#Soon we slay the Mother plant

[memoirsofasim]

Meanwhile, outside... 👀😱

[mieanme]

Merman x Siren au

Hualian - (part VI)

First part: PART I

Previous part: PART V

***

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FUCKING MIND?!"

When Xie Lian gets back, he sure expects other mers to be shocked that he actually did what the Emperor forbade. He also knows that there's probably a scolding from the Emperor himself awaiting him.

However, what he doesn't see coming, is bumping into his two friends the second he gets closer to the main cave formation in the pod's territory. The area loosely called a 'capital' by others is usually guarded through out the night and day, but taking into account that both Mu Qing and Feng Xin had a shift just the other day (he checked in with both of them in the canteen twice, to make sure), Xie Lian thinks he got really unlucky that they have another one right when he decides to not sneak around so much anymore.

"Feng Xin, please, calm dow—,"

"Calm down? CALM DOWN? I AM FOR NOW VERY MUCH FUCKING CALM!"

The loud, harsh sounds that escape the merman's mouth are truly something else. Xie Lian knows only one mer that can produce noise of this caliber and it's none other than his friend. Good thing Ruoye left Xie Lian's side as they were passing by the collar reef, cuz it could never withstand those loud, deep squeaks of Feng Xin.

"HOW CAN YOU BE SO RECKLESS? WHERE HAVE YOU EVEN BEEN? I WANTED TO VISIT YOU, BUT YOU WEREN'T HOME. YOU DIDN'T EVEN TELL ANY OF US YOU'RE GOING OUT DURING THE NIGHT! IT'S DANGEROUS! YOU'RE RIDICULOUS!" There's no end to the merman's rage.

"Feng Xin, shut it, you're behaving like you're his mother," Mu Qing chimes in, slapping Feng Xin's back with his deep purple fin, completely not trying to be gentle.

The comment seems a little bit off, because Xie Lian doesn't even remember his mother, but he's not bothered by it. He's sure Mu Qing means no harm.

"Hey!" Feng Xin exclaims, ready to throw a punch at the other merman, but Mu Qing swims around him adroitly. "We're friends! I care about him! Unlike you!"

"Well, at least I didn't try to visit him empty handed yesterday. I came with some food and saw your brown pathetic ass miserably banging at his cave entrance. The bigger the fins, the smaller the brain."

Mu Qing's slay smile seems to enrage the other merman more than his words, even if Feng Xin is known for having one of the biggest fins in the pod. This time he doesn't miss though, getting to punch Mu Qing straight in the face.

Xie Lian sighs. For as long as he remembers, his two friends have always been bickering over the smallest things. Even from the very day they rescued him in the wild, when they all were still children, he can recall a heated argument they had right before his eyes. They both are great mermen in Xie Lian's opinion, so till this day he can't figure out why they are always so hostile against each other. At this point he's certain he will have to live with that question unanswered till the day he passes.

It doesn't mean he can't try and stop them every time he has a chance though.

"Hey, hey, hey, now! It's okay! I'm back and unscratched, right?" Xie Lian swims in between them right after Mu Qing lands a successful slap on Feng Xin's cheek, making them equal for the time being. "And I got something very important!"

They both actually stop to look down at the algae in Xie Lian's hands, to his delight.

"And what is this? Looks like a sperm whale's vomit. Why did you drag some random plants back to the capital?" Mu Qing scrunches his nose, glaring at Xie Lian.

"It's an algae from the oceanic trench," he states with a small smile, but it fades quickly when this time both of his friends yell at him.

"IT'S A WHAT NOW?" Feng Xin and Mu Qing both scream in unison.

Xie Lian grins, shaking his head.

"I guess I have a lot of explaining to do anyways, so why don't we find the Elder medic first? I want to deliver those as soon as possible."

"The medics are still discussing today's search results with the Emperor and all hunters that are off duty. We're an exception as guards," Feng Xin states, looking back at the highest part of the cave formation, that serves as a house of the Emperor and also a kind of a city hall.

"I will hurry up then, it's good that everyone's gathered in one place!"

Xie Lian of course doesn't get to depart alone this time. Feng Xin and Mu Qing both stubbornly insist on escorting him, so the three of them make their way to the Emperor's caves quickly.

Inside, there actually is a lot of merpeople gathered. Xie Lian enters through a small hole on the top of the main hall that's always open to everyone to come and discuss important matters. The cave itself is huge, it could fit every mer that belongs to the pod and there would still be plenty of space left. Jun Wu spends a lot of time here, tending to other merpeople matters and naturally he's here now too, resting on a seat sculptured especially for him inside the hall. He seems troubled even from afar, supporting his chin on one hand, his golden tail and scales lacking their usual shine.

Xie Lian always thought that very tail might have been the only reason the Emperor let him stay in this pod - they share quite a similarity. They both have features that bring one's eye to their person, so Xie Lian thinks Jun Wu might understand his white-tail-stuggles. However, Jun Wu was never untrusted by his pod, on the contrary, he was always priced for his unusual scales. His handsome face and great intelligance lead him on the top, where he remains till this day, while Xie Lian is collecting scrap for a living.

This world is truly unfair.

"Emperor! Elders! Everyone! I'm sorry to interrupt!" Xie Lian exclaims, silencing the discussion that has been going on and on for probably hours before he even came back to the capital. "I have great news!"

Xie Lian makes his way through the hall right to Jun Wu's throne. He lowers his head and extends his hands, showing the Emperor the plants he managed to take back with him.

"I got the algae we have been discussing about during the prior days! If the medic Elder is ready, please, use them as medicine for the mers that had fallen ill!"

A round of heated whispers explodes right after he finishes his sentence. Unbelievable - the merman almost everyone despices came back with the right plant so fast? Where did he get it? Is this a joke of some sort?

"Silence."

One sound from Jun Wu manages to get a hold of the situation.

"Xie Lian," the Emperor calls his name, so the merman obediently lifts his gaze to meet Jun Wu's golden eyes. "How come you found the algae before everyone else had even found a place it might grow in? Are you sure it's the cure we're looking for? Where did you get it?"

Yes. Xie Lian knew these questions were coming. As for being prepared to answer them, well, that's a whole different story.

"Emperor, I got them from... the trench we all know of."

Another round of gasps of disbelief arises in the hall.

"Did he go to the siren's territory?"

"Is he crazy? The Emperor forbade anyone from going there!"

"How is he even alive? There's no way the siren wouldn't notice him with that white tail of his!"

"What if he's lying? Aren't those just a regular looking algae? Maybe it's poison!"

Jun Wu waves his hands, unwilling to scold the crowd verbally yet again. When everyone stops commenting, he asks the medic Elder, that seemed to be the most knowledgeable about the disease, to examine the plants Xie Lian brought with himself.

The old merman studies the algae only for a few moments and, with not much deliberation, but with great disbelief spread on his face, he speaks up.

"It's indeed the algae we need!" The old merman exclaims, looking in shock at Xie Lian's face. "How did you do it?! You shouldn't be able—"

He stops himself before he can finish the sentence, but Xie Lian gets the message.

'It grows too deep for any mer to pick it. Your elder didn't mention it, did they?'

"Very well," the Emperor chimes in. "Please, take the algae and prepare the medicine as soon as possible. Will this be enough to treat the ill merpeople and store something in case the disease resurfaces?"

"Yes, Emperor! More than enough!"

"Then we can stop the search for other places for now. Everyone is dismissed. You worked hard, take some rest," Jun Wu announces and immediately everyone starts leaving the city hall.

Except, when Xie Lian hands over the algae and turns around with a smile to leave as well, the Emperor speaks up again.

"You stay, Xie Lian. I want to have a word with you."

***

Next part: PART VII

Okay, I have to admit, Jun Wu is hot af. I KNOW HE'S A BAD GUY (I haven't reached that part of the books yet, but tiktok spoilered me that), but I can't deny sky daddy is doing things to my brain and I am awaiting the arc in which I get to meet him as a villain, BECAUSE I HAVE TO STOP SIMPING. BUT I CAN'T. DOES ANYONE UNDERSTAND ME.

[fandom-fandom-fandom-17]

Day 4 spirit, I got really sick so this one is shorter than the others. No beta. So much angst.

When Viggo was a young Dragon hunter his help was called upon by a town in need. They said that they were scared of a dragon that constantly loomed over them. They offered a hefty reward to whoever slayed it. The problem was that the dragon gigantic compared to most even by Titan wing dragon standards. Young and ambitious Viggo took a crew and the challenge.  

The towns people of old had somehow had a deal with a dragon. The deal had lasted generations but as the years went on the people had began to fear the dragon despite no harm ever coming to them. Until one day there was only one woman who still knew of the deal. With the woman's mind going the towns people no longer trusted her, so they enlisted Viggo Grimborn for help. 

 Viggo took the killing blow with the old crone clinging to legs.

"Get off me!" He shouted without a hit of sympathy "I'm saving your village you old fool"

The old woman ran to the dragon as fast as she could. The beast was bleeding out on the ground and Viggo couldn't understand why she was sobbing.

"Viggo Grimborn this dragon has saved my life more you could possible imagine"

"Save you?" Viggo roared " I saved you! I saved this entire island!" 

"Without that dragon we are dead in a month! that dragon was the only thing keeping us safe."

"Oh yeah?"Viggo sneered "From what other dragons?"

"That dragon protected from the wrath of mother nature. Viggo Grimborn I promise you this with my dying breath. The person you will love most shall be like me. A lover of dragons through and through. They shall warp your dreams until you undo everything you have done. Your past misdeeds will haunt you" She shook with anger."

"Are you that old that your dying right now?" Viggo scoffed 

"Mark my words this island is finished" Viggo didn't believe her but the determination in her eyes planted a seed of doubt. 

Viggo checked in on the island to prove her wrong but in less than a month the island had flooded so badly you could barely even tell there was once a town. Viggo had been 20 at the time engaged to a woman he barley knew. The engagement lasted less then 3 months. Viggo had several relationships and each time he scoffed at the old hags words. 

Then he found out about the dragons riders. There was fighting, there was peace, there were losses, there were victories, there was hate, and there was love.   Until a heartbeat no longer stood by his. Only then did Viggo truly revere the old woman's words. 

He felt eyes on him constantly. The crew had began to notice, his brother definitely noticed.

"Really brother? one measly dragon rider that we've been trying to kill for months dies and you suddenly go insane"

"Hello to you too brother and if you have nothing else to say you can leave." Viggos voice was firm but the bags under his eye said differently. "

"Oh I've got something to say. If you cant get it together  by the end of next month I'm taking over everything and I mean everything" Riker straightened his back to look more intimidating which never worked on Viggo and slammed the door. Riker would soon regret his words because by the end of next week he too could see what haunted Viggo. Dragons. Hundreds of dead dragons. Most had open wounds Viggo recognized some that went as far back as his childhood. The crew could see them too now some through themselves over board in an attempt to stop the madness. It never worked. Then he started to show up.

One good night's sleep is all Viggo asks for. One night, he knows he doesn't deserve not after what he did. A kiss is placed on his temple. Before me is my dear Hiccup. Bathed beautifully in the moonlight. I slipped my fingers under his tunic laying him gently onto the bed. Hiccup gave him a gentle kiss. He Viggo a gentle smile but then it turned into somthing malicous. His eyes turned blood shot and he screamed 'MURDER' over and over again till Viggo woke up in a cold sweat.

"Another dream with me in your arms?" the green eyed boy spoke

"Hiccup please.... I didn't -I-"

"-But you  did. You know what you need to do" Hiccup leaned forward to There was a knock on his door and Hiccup vanished"Boss hes here again"

Viggo groaned "I know" Viggo got out of bed heading up deck if to do nothing but put the crews fears to rest. There in the moonlight was Hiccup Haddock. When his ghost first showed he was true to form. Passionate and kind with death glares at the dragons we caught. Which were few and far between with all the ghosts flowing us to warn them. A blessing disguised as a curse, but then he turned cold he never spoke a word to anyone but Viggo which were always cruel. Men began to leave left and right just wanting to get off the ship. There were only about 10 men left with nary a  dragon in sight. 

Viggo did know what to do to make it stop. It was the first thing ghost Hiccup had said which had given the crew hope when Riker had told them. Viggo wished he hadn't. For what he had asked was near impossible.

"Free them. Free every dragon whose path you ever cross until you find one that can free your soul.   Destroy the dragon hunters if you must. That is your penance. Find a dragon that can free your soul even if you have to look forever. I'm so sorry Viggo I wish I could help. "

The only other clue Viggo had gotten was when Hiccup said the freeing of the soul was similar to that of him and toothless. That was the last hint he got before nothing but violence fell from Hiccups lips. That was Viggos last hope. 

As the days continued even his brother abandoned him, so Viggo did as his past lover had. He took to the skies with Toothless and Hiccups ghost flying behind him. Some say you can still hear them an army of Dragons howling in the night. 

I changed ideas like 5 times. From Hiccup still begin alive to the whole old lady thing not even existing. 1072 words

[ravenya003]

Buffy the Vampire Slayer: Witch, S01E03

Sorry, this one's a bit late as I had to work Sunday.

The second episode of any long-running series is always interesting to watch, as well as a tricky thing to achieve. The writers are still setting up the character beats, the story-arcs, the rules of the world – basically, the general FEEL of the show. It’s easy to get things wrong, as you can’t take any big swings this early on, but you also don’t want to get so bogged down in set-up that you neglect to tell a story.

Even more so than the pilot, the second episode should clue the viewer in on what exactly they'll be tuning in for very week. If the pilot is the hook, then the sophomore episode has to reel you in; has to be a textbook example of what the show actually is.

(Also, a lot of the money shots will have already been spent on the first episode in order to get everyone’s attention, so you’re probably going to be working with a smaller budget as well).

And yes, I realize this is technically the show’s third episode, but Welcome to the Hellmouth and The Harvest originally aired on the same night and are two halves of a single story. For all intents and purposes, Witch is the show’s sophomore episode.

For what it’s worth, I think Witch nails it. The episode introduces the Monster of the Week format, letting the audience know that Buffy won’t just be fighting vampires. It shows us what exactly Giles’s role as Buffy’s Watcher encompasses, and demonstrates that Willow and Xander are committing themselves to Buffy’s fight against evil – partly because they’re good people who know it’s the right thing to do, and partly because they’re invested in Buffy herself.

It even introduces a fairly important recurring character: Amy Madison, who will appear in almost every season of the show henceforth (season five is the only one she sits out).

Obviously, witches will soon become a huge part of the show’s lore – second only to demons and vampires – and the episode establishes a few key traits about them, from the use of potions and spell books to the fact that the really evil witches get a case of Black Eyes of Evil when they're mad.

(We will see this identical eye-colour on another witch further down the track, and if you can’t guess who it is, just follow the link to the TV Tropes page...)

Most importantly, it cements the central theme of “high school is hell,” with various supernatural threats being elaborate metaphors for the trials and tribulations that teenagers have to go through – in this case, overbearing parents trying to live vicariously through their children. In the real world, Catherine would be a stage mum. In Sunnydale, she’s a witch that can magically switch bodies with her daughter. Such is life on the Hellmouth.

It kicks off with Buffy wanting to join the cheerleading squad and Giles being singularly unimpressed. But Buffy’s reasoning kind of breaks my heart – she used to do it before her calling to vampire-slaying, and she wants to start up again because she just wants something normal and safe in her life. She looks so young and perky! Sarah Michelle Gellar still has baby fat in her cheeks!

Of course, that’s the cue to cut to a witch’s lair filled with bubbling cauldron and Barbie voodoo dolls.

During try-outs, Buffy is introduced to Amy Madison, and it’s established that she and Willow have been friends for a long time. I like that the two of them have this history together, and Willow shares some pertinent details about their friendship – most importantly that the two of them used to sneak brownies when Amy’s calorie-counting mother wasn’t looking.

(This is something that Buffy will use to clock what’s really going on towards the end of the episode, and even though I’ve probably watched Witch a dozen times, I’ve only just realized this detail is deliberately planted early on).

Amy comes across as pretty nice in this scene, so it’s odd to recall that she’s already Catherine.

There’s an amusing moment when Willow states that a cheerleader called “Amber” trained with someone called “Benson.” Later an actual Amber Benson will join the cast. But that’s not nearly as funny as Xander being given the line: “no need to drive it into my head like a railroad spike”. Just... wow.

During try-outs, the star performer Amber spontaneously combusts, and the best part is that Buffy tackles her to the (very hard gym) floor before dousing the flames. Seriously Buffy, was the full-body tackle necessary?

Two good character beats: Giles is extremely chipper about all the fascinating (and deadly) supernatural threats they’re likely to face thanks to living on a Hellmouth, while Willow and Xander eagerly volunteer to help in the investigation. They dub themselves the Slayerettes, a term that I don’t think ever comes up again across the entire course of the show. Perhaps it’s just as well.

Buffy is cautious about their enthusiasm and delivers a basic warning, but then pretty much gives them the green light to get involved. I like that Buffy’s defining attribute as a Slayer (that she has a network of friends that contribute their own skills) is introduced in such a low-key way. Hey civilians, you want to help me fight witches and vampires? Sure, why not!

In hindsight, Amy talking up her mother, trash-talking her dad, and complaining that “I can’t get my body to move like [my mother’s]” are hints as to what’s actually going on here.

There’s a red herring scene with Amy hearing spooky noises in the locker room and then getting threatened by Cordelia, nicely setting her up as a victim and not a culprit.

Neither Buffy or Amy made the squad and the former is genuinely empathetic towards the latter. That’s Buffy’s other great strength – she makes friends easily because she truly cares about people.

Ah, Sunnydale faculty members! I always love seeing glimpses of the high school staff on this show, whether it’s Mr Pole (driving instructor) or Dr Gregory (the biology teacher who gets decapitated in the very next episode). Just imagine having a fulltime job that gives you a front-row seat to all the weird shit the Hellmouth can spit out – and that’s on top of having to teach a bunch of teenagers high school curriculum.  It can’t be a coincidence that all of these actors chose to play their characters as So Very Weary.

In this episode alone Mr Pole is nearly killed by Cordelia during driver’s ed, and Dr Gregory is witness to a student having her mouth magically sealed shut. How did Sunnydale Syndrome account for that?

The gang are attempting to concoct a potion in a beaker that will reveal whether or not Amy is a witch, and not doing a particularly subtle job of it as they gather ingredients from biology class – though it is interesting to note that Willow is the one doing most of the brewing. We’re looking at her first brush with witchcraft.

Buffy “accidentally” spills the potion on Amy’s arm and it turns blue, indicating that she is a witch – right at the same time another cheerleader starts panicking because her mouth has disappeared. It's a horrifying thing to witness, but Buffy notices that Amy looks just as freaked out as everyone else.

This is a bit of an odd red herring, as the gang are now working with the hypothesis that Amy is the witch, but unaware of what she’s actually doing – even though the very next scene demonstrates (to the audience at least) that she’s completely in control of events, going home and ordering her cowed “mother” to do her homework for her. I suppose we have to chalk her reaction in biology class down to Catherine’s acting skills.

In any case, she also knows that Buffy is onto her, and reveals that she’s nabbed her bracelet. So Buffy is next on Catherine’s hitlist.

Buffy’s response to the spell is to go hyperactive, then collapse. Giles identifies the “bloodstone vengeance” spell pretty quickly and accurately (which feels like it could be a hint as to the darker proclivities of his past BUT belies his statement later on that he’s never cast a spell before. Hey – it's the second episode. They’re still figuring things out).

While Xander and Willow watch Amy cheer at the basketball game, Buffy and Giles just leave the school grounds for Amy’s house. It’s kind of funny that this happens all the time, and Giles never got in trouble for it. Nobody ever noticed that the school librarian was spending an inordinate amount of time with a student?

As Giles confronts who he thinks is Catherine, Buffy notices a plate of cookies on the floor and realizes that she’s Amy. In doing this, she’s clearly recalling Willow’s story about how they used to eat brownies together, but this is the first time I’ve noticed that link. Until now, I always just assumed that a grown woman curling up with a plate of brownies struck Buffy as more of a teenage girl thing to do.  

At the same time, Catherine is stuttering: “dad... her dad left...” and I love her hysterical little laugh when she says: “you know, kids these days!” All this is a tip-off that Catherine has switched bodies with her daughter, and poor Amy soon crumbles. About a month ago she woke up in her mother’s bed and realized her body had been stolen, which is a genuinely terrifying scenario. I’ve always been creeped out by Body Snatching stories.

Giles investigates the attic and finds that it’s a witch’s lair filled with clichés: a cauldron, magical tomes, and the inevitable Cat Scare. I’m pretty sure that last one was included just so they could have a cool clip to use in the opening credits.

While all this is happening, Willow and Xander are keeping eyes on Amy during the basketball game, and there’s a pretty neat pan from the action of the cheerleaders and crowd to the stillness of the Slayerettes. (Okay, I’ll stop calling them that. But they are taking their new role seriously).

Giles, Buffy and Amy-in-Catherine head back to the school and the biology lab, where Giles begins the spell to reverse all of Catherine’s magic (stupidly, they do not tie up Amy despite knowing that the plan is to put Catherine back in this body). Over in the gym, Catherine-in-Amy can feel the spell start to work, and after toppling off the pyramid, she gives the rest of the cheerleaders a pretty lethal death glare and makes a feral run for the door.

Willow and Xander attempt to stall her, and are taken out immediately. Still, I wonder if Willow was a little impressed by Catherine disabling Xander with only a hand gesture. That’s real power right there.

Some tension builds once Amy and Catherine are transported back into their own bodies, but Buffy is also back to full-health and uses the old “use a giant mirror to bounce a witch’s spell back upon her” trick. Why is there a giant mirror hanging from the ceiling of the Sunnydale biology lab? It doesn’t matter.

What matters is that Catherine has disappeared and Giles informs Buffy that this was “his first casting.” LIAR. Okay, so we can head-canon that he’s just trying to keep his past as Ripper from her for as long as possible, but the truth is the writers just hadn’t conceived of that backstory for him yet. And that’s okay. A few little continuity flaws give a show flavour and the fans something to argue about.

In the wrap-up scene we see that Amy is happy living with her father (I would have liked to see him on-screen, especially in later seasons when Amy takes a downward spiral) and she and Buffy gaze for a moment at Catherine’s cheerleader trophy displayed in the hallway cabinet... both missing the fact that its eyes are moving. Yes, Catherine is the cheerleader trophy, now doomed to relive her glory years in perpetuity. Great ending!

Miscellaneous Observations:

Joyce and Buffy are clearly set up as a foil to Catherine and Amy, and it occurs to me that this is a rare show that spotlights a mother/daughter relationship. More than that, a good mother/daughter relationship, especially for this genre. I’m wracking my brains and I can’t think of another one. Adults have to be useless, absent or antagonistic in these types of shows (if they’re targeted towards a slightly younger target audience, you can bet they’ll just make the protagonist an orphan).

In any case, Joyce and Buffy aren’t exactly on the same page, but clearly their rapport involves nothing like the outright abuse inflicted on Amy.

