#gotta learn how to draw these fools again sob

[scruffiandraws]

Poot

[therainbowwillow]

Alright, it’s been a hot second since I’ve written fan fiction (ahem, posted fan fiction), but I feel like my inhibitions have been adequately washed away by my extreme degree of not giving a fuck, and thus, here we are.

Hadestown AU With Crossovers to Other Myths Where Orpheus’s Terms Are That He Can’t Sing part 1/??? (It’s me, so just start typing numbers and that’s how long it’ll be.)

Orpheus’ song reverberates against the walls of Hades’ underworld. A girl emerges from the shadows, dressed in the same simple clothes as her fellow workers. She hears his voice, strained with passion. And as he sings, her memories flood back: the cold, cold winter. The ticket. Her signature. Then she remembers life, before all had felt so hopeless: flowers. Love. Finally, his name. “Orpheus!” She calls to her lover. Her would-be husband.

His song trails off. “Eurydice?” He glances around the cavern, desperately looking for his lost lover.

“Keep singing, boy.” Orpheus starts at the sound of Hades’ booming voice. “You promised a song, now give it to me.”

Eurydice sees his legs shaking, how wide his eyes are, how nervous and exhausted he looks. “I thought I heard....” he mumbles.

“I will not have your excuses, poet. Sing.”

Orpheus nods and draws his fingers across his lyre once more. Even among the horrors of Hadestown, he finds himself lost in his music. He shuts his eyes as he sings. Flowers bloom. Flowers. Hades nor Persephone could remember such a sight in the underworld, not since they’d resided in its dark walls. Persephone reaches down and brushes her divine fingers against their petals, as if to determine whether or not she’s imagining them. This mortal boy’s song, so beautiful that springtime had arrived in the underworld.

Eurydice stands, frozen in place by the music. The amnesia-inducing haze of the Lethe is lifted and the wails of shades ring the halls. Memories return to those who had forgotten their mortal lives. Lovers fall into each other’s embraces. Parents find their children.

Eurydice is fixed upon Orpheus. His song is louder than any cry. Not a single note is ever out of place. His voice never breaks. It crescendos perfectly, falls without flaw. Yet Eurydice knows that no man, not even the son of a god can keep up such perfection forever. She knows Orpheus better than anyone. She notices how gaunt he looks. The walk to Hadestown is long and hard. It had taken her a day by train, it must’ve taken a week or more to walk. She knew all he’d done was walk and sing. Orpheus wouldn’t spare a minute for anything but his song back home, he wouldn’t have done differently on his long trek to the underground. Had he eaten? Drank? Slept? Eurydice wonders.

Persephone, too, recognizes Orpheus is unwell. He’s trembling as he sings and all she can hope is that her husband doesn’t see his weakness. She takes Hades’ hand and hums along the melody. He faces her, smiling as she hadn’t seen him smile for years and years. He stands and she fears for a moment that he sees Orpheus’ desperation, so plainly written on the boy’s face. But he holds her hands in his and he sways, a slow, silent dance. At first, she doesn’t look at him, her gaze frozen upon Orpheus. The song goes on, the dance goes on, and she finally indulges herself. She’s pressed up against her husband as they hadn’t been in longer than she could remember.

Eurydice is the first to react when Orpheus begins to sway on his feet. She rushes to his side, going unnoticed by the king of the underworld, still caught up in his dance. He looks worse up close. His eyes are puffy from lack of sleep and he weighs nothing when his voice breaks and he groans, slipping into Eurydice’s arms. “Orpheus! Orpheus, you gotta stay awake,” she begs, glancing at Hades, holding his wife in a tight embrace as if nothing had changed.

He blinks wearily. “Eurydice?”

“It’s me,” she whispers. “Keep singing,” she urges him.

“W-what?” He’s hard to understand, his speech slurred by exhaustion.

“Your song, love. Sing your song.”

He leans against her. “Now? Eurydice, I’m tired.”

She hears Hades’ movement and bites her lip, determining what could convince him to keep going. “You wanna marry me, Orpheus?”

A tiny smile crosses his lips. “Yes,” he whispers.

“Sing the song.”

“Hold on to me. Please,” he implores.

“I’ve got you.” She brushes the hair out of his eyes. “Now sing.”

And he does. Eurydice watches Persephone pull her husband into her arms once more. “Keep going,” the queen of the underworld mouths.

Orpheus’ song fills the room again, quieter this time, and not quite so filled with life. Hades frees himself from his wife’s arms and sits upon his steel throne. “Where did you get that melody, boy?” He asks.

Orpheus stops singing. “I dunno.”

“Mortal poets don’t just find songs like that. Where’d you learn it?”

“I wasn’t taught.” His voice is little more than a ragged whisper. “It... it came to me, I suppose.”

“How-“

Persephone cuts him off. “Hades, the boy is half-starved. Look at him, husband. Mortals don’t last long down here. Hear the boy’s demands, husband.”

He sighs. “Yes, I see. So, poet, what do you ask of me? What do you ask of Hades, king of the underworld?”

“J-just let us go, sir.” He lifts his head. “Please.”

Hades smiles. “No one leaves the underworld.”

“I came all this way!” he cries.

“Fool!” Hades shouts. The underworld falls silent. No shade dares to cross the king of Hadestown himself. “You knew this would fail and yet you came anyway. You want to leave, you insolent idiot, then leave. Your lover with you.”

Orpheus wipes the tears from his eyes. “T-thank you,” he stammers.

“Not so fast. You leave on my terms. You will not lay eyes upon Eurydice until you reach the surface or she will be mine once more. You will not touch Eurydice or you will suffer the consequences. And your path will not be made easy. You will not sing.”

Orpheus immediately squeezes his eyes shut, so as not to look at his lover. But still, he leans against her to remain on his feet. For a second they stand together. Then Hades speaks once more.

“You forget our agreement already?” His voice is dangerous and cruel.

Orpheus yelps and collapses.

“You are not to touch her, boy. This is your consequence.”

He doesn’t move, remaining crumpled at Eurydice’s feet, gasping for breath. His knuckles go white as a new wave of pain racks his body. “Stop! Stop!” he pleads, “make it stop...”

“Hades!” Persephone grabs her husband’s wrist. “Listen to him.”

“Why should I? The boy gave me our song, I gave him my terms. He broke them, hardly a second after I gave them.” Orpheus shrieks again. Eurydice looks at him helplessly, writhing in pain at her feet.

“Let him go.” Her voice is firm. “He can’t stand on his own, he didn’t have a choice.”

He narrows his eyes. “This is not under your jurisdiction. I gave the boy what he asked. They can leave whenever they wish.”

“This is what you call justice?” she snaps.

“This is what I call control!”

Her brow furrows in disgust. “You aren’t the man I married.”

Orpheus sobs, holding his hands over his eyes. “Stop...” he moans. “Oh... please...”

Eurydice looks at the endless rows of the dead. “Help him!” she begs. No one moves. “Please! For all he gave you, this is what you return?”

“Hades, he cannot stand. He couldn’t make it out of here if he tried. This is cruel. This is evil.” Persephone glares at him.

“Perhaps he should try. He isn’t chained up.”

“How can you say that? He came all this way, grieving and filled with despair, but still, he walked. His pain is not yours to manipulate, husband.”

“He is in my realm, he is mine.” Hades snatches his hand out of her grip.

Orpheus’ hands slips from his face. For a moment, Eurydice fears that he’s seen her. But he’s silent. His eyes are closed. His breaths are shallow; the dingy underworld air seems not enough to keep him breathing. “Please!” Eurydice cries out to the bystanders. “He lifted the charm of the Lethe, he gave you your memories! Help him!”

Finally, a man pushes his way through the crowd. He makes his way to Orpheus’ side. “I’m sorry. I would’ve come faster.”

Eurydice shakes her head. “Thank you. Thank you!”

“He’s still breathing,” the man informs her. He tears a strip of fabric from his uniform and ties it over Orpheus’ eyes. “Keep him blindfolded, don’t make him do more than he must. He’ll be alright, but he can’t stay here.”

“How am I meant to get him out?” she asks.

“I don’t-“

“Patroclus!” A man shouts from behind them.

He sighs. “Achilles.”

“I thought we were done making impulsive decisions.”

“The boy’s sick. I know medicine. Besides, she’s right. How much longer could we have fought the Lethe without that song?”

Achilles looks up to Hades’ throne. He kneels and forces Patroclus to do the same. “Apologies, my lord. We’ll not interfere further.”

Patroclus stands. “Do as you will. I’m not bending my knee. Lord Hades, the boy’s in love. We both know how it is. The underworld is yours, but Orpheus is not dead. He does not belong to you.”

“Patroclus!” Achilles grabs his wrist. “Don’t,” he hisses.

“I couldn’t remember your name this morning, in case you’ve forgotten. Now I ask that you let me help him. His song gave us hope.”

Achilles exhales. “Fine. Not alone, you won’t.”

Patroclus grins.

“Enough,” Hades booms. “This is not your matter for involvement, either of you. Leave him to his fate and perhaps you’ll escape with only double hours in the mines.”

Neither man seems affected by his threats. The world is silent for a moment.

“Hades!” Persephone snaps, “I’m done with you. Spring should’ve started a month ago. I’m leaving. I’m leaving with them. Perhaps your brother could teach you something. Seduce a pretty nymph. Love a mortal. Just... leave me be.”

“Wait. Persephone.”

“I’m done waiting. I’m done. If you want to see me again, release them from your damn terms.”

“Persephone. You will not leave.”

“Try me.” She stands and steps into the center of the cavern where Orpheus lays, still barely breathing. She kneels at his side and places a hand against his forehead.

Patroclus approaches her. “He’s feverish. Dehydrated. Beyond fatigued,” he says.

She nods. “The underworld will rip the life from his lungs. Let us go before it does.”

“Persephone!” Hades rises to his full height, looming over his kingdom.

“Their terms, Hades.”

He scowls. “I release them. They may see and touch each other. The furies, however, will not be so easily convinced.” Defeated, he sinks back into his chair. Then he rises. “But the boy will not sing, so long as he is in my realm. His lover made a deal. She was to be mine. He may have her, but he’ll lose something in return. His pretty little song.”

Persephone scowls. It’s not what she asked for, but it’ll have to do for now.

In an instant, Eurydice pulls her lover into her arms. “I’m here, I’m here. I’m so sorry, Orpheus,” she whispers in his ear.

Persephone takes his hand. “Wake up,” the goddess whispers, “Come on, baby, wake up.”

Orpheus gasps and his eyes flutter open. He throws his hands over his face to shield his view. “Eurydice...” he mumbles.

“I’m here. You can look at me. There’s no more terms. Look at me.” She pulls his hands away and he looks at her.

“I... ugh...” he groans, slumping against her.

“Shh, it’s alright. Don’t talk. We’re gonna get out of here. Together.”

He shuts his eyes again. “Mm hm.”

“Orpheus, it’s a long walk to Hadestown. You didn’t eat much on the way?”

He shakes his head. “I didn’t have anything to eat.”

“Orpheus...” her voice breaks. “Thank you.”

“I couldn’t stand living without you.”

“You won’t have to,” she tells him. “You never have to leave my side again. I promise.”

“We need to go,” Achilles says. “Now.”

Eurydice turns to face him. “He needs rest.”

“We’ll have worse than exhaustion to contend with.” There’s shuffling in the crowd. “Hades still has loyal workers.”

“Hades.” Persephone growls. “He’s right, Eurydice. This is a trap he’s laying. They’ll follow us.”

“Can he stand, Eurydice?” Patroclus asks.

She doubts it. He looks like a blade of grass could knock him over. “We’ll find out.” She says.

[grifalinas]

The Story of Snow White (or, the beginning of many adventures)

The first queen was beautiful. That was all that was ever said of her.

The king married her when she was young, won her hand over many other suitors by besting her father in a contest of wits, and she was sweet and gentle and kind and loved among the people of the kingdom, and she was beautiful, and nothing else was ever said of her.

A year of their marriage passed with no issue, and then two, and then five, and then ten: finally, in the thirteenth year of their marriage the queen brought a daughter into the world. The daughter was pale, and frail, and not expected to live past her first year, and when she survived- not just survived, but grew strong- whispers began that she was a fairy child, and the fairies would take her back in time.

The first queen died. Ah, but you already knew that, didn’t you? She couldn’t be the first queen if there were no second queen as well.

The king remarried, as widowers are wont to do, and his second queen was just as beautiful as his first, or perhaps moreso, or less so: beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and the beholder has the object permanence of a toddler with a shiny ring of keys and a stack of colorful blocks.

The king died. There is not much that can be said in that regard.

