#but always make the long pilgrimage to see each other

[fizzyxcustard]

Heaven and Hell

Fandom: Pilgrimage (2017)

Pairings: Raymond de Merville x Fem!Reader, Fem!Reader x Original male character

Word count: 2888

Warnings: Language, angst, arranged marriage, sexual references, slight religious/spiritual symbols and references.

Summary: From the imagine “Raymond has lost all hope of love and completely shut his heart down after losing everyone he has ever loved. Until he meets you.” 

Comments: Requested by @linasofia and @sazzlep Thank you to @glassgulls for reading over this for me and giving me your opinions on pacing and how to end the fic. 

As always, if you wish to be added to my tag lists, please let me know.

It had been four months now since Raymond had returned home. Every night and he saw that dreaded beach, and could feel the Mute biting into his flesh, ripping skin from his neck. The smell and taste of blood would still linger around Raymond as he sat bolt upright in bed, sweat pouring down him. When would the dreams stop? Unconsciously, every time Raymond had the dream and he would run his fingertips over the scar, feeling it tingle. 

Raymond trained his men, barking demands at them in the field. Then he would drink in his study, trying to drown out the memories. Hellfire burned in his mind, making him re-live the scene of every murder he had committed. It was the same endless cycle, day in and day out. Somewhere inside him, Raymond hoped for another war, just to break out of the monotony of what his life had become. Even his sexual appetite seemed to have disappeared, abandoning him to a never-ending world of darkness and repetition. 

***

You smiled as you walked swiftly to the training field to meet Henri, your fiancée. In your hands was a basket, filled with cheese, bread and an assortment of locally picked fruits, such as apples and grapes. 

The day was bright, with the midday sun leaving a soft warmth in the air. It was now late spring, almost summer. Your favourite time of year when all the plants were at their brightest, baby animals began to venture from their nests, and days grew longer. 

You were taking a short break from your sewing so that you could come and spend time with Henri. He was the same age as you, and the two of you had known each other since you were children. Truth be told, you loved Henri, but it was your family who had pushed for your matrimonial union. Otherwise you would have been just as happy remaining friends with him. After all, you knew deep down that his heart would never truly belong to you, but to a woman named Lucille. 

Raymond de Merville, the Baron’s son, was giving out demands to his soldiers, pacing in a line before them. You waited patiently at the door to the main armoury, watching in fascination as the soldiers sparred. 

Suddenly you noticed Raymond’s eyes study you. “What is that woman doing here?” he snapped. 

The men all looked at you, and in those moments you felt a huge blush hit your cheeks. 

“She is my fiancée,” Henri announced. He then requested to temporarily leave the training session to see you. Raymond rolled his eyes and reluctantly agreed. 

You smiled at Henri. “I was hoping we could spend lunchtime together. I made some food for us, to enjoy while the weather is good.” 

Raymond couldn’t help but keep his attention locked on you and Henri for a few seconds, and he listened to your sweet voice offer such kindness. He had had a fiancée once, but lost her to another man. The thought of her made him snarl and he felt a pang of disgust hit him, and he pushed it all away. 

It wasn’t long before Raymond stood his men down for their lunches, allowing Henri to sit with you. The two of you spoke about your upcoming wedding, and you couldn’t help but notice the way Henri hung his blonde head. The smiles curled his lips upward, but there was no spark in his eyes. And by the time that Henri had had his fill of food, he excused himself away. 

You watched him walk away towards the long path which led up to the barns. He was heading to see Lucille. Of course that was where he was going. 

With a sigh, you pulled together all the foods and put them back in your basket. 

In the corner of your eye and you could see Raymond watching you. He was sat alone, whilst the rest of the twenty or so men all sat in pairs or groups. All of them were eating, accept for Raymond. 

You walked toward Raymond, feeling your heart begin to race. His icy eyes were always intense, scaring you. “I have some food left if you would like some, Sir Raymond,” you said softly. “Please take what you’d like.” You placed the basket down. His eyes grazed over the basket and then lifted to focus on you. 

“You do know that Henri has his sights set elsewhere?” Raymond asked coldly. “Some woman up in the barn.” 

A lump rose in your throat. Despite you not being in love with Henri, you still wished that he would at least attempt to play the part of your fiancée, and not make his lack of interest in you so obvious. 

Raymond watched your expression as your gaze flitted back and forth, not quite sure where to rest. Your lips quivered. That feeling of being second best – he knew it all so well. 

“I know not to bother making him lunch again,” you said, finally being able to speak. “I may as well make it for you as I assume you would be more grateful for the effort.” 

“And the company,” Raymond replied. 

Those words made a tingle race up your spine. His voice was deep, and as it hit your ears, it was like pure velvet wrapping around you. You looked at him, allowing yourself to study him properly. Raymond was a handsome man, easily being in the middle of his fourth decade. He had a long, sharp nose, thin lips, and a steadily growing beard. He certainly looked and acted more experienced than Henri. 

***

The next day, and the next, and the next, you prepared food, but instead of giving it to Henri, you chose to sit with Raymond. You waited until Henri had disappeared for his rendezvous with Lucille, and sat with Raymond. None of the other men ever spoke to him outside of training, you noticed. But each lunch time, he gave you a smile as you offered him food. 

On the fourth day, you asked Raymond why he never brought food. 

“I am not always hungry, or in the mood to eat,” he replied. 

You couldn’t help but look at the large scar on his neck, which he had sustained when away in battle months earlier. Stories of Raymond’s ordeal had circulated around the village, but no one seemed to know the exact details. 

He noticed you studying his scar and smirked. He liked it when you studied him as he had observed over the last four days since meeting you that you tended to look away from him most of the time. Raymond could not deny that he found you attractive, and that longing to bed a woman was starting to rise. But you were betrothed to another, albeit a man who did not truly want you. Raymond at least honoured that. 

“You must eat, Raymond, to keep up your strength. I’m glad that I ventured down here now, even if my husband-to-be would rather be with another woman, I know that you are eating something, at least,” you said sadly. 

“Why are you marrying him?” Raymond asked bluntly. 

“Our families have been friends for years, and so have I and Henri. Our fathers arranged the marriage, wanting us to wed. And it seemed like a good fit; I do love Henri.” 

Raymond noticed you look at the grass beneath yourself as you said the words ‘I do love Henri’. 

“I’ve always supported him in anything that he has wanted to do.” 

“Is he there for you in return?” 

The question hit you hard in the chest. You knew the answer but could not bring yourself to vocalise it. Tears welled in your eyes and you sniffed, looking away in embarrassment. “I should return to my mother now. I’m sorry to keep you, Raymond.” 

“You are not keeping me.” He then said your name softly. 

You looked at him and his gaze bore through you, as if he were undressing each and every part of your whole being. A shiver raced down your spine and butterflies flapped in your stomach. How could this man beckon such a huge tidal wave of arousal within you? 

Raymond’s lips parted, but he held the words back. 

“Goodbye, Sir Raymond,” you said softly, and turned to leave. 

Raymond watched you walk away, following the path back up toward the main village. However could Henri ignore your kindness? Your sincerity. Your innocence. Whenever Raymond was with you and he felt that child side of himself rise. The memory of all the hellfire disappeared, leaving a shaft of heavenly light, with you at the centre. 

***

You did not come to see Raymond the next day, and so he felt nothing but disappointment in his heart. At lunchtime, he grit his teeth as he watched Henri take the walk towards the barns. To have a woman be devoted to him, even though she was not in love, and still tried to make a worthy wife. Raymond could only imagine what you would be like with a man you actually loved. 

The next day and you were missing again. What had happened to make you disappear? Raymond craved your company. Even though your meetings only lasted less than an hour, he had grown to finally appreciate company again. His mind would keep going off on tangents, searching for you. 

Raymond trusted Auben, his second in command, and asked him to speak with you. To go to your home and ask for your presence at dinner, with him, at the de Merville chateau. 

Dinner time came, and finally Raymond heard a knock on the door of the main dining hall. The head cook announced your arrival. 

You stepped into the hall, looking around at the stag head on the wall which was mounted above a huge fireplace. In front of the fireplace was Raymond, who got to his feet in order to greet you. “I’m glad you came,” he said. “I wished to show my gratitude for your company the last four days.” He looked at you, clothed in an emerald dress which seemed to bring out that beautiful sparkle in your eyes.

“You didn’t have to do such a thing, Sir Raymond,” you told him, taking a seat just down the table from him on his left hand side. “I’ve enjoyed our time together and wanted to make sure you were eating.” 

“Why did you stop coming?” Raymond asked. Sometimes his questioning was blunt and to the point, catching you off guard. 

You sighed, looking down again. “I…I know my place with Henri. His heart belongs to Lucille, and I will only be his wife in name only. But I still want to honour him as my fiancée. Going to see you was becoming inappropriate, even though I have been concerned for you.” 

“Then why did you come tonight?” 

“I don’t know,” you whispered. 

Raymond got to his feet and walked to your chair, looking down at you.

Your heart was thundering in your chest, beating so loud that you were terrified that he could hear it. 

“I know why you came. Despite wanting to honour Henri, you still hope for something true. You want a man to love you, treasure you, put you at the centre of everything in his life.” 

Tears fell down your cheeks at the sound of Raymond laying everything down before you. Of course that was what you wanted. You had wanted it since you were a little girl who was old enough to understand the ways of the world. 

“Such a stupid thing to dream,” you sobbed. 

Raymond whispered your name. “In a world of hell, you have become my heaven.” 

“We barely know each other, Sir Raymond,” you told him, feeling that all too familiar stir lower down your body. No man had ever made you feel so aroused. In fact, you had kept your maidenhood preserved, as was expected. “I really do not feel this is appropriate at all.” 

You shifted away from him and got to your feet, again averting your gaze from him. 

Raymond growled. “Henri is a fucking fool.” 

“You have known me for no more than four days. Our conversation has been brief, so you surely cannot say that you feel something for me? Unless it is company warming your bed that you require.” 

A smirk grew on Raymond’s face. He had seen the fire inside you rise on a few occasions when speaking with you. There was a flame in your eyes, and in your words. That flame would make sure that no one took advantage of you, either physically or of your virtuous nature. 

“Do you think Henri cares that you are here?!” Raymond roared. “When each day that you have visited me, he has been off fucking her in the barn. The man has no honour.”

“And you do?” 

“You may not think highly of me, but I will not allow you to remain in their shadow. For all the kindness and honour you show toward him, you could be showing that to another man who would walk through hellfire for you, and make sure you remain as pure as an angel heaven sent.” 

“Raymond…” you whispered. You looked at him, seeing a sadness rise in his icy blue depths. It was a sadness you had not seen before. The very sight of him being so open made you step forward and then reach out, cupping his cheek. “I am not worth anything to anyone.” 

“You are to me. What little heart I have been given has always found its way to those who have broken it. I want you to have it, and I will be that man you have always wanted.” 

“You needn’t be anything more than the man you already are,” you told him. 

Raymond rushed at you and kissed you hard. It felt as if you were melting away, merging with him. His tongue was hot and demanding in your mouth, needing and wanting. 

Heat flared in his gut and down in his breeches, rising so high that he was sure his self-control would snap. Your body was pure perfection beneath his calloused hands, and he wanted to get at it all. 

“We cannot, Raymond,” you whispered sadly, pulling away. You kissed his brow softly, and then peppered his face with pecks of love. “The arrangement has been finalised. I marry Henri next month.” 

“Henri can marry his woman, and I shall marry you.” 

“Please…Find someone else more worthy than me. I am destined to be Henri’s wife, even if not the one who has his heart. I cannot change that.” 

Raymond was still holding you tight. “I was to be married, and I loved her. But she left me for another. Our wedding was arranged, but she left me, days before we were to meet at the altar.” 

“Then please, do not let this go any further. I will not be the reason for you having a broken heart again. Let me go.” 

“I know you feel something for me. Why else would you have come tonight? I am sure that you and Henri have never shared a kiss like that.” 

“That is the first time I have ever kissed a man.” 

Raymond couldn’t help himself and kissed your cheek, then moved down to your neck. 

You felt electricity surge through you and you clung to him so tight. The waves of pleasure and the gathering tempo at the juncture of your thighs made you groan.

“Let me in, my love, and we can experience heaven together,” he whispered. 

You put your hand to his cheek. “Please don’t hate me. I can’t dishonour Henri and my family. Try and understand.” 

Raymond bowed his head, feeling the mixture of anger and sadness rise. It caused a ball of pain to form in his throat and he pulled away, remaining silent as he turned his back to you. 

You felt nothing but guilt for causing him such pain. True, you had barely had time to know each other, but something was pulling the two of you in closer, an unseen force that knew you were destined to be entwined. 

Without another word, you slipped out of the hall and exited the chateau. It was dusk now, with only a thin strip of golden light hanging on the horizon. You sighed and then took in a deep breath, ready to head home. 

A chill was beginning to set in now and it refreshed you, cooling off the humidity of the day. Thoughts of Raymond would not leave you, as they had not done now since the first meeting you had with him. The man had burrowed himself into your soul, and you knew that any resistance to him was going to be incredibly difficult. 

Once home and you undressed into your night slip, having lied to your mother and father, telling them you had spent the evening with Henri. 

When your head hit the pillow, you gazed out of your window, watching the stars twinkle high above. Maybe in another life you and Raymond could have meant to be together. For this one, you would have to make do with your family’s arrangements and with being second best. 

(To be continued)

***

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[clarepreed]

Sea Legs

Story Content and Summary - 6,544 words. At the age of thirty, merfolk deity Artis requires each merperson to visit her altar. She makes a choice on their behalf, and either sends them back to their people or gives them legs, sending them to live with the Earthwalkers. When Leonie is given legs and potentially the chance to reunite with her long lost love, tragedy strikes. Will Leonie join the ranks of those who never came back? Blood, drowning, on-site resuscitation.

--

Recorded on waterproof vellum, the oral histories of the Atlantic Schoole of Merfolke:

Each merfolke, having reached their thirtieth year, will make a pilgrimage to the altar of Artis. Merfolke content to swim with the Schoole will return home blessed. But a restless spirit will have their tail split in twain, and they will walk the Earthe until such time as the Sea calls them home.

— Just over two years prior, Leonie

Twenty-eight-year-old Leonie Cerulean rushed to meet Alaric Stormur at their usual spot. She’d been the one to find them first: ruins from a town of Earthwalkers, on a submerged island long-reclaimed by the ocean.

Leonie made a pretty picture as she hurried. Long, streaming ginger hair. A crown of woven sea grass that kept her hair out of her face. Her beautiful, long tail that glimmered silvery blue-green. She swam topless as was the fashion, though she’d adorned herself with a rope of seagrass studded with small shells. The rope twined over her shoulders, and between and beneath her pale breasts.

She spotted Alaric quickly, floating in a broken archway. He’d clubbed his dark hair at the nape for travel. He was otherwise unadorned. He had the light brown skin of an angel shark, and a beautiful red and purple tail like a speckled hind.

Normally, he swam out to meet her when she approached; today, he remained where he was, peering down into the depths of the ocean. Leonie felt her own anxiety in the way he held his shoulders.

Today was the day that could change everything.

Happy birthday, my love, she thought.

Alaric turned then. His face changed a bit when he saw her, shifting from sad and distant to a weak smile.

Leonie… He opened his arms wide. Thank you.

You look sad. She wrapped her arms around him. She’d wanted to spend time with him before they talked about his pilgrimage, but she realized now that this was unrealistic. Are you… restless of spirit?

I don’t know. Alaric folded her in his arms. Their tails rippled gently in the water. I’m anxious.

I love you!

Alaric pressed his mouth to hers, his hand threading tenderly in her hair. I love you, too, Leonie. Always.

Leonie shuddered against him. You’re saying goodbye.

I don’t want to.

But you are.

I would feel worse if Artis gave me legs, and I never told you goodbye.

Later, when Alaric didn’t come back, when days turned into weeks turned into years, Leonie wondered how it was possible to feel any worse.

Present day, Leonie

Leonie’s mother, Marin, kept pace with her, anxiously peeking at her daughter as they swam. Leonie, for her part, tried to ignore the looks.

You don’t have to swim so fast, Leonie Cerulean!

The faster I get there, the faster Artis will send me home.

Leonie!

Leonie stopped swimming and pivoted to face her mother. The older merwoman could have been her sister, her own ginger hair in a loose cloud around her head. I’m sorry, Amma, but I just want to get this over with.

I know, Leonie. But I’m your mother, and we might never see each other again. I don’t know when the sea will call you home.

You believe she will give me legs. Leonie watched a froth of little bubbles escape her mother’s mouth, nose, and gills. Her mother only laced her breath like that when she was very upset.

I have never met more restless merfolk than you, starfish.

I love you, Amma. Leonie darted into her surprised mother’s arms. 

I know! And I love you! But your spirit has always been restless, and the loss of your merman did not help.

If he’s alive, Leonie said. I will find him. The only reason he hasn’t come back is because Artis kept his tail. He will be looking for me.

For your sake, I hope so. Marin gazed into her daughter’s eyes, her own a deep well of sadness. I will picture him waiting for you to surface with open arms, my starfish. You will see all the bright things that the surface has to offer. And then you and Alaric will be called home to the sea to give me grandchildren to spoil.

Leonie and her mother had to part ways here by the dead reef. She had to make the rest of her journey alone. Leonie had left Alaric here on his birthday more than two years prior. Now, she was the one following the landmarks to the entrance of the underwater cave.

Be careful, her mother had told her. The Earthwalkers have artificial fins and devices to breathe beneath the water. They have been caught exploring Artis’ cave.

With that in mind, Leonie kept a watchful eye on her surroundings as she approached the fated cave. The exterior of Artis’ cave was unassuming, though the altar within was reported to be beautiful. With that in mind, Leonie swam to the entrance, hesitating only a moment before entering.

The cave was dark, even to Leonie’s light-colored eyes. It was also narrow, and she let her fingers trail along the rock as she swam, not wanting to scrub herself on something rough or sharp. 

Fortunately, the tunnel widened, and the space around her grew more visible. 

