#do we add among us whisper to the whisper horrors collection

[420-what-you-smokin]

I had a realization about issue 64

[ketamineharry]

The Night We Met - Harry Lewis Requested: No Trigger Warnings: Knife crime, death

“When the night was full of terror and your eyes were filled with tears.”

You had met Harry on a drunken night out. He had ended up in a pub fight and he had bumped into you. He had tried his hardest to mask the tears that had threatened to spill, but you could see just how badly the fight had left him, so it wouldn’t have surprised you. 

“If that’s what you look like, I’d like to see the other guy.” You found yourself saying, trying to lift his spirits. He offered you a half-hearted laugh, before trying to make his way out of the pub. “I’m a registered nurse by the way, I can help you with the clean up.” He had taken you up on the offer, taking a hold of your hand as he led you out of the pub and into the Uber. As you both arrived at his flat, you were instantly taken aback. This was certainly different from the small one bedroom flat you were able to afford with your wage. 

“Where would I be able to find your medical supplies?” You asked, as he sits at a dining table. As he did, you were able to take in the extent of his injuries. A busted lip, a cut eyebrow and his nose was oozing blood. “In the bathroom cabinet.” He responds, wincing in pain. You had worked a fair few nights at your local accident and emergency, but for a pub fight, this was among the worst results you had seen. 

You collected the relevant medical supplies from the bathroom, which, in relation to your tiny abode, was the size of your bedroom. “This is going to sting a little, but please just bear with it. It’ll be better for you in the long run.” You say, as you dabbed a cotton bud into some antiseptic, brushing it over his cuts. He winced again, placing a hand over yours. 

“Thank you, but I think I can deal with the rest of this myself. You’re more than welcome to sleep on the couch though, because it is ridiculously late.” He mumbled, shooting you his best smile considering the circumstances. You huffed. You adored your job, looking after people gave you such a joy, and you hated not being able to do your job properly. “Fine. I have cleaned all of your cuts the best I can, but please take care of yourself next time.” You plead.

“I was wondering… if maybe I could have your number though?” He asked sheepishly, placing a hand behind his neck, rubbing the spot softly. “You know, just so that if I ever have another incident like this, I have a nurse on speed dial.” He adds, laughing awkwardly. 

“Of course.” You beamed, reaching out for his phone and popping your number in. “It’s just a phone number though, no promise of anything else.” You teased, as you handed him his phone back. 

You didn’t end up taking up Harry on his offer to stay on the couch that night, you had work in the morning and you really couldn’t afford the expense of an Uber from central London to East London, where you were based.

-

“When you had not touched me yet, take me back to the night we met.”

It didn’t take long for Harry to contact you again. In fact, it was the very next weekend. He had called you out of the blue, steaming drunk and he sounded distressed. He had begged you to come over and as you remembered the picture of what he had looked like the weekend prior, you wouldn’t have forgiven yourself if you knew he was in a similar state and didn’t go to help. 

Harry did offer to pay for the Uber though, as a way to apologise for in his words, ruining your Saturday night. Although you insisted that he didn’t have to. You loved your job after all, and this blond boy had already secured a soft spot in your heart. 

As soon as you entered his apartment, you could see Harry sitting at the dining table. Medical supplies already aligned for you. “I’m starting to think this might be a regular occurrence.” You jest, as you rolled your sleeves up, noticing that the almost healed cuts from last week were replaced with new ones. Again, you cleaned up his wounds with the antiseptic and cotton pads. This time, Harry allowed you to allocate plasters and bandages. 

When you had finished tending to him, you sat and talked for a while. He was funny, he had a sense of wit about him that you hadn’t seen in many other people and it both charmed and enticed you at the same time. You hadn’t noticed that Harry had placed one of his large hands over one of your smaller ones. You were just so focussed on his face. He wasn’t your usual type, although you were unsure if you had a ‘usual type’, but he was beautiful. Breathtaking. 

All of a sudden, you had your hands in his hair, as his hands snaked around your waist hoisting you up onto his lap. Your lips interlocked, greedy for each other. Your inhale bleeding into his exhale. You craved him. You tugged on the hair by the nape of his neck, causing him to groan into your mouth. Increasing your desire for him, tenfold.

He walked you both back into his bedroom, throwing you onto his bed. He climbed on top of you, peppering kisses from your face, lowering himself down slowly until he reached your neck. He softly tugged at the skin there with his teeth, as he sucked it. His tongue soothed the pain. Once he had finished, he continued his quest downwards of covering every inch of your skin with kisses. When he reached a certain point of your neck, slightly lower down than he had left the love bite, you couldn't help but let out a slight moan. 

-

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, haunted by the ghost of you.” 

That night was just one of the many you had spent with Harry. The both of you decided that you did really like each other, and you wanted to explore how things would go if you were to start dating. The exploration, so far, was going impeccably well. Harry was one of the most thoughtful, kind people, when he wanted to be of course. 

You had learned though, that he was a violent drunk. He also didn’t like to back down from a drinking challenge when his friends were around, which caused you to worry immensely. You just had a niggling feeling that one of these days, Harry was going to get into a fight where you couldn’t easily tend to his wounds, where you couldn’t help him. The thought plagued you every single time he went out without you.

One night, Harry had left to go on a lads night out. Insisting for you not to worry as usual, because everything was going to be fine. If worse came to the worse, the most damage he would have would be a few cuts, a broken nose perhaps. Nothing he couldn’t handle. You were lounging at home, you had a few girlfriends around, deciding on a movie night. You were drinking prosecco, and were waiting on a pizza when your phone rang. 