The new queen now ruled in his place, and would rule until her stepdaughter grew old enough to inherit the throne and take the crown, and perhaps she can be forgiven for growing bitter about this, or perhaps she cannot. Whatever her feelings, and however justified we consider them, this doesn’t change the fact that she chose a very murdery way to address them, which brings us to where our story really, truly begins.

-/-

It had been several days since Bryory had taken the girl and run. He’d lost count, honestly. How many days, exactly, had they tramped through these woods?

Bryory was fine. He knew how to survive in the woods, and knew not to hunt within the Wood; he foraged for their food instead, and was careful not to cut away a path for them, instead finding the natural trails that grew in a wood.

But Snow…

“Bryory, I am tired,” she said, coming to a halt and sinking down to perch delicately on a broad tree root. “It has been days. Where are we going? When will we stop?”

“I am very sorry, Princess.” Bryory knelt before her, taking his hand in his own in what he hoped was a reassuring way. “I wish it were not necessary, but when your stepmother the queen learns of my deception I don’t want to be anywhere that she can find us.”

Snow made a noise like a sob and hung her head. “Where can we go that she won’t find us?”

“I don’t know, Princess,” he admitted. He cupped her chin in his hands and brushed away the tears threatening to spill. “I’m sorry. I wish things were different.”

“My stepmother was going to try ridding herself of me eventually,” Snow murmured, hanging her head again. “As long as I’m around her rule has an expiration date.” She sighed, and finally stood. “We should go. It will be dark soon. We’ll need to find somewhere to shelter.”

“As you like, Princess.”

-/-

Another two days. Bryory was growing as weary as Snow; the Wood was feeling more and more like a labyrinth that he would never find his way through. How big was the Wood?

Bryory had seen a map of the world once, had seen the kingdoms that surrounded the Wood and shared its borders. The Wood on the map had not seemed that big at all, but it had been much bigger than the tiny kingdoms surrounding it. He might easily never find the other side. Might easily grow lost.

It was growing dark around them. Bryory stopped where he stood- this was as good a place to stop for the night as anywhere. He shed his cloak and lay it on the ground at the base of a tree so Snow could have a place to sleep that was at least not directly on the ground. He didn’t mind sleeping on the ground, but Snow was…

Well, she was a princess. She did not have the constitution that Bryory did.

While Snow slept, Bryory kept watch, dozing but not quite sleeping against the tree they’d chosen as their camp. He needed to do something soon to break this cycle; Snow was too worn out to go much farther, and he did not feel entirely safe within the Wood to make a longer term camp for them to rest. Who knew what dangers waited in the Wood? Just because they’d been safe so far…

As his thoughts threatened to carry him into deeper sleep, he was jarred awake entirely by a light moving past them. He sat up straighter, looking for the source of the light, and decided immediately he must be dreaming, because what he saw was a hare: but not a hare as the ones he had hunted outside of the Wood. This hare had leaves and flowers trailing from its fur, and golden light in its ears.

It loped through the little camp, sniffing the air, sniffing the ground, sniffing Snow- Bryory’s hand went to his hatchet, but made no move to draw it. He wouldn’t unless the hare proved a threat to the girl.

The hare did not seem interested in more than just inspecting their camp, though, and after sniffing Snow a bit it moved on to Bryory.

This task done, it moved several feet away and then stood on its hind legs, staring straight at Bryory with eyes as black as the blackest night. Bryory found himself wondering if the stars he saw in the hare’s eyes were mere reflections of the sky above, or if the hare carried the night sky in its gaze.

After a long staring contest, the hare moved a few feet away and repeated the previous motion: standing on its hind legs, staring at Bryory blankly.

He pulled himself to his feet without argument. If the Wood wanted to show him something- he moved after the hare, glancing at Snow behind him as he went. Hopefully this wasn’t a will-o-the-whisp, luring him away for wicked purposes.

-/-

Bryory followed the hare for a time that seemed to stretch into infinity- his going was slow, careful, picking is way across a ground lit by some faint light left by the hare. It stayed ever ahead of him, bounding forward to the edge of his vision before standing and watching him, waiting for him to catch up before bounding ahead again. It repeated this for… how long could it possibly be? Bryory began to feel that this was to be his life now, following this hare forever, and just as he began to think of going back, that perhaps this was a trick, he saw where the hare was leading him.

The Wood was not cultivated land; while Bryory was aware that sometimes people made their homes within its borders, no kingdom had ever managed to take hold in the same way.

So it was very strange to find a castle, even a small, derelict castle, nestled in the middle of a lake, here within the boundaries of the Wood.

But the hare was sitting on the bridge that led to it. Bryory wondered what a fool he was being, and followed.

-/-

When Snow woke that morning, Bryory was gone. She had just enough time to register this, to try to quell the panic rising in her, before he returned. She let out a long, slow breath.

“My apologies, princess,” he said. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“I thought you’d abandoned me.”

“Never!” He knelt before her, a hand over his heart. “Princess, I have pledged myself your guardian, from here until you dismiss me. I will not abandon you.”

“All right…”

Rather than answer, he held out a hand to her. “Come, Princess. I’ve found us a place to shelter long-term. We’ll be safe there while we decide what we’re going to do next.”

Snow’s feet were aching. She climbed to them anyway, and followed Bryory into the Wood.

Again.

-/-

They reached the castle around noon, and Snow found herself wondering how long Bryory had been walking in the night to have found the castle and made it back to her. He must be exhausted, and as she looked closer at his movements she could see that he was. His steps were stumbling and uneasy, and his eyes hung heavy.

Her expression fell at the sight. He had been pushing so hard to take care of her these past days, and was still pushing himself still harder. As exhausted as she was, she knew he needed sleep more.

“The castle is too derelict to be used in its entirety, but we can clear out one or two rooms for our use while we-” 

He broke off, swaying in place. Snow was at his side in a moment, holding him steady while she guided his steps over to a comfortable looking spot in the overgrown courtyard.

“You’re dead on your feet,” she said. “You’ve found us a place, now rest.”

“Gotta find food,” he mumbled, but already he was nodding. Snow lay her hand on his cheek.

“You rest. Food can wait.”

“As you like, Princess,” he said, and then consciousness had left him entirely.

-/-

At first, Snow was content to merely explore the most immediately accessible parts of the castle. It was not as derelict as it had seemed at first glance: more overgrown than collapsing. Snow tried to pull away some of the vines that blocked the doors leading off of the courtyard and into the castle, but they held firm and cut into her hands, and she was forced to stop.

Without that to occupy her, she came over to sit before Bryory, watching over the slow rise and fall of his chest as he slept, just as he had watched over her throughout their long trek from their kingdom to here.

Though she didn’t know what she would do if anything tried to harm them while he slept. What good would she be?

What good was she at all for that matter? A delicate princess, kept from any strain throughout her life- she’d always thought herself hardy, but even the first day in the Wood had tested her limits.

She was of no use to anyone, least of all Bryory, she knew. 

Well, there was something she could do. She knew how to gather berries as well as anyone, she supposed, and she knew that they grew well on a lakeside. She could gather food for them, could have it waiting for Bryory when he woke.

She could be useful.

A quick rummage around the courtyard turned up a well, near the door she imagined must lead down to the kitchens. Like everything else, the well was overgrown, and the handle would not turn, but after enough heaving and hoisting, after rubbing her hands raw and raw again on the rope, she was able to pull the pail loose. The rope, good fortune, was brittle enough from time that she was easily able to saw through it with a knife stolen from Bryory’s belt, and now she had a pail. She could collect some berries, and when Bryory woke he would see that she could Do, and he would be able to rest instead of carrying both of their burdens himself.

The knife she attached to her own belt. She was no fool.

-/-

Snow had not spent a great deal of her life cultivating Useful skills, but she had been foraging with other children same as anyone. She knew how to pick berries, and Bryory had told her how to identify a few edible plants over the past few days. And if she stayed near the lakeshore, she wouldn’t have to worry about getting lost.

Unfortunately, Snow struggled to find anything edible beside the lakeshore. After stumbling along for- well, awhile; she had no idea how long, but the sun moved across the sky as she did, so it must be awhile- after stumbling along for awhile, she stopped short at the sight of a fox standing on the bank.

She froze. Even from over here, she could see that the fox was not like any fox that should exist. Moss grew from its gray fur and white light shone from its ears, and in its eyes Snow saw the heights of the heavens above.

While she watched, the fox moved closer, then darted into the wood. She thought it had tried to escape, but it appeared again a second or so later, watching her expectantly.

So she followed it. Where the fox put its paws, mushrooms sprouted, creating a path for Snow to pick her way along, and in seeming no time at all, she found the fox had vanished, and the path it laid for her stopped under an apple tree.

Apples! How glorious! They were pinky-yellow, perfectly ripe, and the tree was so laden with them that the branches hung down to within her reach easily. Snow plucked one and bit into it immediately, nearly weeping with joy at the sweet juice that dribbled free. When she’d finished that one, she ate a second, and then began filling her pail with apples. Bryory would be so proud of her!

Once Snow had plucked enough apples that the pail began to feel heavy, she stopped, but the pail was only halfway filled, and she wanted to take home enough that Bryory would not have to seek food at all today and perhaps tomorrow.

It seemed fortune smiled on Snow, or rather the forest: at the base of the apple tree grew several green plants that Bryory had assured her were safe to eat, and an inspection of the mushrooms left by the fox proved them to be safe as well, at least as well as Snow could tell.

Snow could have wept at the realization, and hurried to gather the mushrooms from the ground as she followed them back to the lake, always taking care to leave behind one from each cluster so that she could lead Bryory back to this place later.

-/-

Bryory was still asleep when Snow returned to the castle, so, still wishing to be Useful, she laid the apples, the greens, and the mushrooms out very carefully before taking her pail out to the lake and filling it with water.

As she was filling the pail, though, a large frog swam into the bucket.

“Oh dear,” Snow said, because she didn’t like frogs very much, and rummaged around for a stick so she could prod the frog out of the bucket without having to actually come near it to dump it out.

As soon as she laid hands on a stick, though, the frog spoke to her.

“You don’t want to go drinking water from this part of the lake,” he said, and he said it so politely that Snow briefly forgot that she didn’t really like frogs very much.

“Why not?”

“The water here is partially trapped, and is very still and gentle. My people bear our young in this part of the lake, as do many bugs. If you take the water from here, you could end up drinking our young without realizing.”

“Oh! I didn’t know.”

Snow didn’t want to go drinking anyone’s young, so she carefully tipped the bucket back into the pool, once the frog got out of it of course. He was very polite, but she still didn’t want to go touching him.

“If you follow me, I’ll show you where to gather water from.” 

And with that the frog hopped away, across the bridge and into the forest. Without a thought Snow grabbed up her pail and hurried after him.

-/-

In the castle, Bryory woke to find himself alone. At first he thought perhaps Snow had gone to explore the castle, but when he called for her and got no answer, panic rose inside of him. Had she been taken? Had harm fallen to her while he slept, unable to protect her?

And then he saw the food she had lain out, and stopped short.

Had she… gone to forage for food while he slept?

The panic inside of him stilled, but not by much, because she was still on her own in the Enchanted Wood, far away from his ability to protect her. So he took up his axe and left the castle-

-and as he passed through the door he saw Snow returning, carrying a pail of water that she was clearly struggling to hold, a frog perched on her shoulder.

Reader, he nearly wept.

And then he hurried to her side and retrieved the pail before she could drop it.

“Bryory!” she exclaimed when she saw him. “Did you sleep well? Are you feeling more rested? I brought us some food, and I found a spring of very clear water- well, Sir Frog showed me where it was, I didn’t really find it, but I brought the water back on my own, and I can show you where it is-”

She looked so proud of herself! Bryory gave her a weak smile.

“Thank you,” he said. “You did very well.”

The praise lit her like a beacon, and he rested his free hand around her shoulder to return to the castle.

“I’m going to be Useful,” she said determinedly. “I am going to learn to work with my hands, and to carry water and gather food and guide my own feet through the Wood, so I won’t be a burden on you any longer.”

“A burden? Oh, princess, it is no burden to care for you.”

She just hummed quietly and leaned into his side.

“As you like, Bryory.”

-/-

[besanii]

Hadestown wangxian au? Because really, what's more romantic than taking your stringed instrument and going to rescue your maybe(?)dead lover from the stygian underworld??? Also, double bonus points 'cause 1) gotta rescue wwx from a realm guarded by a three-headed dog! 2) eurydice's name means "she whose justice extends widely" iirc, which is a pretty wwx vibe.

Hi nonny! Not familiar with Hadestown, but I do know the original myth, so if you don’t mind I’m going to base it loosely on that (and add a bit of Chinese mythology to it too) :) 

The Gusu Lan sect cultivates through music, channeling their spiritual energy through their instruments to resonate with their surroundings. Through this, they can direct the energy outwards to manipulate the world around them, or direct it inward to a person’s soul, to soothe or to harm.