Leonie’s head breeched the surface and she closed her gills, spewing water from her nose and mouth. Then she drew a breath of moist, cool air. Above her, light streamed in from an opening in the rock. The beam fell on a large, flat rock at the edge of the water. Everything was dark, brown, and moist.

This is it? she thought, swimming over to the rock. Am I in the wrong place? Did the Earthwalkers do something to—

“Leonie Cerulean.”

The voice startled her, and she whipped her head around, looking for the source. 

“Place your hands on the rock.” The voice was not just one voice. It was the voice of a million women of all ages speaking at once. Loud and alien, but somehow familiar. Leonie’s heart beat faster, and after taking a few steadying breaths, she complied with shaking hands.

As soon as her palms connected with the rock, Leonie’s body went rigid. She bowed up, eyes opening wide and then rolling back in her head. The cave expanded, filling with color and light. It was like being inside a giant prism, cold but colorful. Blinding. She gasped, her mouth falling open, and one of the beams plunged inside, disappearing into her throat.

Leonie. You will experience much pain. Much pleasure. Much sorrow. Much love. You are a restless spirit. Go and walk the Earth until I call you home.

Leonie wanted to ask about Alaric. About her mother’s wish for grandchildren. About all of the people who’d never returned. But the light in her throat had become a blade of glass. It carved deep inside of her, then twisted. She was frozen in position, unable to pull away from the rock or curve her body away from the pain. Blood bubbled up her throat and spilled from her lips. Red, hot blood leaked from her nose and eyes and ears. Beneath the water, her beautiful scales peeled and flaked off, and her tail twisted until it split, turning the water dark with her blood. 

Leone seized, impaled on the beam of light. Her gills sealed themselves and disappeared. Her lungs reformed themselves to breathe only air. Her heart briefly stilled, but the light arced through it, restarting it with a twitch. She became a creature of glass and blood and the light spectrum.

And then, with a faint pop, the prism light disappeared. Leonie clung to the rock, no longer bleeding, naked and kicking her new legs.

The water level in the cave rose, swirling around Leonie as she gasped and thrashed. She knew Earthwalkers couldn’t breathe water, and she was one of them now. Leone’s legs felt strange and weak. She dragged herself up onto the rock with shaking arms, but the water quickly closed over her head. 

The water lifted her, pushing her up toward the source of light at the top of the cave. Leonie scrabbled for purchase on the narrowing sides of the cave, tearing her fingernails on the rock. Her head bobbed above the surface and she sucked in a great breath, only for the water to cover her again. Her shoulder caught hard on the side of the cave and when it broke free, the pressure of the water forced her body out of the hole in the cave ceiling and into the open air.

Brilliant light blinded her. Leonie clapped her hands to her eyes. A wave of water crashed into her, knocking her sideways. She glanced painfully off a rock. Leonie tried to touch the bottom with her new feet, but couldn’t feel it. She was barely keeping herself afloat with her arms, her legs useless sticks beneath her. 

How do Earthwalkers swim? she thought. A wave smacked her in the face, and she gagged on what had been life-sustaining and was now life-taking. The salt burned her eyes and nose. As she struggled, her eyes slowly adjusted to the bright surface light. She could see land not far from where she treaded water. A sandy beach with people. 

Can I ride the waves?

Leonie pushed away from the rocks and rolled onto her back. Her aching body was slow to obey her, but once she stopped wriggling, she found that she could float. Another wave slammed into her, violently pushing her toward the beach.

This will work, she thought.

The next wave, however, sent her a surprise.

NET! 

Leonie knew about nets. Earthwalkers used them to hunt. Sometimes, they caught and fatally injured merfolk that way. She’d been fortunate to avoid them. Until now. The net tangled around her, weights pulling her just beneath the surface. Leonie could still feel the current pushing her toward the beach, but now she was stuck.

Don’t breathe! Leonie pressed one hand to her mouth and nose, pinching her own nostrils closed. 

You’ll be on land soon! Don’t breathe!

Her lungs burned. Everything around her was a confusion of blue-green water, sand, net, and rock. The more time passed, the more her lungs hurt. A spasm clenched her throat. She shuddered underwater, useless legs kicking. Her cheeks bulging, Leonie thrashed her head from side to side.

Don’t… breathe…

Don’t…

She opened her mouth and sucked in water like air.

Before, when she inhaled water with her gills, she felt sustained and supported. She preferred it to breathing air, though she could do both. Before.

Now, her Earthwalker body tried to breathe the water, but it surged in and out of her to no avail. Her vision darkened. The movement of her limbs slowed.

This is why people don’t come back, she thought, before she lost consciousness altogether.

Alaric

If Leonie was coming, it would be today. Her birthday. This morning, specifically. Any minute now. He nudged the bag he’d brought for her with his foot to reassure himself it was there. Clothing, food, drinking water, first aid kit, state ID and passport, marriage license. The last three items were fake, but merfolk had lived above the surface so long they had their resources.

The bag also included a pair of wedding rings to complete the story, but he wanted to explain Earthwalker customs to Leonie first.

Alaric stood with his hands in his pockets, eyes intent on the No Swimming Allowed portion of the surf. The Earthwalkers had it fenced and roped off well out into the water, though Alaric was amused by the futility of roping off the sea. 

Further down the beach, he saw families playing in the surf, sunbathers lounging in chairs, and a lifeguard up in their tower, watching the water.

Merfolk didn’t arrive down in the family swimming area, unfortunately. They were birthed amongst the rocks and had to swim their way to the beach. Most made it, but there had been days when they thought no one had surfaced, only for the Earthwalkers to find a beautiful naked corpse washed up further down the beach.

Alaric had spent his first sixth months on the surface here, learning how to use his new body and how to survive among the Earthwalkers. Then he’d traveled for more than a year, backpacking across America, using forged documents to travel to every continent except Antarctica.

He’d returned a few months ago to reintegrate into the surfaced merfolk community and wait for Leonie.

She’s a restless spirit of ever I saw one, he thought, a sharp sense of longing cutting through him. He’d been fine, he had. He enjoyed his travels. He’d met a lot of people and had good and bad experiences.

But he still missed her. He had dreams about holding her in his arms. Talking to her. Kissing her. Having Earthwalker sex with her.

Earthwalkers often seemed to doubt their love for each other, but Alaric was still a merman at heart. Playing the field was fine, encouraged even. But once you found your match or matches, merfolk tended to mate for life. Artis willing.

A particularly forceful wave caught his attention, and he glanced toward the rocks. A geyser of water shot into the air. Alaric took a series of quick steps toward the surf, hand shading his straining eyes.

The ocean was too rough and frothy today to make much out. Even down the beach where there weren’t rocks, he’d heard the lifeguard cautioning Earthwalkers from going too far out, and parents talking to children about the safety of the crashing waves.

Leonie…

He didn’t doubt she loved him. But if Artis hadn’t given her legs, there wasn’t anything either of them could do until Artis called him home. 

Another wave crashed, followed quickly by a third.

Then his eyes caught on something that wasn’t water or rock.

A pale something, floating on the surface. An ill feeling swept over him, and Alaric slowly kicked off his shoes. He took a few more steps into the surf, then pulled off his shirt, tossing it onto the sand behind him.

The pale thing rode the next wave, and he realized it was a body, tossed about at the mercy of the ocean.

“Leonie!” Alaric shouted, even though he still couldn’t be sure it was her. He ran through the shallows, then thrashed forward until the water was deep enough to swim in.

Alaric was a good swimmer. They all were once they got used to their legs. They all took CPR and first aid classes, something that came in handy often as newly surfaced merfolk learned how to swim with their new bodies. He cut through the water, his heart sinking as he got a closer look at the body.

A woman, long-limbed and pale. Face down in the water and caught up in a net. She had a cloud of ginger hair floating around her, tangled with sea grass.

Artis had given Leonie legs. Leonie had come.

Leonie had drowned.

Alaric swam the last yards and caught her by the hair. He dragged her into his arms, trying not to get tangled up in the net himself. He tugged at the net, pulling it over her head and turned her over in the water.

It was for sure Leonie. As beautiful as he remembered, only now her pale eyes were a dark blue. They stared up at the sky, lifeless. Her lips were blue as well.

Leonie! No, no, no! At moments like this, he forgot Earthwalker bodies couldn’t speak mind-to-mind. Not that Leonie could hear him either way.

Alaric towed them both further from the rocks and then floated her on her back, his left arm cradling her under her shoulders and the other reaching up so he could pinch her nose. Then he sealed her purple mouth with his. Alaric gave her five breaths. Each time, water came up from her mouth and their lips parted with a sputtering noise. Still, he thought he could see her chest rise. 

By the fifth breath, she still hadn’t revived, her body growing more ashen by the second. Alaric wrapped his arm across her chest and swam one-armed for the shore, trying to keep both of their heads above water.

The lifeguard from the family beach met him halfway, taking her legs and helping him run her out of the surf. They dragged the net with them, her legs still caught up in its grasp.

“What happened?” The lifeguard shouted, the excitement in his voice showing his nerves.

“My… wife was swimming,” Alaric fibbed. “She got caught in this net and pulled into the rocks!”

They laid her flat, moving so fast her body crashed to the sand. He could see white foam already leaking out of her nose and mouth, dripping onto the sand as her head tipped to the side. Alaric immediately bent over her, his hands tracing her exposed ribcage. Bits of his hair had come loose, and he tossed his head impatiently to get it out of his eyes.

The lifeguard was speaking into a radio and digging through his backpack. “We have a drowned female in the No Swimming Zone B. I need backup, the AED, and EMS. I repeat…”

Alaric didn’t know if this man had ever revived a drowning person, but Alaric had. Multiple times. He clasped his hands together and pressed the heel into Leonie’s sternum. His fingers overlapped her left breast as he began pumping up and down.

“One, two, three…” He’d done this before, but he could tell this was especially bad. Leonie’s body made a squelching noise each time he forced her sternum down. His previous victims hadn’t taken in much water. It sounded like Leonie had inhaled water until there was no more room for anything else. 

The lifeguard brought an oropharyngeal airway out of his bag and tipped Leonie’s head back, measuring the airway against her jaw. As he held her face there, foam ran from her nose and mouth, covering her face in a white sheet of liquid. Each compression of her chest sent a spray from her lips. Her stomach popped up rhythmically, the sloshing within audible to Alaric.

“I’ll keep going until you’re ready!” Alaric called out. He was well past thirty already, and Leonie wasn’t showing any signs of reviving. He wondered if her heart had already stopped beating. Wondered how long she’d been in the water before he spotted her.

The lifeguard gripped her jaw and forced her mouth open, muttering: “She’s seized up!” He got the airway between her teeth and turned it one hundred and eighty degrees, letting the flange rest on her teeth. Foam came up the airway and around it, spurting in time with the thrust of Alaric’s hands.

The lifeguard popped open a pocket mask and pushed the stem into place, then pressed it to Leonie’s pale face. Alaric paused compressions long enough for the lifeguard to blow twice into the mask, then he started compressions again. 

“One, two, three, four, five…”

Hurgh hurgh hurgh hurgh…

The ugly sound her body was making filled him with despair.

She tried to breathe underwater. Moments before, that would have been okay, but…

The tide was coming in. Water rose around Leonie’s sprawled body. He ignored the water, pumping Leonie’s chest until it was time for the lifeguard to breathe for her again. His eyes ran over her bruised and scraped body before it was time to beat her heart again. Her new legs were bleeding. 

“One, two, three, four, five….” Each press of his hands made her shoulders shrug, her belly pop, and her feet rock. He tried to concentrate on keeping the proper depth and speed, knowing that at this point she probably needed them to just keep oxygenated blood circulating until the defibrillator arrived. “…twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…”

“Over there!” A small engine sputtered to a stop close by, and he heard feet hitting the sand. 

“…twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five…”

“We need to get her out of the water!” a woman shouted. Two more people dropped down next to Leonie’s limp body. 

“…thirty!”

As the first lifeguard gave her breaths, another tugged at the net, roughly dragging it free of her legs.

“Let’s lift her!” the female lifeguard called out. “Get her up to the dry!”

The four of them grabbed her and lifted: legs, each arm, head and shoulders. They ran her up the beach, her long, matted hair trailing in the sand. Alaric dropped to his knees with her, wincing as her body crashed down in front of him. His hands immediately found the bruise forming over her sternum and he began pumping her heart for her again.

“One, two, three, four…” The beach lifeguards moved quickly around him. He saw one assemble a bag-valve mask and connect it to an oxygen canister. Another unzipped the AED and grabbed the pads. “…twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty!”

A lifeguard held the mask to Leonie’s face with two hands while the other squeezed the bulb. Leonie’s bruised chest rose and fell. Rose and fell again. The lifeguards kept the mask in place as Alaric bent over her, precisely rolling his clasped hands into her chest.

The third lifeguard reached in around Alaric’s hands to dry her chest with a towel and then apply the defibrillator pads. One went above Leonie’s right breast, the other on her left side. The lifeguard smoothed the pads down with his hands and then plugged the connector into the AED, flipping the switch.

Alaric didn’t stop compressions until he heard the AED say: “Analyzing rhythm. Do not touch patient.”

He lifted his hands and leaned back. The lifeguards at her head gave her a series of breaths as they waited, air gurgling in and out of Leonie’s airway.

“Analyzing rhythm, do not touch patient! No shock advised. Continue CPR for two minutes.”

“I’ve got it!” the lifeguard operating the AED said. He leaned over Leonie and quickly resumed chest compressions.

Alaric didn’t move away. He wouldn’t, unless someone with authority told him to. Instead, he reached for her hand, which lay there flopping on the the sand with each thrust to her chest. Her fingers were cold and limp in his.

“What’s her name?” asked the lifeguard holding the mask.

“Leonie.”

The chest compressions were still audible. There was the hard thrusting sound of the man’s hands on her body. The sloshing sound of the water she’d swallowed. And the gurgle of the water in her lungs. Periodically, the lifeguards lifted the mask and let the water and foam run out.

He hadn’t seen her in so long, and her body was different now that Artis had given her legs. The way she looked now, with her hair matted and sandy, her face turning blue, her body bruised, Alaric hardly recognized her.

Her skin was paler than he remembered, though he acknowledged this was probably because she was dead or dying. The compressions were making her breasts wobble, the force traveling down to her stomach. It bulged up each time hands dug into her, emphasizing the force be was using. Alaric would hear stress in the man’s voice as he counted out compressions; these were just normal people, and Leonie was presenting them with a terrible challenge.

Her eyes were still open, bits of sand caught in her lashes and her eyes staring at nothing. As Alaric watched, her mouth sneered open beneath the mask and water spilled out.

The lifeguards lifted the mask, though one of them called out: “Don’t stop compressions”

Her head rocked, and her mouth gaped again, a wave of foam and water spilling out. It was running from her nose, too. Alaric had seen this once before, in a surfaced merman from another part of the world who’d drowned learning to swim in a swimming pool. The man hadn’t recovered.

“Agonal breathing,” he said, his voice quiet.

“Yes.” The female lifeguard reopened Leonie’s airway and pressed the mask to her face. The air made a gurgling noise as it flowed in and out of her, carrying with it more foam.

“One, two, three, four, five…”

The radio squawked: “EMS ETA 2 minutes your location.”

“…twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen….”

Alaric squeezed her hand, then pressed the fingers of his other hand to the radial pulse point in her wrist. He felt the lifeguard’s compressions bumping faintly against his fingers. He hovered there for a moment, then reached over and pressed his fingers to her femoral pulse. The beat was timed exactly with the man’s chest compressions.

“Good pulse with compressions,” he said. Then, as an explanation: “I have some training.”

“…thirty!”

Two more breaths, with the whoosh of the bag and the gurgle of the fluid in her lungs. Then the soft thumping sound continued.

“One, two, three…”

“Analyzing rhythm,” the AED cut in. “Do not touch patient! Analyzing rhythm!”

Alaric released her hand, and everyone leaned back.

“No shock advised. Continue—”

Alaric took over, his body lurching over hers and his hands thrusting forcefully into her chest. Her sternum sunk two inches each time he pressed. 

Come on, Leonie! Beat your heart! Breathe!

“One, two, three, four…”

Crack!

Alaric grit his teeth, but he didn’t stop until he reached thirty compressions.

“EMS brought their Gator,” one lifeguard said as she squeezed the bag. “I see them coming!”

Alaric felt the tiniest bit of relief, but he continued to make sure the chest compressions he was giving Leonie were the right depth and speed. It felt like an endless cycle; sternum down, stomach up, recoil. Sternum down, stomach up, recoil.

“I think we need to roll her for a second,” one lifeguard called out. “There’s a lot of fluid coming up!”

Alaric stopped compressions and helped roll Leonie onto her side. They let the water and foam drain for a few seconds, then quickly laid her flat again. Alaric pressed his hands to her cool skin and resumed compressions.

He was still pumping her chest when EMS pulled up. Three people in the back of the Gator, plus the driver.

“Female victim, unknown cause of drowning, possible injury on the rocks out there. The AED hasn’t advised any shocks.” the female lifeguard said. “She took in a lot of water.”

The medics slid a backboard along the sand by Leonie’s side, across from Alaric. Then someone said: “Sir, we can take over now, thank you.”

Alaric lifted his hands and scuttled a few feet away. Everything moved even faster, though he noticed the paramedic crew was quieter than the lifeguards had been. They verified Leonie’s absent pulse, and one of the medics started chest compressions. Another prepared what looked like a suction device. The third peeled off the defibrillator pads, while the fourth pulled her arm straight and cleaned the crook of her elbow.

“Alaric?” A hand landed on his shoulder. His friend Eldoris had arrived. He’d been surfaced for five years before Alaric got his legs. Eldoris kneeled beside him. “Is this who I think it is?”

“Leonie.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Alaric saw one of the medics open and assemble a laryngoscope, then reach over and remove the dripping oral airway from between her teeth. He’d had some practice with those in Europe, though he wasn’t certified to intubate patients in the United States. In short order, the medic slid an endotracheal tube down her throat, not waiting for compressions to be paused. Foamy fluid surged out of the top of the tube, running down the sides and across her lips and chin.