Not recognising the number, you had assumed it was the pizza guy wondering how to get in the building.You placed the call on loudspeaker, absentmindedly. Instead, it was one of Harry’s friends, Josh.

“Y/N,” He said quietly, you could sense a tone of defeat in his voice. “Harry’s been taken to the hospital, he got into a fight again. But these lads… they had knives. He’s been stabbed.” You couldn’t quite believe what you had heard. There’s no way that Harry would’ve been stabbed. He had reassured you that the worst thing that could happen would be him having a broken nose. Not being critically injured. 

“What hospital is he at?” Jenna, one of your friends asked. Instantly breaking you out of your thoughts. 

“Queens.” Josh responds, as he ends the call. Jenna, and the rest of your friends make sure that you are ready, as they strap you into Jenna’s car. You didn’t really know what was going on. It felt like an out of body experience. Working in a hospital yourself, you knew what the dangers of being stabbed were. You just couldn’t comprehend it happening to someone you loved so much. Everything felt like it was going in slow motion, so when you arrived at the hospital with Jenna helping you out of the car, it just seemed strange. 

Jenna walked with you into the building, holding your hand tightly, giving it a comforting squeeze as you approached the front desk. The conversation she had with the receptionist, passed you by. It’s like as soon as you stepped into the hospital, the speed changed from everything happening as slow as possible, to being unbearably fast. With Jenna’s guidance you ended up at Harry’s room. As you looked through the window, you were met with the most horrific scene you had ever seen. 

Harry was hooked up to life support, the slow beep indicating there was some life there. How much though, you weren’t quite sure yet. You entered the room, taking in the full horrors. His t-shirt drenched in blood, was in a ball on the chair next to his bed. At least someone had gotten him to stop the bleeding with his shirt. A gash going from his lower left side, all the way along to his abdomen was visible. It was huge. His chances of survival were at least halved by this.

You wiped away a tear, unsure of when they started, not like it mattered. They were not going to be useful in this situation. You moved the blood-stained t-shirt from the chair next to Harry’s bed, as you sat down. 

“I don’t know if you can hear me,” You sniffed. “But I love you and when we get out of here, I’ll make you a nice cup of tea and some cheese on toast. Your favourite hangover cure.” You took his hand in yours, placing a gentle kiss on his bloody knuckles. He had tried to fight back, that much was obvious but one man against a knife; that was never going to end well.

Harry’s eyes fluttered open, a weak smile spread across his face as he took in the sight of you. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered before closing them again. Which was swiftly followed by the sound of a flat line. This had not happened. It couldn’t have. You reached for the big red button, and pounded it. The doctors and nurses could help. It wasn’t uncommon for someone to come back from the brink. 

As you expected, you were ushered out of the room by the professionals. His life was now in their hands. You just hoped that they kept trying, because you knew that you would not have given up. However, you had been in the place of those doctors and nurses with many patients. Sometimes, no matter how hard you wanted a different outcome it didn’t change the object of reality. You sat down in the waiting room, the hospital suddenly becoming too sterile and professional an environment for Harry to die. Harry was extraordinary, he lit up every room he was in. He was special. Someone so special, did not deserve to die in a place so ordinary, so mundane.

You were knocked out of your thoughts by a doctor tapping you on your shoulder. “Hi, Miss Y/L/N. I’m Doctor Singh. Unfortunately, there’s nothing more we can do…” He informed you, but you had to tune out. Perhaps you were a hypocrite, but you just couldn’t listen to the same drivel that you had told many families, especially when it concerned Harry.

“Is there anything we can do for you?” He asked. You look up at him, your eyes bloodshot and stinging. A blood curdling scream forced its way through your throat. 

“Just take me back to the night we met.” You screamed.

[theres-an-impulstor-among-us]

Now that team ITS is playing Phasmophobia on stream (I mean they are when I am sending this) can we get ghost hunters team ZITS?! I'd love to see the full team of morons (affectionate) dealing with ghosts.

I love Team ZITS so much, they’re such morons (affectionate). Just a few notes for this one:

1) CW: swearing

2) This loosely takes place in Phasmophobia. Some details are different/altered to fit the story better

3) Also I would just like to clarify that even though they reference playing Among Us, all my fics are set in the fictional world. I will never write about the real people, only their Hermitcraft characters/personas. 

...

  “Okay, guys.” Impulse addresses his team in the back of their van, handing out pieces of equipment as he talks. “We’ve got a poltergeist living in this house right here. Our job is to get evidence and get the hell out before it kills us. Any questions?”

  Zedaph raises his hand. “Yes, what happens if it kills us?”

  “We die,” Tango says wryly. “Permanently. So don’t get killed.” 

  “I guarantee at least one of us isn’t getting outta here alive,” Skizzleman remarks. “And all the times we played Among Us is telling me it’s gonna be Tango.”

  Tango shoots him a scowl. “Hey!”

  “Well, if you really don’t wanna die first, find some kind of electrical room and send Impulse there,” snickers Skizzleman. 

  Impulse rolls his eyes. “Thanks, Skizz. Anyway, we only have one piece of equipment each so we gotta make sure we work together. Skizz, you’ve got the camera to take pictures of the ghost. Tango, you’ve got the EMF reader so you can gauge the strength of ghostly presences. Zed, you’ve got the temperature tracker so you can check when the rooms get freezing. Everyone understand?”

  “What have you got, exactly?” Skizzleman inquires.

  Impulse holds up the item in his hand. “A flashlight that doubles as a UV light. I’m the one who’s gonna go first into each room and probably get killed in, like, ten seconds.”

  “A true hero,” says Zedaph, nodding. 

  “And don’t forget that the instructions say that if the flashlight beam starts to blink, that means the ghost is hunting,” Tango adds. “We should stick close to you so we know when to panic.”