An early scene shows Joyce in the capacity of an art gallery curator, opening crates in the kitchen. It made me realize that we never, ever see Joyce’s place of work. Not once! And it’s a bit strange in a way, as that setting had a lot of potential to be filled with cursed artefacts and paintings, like how Charmed used the Auction House in season one for a similar purpose.

The plotting of the episode interests me, as it comes up with three possible scenarios the writers could have gone with: that Amy is trying to please her mother by making the cheerleading squad and not realizing she’s picking off the other girls with magic, that Amy is deliberately using witchcraft to take out the competition and is terrorizing her mother on top of it, or (the one they went with) that a body-swap between mother and daughter has occurred. It’s such a rich premise that any of these three scenarios could have made for a good story.

That said, they kind of lose the original premise of a child being so pressured to live up to a parent’s exacting standards that she’s driven to desperation, replacing it to one of a parent being envious of a child’s youth and vicariously attempting to relive their glory years through them.

I’ve always wondered a little about Catherine’s backstory. Was she a hereditary witch, or self-taught like Willow? Because we know that Amy will manifest magical abilities as well, and even ends up with a streak of jealousy like her mother (though it’s directed at Willow).

Also, Giles removes Catherine’s spellbook from her house in order to reverse all her witchcraft. What happened to it afterwards? Come to think of it, we never see that Vampyr book from the first episode again either.

This episode establishes that the Sunnydale basketball team is called the Razorbacks and their mascot is a pig. We’ll be seeing more of this later down the track...

Great casting on Elizabeth Anne Allen and Robin Riker as mother/daughter. They looked very similar, and channelled each other’s inflection and body language while they were playing each other’s character.

Also, I love this demon on the gate that leads to Amy's house:

To sum up, I really love this episode, and is possibly my favourite season one episode after The Puppet Show. Maybe a bit too much time was spent on the cheerleaders falling prey to Catherine’s magic (the stuff with the driver’s ed lesson was clearly just to give Charisma Carpenter enough screentime to justify her placement in the opening credits) and it’s a Clueless Mystery in the sense that the audience is given no chance to figure out what’s going on before Buffy does (who gets the clues she needs in the same scene that she realizes what’s actually happening), but I still love it as a concentrated case study of what the show is offering us.

Best Scene: When Buffy drunkenly tells Xander that he’s “one of the girls” and we get this expression on Willow’s face:

Best Line: Freed from the bloodstone vengeance spell, Buffy leaps to her feet behind Catherine and says: “Guess what? I feel better.” It’s more in the delivery than in the words as-written, but is just the perfect blend of menace and perk. Buffy doesn’t doubt that she’s a threat, and subsequently tosses Catherine across the room.

Best Subversion: Amy wasn’t the witch after all, it was her mother using her body all along! What a tweest!

Death Toll: No one died in this episode! I suppose that makes sense, as otherwise Buffy and Amy would have been permanent members of the cheerleading team. Which means...

Grand Total: Four civilians, five villains.

[zazima]

“dear james”

“dear sirius” and “dear harry” [not required reading but may be fun] helped push this process but the real seed was planted because of @greyeyedmonster-18‘s Dear Prongs,... Love Always, Padfoot [for the general letter bit] and The Best Worst Thing to Have Ever Happened [Part 5] [for the parenting books bit]. read those first pls (and all her other stuff) or i’ll fight you. right now. square up i dare u.

Your kid can really be a nuisance sometimes you know? I leave him alone for two minutes, TWO, and he manages to turn his hair blue, summon his toy broomstick through the couch (yes, through), and make the decision to wear his oatmeal instead of eat it. And I prepared it on the stove (the Muggle way) like Lily used to! Just like she swore he liked it. I knew she was always pulling my leg.

If you were this insufferable when you were one and half then I truly feel sorry for your poor mother.

Although I must admit, your son is pretty adorable. Don’t know where he got it from (probably from his godfather. Heard he’s quite a handsome bloke). It certainly makes up for the times he turns into a little demon. 

I wish you were here to see it. That way you’d be the one tearing your hair out while I made your job harder. 

Miss you everyday.

Love,

Sirius

Dear James,

Snape.

As a Potions teacher.

SNAPE.

AS A POTIONS TEACHER.

AS HARRY’S POTIONS TEACHER.

Is it too late to become certified as a homeschooling teacher? Also none of the parenting books described a situation like this (save your jokes about me reading parenting books. I was nervous alright?) so what the fuck do I do?!

My head may explode soon. Knowing how freaky Snivellus is, he’ll probably use my brain guts for potions ingredients, the little slimeball.

Love,

Sirius

Dear James,

I think you may have passed on a bit more of yourself to Harry than Lily would have liked. Going after an alchemist’s immortality stone? Slaying basiliks? Battling dragons? Your kid’s got an adventure streak a mile wide. At least we were a bit tame- only snuck through some secret passages and spent nights with a werewolf as illegal Animagi. At least, tame compared to Harry

I remember one time you asked me if the worry you had for Harry would ever go away. At the time, I was sure it would. The extent of your worries seemed limited to whether or not Harry would crash his toy broomstick into the cat or accidentally get under the Invisibility Cloak. One day he would grow into his own person responsible for his own actions, then you wouldn’t need to worry much anymore.

But what the hell did I know? As much as Harry felt like my kid then, it’s nothing compared to how it feels now. To tell you the complete truth (which we always did, no matter what), the worry never goes away. It somehow gets worse. Because now I’m worried that there’s somehow residual basilisk venom stuck in his veins or that dragon fire will burn him to a crisp, not to mention the fact that there’s a prophecy that may or may not have doomed him to his death. 

Sometimes I think that if you were here, you’d be handling this a lot better than I am.

Love,

Sirius

Dear James,

The worry gets a lot worse when your son has a target on his back and the entire Ministry, not to mention an evil wizard, is after him.

He’s got words carved into the back of his hand. I know you’ve seen me at my worst, but I assure you that I have never wanted to kill someone more than when Harry told me about that woman and what she had done to him. 

Some days, deep down, I’m glad you’re not here to see what Harry’s gone through because I know it would break your heart. I always feel horrible for thinking that, but I can’t help it. 

Love,

Sirius

Dear James,

Congratulations! You’re officially a grandfather to a beautiful boy: James Sirius.

I am not at all sore that you got the first name and I got the middle.

Sneaky bastard, you aren’t even here! I raised Harry, and he’s pretty great (all thanks to me).

Miss you more than ever.

Love,

Sirius

[jjungkooksthighs]

Claws of Carnality | jjk (7)

Pairing: alpha jungkook x omega reader

Genre: smut, fluff and angst, abo/werewolf!au, soulmate!au, fantasy!au 

Rating: 18+ / nsfw

Word Count: 7.4k

Summary:  When you and your alpha rivetingly reunite for the Offering Ceremony, you are thoroughly twitterpated in his display of intent to you that colors your entire being with affection for him, but you will soon find that he isn’t the only one that has his sights set on you...

Warnings: alpha!jungkook, possessive!jungkook, jealous!jungkook, dom!jungkook, sub! reader, omega!reader, mentions of breeding/ruts/heats, mentions of blood, mentions of a mark, slick and pre-ejaculatory production, scenting, mating rituals and hunting 

A/N: What a ride this chapter has been. From the many drafts I had of the original version that went through various reworks before I initially posted and then onto the deletion of that from Tumblr only for an alternate version to be made in my efforts to better guide understanding of the story, this chapter has started from one destination and landed somewhere across the other side of the world. 

I hope that this version is easier to digest after the heaviness of the original and much work has been done to ensure that. All feedback that was given to me on the previous rendition of this chapter was greatly appreciated even if some of it hurt, so those who reached out, I thank you. I hope that you all will continue to let me know what your thoughts are as I thrive on comments and feedback that show to me what you guys really think about my work. Please make me a happy author and share your feedback with me on this revised version that I made just for you guys! 

Also, you will notice the gif I used this time is different. That is because that look is what Jungkook has somewhere in this chapter (because lbr here I am a slut for Black Swan Jungkook). There might additionally be an insert that looks somewhat familiar to something we have all screamed over, so that will be interesting to see if anyone catches what it is. 

For my readers that enjoy auditory stimulus while they read, I wrote this chapter entirely to Jungkook’s “My Time” and I implore you to listen to that while you read because it really sets the mood and perspective I had in the sentiments that I wanted to convey for this part (not to mention I fucking love that song like a child adores their favorite toy). You may find while listening that a certain part resonates especially deep with it. Bonus points to anyone that catches the special allusion! 

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3  Part 4  Part 5  Part 6  Part 8 Part 9

Suffering in silence amid the agonizing absence of your alpha, every second spent without him is dragged on by cruel hands of time that languidly pass with lethargy in the wake of the sun’s slumber.

 Despite the powerful paroxysms that wrack every fiber of your being, your heart paddles agog with anticipation while you wait anxiously for your alpha as your irises sweep like a whirlwind through the woodland in the distance in their frantic frenzy to find under their storm the bringer of the tempest of emotions that rain over you.

 The knoll erected just before the greenwood is certainly an insolent impediment that blocks and bars your sights from penetrating pervasively into the forest’s opening as you whimper in the damned denial of your mate.

 You hardly notice the profoundly proliferating mound of quarry in front of you that the same beta tugs and tows from the forest in an accumulating aggregation that far surpasses the small, sad excuses for the other piles of game that other betas pull from the forest in their lugging of the conquered prey of each alpha that they serve.

 The name of this particular one drifts away from your comprehension in the turbulent gusts that your alpha spews over you even in your separation that cloud your mind of all but him.

 By now, the sun has lain itself to sleep below the horizon and, in its place, the moon has awoken augustly from her own chamber to seat herself atop her throne at the sky’s crest. This night, she is tainted red with the crimson of the lifeblood within all creatures under her care in a rare occurrence that is otherwise known as the Blood Moon. 

Occurring only twice a year among the winter and summer solstices, the striking shade is symbolic of the wild impulses that drive all living beings and even the stars pulse like veins through the sky’s soma in their own frenzied palpitations.

 The moon’s subjects of omegas, alphas and betas all throng tightly together in clusters behind the garden of newly presented omegas that have blossomed with maturity, the cheerful chattering of all the wolves of your pack blooming around you in the warmth of excitement that spouts from them like water. You are rooted like a flower to the ground amidst the field of other omegas that have recently presented, your limbs planted there by the elder who had brought you from the woods.

 It had been an onerous omission on your part to abstain from hissing at her when her bony, knuckled hands had grasped your arms in the utter dissatisfaction that had erupted like a volcano within you in the urge to tear her off of you in the lack of heat that her touch- which had been so definitively and determinately not your alpha’s- had been incapable of warming you with.

 It had been so unlike what your alpha easily instilled upon you in his calefaction that rolled off of him in waves and, in wanting only your alpha’s hands on you, you’d had to bite down on your tongue to keep from releasing the noise of dismayed dissatisfaction and risk being begrudgingly berated for an unruly display.

 Once she’d ambled away, it was your secret that you’d pulled the furs your alpha had given you closer around you to bask in his scintillating scent, the pelt closing comfortingly around you to offer you some much needed incalescence while some, but not all, of the tension pressing down on your shoulders had lifts away.

 Niva, who stood behind you, had giggled as she asked, “Are you that gone for him, darling?”

 Your cheeks had reddened in embarrassment before you’d looked back at her to quietly mumble, “I am. Irrevocably and unequivocally.”

 You watch with bated breath as alphas begin to ascend from over the hilltop that stands to attention just before the woodland as you all but tremble in anticipation to find your own among them.

 They are all cleaned of the blood, sweat and tears from the prey they slayed and most are dressed in exorbitantly expensive threads that have likely never before been worn before today. 

They are donned under furs from which the alphas acquired in hunts years past in the aged, tanned colors of them all that are draped over each wolf’s shoulders as they come to stand in front of their designated deposit of game they have proudly procured in effort to offer it to their desired partner amidst the line of omegas that have been arranged opposite of them.

 It is tradition that the sins of death be wiped away from them before an omega's virtues of life can fully cleanse the alpha that would receive them.

 Incurring impatience is what has you whine out for your alpha that still evasively eludes your visage as you searchingly seek him while your wolf cries for the only one that could possibly quiet it as a familiar figure separates from the amalgamation of agglomerated elders that have accumulated along the west and east sides of the stage before she takes her place on the beamed boards that circularly coalesce into the timbered stage.

 Amidst the jovial jabber that percolates through the air, the lead elder, who is also your grandmother, raises her hands over her head so that the moonlight drips down onto her upturned palms as she shouts, “Children! Tonight, we commemorate the adulthood that our blessed mother of the moon has acknowledged in these youth before you,” the lead elder lowers both arms to gesture to you as fondness showers over her before she softens, “And among them is my beloved grandchild, Y/N, who hails from the purest of bloodlines and who has been the sole caretaker of our pups and livestock in her dutiful and devout service to her pack since her very juvenility. Let us commend both her and those she was raised alongside in this momentous moment!”

 There is a thunderous applause that bursts roaringly around you as exhilaration energizes you anew whilst every wolf in attendance animatedly hoots and claps with a delighted dynamism that has you smiling happily as the sounds bound through you with the liveliness of a sprite.  

 It leaps through you ceaselessly and when you breathe in to give it more room to prance around within you, that’s when your lips lift in gratified gaiety in the unmistakable undeniability of the scent of myrrh that skirrs insatiably forth until it has found and enveloped you in its mighty musk as you sigh with satisfaction at the realization as it wantonly wafts around you.

Jungkook, your precious mate, must be close by.

 The knowledge has your heart skipping a beat as your wolf bays amidst the kindles of joy that light themselves within you in the rapid recognition of the presence of your other half somewhere in the distance.

In the cesspool of odors of all the other wolves that odiously stink and reek through winds around you, it is a taxing task to attempt to locate the origin of the aroma you have come to adore ardently.

All you can do is readily revel in the piquantly pungent incense that incites your baser being with inclination to rejoin with its mate and to find solace in the euphoric utopia of his waiting arms once more.

 Some of the lead elder’s words are lost to you amongst your alpha’s essence that wraps willfully around you in a brume that brushes eagerly against you while the ovation that, somewhere along the way, has gradually quieted while the last of the alphas have found their allocated allotment next to their corresponding heaps of seized, slain prey.

They are organized according to rank with the first place that heads the row of alphas belonging to the wolf boasting the highest station amongst his dynamic as their chief in charge of them all through the title afforded to him through his strength, power and bloodline.

 Such were no match for any other alpha that had been unwise and unfortunate enough to face and bear the brunt of his sharp claws in battle that ended in loss to any that opposed him as the rightful pack alpha.

 It is Jungkook’s locus at the vertex of the line that is empty and while the sight should distill doubt’s inklings within you, your alpha’s reassuring redolence is there to caress you in the swathing surety that he’s near. In your endeavored expenditure to catch a glimpse of Jungkook, you fail to detect that there is not one desolate domain that is devoid of an alpha in front of you, but four.   

 Still, you’re hardly at the liberty to discern that within the olfactive haze of your alpha’s pheromones that effervescently enfold you in their pleasing particles.

 When your irises chase the lingering trace of him that is everywhere and nowhere at once to no avail yet again, you pout and, in the distance, a pair of golden eyes glint with mirth at the spectacle of you that is so incredibly and charmingly cherubic to their beholder.

 A knowing expression momentarily crossing the lead elder’s face, your grandmother steps back before smiling fondly at you before her eyes carry their focus across the line of omegas that have been bestrewn along the grasses to your right before returning to you as she proclaims, “My dear grandchild, I welcome you and your fellow omegeans to the maturity that the wolves within you have flourished so beautifully with. May the most worthy of alphas earn you this night under the approving nod of our maternal moon that shall watch us from above,” she gives a revering salute to the celestial body above as she crosses her fingers over her heart in a spherical motion before bowing and when she stands once more, she trumpets, “With that, let us begin the Offering Ceremony!”

Upon her final words, she hobbles haltingly back down the wooden stairs connected to one side of the stage with some aid from the other elders in the age that has stolen away the strength of her feeble, frail ligaments as another round of applause fiercely flies through the land on the wings of the air that carry it as good-natured gossip joins it.

 The stage is emptied but for a moment before an alpha emerges from the arched lumbered and logged mouth opening onto the platform, the tongue of timbered planks spanning outward in a circlet as the wolf takes his starting position for his celebratory dance before a flurry of flutes cast their music from the forelimbs of the wooden body under the deft fingers of the pack’s musicians.

You do not recognize this wolf and it takes only a second for your attention to sway elsewhere as your alpha’s scent draws you back to him when its mists cling in their sedulous sumptuousness to you.

 It is tradition that all ceremonies and events initiate with performances meant to embody the heart of the occasion. Through their artistically aesthetic displays, tangible forms are given to the impalpable sentiments that the pack amasses in its harnessing  of sensibilities toward such a jovial jamboree in the dances that are done to reflect those avid attitudes of each wolf imbued innately with such enthusiasm.

 Following this, alphas are the first to proffer a present to their desired partners in declaring and dedicating the winnings of their hunt to their chosen omega. In exchange for the bounty, the omega then gives something of their own to their alpha as a symbol of intent to be paired exclusively with each other.

 If there are offerings that exceed those of a single alpha for one omega, challenges or duels can be instigated and thusly proctored in official matches in their efforts to win an omega.

Such battles end either through submission or when one wolf is left incapacitated in the incapability to rise from the ground through the wounds that always leave their bodies in tatters through the violent nature of the fight for a mate.

The losing combatant forfeits their rights to claim an omega if they are bested by their opponent and the omega is not given a choice to accept the victor even if the alpha that wins them is not the one they had hoped to have, for it is a rule that the superior wolf who dominates another and exhibits that they are the more capable provider to the entire compound is the worthier being in their ability to protect their omega.

Following this, an intended pair of wolves each bestow matching marks that they paint onto each other in the blood of the strongest, most fearsome prey that an alpha robbed of its life in the honor of their omega.

 After that, they are free to depart to a den the alpha is to have carefully crafted in preparation of his mate where the two are then meant to consummate their bond that will seal them together forevermore, for the brand of tooth marks that the two leave on each other through the throes of rapturous ecstasy would bind them to one other until the end of their days in the ultimate deed of giving themselves to each other through such an intimate act.

 Daedal devotion linked the delicate affairs of courtship that you had always thought was so romantic and you can’t help the thrilling sensation that cascades over you at the prospect of what is to come alongside a particular alpha that has captured your mind and soul in his very palm.

 His scent swirls enticingly around you as your irises, once again, flick along the endless expanse of the forest beyond while you squint as if that would help you to better see into the greenhood that grasps him away from you. Try as you might, you still cannot glimpse the apple of your eye from the fanning ferns careening from the underbrush as you whine once more in his hedging of you.

As his tang drapes itself over you, it stirs in its insistence his voice that echoes through your mind to remind you, “I will return for you and when I do, I will make you mine forever.”

 Your anxiety is quieted in his quintessence that settles like a blanket over you to warm you in his stead as you continue to scour scrupulously around you for any smidgen of him that might deliver you to the truth of his whereabouts, your focus narrowed now in the thin beam of light that luminates your mind only with the purpose of finding him.

 Lost in your fossicking forage for him as you are, the first wolf that had arrived on the stage is replaced by another and after that, two more.

 By the time that six have gone, you’re no closer to illuminating your vision with his candescent luster as you peer longingly at the vacant spot that parallels your own where your alpha should be standing as yearning pulls at your heartstrings in his devastating absenteeism as you tug his pelt tighter over you.

 When the yakking and chatting of the wolves behind you is blown out like a candle in the current that sweeps them through in awed astonishment at the same instant that the pheromones lacing over you thicken in headiness in their willful wiles, that’s when your irises are whisked away, lured as they are to the baited source of it all.

 Your breath hitches when golden eyes pierce your own, fiery fervor flashing in them amidst the ferocious flames that lick hungrily at him from all directions in their passionate parchedness to welcome him into their warmth.

 His irises rove ravenously over you, heat coiling low within you as your wolf preens at the attention while you do the same.  

 Covered in the color of soot, Jungkook’s lower half is ashen with cindered linen that clutches with cohere to him in every slew of thew cording his legs. Adorning his middle is a blackened buckskin belt that bears a perfect hourglass shaped waist and already your salivary glands are fructuously fertile in their gushing of spittle within your jaw that drops when you drink in the overtly obscene shirt that is provocatively provoking in its transparency that elicits the subsequent swoons of omegas around you. 

It leaves nothing to the imagination and, like a second skin, vaunts every delicious dip and ridge of his mouth-watering musculature.

 It is decorated with patterned patches in the shapes of burned brambles that are woven across the material meant to inspire illicit impurities in all that are fortuitously fortunate enough to behold your alpha in how it sinfully sticks to him. Encircling his neck like a thick collar, the shirt bands around him and over it, a blazoned blazer engulfs him. Like it has been seared through by fire, it is open to reveal his clothed chest in its entirety.

Tendrils of dark hair fall over his face in dangerous, wild wisps that curl amidst the humidity that overtly obsess over them.

 You can hardly contain your own ire of want that simmers through you at the sight all of that and, when you trail your visage back up to his eyes, they are brightened with amusement while he dares to flick a sculpted brow as if to tease, “Like what you see?”

 You lick your lips as a whimper traitorously escapes you while a wolfish grin lifts at his own before the symphony of flutes and lutes harmonize in the opening notes of their song and they sing soulfully for a few meters.

 When your alpha begins his damning dance to the thrumming tempo of the waiata whispering through his ears, you already know you’re going to fall even more for him in an impossibly irredeemable descent that you have no wish to ascend away from.

 Your alpha sidles forward with purpose pervading his slow movement, his irises burning torridly into your own with the finer feeling that fully fulgurates them before he spins on one foot while the chords of both instruments twirl together with him as he whirls around to face you once more.

 The melodic music is, like your alpha, insistent in its eagerness to call commandingly to you in the way that its trill lowers and soon deepens with the same tantalizing temptation into his darkness that captivates you to him in your pure light.

 In his meticulous motion, his fingers close around the end of his jacket that he’d caught in an open palm upon completion of his turn only to strum his fingers through the air with the other hand as if he were stroking the strings of an invisible lute between his arms.

 He draws his free hand backward before smoothly and flowingly sweeping it forward only to then arc it behind him in a circular kinesis, his chin following his hand like it is tied around his wrist by twine. He repeats this once more, his eyes never straying from yours in the heated intensity that warms your very being as he stares only at you the entire time.

 Like a match being struck in various vertices over him, every movement sparks the flinted flicker of white that births from it the embers of an inferno amidst the small moonstones that have been adroitly added over his blazer.

 When he steps forward to be bathed by the scarlet rays of the moon that color him in the passion that he dances with, that’s when he vocalizes the sentiments for you that move him in a lyrical lilt that is in sound synchronicity with the instrumental tune he’d written himself.