“She got caught in a net, I think. I didn’t… I didn’t see her come up. She was just… in the water, suddenly.” His voice was flat. “Artis betrayed her.”

“Do you have her ID and paperwork that I gave you?” Eldoris squeezed his shoulder, ignoring his comment about Artis. “I can get it from your room.”

Alaric looked around for his bag and spotted it several yards away. “Could you grab that bag? It has everything in there. I also have a shirt and shoes around here somewhere. I’ll… I’m sure there will be a ride to the hospital no matter how this goes.”

“I’ll find your clothes and get your bag,” Eldoris said. He stood, brushing sand off his pants. “You stay here with Leonie. Pearl can drive us to the hospital.”

Pearl had been here more than a decade and was one of two surfaced merfolk Alaric had ever met who’d learned how to drive. Alaric assumed he’d learn, if Artis didn’t call him back soon. Once he’d conquered flying in an airplane without having a panic attack, Alaric thought driving would be simple.

He wanted to tell Leonie about the planes.

“Pause compressions for analysis,” the lead medic said. The monitor was emitting a series of dings and alarms that sounded ominous to Alaric. “PEA… I want one milligram epinephrine and let’s get her in a c-collar and on the backboard for two more minutes of quality CPR. Keep an eye on oxygenation. Don’t hyperventilate.”

Once the c-collar was on, the group quickly rolled Leonie onto her side and slipped the backboard in place. When she was flat again, a different medic took over chest compressions. 

“Suction her again. Fast. We have to keep her oxygen up.”

Artis… what was the purpose of this? Why should anyone come to your altar if this could be the result?

He thought of his own transformation. The pain, the blood leaking from every orifice. The confusion and struggle. He’d very nearly drowned himself, collapsing facedown in the surf on his coltish legs. Eldoris and Pearl had saved him.

Was it a blood sacrifice for you? You know, some of these Earthwalkers don’t believe in deities. Sometimes, like right now, I could almost understand.

“Here.” Eldoris sat Alaric’s bag next to him in the sand, along with his shoes, then handed him his shirt. “I’m going to find Pearl. Will you be okay alone?”

Alaric nodded, feeling numb as he pulled his sandy shirt over his head.

“I will tell everyone to pray.” Eldoris gave him a worried look and then turned to jog up the beach.

Leonie looked bad. Alaric had to acknowledge this fact; maybe his angry train of thought meant he already had. One of the lifeguards held an IV bag high. Another held her airway open for the medic squeezing the bag. They had a blood pressure cuff wrapped around one of her arms. Worst was the relentless pumping of her chest. 

At this angle, he couldn’t really see her face. Just her chin, the c-collar, the hands pressed between her quivering breasts, the white defibrillator pads, and her stomach, rounding with each compression. Artis had given Leonie curvy hips, a soft-looking tuft of ginger pubic hair, and long thighs. Her legs and feet were bruised and covered in sand. Alaric wondered if Leonie was getting a sunburn laid out on the beach like that. He’d actually dropped some sunscreen in his bag for her, remembering how fair her skin was.

He thought about how she’d looked when they said goodbye to each other. Hair flowing in the water. Decorated with braids of seagrass. Her skin white-blue, tail long and flowing, with blue-green scales and gossamer fins. Her irises the most delicate blue. She’d kissed him, and the water filled with the fine bubbles of her sorrow.

There wasn’t any putting her back in the ocean. He couldn’t give her lifeless body to Artis and come back home one day to find her waiting. Their story would end here if she didn’t revive soon. The Earthwalkers would not keep trying forever.

“Pause… Okay, we’ve got v-fib, charging to three-sixty.”

The medic gave her a quick series of chest compressions, and then the lead called out: “Everyone clear!”

Please, Leonie. Please, Artis.

The bag was unhooked, and everyone raised their hands.

“Administering shock now…” Leonie’s body jerked, a split second bow of her back and a shockwave that flicked her limbs. “Shock administered.”

A lifeguard stepped in for chest compressions, his shoulders rocking quickly over his hands. Almost as quickly as he started, however, Alaric heard one of the women say: “Pause compressions, I think we got her!”

Alaric moved quickly, squeezing himself in amongst the first responders. Sure enough, Leonie was moving. Her hands came up, legs writhing weakly, facial muscles pulling into a grimace. Alaric pressed his fingers into her femoral pulse just as the others reached to do the same at her neck, wrist, and the other side of her groin. The medic holding the bag kept squeezing it regularly.

Her heartbeat pulsated beneath his fingertips, and Alaric let out a shocked huff of air.

“Got a pulse. Keep ventilating her, Quentin. Get her on half a microgram fentanyl IV, Cheryl. Bill, I need her blood pressure before we give her anything other than that.” The medic speaking leaned over Leonie and said: “Ma’am? Leonie, if you can hear me, try to remain calm. You had an accident at North Beach and you are intubated. Your…”

“Husband,” Alaric said, realizing the man was looking at him now. “Alaric.”

“Your husband Alaric is here, and he will meet you at the hospital.” The medic leaned back, though his eyes shifted to Alaric again. “Do you have a ride? I know your… compound does not have a lot of drivers.”

“Yes, I have a ride.” Alaric ignored the man’s use of the word ‘compound.’ “Are you taking her to North General?”

“Yes sir. What’s that blood pressure, Bill?”

Alaric heard the hiss of the blood pressure cuff before Bill said: “Ninety over sixty.”

“Alright. Cheryl, get her on a pump, half a milligram ketamine IV. She’s moving a lot. We need to keep her calm. They’ll likely want to keep her intubated for the next twenty-four hours.”

The man was right; Leonie’s legs especially kept moving. They flexed, then relaxed. Her feet pedaled the air. Alaric wondered if she thought she was moving her tail, or if she remembered she had legs now.

“Can I talk to her before you go?” he asked.

“Yeah, that’s fine. Bill, swap positions with the husband for a moment and get ready to load her on the Gator.” The man leaned forward, reaching for the buckle straps attached to the backboard.

Alaric scooted down, taking Leonie’s hand. When he squeezed it, he felt her fingers move. Her eyes were closed now, and the paramedics were still breathing for her, but Alaric felt hope warm the center of his chest. “Leonie. It’s Alaric. I love you. You made it, Leonie! It’s so good to see you alive! When you have your legs under you, we have so much to talk about. So much to see and do. Just be patient, my love. You are going to be okay.”

Her fingers twitched in his grasp, and Alaric brought her hand to his lips, gently kissing her fingers.

Leonie, approximately thirty hours later

Everything was wrong.

There were strange noises. A whooshing sound. Clicks. Beeps. Strange smells that she couldn’t identify. Harsh and acrid. She was cold. Her skin felt dry. Her lungs felt dry.

Did I get beached? What did Amma call it? A chemical spill? An oil slick? Plastic island? Earthwalker damage.

There was something in her mouth, running down her throat. It fed her air instead of water. Against her will, her chest inflated, then deflated. Inflated, deflated. Leonie tried to move, but her body felt strange. Heavy. Her chest hurt, and her tail… moved in two separate pieces.

LEGS!

“Leonie!It’s okay! You are in a hospital, a place where Earthwalkers go for healing.”

Alaric? She’d heard his dry voice before, when they explored the surface or visited caves. But she hadn’t expected to hear it now.

Alaric! You’re here!

“The thing in your mouth is breathing air for you. It must be uncomfortable. Think about the first time you switched from breathing water to air.” A dry hand linked with hers and gave her fingers a squeeze.

She remembered the first time her parents took her to a surface cave. They told her she would have to breathe through her mouth or nose, and not her gills. Her mother said it was an important skill to learn for emergencies. Leonie watched her father try it, saw his gills close and water spill from his nose and mouth. Then he made an exaggerated inhalation motion with his mouth, sucking in air like he was gulping water.

“See, starfish? It’s not so bad. You can speak with your chords if you breathe dry air.” He smiled down at her in the water, where she floated with her gills just beneath the surface.

Could I sing like Mom? she asked.

Yes, her parents said simultaneously. 

Earthwalkers drown in the water. Will I drown in the air?

“No, Leonie,” her Dad said. “Merfolk have superior respiratory systems. We can breathe both.”

Are you ready, starfish? her mother asked.

Yes, Amma!

 Marin handed Leonie up to Caspian, and he sat her on the edge of the rock, his eyes intent on her face.

“Close your gills, starfish.”

This was hard. At first, her gills gaped painfully wide, and water drooled not just from her gills but from her nose and mouth. Then she got her gills to lie closed, but she couldn’t figure out how to expel the water. 

Her father reached out and patted her on the back just a little too hard, making her body rock. Leonie lurched forward, and the water spilled from her nose. She made a strange noise, and it came out of her mouth as well. The water spilled back into the pool where her mother waited for her, a big smile on her face.

“Good, Leonie! Now, sip the air with your mouth!”

“Leonie?” Alaric’s voice cut through her reverie. She’d lost track of where she was, and when, and during that time she’d been letting the thing breathe for her without difficulty. “People will come soon. Healers. But we call them doctors and nurses in this hospital, okay?”

Leone opened her eyes.

The brightness of the room pulled her back to when Artis had given her legs and flooded her out of the altar cave. She’d risen to the surface, blinded by the light. And then she’d drowned in the water like an Earthwalker.

“You’re okay, Leonie. I’m so sorry you had a hard time coming to the surface. But you’re safe now. I’m here with you.”

Leonie blinked several times until the room came into focus. Then she saw him. He was dry, but he looked much the same. He wore his dark hair clubbed for travel, and donned Earthwalker clothing. But he was her Alaric.

I missed you! I worried you were dead! I love you! I love you!

“We can’t speak with our minds in these bodies,” Alaric said. He touched her face, and though they were both dry, his touch felt nice on her skin. “But I think I know what you want to say. I love you, too. Always.”

--

Leonie and Alaric return in Beached.

#resus writing #cpr resus #female resus #fantasy

[10dance]

10 Dance Pilgrimage Route!

As many have pointed out, some of the backgrounds in the 10 Dance manga are based on real locations in Ginza, Tokyo. Back in 2019, the exhibition catalogue contained a small map of the area listing out some famous 10 Dance spots. There have been more locations since then, and after saving those spots, I visited and took photos! I will be sharing the locations for anyone visiting to plan their route as well. All under the cut.

At a glance, these were the spots I went to. As you can see, they are all pretty close to each other and are definitely walkable, but it’s a workout... The red spots appeared in chapter 34, the purple spots appeared elsewhere in-story, and green spots are the bonuses. I didn’t go in any particular order, but I will talk about them in order of appearance in the story.

���� Sugiki Dance School

The first, prominently featured location in the story. Some others wrote blogposts about it before so I had a vague idea that it was on Miyuki-dori Street years ago, but it was hard to find exactly what block. Then I found the signature angular balconies! In the story it was always after hours, so I did not see the ornate gate on the first floor during the early evening, but the Brioni store is the closest match. The side with the balconies is opposite a store called Breitling if you want to catch the perfect view (barely visible in this picture!).

🟣 Sukiyabashi Park

We are all very familiar with The Park, aren’t we? The Shinyas sure do spend a lot of time there dancing, but unfortunately, Inoue draws the older version of the park before its renovation a few years ago, so the park doesn’t look like the manga anymore. But the spot is still there, and I’m hoping the Shinyas will return to it someday. As I walked around the updated version of the park, I kept envisioning the Shinyas meeting up here, sitting on a bench or dancing under the clock tower... it felt very real. This park is just a few minutes walk from Sugiki Dance School, making it the perfect after-hours practice space and very easy to reach for us.

🟢 (Bonus) - Bar Zikkai

For those who have been in the fandom for a while, you might know that the 2019 exhibition teamed up with Bar Zikkai to make character cocktails for Suzuki and Sugiki. I remembered it was in Ginza, but I didn’t expect to run into it on my way to the park! Maybe this is the bar that Sugiki really likes, who knows...

🟣 Seiko House Clock Tower

This building is not only featured in the manga (in this exact angle) a few times, it is also a tourist spot known for its clock tower that stands out from other modern buildings surrounding it. The Shinyas have been shown to dance near it on the cover page of chapter 13, and I was determined to find that spot! It’s a busy intersection, so I couldn’t get a picture that is as quiet as the artwork depicts it, but it’s still a beautiful view. The street lamps and subway entrance have both been upgraded which goes to show how long 10 Dance has been serializing. (Sorry for the blurry paper!)

🔴 Dai-ichi Life Insurance Building

This location has only been shown once in chapter 33. With its giant decorated doors, I assumed this was an entrance to a museum or a bank. Google reverse image search tells me it’s an insurance company building, haha. To find this exact view, you’ll want to be facing away from the Shin-Yukaruchō Building, but it’s very easy to find with a little walking around. After taking this picture, I went ahead and stepped on the spot the Shinyas stood in the drawing.

🔴 The Peninsula Hotel

This is another spot that was shown in He Is Beautiful. I forgot how I found it, because the text in the drawing was hard to read, but here it is! In the first picture you can almost see where the Shinyas stood. It was a little bothersome since people were frequently passing by or standing around... A detail that struck me was that even the differences in tiles were noticed by Inoue-sensei — you can see that reflected in the manga! She pays so much attention it’s crazy.

🔴 Marunouchi Ekimae Square

And there's the final spread from He Is Beautiful, with the Shinyas dancing in front of the popular tourist spot of the Tokyo train station. I insisted on coming before the sun set so I can get a similar lighting, and yes, the sun was in the opposite direction, but it cast a gorgeous glow on the building which is a nice feeling too. I went a little further back than the square to get the right frame; the street lamps and trees all match!

🟢 (Bonus) - Marunouchi Subway Line

The kiss in the subway in volume 3 is a truly unforgettable scene in the series, and I couldn’t help but get excited as I got on the Marunouchi subway car. The car layouts won’t always be the same, but I have seen others that match this chapter cover to a tee. I did not get to Kasumigaseki (the station where the Shinyas were seen by a stranger) since I had to get off at Tokyo station, but I was still overcome with emotions as I took this picture before people started coming in.

And those were all the spots I found! Going on this short trip around Ginza made me so close to crying as scenes of the Shinyas dancing in the dead of night on the same streets surfaced in my mind. Although they are fictional characters, it felt so cool to trace their steps knowing that they, and Inoue-sensei in real life, have been here before. If you have the time during your trip, definitely plan for an evening walk in this shimmering part of Tokyo!

(I will update this post with a link to the Google Map if people want it)

#10dance #10 dance #information #text #10 dance trip

[tickledpink31]

We know so much about the relationship Mari has with wukong but not with the other pilgrims and demons that are in the story. What are the relationships like? Describe it in any way.

Bull Demon Family Surprisingly, she gets along with them well enough. I like the idea of the demons and deities that Wukong has encountered prefer Mari over Wukong. It's like she's finally found her people. Let me tell you that they feel awful for being the reason that LBD took Mari as a host. They were also sad to hear that Xiaodie had to disappear for a good while. Young Red Son cried a lot.

Not sure what to say about PIF and DBK individually, but Red Son still respects his aunt Mari/Xiaodie in his adult years. They've bonded over modern vehicles before.

Nezha Not much to say, except that he also respected Xiaodie enough that he was sad about her disappearance. He does question her taste in men.

Macaque I'm leaning more into the idea that Macaque and Mari don't have any hard feelings towards each other in spite of their differing relationship with Wukong. Macaque probably warned her once about how dangerous it was being too close to the king. I've entertained the idea of a love triangle/unrequited love in there, but I feel like it's a bit overused. I'm still open to the idea though.

Ao Lie They get along swimmingly as the two youngest of the group. Xiaodie's not really one for affection, but she frequently lets him know how much he's appreciated. She is, however, a little irked about his inaction at times.

Sha Wujing She was scared of him at first ngl. It didn't take long though for them to start getting along. After one day of knowing each, Xiaodie was found casually riding on Wujing's shoulders when she sprained her ankle.

Zhu Bajie Let me direct once more to this drawing, particularly the second one.

The utter disgust she felt when he quickly moved on from his supposed wife because he was excited to see that he'd be joining the pilgrimage with Xiaodie. The next second, Bajie's head met the hard metal hilt of Xiaodie's knife. She got a scolding from Tripitaka about that.

They got past their differences with time, a long time, but Xiaodie will never forgive Bajie for getting Wukong kicked out of the group during the Lady Bone Demon incident.

Tang Sanzang Sanzang took pity on the girl as she had amnesia. He was optimistic about Xiaodie being much kinder than Wukong when they first met. Her shy disposition made him believe that. Even better was that her mere presence seemed to keep Wukong out of trouble. It wasn't until Zhu Bajie entered the group that Sanzang got his first warning flags that Xiaodie was turning into a menace.

I've said before that Xiaodie didn't always agree with the monk, but she's dedicated to her job in protecting him. But because of that, she resents him a little, and she feels bad about resenting him. Look, it's mentally and physically taxing to be a bodyguard, it comes with the job. Xiaodie respects that Sanzang wants to lead a non-violent life, but the least he could do is develop a lick of common sense so that they don't have to worry about him every five minutes. She wishes that he had more faith in Wukong's judgment about the demons they come across. I mean he can see through demonic illusions!

Oh man, now I feel like making an angsty comic where Xiaodie gets mortally wounded protecting Tripitaka, and it forces him to wake up to reality, especially after seeing Wukong and the others cry over her dying body. You bet your ass that Wukong is going to bust his way to the underworld for the second time to retrieve Xiaodie soul and erase her name from the book of death.

And that's it. I don't really have anything to say about Azure Lion, Peng, or Yellow Tusk other than that they definitely trapped her in the Scroll of Memory with Wukong in it. I'm also not sure what to put for Spider Queen or Yin and Jin.