They can also communicate with the dead.

Lan Wangji has played Inquiry thousands of times. It is the first language one learns when cultivating through music and the most widely used. There are ways to pinpoint certain spirits to ask a question, ways to hold them there until they respond, ways to force them to answer, ways to prevent them from lying. The effectiveness of the language depends on one’s skill. And Lan Wangji is a master.

And yet Wei Wuxian does not answer.

He plays Inquiry until his fingers bleed, until the calluses on his fingers crack and tear under the silk strings. He pours all of his spiritual power into each note, calling for Wei Ying, Wei Ying, Wei Ying—and when that yields no results, he plays the question: Where is Wei Ying?

He draws spirits from far and wide, each clamouring for his attention, offering up stories and rumours and hearsay: Yiling-laozu is wandering the Burial Mounds, the Nightless City, Lotus Pier, Yiling. He follows each one to every corner of the land and sends out the call.

Wei Wuxian does not answer.

–

Some say Wei Wuxian flew too close to the sun and burned for it.

Others say Wei Wuxian tried to play god with the lives of others and was punished.

They call him a monster, a heretic.

They say he deserved his end, torn apart by the very monsters he created until nothing of him remained but stories.

Good riddance.

He’ll be dragged into the depths of the Underworld and punished for all eternity for his sins.

No one will mourn him.

But they are wrong.

Wei Wuxian had been a boy who loved freely, who had been quick to smile and quick to anger, who had sought nothing more than justice and peace for those who couldn’t protect themselves. He had been clever, too clever, too quick-witted, full of new ideas and thirst for knowledge.

And Lan Wangji mourns.

–

One day, after years and years of searching, the spirits take pity on him.

There is a way, they tell him, to the Underworld.

If Wei Wuxian is dead, he will be there.

He doesn’t hesitate.

Where do I go?

The spirits flicker and dance across the strings.

We’ll show you.

-

In his travels, Lan Wangji has heard of the Underworld in many forms.

He hears stories of the Eighteen Levels, of Yanluo Wang and the gruesome tortures awaiting damned souls as punishment for their sins. Then there are stories of the Ten Courts through which dead souls pass, one at a time, until they are reincarnated back into the world of the living. There are other stories, of rivers made of the souls of the dead, of ferocious beasts and ghostly guards, and of jealous gods.

“Wangji, this is madness,” Lan Qiren says angrily, when he tells them of his plan. “I forbid it.”

“This is very dangerous,” Lan Xichen agrees. “Please reconsider, Wangji.”

There is understanding in his eyes, a sad resignation that sends a sharp knife through Lan Wangji’s heart. They love him and fear for him and believe his judgement to be clouded by blind devotion. But they do not know Wei Wuxian like he does. They do not understand how his entire being, his very soul calls out to Wei Wuxian—to that beautiful boy bathed in moonlight on the rooftops of the Cloud Recesses he’d failed to save.

So he leaves, Bichen in hand, Wangji strapped across his back, following the spirits down into the chasm between the world of the living and the beyond.

-

They take him to the river, where a ghostly figure shrouded in black waits at the shore. One of the spirits hovers by his shoulder, whispering in his ear.

That is the Ferryman. He will take you across if you pay him.

He produces a silver coin and the Ferryman takes it; when their hands brush, a bone-deep chill runs up the length of Lan Wangji’s arm. He is careful not to come into contact with him again as he moves past him onto the boat. The spirits hover by the river bank.

We cannot come with you, they say. We cannot pay the fare. You must go alone.

“Thank you,” he says, and means it.

They dance about like fireflies in the darkness, glowing brighter and warmer than before as he bows to them.

Please take care of him.

Please take care of Wei-gongzi.

Tell him thank you. For everything.

And sorry, for not being able to help.

Lan Wangji bows again, deeper this time, his heart heavy.

“I will do my best to bring him home,” he says.

-

A three-headed dog snaps and snarls at them as they pass through the Gates. The Ferryman does not acknowledge it, even as they get close enough that its putrid breath makes Lan Wangji’s stomach turn. His fingers clench about Bichen when the Hound’s beady eyes find him, the lone living soul shining warm and bright in the darkness. It roars; the sound churns the river and rattles Lan Wangji to the bone.

He glances at the Ferryman, who continues along, unfazed. 

The Hound is a guard. It is only doing its duty.

He sets aside Bichen and instead unwraps Wangji, laying it across his lap on the boat. The first note of Rest rings out through the darkness; the Hound goes quiet, its barks subsiding into heavy breaths as Lan Wangji continues to play. The song settles over them like a heavy blanket and he pours his spiritual energy into each note until the Hound’s eyes drift closed.

The Ferryman takes them onwards.

-

The passage of time slowly starts losing its meaning the further they travel. The Ferryman continues silently, steadily, a timeless, ghostly spectre.

Lan Wangji realises the waters around them are not empty, as he had first believed, when slimy hands start grasping at the edges of the boat, rocking it back and forth as if to dislodge its cargo. He catches a glimpse of pale, translucent faces floating just beneath the surface, twisted in agony, anger, fear.

He keeps playing feverishly to ward away the chill of death creeping over his skin and the fear clawing up from inside his throat. He plays until his fingers crack and bleed, new wounds spilling over old, staining silk strings and dark lacquer. He pours everything he has into playing Rest, to soothe the anger and resentment that chokes the river.

He doesn’t dare play Inquiry.

-

By the time they reach the shore, his fingers are curled in on themselves, his joints stiff and aching and covered in blood. His lips are dry and cracked from dehydration, his tongue like sand, and each breath crackles in his lungs like tongues of fire.

The Ferryman makes no move to help as he forces himself to stand, every part of his body screaming in protest. He draws upon years and years of discipline to keep himself upright, to move one foot in front of the other until he feels solid rock beneath his feet. Only then does he crumble.

He lays on the cold, rocky shore, Bichen by his side, Wangji just within reach, as he watches the Ferryman glide away. Darkness clouds his vision in flickering patches. He is so tired.

Lan Zhan? Lan Zhan! Where are you?

He reaches for Wangji.

Wei Ying. I’m here.

He closes his eyes.

-

Fingers card through his hair, teasing out knots and soothing the ache away with gentle motions. He is dimly aware that his head is pillowed on something soft; the soul-crushing weariness is gone, replaced instead by a tingling warmth that rushes through his veins and fills his lungs. The air is filled with the scent of flowers.

“You shouldn’t be here,” a familiar voice says. “You shouldn’t have come.”

His heart leaps into his throat. He knows this voice. 

A rush of longing so intense floods his senses, burning behind his closed eyelids, trickling down his throat, twisting and churning in his stomach. He gasps, chokes on the sob that wrenches from his throat and his fingers scrabble at the ground, trying to push himself into a sitting position, to see—

A hand covers his eyes and holds him in place.

“Don’t.” He lays back down. “You mustn’t open your eyes.”

“Wei Ying,” he says, his voice hoarse and raspy from disuse. “Is that you?”

Wei Wuxian chuckles. “Yes, it’s me Lan Zhan. You stupid, stubborn fool.”

Lan Wangji raises his hand, grasping blindly at the air until another hand intercepts it. He clutches it like a lifeline, running his thumb over each knuckle, each finger, over the familiar calluses honed by years of training; he presses it to his mouth reverently. 

“Wei Ying.” His name falls like a litany from his lips. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop. “Wei Ying. Wei Ying. Wei Ying.”

“I’m here,” Wei Wuxian assures him. A thumb brushes over his cheek. “I’m here, Lan Zhan.”

“I lost you,” Lan Wangji says. The words are thick in his throat. “I couldn’t…couldn’t protect you. And then you were gone.”

“I know.” 

“I looked everywhere for you.”

“I know.”

“You never answered.”

“I couldn’t.” Wei Wuxian exhales shakily. “I’m sorry.”

Lan Wangji clutches at his arm. 

“Come back,” he says, pleading. “Come back with me. Please.”

How many times has he asked, when Wei Wuxian was still alive? How many times has he made this plea in his heart, when Wei Wuxian was gone? He’s lost count over the years. And each time, even in his dreams, he is rebuffed; each time, he wakes up alone. He doesn’t know if he’ll survive another.

“You’re one persistent fool,” Wei Wuxian says. His laughter sounds like a sob. “How can I say no to you now, when you’ve come all this way?”

-

“There are rules,” Wei Wuxian explains as he helps Lan Wangji to his feet. “Conditions.”

He must not touch Wei Wuxian.

He must not speak to him.

He must not look back.

“What happens if I do?” he asks, staring determinedly at the approaching Ferryman. 

Wei Wuxian chuckles, but there is little humour in his voice.

“Just don’t do it,” he says. “You’re good at obeying the rules. No touching, no talking, no looking. Not until we’ve both reached the surface.”

Lan Wangji smiles despite himself.

-

It’s harder than he’d expected.

Not the journey, not this time. The knowledge that Wei Wuxian is sitting behind him in the boat, just out of reach, is enough to lift his spirits. But in turn, the temptation to turn around, to talk, to touch him, just to make sure he’s still there, is a visceral ache he feels in his soul. 

What if, somewhere along the way, he loses him again?

What if the gods decide they’d made a mistake and take him away again?

What if this was a lie, to get him to return to the world of the living? 

He clenches his fist, twists it in the fabric of his robes, closes his eyes. He is one of the Twin Jades of Gusu Lan, renowned for his discipline, his determination, his unwavering faith. And he has nothing if not complete faith in Wei Wuxian.

So he sits, and waits.

-

The spirits meet him on the other side of the river, fluttering about with excitement when they realise who is behind him.

He motions for them to be silent as he leaves the boat, but his heart is pounding in his chest. They are close. He starts walking.

After a while, he realises the only footsteps he hears are his own.

The thought strikes fear into his heart like a bolt of lightning and he has to stop and breathe. The spirits around clamour around him, their movements jerky and anxious as they flit back and forth. He grits his teeth, steels his heart, and keeps walking.

He’s still here, he tells himself. He’s still here. He’ll still be here.

Just a little longer.

He sees a light up ahead and relief floods through him.

Just a little longer.

He picks up his pace until it matches his heartbeat, until he’s almost flying.

The light grows brighter, hotter. It pierces his eyes as he steps over the threshold and into the sun. 

They’ve made it.

He turns around, Wei Wuxian’s name on his lips, one hand already reaching out to grab him—

Wei Wuxian gives him a watery smile from the mouth of the cave—

—and fades from sight.

-

In a little village on the outskirts of Gusu, a boy by the name of Mo Xuanyu wakes up in a pool of blood.

// buy me a ko-fi //

[norafike]

Despite all this, I still love you 18

Before we start I would like to thank my dear friend @bucketofcowboys for Beta reading this for me. They are an absolute delight and amazing friend so be sure to give them a follow as they deserve that and so, so much more.

Thank you for your help, darling. I appreciated it so much!

Nightfall.

It was the time she felt the most unsafe. Vulnerable. The restricted areas could provide ample opportunity for attackers to strike unannounced, the fear heightened with her uncertainty of what was lurking in the shadows.

Nighttime, when everything was asleep and she lay there with eyes opened wide, meant that her greatest fears could haunt her and she could not prevent them.

She lay there, chewing her lip as her cot began to burn in a blazing inferno surrounding her. Nora tried countless times to get up and run while the fire engulfed her tent and everything she ever owned but she was powerless against the force pinning her down, keeping her pinned against the bed.

“Help.” She wanted to cry, but her mouth failed and her voice never came out; not even in hushed whispers.

She lay helpless while the fire kept getting higher.

She lay afraid.

...

She learned her dreams slowly were becoming more life-like. Although they had been before she was able to quickly decipher what was real and what wasn't. However, that dream from the night before was more real than she could have ever imagined. And when she did finally wake it was as if a weight had been lifted from her chest and she had to draw in a few deep breaths to get a grip back on her breathing. She had to calm herself before she broke out into hysterics again and woke her whole camp.

Lem was a light sleeper and always had been since his time in jail, so when he heard the startled gasp and the heavy breathing his sleep abandoned him. There were more important things other than what he needed, and Nora wouldn't sleep for another couple days if she had been left alone to deal with her troubles.

He rose from the bedroll that James provided, grateful to be free from the damp earth. Some days he wished for a warm spot to lay but being unliked by two of the most important figures in the gang meant that he was lucky to not be sleeping with a pile of dog shit under his pillow.

She picked up on the movements immediately and inhaled sharply to shush herself, she didn't know who or what could be lurking out there and frankly, she didn't want to find out.

“Nora.” But she got her answer when her name had been called.

“I'm fine.” Her voice cracked when she spoke, a clear sign that she had been crying.

“You don't sound i-it.”