“Gotcha.”

  The team makes their way towards the dark, dilapidated house. 

  “Man, the only way this could be more stereotypically creepy is if it had cobwebs in the windows,” mutters Skizzleman. “I dunno about you guys but I have zero trouble believing a ghost lives here.”

  Impulse pauses outside the house, glancing back at his friends. “Okay, the name of the ghost is William Thomas. And it said in the instructions that saying a ghost’s name will anger it, so try not to do that.” 

  With that, the four creep into the house. 

  They tiptoe into the first room in the house, Impulse shining his flashlight hesitantly around to make sure they’re alone. He switches to the UV light but no fingerprints show up anywhere.

  “Hey, have you guys heard that song about Shia LaBeouf being a cannibal?” Zedaph asks out of the blue.

  His friends stare at him.

  “No I haven’t, and also, what the hell?” says Tango.

  “I’ve heard it,” Skizzleman says. “What made you think of it NOW of all times?”

  “I was just thinking about how the ghost might be a cannibal and eat our bodies when it kills us, and that made me think of that song and now it’s stuck in my head.” 

  A pause follows this.

  “Aaaaand now it’s stuck in mine too,” Skizzleman sighs. “Great. Thanks.”

  “The image of a ghost feasting on our corpses is stuck in MY head and now I don’t want to move,” Tango says. “So thanks for that, Zed.”

  Zedaph grins to himself. “Anytime.” 

  A tense pause follows this.

  BANG!

  Skizzleman screams. “AHHH, WHAT WAS THAT?!”

  Impulse, heart now racing, instinctively shines his light towards the source of the noise. “I think it came from upstairs! Tango, Skizz, go check it out!” 

  “Why me?!” yelps Skizzleman. 

  “Because you’ve got the camera! Now go!”

  Tango drags a protesting Skizzleman away towards the stairs. 

  “Okay, while they’re doing that, let’s start eliminating rooms as the epicentre,” says Impulse to his remaining friend. “Keep the temperature tracker up.”

  Zedaph nods. “Will do.”

  The two start exploring the downstairs rooms. The kitchen and dining room show no signs of paranormal activity but when they enter the living room, something changes.

  “I’m cold,” Zedaph whispers, the temperature tracker trembling slightly in his hand. “It says three degrees. Not quite freezing yet.”

  “Right, okay… Stay here and monitor the temperature, I’ll go check for handprints by the stairs.”

  He moves off into the hallway and shines the UV light around at the staircase. 

  Upstairs, Skizzleman is clutching the camera so tightly that his knuckles are turning white. “Oh my god, I hate this so much. I feel like I’m gonna have a damn heart attack.” 

  Ignoring him, Tango activates his walkie talkie. “Impulse, can you hear me?”

  “I hear you,” comes Impulse’s crackly voice. “Found anything?” 

  “Nothing yet. We’re just having a look around.”

  “Okay, good. Remember, saying the ghost’s name a lot will make it mad so if you want to aggravate it a bit to get evidence, do that. But make sure you don’t say it too much or it’ll REALLY get angry.”

  Tango nods. “Gotcha. Talk to you later.”

  He puts away the walkie talkie and turns to Skizzleman, who is staring around the dark room with fearful eyes. “H-Hello, Mr William Thomas? Or, uh… Bill? Can I call you Bill?”

  He gets no response from the ghost, so he tries again: “Hey William, do you play Minecraft?”

Tango stifles a laugh.

  A few seconds later, a heavy-looking lamp in the corner tips over and falls all on its own, nearly crushing Skizzleman. 

  Impulse glances sharply up as he hears Skizzleman scream. He immediately hears Tango’s loud voice reassuring him, so he forces himself to relax. Nothing bad is happening. His friends are okay, they’re just a little on-edge, like Impulse himself. He just needs to relax.

  Inhaling deeply, he takes out the plastic water bottle he brought with him. As he sips at the cool water, he hears Skizzleman’s voice yelling from the upstairs bedroom: “HEY BILL, FUCK OFF!”

  Tango’s voice shrieks back, “SKIZZ, DON’T PISS OFF THE GHOST WHO’S TRYING TO KILL US!”

  “IF HE’S TRYING TO KILL US ANYWAY THEN WHY CAN I NOT TELL HIM TO GO FUCK HIMSELF?”

  Impulse chokes on his water. 

  “Impulse, I think Skizz is freaking out,” says Zedaph, peering round the door. “And I’m starting to freak out too. The temperature went below zero, like, six times in a few minutes.”

  “Right, okay, that’s one piece of evidence collected,” Impulse says. “Two more to go, then we can get outta here.”

  As Zedaph opens his mouth to respond, they both hear a loud thumping noise and Skizzleman screaming. 

  His heart leaping into his throat, Impulse and Zedaph dash upstairs at top speed and both almost trip right over Skizzleman on the landing.

  “Skizz, what the hell?!” yelps Impulse.

  Lying face down on the carpet, Skizzleman is glad it’s dark so the others can’t tell how red his cheeks are. “I… tripped over my own feet.” 

  “Oh, I hate you so much.” Impulse hauls his best friend to his feet. “Please tell me you have some more evidence for me.”

  “I got a level 5 reading,” Tango says, standing in the doorway to the bedroom. 

  “Okay, good, that counts. We got freezing temperatures downstairs, so now we just gotta look for-.”

  He breaks off as an ominous noise sounds from downstairs.

  The group stare at each other in terror.

  “Please tell me that was just someone’s stomach,” Skizzleman groans. 

  Impulse’s flashlight beam starts blinking.

  “Run!” Impulse screeches.