 As he takes in the way that you melt under the smoldering charcoal of affection for him, he can’t help the words that fall freer than rain on a spring day as he allows his emotions for you to pour out of him while you thaw him with your own rays of radiance that glisten in your eyes and in the way that you fondly look on at him like he’s the only one that exists in your world.

 His baser being demands that he show to you what you mean to him and so he does.

 He sings how rapidly his life had gone by and how lonely with lorn he’d been in his wait for his mate in the incertitude of whether he’d been correct in his way of living without you while his arm lifts so his fingers point toward the sky that, through its unstopping hands, had turned the cogs of time.

 “Oh, I think I was in yesterday ‘cause everybody walk too fast, don’t know what to do with, am I livin' this right?”

 He chants to you about the time that had been stolen sufferingly away from you both in your childhood and adolescence that had barred you both from each other in the forbidding rules of the compound that outlawed with onus your unavoidable union.

 “Why am I alone in a different time and space? Oh I can't call ya, I can't hol' ya, Oh I can't…”

 He proclaims the struggling strife that had wracked him in being forced to remain apart from you for so unbearably long in his cover behind the trees while he’d watched over you as his soul had cried for the only one that could complete it in the days he’d spent following the orders of his father.

 “Sometimes when I’m gasping for air, I wear my hat low and keep running, yeah, I don't know where I go, even if it's opposite of sun…”

 He chronicles with vivid verve the verdict that he has brimmed blisteringly with in your brilliance that shines as bright as the stars above while he pumps his closed fist gently against the heart that thumps only for you as he continues, his hand dragging through the hair you’d pulled on in effort to induce his mercy in the wood before he runs his other palm along the thigh he’d watched you so beautifully pleasure yourself on while he’d been blessed with the view of your damned delight atop of him.

 “One time for the present and two time for the past, I’m happy that we met each other now til' the very end…”

 He declares to you that you are, after so long, the Eve that he will always escape into the verboten oasis to find as he jumps high in the sky, his spirits soaring for you as he watches you reach dotingly for him before he lands to extend a hand of his own to you before spinning in a circle like a clock to once more face you.

 “Oh, I will call ya, I will hol' ya, oh I will and yes you know, oh yes you know that I will...”

 Enraptured in ardency’s hold over you, Jungkook’s gleaming gold irises are streaked so profoundly with earnest elan that, as they sink into the riveting depths of your own, they scintillate with silver like the genial moon that you are to him as it washes over his eyes the farther that he descends into your deep devoutness that floods you for him.

 In the irrefutable irrepressibility of your own sentiments for him, your own eyes dye themselves gold like the sun that is your alpha to you.

 His dulcet words phosphoresce the burgeoning seedlings of affectionate attachment to him as he nears you along the lip of the stage that is speckled with candles that cast their light over him like sunbeams themselves that, through their heated kisses, leave him shimmering in an ethereal golden glow that radiates out into the night that has befallen you. 

You do not know if a more mellifluous voice exists in the world than his own with the way the chords of your own heart are struck with each soulful solfege that is uniquely and undeniably him as his eyes seek nothing but you, who has brought so much lustrous light to his sky.

 Neither of you pay any mind to the collective series of shocked gasps or astonished huffs that are emitted from the converged crowd behind you.

 In the stuttered stupefaction that fastens itself to them like moss to a tree, all eyes are on you and your alpha that take notice only of only each other amidst the mutated metamorphosis that had transfigured the irises of both of you to match those of the other through the gift of sight that marks two soulmates in their belonging to one another.

 Such an ocular occurrence had not been recorded for over seven thousand years in the rare paucity that the moon granted with the declining diminishment of purebreds descended from the lupi antiquis.

 Thus, in the episodical exceptions where the celestial body did bestow such an innately intimate connection between two wolves, it was said that their zealous zest for each other would guide them in their reigned rule over the other wolves that would bring prosperity and peace for generations to come under the moon’s favor.

 Yet, under the music’s metrical melody, its sonorous spell casts a coddling cocoon over you and your mate until the silken thrum hums around only the two of you as its fibered filaments shield everything but the both of you from each other’s vision.

 Your mate’s vociferous voice fades after the chanted crescendos ravel into decrescendos until the collection of euphonious sounds wrap wholly and completely around you as his body moves with the beat of the organ that pumps only for you within him.  

He plants both feet to the floor before a hand trails down his body in a vinelike display while one leg is uprooted off the wood beneath him to swing in front and behind him as if he’s embedded into it and can’t bear to relinquish himself from the earth that grounds and supports him like you do.  

 Like the celestial bodies whose hands that turn time, he easily epitomizes this when he steps forward, his arms turning in a spherical motion akin to that of sun’s path through the realm above during the days it brings before the moon journey in her brother’s stead as the siblings of the sky steal away the lost moments that had been wracked away from you both amid their ceaseless passing.

 His wrist then flicks outward as if he’s trying to halt the spindles of a chronometer from ticking precious time away from him as his irises flare frenetically into your own with the fervor that flecks them.

 You whine for him as he moves, his fervent feeling made so precisely palpable with the way his shoulders roll in circles along with the crux of the heart sitting in his chest that hastens its already quickened pace as he glimpses the tender smile lifting along your lips.

It sets his very soul afire with contentedness before one and then the other hand pounds against each pectoral only to then sweep upward to tangle through his hair as his legs splay outward so that each thigh bulges boastfully against the fabric while his wolf howls when he hears you suck in a breath.

 It is one that sputters with a stammer from your lips in the emotion he’s nurtured inside you and drawn forth from the deepest recesses of your body that wails needily for him, your wolf baying with want to be closer, nearer and together.

 The sound you make lathers itself like honey over his ears and he’s sure he’ll never tire of that with how breathlessly bewildered you had seemed all because of him.

 He’s swiftly besieged by his baser being to show to you how much you affect him and to display to you what you do to him in his deep-seated desire for you and, never one to bypass his urges, he does not cage it.

 Once his hands have streamed through his luscious locks, he trickles them over his face, irises still settled along the substrate of your own as his fingers drag downward to collect the lapels of his blazer before, in one fluid motion, he sheds it from his shoulders as a loud whimper dribbles from you while you absorb attentively the salacious sight before you.

 His hair has fallen crazedly over one eye in curved, thick tufts as an iridescent iris dappled in the chroma of the orbs that oscillate through the sky during the night and day. Through his continued movements, the mingled union of a silver and gold buries itself as deeply as it can within your depths as the offending piece of clothing trails lower until it pools at his wrists.

With a devastating grin, he puffs out his chest with proud pride, a sheen of sweat shining under the thin material amongst dark, dusky nipples that nip against it in protest of its tautness that chafes against them.

 Instantly, your legs are rubbing against each other without your mind’s notice as he smirks when your essence that is spawned by your sex spumes over you before its titillating tinge rises in the air to collect under his nostrils.

 Your rousing spice seasons every recess of his body in the relish that causes his pupils to dilate in craving, his member growing hard within his trousers for you as he pulls his lip between his teeth with a growl before gyrating around and when your irises meet once again, he pivots to the side at the same time his fist opens and closes while he outstretches a hand for you.

 Your limbs are slowly sapped of their strength with each measured movement that he makes and when he runs toward you until he’s dangerously close to the edge of the stage, you think he might reduce you to a puddle on the ground beneath him when his hand returns to the corpulent collection of muscles cording the crus of his leg as he whisks one palm along his thigh while he rotates his ankle inward to have every tendon jump in a torturously teasing sight while his free fingers curl inward before him as he repeats it all with the other.

 Saliva pools in your mouth as he sleekly and confidently moves with the impressively intricate series of footwork that he glides impossibly closer to you with and with one final twirl and fatal arch of a brow, he shirks the blazer off him entirely while his ligaments lower him down to one knee in sharp, quick movements that have his chest caving in and out while he descends, his head tipping back to bare a neck sluiced with sweat in a sight that has you drooling in want to touch and feel him against you once again.

 Jungkook leers longingly at you when he slides forth onto his other leg with one bent underneath him while the other is jutted out like the perfect throne that you’d gladly fall to your knees for.

 He looks like a god that you would readily worship and yet, he dances like a demon.

 It is with a lethal dark flash of his eyes that he snaps the fingers of one hand to the final strum of the lute while the other trails damningly along his chiseled body until it settles over the swelling cock throbbing for you that you whine with the unyielding yearningness that has captured every inhibited iota within you under his command.

 You are utterly enthralled as his lips move to mouth, “All of this was for you, my omega. Now that everyone knows what we are to each other, no one will dare to keep you from me,” he watches with interest the way that your lips part in his effect on you and curses in how far away you are from him as he utters, “Come to me once I’ve gone away from here, pretty. Your alpha requires your presence after being denied of you in the forest. I will be waiting anxiously for you.”

 When he stands to sink into the shadows behind him that the light cannot permeate, your high-pitched warble still has not dissipated.

 You only realize this when a spindly, bony hand is laid over your shoulder to pull you back and away from the pack of wolves around you while the familiar and oldened voice of your grandmother tries to break through to you in the stupor set by your alpha.

 When you don’t respond to the many redundant repetitions of your name, she squeezes your shoulder to throatily call out, “My, my, my… you are besotted with that alpha that names himself Jeon Jungkook, my dearest granddaughter. I hadn’t the foggiest idea before on why he asked me to allow him to dance, but now I see that it was for you.  I suppose that is to be expected, considering everything."

 It is the mention of your alpha that grapples your attention away from where you’d last seen him as you tilt your head in question before you quietly squeak, “I am very taken with him, but what do you mean by that?”

 She laughs, “Grandchild, these eyes may be old, but I saw within you and he the gift of sight that the moon mother above bestowed to you both that, by her blessed design, declares each of you as the other’s soulmate. Even the gift of olfaction was there, for this nose can still smell the taint of sex that he, along with you, produced during his performance.”

 Your eyes widen and your cheeks burn in embarrassment while you stutter, “Grandma, h-he made me do it. I c-couldn’t help it.”

 She only pats your head to say, “It is nothing to be ashamed of, grandchild. The moon chose him for you. It is only natural that you respond to him in such a way. Incidentally, what did he say to you at the end of his dance?”

 Mortification has you worrying at your lip before as you fidget as you shyly whisper, “He asked that I go to him. I believe he wishes for us to have some time alone together before the offering.”

 Your grandmother nods in understanding and instead of finding any trace of dissenting disapproval in her countenance, she encourages, “Then go and join him, my granddaughter. You must be swift, though,” she steps back to gesture to the row of alphas that stand before the stage, “There are only a few performances left before you and he must return for any challengers that may wish to win you from him, though I don’t see how that will be possible as smitten as you appear for that alpha that you call Jungkook.”

 Gratification steeply swills over you as you embrace her, “Thank you, grandmother. We will be quick as the wind, you’ll see.”

 She waves you off as you scurry with hurry beyond her toward the wooden dwelling that houses the elders, for it secondarily serves as the temporary domain of the dancers that begin the performances where they are allowed to change clothes and prepare in the spare rooms that are located along the first floor.

 You do not notice the shift of silhouettes in the distance as you scamper along, your mind swimming in the waters of your alpha that have soused you so.

 It is only when you are scuttling along the steps that lead up into the den that you hear the whistle behind you before it is followed in a voice saturated far too saccharinely with sweetness that has your tongue souring in its wake as it muses, “Damn, Taehyung. You weren’t lying. She really is such a divine little thing.”

 In the hormones heaving through you, they insistently incur your instincts that are stirred with stimulation only for your alpha and in simultaneous sequence, the repellant revulsion of any wolf that is not him in your baser being’s acknowledged acceptance of Jungkook as your mate.

 Your wolf kecks under the miasmatic fumes of malodors that are bitter and acetic as they burn your nostrils, the stench of alphas heavy in the air as you remain in your place with your back to them while you try to stifle the gag that sits low in your throat as you manage, “What do you want with me? Why are you here and who are you?”

 You recognize one as Taehyung’s, but the other is unknown to you.

 There’s a mawkish chortle that bellows, “You do not know of me? You will, omega. Soon enough, you will. All of you omegas eventually do.”

 The words lift the hairs at the base of your neck in the cloying sugariness of them that clump heavily together in their mission to rot your insides as the swish of grass grows louder in the closing distance between you and the stranger that is an obstructing obstacle between you and your alpha.

 The unabating advance does not terminate and when you furtively glance over your shoulder to see a hand inching toward you, you cringe with the trace of a hiss tinting your voice, “Do not touch me. My alpha is very protective of me and will not be merciful if you toy with what is his. Your friend over there,” you flick your chin back toward the source of the foul odor that you know to be Taehyung’s, “he was not so lucky when he felt it just to try to take me from my alpha.”

 The stranger makes a sound of consideration, “Hm, a creature with some bark to her bite. I like that.”

 It’s as though you’re being backed into a corner, your wolf yelping in protest as you try to rein in your emotions that beg you to beseech your alpha that is so close, yet so far away from you right now. If he does not come for you, it is only a matter of time before your claws will come out in defense.

 Fingers stretch toward you and before they can make contact with your skin, you bare your teeth to sibilate, “It seems you do not understand. It was only I that could calm Jungkook- who is bound to me and I to him by the moon above- through the rage that overcame him when he was ready to maim Taehyung for foolish disobedience,” you turn to pierce your perpetrator with a cautionary glare as you forewarn, “The wounds that were left in Taehyung’s shoulder are but minor lesions of what my alpha will scar you with should you dare to incur the wrath of my mate.”

 In a momentary lapse of an instant, you think that you derive in your detection the distinct aromatic attar of your alpha nearby, but it is fleeting as are the contours that are casted of a darkened outline that, so quickly you think it may have been a trick of your eye, briefly block the light filtering past the opaque aperture of aged glass next to the entrance of the den.

They disappearingly depart almost as soon as they arrive with only a sliver of a scent that remains and without a doubt, there is only one wolf it could belong to in its special singularity.

It had been Jungkook, your alpha.

You wish you could be with him and wonder if an elder had gotten to him before you could, but you’re not given long to ruminate on either of those despite the sudden stoutness that is spritzed over you in Jungkook’s oceanic presence that ebbs and flows faithfully alongside you.

 In spite of it all, it is Jimin who stands before you when you look down on him. He is clad in bloodred silks that contrast clashingly with dark smudging around the sides of his eyes while pewter colored hair hangs loosely over his forehead with the oils that must have been used to carefully style it while he cheekily checks you out much to your discontented dismay.

“What you say is of little concern to me, Y/N. I always get what I want and you will be no different,” he says.

You have seen him only a few times before during his performances and had once thought him to be beautiful as a doll, but now you can see where his stitches have become loose in vainness that bursts at his seams.

You take a step back and away from him, your alpha’s presence pouring itself onto you through the remnants of his smell that douse his confidence over you as you cross your arms to chide, “It is a pity your looks have made you so conceited, Jimin. You have become spoiled and ruined by them, it seems,” you harden your gaze at him, “I am not like everyone else and I do not wish to have anything to do with you because I am already promised to Jungkook, who is your pack alpha that you must obey.”

 One side of his lips lift up his irises hoggishly digest you from head to toe as he decides, “It’s precious that you believe any of that is enough to stop me,” he climbs one step slowly before ascending up the other until he is eye level with you, “Spend the limited time together that you can, little omega. It will be over soon enough when I reap you from him and harvest the most fruitful crop this fucking pack has ever had and plow you until you’re bursting with my seed instead of his.”

 Your alpha has never spoken to you with such disregarding disrespect. It irks you with anger that reddens enflamed within you.

 You grimace at that, disgust damningly withering your insides in its blight as you sneer, “Try it, Park Jimin. You will never win against him. When you lose to him like I already am assured that you will,” you lift your chin in defiance, “you’ll regret allowing that minuscule cock of yours to rule over your tiny, pygmy brain.”

 That earns a titter from him as he replies, “What a little spitfire you are. No matter,” he gibs, “I will tame you soon enough.”

 Obstinance consumes you in its angry wildfire as you scoff, “As if you ever could. Good luck with your attempts that shall only end in bitter failure, for I will never be yours. I belong to Jungkook and there is nothing you could do to change that.”

 “That’s where you’re wrong,” Jimin smiles so wide it’s almost nauseating with how much his lips can twist as he backs away with a quip coming from between them, “When he loses to me-“

 “He will not be defeated by the likes of you. This, I know to be true,” you narrow your eyes in certitude’s credence that your blood sings with.

 “If I do not win you, then Taehyung will. Nonetheless, we shall see, little omega. We shall see,” his vexing voice dims in deliquesce as the moonlight regressively recedes while the two prowling wolves remit themselves into the shadows of utter umbra that swallow them from sight.

 You stand for some moments counting contrived breaths hindered by your ire that had smoked and combusted within you to block your airway from effectively expelling the blazing emotion and it is only when your chest no longer aches with the stressed strain to contract that you set in motility once again to make your way into the elder’s den.

It doesn’t take you long to locate your alpha in the perceptible path of pheromones that lead you to him and there is no havering hesitation that stymies its stall of you from opening the oaken door before closing it as it groans in its senile senescence from the effort of such work.

Any negative sentiments that Jimin had left brewing immediately disintegrate within you as you ogle openly how, with his back to you, your alpha damningly divests from his body the shirt made of pure sin in its tempting taunt to you.

He pulls it from his middle slowly and torturously drags it up to reveal skin soaked by the sun and burned by the claws of combat, the serried slew of muscles lining his shoulders swelling savagely in his mannered motion and only when he lets it fall limply on the floor do his eyes find your own through the mirror he ostentatiously oxidizes you through.

Golden irises specked with silver sear into your own as one brow arches up only for him to rumble out, “Enjoy the show, pretty? I know I did.”

[heyzagman]

SO! I’ve been thinking about how Zagreus, a literal god, trained fighter under Achilles, has to fight through each region of the underworld, powered by the Olympians and ancient Titan-slaying weapons, dying multiple times, before he is able to reach the surface. And Orpheus, dude who has never held a sword in his life, just walked right in and out with only his lyre and his falsetto. I’ve been thinking about that so here’s a fic from the prospective of Thanatos about it: 

disclaimer: I have no idea what the underworld timeline looks like so we are shooting pinball with the ages of the gods here

Thanatos was but a godling when the Orpheus debacle happened. Queen Persephone was with child, attempting to grow a new plant in the garden, when they all heard the singing. This was the first Thanatos himself had heard of it, although Mother Nyx and Lord Hades did not seem alarmed. Specifically, Mother Nyx did not look surprised, but instead, impressed. Lord Hades was enraged. He stood up dramatically, slamming his hands on his desk. Thanatos had been speaking to Mother Nyx about his future duties, the young god had recently found his calling and would soon be working among his older brother Charon and the young Olympian Hermes helping souls to their final resting home. 

Speaking of, Lord Hades was working on attempting to gain communication with the god of messengers. 

An orange orb appeared in the air, as a quick voice emerged, echoing around the house. 

“Hey there, boss, you called?”

Lord Hades’ voice bellowed, trying to be heard over the distant plucking of a lyre. “Have you yet found out who exactly has infiltrated my realm?”

“About that, you see, that’s gonna be Orpheus, son of a Muse, you know those.”

“Why is he here? How did he get so far? I can hear that obnoxious lyre from my desk.”

Hermes tsked. “Well, that’s not a question for me, boss. That’s a question for your security system.”

“My security system is in ORDER! I would have heard if he had killed even one of my wretches.”

“Guess he’s not killing them then, huh? Anyway, good luck, keep me updated, gotta dash.”

The orange orb zapped out and the presence of Olympus left the chamber. 

“Agh!” Hades pressed his fingers on his forehead. In a low voice, he called for Nyx. 

Mother Nyx carted a hand through Thanatos’s hair to calm him before she rose to speak to Lord Hades. 

Thanatos stood up and began walking towards the garden. Hypnos was standing at the doorway of the garden, peering out. 

“What are you doing?” Thanatos asked. 

“You know, just waiting for the Muse’s kid to get here.”

“He cannot. No one alive can enter the underworld, much less the House. The wretches will stop him.”

Hypnos grinned. “He’s gotten through both Elysium and Asphodel. Tartarus is probably a cakewalk, who knows when’s the last time those shades have heard music?”

“You think he is getting through just with his singing?” Thanatos looked through the doorway. Queen Persephone was no longer tending her garden. Instead, she was simply standing and looking, waiting. 

“I can tell that some of the shades out there--they’re sleeping.” Hypnos wrapped himself in his blanket. He said it nonchalantly, as if sleeping shades was a common incident when, on the contrary, it should have been impossible. 

Thanatos hovered closer to his twin, whispering harshly: “Don’t you think you should do something about that? Can’t you wake them up or something?”

Hypnos yawned. “I’m Sleep Incarnate, brother. ‘Waking up’ isn’t really my domain.”

Even if it had been, it would have been for naught. A melody erupted from the garden and the twins barely moved out of the way as all the shades in the House burst out the door in a green river of souls. The eruption, followed by a shout of anger from Lord Hades himself, was matched with the appearance of a young man, surrounded adoringly by shades, walking into the garden. 

In his short trips to and from the surface, he had heard music but nothing quite like this. This was a melody that seemed to be aimed directly to his heart, his heart, as if it was sung just for him. Hypnos beside him seemed as close to wide awake as he’d ever been, as the two godlings peered out to the garden. 

The musician, Orpheus, continued his descent through the garden. Queen Persephone held a dark purple plant to her chest and stepped aside, allowing him entry. She stood still for a moment, and then threw down her flower and ran ahead of Orpheus, past the twins, and to the desk of Lord Hades. 

As Orpheus and his parade of shades entered the House, Thanatos watched Queen Persephone take Lord Hades’ hands in hers and whisper a plea. 

The professional plucking of the lyre echoed and bounced around the chambers, drawing out shades. The House had never felt like this before, everyone kept to themselves and milled in silence. Even the announcement of the pregnancy of the Queen hadn’t held such a communicable celebration. The arrival of Orpheus drew in everyone. Thanatos could see even Sir Achilles swaying on his feet, debating to leave his post to get closer to the music. 

Mother Nyx appeared behind her sons, resting a hand on each of their heads. 

“Mother, what will happen to him?” Thanatos asked. 

“I believe the Queen is attempting to sway Lord Hades’ anger of the musician’s trespassing, my son.”

“But he must be punished,” Thanatos said, finding sorrow in his tone. 

“Yes, my child. But we do not yet know the extent of his crime. The Queen wishes for him to, at the least, be heard.”

Thanatos believed Orpheus was already, clearly, being heard. Mother Nyx remained with the twins as the scene unfolded before them. 

As bold as his actions had been and as long as his journey, Orpheus seemed nervous. He arrived before Lord Hades’ desk. The God of the Dead was standing tall, one hand curled in a large fist, slammed down on a pile of parchment-work. The other was gentle, as Queen Persephone was clutching it. 

Instead of immediately striking down, sending the man’s soul flailing hopelessly towards Tartarus, Lord Hades said: “Do tell, what has prompted you to defy my power and waltz into my home?”