Gently she let out a sigh before walking over to the tent flaps and pulling them open. Met with only darkness and no Lem, she looked around but failed in finding him, and so she thought that their entire conversation had been made up. Was her nightmare still happening and now attacking her while at her most vulnerable? Using her friends against her?

She sobbed quietly into her palm, overwhelmed, and fell backwards on the boards of her tent. She yelped in pain when she made contact with the wood and hissed through gritted teeth, but not a stir was made in camp at the noise made. Surely it should have woken somebody, but it was dead quiet.

“Lem.” She whisper-shouted. Unsure on why she expected anything to call back and answer, but she was disappointed when the silence met.

Using her cot for support she gripped hold of the blankets and cushions to pull her up; hissing in pain at the burn through her bad arm. It felt as though the flesh had torn open again with her movement and she collapsed back to the floor with the lack of support she provided when her arm recoiled.

The pain felt too real and then she realised that this was far from a dream. Yet nobody how much noise she made her campmates seemed undisturbed and sound asleep, unaware.

Eventually, she managed to pull herself up and once standing she brought her hand to poke at the wound to assess what damage she had caused. H and her worries were confirmed when she pulled her fingers away to see the trickle of red run down them.

“There goes restin' it.”

She pulled the tent flaps open and entered the cool night air, a chill swept over her once she had done so and the rain began to fall over again.

She left the dry area her tent provided and clung onto what little warmth she could get in the thin layer of clothing she wore. Shivering as she walked over to the campfire she figured that sitting there would be a lot better than secluded in her own small space, despite the rain she felt a lot better as though a curse was lifted from inside.

She heard the rustle from behind and turned to see Lemuel twisting in his sleep, clearly disturbed from the water that washed over. At least her brother's were kind enough to provide him with a bedroll to sleep on but clearly weren't happy with giving him any sort of shelter to protect from the harsher weather. She wondered how Lem of all people could sleep right now, especially given that in the past the rustle of leaves would be enough to wake him.

She hated to see him whimper against the cold and slowly she walked until she stood over his sleeping body.

She crouched down to his height and placed her hand gently upon his shoulder and it was as though a spell was lifted because even though the rain didn't wake him before her soft touch did. His eyes widened and he pushed away from Nora at first, not recognising her but when his eyes adjusted he quickly learned that it was her and he was in no danger.

“Are you alright?” She whispered.

Lem looked up before pulling her down onto the mud with him; holding tightly as he slowly began to sob into her shoulder.

She let him and even squeezed him a little tighter for comfort and he seemed to appreciate the affection. “What happened?” She whispered into his ear but was met with silence, save for his crying.

Her hand would gently rub up and down his arm and he slowly calmed until his tears stopped. Lem pulled away and ran the heel of his hand under his eyes to wipe away what remained before looking at her a little embarrassed, shown by his awkward smile. “Sorry.” He felt obligated to say.

“It's fine. No shame in crying.”

“I don't know- I remember havin' a nightmare... it a-ain't important though.”

“Sure it is, if you're willing to share I'm here to listen.” Her hands fit nicely in his and he couldn't help but smile at the kindness she provided. His hands found their way to cup her cheek and she leaned into the touch, but the moment didn't last long when the babbling idiot emerged from his den.

“What the hell!” Harry shouted when he saw his sister with Lem and she sighed the minute her gaze wandered over to greet him.

“Hello, Harold.” She slowly stood and then the pain in her arm surged through her again, this awful feeling shooting all up her arm and igniting. She didn't want to cause unnecessary alarm and bit down on her tongue to disguise the hiss but Lem noticed the tears brimming in her eyes, and he was no fool to see the blood staining her clothes. “Why don't you go back to bed and mind your business, it's late.”

He stood with his mouth agape before forcing a nod and retreating to his bed.

“What happened to your arm?”

“I must've opened it up trying to stand. Ain't nothin' though.”

Lem shook his head and followed her back into her tent, grateful to be out of the rain but the cold was just the same and his wet clothes didn't shift his temperature either, it felt as though it made matters worse. “It's somethin', mind if I have look?”

“Go ahead.” She lit a lantern on an old desk. He gently pulled her nightgown down her shoulder, enough to expose the cut and remove the cloth that Grimshaw had wrapped around it. The blood caused it to stick to the flesh and as he pulled it away he was the one to hiss in retaliation to seeing it, a noise that did not reassure Nora in the slightest.

“What a lovely thing to hear.” Her response was sarcastic and Lem chuckled lowly as he told her to sit back down on the cot. She listened and when done so he left the tent to later return with what was needed to clean it.

He worked gently but quickly as he knew the pain she felt from such a vital task but that didn't stop the guilt building inside at the discomfort he caused.

“We don't h-have any dressing's, do we?”

Nora shook her head and gasped when he poked the cut with his finger.

“Should do.”

Lem pulled away and smiled at the female before placing what supplies he brought on the table near. She looked on, this mischievous twinkle in her eye but quickly tore her attention away when she remembered their muddy clothes from the rain they had caught themselves in before.

“Thank you.”

...

“He's still not jealous is he?” Nora looked up from the glass and Maggie nodded slowly. “It's been five months and he still hates that your attention isn't on him. He's twenty-eight and can't handle his aunt having a bit of company around.”

“Lem, well…”

“I was bein' harsh, sorry.”

Maggie poured Nora another glass, their celebration still ongoing. Marcel's humming was far from quiet and women heard it very clearly from where they sat, a whole floor above him.

“Nothin' to apologise over.” Maggie tapped at the table with her fingers, dust rising from the surface with her drumming to fill the void of silence. “Lem's jealous, but he sure talks fondly of you often.”

“Really?” Nora looked surprised, eliciting a sort of laugh from the elder.

“Oh yes, it's amusing to listen to half the time.”

“You gotta tell me what he's said.”

“I promised not too. And most of it, I don't want to. But he likes your company. Hell, you should have seen the pout when I told him he had an errand today.”

“He's sweet, Lem is. Saw him in Valentine a few days ago and never have I seen someone so quick to hide a blush.”

“What can I say? He likes you.”

...

Lem had practically been sulking most of the morning after he slept, and the negative mood only irritated Nora's brothers more than the usual. Harry made it apparent, he always made his distrust and general hate of Lemuel Fike apparent, but at least James was more on the neutral side. Sure he would participate in the bullying but more often than not James would also take Nora's side if he felt the teasing went too far.

James eventually did stop the laughing and sat opposite Lem at the table, his stew in hand as he greeted the male fondly and for a moment this sudden shift in attitude concerned Lem; expected a cruel prank to be played on him at any moment.

“Hello, Fike.”

“Morgan.”

James reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled a small coin purse out, flicking his wrist and letting it go to throw it at him. It landed with a rattle against the table. “What's this for?”

“Your take.”

He arched an eyebrow and quickly looked up, unsure on what James could mean, and slowly leaned forward to push the money back. “I fail to see what you mean.”

“From bounties, dipshit. When we do one we divide the money equally amongst us, since we don't have a box for donations and the like.”

“But I didn't earn this money; I can't keep it.”

“Neither does Cripps, but he's more than eager to take it from our hands and spend it on shit beer.”

“He's b-been like that for a l-long time.”

James' eyes narrowed slightly before the man pushed back over what little money collected and this time it was taken with no questions asked. “Nora told y-you to give i-it me, didn't she?”

“Yep.” James replied and with that he took his leave, and went back to talking with his twin. Lem turned behind in time to see Nora look away as she had been caught staring, using her book as a perfect excuse despite the dark tint of red that dusted her cheeks.

He approached her with that same grin he used so often and she knew he was walking over to her. Not only could she feel his stare but she could also hear the sounds of his boots against the mud while he walked. “Why'd you get him to give me money?”

“Don't know what you talkin' about.” She turned the page on her book and read it far too quickly than expected, a giveaway that she wasn't actually reading it.

“But you do, J-James also told me.”

Nora shook her head slowly and closed her book shut, the noise loud enough to startle Lem who hoped that she didn't notice the slight jump of his. But Nora was observant when she shouldn't be and laughed when she saw. “I'm afraid, I don't.”

She gave him a little wink and left the area of her tent to care for the many horses the gang owned; giving them a well-needed brush after the weather and ground of the heartlands caused their coats to gather dust. “Lovely girl, ain't you.”

His words went unnoticed and she resumed her grooming of the horses.

...

“Your aunt says you talk of me often.” Her voice was carried in a teasing manner and Lem caught himself flustered at the confrontation.

“You're real nice, c-can you blame me?” Nora only gave him a small smile, placing her hand on top of the boy's shoulder to give a gentle squeeze and his breath caught in his throat at the touch.

“I think you're sweet, too.” She leaned up and gently pressed a kiss to his cheek and his face heated up.

He didn't know what to say in response but a small “Thank you.” slipped out and he grew brighter from embarrassment that she seemed to enjoy, even giggling a little under her breath.

[joyfulsongbird]

4) angst time: Orpheus has a nightmare of having turned back 5) Persephone teaches the kids how to garden! 6) honestly I would read your story of these two go grocery shopping cause you’re that good🌸🌸🌸

we takin number 4, because it’s a staple in fanfic writing and i gotta do it. thanks, love 🌸!

***

He’s always been a heavy sleeper, ever since he was a little kid, he slept through thunderstorms, and since he always slept above the bar with Hermes, he could hear the dancing and pounding below him on late nights. He learned to sleep through it, to listen to the natural surroundings and help those lull him to sleep.

Now, his heavy sleeping is like a curse. It forces him to stay in these night terrors. These terrible dreams that trapped him in a dark tunnel all the way under the ground, walking endlessly towards a light he’ll never reach. Straining to listen for a voice, for a whisper, even just the echoing of footsteps that aren’t his. But there’s nothing, not a sign, he can’t hear her following him… maybe she’s not following him.

The thought hadn’t occurred to him up until that moment. She has to be following him right? They made promises. She told him before he let go of her hand and turned to face the darkness, that she was coming.

But Hades, what if he was holding her back? What if Eurydice was still in Hadestown and everyone laughed and scorned him as he left alone? He was to become martyr, that was it, wasn’t it? Hades wanted to make a fool of Orpheus so that there would never be another spark of hope in the darkness of Hadestown. Orpheus was the spark and Hades licked his thumb and was trying to extinguish him. And he would leave, and finally turn around in the daylight to find an empty space, empty darkness, where his lover should be. It must be a trick, it’s trap, that’s what it is.

He can’t sing his song anymore, his throat closes up so tightly that it feels as if there’s a knot where his Adam’s apple should be. His one protection, his song, can no longer be used. The darkness presses closer and there is nothing but his own thoughts to listen to.

Who am I?

Why would she follow me into the cold and darkness when she has warmth and work back there?

Why would he let her go?

Where is she?

Who am I against him?

Why would he let me win?

Is this trick?

It must be a trick.

Worries bubbled up, all the way up to the very top of his head and then-

Orpheus

She’s right there, before him, staring at him. There are no words to describe this look that she gives him, it morphs and changes in the few moments he gets a good look at her face. Shock, horror, sadness, forgiveness.

She’s gone before he can stutter out a thing to say in response to her whisper of his name. He can’t even say her name once more in her presence. Now, whenever he says her name, he will think of as an unfinished answer to a question never asked. That he never completed the last thing she asked of him to do.

He’s dropped to his knees, the world around him growing heavy, heavier with each growing second. He wants to follow her, wants to go back, at any cost. He doesn’t deserve a world that will forgive him, he deserves to be punished for a deed as terrible as this. He cursed her to a life of labor, of never ending smog and brick and walls. It should be him, it should be him, it should be him going back in her place.

All he can do, though, is the let world crash in on him. This is all he can do, is let the universe invert on him. Colors become gray, sun becomes dull, spring becomes winter. This is not what he was promised when he received his song, this is not what he hoped for when he dreamed of a world that was better. Is this better? If this is better then he doesn’t want-

“Orpheus.”

Her voice is back.

“Orpheus!”

It’s loud, striking, alive.

“ORPHEUS!”

He can’t breath, he can’t see, but he can hear. Her choked half sobs, half formed words are what drives him to open his eyes to the world. Convinced that the women he finds crying will be Eurydice down on her knees, going back to that place right in front of him. But instead, he finds the small women gripping a pillow in her lap, a few tears dripping from her chin but the sobs are mostly dry. He’s never really seen her angry cry like this, the kind of crying that is forced out of your body against your will. The one that comes after a high of emotion, any emotion.

“Why-?” he cuts himself off before he can finish the question, first taking in his surroundings.

They are home.

The pillow she grips is theirs.

The bed he lies on is the one they share.

“Why are you crying?” he finally ventures.

“Why am I crying?” she demands, throwing the pillow back at him. “Why are- what even- gods, Orpheus…”

she moves to sit closer to him, he draws away for a moment, confused. “What’s going on?”

she bites her bottom lip. Somewhere in her eyes, there is deep fear of some sort. A wariness lying there, dormant for now, but she’s not sure what to expect.