  The four scatter.

  Skizzleman and Zedaph dash inside the bedroom and jump into the closet, both breathing hard. They fall silent, listening intently for any sounds outside the closet.

  A minute goes by. Then another. Then a few more.

  “So,” whispers Zedaph. “Come here often?”

  Skizzleman can’t help a quiet snicker, despite the situation. “No, I really don’t. What about you?”

  “Well, oddly enough, this isn’t my first time hiding from a ghost in a stranger’s wardrobe.”

  “That genuinely does not surprise me one bit.”

  Zedaph’s walkie talkie emits a sudden burst of static, giving the two a fright. “Zed, come in. Where are you guys?”

  Zedaph fumbles with the device and hurriedly whispers into it, “Impulse, I think the ghost is still nearby.”

  “Nope it’s not. It’s currently having a very intense staring contest with Tango, so we could do with your help right now.”

  Zedaph and Skizzleman exchange a look of horror.

  Downstairs, Tango has been backed into a corner, frozen with fear as he makes terrified eye contact with the gruesome poltergeist, who is less than three metres away from him. “Impy,” he whispers out the corner of his mouth. “Help me.”

  Impulse dithers by the door, itching to go help his best friend but unsure of exactly how to do that without getting one or both of them killed. 

  Zedaph and Skizzleman appear next to Impulse seconds later. “Can we distract the ghost in any way?” the former asks urgently, as Skizzleman takes a picture of the spirit. 

  Impulse hesitates. “I-I don’t know how we’d do that.” 

  “Well, we have to do something! We can’t just let it kill Tango!”

  The poltergeist moves jerkily to the side, causing Tango to let out a strangled cry and press his back harder against the wall. “Help!” 

  Reacting quickly, Skizzleman snatches the temperature tracker from Zedaph and tosses it at the ghost. It passes right through its body, nearly hitting Tango.

  “Hey, William fucking Thomas, stay the hell away from my buddy!” Skizz yells at it.

  “Dude!” Impulse yelps, as the poltergeist turns on them. “RUN!”

  The three scramble for the door.

  Tango, seeing his chance, dodges around the ghost and follows, almost tripping over at least twice as he does.

  Skizzleman again trips over his own feet on the concrete pathway, and since he’s at the front of the group, the other three promptly fall over him and end up in a heap on the ground, panting hard from fear and exertion. 

  “Oh my God,” gasps out Impulse. “Is everyone okay?”

  Zedaph sticks his thumb up. “Very much below average, thanks.” 

  “My heart is about to die but yeah, I’m fine,” Skizzleman breathes. “I’m gonna have nightmares about this for months.”

  “Months?!” Tango is lying sprawled on his back, his heart still pounding in his chest. “Dude, I’m never gonna sleep well again.”

  Impulse pushes himself into a sitting position and watches the ghost float around angrily in the front doorway. “Looks like he can’t leave the house. PLEASE tell me we got three pieces of evidence.”

  At the same time, all three of the others speak:

  “Temperature,” says Zedaph.

  “Photo,” says Skizzleman. 

  “EMF reading,” says Tango. 

  “Right, then.” Impulse gets to his feet and opens up the back of the van. “Let’s get going. We can process the evidence in the van.”

  Skizzleman is the next to stand up and come to the back of the van. Rubbing his chest, he raises an eyebrow at Impulse. “Dude, we are DEFINITELY stopping at Taco Bell on the way home. We DESERVE Taco Bell.”

  Impulse chuckles. “Oh, you’ll hear no argument from me there, dude.” 

  As Zedaph hops into the back of the van, he grins back at his friends. “Now that was what I call a Shia Surprise.” 

  Impulse frowns and starts to open his mouth but Skizzleman shakes his head. “Don’t even ask, bro.” 

  Finally, Tango hands the EMF reader to Impulse and wordlessly starts to head to the front of the van but Impulse stops him. “Tango, are you okay? I-I’m sorry I couldn’t help you more in there.”

  Tango slowly shakes his head. “It’s fine, don’t worry. I’m just a little shaken up, that’s all.” He gives a pale grin. “Just promise me that next time we get the urge to do something stupid with the paranormal that we’ll use a oujia board like normal people.”

  Impulse laughs. After that experience, he’s just happy his friends are all okay.

  “Deal.”

[holicanth]

Hanging On Threads (2)

@shinoweek​ 2021 Prompt 3 - Sunset/Canon Divergence

Words: 3.7k

Genre: Angst. Drama. Shinohina. Tragedy

Warnings: -

Additional Tags: Shinohina, Kibahina, Naruhina, family issues, Konoha’s noble clans, nepotisme and collusion.

Author’s Note: I’m so sorry y’all. I’ve been extra busy :( Here’s chapter 2 (?) of my Shino week series. I hope you have a great day :)

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2

It has been 3 days since Shino disappeared from the Aburame compound.

It has also been 3 days since the Konoha elders re-welcomed the Aburames and reintegrated them into society.

Ever since, Shino has been staying at ROOT, hiding undercover while waiting for Danzo's orders.

And with that, Shino is handed the dreadful task of explaining every little detail to Torune.

 "I just can't understand your logic, Shino." He says, clenching his fists on the table. "You should know better than to just run away from home like that!" 

"What do you think you'll achieve with this?" Torune grits his teeth, "You cant escape this--there's no way Danzo will let you out anymore!"

 Guilt that has previously bubbled inside him was now gone. Shino felt close to nothing as he stays cooped in ROOT. No fear. No anxiety. He was obviously feeling full of himself, believing to have won his side of the bargain. As such, none of Torune's words were ringing bells inside his head. 