Orpheus’s song stopped and Thanatos could have wept due to the sudden silence (some shades did). His hands shook as he held his lyre close. “My lord, I-I did not mean disrespect to you and your House, or-or, to the Queen. Quite simply, my muse, my love, my Eurydice, had fallen to unkindly fate which led her here. And, well, I do intend to be taking her home with me.”

Lord Hades laughed starkly at that. “Ah, I see. Not only do you break into my home but you expect to leave with another soul? A soul that rightfully belongs here? Have you any idea who you speak to?”

“Uh, I believe you are Lord Hades?”

“That--why you--”

Lord Hades paused and leaned down to the Queen Persephone, who spoke quickly and quietly. A hand rested on her stomach and the god’s expression softened. 

A heavy sigh blew around the chamber. Lord Hades sat down in his chair. The Queen found a seat as well. He said, “Well then. Go on.”

“I’m sorry, my lord?” Orpheus, as well as Thanatos, seemed surprised. 

“If your intentions are of that--of love--well, I will need you to convince me. How do I know this is not a ploy? How do I know you did not come here in malice against me and my family?”

Orpheus brought a smile to his face. “I-I see, my lord. I have a song, if you’d be willing, that will assure you my true intentions.”

Lord Hades nodded. Queen Persephone smiled and leaned forward, as if she was preparing to soak in the moment, savoring every note of the lyre and utterance of the man. 

Orpheus began to sing a love song. It began light and happy and adoring. Thanatos did not need to process the words for the feeling of it was enough to be understood. Mother Nyx gently pushed on his back and allowed them to move forward. 

Thanatos and Hypnos didn’t need more encouragement. Without much thought, the twins broke their endless hover and walked, feet on cold tile, to sit at Orpheus’s feet and listen. Amongst them were all of the shades, gathered around, emerging out of the lounge and administration chamber. Cerberus rested all three heads on the ground, puppy eyes pondering Orpheus. Achilles did not give breaking his post a second thought, and walked over to be closer, leaning with his head against the wall, closing his eyes tightly, as if trying to imagine himself somewhere different. 

The end of the song came too quickly and too sorrowfully. Contrary to the beginning, the ending was of grief and mourning, of loss and the extent one will go to lay eyes on their lover again. 

At the last note, it seemed like a spell had been broken, releasing the House from the song. Thanatos did not realize how much time had passed, but felt in renewed spirits. He wished to thank Orpheus, but instead rose again, grabbing the hand of his twin, who had curled in his quilt, yawning. 

Thanatos returned to Mother Nyx who was watching Lord Hades at his desk, wiping his eyes and furrowing his brow. Thinking of what would come next. 

But they all remembered how it went. 

Time later, the Queen left and returned, both times due to her son, Zagreus. Orpheus was back and singing once again. Zagreus found Thanatos peering over the River Styx. 

“Hey, Than!” Zagreus had just returned from another run, ransacking the underworld. Of course, Thanatos had lent a hand, but that wasn’t something that needed to be announced. It had taken Thanatos time to justify his actions. Especially before it was Zagreus’s duty to do so, back when Thanatos thought that everytime he helped, he was only assisting in Zagreus leaving him. 

“Hello, Zagreus.”

“Did you hear? I was able to lift Orpheus’s punishment, he can visit Asophel to see his muse whenever he’d like.”

“That’s great, Zag. I’m sure he appreciated that very much.”

“I sure hope so, it cost me a couple diamonds. I suppose I’ll just get more from Lernie. Actually, I came to ask, weren’t you there? When Orpheus first came through?”

“Yes, I was,” the song Orpheus had sang was a low hum in the back of his mind ever since, “but I was quite young.”

“I see. I can’t stop thinking about it, you know? Everyday or night, I nearly die trying to get out of here, and that’s with help from a lot of gods. And he just walked through. I doubt he fought.”

“No, he did not. He just sang.”

“I’ll have to give it to him. He made it look easy--the getting in part, at least,” Zagreus smiled. The song, that damn song, seemed to play louder Thanatos’s head. What were the words of it? Did it matter? Why was it louder now, but less clear?

Zagreus was talking, asking him a question: “So, do you think you would?”

“What?”

“Look back. If you had been Orpheus, would you have looked back?”

“Oh, well. I don’t know.”

“Me neither. Seems like a pretty simple task with a high reward, don’t you think?”

Thanatos nodded. Seemed so. Then again, sometimes things that seem so simple prove to be the most difficult. 

“Alright, I need to trade in some fish, thanks for the help back there?”

“Of course,” Thanatos said as he watched Zagreus trot off, waving to Achilles on the way. 

He, he thinks, understands. He knows, actually. If it was Zagreus behind him, he would have to turn back. 

He would have to know. Could he be faulted for that? 

[crackerjackawrites]

Journey to the Giggling Glade, or, Adventures of a Cottagecore NB Who Works in a Cafe (6k Words)

 Roman heads to a magical forest to gather some plants for their boss, Clara. But things don’t go as planned when Roman stumbles upon a mysterious figure outside the forest. (originally written August 2021)

“Roman!”

Roman darted past a server, nearly sending the plate of roast beef and vegetables crashing to the floor. They scurried past a chef leaning over a saucepan, disrupting his chanting and making him drop a half conjured tomato into the pan, it immediately began to sizzle. They ran through a large cloud of steam, taking in the rich smell of the sauce that was boiling just next to them. Finally, they got to the other side of the kitchen. Clara was standing there, her arms folded. Despite her mean demeanor, she was beaming, as always.

“Yes, Miss Clara?” panted Roman.

“I need you for an errand, dearie. I’ve just run out of spitebark root. Could you go out and get some for me, please?”

“Of course, Miss Clara,” said Roman, “Which store is that from again?”

Clara chuckled heartily, “Oh, dearie. It’s not from any store. You need to go out to the Giggling Glade.”

Roman’s face dropped, they couldn’t go out to the Glade! 

“I can’t go out to the Glade!” they said.

“Why of course you can, dearie. Come with me!”

Clara shuffled out of the bustling kitchen and into her private office. Roman had only been in there once before, when they first applied to work at Clara’s. Clara walked over to the side of the room, where a small table with two built-in hobs lay. The stove clicked as Clara set the temperature, before it finally ignited with flames. She grabbed a frying pan and placed it over the fire, then she began to cast into the pan. 

She placed her hand calmly in the centre of the pan, the roaring fire beneath not seeming to bother her at all. Granny hands, figured Roman, they were fireproof. She closed her eyes and exhaled, oil began to pool at her fingertips. The oil spread out until a thin layer covered the whole pan. As the oil began to boil, Clara clapped her hands together and separated them, between her palms appeared a rolled up piece of thin, edible wrapper with what looked to be chocolate inside. She placed the creation into the pan.

“These are ji-ai,” she said while summoning another into her hands and laying it beside the first, “a recipe from Western Piasohn. That’s not the important thing, though.” she waggled a third ji-ai at Roman, “I’m enchanting these. If you get injured, eat one and it will help. I’ll make you three, that should be plenty.” 

Clara turned from the three ji-ais in the pan. The smell of melting chocolate danced its way over to Roman and up their nose. The rich sweetness reminded them of a recipe their father used to make. Clara took a small bowl, placed her hand into it and concentrated again. Instead of filling with oil, the bowl began to fill with a golden sugar. 

“Now, spitebark is a funny little plant. They’re named spitebarks because they hate growing near each other. In fact, they hate each other so much that the flowers face in the complete opposite direction to the nearest other plant. That means you can always find them in pairs! I only need two as well, so you shouldn’t need to look for long - one will be for planting and the other will be for experimenting as soon as you get back.”

Clara turned back to the pan, the ji-ais were nicely browning. She flipped them over in the oil and walked over to a bookshelf. She grabbed a book and flicked through it before finding the right page.

“These are spitebarks,” she said, pointing to a drawing of a long, thin, brown plant. It looked like a twig from a tree had been planted in the ground. Clara moved her finger down the illustration, stopping at the large root at the bottom, “This is what I need, you can cut the rest of the plant off when you find it.” 

Clara reached into the pan and took out the first ji-ai, she rolled it around in the sugar until it was lightly coated, then she placed it onto a white napkin. She did this with the other two before wrapping them up. She then placed the napkin into a small pouch and handed it to Roman, who tied it to their belt. 

“Here you go, dearie! Now, you know how to get to the Glade, don’t you?”

Of course they knew how to get to the Glade, they’d been told their whole life to stay as far away from it as possible. And they had. 

Now, Roman stood before the Forest of Fables (which the Glade lay within). Clara had walked with them out of New Elmus but they had been on their own since leaving the city limits. Now all they had to do was find the Glade. It shouldn’t be hard, right? They just had to start walking and they’d stumble upon it eventually. That was the magic of the Glade - all it took was one step. But Roman had never been to the Glade before, they had no idea what lay within it. Their mother had told them time and time again to never go in but she never said why. Roman had no idea what to expect once they were inside. 

The wind whistling through the trees pulled Roman out of their thoughts and back into the real world. They had been standing at the edge of the forest for some ten minutes now, debating whether to enter or not. Clara would be furious if they came back empty handed. Roman had never seen Clara mad before, even the thought of it was breaking their heart. They had to get the spitebark. They just had to take that first step…

“Oi!” 

It was a voice from behind, Roman spun. Before them stood a tall, lean man with curly, blonde hair. He had his arms crossed and Roman imagined that if he were nearer the forest he would’ve been casually leaning against a tree. His smirk was that of a man who had many secrets, some his own and some belonging to others. He began to approach Roman, walking with a swagger that they were completely expecting, yet was still impressed by. As he got closer, Roman noticed his stark, emerald eyes.

He spoke again, “What’s someone like you doing out here? Didn’t your parents tell you that you shouldn’t go near the Forest of Fables?”

“I’m not a kid.” said Roman, bluntly, “Who are you, anyways?”

The man scoffed, “Haven’t you heard of me?” Roman genuinely hadn’t. The man paused for a second, expecting an answer, but continued once he realised he wouldn’t get one, “The name’s Bailey. Bailey Giload: mercenary for hire.”

“So, what, you’re out here to kill something?”

“Not today, my friend.” Bailey placed an arm over Roman. They flinched, but settled quickly, “Work’s been slow this week so I’ve had to expand my reach. I’m going shopping.”

Roman muttered, “Wait...” under their breath.

Bailey continued, “I’ve been sent out here by Fergus Ford of the Magnificent Beast Bakery. He told me to get him some spitebark root.” So many thoughts were flying through Roman’s head that they couldn’t get anything out before Bailey started speaking again, “But enough about me. You never answered my question; what are you doing in the Forest of Fables?”

In? thought Roman. Then they looked around. Since when had they started walking? Something about Bailey’s confidence had seeped into Roman, singel handedly slaying any intimidation they felt. From the forest, at least.

“I was… just… coming here to see what it’s like. Yeah. I thought maybe I could face my fears and finally try and go to the Glade.”

“You’re going to the Glade?” asked Bailey. 

“Yup.”

“Maybe I could help you out? I feel like I’m a tad more prepared than you are.” Bailey looked Roman up and down, then smirked.

Roman looked down at themselves, they were still mostly wearing the uniform from Clara’s. Then they looked at Bailey, he sported light armour that allowed for significantly more flexibility than the shirt and trousers that Roman wore. There was also a cutlass sheathed at his waist, which Roman imagined Bailey would whip out at any sign of danger, ready to protect them from whatever lay ahead. Then, after the monster was defeated, Bailey would look over to Roman and-

“Stop.” whispered Bailey. 

Roman froze in place and turned to Bailey. They whispered back, “What is it?” 

Bailey pointed deeper into the woods. Roman looked past the thick, mossy trees nearby, but they couldn’t spot what he was pointing at. Then, suddenly, something darted between two trees. Roman didn’t catch what it was. 

“Just stay calm.”

It jumped again, this time Roman saw it. The creature was lanky and covered in dark fur. Something shone from it as it moved. A weapon, maybe. It was hard to see any details from that distance. The creature continued to leap between the trees, slowly making its way over Roman and Bailey’s heads. 

Once it had left their sight, Roman asked, “What was that thing?”

“You’ve never seen an eavener before?”

“That’s an eavener?”

“Please don’t tell me you’ve only ever seen them in those Jaz Carpenter books?”

Roman paused, then looked down at their feet. Bailey struggled to stifle a laugh. 

Bailey continued, smirking and shaking his head, “You’re really not fit for being out here. Maybe you should turn back.”

“No,” said Roman. Bailey looked up, taken aback by their bluntness. “I have to get to the Glade.”

“Alright, fine. But don’t go hurting yourself.”

The two continued walking, only stopping for Bailey to take a drink from a pouch he had strapped to the side of his backpack. Roman sat on a tree stump opposite him. The smells of the forest were pungent now: wet dirt, wet bark and flowers that Roman couldn’t identify.

Bailey looked over, “I haven’t seen you drink anything this whole journey, why?”

“I didn’t bring water.”

Bailey’s eyes widened this time. They lowered the bottle from their mouth, “Oh my God, Roman,” suddenly Bailey’s whole demeanor changed, the once cocky persona melted away to reveal caring eyes and genuine worry. Bailey handed his pouch to Roman, “Here, take it. Finish it for all I care. Once we get back out of here I’m gonna teach you everything. I can tell you want to be out here adventuring but you’re clearly not prepared for it. Would that be alright?”

Roman put the pouch to their mouth. They didn’t drink enough to finish it, but it was still a significant swig. “Thank you,” they said.

“Cool,” said Bailey, “It’s a date.”

Roman nearly spat the water from their mouth, then they swallowed, “A date?”

“I mean,” Bailey perched on the stump next to Roman, “If you want to call it that.” 

He reached out for Roman’s hand. A heat rose within Roman, like coal being furiously shoveled into a furnace.

“I’d love to,” the hearth of their heart was erupting now. No one had ever seen them in this way before, and Roman had never seen anyone the way they were seeing Bailey right now.

Bailey closed his eyes and lent forward, Roman quickly caught on and followed suit. When their lips locked it was like nothing Roman had ever felt before. 

Then there was a thud and the sound of leaves rustling. Bailey let out a cry, nearly biting Roman’s lip. Roman’s eyes snapped open, they were still face-to-face with Bailey, but behind him stood the eavener. It loomed over Bailey, its long body taking it to nearly six foot when it stood on its hind legs. Its head was like that of a weasel. Roman bolted up from the stump and began to back away from the beast. 

“Please, stay back,” they said.

The eavener jumped from the stump, tearing its arms out of Bailey’s back. Roman saw that it had a piece of sharp flint in each hand. They were covered in blood now. Bailey’s blood.

It began to speak in a low whisper, “Get out of here while you can. And do not associate yourself with this human.” Then it leaped high into a nearby tree and scampered up it. 

“Bailey!” called Roman, running over to him. Bailey had fallen back after the eavener had jumped off of him and now he lay slumped over the stump he sat on.

His voice was frail, “Get out, Roman.... Save yourself.”

“No!” said Roman, “I can save you.” Roman untied the pouch from their waist and pulled out a ji-ai, “Here, take this.”

They fed Bailey the healing pastry, desperately hoping it would cure him like Clara said it should. But what if the wound was too large? Or what if the eavener had some sort of magical poison that gourmantic food couldn’t heal?

“Thank you,” said Bailey, “But why?” Then, his eyes widened and his face beamed with realisation.

“See?” said Roman, “Maybe I’m not all that useless after all.”

“No,” he said, colour already beginning to flood back into his face, “Saving me once doesn’t excuse forgetting to bring water.”

“Okay, fair,” said Roman, smirking.

The two sat there for a moment, Bailey still lying down on the stump and Roman sitting up next to him. They stared into each other’s eyes, living the moment. 

Bailey broke the silence, “So… are you going to tell me where you got those from? You don’t seem like you’d be prepared or experienced enough to bring something like that.”

Busted, thought Roman. They sighed, “Fine. I’m here to get spitebark root too. I’m here for Clara.”

Bailey sat up, “What?”

“Look-”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“It just never c-”

Bailey jumped up from the log, “We kissed! You should’ve said before that!”

“It never came up!”

“It shouldn’t need to come up!”

Roman looked away, “Look, okay,” they said, “You’re not perfect either!”

“What do you mean?”

“The eavener told me. It said, ‘do not associate with this man.’ There’s something up with you, too.”

“Wait, when did it say that?”

“Right after it stabbed you! You were probably too busy wailing to hear.”

“Oh c’mon! Now you’re picking on me for screaming in pain after I got stabbed!”

Roman paused, “No. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.” Bailey smiled weakly.

Roman couldn’t help but beam back at him, “God damn it. You’re too cute for your own good!”

“No more secrets?”

“No more secrets.”

“Great!” Bailey spun around, before pointing in the direction they had been heading before, “Then let us continue.”

“Alright,” said Roman, following Bailey, “But you said it yourself, ‘No more secrets.’ So you’ve got to tell me, what did the eavener mean?”

Bailey huffed, “Fine.” He looked thoughtful for a second, probably thinking through what he was going to say. “The eavener’s don’t like me because of an old job I had. I can’t tell you who it was for - client confidentiality and all that - but suffice it to say they were powerful and rich. This was back when I had a party, there were four of us. I don’t really want to talk about them though. Anyway, we were asked by this client to go to the Forest of Fables and find the eaveners’ hideout, so that the client could bring in their army to eradicate them.”

“An army?” asked Roman, “Who was this guy, the king?”

Bailey glanced at Roman, his face blank, innocent.

“Oh.” said Roman, they looked down at their feet “Right.”

“Yeah,” continued Bailey, “After we arrived in the Glade it didn’t take long to find the eavener huts. You know how this place works. You’ll find what you’re looking for. They build their houses in the treetops, y’know? Put leaves underneath them to camouflage with the canopy. We only noticed them after a bird flew overhead and made…” Bailey mumbled a name, “-look up.” He took a long breath, Roman wrapped their arm over his shoulder. “We joked that we might have already walked past them and that the Forest was desperately trying to get us to find what we were looking for.” Bailey chuckled, and tears welled up in his eyes. He sniffed, “It didn’t go well, Roman. We were ambushed. I was the only one who made it out. And now the King thinks we’re all dead and if he knew I was alive he’d sure as hell try to stop me! And so now I’m stuck in mercenary limbo. I change my name for every job so that no one can track me.”

“Does that mean-?” 

“Bailey’s not my real name, no. But I don’t really have a real name. My birth name belonged to someone who abandons their team when anything goes wrong. I’m different now. And I’ve never settled on one name since. Maybe Bailey can become my real name. Since it’s what I was using when I finally found someone worth having an identity for.”

Roman stopped, “That’s…” The flood gates opened, Roman wasn’t expecting it to be theirs. They flung their arms around Bailey. Bawling, Roman said, “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me!”

Bailey patted Roman’s head then returned the hug, “Y’know,” he said, “We’re never going to get to the Glade if you keep stopping to be this cute!”

“Alright, alright,” said Roman, collecting themself, “Let’s go!”

Bailey squinted, “Is that-? Oh my God it is! Roman, we’re finally here!”

Roman gasped, and the pair ran towards the glade.

Bailey burst into the Glade, and Roman stumbled out not too long after. It was filled with bright light which highlighted the tall, radiant grass and sparkled off of a stream that travelled through. There were rocks neatly placed around, it almost looked too perfect to be real, but magic did that sometimes. A gust of wind blew towards the pair, when it moved through the trees behind them it sounded like laughter. That was how the Giggling Glade got its name. 

By the time Roman had struggled past the bushes and branches at the Glade’s borders and gotten used to the sudden change in brightness due to the lack of canopy, Bailey had already clambered up a rock and was scouting the area, his hand placed firmly at his brow to block out the sun. 

Roman called up to him, “Any specific place to look for spitebark?”

“I don’t know. This is my first time too.”

“You have first times? I figured you’d have already done everything there is to do.”

Bailey laughed, “Hey, there’s a difference between being better than you and being the best, a big one. Anyway I don’t think scouting up here is doing any good for finding the spitebark. From my understanding, they’re pretty small.”

“Why were you up here then?”

“Force of habit. Either that or some desperate hope that they’d be here.”

“Oh,” muttered Roman, but Bailey paid them no mind as he began to climb down.

Once he reached the bottom, Bailey looked full of energy again, “So,” he said, “What’s the plan?”

“So we’re looking for those thin, brown plants. They look like sticks,” said Roman.

“Yep.”

“And they don’t grow close together, that's why they’re called spitebark.”

“Really?” said Bailey, “Ford could’ve said something about that.”

Roman smirked, “Are you saying I actually knew something out here that you didn’t?”

“I guess I concede,” Bailey knelt on the floor and bowed at Roman, “Teach me your ways, O Monarch of Agriculture!”

“Okay I get it!” Roman chuckled, “Just let me have this one win!”

Bailey began to get back up. “Fine,” he smirked. 

“We should split up, cover more ground.”

“But-” started Bailey.

“But what? Aren’t we safe here in the Glade?”

“I mean, probably. But I don’t want to risk it.”

“What if we stay within sight?” said Roman, “That way we can cover more ground while also keeping an eye on each other.”

“Fine,” said Bailey, “Honestly I just want to be near you.”

“Aww, you’re so sweet! Seriously, though, I want to find these roots and get back quick.”

Roman called from behind Bailey, “I think I’ve found some!” Bailey turned, noticing Roman pointing at a rock. They stepped behind it and knelt, vanishing out of Bailey’s sight.

“Hey!” called Bailey, running over.

Roman popped back up, “What?”

“No leaving each other’s sight, remember!”

Roman scoffed, “Fine. Get over here then!”

As Bailey rounded the rock, Roman pointed at a plant. It was taller than Bailey expected, nearly coming up to his chest - or Roman’s chin. 

“Alright so this is one,” said Roman, kneeling down to grab at the base, “We need the roots so I’ve got to dig it up. At least I was given a spade.”

Bailey smiled, “Is there anything I can do?” he asked. 

“Only start trying to find another one.”

“Y’know what?” said Bailey, “I think I’m fine watching you dig actually. I’ll do the next one, though.”

Roman finished digging the dirt around the spitebark and lifted it up. At the bottom of the stem was a large, muddy bulb.

“Here it is!” they said, “Our first spitebark root!”

“We did it!” 

“Just one more to go for me! How many do you need?”

“Ford wants fifty.”

Roman flinched, “Fifty? That’s insane! How much is he even paying you for that?”

“Twenty five garsons, he said they were worth a half each.”

“I don’t even think there’s fifty in the whole Glade! These things are so rare they go for at least twelve garsons each.”

“What! You’re kidding, right?”

“No! He must’ve figured that he could rip you off because you don’t know about them.”

Bailey was boiling inside. How dare he? How dare Ford undercut him like that? Bailey spoke, “When we get back, I am gonna get that b-”

“Hey, hey, hey! I know what you’re thinking.” Roman looked down to Bailey’s hand, Bailey followed their gaze. Since when had he gotten his cutlass out? “We can speak to Clara when you get back. He’ll respect her. Everyone respects her. And he sure doesn’t deserve your blade.”

“You’re right.” said Bailey, resheathing his sword. He turned to Roman, “Hey, maybe I’ll start working for Clara when we get back. We would see each other more.”