#ask #journey to the west #jttw #lego monkie kid #lmk #journey to the west oc #jttw oc #lego monkie kid oc #lmk oc #oc: marisol orozco leong #oc: mariposa #oc: liang xiaodie #red son #bull demon king #demon bull king #princess iron fan #nezha #sun wukong #monkey king #six eared macaque #liu er mihou #ao lie #bai longma #white dragon horse #sha wujing #sandy #zhu bajie #pigsy #tang sanzang #tripitaka

[heliopauseentertainments]

The Sea's Breeze

For @jariktig

Continuity: General

Rating: General

Relationship: Megatron/Jazz

Characters: Megatron & Jazz

Warnings: Not Beta Read, Pre-Relationship, Open Ended, Canon Blending, Alternate Universe Please see AO3 entry for full applicable tags.

Summary: In which, after the war, Jazz is assigned to the beautiful, blistering seaside of New Kaon.

Crossposting: AO3 | DreamWidth | Pillowfort

Fic under cut

"Now, that you’re here, there's little point to the pleasantries, Jazz of Staniz."

Megatron never particularly cared for those and, in this situation, with this particular mech, they were unnecessary. The formal city appellation had been appended specifically to underscore its lack of necessity.

"We both know why you're really in Kaon.”

Technically, Megatron ought to have referred to it as New Kaon, given that it was the full and proper name of the city they were rebuilding from the ashes of their old capital early in the war. With the city and most of the planet having been bombed to the point of uninhabitability, the armies had taken to the cosmos. Warships were poor homes and an aggressive, cannibalistic pilgrimage through space for ever scarcer resources did little for them.

One of the few balms to the destruction of Kaon’s prior incarnation was that Iacon had also been nearly as damaged. The only real difference was that Iacon had still had some buildings left standing when the ceasefire had been signed. Kaon had been left a nearly vaporized coastal plain, blasted out of the rocky hills over which it had previously sprawled.

No one bothered to call the rebuilt settlement New Kaon, except on official documents as required. Sentimentality, though ideologically discouraged, couldn’t always be avoided and Decepticons, no matter how devout, were just as susceptible to the occasional tender feeling as any other mech.

With the sole exception of Megatron himself, or so he liked to pretend.

He tapped his fingers against the worn surface of his desk, refurbished and reinforced from salvaged scrap.

Waste not, want not, no matter the source.

Even the glass of his office’s windows had come from the Nemesis’s bridge. No part of Trypticon’s sparkless husk had been squandered.

“Diplomatic liaising has nothing to do with it," he said, finally willing to concede the floor to his “guest.”

At least Jazz seemed to have the resolve to keep that faux carefree smile on his face, not visibly concerned with Megatron’s implied accusation.

He sat comfortably in the chair on the other side of Megatron’s desk, one foot propped up on the opposite knee like he were casually visiting a long-time friend at home. At a glance, no one would assume he was having an official meeting with the leader of a potentially hostile, foreign government.

"Well, you know,” Jazz started, a warm amicable tone underpinning each word, “the same could be said about your man, Soundwave, back in Iacon with Prime."

They both knew the smile was a bluff, a bluff they both also knew Megatron wouldn't buy, but the habit to preempt escalation with faux congeniality was likely too deeply rooted in Jazz's circuits to just put it aside now.

That was fine.

Jazz could smile that absolutely magnetic smile all he wanted.

It wouldn’t change the fact that his role as Autobot liaison to the New Kaonite government, per the peace treaty, was an obvious, yet socially acceptable cover as a spy.

Besides, his statement was spot on. Soundwave had been sent to Iacon for the exact same purpose. Soundwave could likely uncover information or technology that the Decepticons could utilize to better their chances of long-term survival and self-sufficiency.

At least Megatron and Jazz were on the same page. That would make matter that much simpler. Jazz would know he was being watched, just as much as he would be watching his hosts.

Though, ideally, Jazz’s presence among them would prove to be an asset somehow, a boon, rather than an inconvenience to be worked around. Megatron already had an idea of how to utilize Jazz’s talents, but he had to lay the path first.

At the minimum, he was at least pleasant to look at with his starkly contrasting paint splashed with Autobot red on the front, a visor to subtly obfuscate his optics, and a crowd-pleasing, million shanix grin.

The and the clever processing routines and silver-tongued conversational skills that the Autobot had so often utilized to pull invaluable information out of many lesser mechs sometimes made Megatron wish Jazz would have chosen the other side early in war. Perhaps the outcome of the campaign would have been different.

“Yes, I’m aware of how perceptive you think you are.”

Each faction had sent a mole, to keep optics on each other’s operations. Even in peace, they wouldn’t trust each other and Megatron preferred it that way. That mistrust would keep them from being too complacent, lax. The last thing they needed was to become weak, vulnerable. Even the perception thereof was intolerable.

Besides, that peace was fragile.

The proverbial ink was barely dry, and the two sides had only come to an accord while nearly falling over the brink of total starvation. They had been hanging on by fumes, hope, and gumption alone. The war of revolutionary and reactionary aggression, as Megatron would call it despite Autobot complaints, had turned over eons into little more than a pointless war of attrition, no ground left for either side to gain.

And they had all lost, Autobot and Decepticon alike.

They’d barely been functional enough to sign, let alone fight.

Control of Cybertron, or the wreckage of it anyway, had been split neatly in twain. A dividing line had been figuratively drawn halfway between polar Iacon and equatorial Kaon circled the globe at the resulting off-kilter angle.

They began to rebuild and what couldn’t be salvaged was thrown into energon converters to stave off total starvation until proper refinement and production facilities could be brought online. A long, tedious process. Iacon, having still been somewhat standing, had already had a small headstart, whereas Kaon had nothing, nothing but crumbled structures, collapsed catacombs, and all the contaminated slurry of the Rust Sea they could ever want.

And Jazz was still just… smiling at him.

Megatron wasn’t sure if that aggravated or amused him. Maybe both.

The Decepticons had had to scrap the bulk of their fleet just to build shelter.

And Jazz continued smiling. It straddled the line between tiresome and intriguing.

“Need I remind you that your role here is to be our link to Iacon, to gain familiarity with our ways, and to facilitate in the building of diplomatic ties?” Of course, he didn’t need to remind Jazz. Jazz was not stupid, but one could never say precisely what one meant with dealing with known hostile agents. “You are not here on a pleasant seaside vacation.”

Not that Megatron really expected Jazz to be lax in his duties. No, far from it. The carefree attitude was a veneer, an obfuscation to prevent suspicion.

Though ever since Terminus’s disappearance millions of years ago, Megatron had been in a constant state of suspicion, anticipating the next moves of both enemies and allies alike. It’s what had kept him alive. It’s what had kept his, at the time, newborn revolution from being easily crushed under Sentinel Prime’s jackboot.

He narrowed his optics in judgment as Jazz replied.

“Why can’t it be both?” Jazz’s smile pulled sideways into a smirk. “It’s like you don’t think Soundwave is absolutely hitting the slopes with the boys in his free time.”

Of course, Soundwave was. Soundwave had always had an appreciation for the alleged importance of relaxation, but that wasn’t the point. His third-in-command could be trusted to do what was necessary and manage his time appropriately.

That and Megatron, personally, had never been a believer in relaxation. It tended to give him the irrepressible fear that he’d left something undone that would bite him in the aft later. The only solution, therefore, was to be constantly vigilant except when recharge became physiologically necessary.

“Irrelevant.”

“Great, it seems we‘ve come to an understanding.” Jazz paused to hum a thoughtful, upbeat little tune. “So, where’s my room? I’d like to get a quick nap in before I look around. Maybe hit up the boardwalk.”

Megatron would bet real money, if he had any, that Jazz would just love to look around, wandering off and poking his nose into all manner of business. No matter what was done to prevent it, he knew Jazz would snoop around eventually. That wouldn’t stop Megatron from attempting to delay it though, at least a little.

That tendency to snoop could be a useful tool if carefully directed.

He folded his hands together on his desk, leaning forward on his elbows.

“I’ve assigned Thundercracker to escort you. He’s already moved your belongings from the landing pad—“ And rifled through them, which Jazz was likely expecting. Anything of any real consequence was likely stashed in his personal subspace, safe for now from prying optics. “—And he’s waiting in the hall now for you. Your quarters, like almost everyone else’s are in the communal dormitory blocks down the street. Don’t agitate your new roommates.”

“Almost?” Jazz casually stretched his arms over his head with an exaggerated yawn. Megatron watched as the plating pulled and shifted to accommodate the motion, purely to get a better understanding of the enemy in his midst, of course. “I take it you hang out somewhere else, boss man?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” It wasn’t a question.

“Call it ‘curiosity.’” A laugh, barely identifiable as fake through millions of years of practice. “Go on. We've got time. I'm in no rush and I know you love talking about yourself.”

Of course, Jazz merely wanted to poke at him to see how he would react to provocation. This was not a fact-finding request.

Regardless, Jazz would undoubtedly locate Megatron's residence eventually. To get that information, there was no need to play on the Autobot assumption that Megatron was plagued with unrepentant narcissism.

He would hardly call it a “plague.” It took confidence to assert when one was correct in a world like the failed one that had created him in the first place. If confidence was the decisive symptom in Autobot optics—even ones partially hidden by a visor—then so be it.

He didn't care.

Megatron decided to not take the bait, not this time. He was forced to play more than enough of these stupid ego games with Starscream as it was. And they were nominally on the same side.

“No.”

It was tempting to tell Jazz to leave, to just get out. Something about being watched like a nanite under a microscope did not sit well with him. The easygoing grin did little to sooth that discomfort. Unfortunately, Megatron had one more piece of business with his new Autobot liaison.

With a sigh, he pulled a small datapad, the perfect size for a pocket, out of his desk before holding it out for Jazz to take.

“This is your diplomatic authorization which permits you to reside in Kaon. Decepticons have their internal identification documents to access rations, medics, and housing, but you will use this instead.”

Jazz took the authorization, wordlessly turning it over in front of his visor like he was inspecting some new trinket or bauble.

“Keep it with you at all times,” he warned. “You’re dismissed.”

“Cool.” The datapad was subspaced. “See you in the morning for the official tour.”

Jazz slipped out of the room and right into Thundercracker’s friendly greetings. At least someone was pleased to make a new “friend.” If only Jazz’s presence wasn’t so much of a threat, Megatron thought, perhaps they too would get along.

Voices shouting at each other from the busy street below carried through the open windows, concerned about impending lunch breaks rather than their leader’s meeting with an Autobot “guest.”

As it should be.

Megatron stood and turned to peer out at the road below.

“Revolution Boulevard,” the Conclave had decided to name it.

Uninspired, but out of his hands.

He had little interest in the petty tasks of appellation and had left it up to the few surviving members of the Conclave. Soon, relatively, perhaps Kaon would be settled and secure enough to call for fresh elections to fill the Conclave once more.

On the street, mechs milled hither and yon, shouting and laughing, across the rough pavement as they went about their midday tasks. The road itself had been cobbled together from shattered concrete and hastily mixed cement. Mixmaster had done the best he could, an admirable job under the circumstances.

A flash of blue followed by white darted out from below, Thundercracker practically skipping across the street with Jazz in tow, talking about something or another. Fast friends indeed. Thundercracker had always been sociable, and Jazz was a fast talker. None of the other Decepticons in the traffic seemed to take any notice of the “enemy” in their midst.

The peace of routine was returning to his mechs. While there was an… undeniable thrill in the mad chaos of battle, Megatron knew that it was no way to live out one’s entire functioning. It was not sustainable, as the war itself had shown.

Perhaps the lack of a ruckus from the rank-and-file over Jazz’s presence was a good sign. Or perhaps that complacency Megatron had once feared, during the war, was already settling in.

He slid the glass of the window closed before pulling heavy mesh blackout curtains across against the blazing heat and light of the Kaon sun.

--

“Now, Jazz, I want you welded to his aft,” Prowl had said before Jazz had left Iacon. An extreme order if taken literally, but there was no need. Optimus had said something to a similar effect but without the ridiculous visual. On the other hand, Jazz would have paid good money to see Prowl welded to Megatron’s aft.

“Don’t let him out of your sight, within reason, of course. We want to know what he’s doing, what he’s saying, everything. He can’t be trusted.”

Optimus’s orders were preferable, given the absurdity of the alternative, even metaphorically.

Now, in Kaon, the air was filled with indistinct conversation and the shifting of materials. Above all, though, what Jazz couldn’t drown out was the ever-present hum and slosh of the refinery at the edge of the Rust Sea, separating the slurry into usable resources: water, alcohols, and oxidized minerals.

The sea threw off a gentle breeze, just cool enough to promise relief but not actually deliver it. The acrid smell of salts and dissolved metallic ions bit at his senses.

Standing next to the refinery and looking out over the red and brown expanse of the sea, he listened—tried to anyway—as Megatron shouted over the din, just to be heard, explaining the purpose of the refinery. The restrictions on the use of what it produced, in the name of resource conservation, were… prohibitive.

It seemed like Decepticon optics were constantly on Jazz and his proudly red Autobot badge while he listened to Megatron’s lecture. It felt as though they had been ever since he’d arrived in New Kaon. Of course, they would watch him. He stood out like a sore thumb, didn’t he? After millions of years of war, they would understandably be apprehensive about his presence in their stronghold, especially when he was walking free.

Yet, every time he looked, he saw no one obviously staring, with one exception. Maybe he was just paranoid after so long of that being necessary. Thundercracker hadn’t paid him any mind yesterday, after all. The only one he consistently caught looking at him was Megatron, something which could be written off as habitual hypervigilance.

For now, Jazz decided to ignore it. Besides, some were probably more curious than wary. He had more important things to pay attention to now anyway.

All water was to be put aside for rationed use as either a solvent, lubricant, or for medical use. Alcohols received much the same treatment, preferred as a solvent due to less risk of oxidizing a mech’s plating, but subject to even stricter rationing for its quality. Even the remaining sludge was being pulled apart at the atomic level for further refinement.

He had expected Megatron to be a hard ass. That had matched all the intel and battlefield experience Jazz had gained over the course of the war.

The surprise was that, in addition to being a harsh taskmaster, the guy was also an uptight prick. He seemed to like regulations almost as much as Ultra Magnus. In another life, those two could have been great friends. The almost comical thought brought a smile to his face.

Megatron had brooked no dissent, shaping his band of malcontents into a well-oiled, allegedly disciplined army for political change.

Well, Megatron had tried to anyway.

Oh, well, Jazz thought, watching as the Rust Sea slapped its brown, corroded “water” against the stone causeway built around the front of the refinery.

Megatron was talking, but not to him now.

A passing laborer-turned-soldier-turned-laborer-again was pulled aside for something, a quick message to a supervisor most likely. The mech, one Jazz only recognized as a low-level grunt who hadn’t even done enough to warrant an Autobot spec ops dossier, nodded and ran off to carry out their leader’s bidding.

The official tour, thus far, had been dull given that New Kaon was currently devoid of anything that wasn’t survival oriented. Megatron had decided to give the tour himself, rather than leaving it up to a lackey, but then again, a lot of those lackeys seemed to be actively engaged in rebuilding efforts. New Kaon, with its relatively few buildings and singular major street, was abuzz with construction and foot traffic.

The government building, dormitory blocks, warehouses, and the singular landing pad that had been generously called a “port” had all been obviously cobbled together out of debris and torn apart warships.

Credit where credit was due.

Jazz had to admit that the Cons were industrious and resourceful, doing a lot with very little. Even the minute amounts of dissolved metals in the sea were being harvested for use.

The dry hills of red-brown rock around Kaon surely still had some valuable mineral veins that could be exploited, especially after millions of years of uninterrupted geological activity during the intervening years of space warfare.

Wouldn’t it have been easier to mine for resources? Surely more efficient than filtering the sea for every single atom of iron and copper.

Jazz wondered if, perhaps, purifying the sea was also a goal, but to what end?

Megatron suddenly stopped short. He abruptly turned, shouting up at a catwalk on the side of the refinery for someone—a notoriously heavy-gaited Motormaster, if Jazz’s optics were working properly—to watch their footing.

Apparently violating workplace safety protocol came with steep fines and stern talking to’s from the boss.

The answer to Jazz’s earlier question became immediately obvious. Mining was dangerous and required an extensive work force and equipment to be done well, something Megatron would have been… intimately familiar with. The automated mining systems that had come out not long before the beginning of the war wouldn’t have even been an option with the limited resources here.

Megatron also possibly found the idea of mining personally distasteful for… reasons that Jazz had to grant were fair.

Though, if Jazz were being honest, Iacon was hardly fairing any better.

The planet’s north pole was frigid and only kept clear of ice by the dry climate. Pockets of snow remained on some mountains that captured enough moisture from the air, but not much. The machinery and inhabitants didn’t generate quite enough heat to consistently maintain operating temperatures, necessitating around the clock heating technology. It was a massive resource drain, putting them on more equal footing with Kaon’s shortages. That was even including the occasional trading with off-world civilizations. Non-Cybertronians still treated them with a measure of suspicion, so few races were willing to provide them with any aid.

Of course, no one outside of Autobot High Command was on the “need to know” list about that little secret. Soundwave would probably figure it out before long and deliver that information back to the big boss, still lecturing his soldiers right in front of Jazz.

That meant Jazz had limited time to locate any useful technology to give them an edge, before the Decepticons realized that they weren’t the only ones suffering environmental attrition. The last thing the Autobots needed was to give the Decepticons a reason to pursue old nominally dead, but not forgotten grudges.

The most obvious bonus was that it was much harder to overheat in Iacon than in Kaon, but the risk of freezing was just a different path to the same outcome: permanent deactivation.

Jazz ruefully looked up at the bright sun in the sky as the oppressive light beat down. He would need to dip into his coolant rations before too long. Coolant was almost as precious as fuel here, he thought, finding himself missing Iacon’s chilly breeze.

The Autobots had also had more material resources left over from the conflict to utilize. Their willingness to forge alliances and friendships with alien races, organic and mechanical alike, had been an invaluable asset in securing aid and supplies.

Even now, in peacetime, they were still trading with—sometimes even accepting gifts from—other societies in the galaxy, whereas the Decepticons had only themselves to rely on. And the Rust Sea, of course, with whatever it held in its sludgy depths.

It was the Decepticons’ own fault, of course.

They’d brought this punishment and hardship upon themselves. Megatron, now indicating that they were to go into the refinery itself with a wave of his arm, was the guiltiest of all, both for the war itself and what came after the powder keg ignited.  