Shino tries to keep his facade well-put.

"How is Uncle Shibi taking the news?"

"I've sent some beetles to Father. I can tell he's doing well even without me. Nothing else will change in the household." 

"Not until," Shino's words come to a startled halt. "Until I finish my promise to Danzo."

His brother bangs the table in a display of panic that Shino has never seen. " You don't know what he'll do to you. Shino, you don't know anything..."

His words cut off abruptly. In a split second, Shino senses a tremble in Torune. A slight quiver of his lips. 

 Torune used to live with them, and had expressed massive gratefulness towards his uncle. Shino didn't realize at that time (he was but merely eight), that more than anything, Torune's sacrifice was addressed more towards Shibi. The boy would do anything to protect his uncle—you can see it in the way he devotes himself to his work.

A kindred sort of regret rose in Shino. To think that  he had so easily thrown away the ideal life that Torune had bestowed upon him—and voluntarily at that. 

But both of them know that there is no safer alternative. 

(It's an inevitable fate, they console themselves. It is a necessary sacrifice.)

 "I had to do it for our clan." Shino repeats the fact to his brother. "We were to be killed soon enough. And it would have been Father first."

Shino's eyes flit nervously as he spoke. 

"And who do you think would pull the trigger, Shino?"

Torune didn't ask why. Like he knew all of the details already. 

Shino glanced around the room, thinking. He already knows the answer. Rather, he's trying to figure out how to word it in a manner that doesn't...offend Torune.

 (Shino could list all the names of the ANBU members that have been in contact with particular individuals. Journalists, Governors, Clan heads, people of high posistions. Their agenda was blatant. Shino knows because their names have been whispered in contemplation throughout the Aburame compound.)

"The jonins," Shino says, in a hushed voice. "The jonins will work together with the ANBU. The Sarutobi clan will be extremely involved too."

There is a pattern Shino notices in Konoha's history. It's that the types of people who reign over the village are identical and identifiable amongst each other. A teacher to their student, A blood relative to their predecessor. Lesser clans would do anything to grab ahold of that social circle. 

Replacing an unliked noble clan would be one of such tasks.

 Torune listens keenly, in a hum that neither denies or confirms it. 

 "Not only that," He resumes, "There seems to be equal participation from other clans. Such as the Nara. You know they've been looking to steal our research on bugs."

"They're especially interested in yours, Torune."

He doesn't oblige. Torune was aware of this well before he came to ROOT, too. Fear and suspense were not things Torune had to be worried about. But today, he finds that he had to face it--the abject horror of seeing his little brother in a hostage situation. The pure fear of knowing how hopeless he is engulfs him. Was there nothing that Torune can do?

 (A shinobi must constantly opress their emotions, follow a strict set of rules that they decide among themselves, and avoid extraneous conflict.

This was the first lesson Danzo had stamped inside Torune's memories. 

To disconnect oneself from the act of murder—it was the essence of a shinobi.

Or so Torune thought.)

 "I was to be sent as well, Shino." Torune looks down as he breaks the ice. "They want us gone because of our power. Of our potential. They'll take our knowledge and use it to their own benefit. All the research, medicine, poisons and bugs."

 (The Aburames are notorious for being mysterious. All done in order to conceal oneself, to prevent oneself from having their secret techniques outed in public. Ensuring, that they stay formidable, underestimated,

 and strong.)

 "You heard Danzo say it. They think we're weird. Unsanitary. Off-putting. That our secrecy is a form of betrayal, even when we've been constantly obedient to Konoha."

"And will you die as well?" Shino asks cautiously, "After you've killed all of us, will they dispose of you too, Torune?"

A sorrow smile lit up Torune's face. There was, again, no answer. Shino knows—No, he had plenty of ideas already. Torune’s predisposition was already a valid enough reason for Konoha to justify his death. Killed or not, there are many ways to make a man break. Danzo would have his merry time trying out which one of those methods satisfy him best.

What Konoha was capable of bringing unto the Uchiha was just as likely to happen to the Aburames.

(This exchange ended on a heavy note. Nothing Shino says will add or subtract from the issue at hand. Just a hanging air of dread, looming over their clan's future. Both of them did what they had to preserve their clans. To protect those important to them.

 But this sense of kinship—to protect those that they love. Is it not what Konoha preaches to their young, too?

Or was it the reason that Konoha wants to tear apart the Aburame family ties?)

A knock on the wooden door brings an end to the brothers' conversation. The Yamanaka boy comes in, head held high. 

"Lord Danzo has requested for you, Shino Aburame. Come along, now." 

Shino leaves Torune in the room. Torune knows best that he should not interfere lest he wants to live a day beneath the soil.

 It can be said that ROOT was an illegal form of bodyguards, acting as Danzo's personal squadron. A blatant display of political corruption, despite Danzo’s "fancy" position as Konoha's elder. The facility was well maintained, and there was never a shortage of child soldiers sent there. The clan leaders know Danzo as a demanding figure. 

 The Yamanaka boy—Fuu  Yamanaka stops to knock at a set of tall doors. Shino stops to ponder whether he was related directly to Ino Yamanaka.

An oddly lit room opens up by Shino, displaying machines, scrolls, and different books that are perfectly arranged inside the giant walls of bookshelves. Danzo stood in the center, on a throne chair that he does not deserve.

"You may leave now, Fuu." He spoke in a low tone. 

 Something in Shino buzzes as he watch the Yamanaka eye him begrudgingly while he closes the door. The buzzing didn't stop after he went out.

(His bugs were reacting to something. A feeling that Shino doesn't want to name)

 "You. You're the son of Shibi Aburame, aren't you?" Danzo sneers, "So the Aburames have a dojutsu now, huh? What a nuisance. What, is your dojutsu like the Uchiha's? Prompted by deep emotional pain?"