“I’d like that,” said Roman, smiling, “Alright! Back to the search.”

“At least now we know there won’t be any around here,” said Bailey, gesturing vaguely in a circle around where they both stood. 

“Now that we’ve found one, another shouldn’t be hard. They point away from the nearest other plant.” There was a small flower bud at the top of the bark, it pointed out slightly. Bailey had thought nothing special of it until just then, 

“If I remember correctly,” continued Roman, “it was pointing that way before I dug it up,” they pointed right, “So we need to go that way,” Roman pointed left, then turned to Bailey, ”Sorry if I’m boring you by the way, I’m sure you knew all this.”

“Actually I didn’t. It seems like Ford wasn’t as useful as he seemed.”

Roman laughed, “It’s so weird. It’s like he just wanted you to get lost out here.” before turning to walk to the next spitebark.

That phrase echoed in Bailey’s mind. He just wanted you to get lost out here.

Roman turned back, realising that Bailey hadn’t moved yet. Then they realised, “You don’t think...?”

“Actually, Roman,” said Bailey, “I do think. I think he set me up! He sent me here knowing how dangerous it can be and would have had me sit here for hours hunting for something I’ll never find. Until what? Until I get found by eaveners? Until I’m overcome with the emotions of returning and just off myself right in the middle of the Glade? Until I go crazy and start seeing the ghosts of my dead friends?-”

There was a rustling from behind Roman, Bailey looked past them. Something was in the bushes.

Roman saw Bailey’s face drop.

“What is it?” they asked.

Bailey raised a shuddering hand, and pointed over Roman’s shoulder, they turned. 

Before Roman stood three humanoid figures, their skin was an ashen grey and their eyes were orbs of pale green light. The first was a tall, muscular figure who wore heavy armour and wielded a long spear. Beside him stood a shorter woman with a flowing robe, her hands were held out and magical fire was sputtering in them. Behind the two figures loomed a huge, bare chested man, his battleaxe’s head looked bigger than Roman’s entire torso. Each of the figures' clothing matched the grey of their skin. Roman also noticed green tentacles of energy wavered from the backs of their necks and into the bushes behind.

Bailey spoke first, “It’s them.”

The largest of the three let out a roaring battle cry as he and the other man ran towards Roman, the woman dodged to the side, the flames in her hands growing in intensity.

“Run!” called Bailey, but Roman couldn’t. They stood petrified as this colossus of a man stomped towards them, shuddering the ground with each step.

Bailey called again, “Roman!” But it was useless. The colossus brought his axe up, preparing to swing and-

Roman was tackled to the ground. The axe cleaved through the air, missing Roman’s head by inches. Roman looked around, Bailey lay next to them, his arms wrapped around Roman’s torso. His eyes were wide with terror, which slowly lowered to relief as they locked with Roman’s. 

Bailey sighed, but before he could say anything the other fighter charged towards them. He raised his spear and prepared to strike, but Bailey whipped out his cutlass and knocked the spear aside, spiking it into the dirt.

Roman scampered to their feet, noticing the colossus had lodged his axe into the ground and was struggling to pull it out. Bailey dueled with the spearman, deftly dodging his lunges and parrying those he couldn’t duck out of the way of. The woman’s fire had grown to an immense size, she was now holding a single flame between both her hands and was preparing to throw it towards Bailey.

It was Roman who called to Bailey this time, “Bailey! Over there!” Bailey looked up to Roman and then followed their pointing arm. He saw the huge fireball just as it was leaving the caster’s hands. He jumped away from the spearman and behind a nearby rock. The spearman stood still and emotionless as the fireball engulfed him. Roman covered their face with their hands as the heavy heat stampeded over them. They cried out as it lightly burnt their forearms.

Once the blast cleared, Roman lowered their arms. The grey figure still stood within the rubble. Roman looked over to Bailey, he was peeking over the stone and staring at the spearman in awe.

There must be something with that green magic, thought Roman. Looking once again at the tendril that went from the spearman’s neck. It still led towards those bushes. Roman ran to the rock that Bailey was still crouched behind, it seemed like the fireball had disoriented the spearman, he didn’t know where either of them had gone. 

Roman whispered, “Bailey!”

He turned, “What are you still doing here?” he said, exacerbatedly, “You need to get out! Run!”

“I can’t leave you here alone,” said Roman, “Anyway, I think I know what we need to do. We need to follow the magic that’s coming from them, maybe we can find a way to… I don’t know, turn it off?”

“Do you know how to turn magic off?”

“Not with magic, no. But we could kill it.”

Bailey shrugged, “Well it’s better than trying to kill them, did you see what that fireball did to Fabian?”

Fabian, that must be the spearman. 

“Alright, let’s g-”

A deafening roar sounded from behind them. Roman turned. The colossus stood before them, holding his axe high over his head. He brought it down. Roman and Bailey jumped in opposite directions, the axe cleaving right where Bailey was just standing. 

Bailey looked at Roman, they pointed towards the bush that the tendrils were wavering to. The two ran toward it, leaving the colossus to heave it’s axe from the ground once more. 

As they reached the bush, another fireball cracked overhead. It collided with the trees, sending them careening away. The stumps that remained began to burn, before the flames tapered themselves out magically. 

“Now what?” asked Bailey.

“I don’t know.” said Roman, “Just stab into it?”

Cutlass drawn, Bailey tiptoed up to the bush. He raised his arm to strike when something big and dark brown burst from the bush and tackled him to the ground. It was an eavener! It sat on top of Bailey, the three green tendrils leading straight into its head. The eavener raised one of its flint daggers to strike.

“No!” called Roman, running at the eavener. They tackled it off of Bailey. The eavener squirmed in Roman’s grip, slashing at their forearms with the stone blades. Roman screamed as the blades tore up their arm, like a pack of wolves tearing up fresh prey.

Then, all of a sudden, the flailing stopped. 

Roman looked up at the eavener, a sword was lodged into its chest, Bailey’s sword! Roman followed the curve of the blade and saw Bailey at the other end. He looked deeply troubled. Roman leapt up and spread his arms towards Bailey, then flinched as the movement caused a searing pain to travel up his forearms. Roman looked innocently up at him, he had already dipped back into that caring focus he had shown at Roman’s lack of water.

“Where are those roll-things you had before?” he said, quickly.

Roman slowly moved their arm to point at the pouch, careful not to bring back the stinging pain. Bailey deftly untied it from Roman’s side and opened it, pulling out one of the ji-ais. Roman opened their mouth as Bailey gently placed it onto their tongue. They bit down on it, easily piercing the wrapping to reach the chocolate inside. It sent a warm tingling through their whole body, which slowly focused and grew in their forearms. Roman looked down at their arms, watching as the flesh around the hundreds of cuts regrew and merged with what had survived the attack. The swelling, bloodied meat looked significantly more disgusting than it felt, the magic of the ji-ais actually making the feeling quite euphoric for Roman. Once the healing had completed and the warmth died down, Roman shook their arms out, returning some of the feeling they had lost in them.  

Roman suddenly realised “What about the others?”

Bailey took a sharp breath, “Oh no.”

Roman was fully expecting the colossus to burst through at that moment. But nothing happened. Now that they thought about it, they couldn’t hear the charging of magic fire either, or any noise that might have been coming from their adversaries for that matter. All they could hear was the faint tweeting of birds some distance away.

Roman turned around, looking back out over the Glade. The three figures all stood wavering across the field, standing in place like figures on a warmap. They looked to be in some sort of trance. Bailey ran over to the spellcaster, who was the nearest. 

“Merida!” he said, holding her face in his hands, “Please! Wake up! Please!”

Merida’s grey skin became flaky in Bailey’s hand. He pulled away, but the ash stuck to him. He looked at it in disbelief.

“No! This isn't- It can’t- Merida!”

Bailey tried to embrace the caster, but his hands wafted through her, scattering the ashes into the wind. Once again he looked in shock. Roman turned to watch the others. The colossus was the most intact, likely due to his size. Then a strong breeze caught his head, dispersing it just like Merida. The wind snickered as it passed through the trees.

Some horrid joke, thought Roman. 

Roman walked up beside Bailey and stood with him, the two just watched as the spearman Fabian’s legs gave out. He collapsed onto the floor, the ashes spurting out in a circle around where he fell. The unnamed colossus also fell, knocked over by the wind. His final flourish was significantly larger than Fabian’s. 

Roman wrapped an arm around Bailey, “I’m sorry.”

Bailey just stood, his eyes wide and unfocused. Roman thought they heard him mutter something. “Thank you,” perhaps. 

“We need to get out of here.” continued Roman, pulling Bailey out of his trance slightly, “There might be more eaveners on the way.”

“Yeah,” Bailey muttered, but he wasn’t walking out of the Glade. Instead he stumbled over to the pile of ash that had been Fabian. “Let me just-” with a grunt, Bailey bent over and grabbed the spear. “I need to keep these. Preserve them.” He walked over to the colossus next and heaved the axe over his shoulder. The thing dwarfed him. Roman wasn’t sure how Bailey could even carry it.

Now that Roman understood what was happening, they walked over to Merida’s ash pile. A book lay buried in it (or in her, Roman thought, grimly), Roman hadn’t seen it during the fight. They dusted the ash from its cover, revealing an old leather-bound tome. It must be her spellbook, they thought.  

Roman turned as Bailey reached them, they showed him the book. Bailey nodded weakly. 

Roman noticed that Bailey was struggling with the massive axe, “I can take the spear if you want me to,” they said.

Bailey handed them the spear, “Be careful with it,” he warned. 

“Don’t worry, I will. I can tell what these mean to you.”

“Thank you,” Bailey turned slowly towards the forest again, “We should get going. If you want to get out of the Forest of Fables fast, you need to will it to happen. Think of New Elmus, think of people there who you want to get back to. Think of happy memories, that’s what the forest likes.”

As the two began to walk arm in arm, Roman pictured their sister, her shining, blonde hair and deep brown eyes, the smile that she gave them every time they came to visit her and their parents. They hoped she would never have to see something like what happened today. 

Then they thought of Clara. They’d only gotten the one spitebark for her, but after hearing what they’d gone through, they were sure Clara would be relieved that they had made it back at all. The experimentation will have to wait.

Lastly, they thought of Bailey. Not of present Bailey - he was right beside them - but of Bailey in the future. Maybe they could find a big house in the city and live together. Maybe Roman could continue their learning under Clara and eventually be able to cook for him every day.

Roman’s visions were cut short by a clap on the back, Bailey spoke, still solemnly, but with a cockiness that reminded Roman of their initial meeting, “Nice dreaming, champ.”

Roman opened their eyes. They were already at the edge of the Forest. “Wow,” they said, “That was fast.”

Bailey smirked, “Yeah,” he said, “Yeah it was.” He looked down at Roman, “Now, let’s get me to Clara’s.”

Knock knock. Knock knock. 

The door swung open, letting the familiar scents of the cafe float up into Roman’s nose. Before Roman and Bailey stood Clara. The small woman looked up at them, smiling.

“Ah, dearie! You’re back! And I see you’ve brought a friend,” she looked quizzically up at Bailey.

“Yes ma’am,” said Roman, “This is Bailey, he helped me out while I was in the Glade.” 

The two shared a glance and smiled, their arms were still wrapped tightly around each other.

Bailey turned to Clara and spoke, “I was wondering if you could help me out with something in return.”

---

ty @daydreamoceans for being my test audience <3

check out my other stuff tagged #gourmancy here

[fallenrepublick]

What if Kit Fisto was sent to kill an Sith you know like maul who was trained & tossed aside by Sidious. Kit gets there, a lightsaber battle ensues wounding the former Sith apprentice so she makes a run for it. Kit races to catch up & complete his mission to eliminate the threat but when he gets there she is on the ground bleeding & crying. She knows this is the end & realizes all she ever did was what she was raised to do, she was a gentle soul ripped from her moms arms & trained to kill-

I have finally written a fic oh my god it took for fuckin ever

Warnings: Just combat stuff and death talk

It wasn’t exactly an “in and out” sort of assignment. And it certainly wasn’t one that he would have liked to have on any normal day. But the Council had decided that the target hiding out on his home planet was enough to send the Jedi that was best designed to traverse the terrain.

That proved to be a stupid decision, though, because he knew the water, not the land. What’s more, he may have taken the assignment in good humor, as he did with most other things, but the implications of the goal rubbed him the wrong way. The end of the mission sounded rather finite, and the idea of attempting to gain information instead of outright killing whoever this was had never even been brought up in the briefing. Nevertheless, he had resolved himself to at least try, since there wasn’t much use in cutting off the head of a Hydra anyways.

Not much had changed from the last time he was here, save for a few additions to the terrain that obviously happens when nature is left to its own devices. There hadn’t been any images or holograms of you at all, and the best descriptions available were from rattled witnesses too shaken out of their own minds to provide anything useful. But it isn’t like Kit had to use his vision for this mission.

No, he already knew you were there. Somewhere across the terrain, he could sense a faint glimmer of your presence, the residual anger of yet another outburst pulsing energy through the Force. And he was following it, almost religiously, feeling it grow ever more saturated as he stepped in its direction, and he wondered if you might feel it, too.

And what he found at the end of the trail was no beast, no monster set loose by evil, prime for slaying returning a prize as many seemed to think it so. Instead what he saw was a human, curled onto the floor, anger still emanating off, but shaky, transitioning itself into weak, painful fear. It made him hesitate, though he knew it shouldn’t, and he wondered for a moment if what the Council had sent him to do was the right choice. After all, they hadn’t really known what the truth was.

But the feeling quickly subsided, for when you sensed him, the danger all but spiked, and you were running at him, the red blade of your lightsaber ignited in a flash. He reflexively blocked you with his own saber, pushing against you with all the power in the world, rebuilding the defenses he had brought down on your behalf. Your eyes held nothing but rage in them, and as much as Kit wanted to believe he saw regret somewhere behind it, the fact of the matter was it didn’t matter. You had to be eliminated at any cost.

So he shoved you back, where you slid across the slick floor, having to stabilize yourself before returning to the fight. He in turn entered a more ready stance, preparing for your next blow. So you obliged, running to him once more, yet aiming for his legs, searching to cut him off at the knees, preventing his escape or evasion. But he was quick, leaping to the side before your attack could land, attempting a strike to your abdomen, which you also blocked, green and red light clashing together, illuminating the plant life that surrounded your battle.

Perhaps it was what happened after that which had been the cause of your downfall from the beginning. He took you by surprise.

Stunning you with a blow to the stomach, he spun and left a slash below your ribcage. Though it was shallow enough, the contact burned worse than a flame, and you fell back, scrambling to your knees and pulling yourself into the brush, trying to find a way to somewhere, anywhere you would be safe.

Clipping his saber to his belt, Kit’s eyes lingered in the spot that you had disappeared into, and he followed, not wanting to lose you too thoroughly, even if it was unlikely you’d get very far. As he trekked, in the back of his mind lingered the image from before your first attack, of you coiled against yourself like a frightened child, an anger that had been forced into you for so long finally showing the weakness it posed to you. And he wondered if what he did, what he was still doing, was right.

He paused mid-step. It wasn’t through the Force that he felt it, but rather, he heard it. Soft sobs just too powerful to muffle completely and whimpers that hit his ears sharper than any he’d heard in a long time. And when he pulled back a group of vines, he found you on the ground, back leaning on a tree trunk and a hand pressed down onto the wound he had given you. Tears were flowing freely out of the corners of your eyes, but your teeth were clenched and your free hand was trying to block the noises you were making, to no avail.

So he took a step forward, and your head snapped up, expression shifting from that of pain to fear and resting on contempt for the figure before you. Removing the hand from your mouth, you began pulling yourself backwards, wanting to slide as far away from him as possible, keeping the existing distance a priority over comfort.

“Please,” he said, holding his hand up and crouching down to your level. “Let me help you. It doesn’t have to end here.”

“And why not?” You shot back, yet pausing in your path. “Why shouldn’t you just let it end here? Don’t be a fucking coward and just finish the mission. End the killing with killing and at least give me the decency of going out against a real Jedi.”

His eyes remained steady, watching you as your body became shakier and heavier to your waning power. “You didn’t make this decision. None of this was your choice and none of it was your fault. If we hurry, we can heal your wound and you’ll live to see another day.”

Your vision was growing blurry, but you stayed vigilant, watching every move the Jedi made. “And if I don’t accept? They’ll find me either way, figure out I failed at killing you.” You shook your head as if trying to shake out intrusive thoughts from your mind. “No, I’d be better off dead… where they won’t find me… where I might see my mother again…”

Kit krept closer to you, keeping a steady pace as if approaching a wild animal. You didn’t move back further. “And if I promise to shield you? Does that make any difference for you?” He offered a small smile, at least to indicate the truth in his question.

And you stopped to consider. In the official sense, no, it did not. You would most likely die either way, whether your master came to kill you, or you were saved by this Jedi and died of something else. It was the time that changed things. And the person who was offering it to you. He was a comforting presence at that, and what’s more, you found yourself easily trusting him more than you ever trusted your master. Whatever you did, it wasn’t enough to stop you from nodding your head, slowly, almost regrettably.

Knowing the state you were in, he slid up next to you, curling an arm carefully beneath your legs and another behind your back, lifting you off of the ground. And soon enough, you were being carried back to a Jedi’s ship, losing consciousness to the beating of a heart guided by the light.

[capri-ramblings]

Idk if anyone still remembers this but I actually forgot I finished chapter 3 about a week ago and didn't even posted it 🙂 still kinda confusing I think? But I promise, It'll come together soon 😤💖

[ R a p t u r e d ]

Chapter Three

The walls encasing your freedom began to simmer your frustration, and when a spiral staircase immerged from the wooden floorboards right across the room, your hands reflexively balled into fists.

Though when an unfamiliar face greeted you, they uncurled and from where you sat on the chaise beside your only window, your figure hunched over to pull your knees closer to your body. You'd been reacting so defensively lately, it almost felt natural now.

"Did they send you up to finally get rid of me?" Your words were harsh, a deep grating rage lacing each enunciation you spat out and yet the girl seemed unfazed as her lips curled into a small smile.

"I don't think they're that merciful, but Prince Leona has stated multiple times he'd rather you be dead."

"Who are you then?"

"An ally" She answered then rather hastily added, "If you'd allow it."

You scoffed,bitter and dry you almost sounded gruff and nasally.

"Like I allowed to be imprisoned and kept like an animal?"

The girl's expression softened and she gave what seemed to be an understanding nod before she placed both hands behind her back and stood poised before you.

"Boe" She said, "My name is Boe. As in the kind you'd use to hunt with but with an 'E' at the end because my nan felt it was creative." She sounded pleasant, to be honest,she looked decent as well, like a very familiar face you'd seen somewhere and yet nowhere at the same time. She wore her hair in two loose twin braids,her simple beige coloured tunic and short khakis gave her overall soft, feminine looks a rather boyish touch. And when she smiled it was genuinely given.

Despite yourself, Boe's appearance had you feeling a little less hostile and perhaps even a bit more hopeful.

"I made them an offer" You told her and again she nodded her head.

"To kill your brother in exchange for your freedom. Why?"

"Isn't that what they wanted? That bastard killed their beast and the only reason I'm here is because he's traded me off for his glory."

Boe seemed surprised at how you caught onto the situation at hand but you could see how calculative her eyes were. She may have looked pleasant but you weren't foolish enough to trust her, and if she knew your captives then chances are she wasn't just some typical servant running errands. They sent her up to you to talk, which meant they trusted her. And they didn't look like the trusting type.

"He and I aren't related by blood" You told her, scornfully. "It doesn't take much to piece up my being here, and I'll tell you now that he's not coming to save me. Not when he has every village folk singing his glory and the King welcoming him in his halls."

You sounded so dejected, Boe practically felt the heat of rage circulating through the room, but she also sensed sorrow. A sort of grief from the way you hunched yourself over. You've been through a lot, she could see that much.

"Tell me, did you ever believe the story your land has? It's history with the Faefolk and magic?"

You knew little. Simply enough to have your mind wander, but every child was like that, and when it was time to face the world and grow up, the stories you used to cling to before sleeping became just that; Stories.

So, you told Boe you didn't. You told her you knew the land has always been lavish, that it had always been easy to farm and make produce because it's forests were endless and green. It was because it was placed right in the centre of a growing land, wasn't it? Magic felt too foreign to have been a part of it all.

But then she told you of the story of a man planting a seed given to him by a generous Fae, and that the seed grew into a tree and another and another, until it formed a forest so lush and rich with life, people came to the land as a place of salvation. She told you that the Fae was the Mother Goddess Gaia and that she had made a pact with the humans who stayed in her grounds. They were allowed to grow and live as they wanted as long as her generosity was remembered. Thus the human built shrine after shrine in her name, and the land never once withered. Until weeks after your brother slayed the beast.

You sat there facing her,baffled and refused to believe in such a tale so easily, told yourself that no such thing could be possible...

Yet, the tower that kept you had nothing but a single window and a door that only seemed to appear when called. You remember how you tried climbing down through the window and how your makeshift rope snapped and you thought you'd fall to your death but instead you stayed in the air. Frozen.

As your hardened gaze looked to Boe and the faint light of the sun peeked through the window and into the room, you noticed the slight point of her ears and how in that specific lighting her features looked ethereal,as if she was carved out from a completely different mold.

You've seen those features before. A long,long time ago. The brief memory tucked behind the grains of your mind.

You must've laughed because Boe's expression shifted into confusion, and you ran your hands through your hair as a slight colour flickered to life in your eyes.

"You must think I've gone crazy. Wanting to kill my own brother but I've never seen him as family, and I'm sure he feels the same. It's the only thing we have in common."

"You'd really kill him for your freedom?" Boe asked, almost quietly.

You lifted your gaze,heavy and dark but driven with determination.

"Wouldn't you? It sounds selfish and maybe it is but hasn't he done the same to me? Ever since mother died, I was left under his care which meant he'd been shackled to me against his will and now I'm here and he's drinking in the castle." Your voice shifted, breathless and worn. You wanted to stand, to show to her that you weren't as weak as your captives had force you to be. That you meant what you said.

"I don't care about being kind and understanding anymore. I want to be released. I want to take back what I've lost and if that means killing Cyril and appeasing your Princes, so be it."

***

"You could be their Champion" Boe said as she stared you up and down,her gaze flickering with something you couldn't quite put a finger on. But she smiled when her eyes landed on your face, and a slight shade of pink dusted your cheeks. Though you felt it was because she had been nothing but open in her discussion and all you ever did was scowl and kept your distance.

And perhaps,you couldn't really be blamed for any of it given your own situation, but maybe it wasn't too harmful to act a bit more cooperative...

"A champion?" You repeated the words with your brows furrowed and lips down-curled.

Boe nodded her head.

"Faes often keep champions in order to settle certain affairs,like a representative or a tribute on their part without having to physically attend said affairs themselves, and unlike most dealings, this one has the exceptional perk of not being entirely enslaved by the Fae you serve under"

"...You mean if I agreed to being their... Champion? I wouldn't owe them anything?"