After all, it had been his orders and doctrine that his mechs had followed, and now they suffered for their loyalty under the merciless sun, pinned between empty rock and an unforgiving sea.

That was the official party line anyway.

Jazz knew it was more… complicated.

A conflict of some kind had been inevitable. If it hadn’t been Megatron, it would have been someone else, someone just as fed up with their societal stratification and just as willing to blow it all up to make a point.

“Come. You ought to see the inside. We had to scrap the entirety of the Peaceful Tyranny—“ Even the Decepticon Justice Division’s notorious warship had been scrapped for rebuilding. Damn. Then again, if Megatron’s own beloved flagship had bitten the dust, no vessel, no matter how prized or important, in their fleet was safe from pragmatism. “—to assemble this. The least you could do is admire its inner workings.”

Blame didn’t really matter right now though, not when their factions had been pushed nearly to the brink of starvation. Rebuilding and sitting in their own respective corners of the sandbox, doing their best to live to see tomorrow, was all they could really do anymore.

“Sure, sure, let’s go have a look at it,” he said, practiced enthusiasm in his voice.

Jazz followed Megatron into the refinery, figuring he might as well get started on being welded to the guy’s aft. It was a great excuse to get out of the direct sunlight beating down on him.

“It’s probably cooler in there than it is out here anyway.”

--

“So, how do you all beat the heat out here?” Jazz finally asked upon their return to the administrative building at the end of the brief “tour.”

Megatron had been wondering when Jazz would say something about the temperature. The Autobots had gotten used to their polar weather, hadn’t they? Jazz had put on a brave face for the few hours that they were out, not letting slip verbally that he had been visibly uncomfortable in the heat and sunshine. Megatron had known, of course, but he admired the valiant effort Jazz had undertaken to conceal it.

“Certainly not with a ‘pleasant ocean breeze,’” Megatron said.

It wasn’t like the Rust Sea was actually any good at cooling them down. The breeze that came off the sludge was a lower temperature, sure, but it tended to bring a heavy humidity with it. That always left the heat clinging uncomfortably to the armor.

“Heat pumps,” he started, leading Jazz back through the air conditioned building and up the main staircase. Elevators existed but they were generally reserved for freight to conserve power. Besides, they were only going to the second floor. It was hardly a hike. “Blackout curtains. A preference to night shifts. The only reason I’m even awake right now is because you Autobots prefer the day. Most of my mechs are active at night.”

That was hardly a secret. Kaon was busy during the day, but when the sun deigned to hide itself, the settlement bustled. It was the best time to move freight and supplies or do any arduous work.

“Once you’ve settled in, I’ll be returning to that routine,” he added, stopping in front of a nondescript door. “And I suggest you do the same. Now to conclude our ‘tour’—“

It was still generous to have called their excursion a “tour” given that there hadn’t really been much of Kaon to show right now. The refinery and the canteen were really the primary points of interest these days, all on the city’s one street—the only two-way street on Cybertron and that was by necessity. Thundercracker had already shown Jazz where he would be staying and Megatron’s office wasn’t exactly hidden away.

Perhaps that would have been enough breadcrumbs to pique Jazz’s curiosity.

“—This office is yours.” He threw a thumb at the door. “For the duration of your liaison position.”

“Thanks.” Jazz paused, a smile growing on his face before he spoke again. “So, no loud music during the day or I’ll wake half the city. Is that right?”

“Smart mechs sleep with their hearing turned off.” Megatron smirked, a compromise to the infectiousness of Jazz’s grin. “Unless you find the sounds of industrial refining and construction soothing.”

“Well, that takes all the fun out of it.”

Jazz laughed, an easy sound that didn’t match standing next to a long-time enemy and having marched around a foreign, hostile city in the blistering heat for a few hours.

Was this part of the act or did Jazz naturally gravitate towards levity?

“But, great, some upbeat tunes will do the attitude around here some good.”

“If you wish to contribute to faction morale, unless it’s disruptive or resource intensive, I see little reason to interfere.”

“First day here and I’ve already got the boss’s stamp of approval. Nice.”

“Don’t push your luck; there’s much to do.”

He opened the door to Jazz’s office and gestured for the mech to go inside. The light was dim, as the blackout curtains had been left closed by default, even if the room had previously been unoccupied. Otherwise, the office itself was nothing special. A desk, a chair, some shelves, the basic supplies any bureaucratic functionary could want.

“I assure you; it’s not booby-trapped. I’m not about to risk one of my few buildings for that.”

“Yeah, along with all of the other consequences I don’t need to mention.” Still smiling, Jazz sat down in the standard issue chair behind the desk. He casually stretched his arms over his head.

Megatron told himself that he only watched Jazz’s motions closely out of old wartime habit.

“Obviously.” He cleared his vocalizer with a cough before continuing. “Now, you take orders and direction from me; that should go without saying. However, if you need information to do your work, you contact Skywarp.”

Soundwave would have been the usual contact but given the former third-in-command’s new role, that was currently out of the question.

Luckily, Skywarp, with his proclivity to pop in and out of places he had no business being, was a natural gossip and information source. It had been easy enough to turn that curse into a blessing when Soundwave vacated his long-time role for peace.

“I suspect you already know how to reach him,” Megatron added. He was sure that Jazz, in his expertise, likely already had the frequency information for every Decepticon, current or former, living or dead… with perhaps one notable exception.

Jazz nodded, confirming the suspicion.

“And if you need supplies or to have something requisitioned, you speak with Thundercracker. I’m sure he provided you with his frequency yesterday if you didn’t already have it.” Thundercracker had always been one of the friendlier seekers, a marked departure from the natures of the bulk of his fellows.

“Seems pretty easy—One more thing though, Boss.”

“Yes?” Jazz seemed to be taking everything in without much complaint, so the least Megatron could do was entertain a question or two, even if being called “boss” by an Autobot would take some getting used to.

“Screamer still running around here?”

“Yes.” Luckily, Starscream was preoccupied with keeping their aerial forces under control. Being grounded tended to make fliers rowdy and flying missions, given how fuel-intensive such missions were, had been rare since the end of the war. “I advise you avoid him where possible.”

“Why?”

“I feel like that requires no explanation.”

Starscream being a highly skilled operative but also a thoroughly unpleasant person was hardly private knowledge.

Jazz just nodded and grinned.

“Fair enough.”

“Good.” Megatron turned towards the door, ready to begin the awkward, uncomfortable switch back to his preferred nocturnal schedule.

“One more ‘one more thing.’” Jazz’s smooth voice gave him pause.

Megatron sighed, looking back over his shoulder.

“What is it?”

“If you’re going to be on the opposite sleep schedule from me, for a little while, how do I get a hold of you if I need to?”

A valid question.

“My personal frequency, of course.”

The last one to complete Jazz’s collection.

--

It had been a rough couple of days to adjust to switching from being up with the sun to actively shunning it, but it had behooved Jazz to make that “lifestyle change” sooner rather than later, especially if he wanted to keep tabs on High Command’s activities.

Megatron had been right about one thing, Jazz thought, night shift was vastly more comfortable than trudging about during the heat of the day. The equatorial sun was brutal.

It was even a little chilly, he thought, standing on the quay, next to the refinery, to look out at the Rust Sea as a lazy, salt-laden breeze wafted over him.

The slight chill was better than baking under the sun.

Jazz had even gotten accustomed to the constant salt abrasion from the sea and had taken to using a particular protective topcoat that resisted the salt’s caustic properties on plating. He still needed to thank Thundercracker for the tip. Despite some ideological differences, Thundercracker was a pretty alright mech.

The refinery was still making a ruckus even at this hour, but it did operate around the clock, twenty-eight hours a day and ten days a week, save for a scant hour around each shift change. With four six-hour shifts, that left only four one-hour blocks when no one was supposed to be in the building.

Which meant Jazz had just one hour tonight to scope out any guards and security.

Luckily, he didn’t have any appointments to keep. Interestingly, Megatron had so far proved to be a fairly “hands off” supervisor, at least where Jazz was concerned. This granted Jazz a significant amount of latitude in how he spent his “on the clock” time. He had yet to need the personal frequency that had completed his collection of Con contact information, though it had been one of the few freely given rather than taken in reconnaissance.

While he had seen some of the security features during his “official tour” with Megatron, they had breezed by much of what wasn’t actively separating the Rust Sea’s slurry into useful resources.

That meant sneaking in somewhat blind, but that was fine. He could handle it.

If he didn’t get caught, no one would be any the wiser.

As soon as the current shift had left, Jazz slipped inside, the windowless center chamber of the refinery darker even than the night outside with the lack of starlight.

No one had even bothered to lock the door, which seemed… odd. If the refinery was so important to Decepticon survival, why not at least bolt the door?

Surely, it couldn’t be that the Decepticons expected no one to muck around with it. Every faction had its mischief makers who would act against their own self-interest.

Some of Soundwave’s cassettes, notably Rumble and Frenzy, sprang immediately to mind, but they had gone with Soundwave to Iacon, probably pranking some unsuspecting Autobot right now. The darkness of the polar winter would have been a great opportunity for tricks, innocent and otherwise.

Meanwhile, Jazz had to wait for his own optics’ brightness settings to adjust to the near total blackness of the temporarily abandoned refinery. When shapes came into view again, he crept down the stairs. The steel steps hugged the wall and spiraled the height of the building, all the way to the roof.

However, he doubted that Soundwave’s unruly cassettes had been the only nuisances that had been patrolling Kaon’s coastline. A few more names came to mind, but Jazz was a little more interested in other things now than running an Ultra Magnus-esque database search on troublemakers.

Megatron had previously shown him what was up above, where the final resources were diverted to either silos or storage tanks. On the other hand, he had not deigned to show what waited down below, underground, presumably where unprocessed seawater was brought into the facility. The unknowns of the basement were of far more interest.

The refinery still clanked and clanged, even though it was devoid of staff monitoring and maintaining it. Tubing from down below ran up the center of the chamber, sucking the raw resource up to be separated by the ad hoc machinery. The tour had made it seem to be mostly automated, needing only a little babysitting, so that wasn’t a surprise.

The lack of surprise, unfortunately, didn’t make it not surreal as he sneaked around in the dark, cautiously feeling his way along the railing whenever his optics couldn’t quite make out the steps. Relying solely on optic-emitted light meant the visual feed could be… fuzzy, distorted, and limited in color definition. Everything was a blurry blue haze.

Fuel was limited, a well-known supply problem for the Decepticons since their inception, and rationing was a long-held policy. However, Jazz had not seen any fuel refinement, either from unprocessed energon veins in the hills or directly from sources of energy.

This led to obvious questions about where the fuel or the power to continuously operate the refinery—let alone the entirety of the growing settlement—was coming from. Surely the Decepticons didn’t have a source that could provide the daily ration of a half-cube of fuel.

Megatron certainly hadn’t mentioned one.

Then again, why would he? That would be a valuable secret. Either that or Megatron had simply—and accurately—assumed that Jazz would locate the answer on his own, without any prompting.

And Jazz had a sneaking suspicion about where the answer was hiding, not that “New” Kaon really had many places in which to hide anything. A handful of buildings, most of which were dormitories or storage with some workshop areas. The refinery was the obvious place to check, almost too obvious, but he would be remiss in his duties if he overlooked it on those grounds alone.

As he descended, a muffled sloshing sound rose. He must have been getting closer to whatever was down there. Maybe whatever it was wasn’t a secret; maybe it was something completely mundane, boring even, but it remained a tickbox on his list to check off one way or the other.

As he eased his way to the bottom of the stairs, however, instead of an intake pipe and tank for the seawater being siphoned upstairs, he found the tubing running into a solid wall next to the landing and a sealed door. The sloshing was coming from behind it.

Jazz pressed the side of his head against the door, trying to hear any sign of someone behind it. The last thing he needed was to pick this open, only to be met with a blaster in the face like a complete novice.

Nothing, nothing but the rush of seawater and a mechanical whirring noise from machinery. The door seemed thick, blocking the worst of the noise. The subtle sounds of either speech or non-industrial work would have been occluded.

It would be risky then to get this open, but that didn’t mean he ought to simply turn back. He’d gotten this far, after all. A quick risk assessment told him the odds of someone being back here were low. All the Cons that were known to still be alive were accounted for in their shifts and no one was scheduled to be in the refinery during shift change.

The risk was acceptable.

Picking the lock was a simple matter, as Kaon didn’t have the resources to generally use electronic locks outside of the administrative building. Everything else was on a mechanical key system, old-fashioned and low-tech but generally reliable for most purposes. A turning tool for tension and a pick in a skilled hand had the lock turning in no time.

He pushed the heavy door open. The acrid stench of concentrated seawater rushed forward through the widening gap as Jazz froze, finding an unexpected and all-too-familiar refutation of his risk calculations in the room.

Shockwave, who had not been reported as still active and functional and had not been seen since the official end of hostilities, stared blankly at him from a console attached to a conveyor belt, his singular optic unblinking.

“What are you doing here?”

Jazz threw his hands up defensively, palms out to show he meant no harm.

A lie, of course. He was still armed, a blaster lying in wait in his subspace, a blaster that very technically violated his terms of employment. It was a last resort. He had not been subject to any actual aggression yet from his new colleagues, but Shockwave was always… a somewhat unpredictable variable. It was difficult to truly anticipate where his apathetic logic would take him, especially when presented with a surprise like Jazz.

A door slammed above him, back at the ground level of the quay.

Loud steps began to descend the staircase outside, taking a calm, steady pace.

Of course, the door up top had been left unlocked.

He had been expected, though apparently… not by Shockwave, given that gun prosthetic pointed squarely at the center of his hood, aim locked right between the headlights. Despite his efforts, he certainly felt like a complete novice walking into a trap.

“Hey, easy, buddy,” he said, a practiced “easy” smile on his face. “I was just looking around. Seeing as I live here now, I wanted to get to know my new home better is all.”

It was time to try out Megatron’s personal frequency, he thought, silently dialing it from the in-line comm UI on his HUD.

“I find that highly unlikely.”

The comm just went straight to voicemail. Megatron was possibly in an unscheduled meeting or, more likely, trying to corral a restless Starscream who desperately wanted to take to the skies. Jazz said nothing, only letting the message record Shockwave’s disbelief before he disconnected the line.

He kept his smile firmly in place, a counter to Shockwave’s hollow judgment.

“Come on now. There’s no need for the hostility.” Jazz laughed, shrugging his shoulders. “War’s over, you know? Didn’t you hear?”

Those steps were closer now, on the landing behind him.

Shockwave’s blaster began to charge, humming with power as the muzzle glowed bright. The urgency of potentially being shot was all that prevented Jazz from turning to see who had come to box him in.

The steps stopped immediately behind him.

“Shockwave,” came a familiarly deep voice in reproach. “Stand down.”

So that was why Megatron hadn’t taken his call. He had already been on his way.

“Good to see you, boss man.” Well, “see” in a manner of speaking given that Megatron was still in Jazz’s blind spot. Not that it mattered. “I was just going for a little walk and accidentally startled my old pal Shockwave here. I think he’s just a little trigger happy—”

Shockwave cut him off, maintaining the blaster’s threatening charge.

“This Autobot infiltrator has seen classified—“

“This Autobot infiltrator is our colleague,” Megatron corrected. “I know you’ve been sequestered down here for some time, but I expected that you would look up from your work long enough to catch a whiff of gossip once in a while, especially with all of the loudmouths working upstairs. Surely news of our new Autobot liaison had drifted down to you.”

Shockwave hesitantly lowered his arm.

If Shockwave had a face to emote with, Jazz was sure that he would have been scowling in annoyance at the reprimand. Though, given the heavy shielding on that door, casual speech from upstairs probably wouldn’t have made it down here.

Megatron was probably just manufacturing shame, an excuse to reprimand his subordinate for Jazz’s viewing pleasure.

For some reason.

Regardless, Megatron stepped away from Jazz and waving him for a closer look at the turbines spinning in their troughs of water. Jazz followed cautiously, still highly aware of Shockwave’s scrutinizing, one-eyed gaze on his back.

Now that he was no longer staring down the barrel of a gun, Jazz took the opportunity to actually see what was in this room.

Channels in the floor forcibly funneled water from a collection tank at the far wall through turbines nestled in the troughs towards another tank feeding the pipes in the refinery’s central chamber. The turbines fed cubes, filling with glowing energon.

The conveyor belt behind Shockwave’s console was laden with filled cubes being shuttled away, probably to a storage area of New Kaon’s canteen for safekeeping.

This certainly explained where the fuel and power were coming from, a creative way of making the Rust Sea do double-duty.

No wonder this was hidden. A fuel source like this would have been an obvious sabotage target, more so than a simple mineral refinery. Whatever was pulled from the sea’s sludge was just a bonus compared to what they could use its harnessed motion to generate. Carefully regulating and coveting the other resources merely artificially inflated the importance of the aboveground portion of the facility, keeping attention away from the “boring” substructure.

It was ingenious.

Iacon could have probably adapted something like this to make better use of glacial meltwater….

“Furthermore,” Megatron continued, paying no mind to Jazz’s wandering optics, “I believe Jazz, with his unique position and experience, will have valuable insight into our little… project.”

“So, boss man, you didn’t think to tell him in advance that I’d be coming.”

“Oh no.” Jazz could hear the smirk. “Far be it from me to ruin all of the surprise for you. Spies love to look for mysteries, after all.”

Megatron gestured at the turbines with a wave of his hand.

“Now, as will you probably be unsurprised to hear, Soundwave informs me that Iacon faces a similar problem to New Kaon. This is a stop-gap measure to get us through our early rebuilding, but it will not sustain for much beyond what we have now and, despite Shockwave’s best efforts, we are low on ideas for novel sources of energy and fuel that aren’t stealing the petty dregs from the Rust Sea. We need an outside perspective and—”

“And since you’ve shown me yours, I suppose you expect me to show you mine.”

Iacon had been working on some technology to better use geothermal energy, that could probably be adapted for use near Kaon, given the geologically active faults in the area.

Hm.