 (Shino feels the buzzing again. His bugs were on guard, but for what?)

 "Does Shibi have this ability, too?"

"No." Shino spouts a half-lie. 

"And how did you get your hands on this? Are you saying that it just appeared out of nowhere?"

Danzo was gauging for answers. Shino was never good at communication himself, but he was naturally gifted in speaking conspicuously

"It was always in the Aburame blood. Just forgotten through time. Nothing new."

"And you vermins have been hiding this to yourselves, haven't you? Yet you wonder why Konoha has no trust in you."

"The other clans have aces up their sleeves, too. It's why they call it a Hidden Jutsu."

Shino didn't mean to sound snark. But Danzo himself might not have the mental intelligence to understand sarcasm, so Shino thinks it's okay. 

"So this dojutsu of yours—The Senrigan—tell me how this is more useful than the Byakugan."

 Shino bit his tongue before answering. Once more, he'll have to cherry-pick his words exceptionally well. 

"I transfer my sight to my bugs. Depending on how many bugs there are and how they're aligned, my sight can reach other countries."

"The Senrigan requires one to be perfectly still, but the bugs can collect all sounds, sights, and other details without having their chakra traced. Hiding my chakra under the bug's natural chakra will make them unnoticed by sensors"

 Danzo squints his eye, thinking. "Quite the useful spying tool, huh." 

"Still, we need to make sure you're telling the truth. Take off your glasses."

Shino was taken aback from the sudden request, 

 "Now."

 He does as he's told. The sunglasses are safely kept in his pockets. Shino's eyes were dark under the sunlight, and an even deeper shade of obsidian indoors.

"Let's have you demonstrate your Senrigan, shall we? I've sent Fuu to loiter around Konoha's busy streets. Locate him using the senrigan, and tell me every word he's speaking."

And without further ado, Shino created some hand seals, took a deep breath, and a swarm of kikaichu flew out of his body, travelling through the doors and crevices of the ROOT headquarters before dispersing overground. The emerald hue of Shino's eyes looked stunning in the dark. 

 Even from a distance, Danzo can sense an intricate, huge web of chakra dispersing from the boy's body, Undulating, stretching outwards, and going back and forth between Shino's body and his bugs. Then, as if on command, the chakra fell silent and Shino lets out a long exhale. He's successfully established the connection. 

 As Shino stills his senses to callibrate himself to the beetles, he orders them to trace any signs of the familiar Yamanaka chakra signature. He steadily reduces his chakra input. When a preferable balance is reached, Shino waits in silence. Until a bug notifies him of any significant clues

 (Go to the streets. He instructs them. Hover around in small swarms and don't terrify the people. 

A short pause. Don't bump into anyone that I know, He commands again.)

 Danzo watches as the Aburame in front of hin froze into a lotus pose. The stare in his eyes blank, but definitely buzzing with intel and chakra. There is much to be studied with this new forbidden jutsu.

 Shino is notified of a sighting near Konoha's marketplace. He checks in with the bug, and once their visions link he can tell that the person had the same chakra signature. 

"I've located him." Shino said. "He's using a mask and brown cloak, performing jutsus to the local children."

 "And what is he saying?" 

 Shino tries to concentrate as hard as he can. The hand seals that Fuu was using was something he didn't recognize. Apparently memorizing while the Senrigan is activated proved to be more dizzying than he thought.

"Tori, Uma, Ne, Inu, Ne, Tori, Hitsuji, Tatsu, I, Ushi..." Shino recites slowly, making sure that he isn't wrong. "This is a variant of the Water-style technique. He's forming water spouts from his fingers."

 That's absolutely correct, Fuu signals to Danzo, who had been telepathically communicating with him all this time.

"Well done, Shino. You've proven to us that you and your clan can be of use."

And with that Shino scrunches his eyes shut. A little bit disoriented from having to memorize while using the Senrigan. His beetles swiftly fly back to him, bringing him a small amount of chakra they absorbed from the villagers.

 "I've done my part in reintegrating the Aburames. Give me a month and things will be back to normal. Are you ready to fulfill your side of the promise?" Danzo asked, as he stood up from his chair.

Shino gulps nervously. He didn't really plan out what to do next. But Shino was a master at lying, and with a countenance that no one can read, he was indecipherable.

 "Why did you want us gone in the first place?" Shino asks, not realizing that he had voiced the thoughts out loud.

Danzo Shimura was a man who took the Second Hokage's manifesto to heart. Perhaps a bit too much. Shino had suspected, backed with the evidence and observation of his clansmen, that Danzo was pulling strings that led to the Uchiha massacre. It was easy to connect the dots, especially with Shibi and Shino's ability (they were tasked to clean it up. Shibi was fast in doing so, while Shino tended to the unconscious Sasuke.)

From the very formation of Konoha, the Aburame clan was in charge of the most tedious work. Often times having to deal with the brunt of it while Konoha lives scott-free. Border patrols, cleaning up after crimes, interrogation. The Aburames are efficient, but this efficiency ultimately lead to their public consternation.

"You Aburames are skilled, I must admit." Danzo's croaked voice echoed through the chamber. "So much so that any village would want to use you as weapons."

"And that's all there is to it, really. You bunch are too strong. Too skilled. There's too many unknown factors. The higher-ups have agreed to eliminate these threats. After all, Konoha prides itself in being a friendly nation. Your blood brings filth to our soil."

 Shino knows that there is a lie slipped between those words. Danzo was not a friendly type of leader.