You know the tales of giving your thanks to the Gentry, and how such unfortunate humans fell to the mercy of the cunning creatures. A slight shiver ran up the length of your arm, but you fought the urge to look disgruntled, and simply crossed your arms.

Boe's smile widened a fraction.

"Yes, and I can't tell you why such a thing is possible in the first place, not because I don't want to but because I also do not know the reason behind it. It's said that this pact Faes have created with humans is a rare thing and a ritual they hold with great respect. If you so desire to kill your brother and gain your freedom, being the Princes' Champion is perhaps the best and only way."

"But how can I trust them to hold onto their end of the bargain? I might not have full belief in all your fae nonsense, but I know that whatever you are, your kind are known to be cunning and slippery!"

You felt like jabbing an accusing finger to her chest then,but you bit back the venom on your tongue and swallowed your carousing temper from erupting. Anger did no good in discussions after all. You learned that from years living with your step brother.

Despite it all however,Boe didn't seem to mind your frustration or hostility. In fact, she remained informative and calm, you began understanding why she had been sent up in the first place.

Unlike the Princes themselves, Boe didn't have any intimidation oozing from her demeanor. She came as a neutral party, neither to nurse nor make you submit.

Perhaps her words were the most trustworthy you'd have here.

Perhaps being a Champion was your only way out.

[jaskiersvalley]

This blog is fairly new and you’re one of the first I’ve found that I hadn’t already with an old blog. I love your work. It’s very well written. 💜

Thank you! When you sent this ask, it was a fairly new blog (to be fair, I still think of it as such, it’s not even 6 months old). As a little thank you for being so encouraging so early in the life of this blog, please accept this random little story: Geralt the accidental gardener.

The Path was lonely without Jaskier. Geralt had grown to hate the silence, the way people turned away from him without the buffer of Jaskier between him and humanity. But Jaskier was off on better adventured now, Geralt had to hurt him so he’d realise at long last that there was a better life for him out there than one beside a witcher. It had hurt, Jaskier’s expression had burned into Geralt’s mind, the crushing disappointment and realisation that Geralt wasn’t going to come crawling back. But oh how Geralt had wanted to run after Jaskier, beg his forgiveness. Alas, this was the very act of being cruel to be kind. Maybe one day Jaskier would realised.

Contracts were few and far between but the lands Geralt had roamed of late hadn’t been too hostile towards an infamous witcher. There was even a contract advertised in a lesser court not too far. Geralt made his way to Lettenhove and was ushered into a hall where the Viscount and Viscountess greeted him.

“I’m here about the job,” Geralt announced, not beating around the bush. Nobody ever wanted a witcher in their courts, no matter how small their power was. As expected, he was given a hesitant once over.

“Do you have experience?” It was the Viscountess who spoke up, looking only slightly unnerved.

“Yes.” There was no point for Geralt to prove his worth, they either wanted him to deal with their issue or they would suffer until another witcher graced their courts with his presence.

“Then it is settled. Room and food are part of your contract. Reydan will show you to your quarters and tomorrow he will give you a tour. Your horse will be welcome in the stables of course.”

That was a much warmer and pleasant contract negotiation than Geralt had ever had. Even when he heard the Viscount mutter “you sure about this?” and the Viscountess’ “we owe him this much” which made Geralt frown in confusion. Maybe the Viscountess was one of those who hoped to bed a witcher for the novelty of it. That was Jaskier’s forte though, not Geralt’s, he tried not to tangle with anyone in a relationship.

The room Geralt was shown to was in the servants’ quarters and actually nicer than anything he’d ever had. Even Kaer Morhen paled in comparison. His window overlooked the garden to start with. And the bedding wasn’t torn or moth eaten. In fact, it looked barely used at all. The Viscountess was almost definitely a monster fucker. Geralt would do the job and get out as quickly as possible before things got awkward.

Settled into the room for the night, Geralt was surprised when Reydan knocked for him, inviting him to the servants’ dinner for the evening. It was strangely nice, being surrounded by humans who, while a little wary, were doing their best to be welcoming and friendly. They treated him like one of their own. For the first time in a very long time, Geralt felt at ease amongst humans.

Morning came sooner than expected and Geralt groaned, pulling his armour on, strapping his swords to his back, ready for Reydan to take him to where the beast was. He didn’t expect to be given a baffled look by Reydan but be led into the garden without comment. Various plants were pointed out, rose bushes, a vegetable garden, arches of wisteria and so many others that Geralt had never even heard of. It was all very nice but he couldn’t figure out what this had to do with monster killing. Maybe those were the plants the monster liked? Or the ones he was to avoid while battling the creature that haunted the gardens? The answer came as they walked through the front gardens and stopped to admire an apple tree. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a sign being removed from the front of the property.

Gardener wanted

Oh fuck. Somehow the Viscount and Viscountess had assumed he was there for the gardener position and not the creature killing one. They took one look at him and, despite his inhuman looks, swords and general demeanour, they decided he couldn’t possibly be a witcher but rather an unusual gardener.

“That is about all that you’ll be responsible for.” Reydan finished up and looked over Geralt. “Do you have anything more suitable to work in? Leather tends to get too warm. And we have pruning shears which are more efficient than swords.” Laughing awkwardly, Reydan gave Geralt a small smile. “And I don’t think I ever caught your name, I’m so sorry.”

This was a crossroad in Geralt’s Path. He could either declare this had been some great mistake and he was here for the monster. It would be awkward, he’d be sneered at, ostracised and thrown out for taking their resources, even if by mistake. He’d still kill the monster but probably to take his frustrations out rather than for coin. Or, he could lay his swords down for a while. The world was tiring and disappointing. One evening in the company of people who treated him as an equal had been invigorating and, selfishly, Geralt wanted more.

“I’m Eric,” he said, quietly sending a “fuck you” to Vesemir who had denied him the name.

Gardening, Geralt realised was more difficult than he had ever thought if would be. Knowing what to cut when and how, which trees needed what compost or how much water was beyond him. Geralt tried his best though, tried to watch what everyone else was doing. Thankfully, Reydan had been kind enough to find him some dungarees and a floppy, wide brimmed hat to work in. He had been absolutely right, such work in his leathers would have been worse than uncomfortable.

Miraculously, none of the plants in his care died. Sometimes it looked like a close call, Geralt fretting that he’d cut something at the wrong time or the wrong way but, somehow, the plants survived his inexperience. Even better, the other servants and staff seemed to genuinely warm to him. The few times he encountered the Viscount or Viscountess, they nodded and smiled at him, only once enquiring how he was settling in. As well as food and room, Geralt was granted a weekly wage which might have been meagre but it was more and steadier than he had ever had before. While he was loath to spend it, he found that it built up into a tidy little stash at a surprising speed. Soon, Geralt was going to be the richest witcher in existence.

To keep his skills sharp and also repay the kindness of those around him, Geralt secretly sneaked out at nights and on his days off to slay local monsters. It was both to keep his newfound job safe and also to feel that he hadn’t quite given up on being a witcher. Merely, he was taking an unofficial hiatus.

Months down the line, Geralt was cutting roses for the dinner hall bouquet when a murmur went up around him. He couldn’t see the cause of it but the words were easy enough to hear.

“He’s back!”

“The little master is home!”

“He’ll be so happy we followed his request.”

While Geralt didn’t get a glimpse of the ‘Little Master’, everyone seemed to be cheered by his appearance. In fact, the whole court was in a bubbling upheaval. A feast was ordered and all servants were invited to take part in the meal in the main hall to celebrate. Curious, Geralt let himself be playfully bullied into attending too. He didn’t quite blend in with the rest of the servants but the crowd was almost large enough to swallow him. It was nowhere near enough though when he walked in and sat at the high table with the Viscount and Viscountess was none other than Jaskier who was staring right back at him.

Noting their staring, the Viscountess scowled at Jaskier then rose, dragging what was so evidently her son behind her.

“Julian,” she said, stopping in front of Geralt. “While you’ve been away, we’ve hired a new gardener. This is...Eric.”

“Eric?” Jaskier looked incredulous.

“Yes. He has been with us for a few months. Eric, this is my son, Julian. He’s often away, travelling the continent as a bard.”

Sudden bright, clear laughter broke out from Jaskier, head tipped back, eyes creased and mouth wide open.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he gasped. “Can we stop this charade. Geralt, what the fuck? Mother, this is the bastard who broke my heart.” Without any warning, he swept Geralt into a hug. “You fell off the face of the continent without anyone knowing what had happened. Eskel and Lambert mourned for you, you bastard.”

At least the Viscountess looked relieved rather than anything else. “You asked us, Julian, that if any witcher ever came, especially one with white hair, we would make sure to give them respite. So we did.” Sniffing daintily, she looked at Geralt. “No offence Eric, Geralt, whatever, but you make a shit gardener. Poor Reydan had to sneak around after you to try and keep the plants you butchered alive.”

Jaskier laughed even more at that and a few of the braver servants crowded closer, listening. Geralt looked at them all, the ones he had been able to call his friends for the last few months. They all knew he was a witcher and yet welcomed him with open arms just because Jaskier had asked his parents to help. All in all, Geralt felt rather foolish.

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience. I’ll leave immediately.”

A hand shot out to grab his arm. “Or you could stay.” Jaskier said.

“Just please, spare the plants.” That was Reydan interrupting, giving Geralt a friendly slap on the back. More of the servants echoed Jaskier’s suggestions that he could stay, at least until Jaskier went back on the road.

There was a bit of an uproar when Geralt didn’t move to the high table to catch up with Jaskier. Instead, Jaskier had moved down to his table and joined the servants. Oddly, Jaskier’s parents only looked on fondly.

As the meal wound down, gossip was exchanged, Geralt laughed at in a friendly way for all his bumblings as an incompetent gardener, it was time to retire for the night.

“Come to my rooms for a nightcap?” Jaskier asked, a hand on Geralt’s arm. “I feel we have a lot to discuss and catch up on.”

Hesitant at first, Geralt accepted the invitation and followed Jaskier to his rooms. If Geralt had thought his room was fancy, Jaskier’s were downright lavish.

“Got something to say to me?” Jaskier asked, a smile teasing at his lips.

“You engineered all of this?” It wasn’t at all what Geralt wanted to say but it was what came out to start with.

“Oh come now, if a witcher comes looking for a job in these lands, it means he’s desperate. My parents know how to keep beasties to a minimum here. I’m thinking we should have Lambert come this way next, he’d excel as a cook for a few months.”

A very good idea, Geralt could imagine Lambert taking to life in the kitchen, experimenting with the spices on offer. It would do him good to have a break too. And Eskel, though he probably would be better in the stables. And Vesemir too, if he could be enticed there, he would excel as an adviser to the household. But that was all beside the point, Geralt had something much more important to say.

“Thank you. And I’m sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing for you.” Geralt hadn’t thought Jaskier would still travel as a bard, had assumed he’d settle in a court. Instead, he’d sought out other wolves and kept them company.

“Never do that again.” Jaskier’s face hardened. “If you have a concern, speak. Don’t make my decisions for me.”

Nodding, Geralt looked a little chastised. It had been so much easier to express emotions recently, around friends.

“Now. I do believe before you so rudely chose our paths for us, we were building towards something quite beautiful.” Jaskier handed Geralt a glass of something rich and smooth. The clinked glasses. A week later, they were leaving Lettenhove together, once more a witcher and a bard rather than a gardener and a viscount.

[sweet-art-o-mine]

and the roses smiled [WhiteRose - RWBY]

[[A/N: Author Allie here. I wrote this somewhere around the beginning of Volume 4 of RWBY, so, most of the tragic stuff didn’t happen in this glorious future lol. Otherwise, enjoy!]]

A beautiful scene plays out before a young woman. It’s autumn, leaves in a spectacular array of warm colors falling from the trees of the magnificent forest behind her, looking like a soft, colorful fall of rain. Wind blew gently in one direction, not yet rough enough to cause the young woman annoyance in needing to fix her hair, but soft enough for her to smile serenely. The grass is soft and still freshly cut around the area, surrounding a field of roses in full bloom.

In the center of it all, a tombstone. A grave of a hero. Words of poetry etched onto its surface.

There Ruby Rose stood, twenty-one years of age, holding a single rose in her hands, staring down at the tombstone with a look of both warmth and hurt in her silver eyes. Her red hood is up, covering her hair that had grown out long enough to touch her shoulder blades.

She stands in silence for a moment, letting the wind and the leaves speak for her heart. Then she reaches up with a single hand, pulling the hood off of her head. There is a pendant in her hair - a white snowflake, small but intricate and beautifully placed atop a hastily-done braid of red and black hair. Her skin has tanned just the slightest bit from her travels, holding a few more scars than she used to have, but her father is adamant that she still remains an almost perfect copy of her mother. 

“Hey, Mom,” she mutters almost inaudibly, confident that her audience could hear her anyway. “It’s been a while.” 

She lets her words hang in the air for a moment, gathering her thoughts as if presenting to a room and wanting to choose the right words to pitch. She takes a deep breath, smelling the roses and the wind. 

“But I finally brought her with me,” she grins warmly, a sparkle in her silver eyes that has seen so much pain in such a short amount of time. She turns slightly, motioning behind her. Another woman steps forward, just a couple of years older than Ruby. She is wearing a white and blue dress - a combat skirt, of course - and her hair, snow-white and shorter than it has ever been, is held up in an intricate ponytail full of twirls and braids. Her eyes are ice-blue and cold, but they hold so much more warmth and love in them than most would ever know. 

This ice-blue woman walks up to the girl in red, and holds out her hand. Ruby grabs it without hesitation, without a thought. It was so natural now, a second nature.

“I figured you’d want to meet her - I know it’s been so long since we last spoke, but I promised to bring my girlfriend the next time I visited, remember?” She continues, still in a whispered tone, but a little louder now for her audience of two. “So, here she is, the famed Weiss Schnee!”

She tilts a little, bumping her shoulder with the other woman, and they both grin. Weiss smiles like she’s trying not to find it amusing, but can’t deny that it is. 

Weiss looks down at the gravestone, only the slightest downward tilt to her lips proof enough of the sorrow she felt in her heart at the sight. She squeezes Ruby’s hand tighter, and smiles - it was not a smile that she would show to a wealthy contributor to the SDC, not a smile that her father taught her to give when she was told to be a proper lady - it was a genuine smile that breaks through her icy exterior. Something special that only those who have earned her trust through trial and hardships have had the pleasure of seeing. She gives a little bow, speaking softly,

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Rose.” 

She feels Ruby squeeze her hand back. 

“Ruby talks about you all the time,” Weiss continues after she stands up straight again, her tone playful and jovial like speaking to an old friend. Warm, comforting. “She tells me about how you would slay Grimm, save lives, and still have the time to come home and read stories to your children.”

She smiles. “Yang talks about you, too - mostly the things Ruby doesn’t want to mention. Like how you once watched a young Ruby struggle to fit a stale cookie into a glass of milk before she started crying for your help-” 

Ruby elbows her in the side, laughing loudly. “I have no idea where she got that idea from, I promise!” She side-eyes her girlfriend with a stink eye. Weiss lets out a laugh that is warm and genuine. 

“-And how she once climbed up a tree to reach a bird’s nest and then refused to come down, so you had to build a treehouse just for her-” She continues, but is interrupted by the very girl she was speaking about. 

“--Maybe we should tell her about how you accidentally summoned a boarbatusk in the middle of some fancy-schmancy party in Atlas-”

For the next minute or so, they speak over each other, sharing embarrassing stories of each other to the empty space in front of them. The roses planted on the ground rustle in the wind, almost sounding like a gentle laughter if you strained your ears hard enough.

The arguing ends and Ruby grumbles something about needing a sugar break, saying a small, heartfelt farewell to her mother’s tombstone before walking off with a promise of ‘getting even’ later. Weiss smiles, but doesn’t follow her girlfriend away from the circle of roses. She waits, watching her go. When she is far enough away, likely on her way back down to her father’s cabin out deeper into the woods, Weiss turns back around to the grave. The wind is silent now, as if waiting for her to speak the first word in this new, stilting quiet.

She steps forward into the circle of flowers, and looks a little nervous for a moment. 

“Mrs. Rose,” she begins, polite and formal as her father would have liked her to be. She pauses, and takes a deep breath.

“Summer Rose,” she corrects herself, her voice so soft and quiet. “I… I am sorry you couldn’t be here for Ruby… I’m sorry your time was cut short so soon, too soon. I just wanted to let you know… I am always here for her. I know I can’t replace a mother’s love, and I don’t intend to. I just…” She pauses, a lump in the back of her throat that made it difficult to speak. She clears her throat, and pretends the tears in her eyes aren’t there. 

“I love her... so much,” she whispers. “And I…”

She pulls something out of her pocket, small and black. A box of some sort. She runs her fingers over the top of it for a moment, feeling the weight of the box. It was so small, but so heavy on her heart. 

“I hope that I can be there for her for as long as possible, always,” she whispers, looking back up at the grave, as if asking something with her eyes. An unasked question for permission. 

A particularly strong gust of wind passes through the forest, bringing a flurry of leaves and flowers into the surrounding area. The rose garden bristles, the gentle laughter floating in the wind back again. At her feet, a wind-swept rose lays gently, freshly bloomed but the colors obvious anyway. Red, pink, fading to white. An unspoken answer, granted.

Weiss shuts her eyes, and lets out a single huff of air as tears slip down her cheeks - cracked porcelain, still so beautiful and perfect despite the wear and tear of the years. She stuffs the small box back into her pocket, and smiles. She bows to the grave, to the space that was empty and full at the same time, low and grateful and genuine. 

“I’ll do everything I can for her, I promise - I will protect her with my life, and I hope… I hope I can make her happy.” 

She wipes away the tears, and spends a minute longer simply standing in silence. It was so peaceful, so happy out here. She turns around, and leaves the singular grave, fingers nervously tapping at the small, black box in her pocket with a look of new-found determination in her eyes. 

“I hope I can make her as happy as she makes me.”

And the roses smiled.

[wordsfromthesol]

Safety Precautions (2/2)

Author: @wordsfromthesol Taglist: @zphilophobiaz @malfoys-demigod Pairing: Dick Grayson x Reader Summary: Things got a little complicated and the bats definitely know way too much about your personal life now. Too bad they are necessary in stopping your past.  Warnings:  Fighting, wounds, cursing, all the good stuff. Word Count: 2.1k

Part One

“Well, where is she?!” You almost screamed as you rushed into the batcave, only to realize no one was there. 

“Give Red Robin time, we don’t know how far away she was.” Nightwing tried to settle you down, as Red Hood disappeared in the elevator.

“Shouldn’t have been more than 2 hours. That’s what we agreed on.” You paced back and forth as Red Hood reappeared with Alfred.

“Miss Y/N. May I check your wounds? I hear there was another scuffle.”

You glared at Hood, but ultimately complied. Alfred had just finished putting fresh bandages on when you heard footsteps. You raced over, enveloping Lily in your arms.

“He found you. Oh thank god, I thought I may have been too late.”

“I was hesitant to come with the brat, but then…he’s back?”

“Back with a vengeance. Though I suppose he never really left.”

“No, but we escaped.”

“Some of us.”

“Sister, you can’t keep blaming –” Lily cut off as she realized the three vigilantes staring at the two of you. “Maybe we should discuss this somewhere private.”

“Oh, uhm, of course.” Nightwing stuttered and motioned for you to follow him into a room. As the door shut he raced back out, to find Red Robin had already pulled up the video and audio feed from the room.

“You know they are probably still listening.” You chuckled out.

“Yes, but I can pretend. And hopefully still get some real answers from you. You didn’t meet up with me. That day.”

“I, uhm,” you looked around, hoping to find the listening device before you had to tell your story. You sighed when nothing caught your eye and continued. “I didn’t get out. I had to make sure the girls did. Helios did not let me go. After that, he made sure I was always injured, never able to get too far from him. That day…he ruptured my femur and branded me.” You tugged at your shirt to reveal his mark burned into the skin over your heart. “He said this way I would know that I was always his. He made a slight error 6 months ago, that the simple pain of a dislocated shoulder and some bruised ribs was enough to keep me there. I made allies with those out there almost as soon as I escaped, I think that’s the only reason he didn’t attack sooner. Once he saw I enlisted there help to find you, he knew he had to act soon.”

“How do you know he hasn’t gone after the girls?”

“Sister, he wishes for you and I. He knows we were Eclipse. That we got the other girls to safety.”

“But I wasn’t Eclipse.”

“Maybe not all the theatrics, but you helped form the plan. You gave me courage and you gave me hope. I could not have donned the persona without you. And I thought I had lost you, my beautiful sister.”

“You forget that bastard trained me as well.”

You smirked, “and he unknowingly brought upon his own demise with that.” The two of you walked out of the room, well aware that the costumed men before you heard every word. “Alright, we need to find him. He wants me, I’ll be bait.”

“Like hell you will.” Nightwing said almost before you finished your sentence.

“I agree. He wants me more. I’ll do it.” Lily spoke up.

“I can’t really agree with that either. You are a civilian.” Nightwing played along as if he hadn’t heard your conversation.

“I’m hardly a civilian. Now, let’s head out.”

**

You stood on the nearby rooftop gazing down at your sister when Nightwing came to your side.

“You can’t be okay with this.”

“I do not like it, but it’s the right play. I trust her to keep herself safe, just as she trusts me to take out Helios.”

“Hm –” Nightwing’s words were cut short when Tim came over the comms.

“I see movement coming from the south. Be ready.”

Helios was there in seconds. Grasping for Lily when you swooped down, kicking him back. Red Robin, Red Hood, and Nightwing landing just behind you.

“You didn’t really think I would leave her here alone, did you?”

“No. In fact I was hoping you’d be here, to see my work.”

“Your work?” Just as the question left your lips 6 girls appeared behind Helios. “No,” a gasp escaped from your throat.

“Oh yes, now. I’ll take Lily.”

“Wait!” Helios tilted his head, an invitation for you to continue. “You can have me. Just let Lily and these girls go. Let them have a choice and I’ll be yours again.”

“Deal.” Helios raced over and grabbed you before anyone could protest. “Girls, you are free once I am.” They all nodded and turned towards the heroes before them. However, as soon as Helios was out of view they collectively stopped. Without hesitation Nightwing sped after you. One of the girls looked at remaining people, settling on Lily.

“She was Eclipse.”

“She was.”

“We all thought she was but a myth.”

“Who are you all exactly?” Tim questioned.

“I’m not sure –” Lily was cut off by the girl.

“It is not a happy tale, but perhaps it will help your friend find Eclipse. So I will tell it.” Red Hood nodded in agreement, passing his earpiece over.

“So Nightwing can hear.”

The girl took it from him and placed it securely in her ear before beginning. “I’m sorry,” she looked towards Lily, “if this was not meant to be shared. Helios trains us, molds us. Beginning at the age of 8 he is a benefactor, supplying our family with the means to make us succeed in both school and athletics. By 10, if we are deemed good enough, he slaughters our family and takes us under his tutelage. A school of assassins. Eclipse, however, was different. She was not under observation; her older sister was, Lily.”