“You were… crying out in your sleep. And I woke up and you- you were… you sounded so broken and I didn’t know what to do-”

“hey,” he draws her closer, she settles to rest her head against his shoulder, taking a deep, chesty breath to calm herself. “everything’s okay.”

“don’t lie to me, Orpheus.” she spits out. “don’t say everything’s okay when everything’s obviously not okay. You have tears in your eyes too, you know. You’re trembling too, I can feel it, right here.” she places a hand on his bare chest, over his heart. Where his chest is ablaze, like he’s just run ten miles. “And your heartbeat… please, love, tell me what’s wrong.”

He tugs her closer, to be able to cradle her in his lap and wipe away her tears before telling her that he dreamed of the worst possible outcome of their journey.

“I dreamed I lost you.” is his answer, finally, when he plucks up the courage. Even that short sentence makes his eyes burn, he squeezes them shut as if that will make the tears go away but it does the opposite. He feels them slip down his cheeks like raindrops sliding down their glass windows. “I dreamed that I failed.”

It’s her turn to comfort, to kiss away tears. He feels her thumb brush a tear from under his eye before it can even fall, and press a soft kiss to that same spot.

“we’re here, together.” she murmurs. “I am right here with you, don’t ever forget that.”

“But I nearly did, I doubted, I almost turned countless times.” he turns his head, ashamed for even admitting the thought had ever crossed his mind.

“and you know what?” she asks, now smoothing his hair, tucking loose strands behind his ear. “I would still love you even if you did, I would have forgiven you, even if the worst had come about. And I’d have gone to Hades and said to him ‘one day, you’ll have to send me up or him down’ and one day, that would have come true.”

“I would wait for you.” he says, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.

“so would I. Always.”

She leans back and moves so that Orpheus’ head settled at the crook of her neck, there almost as a comfort to both of them. Pressed so close together, so that it is impossible to even propose that they’re imagining each other.

“I used to get nightmares, remember?” she murmurs into the night.

“yes,” he answers. “bad ones, at first. But they got better, over time… how?”

“You.” she answers. “you stayed with me when I couldn’t sleep, held me when I was afraid, wiped away my tears when I cried.”

“that’s all I need.” Orpheus breathed. “Just like now.”

she nods. “just like now.”

There came about a long pause, where they both just breath and wait for the other to speak, and slowly Orpheus starts to drift off again. He snaps his eyes open one more time, so he can say one more thing before succumbing to the risk of sleep.

“Eurydice?”

“yes, love?” she hums sleepily.

“I’ve got a new idea for a song.”

“yeah?”

“yeah.” he says succinctly. “It’s going to be about whispers and moonlight and tears. But it has a happy ending.”

“Like our ending?”

“yeah,” he smiles. “Like our ending.”

And then he’s asleep.

No more nightmares that night.

[muthaz-rapapa]

Embrace Your Shining Future~

Boy, I hope 10 years from now we’ll be lucky to have a future that’s even a quarter this great as Hugtto’s.

But first, it looks like George returned to his time, no longer a villain (and I guess he wasn’t a ghost, after all) but now an ordinary man again.

And while it doesn’t seem like they really applied the Walking the Earth trope here, his surroundings doesn’t suggest that humanity instantly recovered once time started again either (this all the more supports my theory that it’s a separate timeline from Hugtto’s timeline, where humanity didn’t fall to ruin).

However, maybe it’s just because of his location and they’re all somewhere else.

Whatever the case, the flowers indicate that life will start over once more and perhaps, humanity will reborn, so to speak. 

As for him, he doesn’t look as depressed as he was previously which is good because hopefully, he can work his way towards redemption by helping to nurture this newly sprung future instead of setting out to destroy it like he originally did.

Alright, back to you Hugtto, looking quite marvelous and sunny ten years later.

These two became a manzai duo.

Didn’t expect that but hooray, hooray for them.

Shoulda known, since they came from the future, that they would still be kids (or at least around the same age as the Cures in present time) when the girls’ time finally catches up to future.

But nobody could’ve really predicted at what age exactly anyway so it’s no big deal.

Oh, and it’s nice to see that some old classmates still kept in touch long after they graduated middle school.

Nice. Very nice. *nod nod*

It’s especially funny when you don’t find it surprising that Fumito ended up working for….

…this president of what is possibly Japan’s biggest and most prosperous design company (Hana always liked to draw so not surprised about this either).

And what a president she is!

Twirling around in her office just radiating POSITIVITY even though she’s HEAVILY PREGNANT AND SHOULD BE ON MATERNITY LEAVE!

Oyvey…that’s our Hana, alright, lol

Daigan working in the same pediatric ward as Saaya doesn’t surprise me either since we’ve seen him getting along with kids very well.

And wooot~,  Saaya with short hair looks so pretty (she’s always pretty but now she’s grown-up and living her dream pretty!).

Then Homare bumped into Papple at the airport (pretty sure Homare recognized her but didn’t have time to chat since she’s in a hurry and all).

We don’t know what Papple’s doing nowadays but it looks like life is treating her well so yay~

Then there’s this.

I suppose Emiru met up with young Traum sometime ago and agreed to fund his research and development (the Aisaki family is loaded, remember, so again, NOT SURPRISED THERE) all for the purpose of seeing her best friend again…

…which resulted in the birth of Lulu, the first robot of her kind to have not only a human heart (which we’ve already seen happen) but also the capability to grow just like a normal human does.

And the reunion is just as you would expect. Tears of joy because hell yea, baby!Lulu may not recognize Emiru since she’s just been born but HELL YEA, they kept their promise to each other!

*sniff*

And of course, the first thing they do together is sing.

Ugh! So beautiful~! <3

By the way, I’m declaring it canon that Traum’s first daughter is alive and she probably did contribute some way into the project to create Lulu and the reason we don’t see her here is likely because she’s at school or something.

The Traum family consists of three members and they’re all alive and well and most of all, happy together.

You can’t convince me otherwise! xP

Homare made it in time and what’s more, SHE BROUGHT A GOLD MEDAL!

What a great auntie/godmother!

Kotori guiding the next generation of cheerleaders.

Appropriate.

Henri made a musical on ice.

He did THAT!

“HENRI ON ICE”

And who was the producer of this theatrical success?

The one and only Aisaki Group, DUH!

I mean, what you’d expect from having in-laws (I dare the fool who tries to tell me Masato and Henri are not married, I DARE YOU!) who are such opera/theater fanatics that they LIVE the stage in their daily lives?

So glad the grandfather finally came around as well. Awesome.

Ranka became the next Best Actress. Congrats.

THE GRANNIES ARE STILL GOING STRONG!!

100 is the new 20! xDD

New grandparents rushing to the hospital and they hardly look a day over the last time we saw them from 10 years ago.

*whispers* The secret must be a healthy, happy marriage.

And this is, without a doubt, Hana’s (wavy, dark-haired) husband (she is wearing her wedding band, go back and check) who’s just heard the news but still made sure to pick up a bouquet along the way to see his wife.

A bouquet of craspedias, the same flower villain!George tried to give to Hana years ago.

Except this person is obviously not the same George.

Again, it’s strongly implied the foremost reason why George spiraled into depression and started doing evil things was because he lost Hana in the future.

But since Hana doesn’t die this time, villain!George never comes into existence and therefore, George is just a normal guy who’s, hopefully, grateful that life has given him such happiness and meaning and is very much anticipating meeting his baby daughter.

Yea, they deliberately did not show his face to continue to cast doubt on who Hugtan’s father is but I’m certain it’s gotta be him.

Knowing the type of person Hana is, there’s no way she wouldn’t be concerned about the man George was before he became President Kurai when she meets (again) in present day. And she likely would’ve stuck by him to make sure he didn’t go down the same disastrous path. As a result, they got close, fell in love, married and are now having a baby together.

It’s still squicky because of the age difference so I hope they got together when Hana was at legal age (and by that, I mean by my standard of 21 years, not Japan’s 13). At least, it’ll make me feel slightly better about them being a couple that way.

Also, it looks like what people have been telling me about genetic traits possibly jumping a generation or two (thanks for further confirming this, btw!) are correct so Hugtan/Hagumi can have blonde hair even if neither of her parents do. The fact that George’s name is written in katakana instead of hiragana (which probably would translate closer to “Jouji”) suggests George himself is partially foreign so perhaps Hugtan got the blonde hair from his side (??). 

To be honest, I was aware of this fact already (really, I’m not lying here). I just didn’t believe that the staff behind Hugtto knew about it and because of that, I didn’t think they would apply it here since it’s more common to see animators make almost all girls take after their moms and almost all boys take after their dads. I especially can’t trust Toei after that whole skin color incident with Towa from Go!Pri but it seems like the writers of this season learned from their mistakes and even did some extra research this time.

Who knows?

Anyways, all evidence points to this person as George and I have nothing more to add.

Moving along, d’aww, whaddya know?

Mogumogu and the cat he admired got together and adopted Hariham village!

How sweet~! <33

Finally, they don’t tell how much further off in the future it is when Tomorrow turns up again but can I just say, it’s such a RELIEF that she doesn’t have to suffer through a despairing future like she did in the original timeline.

And that was all thanks to her mom and her friends.

Plus, when the focus turns to her at the precise moment Hagumi is born in Hana’s present time and she softly says “Mama”?

Yea...who else felt that?

*turns into a sobbing mess*

And that’s it.

Congratulations, Hana. Congratulations, Hagumi. May you have many, many blessed and blissful days ahead of you and may you always be together.

Thank you, Hugtto, for giving everybody such a huggy, huggy year! ^^

[mindfulwrath]

Onward

A BuzzFeed Unsolved Fanfic

A spirit can only move on when it has completed its unfinished business.

Or, it can't, because ghosts aren't real.

Words: 4,922 Warnings: Blood & gore, major character death Additional tags: Angst with a happy ending, character turned into a ghost, platonic Shane & Ryan

AO3 Link

"It's really kinda nice up here, don't you think?" Shane says, looking out over the vast moorlands. Moonlight glimmers off of brackish water, casts soft shadows across lumps of heather and gorse.

"You're insane," Ryan spits.

"What? You don't think it's nice? Just look at this view! It's lovely."

"It's creepy as fuck, aaaaaaand you're crazy."

"Okay, well have fun looking for ghosts while I'm enjoying the beautiful Scottish countryside."

"Yeah, thanks, I will," Ryan says under his breath, shaking his head. He raises his voice and speaks for the cameras. "Okay, so, here we are up on the battlements of Crathes Castle, uh, Shane is admiring the scenery, but we are hopefully gonna see something much more interesting. Now, the curator told us there'd been some restoration ongoing up here, so uh, watch your step, 'cuz . . . oh boy."

"We are pretty high up," says Shane, sticking his neck out to look over the parapet. Far below, there's a pale square of concrete, some outbuilding being redone after falling over. It's about the size of a postage stamp from this perspective.

"And when Shane's saying that, you know it's high."

"Hah-hah, the height jokes! Fruit so low-hanging, even you can reach it."

"Yep, sure, that's about what I expected from you. Anyway, let's see if we can find some ghosts."

"You do that, I'm just gonna hang out here and watch."

"Yeah, good, stay out of my way," says Ryan.

Shane spares a glance over his shoulder at the camera. He shakes his head. As Ryan starts up his customary shouting-at-nothing, Shane puts his elbows up on the parapet and leans back, settling in for the show.

Stone grinds on crumbling masonry. Ryan yelps. Shane flails at empty air.

"Whoah, fuck—"

There's no scream. There's a horrible, plunging sickness, and an instant of perfect clarity.

The second-to-last thing that goes through Shane's head is, Wouldn't it be ironic if—

The last thing is a four-foot piece of rebar.

It isn't surprising that the universe has a cruel sense of humor. That's been made evident since the dawn of time, in things like rosy-lipped batfish and mass-extinctions and the invention of capitalism. The Homers and Ovids of the world, the Shakespeares and Edgar Allen Poes, they might actually have gotten things kind of almost right—at least in that whoever's running things, they're 1. a poet, and 2. a bastard.

It is somewhat surprising to look down at his own dead body.

"Son of a bitch," he says.

His body settles, dripping blood. There's a lot of blood, and a lot of him is broken—shattered, really. A noise draws his attention upward, a shout and clamor. Shane can't make out what it is. The sound is distorted, and now that he's paying attention, everything else is, too. It's like a dreamscape, like someone took dozens of photographs over decades of time, printed them on transparencies and overlaid them. If he concentrates, he can pick out individual images and bring them to the forefront.

Something moves in the doorway. Shane can't quite focus on it. He shakes his head and rubs his eyes. He's not sure, but he thinks he can hear screaming, and it stirs something in him and he doesn't like it. Fortunately, it goes away pretty quickly, and silence falls again.