 "The Four Noble Clans of Konoha are in need of a change. The Uchihas have proven to be evil. It is in Konoha's best interest to discard the bad, and salvage whatever is left. Haven't you noticed? The only reason we keep the Akimichi is because they're dumb enough to be controlled by the Nara and Yamanaka. And the Hyuuga's reputation are held at our mercy. You're smart enough to figure the rest." Danzo says, walking to approach Shino.

What?

Did he hear his words right? The Akimichi clan? All along, Shino had thought that the lucky title of a 'Noble Clan' are given to clans who had body modifications that cannot be replicated by other ninjas. To think that his fellow team had such a scheme hanging around their backs...Shino wants to believe that Team 10's friendship is genuine.

"Tomorrow," Danzo says, patting the chuunin's back, "You will be promoted as Jonin and will be registered as a member of the ANBU. Of course, that's a lie. Because tomorrow I will personally have you run... special errands for me."

Shino gulped. He didn't like the close proximity.

"Make sure you say your goodbyes today. You'll be listed as dead for security reasons."

 And with that, Shino is let out of the facility. He finds himself pondering aimlessly on a nearby park bench. Autumn has turned the Konohagakure into a beautiful display of warm colors. The trees looked like they've been covered in a rich, velvet cloak and the air was sublime. Shino wonders how long it'll be till he can bask in this scenery again.

 First, he'd visit his father. Then, he'd visit his other family members. After that he'll visit...no one. How could Shino bear to look at his friend's faces after resolving so adamantly to despise them? After convincing himself that they've forgotten him. 

(And Shino still hopes. He hopes that somehow someone will notice eventually.)

But he supposes he'll finish his priorities first. Evade a civil war, restore his clan's honor, and the rest will be his secondary concerns. It is dire that he doesn't get emotional, especially in the current state Konoha is in.

 He looks at the children, playing games under a nearby tree. They were too young for the academy, of course, but if they were old enough to attend, would they all turn out like him? Cold and efficient? 

Shino thinks that he used to be a perfectly good student. A good ninja, but perhaps not so good as a friend. One can see plenty of differences between Shino and the rambunctious Naruto, but do they realize how much he envies his cheerful personality?

(And Shino envies him so much. He's taken the attention of the girl he favors. And now, he has taken everyone's attention away from Shino's disappearance.

 Naruto had outshined Shino. As if Shino was a shadow that should not exist.)

He's had enough of the pointless thoughts. It was almost noon and Shino has to hurry home if he wants to say proper goodbyes.

 But a shrill bark had frozen him to his seat.

 "Akamaru, calm down!" A familiar voice shouted.

 Shino jolted at the sound. It was coming from behind him. He senses two people walking by, and a dog beside them. Shino was already certain of who they were. 

 "Akamaru, what's wrong boy? You shouldn't be barking at strangers." The man—Kiba himself said, as he crouched to rub Akamaru's head.

"Maybe he sees someone, Kiba-kun? I don't think anyone's back home from missions..." Hinata replied, looking around the park.

 Oh heavens. If there was anyone who Shino would avoid the most, it'd be these two—Hinata  and Kiba. He doesn't want to face them. He doesn't even want to be near them. Alas, everytime Shino denies this thought his heart urges him more and more. To simply turn to them. To tell them everything.

(But who was it really who had decided to forget about him in the first place? No one had bothered to ask where he went after the Chuunin exams.)

 Akamaru's barking turned into a soft whine. The canine was visibly confused.

Shino has yet to move from his spot at the bench.

 "Come on now. No one is here. You've mistaken him for someone else, buddy." Kiba says, sounding a little harsh for someone who claims to be Akamaru's partner.

 (Shino wanted to burst out laughing. Doubting a ninja dog's nose? Especially one who has worked with Shino for years? Kiba was a bad liar.

See, even Akamaru notices! Shino thinks to himself, proud to have concluded that the fault was theirs all along.)

 Akamaru still whines when Kiba motions him away from Shino's bench. 

"Why are you being so difficult today?!" Kiba grunts, frustrated. "Come on Akamaru, you don't want to upset Hinata on our date!"

 Oh.

 Oh.

 So it’s like that, huh.

 "K-Kiba-kun! Please don't shout in public..." Hinata whimpers, fiddling her thumbs together.

And with a little nudge, Akamaru finally moves on with them. The couple enjoying the beauty of Konoha's Autumn, oblivious to everything behind it.

 It took minutes. Hours, even for Shino to compose himself enough to process the ordeal.  

 And those hours were filled with empty pondering. With words that were on the tip of falling out of his mouth. With feelings that he had not been brave enough to admit before. With the eternal, everlasting regret of not speaking up.

But there was nothing he could do.

A shinobi must constantly suppress their emotions, follow a strict set of rules that they decide among themselves, and avoid extraneous conflict

 This is for the best. he repeats to himself. Hinata would be better off without him, he thinks.

(But he could have made her happy too. He would've given everything for her.)

 A stroll to wash off these thoughts. Yes, Shino thinks that all he needed was to cool his head, shrug it off, and return to his obligations tomorrow. The warm glow of sunset was eager to mask his unease.

The sunset was particularly shy that day, and had swiftly sank to allow the moon to greet him instead. It's already past six o,clock. He knows that he needs to greet his family, but Shino's distraught conscience told him to look at the sky. The moon was still as luminous as usual.

 Shino had always known how beautiful the moon is. How beautiful its pearly shimmer is. 

(How gentle her eyes were, radiating such a serene, pure love)

 And like an opened dam, suddenly Shino feels his chest aching. Like a hole had opened inside him--one that he can't touch nor see. A hole that, no matter how hard Shino tries, would always engulf him in rain. In a downpour that feels like a thousand needles showering on him.