A cracked sigh came from Lily as the young girl mentioned her name. Tim passed her his earpiece in an instant. She continued the story, looking at the girl.

“I am her. Lily.”

“Helios did not kill you?!” The girl was shocked, clearly the myth of Eclipse had been distorted over time.

“No, but Eclipse made sure everyone thought he had. To keep me safe. I took our mother’s maiden name, to distinguish us even further. Eclipse was only 6 when I was to be taken. When she was to be murdered, along with our parents. Helios slayed our parents in front of her, but when he turned the knife on her…well she did not go down easy. The frightened child he expected was not present. So instead, he took her as well. Eclipse was born that day. His best student. She plotted against him from the day he brought her in. I don’t even think he knows how many girls were saved from his wrath because of her.”

“The count, in the stories passed, is over three thousand. We were being trained in a two-story wooden house 16 and a half miles from this location.” Tim quickly pulled up a map and showed it to the girl. “Here.” As she pointed Tim sent the location to Nightwing, motioning back for his earpiece.

“Nightwing, is that where they are headed?”

“Looks like it. You coming to join the party?”

“Always. Me and Hood are on the way.”

“And me. She’s my sister. My baby sister.”

Red Hood looked at her dead in the eyes, “Be ready for a fight.”

**

Helios slung you against the wall as you entered the building. “You know they are going to follow me, right?” You wiped the blood from your lip.

“Of course, but I don’t plan on keeping you alive long.”

“All of this just to kill me?”

“All of this?! Your little persona has created chaos in my schools. They think there is some savior coming to rescue them. They’re wrong. Once I have that stupid mask as a trophy, they’ll all know.”

You screamed as you charged at him. Both of you dodging and throwing punches, knowing each other’s exact moves. It felt more like sparring, after all, you’d done this thousands of times before. Helios pushed you back towards the door, as he did you heard the faint sounds of a motorcycle. Nightwing. Suddenly, you charged at Helios, vaulting over him and forcing him to keep his back to the door. Watching the door creak open, you slid to the ground hitting Helios’ legs as Nightwing jump kicked his back. Scrambling you pinned him, his face pressing into the ground. You knew you couldn’t hold him long, so you pulled out a dagger and lodged it into his bicep and the floorboard below. You then focused your strength to holding him down.

“Do you even know their names?!”

“Of course not. I know them by what matters, their rank. Still no one has been able to surpass you, number one.”

“Don’t call me that.” You gritted through your teeth. If Nightwing wasn’t standing there, you would’ve killed him by now. Instead, you planted one final punch. Hearing his skull crack as it embedded itself further into the flooring. Just as you were standing, Red Robin, Red Hood, and Lily came through the door. You ran to your sister, enveloping her in a hug and pulling her away from this place. It was too similar to your own childhood in Helios’ clutches.

Nightwing looked at his brothers, “We need to get him to Arkham.”

“Heh, well don’t ask me. If I’m alone with that bastard, I will put a bullet through his skull.” Red Hood commented as he sauntered out to meet up with you and Lily. “So you’re a legend now?”

“Heh, tragic backstory and all.” You chuckled out. “At least those kids have a say now. We didn’t get one.” You blinked trying to contain the tears brimming at your lids. “Caden didn’t get one.”

“Woah, I thought it was a girl’s only school…” Red Hood questioned you.

“Yeah, he was our brother. Four years old. Helios took Lily to the school and then came back for us. We were both forced to watch as he slit our parent’s throats. As he came towards me, I bit him and yelled at Caden to run. I would’ve bit his finger off, but he slung he across the room and ran after Caden. When I caught up to him, his fingers were wrapped around Caden’s throat. He forced me to watch the life drain out of our brother’s eyes.” You had forgotten the comms were still on. Nightwing’s voice rang in your ears.

“I’ll kill him!” You looked back at the house, as Red Robin was attempting to hold NIghtwing back.

“I better go get him.” Hood commented.

“You never told me that before…” Lily whispered to you after Hood left.

“I didn’t want it to burden you, as it has me. I always think, if I had been a little faster, or brought a knife with me, or I don’t know. Done something different.”

“The result would’ve been the same. You were six. You should’ve never had to endure that to begin with.” You looked up from your sister and watched Nightwing exit the building.

“Hey, uhm, can I bring you home?” He mumbled.

“Lily, will you be alright?”

“I’ll be fine. I’m not leaving this bastard until I see him surrounded by steel.”

You nodded and followed Nightwing to his bike. The two of you rode in silence to your apartment, but when you got there, you couldn’t seem to dismount the bike. You sat there, arms tightly wrapped around Nightwing’s waist, unwavering. After a few minutes he finally spoke.

“I’m going to take you to my place, is that okay?” You still didn’t speak, just nodded. Once he felt the movement of your head on his back, he took off. Even at this unfamiliar place, it took you several minutes before you got the courage to let go of him. He didn’t press you, just took your hand in his and led you in the right direction. Before you realized, you were sitting on his bed, him in sweatpants, a tshirt, and no mask sitting next to you.

“It’s over.” You finally stuttered out. You turned towards him and collapsed in his arms.

“I’ve got you. You can rest now.”

[jeromecolby]

Jerome Backstory

Circe ranks as one of the greatest witches of mythology. A beautiful enchantress . Circe, in Greek legend, a sorceress, the daughter of Helios, the sun god, and of the ocean nymph Perse. She was able by means of drugs and incantations to change humans into wolves, lions, and swine. The Greek hero Odysseus visited her island, Aeaea, with his companions, whom she changed into swine.

The daughter of Helios and Perse, Circe was a powerful enchantress versatile in the arts of herbs and potions and capable of turning human beings into animals. She did just that to Odysseus’ sailors when they reached her dwelling place, the secluded island of Aeaea. Odysseus, however, managed to trick her with the help of Hermes and, instead of becoming an animal, he became her lover for a year. The couple had three children, one of whom, Telegonus, eventually killed Odysseus.

Family

Circe was the daughter of Perse, one of the Oceanids, and Helios, the Titan sun god. As such, she was part of a family of formidable sorceresses. Pasiphae, who supposedly charmed both Minos and Procris, was her sister, and the even more notorious enchantress Medea was her niece, since she was the daughter of Circe’s brother Aeetes, the guardian of the Golden Fleece. Circe had another brother, Perses, who was slain by Medea after he had deposed her father Aeetes from the throne of Colchis.

Reaching Circe’s Island

Disheartened and dispirited from their horrendous encounter with the man-eating Laestrygonians – after which they had been left with only one out of their twelve ships – Odysseus and his remaining men land on Aeaea, Circe’s island.

At first glance, it seems to them like a desolate island, since the only visible sign of life is a column of smoke rising from somewhere deep in the woods. Naturally, Odysseus sends his men to investigate, putting his brother-in-law Eurylochus in charge of the scouting party.

The Transformation of Odysseus’ Men

After some time, the men reach Circe’s house and are surprised to find many fearsome beasts – mostly lions and wolves – slouching around and acting as domesticated as the tamest pets imaginable. From the inside, they hear a woman’s voice: it’s Circe singing melodiously.

Eurylochus suspects danger, so he chooses to stay outside as Circe comes out of her house and welcomes the rest of the scouting party indoors. Odysseus’ men are treated with some fine-flavored wine they gulp down in a second with the utmost pleasure. However, once they do that, Circe makes a quick move with her wand and, suddenly, all of Odysseus’ men are transformed into pigs. They still have their human brains, so they start grunting and weeping as Circe puts them into her pigsty.

Odysseus Tricks Circe

Eurylochus runs back to Odysseus and tells him the whole story and Odysseus decides to confront Circe. Fortunately, on his way to Circe’s house, he is met by Hermes, who gives him a magical black-rooted white-flowered plant called moly which, the divine messenger says, will make Odysseus immune to Circe’s spells.

As indicated by Hermes, Circe’s wine has no effect on the cunning Greek hero and so, after the enchantress pulls out her wand, Odysseus responds by pulling out his sword. He makes Circe swear that she won’t hurt him and forces her to restore the original form of all his sailors. Circe does precisely that and, furthermore, taken aback by his bravery, offers Odysseus her sincere love and unconditional devotion.

Odysseus accepts them, and, as a result, his men stay in Aeaea for almost a year, after which Odysseus becomes restless to go back to Ithaca and once again see his mortal wife, Penelope.

Odysseus’ and Circe’s Offspring

If we are to believe Hesiod’s genealogies, however, we must deduce that Odysseus returned to Aeaea once or twice more after this, or at least that he stayed there for a little longer than a year. Since Circe – says Hesiod – bore him no less than three children: Agrius, Latinus, and Telegonus. The last and youngest one of the three ended up killing Odysseus by mistake using a poisoned spear given to him by his mother.

Circe in Other Myths

Circe plays a smaller part in few other myths: she purifies Jason and Medea from a murder, and she transforms PIcus and Scylla into a woodpecker and monster respectively.

Jason and Medea

Circe shows up in the second most famous Ancient Greek story of sea adventures, the voyage of the Argonauts. According to Apollonius, after Jason and Medea treacherously and brutally kill the Colchian prince Absyrtus, it is Circe who purifies them from the sin, though she also chases them away from her island once she learns the full gravity of their transgression.

Circe, a Vengeful Lover

Before falling for Odysseus, Circe felt an attraction to at least three other men, the first one a mortal, and the second two a god.

The mortal was Picus, who was too faithful to his wife Canens for his own sake: after fiercely rejecting Circe’s advances, Picus was turned into a woodpecker. Unable to fight through the unbearable sorrow, six days later, Canens threw herself into the river Tiber.

Another time, the sea-god Glaucus asked Circe for a potion which would make the beautiful nymph Scylla fall in love with him. Circe, however, loved Glaucus for herself, so, when he scorned her, she gave him a potion which turned Scylla into the hideous sailor-preying monster Odysseus and his crew had to evade soon after leaving Circe’s island. The third was the God Odin. Odin was known for taking more than one female. Though he loved his mate, Odin had an affair with Circe keeping her happy so nothing bad fell on him.

Who was Circe?

The daughter of Helios and Perse, Circe was a powerful enchantress versatile in the arts of herbs and potions and capable of turning human beings into animals. She did just that to Odysseus’ sailors when they reached her dwelling place, the secluded island of Aeaea.

Where did Circe live?

Circe's home was Aeaea.

Who were the parents of Circe?

The parent of Circe was Helios.

Who were brothers and sisters of Circe?

Circe had 3 siblings: Pasiphae, Aeetes and Perses.

How many children did Circe have?

Circe had 4 children: Agrius, Latinus, Telegonus and Jerome.

Father: Odin

Odin (/ˈoʊdɪn/;[1] from Old Norse: Óðinn, IPA: [ˈoːðinː]) is a widely revered god in Germanic mythology. Norse mythology, the source of most surviving information about him, associates Odin with wisdom, healing, death, royalty, the gallows, knowledge, war, battle, victory, sorcery, poetry, frenzy, and the runic alphabet, and projects him as the husband of the goddess Frigg. In wider Germanic mythology and paganism, the god was known in Old English and Old Saxon as Wōden, in Old Dutch as Wuodan, and in Old High German as Wuotan, all ultimately stemming from the Proto-Germanic theonym *Wōđanaz, meaning 'lord of frenzy', or 'leader of the possessed'.

Odin appears as a prominent god throughout the recorded history of Northern Europe, from the Roman occupation of regions of Germania (from c.  2 BCE) through movement of peoples during the Migration Period (4th to 6th centuries CE) and the Viking Age (8th to 11th centuries CE). In the modern period the rural folklore of Germanic Europe continued to acknowledge Odin. References to him appear in place names throughout regions historically inhabited by the ancient Germanic peoples, and the day of the week Wednesday bears his name in many Germanic languages, including in English.

In Old English texts, Odin holds a particular place as a euhemerized ancestral figure among royalty, and he is frequently referred to as a founding figure among various other Germanic peoples, such as the Langobards. Forms of his name appear frequently throughout the Germanic record, though narratives regarding Odin are mainly found in Old Norse works recorded in Iceland, primarily around the 13th century. These texts make up the bulk of modern understanding of Norse mythology.

Old Norse texts portray Odin as one-eyed and long-bearded, frequently wielding a spear named Gungnir and wearing a cloak and a broad hat. He is often accompanied by his animal companions and familiars—the wolves Geri and Freki and the ravens Huginn and Muninn, who bring him information from all over Midgard—and rides the flying, eight-legged steed Sleipnir across the sky and into the underworld. Odin is the son of Bestla and Borr and has two brothers, Vili and Vé. Odin is attested as having many sons, most famously the gods Thor (with Jörð) and Baldr (with Frigg), and is known by hundreds of names. In these texts he frequently seeks greater knowledge, at times in disguise (most famously by obtaining the Mead of Poetry), makes wagers with his wife Frigg over the outcome of exploits, and takes part both in the creation of the world by way of slaying the primordial being Ymir and in giving the gift of life to the first two humans Ask and Embla. Odin has a particular association with Yule, and he provides mankind with knowledge of both the runes and poetry, giving Odin aspects of the culture hero.

Odin is a frequent subject of interest in Germanic studies, and scholars have advanced numerous theories regarding his development. Some of these focus on Odin's particular relation to other figures; for example, the fact that Freyja's husband Óðr appears to be something of an etymological doublet of the god, whereas Odin's wife Frigg is in many ways similar to Freyja, and that Odin has a particular relation to the figure of Loki. Other approaches focus on Odin's place in the historical record, a frequent question being whether the figure of Odin derives from Proto-Indo-European mythology, or whether he developed later in Germanic society. In the modern period the figure of Odin has inspired numerous works of poetry, music, and other cultural expressions. He is venerated in most forms of the new religious movement Heathenry, together with other gods venerated by the ancient Germani Odin, also called Wodan, Woden, or Wotan, one of the principal gods in Norse mythology. His exact nature and role, however, are difficult to determine because of the complex picture of him given by the wealth of archaeological and literary sources. The Roman historian Tacitus stated that the Teutons worshiped Mercury; and because dies Mercurii (“Mercury’s day”) was identified with Wednesday (“Woden’s day”), there is little doubt that the god Woden (the earlier form of Odin) was meant. Though Woden was worshiped preeminently, there is not sufficient evidence of his cult to show whether it was practiced by all the Teutonic tribes or to enable conclusions to be drawn about the nature of the god. Later literary sources, however, indicate that at the end of the pre-Christian period Odin was the principal god in Scandinavia.

From earliest times Odin was a war god, and he appeared in heroic literature as the protector of heroes; fallen warriors joined him in Valhalla. The wolf and the raven were dedicated to him. His magical horse, Sleipnir, had eight legs, teeth inscribed with runes, and the ability to gallop through the air and over the sea. Odin was the great magician among the gods and was associated with runes. He was also the god of poets. In outward appearance he was a tall, old man, with flowing beard and only one eye (the other he gave in exchange for wisdom). He was usually depicted wearing a cloak and a wide-brimmed hat and carrying a spear.

JEROME

As everyone knows, what Circe wanted, Circe got. When she set her sights on The father of Gods, Odin nothing would stop her. Odin, the God seen a beautiful God who could help him win his battles with her potions. Little did he know she would trick him, and keep him at her island for months while the plan all along was to impregnate her with a son. One she would cherish above all. He would be a brother to Thor. Only his powers would be that of not onky strength, he was a sorcerer as well. Jerome is out going, the life of the party. He has many abilities and ones he is still finding he has. He isn't like Father, or his Mother and is actually a nice guy with a huge heart. Yiu fuck with what's his, or family and he will make you pay.

 

[wonkasmissstarshine]

The Chocolate Prince and The Lovely Maiden {Willy Wonka x Rose Bucket AU}

Chapter 5

A Girl and her (Secret) Fairy Godmothers

Tagging: @holdmeicant @frozenhuntress67 @pastelmoonwitche @arinnasweetslove​

Rose finally reached the sisters’ cottage. It was small, but it was very lovely home. There were a bunch of colorful flowers and oddly beautiful fungi that grew in the garden. It made Rose think of a fairy garden. Rose had heard stories about fairies. There was debate as to whether they existed or not. Some people say that they were small; some say that they’re the size of humans.

And then there were those that said that fairies born with an evil heart aren’t fairies at all. They were called witches. Rose had never seen a witch either, but she was sure they were real. Hell, she was positive that Avonmora was secretly a witch.

Rose and Honkers approached the front door. The clanging of various pots and pans could be heard coming from inside. “What in the world is going on in there?” Rose wondered out loud.

“It sounds like some kind of party in there” Honkers somehow thought. “How come we weren’t invited?”

Rose giggled at her goose friend. “I don’t think they’re having a party, Honkers. I’m thinking it may be chore day” She knocked on the door. Everything fell eerily silent and then a voice spoke.

“Who is it?” It was Fiona’s voice, the eldest of the three sisters.

“It’s Rose”

Suddenly, there was a loud crashing noise. And someone also made a shrieking noise. It sounded like Briona, the youngest sister. After a moment the door was opened by Liona, the middle sister. A smile graced upon her beautiful face. “Hello dear”

“Liona, is everything alright?” 

“Yes. Everything is fine” Liona said.

Rose peeked over her shoulder. There were a whole bunch of dishes, utensils, and pots and pans scattered all over the floor. “Really? Because it seems like you made quite the mess in here”

Briona popped up beside Liona. “It’s dish day for us! Our messiest cleaning day”

“Girls, step aside and let our Rose inside” Fiona said. The two sisters stepped aside, and Rose and Honkers entered the small home. “Hungry? We’ve made a few sandwiches”

“Please!” Rose took a seat at the table. “I’ve been cleaning all morning. I haven’t the time to make myself even a small meal”

Honkers hopped onto one of the other empty chairs. “Just bread crumbs for me. I’m looking a little puffy these days and it isn’t from my feathers”

Briona giggled at the goose. “You’re not puffy. You’re pleasantly fluffy” She placed a plate of bread crumbs in front of Honkers. “You’re adorable” Briona gushed over the goose. Honkers’ feathers puffed out. That was his version of blushing.

Fiona placed the sandwich in front of Rose. “What brings you by today?”

“A couple of things, actually” Rose began, pausing to take a bite out of her sandwich. “One, I was hoping to pick more cherries from your tree today”

Liona smiled. “You’re always welcome to, Rose! Remember, the cherries are fresh everyday”

“I’ve always wondered. What does make your cherries to fresh everyday?”

Fiona and Liona shared a look with each other. Then they looked Briona, ignoring the way her two sisters were staring, answered. “You could say it’s just a bit of gardening magic”

“Briona!” Fiona and Liona hissed.

“What!?” Briona asked, confused as to why her sisters said her name so condescendingly.

Fiona rolled her eyes and then smiled at Rose. “What is the other reason for you seeing us today?”

“I wanted to ask you all about something. Or rather, someone” Rose explained.

“This isn’t about Avonmora, is it?” Briona asked suddenly. Fiona and Liona gave her warning glares. “What?”

Rose became confused. “Is there something about her I should know?”

“No” Liona quickly answered. “We just don’t like to talk about her in this house. From what we hear from you, she’s a cruel woman”

Rose huffed. “You don’t know the half of it. Anyways, no this isn’t about her. This about a man I met this morning”

“You met a man?” Fiona grinned. “Is he handsome? Was it love at first sight?”

Rose snorted. “Love? No way! That man has an ego so big, the only person he could ever truly love is himself”

Briona’s face scrunched in confusion. “Well, that doesn’t sound anything like Pri-” The pink haired sister shrieked when Liona smacked her in the back of the head. “Li! Why!?”

“You talk too much sometimes, Bri” Liona sneered at her younger sister.

“Oh” Briona muttered, now realizing what she was doing.

Fiona sighed, and then pressed Rose for more information about this mysterious man. “Tell us all about him”

“Well, like I said, I only met him this morning” Rose disclaimed. The sisters all leaned in with interest as to what Rose had to say. “His name is Harry. But, just from our brief meeting, I already feel like I know everything I need to about him. He cornered me in the garden, backing me up against the wall. He said that he had been admiring me for quite some time. He gave me a gardenia, I told him that they weren’t my favorite, and now he’s going to bring me a different flower everyday until he brings me my favorite”

“And what happens when he does bring you your favorite flower?” Fiona asked.

“He said that I owe him a romantic stroll”

The three sisters exchanged looks. This poor girl. As if having to deal with her step-mother wasn’t bad enough, now she’s gained the unwanted attention of a man who doesn’t seem to understand the word no. “Sweetheart,” Liona spoke up. “You know you don’t owe that man anything, right?”

“I know” Rose sighed. “I just fear the continuous pestering I am to receive from him”

“Well, hopefully he learns to back off” Briona spoke up. “Because, he isn’t the one you’re destined to be with anyways”

Rose furrowed her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

Fiona gave a stone cold glare in Briona’s direction. “Yes, what do you mean, Briona?”

Briona, realizing she had said too much again, nervously giggled. “Oops. There I go again. Uttering complete nonsense”

Rose shook her head, ignoring what Briona just did. Having finished her sandwich, Rose stood up, grabbing her basket. “I’m off to the cherry tree” She announced. “Thank you for the sandwich. Come on, Honkers”

Honk! “But I want to hear more of Briona’s nonsense” Honkers said as he hopped off the chair.

“You just want to stay because you think she’s pretty” 

“What? No!” Honkers quickly denied as he followed Rose out the door.

As soon as Rose was out the door, Fiona whipped out her wand. With a flick of her wrist, the mess on the floor was quickly cleaned up. “Briona, you need to be more careful about what you say in front of Rose” Fiona chastised.

“Otherwise we’ll have to put a zipping spell on your mouth” Liona added.

“I’m sorry, sissys” Briona apologized. “I don’t mean to”

“We know” Fiona said. “We’ve managed to keep the secret from Rose for this long. We just need to hold out a little longer”

“And how much is a little longer going to be?” Briona complained like she was a young child.

This time, Liona pulled out her wand. She pointed it at the table. Glittery magic came out of the end of it, and conjured up a large piece of parchment. “According to my prophecy, Rose and the Prince should be meeting very soon”

Liona was what was known as a psychic fairy. She had the ability to see the future and all it’s possible outcomes. Fiona was an alchemy fairy. She was very skilled in making all kinds of potions and tonics. Then, Briona was a garden fairy. Her magic specialty was with wildlife and plants. In fact, she had been the one to enchant the cherry tree that Rose was so fond of. Briona could also interact with animals and give them the ability to speak.

“Does this prophecy of yours include this Harry idiot?” 

Liona skimmed through the parchment. “Hmm. I see his name here. But not much is said about him” Sometimes, Liona wasn’t able to tell the whole future. Some things only became clear the closer the event would come. 

“And Avonmora,” Fiona piped in. “Anything about her?”