“Precisely.” Megatron’s voice was quieter than before, prompting Jazz to look up. To his surprise, he saw Megatron eying him out of the corner of his optic, rather than focusing his gaze on the machinery. “I had some… reservations about you joining us, but I think we’ll work well together after all.”

Perhaps… sharing a classified secret or two could benefit both sides.

“You know,” Jazz said, the smile on his face softening with sincerity, “I think we will.”

#fic #one shot #maccadam #jazz #megatron #megajazz #is that what the ship's called?

[the-east-art]

The Desert Swallowed Us - Part 4

Nike emerged from the shed, helmet already tucked under one arm, long dark duster billowing behind him. He kicked the door closed behind him, not bothering with the lock. It was more of an attempt to keep the vehicles out of the sun and sand, rather than to prevent theft. If someone made it all the way out here without either Nike or Birdy noticing them, they deserved the treasure of the shitty four-wheeler or old and laboring motorcycle. 

         His other arm held the bundle he had gone out to retrieve. Several bags of rations – food, it was just food now – and a couple of other things that Birdy had requested the night before. A trip to the nearest town usually took the entire day, and sure enough, Nike had been gone by the time Birdy had risen from the couch earlier that morning. If Birdy’s war was with the sand in the house every other day, then the trip to town was Nike’s pilgrimage – one that he made almost as often. Closer to every three days, maybe four. If Nike would just take the four-wheeler he wouldn’t need to go so often. It must have been the hate for the respirator that held him back, or maybe it was intentional, to be gone every few days. Get out of the house and away from the corpse. Away from Birdy

“Hello stranger.” Birdy chirped, trying for a smile. It was a lot of work these days, making the corners of their mouth raise.

         Nike, of course, did not respond. His face remained impassive, but he at least acknowledged the greeting with a firm nod. He fumbled with the package in his hand somewhat clumsily before tossing a small object at Birdyand continuing in through the front doors, entering the house.

         Deftly Birdy caught the prize from the air, feeling the small pouch for a moment before opening the small drawstring bag – no bigger than the palm of their hand. Inside was a small collection of buttons. None of them matched, but each was made of some kind of fancy plastic, multicolored or iridescent; some reflecting the light like a cat's eye gem, others ornate metal buttons with fancy filigree on the outer edges.

         Birdy cradled the small pouch close to their chest. 

They held one up to the twin setting suns and watched as light refracted through the scratched plastic and the world turned golden in the evening flow. The sunsets were never pretty when Birdy sat out to wait for them. They just kind of… went down past the horizon with little fanfare. It was always when they were busy doing the dishes or something of the sort when Birdy would absentmindedly look out the window to see the sunsetting brightly with vibrant streaks of color painting the sky. 

But that subtle sunset was okay for tonight. With the cocktail of emotions currently warring inside of their chest, it would surely cause them to cry. Which would just be embarrassing. Instead, Birdy just watched the day sky be overtaken by the night and listened to the sounds of cupboards opening and closing as Nike put away today’s bounty, the crickets of the desert singing an accompaniment. Alone on the porch as the blistering world of the desert turned cold.

#the easts ocs #the east writes #birdy #nike #birdy nike and the body #the desert swallowed us

[perrydowning]

Time Traveling Home

Hello, m’dears. I’ve missed you. 

I (and my elderly chihuahua who looks like a house-elf) arrived safely in Palo Alto, CA this past weekend. The drive took five days; I needed bit of time to recover physically from the trip, the mad rush to finish packing, and all those little details one forgets about, even when you think you’re prepared.

Though the friend I’m currently staying with—henceforth referred to as ‘Auntie Downing’—offered to have my car shipped, I felt the drive itself would help me process the profundity of this change. This was the fourth time I’ve driven across the country, and there really isn’t another way to fathom just how massive and varied this land is. Not unlike the thoughts and feelings that course through me on a schedule only they know.

My traveling buddy, other than Dobby the Chihuahua, did about two thirds of the driving, leaving a lot of time to look out the window silently crying, make nostalgic playlists from our college years, and update each other on the smaller details of our lives—plus tell our new hilarious stories since we last spent real time together.

Mr. Downing had always wanted to take me to the Grand Canyon. On our way to New Orleans we had to choose between that or seeing the London Bridge (yup, the actual bridge) in Lake Havasu. Neither of us had seen it, whereas he’d already been to the Grand Canyon. And, really, you kinda have to walk across a bridge built 200 years ago in England, that had been built to replace the old, 1,000 year-old bridge … especially when the ‘new’ bridge is now in the middle of … Arizona? Because it totally makes sense to ship and rebuild an entire freakin’ bridge. Americans are weird.

At the time, we decided we’d make a proper trip to the Grand Canyon in the future. Clearly, that was no longer possible, but it had been so important to him that I experience it that I needed to see it, almost like a pilgrimage. 

So, I took his urn with me while I looked out on its vastness. In a way, he did take me to see this magnificent place. I cried—a lot. But I’m so very glad I went. It proved something I’d suspected—that when I experience something new, in a way, he does, too. There’s just too much of him wound through me for it to be otherwise. 

Two days later, we arrived back in the Bay Area; I played ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ as we crossed the border into California. It seemed only right to warn them. It felt really good to know where I was going without having to have my phone tell me.

Now, to the time traveling part. When I last lived with Auntie Downing, I was 22 and beginning my ‘grown-up’ life. First real job, finding my first place, all that. In many ways, it feels like I’ve traveled back to that point in my life, that place of not knowing. It’s been a very long time since I haven’t known the general shape and direction of my future, and, man, it is weird.

This time, however, I know myself a hell of a lot better and have more resources. So, even though I’m grieving, I’m also a tiny bit … eager to find out what’s next.

It’s been two months since Mr. Downing’s death and I think my brain is beginning to come back online, a little bit. My memory is improving and the fog is starting to recede. The mountain is still steep, but I’ve finally figured out what kind of shoes I need to wear for the climb.

It’s time for me to shift these sorts of posts over to my non-Reylo blog, @perrydowning-unplugged. I’ll post a link on this blog to new posts about how things are going for me, but the content here will revert to mostly Reylo.

As always and ever, thank you, so very much, for being such supportive and kind people. 

All my love,

Perry

#personal #travel mindens the broad #mrdowning

[thingummies-and-whatsits]

Lewis Fic Recs: December 19th

For the anniversary of Val's death, stories of grieving, remembering the past, and learning to live again after loss. Some are Christmas focused, others not. As usual, this list is far from exhaustive so please feel to add your own favs to the list!

I Wonder What Comes Next, And Whether This Or This Will Be The End by Somniare

1,580 Words, Robbie/Val, Rated T, Canonical Character Death In the wake of Val's death, a grief-stricken Robbie turns to alcohol as he packs for his secondment to the BVI. A heartbreaking fic that does not shy away from the rawness of loss, but an unexpected find offers a shred of comfort for Robbie to hold on to.

Beacon by uniquepov

1,499 Words, James & Robbie, past Robbie/Val, Rated T, Canonical Character Death An angsty fic with a hopeful ending. Nearly ten years later, and Lewis still has nightmares. Robbie thinks of his grief over the past years, how he'd wake up expecting to see Val there, how he'd expected to be the one not to make it home one day. He lost his beacon of light that December but, Robbie realizes, he's not completely alone.

Anniversary by Sarren

2,093 Words, James & Robbie, past Robbie/Val, Rated G, No Archive Warnings Apply Robbie visits Val's grave on the anniversary of her death, and James knows when not to listen his Inspector's orders for his own good. A bittersweet story where James' determination to support Robbie through his grief allows Robbie the space to remember, and sparks a conversation about needing someone else.

Falling by Luthien

9,098 Words, Pre-James/Robbie, past Robbie/Val, Rated T, No Archive Warnings Apply, Brandy and Cough Medicine Don't Mix December 19th is just around the corner and it's raining, Hathaway is stuck in Cornwall on a case, Lewis' heat has gone out, and his chest is growing tighter with this worsening cough. An aching sickfic, with a dash of (fraught rather than fluffy) huddling for warmth, and an interesting case going on in the background.

The Things We Do For Each Other by divingforstones

7,504 Words, James/Robbie, past Robbie/Val, Rated T, No Archive Warnings Apply James reveals a bit of his childhood when he gets caught up studying for a special training course. The unfortunate timing of the final exams leaves Robbie struggling on the hardest day of his year with James out of town. In the absolutely heartwarming ending, Robbie learns that he can lean on the people who care about him, and James learns that he's cared for, no matter his grades of his usefulness.

Solace to the Soul by divingforstones

11,097 Words, James/Robbie, past Robbie/Val, Rated T, No Archive Warnings Apply James takes care of Lewis quietly over the years: in the frigid winter air, through sickness and injury, in the wake of the Oswald Cooper case, and on the anniversary of Val's death, when the world conspires to prevent Robbie from making his pilgrimage to her grave. Divingforstones always does an amazing job capturing the deep, steady devotion in their relationship.

Anniversary Effect by iloveyoudie

1,354 Words, Pre-James/Robbie, past Robbie/Val, Rated G, No Archive Warnings Apply After an evening drinking on the couch, James wakes up to loud banging at the door, only to find his worried Inspector standing outside. What starts out as a mild argument ends up with some much-needed truths being voiced at long last, and it's satisfying to see these two starting to open up. The ending especially is gently hopeful.

Christmas Pudding by greenapricot

3,185 Words, James/Robbie, past Robbie/Val, Rated G, No Archive Warnings Apply Hathaway is dubious of Christmas pudding, but when Robbie admits he misses the one Val used to make, James is determined to give it a shot. When James fails to answer his phone on the 19th, Robbie gets worried-and finds an unexpected surprise waiting for him. This story has the sweetest ending (in more ways than one), one that leaves James and his flat delightfully unkempt. Make sure to read this with some sort of holiday dessert on hand, because it will give you pudding cravings.

From Where the Light Rises by catwalksalone

590 Words, James^Robbie, past Robbie/Val, Rated G, No Archive Warnings Apply Established relationship (QPR). Part of a longer series, but can be read as a standalone. Robbie lost the joy of Christmas after Val died, but watching light candles and decorate the house they share, Robbie finds himself remembering the beauty of the season.

Christmas Past and Present (series) by wendymr

6,216 Words, James/Robbie, past Robbie/Val, Rated G, No Archive Warnings Apply Many Christmases ago, he'd given his heart to Val, but ten years after her death, Robbie still can't bear to face the holiday. But when James quietly refuses to leave his side at the end of the day, they each learn that they're a little less alone than they had thought. Extra kudos for Val scolding Robbie's poor choice in clothing from beyond the grave.

Before and After, Then and Now by dogpoet

6,269 Words, James/Robbie, past Robbie/Val, Rated M, No Archive Warnings Apply Established Relationship. Part of a longer series, but can be read as a standalone. Robbie remembers the day when the call came, how Ali had had to tell him there had been an accident, and how he had almost burnt down the house when he'd had to tell his son. But now he also looks towards the future, to his life with James-once he can work up the courage to tell Lyn, that is.

#inspector lewis #itv lewis #robbie lewis #james hathaway #val lewis #lewis/hathaway #robbie/val #LewisFicRecs

[nyaagolor]

Ah, sorry for that, let me explain: Chronicles of Darkness is a Tabletop RPG where the players (and the setting in general) are in a world just like ours, but with tinges of supernatural and horror, the secret world just behind the normalcy... It's honestly very dark, so TWs are advised. As of now, there are 9 different gamelines (plus the Core Manual if you want to play as a simple Mortal):

Vampire: The Requiem - A Vampire is You. Creatures of the night who need to feed on the blood of the living, who need to deal (or embrace) the Beast, the name given to the urges that drive vampires away from their Humanity (one of them being an endless thirst for the blood of the living).

Werewolf: The Forsaken - A Werewolf is You. Beings half-flesh and half-spirit, they act as a border patrol for the Spirit World and other nasty thing of that world, like shards of broken mad spirit gods or spirits of malevolent concepts. Not counting those Werewolves that see humanity as prey and cattle, of course.

Mage: The Awakening - A Mage is You. People who dreamt of Atlantis, undertook a spirit quest and gained the power of warping reality... now, players have to face evil mages and the ever-looming threat of the Abyss.

Promethean: The Created - A Frankenstein Monster is You. Reanimated corpes (or similar) fueled by a "divine fire", they follow the Pilgrimage (a quest to refine themselves and understand humanity better) in hope (and very real possibilty) of finally becoming human... although their mere existence gets rejected both from humans and the Earth itself.

Changeling: The Lost - A Fairy is You... more or less. People kidnapped by the True Fae and brought to Arcadia, morphed and warped into whatever their Keeper needed/wanted and kept like that for who-knows-how-much... until a memory of home or whatever made them remember and escape, but forever changed. And between dealing with their life and the rest, it might be that the Fae want their plaything back.

Hunter: The Vigil - A Hunter is You. Simple Humans (most of the time) who knows more than the average on the supernatural, and will do whatever it takes to understand, eradicate and deal with the unknown... then again, each hunter group has its own approach, and the "When you stare into the abyss for too long, the abyss gazes back" thing is very real.

Geist: The Sin-Eater - A Possessed is You. People who avoided the Reaper by making a bargain with a ghost at the brink of death, now they can see more than the average human, have an incorporeal buddy always with them, and can deal with spirits and the Underworld... whenever they like it or not.

Mummy: The Curse - A Mummy is You. Chosen people of old who underwent the Rite of Return and now walk the line between Life and Death. Which is good because they're immortal and extremely powerful. And it's also bad because they can only be awake for short periods of time, their power slowly fades and they're still preserved corpses.

Demon: The Descent - A Demon is You. Fallen angels of the God-Machine, bio-mechanical horrors that can make bargains and con their way into humanity, now they try to wage a secret war with their former employer and their legions... or just try to live a semi-normal life.

Beast: The Primordial - A Nightmare is You. I'm not even going to talk about this one, it has... a lot of problems.

Deviant: The Renegades - A Mutant is You. People who changed into... something else by the hands of scientists, cultists, you name it. Now they escaped, but those who made them what they are now are still searching for them.

So yeah, there's a lot to unpack and the settings are very bleak, but also very fun to play with (except Beast, fuck that). I may talk about them more in the future, who knows.

OOOO this is really neat! thanks for the explanation :)

#mod vex #ask

[gumpwitch]

Two- Faced: The Spirit of God and the Devil

An Essay On Deconstructing Theology

by The Gump Witch

Some of my earliest memories are of Sunday mornings.

My hair is curled and I wear a dress of pastel blue or pink or purple. My shiny black shoes are already scuffed. I pick holes in my tights when my mother isn’t looking because I despise them. My mother dresses and styles me before herself. I am five and she is perfect.

The smell of hairspray and the same perfume my grandmother has worn every Sunday for as long as anyone can remember hangs thick in the atmosphere of the car. Sometimes I sleep as the blazing morning light warms my face through the windows. Sometimes I just stare as the soft, rolling backs of the distant Wichita mountains roll by on the horizon.

Eventually, our church comes into view, clear on the other side of town from where we enter. We are rural lakeside dwellers; we pilgrimage each week over twenty miles each way to attend. The building is all red brick, with a whitewashed steeple and cross jutting uncontested into the cloudless Oklahoma sky. The parking lot is colorless and baking in the sun. Concrete, because it is too hot in the southern midwest to use asphalt.

I do not want to go in.

I do not want to walk the lengthy, hot sidewalks up towards the many sets of doors. I do not want to dodge handbags and careless feet and reaching, pinching hands that all want to squeeze parts of my face. I do not want to have to sit there, ears plugged against the blaring music in the vestibule, nor do I want to be separated from my mother and grandmother and join the other children upstairs in Sunday school.

I do not want to be here at all.

These are my earliest memories of spending time in the being known as God’s presence: the distinct, overwhelming feeling that I did not want to be there at all.

Growing up, God always felt like this oppressive, overbearing third parent. He can see everything you do and hear everything you think. He doesn’t want you talking back to your parents. He doesn’t want you to eat too much cake. He doesn’t want you touching yourself in strange places. He doesn’t want you to spend too much time doing anything besides thinking about or talking to Him.

This, of course, is par for the course for anyone who grew up Pentecostal, Baptist, Methodist, any of the denominations that are even remotely tied to the massive, leaden umbrella of Evangelical Christianity. Pastors tell their congregants in the same breath of how good and loving God is, and then proceed to give a laundry list of all the normal and enjoyable and harmless things He doesn’t want his faithful to do.

It is no surprise that, when able to form the first independent thought of my own during early adolescence, that I veered sharply away from religion. I did everything I could not to go to church. I pretended to sleep too hard to hear when someone tried to wake me on Sunday morning. I feigned sickness and nightmares and injury. Why would I want to drag myself from bed early in the morning on one of the two days I didn’t have school just to go be lectured on how much I disappoint God?

Later on, after I had moved around and no longer saw my paternal grandparents as often, it was decided I would spend summers in the deep South with my maternal family. Sweet home Alabama, here I come.

Now, it is early June. It’s unbelievably humid here; the dry heat of Oklahoma at least doesn’t lie to me about how warm I really am. I think I’m hot in this moist, warm air, but really, I’m even hotter and I don’t even know it. Cicadas scream and bullfrogs croak in every body of water in the long, sticky evenings. Mosquitoes the size of my fingernails buzz lazily around the car as we make the drive from Birmingham to Montgomery.

There, on the side of the road, I see it: a landmark that has become famous the world over thanks to the power of the Internet. A white billboard with a simple slogan in blood red letters: GO TO CHURCH OR THE DEVIL WILL GET YOU. Beside it is depicted a similarly red man with a scythe and a pointed, skinny tail, grinning wickedly at all who drive past his perch on Highway 65.

This is my earliest memory of the one known as the Devil: a humid car ride, a frightful billboard, a threat as much as a promise boldly announced to the entire Interstate.

The South, as it turns out, is much more in-your-face about religion than the midwest. While there are churches on every block in Oklahoma, there are triple that amount in Alabama. Currently, in the two mile drive between my home and my downtown office in Montgomery, I pass no fewer than six different churches depending on my route.

