he cannot grab and hold the fading life in his hands, force the soul to remain in the expiring body.

And so, he moves on.

The son grows up, learns new things (ah, it was embarrassing to find out that his training is out of date by... a couple of thousand years), becomes a full-grown adult. Of course, nothing compared to him, but now he is taller. Honestly, being taller than Aizawa is not difficult, because he is trapped in the body of a teenager, and yet. He already responds with sarcasm, enters the phase of teenage rebellion, comes out of it, and finds his business, his calling. The immortal is not sure if it is good by today's standards, but for now Hitoshi is happy, does it matter?

Meanwhile, another witch brings back to life the one Aizawa has already managed to let go. It is hard. It hits him. It pleases him.

Phoenix wants to stay in this time. But it is inexorable, and sooner or later, all this will become traces behind his back.

> Immortal. No wound can kill him. Regeneration at the speed of an ordinary person, does not rise from flame, does not dull the pain. Simply indestructible and self-healing.

> Perfect memory. To be immortal, Phoenixes needed this. To remember everything, to carry it on, to live with it. Otherwise, what else would they need immortality for?

> Flame. Able to create and control a small amount of flame. Not being a phoenix from birth, sooner or later the flame will burn him, and the amount he can summon is extremely limited. He prefers to strengthen his blows with it, nothing more. If he has to put in more than he can, he can increase the amount and heat of the fire he summons. Not for long, because in exchange he gives up his health, almost his life, and memories.

> He is unable to transform into a full-fledged phoenix. Instead, he is surrounded by feathers that contain his power. With their help, he can heal others (but not fatal wounds), or strengthen himself. In exchange, he gives up his precious memories. When a feather is used, it becomes useless, which is why his feathers are scattered all over the world. Their number is restored through regeneration, but extremely slowly.

> He looks like a teen-ager