"Well?" he calls out. "What now?"

The world does not answer.

"Do I have to stay here, or can I, like, go? Can I just go? 'Cuz uh, gotta tell you, I'm not really into the whole ghost-thing!"

Still, nothing. The distant sound of sirens drifts on the breeze. He looks down at his body and folds his arms.

"Oh, shit, I could go to my own funeral," he realizes. "Boy, that'd be a trip, huh?"

All's quiet on the moors, save for the approaching sirens. Shane glances over his shoulder. Out of curiosity, he wanders back to the camera crew. The bright lights leave the world in a haze, illuminating a sea of phantasmal cars, buses, carriages, horses, people. It's hard to focus on the ones that are here now, so much so that it gives Shane a killer headache.

Or maybe that's just the lingering memory of the rebar going through his skull. Could be either.

He finds Ryan huddled up in the back of the equipment van, a blanket around his shoulders and about six people clustered around him. He's shaking like crazy, his eyes wide and wild, and he's . . . he's. . . .

Sobbing.

He's explaining, to the crew, what happened. The words are a jumbled mess. Tears stream down his face. They're trying to comfort him, but they all look just as shell-shocked and sickened and scared. Somebody calls Ryan's girlfriend for him. Somebody else is on the phone with corporate, and someone's still talking to the emergency dispatcher, and Ryan—and Ryan is crying so hard he can't breathe. . . .

Shane backs away, slowly. He goes back to the shattered wreck of his own body, sits down on a chunk of stone that might have been dragged off two hundred years ago. It's less disturbing than the scene back at the van.

"Man, I look like a really fucked-up unicorn," he remarks. "I got brains comin' out the back of my head! That's no good!"

Nobody answers. Blue and red flashing lights crest the hill. Shane sighs and hangs his head.

"And here's me, talking to air again," he mutters. "Okay. So uh—here's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna leave. I'm gonna go do . . . other stuff. And not watch them take my body outta here, 'cuz that's gonna be gross. Eugh."

And he's not going to attend his own funeral, either, he decides, as he wanders down the hill away from the castle. He'd kind of assumed everybody else would be as cool with him dying as he was, that it would be no big deal, that it would be sad, but overall just another Thing That Happens. He doesn't want to see Ryan cry again. He doesn't want to see any of his other coworkers cry, either, his friends, or—God forbid—his parents. He doesn't want to be mourned.

It occurs to him about an hour later, as he's slogging through a thousand years of Scottish fen.

He is in an absolutely unique position to find out exactly where, and how many times, Ryan was wrong.

It's hard to gauge the passage of time, but it's probably been a few years, and Shane has learned something very important about ghosts: they don't happen where—or to whom—popular opinion had it.

The big places, the asylums and castles and manors, they're quiet, they're empty. Taverns can be a little bit more populous, although they really aren't any fun.  Nobody's having a good time in this part of the afterlife, and most people are alone. He almost never sees anyone with a friend, and never a group of more than three. He's really hoping he never runs into anybody he knows, for . . . lots of reasons.

It's the mundane places that are really teeming, the streetcorners and back-alleys, the factories, the wilderness. And it's not the big people, either—not the mobsters and judges and doctors, but the urchins, the servants, the prostitutes, forgotten in life and forgotten in death. He made it back to America eventually, and the horrors that soaked the earth there made him sick. Not a square inch of all that once-beautiful land was free of blood. In places, it's like the earth itself has died. In places, he can see its ghosts, too.

One place he finds Ryan was right about is Salem.

There's an old house, well-kept, slightly more there than most other structures he finds, although he's sure he never saw it when he was alive. He climbs the steps. An old Black woman sits by the fire.

"Are you Tituba?" he asks. It's a stupid thing to say, but he hasn't said much in a long time. Most of the other ghosts don't like talking to him. For a minute, he thinks Tituba won't, either.

"I remember you," she says. "You were very rude."

"I guess I was," says Shane. "Uh . . . sorry."

She rocks her chair. The fire crackles, although it makes no warmth.

"Can I ask you something?" he says.

"If you want to know the answer."

"Why are you still here? Why haven't you gone . . . wherever dead people go?"

"I'm waiting," she says.

"For what?"

A shrug is all he gets.

"Well . . . good luck, I guess," he says. "I hope it comes to you, whatever it is."

He asks around a little more after that, although people who will talk to him are few and far between. Why are some of us here? It's obviously not everyone. Why are you here?

And he gets the same answer.

I'm waiting.

Time has passed. Shane's more well-traveled than he's ever been, but there's still a strange restlessness in him. Something, he feels, needs to be done, but he'll be damned if he knows what it is. It gets so bad that at one point he risks going to visit his own grave.

It's nice. The tombstone is nice. There's no epitaph, which is about what he wanted. Somebody's left flowers, although they're plastic.

"Kitchy," he says to no one. "Get that shit outta here."

"Plastic?"

Shane starts. There's another man, very old, loitering at a nearby grave. It's the first time someone's struck up a conversation with him, instead of the other way around.

"Uh . . . yeah," he says. The old man shakes his head.

"Kind gesture, but it does feel cheap, doesn't it."

"I guess."

"I always told them not to put plastic flowers on my grave, but some damn fool's done it anyway."

"Sucks. I'm sorry."

He shrugs. "No point in getting upset about it now. Say, do you know when the chariots or what-have-you come down?"

"I don't," Shane admits. "I've never seen 'em."

"Ah, what a shame. I'll wait, then. It's not like I have anything else to do."

"Right?" he says, chuckling, shaking his head.

Between one moment and the next, the old man disappears, like smoke, like fog. There's not even a shadow of him left, not in all the layers of history painted across the world.

Even without a choir of angels, or a blast of Hellfire, it's pretty obvious what just happened. Maybe neither of those things exist to happen, and the vanishing is all there is, after this.

Shane looks down at the flowers on his grave. He takes a deep breath.

"Okay," he says. "All right. I get it."

It's going to take a while to get to L.A., but he's got time.

Ryan's actually kind of doing okay. That's a pretty firm marker on how long Shane's been gone. Incredibly, he's still doing Unsolved, even the paranormal stuff. He's got a new guy working with him, too, although they're a little stilted and they have difficulty making each other laugh, even for the cameras. They seem like they're getting along okay, though. Ryan's definitely chilled out a lot since the last time Shane saw him. He's rusty on the ghost hunting.

It takes a while, takes a lot of following and waiting, but eventually Shane gets the chance to tag along on a trip.

"Man, this brings back some memories, huh," he says, meandering along behind Ryan as he creeps through some abandoned, burnt-out warehouse. "Look at you, though! You grew a big ol' spine since the last time I saw you."

Ryan doesn't respond, because of course he doesn't. He's looked right through Shane a dozen times already. Shane's not too bothered by it. Nobody's seen him in years.

The hunt goes like it always goes. Eventually Ryan and the new guy split up. The new guy goes first.

"This is so dumb," he mutters to the camera, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Right?" says Shane. He shakes his head. "Hey, take a little nap, buddy. It's nice! Nice little break from all the craziness."

The guy waits out his five minutes. Shane hangs out. Ryan comes in, trades some banter with the new guy, and is left alone.

Something about the way he moves makes Shane's mind come into sharper focus. The layered blur of the world grows clear in the darkness when Ryan turns out his flashlight.

"Oh, man," he whispers. "Okay. I'm getting chills already. Shit. Shi-hi-hit. No, I'm okay, I'm okay. I'm a big boy. I got my big boy pants on."

"Calm down, big boy, nobody's gonna hurt you," says Shane, rolling his eyes.

But something in him hurts. Something aches. He hasn't felt a damn thing in years, but suddenly, now, it's almost like being alive again. It's almost like he wants something again.

"All right," Ryan says, raising his voice. "So, uh, if there's anybody here with me, uh, my name is Ryan Bergara, I'm a—a paranormal investigator."

"Oh, huh, are you? Is that what you're calling it these days?" says Shane, folding his arms.

"Um . . . if there's anyone here, can you make a noise?"

"No, Ryan, I can't make a noise, because I'm a ghost, and I can't interact with the material world, ya big dummy. I'm made of ectoplasm, or—electromagnetism, or something, I don't actually know. But it doesn't touch stuff! Sometimes if I concentrate real hard, I can walk through walls!"

Ryan just stands and listens. His head swivels back and forth like a radar dish. His eyes are wide and bright. He swallows. He waits, and waits, and waits.

"Okay," he says to himself. "Okay, okay, that's fine, that's okay. Uh—okay, so if there's anybody here, uh, I'm gonna get out this little, uh, this little device. It's called a spirit-box."

"Oh, for crying out loud," Shane sighs, except that the heart he doesn't have anymore is suddenly up in his throat. "It's not gonna tell you anything. It's baloney."

Ryan takes it out and sets it down gingerly on the table, his breaths coming quick and panicky. "And, if you wanna talk to me, you can use this, okay?"

"What—how?" Shane cries. "How am I supposed to do anything with that hokey box?"

"So I'm gonna . . . turn this on, and you should be able to talk to me, through it. Okay, here we go."

The box squeals, then launches into its randomized chirping. Ryan gulps, his eyes flicking around the room. Shane kicks at the table the box sits on. His foot hits something, but Ryan doesn't react, so it probably wasn't the table-as-it-is he kicked, but the shadow of some past version from ten or twenty years ago.

"Okay, so . . . if there's anybody here with me, my name's Ryan. Can you say my name back to me?"

"Of course I can't, the stupid box doesn't do anything."

Ryan stands in silence, listening, listening. A squawk of static comes out of the box.

"What was that?" he says. "Can you say that again?"

"I said your stupid box doesn't do anything."

Choppy white noise, blips of music and talk shows and nothing.

"If there's somebody here with me, can you make a noise?" Ryan asks.

"No! I can't! Because I'm a ghost, you idiot!"

Ost oop it, goes the box. Ryan stiffens.

"What was that? Did you say something?"

"I did, but I didn't say it through your stupid box, which is fuckin' useless!"

Useless.

Ryan pales. His eyes go wide. His breath comes short. "Ohhhh man, okay. Okay. I'm freakin' out a little now. You—Eustice? Is that—is that your name? Eustice?"

Shane's too blind-sided to call him an idiot again. He seizes the spirit box and shakes it. It's like trying to shift a boulder. His voice cracks as he shouts.

"No! No, it's Shane, it's Shane Madej, tell him, tell him it's me!"

Eh ih-ih ee.

"I don't know what that was, I—I'm sorry. Could you repeat that, Eustice?"

"Shane! It's Shane! Ryan, come on, man!"

Chk chk chk chk shh sht cht chk.

"Okay, fuck this, I'm done," says Ryan, reaching for the box. "That's all, bye Eustice, we're done!"

In absolute, idiotic desperation, Shane screams, "Spaghetti!"

Spa-ghet-ti.

Ryan freezes.

"What did you just say?" he whispers.

"Spaghetti! Apple tater!"

Ap-ah t-t-r.

He's shaking so hard his hand blurs over the spirit-box. His breath mists in front of his face. There are tears in his eyes.

"Did you just say . . . apple tater?"

"Yes! I did, yes! Ryan, it's me! Come on, you stupid box, tell him it's me!"

Stih-up-p-p box.

All the blood drains from Ryan's face. He stops breathing. When he blinks, the tears slip out. When he speaks, it barely makes a sound, but Shane feels it, feels it like a punch to the chest, like a struck bell.

Shane?

The only thing he can do is shout, whoop at the top of his lungs and jump in the air. The spirit-box lets out an ungodly wail, and in an instant, Ryan slaps it off the table, screaming.

It smashes on the floor. The room goes silent.

"No," Ryan says, choked up. "Nope, no no no, fuck this, fuck it, I'm out, I'm done! Fuck everything about this!"

He beelines for the door, his knees wobbling. He's just a hair shy of a full-on sprint.

"Where are you going?" Shane demands, hurrying after him. "Hey, no, don't leave! You—you fraidy cat! Ryan! Ryan!"

But he's out of there, back to the noise and bright lights of the camera crew, where the world becomes less real, where Shane's head gets fuzzy and his focus scatters. He retreats back to the shadows, a sudden exhaustion overtaking him.

"Okay," he says to himself. "It's okay. First try's always gonna be . . . messy. And Ryan's an idiot, so—yeah. So yeah. Just gotta keep—keep on keepin' on, Shane. Chin up, buddy. We'll get there."

So of course, because the universe is a poet and a bastard, Ryan does the one thing Shane could never have predicted.

He gives up ghost-hunting.