Being in the South brought me face to face with a much different flavor of Evangelical Christianity: the one that breathed fire and rained down brimstone. This Christianity roared from pulpits about sin, both yours and that of your neighbor. This Christianity told you more about the Devil than it did about God, for this Christianity wanted to go to war, and in order to go to war, they needed an adversary to do battle with.

To my grandma, everything negative became a work of the Devil: my stubborn streak, our family’s propensity to overindulge in rich foods, mine and my cousins’ tendencies to sleep for long hours each day. All of these things that my grandma detested in us were surely the Devil’s work. These were demons in us that needed to be exercised. She believed this as firmly as she believed that she drew breath in order to live.

However, my grandma taught me a very important thing about Christianity, in that she was the living embodiment of its contradictions to itself. Though she sang gospel songs and hymns constantly and prayed and called out acts she disliked as the Devil’s works, she did not go to church. She didn’t like the people that went; she considered them all insufferable, self-righteous busybodies. The only person who was doing religion correctly, as far as she was concerned, was her. Everyone else was just pretending for brownie points.

By the time I was an adult, I was left only with these two impressions of the religion of my upbringing: judgment and doom. Disappointment and damnation. Strive for perfection, but even if you manage to attain it, you may go to hell anyway for not doing even more.

So I continued to turn my back on this faith. I continued to roll my eyes and quell my temper every time some stranger handed me a pamphlet about their church or someone fervently insisted that God loved me through a drive through window. The more present it was around me, the more I resented and drew away from it.

This land that I now live in is so, so saturated in this faith. In my city especially, it seems more ground is consecrated by some denomination or other than not. Churches both open and shuttered adorn every single street. Billboards loudly proclaiming that JESUS IS THE ANSWER and GOD IS PRO-LIFE and JESUS SAVES are everywhere you turn, outnumbered only by Alexander Shunnarah advertisements.

Maybe being confronted with this constant, everyday onslaught of this faith is what kept me turning the question of it over in my head. As I grew older, I made myself let go of that resentment I had for it. I was no longer a child being dragged unwilling to assembly, where the music was always too loud and the pastor was always too boring. My grandma has passed on from this world, no longer able to verbally bash me over the head with promises of damnation and hellfire. I can finally look at this faith from my own perspective and decide what I feel and believe about it.

Even before I cemented myself in my faith of the Eldest Ten, I came to a sudden and surprising realization: God and the Devil are the same thing.

I was struggling with some of the many social challenges that come with growing older. Being an only child who clung to friendships like the legs of absent parents, it was getting harder and harder for me to feel happy for people who were moving on in life and meeting new people. I was resentful. I was jealous. And I hated that I felt those things.

That’s when it clicked. I thought about the Bible stories that had been hammered into my head growing up, the Old Testament especially. The Great Flood, the Exodus from Egypt, Sodom and Gomorrah, all these and more. God had a lot of blood on His hands back in those days. I think, over time, He didn’t like that. There were parts of Him he couldn’t reconcile, parts that were ugly and mean and, yes, evil. So the Devil was born.

The Devil is all the things God doesn’t like about himself: his vengeance, his cunning, his manipulation and deceit. The Devil takes all these in stride. He’s the shadow that the light of God casts. One can’t exist without the other.

Since I do not revere any entities imagined by man to be true gods, God and the Devil are, then, spirits. They are, at the same time, two different spirits and two faces of the same spirit. When I say “God”, I mean the spirit of benevolence, of good, of hard, honest work. When I say “Devil”, I mean the spirit of darkness, of getting even, of refusing to turn the other cheek and instead biting back with full force.

I consider myself a folkloric pagan. Pagan, in that the gods I honor are the forces of Nature itself. Folkloric, in that the traditions and spirits I interact with are those that have been passed down through my family and community for generations. God and the Devil have been here as long as my settler ancestors have been here. To divorce them completely from my practice would be doing both my work and myself a disservice.

I may have a completely different understanding of them than my ancestors did, but the key here is that I have an understanding of them. I don’t write them off as some newfangled dogma that can’t be changed or reasoned with or shaped to fit my needs. I don’t frown when people tell me to have a blessed day or say “Look at God!” when something serendipitous happens to them. I’m happy for them. I’m happy for all of us.

And that’s what a lot of people just don’t understand, especially those not living in the South. So many modern witches from similar backgrounds to mine turn their noses up at any talk of God while also shying away from the word “Devil” as if it’s a disease. They forsake the very roots of their ancestors and then try to claim that what they practice is rooted in tradition.

No one likes feeling judged. No one likes feeling wrong. These are feelings that are all too often conflated with Christianity, and I know them well. But while I may never sit in a church on Sunday morning again, that doesn’t mean I can’t keep a piece of that magic in my pocket and carry it with me on my own terms.

God and I might have agreed to see other people, but it doesn’t mean we don’t still talk from time to time.

#witch #witchcraft #traditional witchcraft #the witch’s devil #pagan #paganism #made by me

[fizzyxcustard]

Betrayal (9)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: Crossover of Spooks and Pilgrimage (Modern AU)

Pairings: Lucas North x OC/Raymond de Merville x OC

Warnings: Love triangle. Angst. Language. Sexual references/language. Cheating.

Summary: Amy Holland is Lucas North’s girlfriend of six months. Amy is aware of his job as an MI-5 agent and supports him. However, Lucas’ cousin, Raymond de Merville, has always loved Amy and uses their one night stand together as leverage for something more.

Comments/Notes: If you wish to be tagged in any of my tag lists for fics or characters, please let me know, and stipulate what you want to be tagged in. I’m gradually removing people from my tag lists who do not interact.

Amy's inner turmoil only grew the closer she got to leaving London. Her last day at work was on the Friday, and that weekend would be when she moved back to Coventry in the Midlands to temporarily stay with her parents.

She had agreed to meet with Lucas on the Wednesday evening. Raymond had remained silent, although she highly doubted it would stay that way for long.

As darkness fell on the evening of that Wednesday, Amy tried to gather all her nerve. This move would go ahead, she had told herself many times. Amy had always been a soft touch when it came to giving in to people she loved, and Lucas had been one of those people many a time in the six months that they had been an item.

Amy had ordered takeaway food, pizza to be precise. Maybe it would ease the mood ever so slightly.

The pizza came only five minutes before Lucas, who arrived promptly at seven as he had promised.

"Hi," he said softly, standing at the threshold of her flat. His cheeks were tinged red and chilled breath flew from his mouth as he exhaled.

Lucas saw their meal on the coffee table in the living room, paired with a bottle of his favourite lager and a cider for her. He couldn't help but throw a sad smile at her, thinking that even when they had broken up, facing the possibility of never seeing each other again, she was still kind.

"How have you been?" Amy asked, sitting down on the sofa.

How had it come to all of this? That question was something that old friends asked each other who hadn't seen each other in months, not two people who loved each other and had been intimate in mind, body and soul. It made Lucas sigh. He leaned in closer to her, trying to close that large gap.

"I miss it," he whispered. "Us. Being together. It kills me when we sit together not even knowing what to say, or how to act. Maybe I wish Ray hadn't of told me. Would living in ignorance have been better than this?"

Amy's heart thundered and for a second she closed her eyes, gathering her thoughts. "Lucas, it had to be said. One way or the other. It would have been me or him. He was the one who pushed the point of one of us saying something."

Lucas narrowed his eyes. "I know the way his mind works, Aim. He cornered you, thinking that if you told me then I'd break up with you and he could have you."

"Don't make this worse than it already is..."

"But it's true, isn't it? Just tell me."

Amy sighed again. "Yes. He wants me to be with him, and that seemed to be his motive."

"I'm sorry," Lucas said softly. "If I've been cornering you. I can imagine it hasn't been easy."

"Lucas, you're the last person who should be sorry," Amy said. She reached out and took his hand. "You have nothing to be sorry for. I just can't get over why you still want me around after what I did to you. If it had of been the other way around, I don't know if I could have been as forgiving as you."

"Because I love you. That simple," Lucas replied. "I wish you weren't leaving, but I can't stop you. It's your choice."

"I need some breathing space," Amy said. "I don't feel like I deserve anyone's love, and being on my own is..."

"Angel?"

"Don't call me that," Amy wept. "Please...It's the furthest thing from what I am to anyone."

"Not to me. I'll back off...I'm sorry." There was that apology again.

***

Raymond knew Amy was leaving, her plans now definite. The very thought of being without her hit him hard in the chest. Watching her with Lucas had been bad enough, but now she would be out of his sight completely.

He replayed their first time together in his mind. The heat, the raw passion, the animalistic urge. The feelings he had for her ravaged him daily, and now that he had had a taste of her, his want was heightened.

Friday evening came, and Raymond made sure he finished work early so that he could meet her at her flat, just as she also finished work.

Amy approached her building, and pulled out her keys. She heard her name being spoken, and the voice sent a shiver up her spine. That deep, baritone voice, so like Lucas'. Her green gaze lifted and she saw Raymond standing in front of her.

"I'm leaving, Ray. I'll be gone by Sunday evening," Amy told him, her voice cold and matter of fact. "The moving van is coming tomorrow to take all the large items..."

"I don't care about that," Raymond hissed. "I wanted to see you. Can I come in?"

Amy sighed and felt apprehension hit her in the gut.

"O...kay," she said finally.

Raymond stepped into her flat with her, seeing boxes stacked up in the hallway. A stab of sadness hit him, and he remembered the first time that he had met her. It had been here; Lucas had brought Raymond to Amy's flat for the evening one weekend.

"Have you spoken to Lucas?" Raymond asked.

"Yeah, I saw him on Wednesday. He came round and we had a couple of hours together. Nothing happened if that's what you're asking for. And we're not together."

Raymond hung his head, and in those moments, looked just like his cousin. The despair they both felt was all Amy's fault. A temptation surrendered to. Overstepping the boundary between two men who looked so alike just for the sake of curiosity.

"I need this time to myself, Ray," Amy began. "I don't deserve either of you. You should both just move on, forget me because I don't deserve shit from anyone." Tears fell down Amy's cheeks as she felt that all consuming pain take over once again.

Raymond moved in and took her in his arms, letting her weep on him. "What can I say? We're both stupid for you," Raymond said, his voice muffled by Amy's shoulder.

"I wish you'd both let me go. See sense and let me go."

"I told you, we don't have any sense."

Amy pulled from Raymond and chuckled at him. "You're definitely both fucking idiots."

****

Follow Forever tag list: @lathalea @i-did-not-mean-to @linasofia @middleearthpixie @guardianofrivendell @knitastically @meganlpie @spidergirla5 @luna-xial @eunoiaastralwings @asgardianhobbit98 @sunflwrnsunnieshine

#Fanfiction #Richard Armitage #Lucas North #Spooks #MI-5 #Pilgrimage (2017) #Modern AU #Raymond de Merville #Lucas North x OC #Raymond de Merville x OC #Crossover

[helenarasmussen87]

Reading Update

It's going to be a long one since I've been voraciously working through my reading pile and I'm taking a leave so this is what I've been focused on other than writing and trying to get back to drawing like I used to.

Here we go:

Books that pissed me the fuck off:

-The Miniaturist, The Ladies of Cheateau Lafitte, Through a Glass Darkly: These books quite frankly pissed the fuck out of me due to using the LGBQTIA+ characters as plot devices rather than their own. Not to mention that it felt VERY stereotypical and badly handled.

It really irked me in "The Miniaturist" due to the people who the book was based on were real people and you could easily find their story and there were so many gross liberties taken with these people's lives that it was jaw droppingly appalling.

-The Maiden: An old series and the writing style clearly shows this. It was just intrigue, vague, incest, the Highland Uprising, and cousins destroying each other. Not very good, tbh.

-Tales of London: I was expecting straight up ghost stories, but those were minimal to the rest of the stories that felt like sociology and urban geography majors wrote ghost stories about the city itself. Not really what I wanted.

"Through a Glass Darkly" I understand the use of the gay husband trope more here due to the book written in 1987. Chateau used a slight lesbian angle which went nowhere and didn't add anything to the characters and this along with the Miniaturist irked me due to them being written pretty recently.

Now Books/Series that I was surprised at how much I enjoyed:

-Colourless Tzusuki Tazaki and his years of pilgrimage: A re read from 2015, but still holds up. I get it more now and the reveal is still as shocking as it was back when I first read it. I'm also convinced that this is like a spiritual sequel of Norwegian Woods.

-Before the Coffee Gets Cold-It was a slice of life with magical realism touches and it was sweet, short, and cute. Like a feel good vibe here.

-Heaven's Official Blessing series: I honestly am impressed at how the story keeps going because I am always surprised. Same with Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation. I'm eagerly waiting for volumes 5 and 4 to arrive soon.

-The Scum Villain series: I didn't think I was going to enjoy it was much as I did. I'm not in RPG type stuff, but this series doesn't take itself super seriously and that makes it work when the character interacts with the system while he navigates the story.

-Blade of the Immortal: I'm revisiting this series because I LOVED them in my early 20's. My ex and some other people really put me off of reading manga/watching anime because they felt it was childish of me to read it. There's a reason why I don't have these people in my life now. The best way I can describe this series is that it is the Japanese equivalent of a Western themed revenger quest with GREAT pencil work.

I made it through the first omnibus and the story and the pencilwork still slap.

-Tokyo Revengers: Typical gang focus but with time hopping back and forth for love and for saving people from their own futures and selves. I've read four of the volumes and I am eager for more.

-Chainsaw Man: Not for me. I love the concept of Demons and hunting demons and Pochita (The chainsaw demon dog) but it's too nihilistic for me. Also how Denji is treated is questionable.

-A Man and His Cat: I love it as a slice of life story about a widowed concert pianist learning to live again after he gets Fukumaru, who is a very sweet kitty who was sure he'd never be picked. It's just great to see them both grow by being together and reconnect with the world and friends. It's a feel good series for sure.

-The Masterful Cat is Depressed Again: Another feel good series with a young office worker and her cat who is the perfect housewife. A feel good series for sure.

-Golden Kamuy: I am kind of annoyed at myself as to why I didn't pick this one up earlier. It's basically a Western set in Hokkaido while different groups search for a mythical gold treasure. The main guy fought in the Russo-Japanese War and his companion is an Ainu girl. The other players are an insane, but charismatic villain who wants the gold to push Japan into a hyper Martial state, the Ainu themselves, and others just wanting it for their own purposes.

It's like hitting all of my interest areas of Japan, the Ainu, and an obscure historical settings. I can count on one hand how many times I've come across media focusing on the Ainu. Not to mention the Russo-Japanese war.

It can be pretty gory at times, but the author knows to intersperse it with humour, cultural information, and some slice of life moments. The injuries are a bit out there at times, but the story is compelling. Good looking men too. I'm on volume 2 and so far, it's got my attention.

So that's it for the reading for now.

#personal #book review #my ramblings

[vilevexedvixen]

Fowler's Flower Pt. 1 - Uprooted Abijah Fowler x servant! Reader

Summary: Fueled by anger at what the English / Tudors did to him, Fowler keeps a handful of English Roses to take out sadistic tendencies on as a form of passive retribution. The reader is a commoner caught stealing during a feast and is offered an indentured servitude contract as Fowler's servant by the town Sheriff as an alternative punishment to execution (the punishment in England for theft at the time). Takes place before he stopped using the dungeon, so before 1647.

Banners and dividers by @roseschoices

It's ironic that such a man as Fowler, starved of stimulation and novelty, would become dull to both. To the point that he began to crave the mundane and familiar, a taste of home. For these rare occasions were mistresses shipped over from the English Isles along with the two beeves he brought for milking. As good as cattle, and just as hardy. For they had to last as long as he needed them, indefinitely. At least in principle. Night after night spent shackled and beaten in the dungeon, but eventually their bodies would cave even as their eyes bled with life and spoke every curse their throat could no longer even whimper. Their attire stained progressively deeper shades of red before rendered entirely black and blue by the end of it. Perhaps fortunately, then, it wasn't often that Fowler found himself craving the touch of an English maiden. He'd only need a handful, and could bare to wait a while between shipments if he exhausted them sooner than intended. Sparing however many from his ever expansive "imagination" which so often craved exoticism instead, an ever rarer commodity when grounded at one station for decades at a time. His spring pilgrimage alongside a ready supply of local flesh at his associate's behest somewhat sated his frustration and brought some respite from his cabin fever, but this supply was always quickly burnt through and the delights of the pilgrimage soon stale and forgotten. The girls brought in being too fragile and easily broken to enjoy for long. And while the heady high of seeing his dissatisfaction being met with swift replacements and adjustments instead of outward (though still very apparent) disgust and horror at what he costed the brothels in blood did amuse him, he still needed toys not trinkets. To feel the slight more effort it should take to make them break. Still like porcelain, but not as precious as bone china. And all the sweeter to hear crack at the hands of someone the English so often spat at in all his years over there. Ideally someone he could even tangentially say was directly culpable for manufacturing the suffering he endured, but good graces with people like that was what kept his pockets lined fatter than the breadth of the Atlantic... so commoners would have to do.

"You boy, bring us another round!", another sloshed patron blurted, barely holding onto his pint which dangled loose from his fingers with his arms snug around his mates' shoulders, keeping him afloat from practically drowning in ale. His clearly costly cloak now soaked damp in the stuff both by his own inebriated hand and that of his well-to-do peers. They had all gathered to generously shower their decadence like a fountain of obnoxious charity upon the Woodward Farmhouse, as the town's representatives had done every Easter since its construction. A tithing of sorts, to be sure the wood about St. Ann's well stayed pleasantly pristine for all to enjoy its miracle water.

Inside the farmhouse the air sat thick with tobacco smoke, stale breath and abuzz with disorderly glee as folks stumbled to and from the bar back to their tables. Barely holding together the clusters of steins they brought. Every round overflowing with beer. Each haphazard step tipping more of the precious brew onto the floor which lay already slick with the spillages of other patrons. Ironically making those who'd mustered the audacity to clamber onto the tables and dance of steadier stance than anyone else there. Even as the more lively maidens among them began to gladly chant,

"My granny is sick, and now is dead, And we’ll go mould some cockle bread. Up with my heels and down with my head, And this is the way to mould cockle bread!"