Liona took another look. “Fortunately, no, but I suppose that could also be a bad thing. Dark magic is unpredictable. I wouldn’t be surprised if she interfered with the parchment somehow”

Yes, Avonmora was a witch and the three fairies were very aware of that fact. The reason the fairies chose to live in the forest was to keep tabs on Avonmora. But, they knew that they couldn’t keep their own eyes on her at all times. So, enter Honkers the goose.

“Not only do we have our evil sister to worry about,” Briona started. Ah yes, Avonmora was related to the three fairies. Avonmora was the bad apple of the family, cursed with an evil heart. “But now Harry? What if he tries a love potion on Rose or something?”

“That is not going to happen” Fiona assured. “And we’ll make sure of that”

Liona nodded. “It is destined for Rose and the Prince to meet. It is destined for them to fall in love. That is what fate lies in store. And no matter what happens, no matter what Avonmora or Harry do, they cannot change fate” 

Liona took another look at the future telling parchment. “And, it is also fate that the Prince will finally slay that witch once and for all, with the help of a mighty huntress, and a young boy. Then, everything that once was, will be restored”

[fangirleaconmigo]

Keep Me Forever

Chapter 6, Infinite Resource 4154 k.  By: Descarada. The fic overall is explicit but this chapter is not. Also on AO3.

This is written in my Eskel and His Angel universe, where Jaskier is a sex worker who goes by Dandelion.

Eskel saved Dandelion’s niece from a basilisk as a child so the young man had his heart (and other things) set on bagging that witcher as soon as he could lure him in as an adult.

Not only did he achieve that dream, but now he gets to see Kaer Morhen for the first time.  This is the chapter where it FINALLY happens, he lays eyes on the old keep. Geralt has come out to escort them the rest of the way, and there are the first attempts at trust because this is going to be poly. 

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Dandelion

Dandelion loved to attend bardic competitions. He was reminded of them now, riding the trail behind Geralt and Eskel.

He’d seen bards jump on stage with the festival band, never having played with them.  They would wait a few cords, eyes cast to the ceiling, feeling the rhythm and pace of the band. Then they would jump in with their voices, usually triumphantly, though sometimes it took a few bars to get the tempo and pitch correct.

The band of brothers riding in front of him had been playing together for almost a hundred years. And he was the warbling newcomer. 

And every thudding step the three horses took up the mountain road brought them closer to Kaer Morhen where he would be even more than a newcomer. He would be an oddity. Hopefully he wouldn’t be seen as an intruder.

Figuring out how to interact with Geralt, and with Eskel when he was with Geralt, had been a bit of a challenge, but he’d just followed Eskel’s lead. That strategy had seemed to be working well enough. 

Eskel had told him to tend to Geralt’s wounds so he had. Eskel had directed Geralt to take care of Dandelion at the shop, so Dandelion had found something for Geralt to do. He’d delighted in it, in fact. Watching the two of them together was wonderful.  They shared gestures, speech patterns, and seemed to communicate without words.  He felt honored to be a welcome spectator.

But soon they would be in Kaer Morhen with the rest of the wolves. It felt like a chasm of the unknown. Dandelion stood on the edge of it, hoping for the best.

However, the uncertainty didn’t taint the thrill for him. 

“So, when you said your lifelong dream awaited,” asked Geralt. “What dream was that?” 

 The witcher turned his head so that his voice travelled back to Dandelion.  He rode on his brown mare, and the muscles of his back tensed and bunched in response to the jostling of the rocky road.

 “Oh, you know,” Dandelion shouted ahead. “Just a bit of hyperbole. I’m excited is all.”

 Dandelion still felt vulnerable exposing how much this actually meant to him. 

What could he say? I’ve been studying you and Kaer Morhen for ten years? That meeting Eskel was one of three moments that changed my life forever?

Because Dandelion had counted them. 

There were three events that he could point to to say... and after that, nothing was the same. After that, I felt like I was living in a new life, for better or for worse .

 The first had been when his parents and brother in law Lucas had died. That one had obviously been  for wors  e. Dandelion (Julian then) was orphaned within the space of a week. His sister Sarah had been orphaned  and  made a widow.  

 Sarah had been a giddy newlywed with apple cheeks, a doting young wife with her entire life planned out. After having her family and her future ripped from her, she became a shadow of her former self. She didn’t eat, she didn’t sleep. She was practically a wraith.

 And they had lost almost everything material. They’d kept their titles but that was about it. Their hopeful, full life turned bleak and lonely. They moved out to the small farm that used to be occupied by their workers. They ate and drank and worked in silence, just the two of them. Sometimes an aunt or a cousin would come around to visit. They would sit on the porch and make stilted, polite conversation drenched in grief and exhaustion.

 The second event that had changed everything was the day Sarah found out she was pregnant. She and her Lucas had been trying to conceive before he fell ill. But she didn’t know that their efforts had taken root until after he was gone.

 There is nothing like the bright beam of new life to cut through the despair of loss. They became determined to survive. When Lety was born, Julian took pride in stepping into the role of a father figure for the baby, even at his young age. It meant he was needed. They survived on every gurgle, every gummy grin, every clasp of grey eyed Lety’s chubby fingers. She gave them the love they needed to get up each morning and greet her with kisses.

 The third day that changed Dandelion’s life forever was the day he met Eskel. That was the day they almost lost the only thing that had delivered them from total despair. Their little Lety.

 Some people think that healing from grief is a linear process. It isn’t. You can live your life in grief for ages.  You can walk on bloody eggshells around its remains, edging around the ragged and painful bits forever. You can avoid anything that reminds you of what you used to have. You can survive by cradling your injured limbs and keeping them from hitting doorways. You can survive without healing. Without turning your face to the world once again.

 That was what Sarah and young Julian were doing, the day Lety wandered off into the path of the basilisk.  They were caring for each other, but shutting out the rest of the world that had wounded them. Shutting out their own grief. 

 If Lety had died that day, Dandelion couldn’t honestly claim that he would be here today. At minimum, he would not be in the state he was in, healthy and passionate about living.  He was almost certain Sarah wouldn’t be here at all. 

 Almost losing Lety had been a shock to the system. Those terrifying moments where Julian tore through the woods screaming for her still lived in a corner of his soul. They would forever. Those terrifying moments where Sarah waited, growing more frantic, changed her too. It had reminded both of them that there was still life left to be fought for. It transformed them, and thus their lives.

 They both manifested this change in different ways. They both would have described it using different words. But this was essentially what both of them understood that day.

 It was time to set aside the despair for what they had lost. It was time to fight for what they still had.

 They had found the strength to fight again, thanks to Eskel.

 It was fitting that the first fight Julian ever got into was over Eskel.

 Some kid in town ran up to him the day after Eskel rescued Lety,  and asked if it was true - if they were so poor that the witcher who had saved Lety had ravaged Sarah for compensation.

 The crack when Julian’s knuckles hit the kid’s jaw had been satisfying. He had expected Sarah to chide him when he came home bruised with the kid’s mother dragging him by the ear.  But his sister talked the woman down and when they were once again alone, had smiled at him and pinched his cheek. He protested as always.  He was too grown up to have his cheek pinched. But he listened to her words.

 “What people believe about us matters,” she had said. “People give you what they believe you will accept. And now people believe that we will defend each other, and our friends.”

 She wasn’t the same Sarah as before all of their losses, exactly. But she wasn't the one who grimly survived. She had new vigor. She started laying a plan for how to get back their property and position. It was for Lety, she said. She would lay the groundwork with powerful nobles and once Julian was of age and had legal standing, they would be unstoppable.

 For the first time since losing them, they talked about their parents at meals, remembering the pie their mother had cooked, or the toys their father had carved for them. Julian even overheard Sarah telling stories about Lucas to Lety. “You get your ridiculous sense of humor from your father. Once we were watching a play, and —“

 And Julian, for his part, had found new life as well.  The only two lives he had lived until then was first his childhood in the safe embrace of his parents. Then he had known a lonely life when the world was cruel and frightening.

But meeting Eskel had planted a seed. He still had life to fight for. And meeting Eskel had given him his own passion. Something that he could disappear into, a haven.

 At first, when Julian began his study of witchers, he was truly only looking for things like mating rituals, anatomy studies (sketches preferably) and ways to seduce the man who had saved Lety. At fifteen years old, he very much thought with his cock. And Eskel was spectacular. 

 But as he studied, he became fascinated by the history and stories of all witchers. He read about the different schools and their respective training techniques. He read about decoctions and weaponry.  He was captivated by the ancient keep at Kaer Morhen and its secrets. 

 Sarah didn’t chide him for his fixation. In fact she found ways to add to his collection of books and relics that they found at Oxenfurt and Aretuza estate sales. She would do his chores when he rode to Oxenfurt for public lectures. Even though she didn’t share his passions, (she was much more interested in palace intrigue and regaining their property), she let him ramble on at dinner and at bedtime. She let him tell Lety bedtime stories about the latest tales of witcher contracts and monster slaying.  

 She was just happy to see her younger brother excited about anything again.

 One of the books she sold her combs to afford, Ancient Sea Keeps, was packed away in his saddle bags. On its way to Kaer Morhen.

 He had sent her a letter before he left, so she would know by now that he was on his way.

 He imagined what she would say when she read it.

 She would say,  you scoundrel, you’ve done it .

 Dandelion looked around at the towering pines and inhaled the crisp mountain air. He listened to the occasional chatter of the two witchers riding in front of him. Their voices drifted back to him, entwined with the other sounds of the mountains, with birds and rustling branches.

 At the moment they were arguing over who would enter the cockatrice into their journal.

 “That was my kill. I had it.” Said Eskel, in the clanging rough voice that was already beginning to sound like home.

 “Ahhhhhh,” grunted Geralt in his deep purr, “you had nothing. If I hadn’t come into the clearing you’d still be fighting it, wishing for me to deliver you.” Geralt clutched his chest and delivered an uncanny impersonation of Eskel. “Where is the white wolf? If only he were here.”

 Eskel snorted derisively.

 “You wish,” he laughed. “I let you kill it to help build your confidence. If anything, you slowed me down.”

 Dandelion smiled to himself and absently patted Butterscotch, who was a real trooper on this trail. Come to think of it, so was he.  His riding had come so far in a matter of days, by necessity.

 As they ventured deeper into the mountains, the shadows grew longer. Dandelion finally began to feel the cold. He knew the witchers were probably still fine, so he tried to forebear.

 But when Eskel called for a break and they slid from their horses, the witcher noticed him rubbing his hands together.

 Eskel came over to him and slipped an arm around his waist.

 “You good?” Eskel asked, and he leaned his forehead against his. The feel of his body so close, comforted every part of Dandelion by its mere presence. To be near Eskel meant love. It meant protection.

 Dandelion shivered and Eskel pulled him tight against his barrel chest. The witcher rubbed his back and arms briskly and kissed his temple.

 “C’mon,” he said, and he led Dandelion over to Scorpion.  He rummaged in his bags and pulled out a few rolled up garments. 

 “That isn’t enough for the trail up. You’re going to borrow my things,” he said.  “Take off the cloak.”

 Dandelion slipped off the cloak and laid it carefully over Scorpion.

 Eskel first held out a thick knit sweater, and Dandelion pulled it on.

 Geralt walked over.

 “Everything good?”

 Eskel nodded.

 “Can’t have him freeze on his way up.”

 Dandelion pulled down the sweater. It looked rather dashing actually.  

 Eskel leaned in for a kiss.  Dandelion melted against his warm lips.

 When he pulled away, Geralt was there, holding out a pair of gloves.  Dandelion shot his sweetest smile at him. He even batted his lashes for good measure.

 “Thank you, darling,” and he pulled them on.

 “Can’t have our first human visitor in years say we weren’t good hosts,” Geralt grunted.

 Then Eskel settled the cloak over his shoulders and tied it again.  And lastly, he slipped a soft hat onto Dandelion’s head and pulled it down over his ears.

 “Ooo, cashmere?” asked Dandelion, reaching up to run his fingers over it.

 “Made it from lil bleater’s wool,” he said. Eskel kissed Dandelion’s nose, then his lips.

 Dandelion preened inwardly, but outwardly he looked puffed and layered. If he fell over, he could probably be rolled up the mountain.

 “I think we’d better take the rest on foot,” Said Eskel, looking around.

 Dandelion looked over the trail. It seemed wide enough to continue on horseback.

 Eskel gestured towards a thinning area in the branches to their left.  When they neared, Dandelion realized it was the trail. Witcher’s Trail. They had arrived. He would have never seen it if Eskel hadn’t pointed it out.

 He had pored over the maps, he knew the basic route. But he also knew that witcher trail was enigmatic and didn’t show itself to non witchers or non magical humans. He knew he would only find it, and find his way to the end of it with the guidance of Eskel and Geralt.

 Even after they squeezed through the branches, this offshoot trail seemed to blend into the surroundings.  Dandelion was sure he would have been lost in moments without the witchers there to guide him. They crossed creeks where Dandelion would have lost the trail, but they picked it up instinctively without hesitation, and climbed.

 They climbed and climbed.  Dandelion’s ears tingled with the cold, and his hands gripping Buttercup’s reins became stiff and sore despite the gloves.

 Wind whipped around them, and sometimes branches twacked his cloak as he passed. The sound of his own breath grew louder in his ears.  He made sure to keep Scorpion and Eskel in his sights at all times.

 He kept his head up and strained to see all around him. He walked a trail few non magical humans ever got to see. This was special. He would imprint every sensation into his memory banks.  

 He would remember the green of the pine, the fresh smoke smell.  This was the scent he always sensed on Eskel. He was on an adventure, but Eskel was returning home. He would see Eskel at home, which meant he would truly know him, as much as a person can know another.

 Hours past, and the sun lowered in the sky. But Dandelion wasn’t weary.  He was exhausted, but not weary. He pulled the cloak tight. His legs burned. But he rejoiced, and strained to see the first glimpse of that ancient, legendary keep he’d dreamt of for so long.

 When Kaer Morhen jutted out before him above the peaks of the trees, he didn’t even see it at first.  The gray stones of the keep practically blended into the mountain, and gray mist hung around its turrets.

 It wasn’t until they came to a stop and Eskel shouted back, pointing, that Dandelion’s gaze materialized and his mind interpreted what he was seeing.

 Kaer Morhen.

 Caer a'Muirehen

 Keep of the Elder Sea

 When he knew what he was looking at, the pieces of it suddenly sharpened.  The outer and inner walls. The balconies and parapets.  

 It was like seeing a mystical place.  A legend.  A secret, only unlocked for the magical and mutated. And it was being opened for him. Sex worker of Sodden, Viscount of Vice, and now, Eskel’s angel.

 He gazed in wonder. It was only after his throat began to feel sore that he realized his jaw had dropped and he’d been breathing the cold air through his mouth.

 He’d stopped momentarily and Eskel had waited patiently. He licked his chapped dry lips and mouthed the word,

 “Wow!”

 Eskel smiled proudly.

 The book Dandelion had stuffed in his bags to keep his drawing for Eskel safe had been his main source of information about the old castle.  He wasn’t sure why he’d brought it with him. He was trying to keep his witcher fixation subtle after all.  But he hadn’t been able to resist. And of course sketches cannot do the real, actual thing justice.

 The sketches in the book were from its infancy, when it was shiny and new. Before the attacks. The majestic, crumbling architecture was everything he had imagined and more.

 After allowing him to gape for a few moments, Eskel urged them on.

 The air grew thinner, and his head lightened. Eskel began to stop often to check on him and offer him water. Buttercup was showing remarkable stoicism. So were Roach and Scorpion, but that had been expected. They’d taken this road many times.

 When they emerged from the last line of trees before the keep. Dandelion stopped cold, face tilted up to take in as much of it as he could. It was more stunning than he could have imagined.  Now he could make out the balustrades, the walkways atop the walls. This was a massive keep, with few equals outside of royal domains.

 He vaguely heard Eskel murmuring to Geralt, asking him to wait.

 After a few moments, he reminded himself that he would be here all winter. He would have all the time in the world to stare at Kaer Morhen.

 “You ready?” Asked Eskel.

“I’m ready,” said Dandelion.

 The first part of the keep that they approached was the outer defensive wall.  It was bordered by two barbicans and in its center was a massive wooden gate. 

 The moat lay in front of it, ringed in dark green moss.  The muddy banks around the top of the moat hinted that it had once been deeper. The water shimmered dark and the moon sparkled off of the ripples where minnows poked up their heads. 

 The bridge was a stone path that was bumpy in places. In the twilight, it would require some amount of concentration to cross.

“Are you ok,” asked Eskel. “Not too light headed?”

 “I’m good,” nodded Dandelion.

 “Walk in front,” said Eskel. “We’ll have Butterscotch follow Scorpion.”

 Dandelion took the first few steps.  He kept his eyes carefully on the path in front of him, intent not to trip on any rocks.

 But when he was about halfway across, the gleam of something white in the shallow water on his left caught his eyes.  He quickly glanced, and the shape of the white object brought him to a swift stand still.

 It looked like a bone. 

 It couldn’t be. But in the dimness of dusk it looked as such. Dandelion couldn’t help but stop and stare. Eskel and Geralt came to a stop behind him with the procession of horses. Dandelion pointed.

 “That looks like a bone,” he said, and he felt stupid as he said it. Why would it be a bone?

 “It is, love,” said Eskel, drawing closer and placing a hand on his lower back.

 Then other sparkles of white emerged from the water, once Dandelion knew what he was looking for. It dawned on him slowly that there were white shaped objects all over the floor of the moat, resting quietly.

 “Yes. Well,” said Dandelion, voice unsure. He knew about the attack on the keep.  As disturbing as it was, these men had done this to themselves, attacking the witchers and slaughtering them. This was the best they deserved.  “I supposed it’s a good reminder to your enemies. Never again.”

 Eskel leaned in to kiss him on the temple. Dandelion smiled bravely. He didn’t consider himself a coward. But a watery graveyard of bones still wasn’t something he relished.

 “No, those are mostly the witchers we lost,” said Eskel.

 Dandelion’s heart sunk. “All of your brothers-in-arms are in there?”

 Eskel squeezed him tight by the waist.

 He slid out of Eskel’s arms and knelt by the water, sweeping his eyes over the water, making out different kinds of bones: skulls, femurs, hands. The passing of clouds obscured them, then cleared, and they glistened at him once more.

 Dandelion realized that every time Eskel walked in and out of the keep, the bones of his people watched him quietly. They were posed as they had fallen, in violent death, betrayed by the very people who had created them, who had needed them, until they didn’t.

 Dandelion couldn’t help picturing the bones of his parents in there. Could he walk by them? Bare and exposed? 

 Eskel knelt beside him, leathers creaking.

 “Are you alright?”

 Dandelion sighed and swallowed. He looked for his voice and was grateful to find it.  “It’s not about me, I know,” he said distantly, unable to yank his eyes from the scene before him. “It’s just. They weren’t buried. Or burned. Why not?”

 “Vesemir said it was so we wouldn’t forget,” Eskel said gently.

 “But. Did you do anything for them?” He asked softly. “To honor them?” He couldn’t, wouldn’t, shame the very people most traumatized by the siege. But he couldn’t understand it. 

 “No,” said Eskel. “I suppose at the time we didn’t think about it. We were all--”

 “In shock?” said Dandelion. “Numb?” He understood that. He’d been numb and had avoided properly grieving for years. Until Eskel had burst into his life. Until Eskel had sliced the light of his life out of a basilisk belly.

 “Yes,” said Eskel. “We mostly tended to Vesemir. He was here you know. We found him under the corpse of his mentor. It’s how he survived.”

 “Oh,” said Dandelion.  He gazed, now unseeing, over the water.  “That’s awful.” There weren't any words for it, really. “And you just get used to this?” 

 “It doesn’t help to dwell on something you can’t change,” said Geralt. It was only then that Dandelion realized that Geralt had come up to stand next to them.  He loomed above, with crossed arms.

 “That’s true,” Dandelion said, looking up at Geralt. “But. Ah it’s just—” He stopped. “Nevermind. It’s not about me.” His voice faltered, and he clenched his fists. He blinked and bit his tongue.

 “I’ll see you two inside,” said Geralt abruptly. His voice sounded husky. He stepped around them and trudged towards the keep without another word. Roach clomped lightly around them too, following his witcher.

 Dandelion turned to Eskel. His eyes were adjusting to the darkening sky. The patience and tenderness in Eskel’s eyes almost undid him. This was Eskel’s tragedy. Why was he holding Dandelion’s hand through  his  shock?

 “I’m sorry,” said Dandelion. “I upset him. I. Was just surprised.”

 Eskel took his chin and pulled him to look into his eyes.

 “It’s ok,” he said. “If he’s upset, it isn’t your doing. I’ll check on him later.”

 Dandelion smiled ruefully. “And he was just getting used to me.”

 Eskel chuckled.

 “Used to you?  Is that what you think happened here these last few days? He got used to you?”

 Dandelion nodded. “He let me braid his hair.  He laced the bodice for me.”

 “Oh sweetness,” said Eskel, pulling him in for an encompassing, tight hug. “Geralt doesn’t just let people touch him. He doesn’t just loan out his clothes.  That was him shouting affection.”

 Dandelion pulled back enough to look into Eskel’s sparkling eyes.

“Really?” He asked.

Eskel nodded. “Really.”

 Dandelion nuzzled back into his neck. There they were, sitting on the stones in a pathway surrounded by gleaming bones, and Dandelion had never felt so safe.

 “I’m proud of you,” whispered Eskel. 

 Dandelion had a deficit of people saying they were proud of him. It happens by nature when you don’t have parents.  So he tucked that feeling away in his heart.

 “So. About Geralt,” said Dandelion. “If lending me gloves, and allowing me to touch him without violence is affection, then he worships you.”

 Eskel made a tsking noise. “Eh, it's complicated. We were kind of something more for awhile...but then...” there was a pause. “It was his choice. I understood. He can have anyone.”

 “He said himself that he makes terrible choices,” said Dandelion.

 Again it was silent.  Dandelion watched a crawdad skip across the water.

 “I’m with you now,” said Eskel softly.

 “Darling,” said Dandelion. “Love is an infinite resource.”

 “What do you mean?” asked Eskel.

 “I mean...” now Dandelion was searching for words. “I mean that, while I would not like to share you with just anyone, there are people who only increase the amount of love available.  Geralt is a part of you. And I don’t believe in a love that requires you to cut off part of who you are.”

 Dandelion forced himself to look out over the moat again. “Different people give you different things. He anchors you. He was there. I’m the lark who gives you new wings. We can both matter.”

 Eskel squeezed him again.  “I don’t even know what to say.”

 “You don’t have to say anything,” said Dandelion.

They held each other long enough to shake the cold of the trail. They held each other until Scorpion and Buttercup began complaining. The horses must have sensed Roach inside, eating oats without them.

 “Let’s get you inside and warmed up,” said Eskel. “And now that you’ve spent a week puffing me up, let’s see if I still fit in the door.” 

 He stood and held out his hand for Dandelion to take.

 "Very good. Any advice for making a good impression on the rest of your family?" asked Dandelion.

 "Sure," said Eskel. "Ignore Lambert."

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