Quits his job at BuzzFeed, in fact, and moves up north to the Klamaths, and lands a nice little job teaching film and creative writing at a community college. His girlfriend—now wife, apparently—doesn't comment on the fact that they have a night-light in the bedroom. They've probably already talked about it. Shane doesn't like it, the smug little bluebird shitfish, but he leaves it be. Some things are sacred, inviolable.

Anyway, he's got time.

Ryan's daughter first sees him when she turns three.

"Daddy Daddy!" she cries, barreling into his room at ass o'clock in the morning. "Daddy, there's a tall man in my room!"

"What?" he mumbles.

"A tall man, I saw him!"

Ryan comes to check. He turns the lights on. He looks right through Shane a dozen times as he searches the closet and under the bed and behind the lamp and everywhere.

"There's nobody here, sweetie," he says. "Go back to sleep, okay?"

"Okay," she says.

He kisses her head and clicks the light back out. Shane follows him through the door, because—well, it's kind of weird, hanging out in a three-year-old's room. He was just a little spellbound at first, because it was Ryan's kid, and that's a bizarre thought even when he's looking right at it. But staying would be weird, so he doesn't stay.

But he does come back.

It's not like he's haunting Ryan, no, that's not what it's about. He mostly keeps to himself and doesn't bother anyone, but the kid is weirdly good at spotting him, and there's something about being seen that makes him feel . . . good? Important? Less dead and miserable and alone?

Daddy Daddy, the tall man came back. Daddy Daddy, I saw him by my closet. Daddy Daddy, he came to my tea party. Daddy Daddy, he moved my book!

Which, yes, he did, as ludicrous as it was. For lack of anything better to do with his time. If he focuses as hard as he can and pushes with all his might, sometimes, just a little bit, he can move things. Like a child's book, or a doll's hand, or maybe a door if the hinges are well-oiled. He tries not to do it when anybody's home, but he can't always tell. The kid's too good at seeing him, too, but at least she isn't scared. He tries to make sure she knows he's not there to hurt anybody, and although he's pretty sure she can't hear him, she seems to have gotten the message.

Ryan, maybe, didn't.

He gets more jittery. Lights stay on. There's a marked increase in the amount of religious iconography and (likely) holy water. He spends a lot of time on the computer, drinks a lot of coffee, falls behind on his teaching stuff.

One night, the wife and kid go out, and Ryan stays in. This is weird. Shane sticks around.

Ryan goes up to the kid's room, and he settles into the reading chair by her bed, and he turns out all the lights. The blue glow of his phone illuminates his face. He sits still for a long time, just breathing.

"Shane," he says. His voice shakes. "If you're here right now, could you give me a sign?"

The old desperation seizes him. He slaps the window blinds as hard as he can. They manage a faint, whispering sway. Ryan stiffens, takes a deep breath, lets it out again.

"Okay," he says. "Okay. I—I made this for you. I thought maybe it would help, if you're . . . if you're struggling to move on. I hope it helps you, or . . . something. So here it goes."

Another deep breath. Shane waits, pulled taut with anticipation. Ryan adjusts his glasses and looks down at the phone, and he starts to read.

The alien planet of Tomat-0. A rustbucket of an old spaceship sits on a landing pad, engines primed, ready to launch. A pair of plupples, which are alien fruits that are like plums, but cooler, and blue, carry a charismatic box of fries from the future and a sturdy can of good soup up the loading ramp.

"Plup, plup!" says one of the plupples.

"Plup, plup," the other agrees. Plupples are very stupid. However, unfortunately for our heroes, they are not so stupid that they cannot carry out orders from their dark master.

Shane can't believe his ears. He wanders across the room. Even if he had lungs, he wouldn't be able to breathe. He sits down on the bed near Ryan, pulls up his knees and wraps his arms around them. Ryan reads on.

"Wait just one plupping minute, there!" A voice rings out! The plupples halt. There, coming over the horizon of Tomat-0, a witch-hologram of corn riding upon a giant plupple comes charging to the rescue.

"Plup, plup!"

"Plup, plup, plup!"

The hologram corn, Maizey, arrives. "You put those critically-acclaimed and universally-beloved characters down, you Ewok ripoffs!"

"PLUP," the giant plupple plups in agreement.

"Whoah, hey, uh, whoah!" Garce, one of two intelligent plupples, emerges from the ship. "Hey, uh, wow, corn girl, how did you, uh, escape your deadly trial by combat, which you were sentenced to by the great Dr. Goondis, played by Ryan Steven Bergara?"

"I fought the beast and I won, as you can see, because I am riding it into battle with you little blue freaks. Also I ate Dr. Goondis, because we didn't have the time to cut up more VO files for him, so now he's dead."

"That makes perfect narrative sense, uh, but how did you find us?"

A flash of light, a creaky, cackling voice.

"Pam, Pam, kazam, it was me!" A tiny hotdog, about forty percent bigger than Jiminy Cricket, appears in a flash of witch-light on Maizey's corn shoulder. "I'm doing my part to atone for the evil I did before I died, even though it was totally sick and awesome!"

"That's understandable. But uh, what are you both going to do now?"

Maizey draws herself up tall, tall and proud atop the giant plupple. "We're going to take our friends back from you blue goons. We're going to travel back in time and save my witch-hologram wife, stop Pam from killing the hotdog family, the unbelievably rich and compelling characters of Dan, Rebecca, and Brandon, and creating the Gauntlet of Ultimate Power, or G.U.P.—"

"Gup! Gup! Gup!" plup the plupples.

Shane laughs. He puts a hand over his mouth, like Ryan's going to hear him or something, come over bashful and stop reading. Ryan doesn't hear him, though. He keeps going.

And that, dear listeners, esteemed fans of the Hotdaga, that is what they do. Together, Maizey and Pam, along with the un-drugged Gene and Mike Soup, they rout the plupples. They fix the Minestrone, that marvelous spacecraft, and equip it with the Bernoulli Converter to reach the wormhole in the Graxilon quadrant. Dear fans, they travel back in time, and stop the evil Pam from dumping that delicious party of wedding guests into the lava. By having Pam from the future eat herself. It's totally wicked awesome.

Maizey reunites with her witch-hologram french-fry wife, Gebra. Gene gets the Risky Fixin's band back together, for one last smash hit before the happily ever after you've all been waiting for. And here, my dear friends, here it is.

Music plays. It's stupid. It's the stupidest thing Shane has ever heard, and the production value is shit, and Ryan can't sing worth a damn, either.

For the next two minutes and eighteen seconds, he cries like a baby.

"And that's . . . it," says Ryan. He's crying too. "That's the thrilling conclusion to the Hot Dog Saga, or Hotdaga. It's . . . solved. I hope you—I hope you liked it."

"You nailed it, man," Shane says, choked up. "You got it. You nailed it. Shit, Ryan. Thank you."

Ryan sniffles. He wipes his face. He puts his phone down and sits in the dark.

"I don't wanna sound rude or anything, Shane, but . . . now could you please, please leave my family alone? Like, I miss you, but I just—I can't. I can't do this anymore. I'm sorry, man. I'm so fuckin' sorry for what happened."

"What? No, no no no, what are you talking about? Ryan, it wasn't your fault, Jesus!"

Ryan scrubs at his face, puts his head in his hands.

"Just please . . . please let me—just let me move on, too. I can't do this anymore."

"I—yeah," says Shane, shaken right down to his core, in so much pain he can barely hold himself together. "Yeah. Of course. I'm sorry. I didn't even think about . . . yeah. I'll go. I'll go."

He almost puts a hand on Ryan's shoulder, then thinks better of it. He walks out the door.

He doesn't look back.

About four months before Ryan's eightieth birthday, the Universe catches up with him.

Shane isn't sure how he knows, but he knows. He makes his way back to Crescent City, finds the hospital, the bed. It's bad. It's been bad for a long time.

It's not going to get better.

His daughter is with him that night, when the lights are dim and Shane doesn't have to fight so hard to stay present. She's middle-aged now. It's weird how fast five decades can slip by, when you spend them wandering around doing nothing.

Well, nothing except waiting.

"Sweetie, do you remember the Tall Man?" Ryan asks.

"My imaginary friend?" she asks. "Kinda. Why?"

"I think . . . I see him," says Ryan. "The Tall Man was always nice, wasn't he? He was always nice to you?"

"He was, Daddy. You were the only one who was worried about him."

"Good. Good. Because if he ever wasn't, I'm gonna . . . I'll kick his ass."

She laughs. Shane laughs.

They're stupid last words, but it's okay. He dies in his sleep about three hours later, when his daughter is sleeping, too.

Ryan takes a moment. He looks down at his body. He isn't terribly concerned.

"Huh," he says.

"'Bout sums it up, doesn't it."

Ryan turns, and he sees Shane. Shane waves.

"Hey," he says. "So uh . . . turns out you were right."

You were right.

It rings down through fifty years, reverberating, a struck bell, a punch in the chest.

You were right.

The corner of Ryan's old ghost mouth turns up, and then he smiles a big, wrinkly, toothy smile, and Shane knows, in that moment, that this is what he was waiting for.

"Damn right I was," says Ryan.

"So you uh . . . you got anything you wanna do, before . . . whatever's next?" Shane asks.

"Mm, maybe a couple things. Like, y'know, see all the haunted stuff, if it's actually haunted."

"Yeah, that's cool, that's cool. Pretty much what I did. You uh . . . you mind if I tag along?"

"Mind? No. Wouldn't have it any other way."

"The Ghoul Boys ride again," says Shane, smiling, even as he feels something begin to dissolve within him.

"Hell yeah," says Ryan.

He sticks out a hand, old and weathered. Shane shakes it. Ryan pulls him in and hugs him, so tight it threatens to pop him like a bubble.

"I'm sorry, Shane," he whispers. "I'm sorry."

Shane hugs him back.

"It wasn't your fault," he says. "It's okay."

From one moment to the next, with no choir of angels and no Hellfire—

In a flash of white—

They go onward.

[orenashii]

Jack and The Reunion, Chapter 6

Author's Note

I lied when I said this was over! Sort of. I'm back with another chapter of Jack and The Reunion!

So sweet, it'll rot your teeth!

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12494794/6/Jack-and-The-Reunion

Jack and The Reunion

Chapter 6:

Epiphany

Synonyms: realization, surprise

They had been at the Scotsman's castle for a little over a week now, awaiting an even larger reunion. Creatures from all over the world, allies that Jack had picked up along his journey, were gathering here to plan and execute a full-scale assault on Aku. And even though the threat was looming, the ominous day drawing ever closer, Jack couldn't have felt more relaxed.

The castle, as loud and unruly and rowdy as it was, proved the closest both Jack and Ashi had ever come to experiencing peace. They were safe and sheltered, warm and well-fed. They became closer to the band of Scots, developing friendships. Their muscles, so used to being tensed in stress, relaxed as they laughed deep into each night.

Not to mention, the relationship between the samurai and the assassin had deepened. They had become closer than ever before, even more inseparable than when the two first showed up. To outsiders, they could see an ease, a comfort between the two. Young love, no doubt. In private, they were intimate, and not just physically. Jack whispered stories of his past. Ashi began to open up about her own.

The Scotsman, all of his teasing aside, was so happy for them he could have punched something. He did punch something. Jack. He punched Jack.

Flora dropped a large stack of books down onto the table with a resounding thud. Ashi had to crane her neck to the side to see her friend behind them.

"This is... light reading?"

"Aye, lass. You'll find everything you've ever wanted to learn in here! History, religion, customs, even Celtic Magic! But don't worry yourself, I'll make sure to take you through the good parts."

Jack watched the two of them from halfway across the room, smiling and laughing at each other, as Flora taught Ashi how to read in the ancient language of her people.

"Our girls have gotten mighty close the past few days, eh?" The Scotsman said, putting his mug down before him.

"Yes. It is good to see her make friends. She looks happy."

"I noticed you two becoming a might close as well."

"Yes," he replied, not really paying attention. He continued admiring her.

The Scotsman rolled his eyes, this becoming an all too frequent occurrence.

"Jackie, you gotta stop staring at her like that. Some might mistake you for a predator."

He hummed and nodded his head.

"I love her."

A long silence stretched between them as his words settled.

"Wha?" The Scotsman was aghast.

Jack's eyes widened at his admission. He felt embarrassed but also, somewhat relieved? It surprised him how easy it was to say the words aloud.

The Scotsman, on the other hand, felt a rush of excitement. "A week ago, you'd barely budge on the word 'companion' and now you say you're in love?"

He nodded again, slowly, almost reluctantly. "Yes, I suppose. I think I have been for quite some time. But we've just been so busy. There is always some imminent threat. Always a fight. I have not had time to... process all of this."

Jack turned to the Scotsman, a confused look on his face. "This has never happened before."

The Scotsman sniffed and threw his arms about his friend, loudly sobbing into his shoulder. "I'm so proud of you laddie."