-before either being curtailed mid-chant by a stumble off the table's edge or being hastily ushered down by their attending kin before they could so much as bend to reach their skirt's hem, let alone perform the dance that accompanied the chant. Faces flushed red with embarrassment rather than intoxication.

As appreciative as the Woodward and nearby townsfolk were for the funding, that didn't make their rowdy display any less exhausting to accommodate. What it DID make was a perfect distraction for opportunists like _______ to swipe every loose coin and discarded luxury the nobles might lose track of amidst their merriment. Not that they'd miss any of it, mind. They came here to walk out bellies full and their purses spent, and that's exactly what they'll be by day's end.

Having waited until the festivities were well underway, the greatest challenge (besides remaining unseen, a fairly easy feat given how blind drunk all but the staff seemed to be) became dodging wayward hands flying or being crushed if any brawls broke out or someone proved too unsteady even when idle. As the thought passed _______'s mind, some poor sod began to tip backwards from his chair and nearly onto her had she not skirted so quickly past them. An amused cheer resounded across his table at the sound of him crashing onto the stone floor, much like was customary to do when any crockery shattered in a tavern such as this. "Lightweights...", she muttered so herself, smug with the fat payout the day's already granted her. Enough that there was barely any space left to covertly tuck anything away. Might be worth heading home and stowing away what she had to free up space again. Maybe just another handful...

Taking a moment to pause and see who had anything by their side or on the floor that she could swipe on her way out, she started thinking of all the food she could afford and store for winter with what she's already accumulated. Even if prices inevitably rose again because of yet another crop failure. Or because of more people flooding the town and driving up demand after being enclosed on by the damned Willoughbies like hers had been in Sutton Passeys. Or whatever war the powers that be demand the food should be diverted to instead. She won't go hungry, not this time!

Just as she felt drool begin to well up in her mouth, she spotted a particularly well dressed gentleman just past the open door laying down a round for his table. The two men sat beside him were oddly dressed, in much plainer clothes than the puffy, blouses and jackets expected by the feast's usual attendees. Come to think of it, she didn't recognise any of them from previous years. The man who brought the drinks didn't look rich per-say, but was certainly smartly dressed. Hair dark brown cut to shoulder-length and a feathered cap atop his head. Perhaps a merchant? The other two had a strangely cool tinge to their skin and such dark eyes it was as if their pupils were as wide as a rabbit's and hair dark to match, styled much higher and tighter than their fellow's loose tie-back. Their robes more like a shawl with sleeves and less gathered. Unrecognisable patterns resembling a grid of angular flowers dotted the fabric, but beyond that little decoration darned their outfits. Remarkably modest given their company and the occasion.

As she sauntered closer, she attempts to fain disinterest by periodically gazing about the place and hums along with the raucous singing blasting from within the farmhouse. Every so often darting a glance at the table both to scan for goods and to take in more and more odd details they noticed about the people sat there. In spite of how shoddy her attempt at "acting natural" was, it shouldn't matter as they surely should be too drunk to notice her pinch his coin pu- "There it is!", a hand had grabbed her wrist before she could register what happened. She froze as the Englishman tightened his grip on her wrist before plucking his coin purse back from her aching hand, "Thought someone might have nabbed it there for a second, thank you kindly for returning it to me..." No manner of tugging freed her from his grip, which kept her uncomfortably close, her frantic squirming further broadcasting her guilt as the thief in front of his associates, who simply stared unbothered. As the man turned in his seat to face her, she could see the ornate badge pinned to his breast pocket and his less ornate but still remarkably well-kept attire... a uniform?

"This isn't the usual way I'd spend Easter, but word is this feast has been swarmed with thieves these past few years," he snaked a hand under her chin and held it there, forcing her to keep eye contact, "I'd be careful if I were you. You wouldn't want to lose something valuable tonight... would you?"

With that he let go, and her wrist practically flew free of his grasp. Rubbing it gently to sooth the sore mark he'd left, she hastily scampered off to hide her stash somewhere safe. Who was that? Who were they? Those people? Was that their first round? Of all the tables she picked a sober one last, fantastic!

In the mad dash back home, she hadn't noticed the trail of coins she was leaving behind like breadcrumbs leading back to Lenton village. Some coins dropped on the heads of sleeping vagrants and children playing nearby snatched up what they could once they realise what had littered the ground, scrubbing off the mud that now caked each coin. Unknowingly covering _______'s tracks, at least through the main street, but still too preoccupied in their frantic gathering to notice which alley she'd darted through next. Pushing through her backdoor and clambering for somewhere to hide the goods (or herself) her hands spread wide, feeling the floor for any loose boards. In her panic the floorboard she lifted to stuff the goods under got jammed slightly out of place, and no manner of prying could correct it while in such a state. She'd force it back into place once she'd calmed down. Before she could, though, a daunting knock at the door could be heard. Timidly she peered through through the window. The unnerving man from earlier. How did he know where she went? Doesn't matter. Just keep quiet and unseen and he will leave. Hopefully. The man knocked more forcefully after a minute or two of silence. Then again... and again, before finally sighing and demanding, "If you don't open the door you WILL be arrested. You know the charge for theft. Open. The. Door." Keep quiet.

Luckily the feast had most people out and about for the day, but a worrying patter of footsteps upstairs tore _______ between trying to sway the man to let her go, hand herself in, or let him loudly break down the door and potentially rope in her kin with her punishment since the stash she added to could be implicated as everyone's under the roof. She'd weaseled herself out of tighter situations before, but that was when she was alone. It's all different now! What- Her indecision was cut short by the abrupt kicking open of the door which slammed hard onto the cold stone floor, small fragments of wood breaking off at point of impact with the hinge swinging loose like a doomed man's head. Her decision was already made. She held in her yelp, mustering a whimper, but the sound of the break in already alerted her kin upstairs who clattered downstairs, only to stop at the top step, the eldest of them immediately recognising who was at the door.

"Sheriff! What a lovely surprise, what brings you to our humble abode?" Playing dumb was never her grandma's strong suit, as senile as she was she wasn't ignorant by any means, the darting of her eyes hinting as much. The awkward silence lay like an unmoving layer of fat over water, hardening as the room grew cool with the Sheriff's imposing demeanor freezing everyone in place. His eyes scanned the room, flitting between faces before landing at the jammed floorboards by the stairwell. His attention drawn by the faint glint of sparkling gold. Raising a finger to the gap, he asked, seemingly to no one but clearly directed at _______, "Is this yours?" Shifting in place, _______ was about to say "N-" but her aunt interjected, "It's mine. My dowry. My husband, his family wouldn't let him marry a vagrant but he brought what he could and married me despite their wishes." Her stunned confusion blatantly on display, _______ caught herself and nodded along with the best slack they had. God bless you Auntie, I owe you one. "That looks like far more than eleven pence right there. Rather risky to keep such a valuable asset on display right by the back door, don't you think?" Saving face her aunt doubled down, "Well... that's why it's exactly where a thief wouldn't think to look! You see?" attempting to look chuffed with herself, forcing a confident grin as best she could.

"I DO see, so you're saying you can think like a thief, eh?", a smirk crept up on the Sheriff's face, something he'd clearly been holding back the whole time he'd been standing in the doorway, blocking our nearest exist. "And uh, Ma'am you do realise vagrancy isn't exactly... appreciated, well, anywhere in God's land? You look able-bodied, I assume you've made yourself useful since your marriage?" The questions stewed in their minds, bringing their patience to a boil. Days spent toiling at the spinning wheel, knitting until the skin on their fingers thickened into boot leather. 'Made yourself useful?' as if the Sheriff himself wasn't a bloated mouthpiece for the inept aristocracy that didn't so much as blink before they shoved people like them off of land they'd subsisted on for centuries, for what... aesthetics? So they didn't pollute their lovely view? _______'s fists clenched, tighter and tighter with her family glancing over and back like if they looked away too long she'd set ablaze. "YES. They have..." _______ said firmly through gritted teeth. Closer and closer, the Sheriff stepped, circling _______ as her kin hugged the banister like a lifeline. Wanting to hide back upstairs, but not wanting to abandon their child to the whims of the law. After tracing her curves with his gaze up and down, he crouched to pry open the "dowry". As he did the metal caught the light, brilliantly gleaming in the spring daylight. Certainly not rusted. Not in the slightest. The kind of money no one has touched in years. Could be a dowry, then. Could be new, counterfeit (more likely, he thought). Could be the pretty pennies of the drunken nobles who needn't worry about directly paying with money but once in a blue moon.

"I'll ask again... is this yours?" A trap. She wasn't sure how, but the way he phrased it made it seem like answer answer she'd think to give would lead to a trap. Yes, and that could be an admission that she'd stolen it. No, and that could be admitting it's not hers and she stole it. Please Auntie, please, you or grandma. She wished they'd speak for her, like they always did, now was the time but they stayed quiet. This time it was her gaze flitting to them, back and forth as they evaded hers. The Sheriff reach down and pinched a coin from under the floorboards, rotating it to catch the like, eyeing it closely. Not counterfeit. The real deal... He chuckled, bemused by their awful attempt at saving face. "I know it's not yours. I just needed to see if it was all of you who needed executing, and not just this skank here I caught in the act." he grabbed her by the forearm, raising it like an unwilling volunteer. Despite being but one man, running from the house didn't seem wise, where would they go? Hide? He could just nail the door shut and burn it down with everyone still inside. He didn't need to shackle anyone to keep them right where he needed them.

"Please, I asked her to do it - we needed the money!", Grandma blurted, hoping to help. Honest to a fault. Auntie shot a death-glare at her, not in anger but fear. Now they absolutely would be implicated in the theft, not just _______! Desperate, she kept going, "She was only doing what she was told. If you should prosecute anyone, it should be me, I'm culpable." Her frail, old form gently slinked down the stairs, leaning on the banister for balance. Before she even reached the last step, the Sheriff refused. "How noble, but you're already on death's door you old Crone. It wouldn't be much of a punishment at this point." Offended wasn't quite the word. Disheartened? Shocked? It didn't really matter. An embarrassing withdrawal, she held herself by the bottom of the stairs not sure what to do with herself anymore. His smugness grew, seeing them all so flustered and disheartened. While he couldn't change the law (legally speaking, they deserved death), anything he offered would seem better at this point, and that's exactly what he needed. Unfortunately, only one here would be suitable for his associate's tastes. The other two were clearly too worn and delicate to withstand a long-term tenure with his associate. No, only the skank will do.

"Tell you what! Unless you'd rather let the gentlemen back at the farmhouse sober up, realise they've been robbed blind and let them hunt you down... I have the means to make it look like you're as good as dead and they'll be none the wiser.", he paused, as if waiting for someone to question his proposal, but all that rose was curious silence amidst a flurry of glances between the three women as if performing furious wordless debate amongst themselves. He continued, "I can redistribute the evidence accordingly, and you'll be long gone from the reach of any gallows rope." "Banishment, then? To where?", _______ demanded, exhausted with his drawn out charade. "Oh, nowhere you'd know. A land in the far East, but don't worry! If anything where you'll be is far grander than this... dusty hovel.", he said, gesturing about the place. _______ could feel their brow twitch, if he was so disgusted by their humble lodgings he shouldn't care what they stole, they clearly need it and couldn't afford anywhere "better". "Since you stole a hefty sum, you can pay it back by working under contract as my associate's indentured servant. With how much is here I'd say it should last roughly,", squinting, he sucked in a breath for dramatic effect, "fifteen years".

"WHAT?" _______ yelped, "You've got that wrong, surely?" "It's adorable how you think you grasp the severity of your situation, when you clearly don't.", he scoffed before letting out a small chuckle. Reaching in a hand under his cloak, he pulled out what was presumably the contract and unfolded it to show only _______. "Do you intend to only spare her?", tentatively asked her Auntie, voice hushed like her words might kill her if she spoke them any louder. Again, he scoffed, "The old Crone there isn't worth the trouble of an execution, and she", he pointed right at _______'s face, barely a centimeter from slapping her as he did so, "Is young and clearly fit enough to work this contract as written. YOU are neither. I'll give you a chance to live by still confiscating the evidence but any suspicions that lead back to you leave your fate thrown to the wolves. Tag along if you wish but I don't you'll be much use to my associate." A chance to stay and live, especially while Grandma (sturdy as she was) would still be here, even if it was but a chance and not a certainty seemed too vital to cast aside. No, better she be here for Grandma rather than risk both herself and _______ dying and leaving her to fend for herself. "I'll... stay, thank you." _______ shot her a desperate glare, pained and conflicted. She can't really be serious? The contract was still held there, the Sheriff growing impatient, so she took it from him to glance it over. "...", she looked back up, "You do realise I can't read this?" Snatching it back briskly, he began to read the contract in full, she assumed. The terms seemed fair. Room, board, food, pay contributing back to her debt she owed the nobles, doing general duties expected of a servant / maid, even tending a garden of sorts? It seemed strangely described and involved caring for some animals? Her family did pasture sheep they made the wool yarn from for a while so, that shouldn't be too hard. "Now, normally you'd sign your name, but since you're illiterate I'll just sign your name on your behalf. What was it again?" "_______" "No, your full, legal name." Confused, she repeated, "_______" "Right..."

#blue eye samurai #abijah fowler #💌resources by rose! #abijah fowler x reader #blue eye samurai x reader #blue eye samurai x you #fanfic

[theprayerfulword]

February 15

John 13:35 Jesus said, “By this everyone will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another.”

Hebrews 13:17 Have confidence in your leaders and submit to their authority, because they keep watch over you as those who must give an account. Do this so that their work will be a joy, not a burden, for that would be of no benefit to you.

Matthew 6:20-21 Store up for yourselves treasures in heaven … 21 For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Luke 1:38 And Mary said, 'Behold, the bondslave of the Lord; be it done to me according to Your word.'

1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 Rejoice always, 17 pray continually, 18 give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.

Hebrews 12:11 All discipline for the moment seems not to be joyful, but sorrowful; yet to those who have been trained by it, afterwards it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness.

May your ministry to the Body of Christ be directed by the Spirit, as the Lord commands, according to the pattern given from heaven, bearing the image of Jesus Christ, Who shows us the nature of our Father God, even as the workmen and craftsmen in Israel fashioned each item needed for the tabernacle. Exodus 39

May you set up the tabernacle of God in your life, turning your heart to the Lord in devotion and worship, in the midst of the wilderness, during your trials and tribulations, not abandoning the seeking of Him at the time you need Him the greatest, for His guidance and His protection will see you through the darkest and bleakest times safely to the settled and fruitful years. Exodus 40

May you always practice the presence of God, turning your thoughts in praise to Him, studying and applying His Word in your life, speaking without ceasing with Him, that you may dwell with the Lord always in the Tent of Meeting, protected by His covering shadow by day and warmed by His fire in the dark, ever prepared to wait on the Lord as long as He stays, and always ready to move when the presence of His glory lifts and leads you further in your pilgrimage. Exodus 40

May your words & deeds, expressing God's love and truth, when directly empowered by the Holy Spirit, as you reach out to others, prepare the way for Christ Jesus to come into the hearts of those in great darkness. Mark 1

May you see in the special times of God's blessing and covering the promise and assurance of His provision and protection through seasons of endurance, as when Jesus went from His baptism by John to His temptations by Satan. Mark 1

May you recognize that there are many under the influence of God's enemy, quietly attending the congregations and assemblies of God's people and slowly sowing seeds of doubt and division to block the development of the Spirit's unity and prevent the expression of God's love, who, though not challenged by formal teaching, will respond in open confrontation to the presence of the Lord's power. Mark 1

Come to Me in your weakness and sin, your confusion and corruption, your uncleanness and iniquities and trespasses. Do not hide, do not fear My presence, do not try to cover yourself from My sight, but only come with the desire to be clean, to turn from those things that cause you to wither like a leaf. Come with a desire to confess My glory and acknowledge My praise, though you recognize your unworthiness and inability, for I will cleanse you, I will strengthen you, I will ground and plant and stabilize you and make you a pillar in My temple and enable you to glorify Me both now and forever. Though your nature be as plain as wood, I will shape you to My purpose and cover you with the gold of My nature. Though your weave be common as cotton, I will intersperse My threads of gold and silver, creating the beauty your heart has hungered for. Though your tongue is not skilled, I will cause My praise to flow forth and send My Spirit to bring life to others as you speak My truth. Simply obey Me, and do not deny Me, and I will acknowledge you before the Father and His angels, and honor you before men by confirming My word concerning you.

May you call to, and wait on, the Lord to contend with those who contend with you, and to fight with those who fight against you, that He may come to your aid against those who pursue you, and be your salvation. Psalm 35

May your hands remain occupied with the tasks God has given you, trusting to His shield and buckler to cover you, and His spear and javelin to defend you, that you may focus on His will and not be distracted from His work. Psalm 35

May the spiritual powers who plot your ruin be turned back in dismay, and the people influenced by them to attack your reputation be disgraced and put to shame, that they may turn from their old masters and seek the redemption of the One you serve. Psalm 35

May you rejoice in the Lord from the bottom of your heart for the One Who has no equal in all heaven and earth shall rescue you. Psalm 35

May you cry to the Lord in your need when the spiritual enemies of your soul seek to ensnare you, through the carnal nature we all struggle against, by digging a pit to trap you without cause, for the Angel of the Lord will drive them away like vain and worthless chaff, pursuing them on the dark and slippery path they intended for you; then your soul can rejoice in the Lord and your whole being will delight in His salvation, for who is like the Lord, rescuing the weak from those stronger and the needy from the spoilers. Psalm 35

May you humble yourself in prayer before the Lord when the people who spitefully use you are in trouble and need God's help, fulfilling God's command and showing God's love to all, that they may be drawn to God the Father through Jesus the Son. Psalm 35

May you receive God's wisdom, through which your days will be many and your life will gain years, making the hours of your day more profitable and the years of your life more fruitful. Proverbs 9:11-12

#daily #blessings #prayers #scripture