Jack squirmed beneath the Scotsman's grasp, reaching up to awkwardly pat his shoulder. Ashi saw the two and raised an eyebrow in question. Jack held his hands up and shrugged, preferring to play the fool.

The Scotsman sniffed again, wiping spectral shadows of tears from his cheeks.

"So then, when'll you be tying the knot?"

Jack's head tilted, having heard the phrase before, yet unfamiliar with its meaning. The Scotsman spoke slowly. "Tying the knot. Getting hitched?"

Still, no response.

The Scotsman smacked his friend on the shoulder. "Ain't you ever been to a wedding before?"

"A wedding?" Jack's eyes widened, cheeks tinted red. Then he frowned. "Wait. A week ago, you told me that I needed to address my feelings with her. Which I have not yet done. And now you are telling me to marry her?"

"That's the natural order of things, isn't it?" The Scotsman barked, his accent growing thicker in his excitement. "You meet a gal, you fall in love, you marry her, and you fill your castle with little ones. It's a dream come true!" Then he paused.

"Wait! You haven't told her yet? What in blazes are you waiting for?"

"I... nearly told her. When we were in the ship. We almost lost our lives." He quieted, remembering the feeling. "But it did not seem appropriate."

"What! That's exactly the time to," the Scotsman trailed off with an aggravated grunt. "Well, what's your excuse now?"

Jack shrugged, looking increasingly nervous. "I have just not found the right time to..."

The Scotsman interrupted, sputtering. "Haven't found the right...! Have you lost your brain again? The two of you have been shacking up all week! When was the last time either of you slept alone?"

The samurai flushed, suddenly not wanting to talk anymore.

"I have half a mind to bring her over here right now; tell her myself, if I have to."

"No!" Jack called out hastily. He sunk into his seat and folded his arms, avoiding his friend's eyes. "I'm," he muttered, "scared."

The pair lapsed into silence.

"What if something happens? This battle with Aku, I feel it is our final. But... what if I fail? What if she gets hurt? What if I..." Jack quieted, not willing to say the words.

"So," the Scotsman deadpanned, "you want to risk getting killed without telling your woman how you really feel about her? What a way to go, eh?" He said it more as a statement than a question. Jack opened his mouth to retort but shut it almost immediately. He looked like he was having an epiphany.

The Scot sighed. "Dunderhead." He lifted a heavy hand to the samurai's back. "Not that you have to worry about that, of course. We're gonna string up Aku like a skinned cat." Jack winced at the image.

"Just ask her to marry you. I don't think you'll be disappointed with her answer."

"But," he replied, his eyes finding her across the room. "Wouldn't that be... rash? We have not been in the same company for very long."

"Ha! Are you kidding?" he laughed, lightening the mood. "I asked my wife to marry me the night we met!"

"You did?" Jack was surprised. Well, not that surprised. His friend was nothing if not to the point.

"Aye. I remember it like it was yesterday. A beauty I had never known the likes of before. And a tongue sharp as a whip. I was hopeless."

"And... she agreed? So soon?"

"Hell no! She called me a scrawny pantywaist who could benefit from a few push ups before ever speaking to her again! But I couldn't get her sweet, blue eyes out of my thoughts. I pursued her for two years before she finally gave me the time of day."

"Two years?" Jack looked over at Ashi hesitantly. She happened to look back. The look they gave each other could be mistaken for nothing else than raw infatuation.

"Though by the look of it," the Scotsman spoke up. "I doubt you'll be waiting more than two minutes to get her to agree to it."

Jack continued looking at Ashi for a few more moments before turning away.

"You are right. She should know the truth of my feelings for her. I will tell her tonight."

The Scotsman winked. "Atta boy."

Jack looked into his friend's eyes fondly. "Thank you. For your hospitality and your advice. I am honored to have such a friend. How can I ever repay you?"

"Someone once told me that friends carry no debts."

Jack smiled. "Yes."

"I'm so full."

Jack sighed in amusement. It must have been the fifth time she had said it on their brief walk.

The sky had darkened, dusk having nearly taken away the last glimmers of the sun. Chunky clouds filled the sky, thick like oil paint on a dry canvas. The last rays of the sun danced across the surface of the lake, glittering in its recession.

The two sat on a bed of grass before the lake to watch the magnificent scene of nature. Ashi laid her head on Jack's shoulder and sighed in contentment. Jack leaned into her touch, resting his cheek on her hair.

The two sat in comfortable silence, listening to the subtle shifts in sound as the day drifted into night. The buzzing of bees was silencing, the chirps of crickets burgeoning. Jack smiled to himself. The atmosphere was perfect.

"Ashi?" She hummed in response, not lifting her head.

"There is something I want to tell you."

"What's that?" her voice had taken on a near sleepy quality.

He took a deep breath in to steady himself. He knew what he wanted to say. He had mulled over the words for hours after his conversation with the Scotsman. He was ready. He opened his mouth to speak but became distracted by a low, droning noise.

A lone bee, rare to see this time of night, buzzed between them. Ashi waved her hand in front of her to shoo it away. Jack watched as the insect lingered, landing on her shoulder. She jumped slightly.

"Be still," he whispered, swatting it away gently and watched it fly away from them. Jack laughed to himself.

"Hopefully the insect will let us bee." Ashi groaned. He laughed again. Quite loudly.

"Get it? Let us bee, because," he trailed off, snickering to himself like an idiot.

"Oh, no, I get it," she said with an eye roll and a lopsided grin.

"You are such a dork," she laughed, echoing words from their host's daughters. "Sometimes I can't believe I've fallen for you."

His laughter died out almost immediately. His thoughts slowed to a crawl. Did she just? Ashi's eyes widened larger than the pool of the lake. Everything seemed to stand still.

"I mean, what am I saying? That was one of the best jokes I've ever heard! You've really got a talent for humor. You know what? I just remembered." She removed himself from his shoulder and started to stand.

"I left something in my room. It's pretty important. I'll just run and grab it, I'll see you later then? Alright." She finished her rambling as fast as she could. Her mind screamed at her. Get out of here!

"Wait!" His hand reached out and grabbed hers before she could move away any further. This was not how he imagined this scene unfolding. He knew what he wanted to say to her. But to actually hear it from her first. It shocked him.

"No one has ever... I mean, not since I was a child," he whispered. She removed her hands from his, frightened. Jack stood up and faced her. His eyes bore into her. It was relentless. Suffocating. She didn't know what to do.

"Ashi. Do you really?" His voice was quiet, hopeful. Ashi looked at him, her eyebrows knitted together in anxiety. She opened and closed her mouth, the words never coming out. She felt dizzy. She had never felt anything like this before.

"Please. Say it."

Her mouth was dry. She tried swallowing to ease her discomfort.

"Please."

Her voice cracked. "I love you."

"Marry me."

"What?" she gasped, not certain if she'd heard correctly.

"Marry me," he said again, more firmly. He grabbed her hand again, his heart was racing. "I am so sorry. I know this is sudden but you must understand." He found the words came easier to him than he anticipated.

"You mean so much more to me than you know. I owe you everything," he trailed off, placing his other hand on her cheek. Ashi's eyes filled. He felt his own eyes prick with tears as he echoed her words from so long ago. "The hope you gave me saved my life."

Tears slipped from her eyes.

"For everything you are, for who I am when I am with you, I love you."

"Jack," she whispered. She couldn't think of anything else to say. So she acted.

Their lips met hurriedly. Jack thought his chest was going to burst. He was holding her in his arms. The woman he loved. The clever, curious, and stunningly stubborn woman. He loved her. And she loved him, too.

The pair split apart and Jack's thumb began wiping the tears from her eyes. Ashi's eyes remained screwed shut, her breathing shuddering as she began to cry harder. She buried her face in the chest of his gi and wept until her shoulders shook. Jack wiped the tears from his own eyes before embracing her.

Emotions she had never been allowed to feel were suddenly unlocked. Tears she had been forbidden to shed now streamed freely. He held her tightly as her knees gave out, sinking them both to the ground. Every struggle, every hardship had led them to this point. The sensation was breathtaking.

She cried for Jack, who's past had been so tiring, so lonely. She cried for her sisters, such brief lives of sorrow, who had no future and would never experience anything like this. And finally, she cried for herself. For how cold the world once felt. She never knew the concept of love. She didn't think she was capable of feeling it.

But now she was here, in the present, being held by her bright and shy and fearless warrior. He wasn't the only one who felt that he owed her his life. She had been given a second chance at it, thanks to him.

Jack looked down at her with worry. He shifted their positions so that she was seated in his lap and softly stroked her hair. His mind receded, thinking back to his darkest moment when he was ready to end his own life in disgrace. She had saved him.

"I love you."

He thought of when he'd been incapacitated in the effort to find his sword and how he had been attacked. She had saved him.

"I love you."

He thought of being trapped in that ship, yelling out for cover as he worked to figure out the only weapon that could help them. She had saved him. The swelling in his heart continued to grow.

"I love you," he whispered, again and again and again.

Ashi's cries had finally calmed, giving way to something that almost sounded like laughter. She brought her head up, but not enough to look him in the eye, and wiped the moisture from her face. Jack assisted her, tilting her chin up and caressed her under eye with the pads of his fingers. His hand trailed down to settle on her cheek. Ashi grabbed his hand, leaning into it but averted her gaze, embarrassed with her outburst.

"I'm so sorry," she sniffed, a genuine, watery laugh escaped her now. "That's probably not the right response to something like that, is it?"

"Do not apologize," he said, kissing her forehead. "As long as you do not take back what you said."

"No!" she laughed again. "Of course not. I just felt so... overwhelmed. I've never cried like that in my life." She looked him in the eye now. "No one has ever said that to me before."

"Never?" He looked down at her. "Not even as a child?"

She shook her head. His lips curved down in a deep frown. Despite their newfound closeness in the recent days, she still refrained from speaking in depth about her childhood. He knew that it was not a happy one. But he was not expecting this. He bitterly admitted that it made sense. She was raised with such hatred in her heart. What kind of mother treated her children in such a way? A spark of anger ignited in his gut.

He looked into her eyes and she could feel the conviction radiating from his gaze.

"If I have to tell you every moment until my last breath, I will."

She sniffed. Then she smiled.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

Their lips locked again, sweetly, hungrily. Jack could taste the salt of her tears on her mouth. It only made him want to embrace her tighter, to shield her from any pain. Ashi moaned softly as the warmth from his kiss spread throughout her body, like the draping of a blanket.

The wind, however, was indifferent to the lovers' embrace and cut through them, shocking them both out of their shared trance. A shiver ran down Ashi's spine. When had it gotten so cold? Jack looked up. Though the skies were dark he could see the ashen tint of the clouds.

"We should go inside. I believe it will rain." Ashi nodded and stood, holding her hand out to assist him up. They stood beside each other now, fingers laced. A smile passed between them before it was interrupted by another chilly breeze.

The two made their way back to the castle, breaking into a jog as the wind picked up. Jack stopped short of opening the door, a very important detail dawning on him.

"Ashi?"

"Yes?"

He cleared his throat, cursing the newfound nervousness that coursed through him.

"You never answered my, um," he stuttered, "proposal."

"Oh." A slow smile, one that stretched from her lips to the light of her eyes, broke out her features. "Isn't a proposal more of a question? Yours was a demand."

Jack blushed furiously but smiled despite himself. Such a clever woman. He looked down between them, hands still entwined. He raised her hand to his chest and looked into her eyes. They glittered in anticipation. He whispered her name into the wind.

"Will you marry me?"

"Yes."

A crack of thunder startled them both. They both jumped at the noise, Ashi coming into contact with Jack's chest. They laughed. She looked up at him and beamed, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Their lips met just as the sky opened up and poured rain from the heavens.

Author's Note

I just gave myself diabetes.

Background: I got a few comments here and there about our favorite little lovebirds and when they're going to say the magic phrase to one another. And I agree! They should tell each other how they feel. But I felt it didn't fit in the story I had already written. I've seen so many works of fiction that use the phrase as a deliberate catalyst, either for something romantic or tragic.

Like this: "I love you. Whew! Now that that's out of the way, let's have sex!"

Or this: "I love you." *dies dramatically*

I didn't want my story to follow that pattern. Not that there is anything wrong with this pattern. I just didn't want it for my story. I also didn't want the post-sex-afterglow "I love you" because I didn't think that fit either. Again, nothing wrong with it! It just didn't feel right.

But then I got to thinking, how would these crazy kids go about telling each other? Then the ideas flowed and my head nearly exploded. I wrote out a whole outline of where this story could go. If it does indeed go in this direction, I may update the description to read "An Alternative Ending to Samurai Jack". Cause that's definitely where this is heading.

Thank you for reading! Both the story, and this long ass author's note. Please let me know your thoughts! Should this story continue with my crazy ideas? Am I totally in over my head? Most likely!