It feels like such a distant memory. Months ago they were still fine. Hinata was still his comrade. And now, she's floating further away from his grasp.  Was there no more space for Shino in her heart?

 (But Shino was a fool to believe—

 A firefly can't love the moon.

 Its language can't be heard,

Its wings can't reach the sky,

Its light can't compare to the sea of stars.

 It can only do what a firefly does best.

 Illuminate the night in its own glow. 

A token of a love that falls on deaf ears.)

 By the time Shino reaches the Aburame compound, his tears were already dry. Shibi waits for him near the estate gates, and without speaking a word, held his son in a deep embrace. A fitting greeting for a child who's always been forced to grow up before his time.

Shino was going to stay the night in the estate. Saying goodbyes and packing things up. Of course, no further information would be given—everyone was in a state of wary due to the constant supervision.

He had to console them the best he can. Explain the situation. Share his insights. Assure them that this is his job as the Aburame heir. And for that, he would do everything in his capacity to make sure his loved ones don't perish.

 A night is never enough to tell stories. By tomorrow morning, Shibi would have said goodbye to two sons.

[ryqoshay]

Putting on Hairs: Audition Day

Primary Pairing? Trio?: YuuAyu... Setsu? Words: ~4.2k Rating: G, maybe light T for some implications? AU: Theater, Werewolf, Werebeast, Monster, Cryptid, Angel, Demon, Eldrich Horror

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Author’s Note: I’ve no idea how real theaters work, so anything that may be off with the timeline or proper procedure or whatever, I’ll just have to excuse as author ignorance, or handwave away by this theater being different, in many ways. That said, thank you lonelypond for fielding the questions I’ve sent thus far.

----------

“Ayumu!” A voice called from a few rows up. “Up here! Up here!”

“Yuu-chan?” Ayumu had to consciously keep her own volume down due to her surprise on seeing her girlfriend. “Shhh!” She added, holding a finger to her lips.

Yuu simply chuckled in response as Ayumu moved up the aisle. Well, it wasn’t like the twin-tailed girl was being any louder than the blonde sitting nearby. Ohara, was it? The theater’s patron, or one of them at least.

“I saved you a seat.” Yuu said with a grin as Ayumu reached her.

“Thank you.” Ayumu replied as she sat.

She was pretty sure they both knew the gesture was unnecessary as there were literally hundreds of empty seats, but it was the thought that counted. Ayumu loved that part of Yuu, always seeking little ways to make her feel special, even simple and unnecessary ones.

As for why the seats were empty, it was because this was merely an audition session. The only people in the theater today were cast and crew. And the cast were all up on stage, ready to make their bids for their potential roles. Well, all but the two leads, Yazawa and Nishikino, as they had been brought in specifically for their star power and were also sitting in the house with most of the crew.

Also, not everyone present was theater staff. There was of course, Ohara, the patron, and her driver, Matsuura. And there were the two from the catering company that had brought lunch earlier, Honoka and Rin, who insisted Ayumu refer to them by their given names when she spoke with them during the meal. She wasn’t quite sure why they were still around as they had finished cleaned up a little while back.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, Yuu-chan.” Ayumu whispered as Dia and Umi prepped the future cast for their auditions. “How did you even get in?”

“I told ‘em I was Ayumu’s girlfriend.” Yuu shrugged. “And they obviously figured out what I am, which probably helped. Although speaking of that…” She glanced around quickly, sticking out her tongue a couple times. “I’m pretty sure everyone here is like us. I don’t remember them advertising that they were only hiring monsters, but… oh sorry, supernatural beings.” She corrected.

Ayumu let her grimace relax. She had never liked the term monster as seemed to carry more negative connotations than other similar terms. And while Yuu was usually careful to avoid using the word, so many of their fellow cryptids used it that Ayumu couldn’t really fault her girlfriend for accidentally using it as well from time to time. Of course, that still didn’t mean she had to like it.

“But I don’t think there’s a single full blood human here.” Yuu continued. “And man, what a mix.” She flicked out her tongue again. “I’m getting a bit of everything. There’s gotta be a werewolf among them. And someone with feathers. At least one undead. I’m getting a bit of sea salt, so there’s probably a mermaid or the like. Sulfur, brimstone, so maybe a demon, or other fire creature I suppose, maybe both. And…” her brow furrowed, and she held her tongue out for longer than usual “that’s odd…”

“What’s odd?” Ayumu pressed.

“I don’t know. There’s something… else… here.” She shook her head. “I’ve never smelled anything like it. Heat. Flame. But not like any I’ve ever known… It’s otherworldly, and yet, not unpleasantly so. Huh…”

“Oh, I think they’re starting.”

“Right.” Yuu turned her attention to the stage where a young woman with long brown hair with some tied in a bright red ribbon was about to begin.

If Ayumu remembered right, the young woman’s name was Osaka Shizuku and had graduated alongside Nishikino Maki from Waseda, a prestigious school known for its arts degrees. For her audition, she had chosen to recite and act out a dramatic monologue in English. Ayumu felt like she had heard the lines before, though not on stage. Perhaps a movie? In any case, Shizuku left little doubt as to her skill and training, leaving Ayumu rightfully impressed.

Next up was… Nakasu Kasumi? Ayumu knew she had seen that face before. The young woman had appeared in a handful of television commercials, usually cute things aimed at a certain female demographic. Ayumu had actually purchased a few items promoted by Kasumi. As such, it came as little surprise that Kasumi’s audition resembled one of those cute commercials.

The next few auditions were a bit of a blur for Ayumu. It didn’t help that she was far less familiar with their names and faces.

But then, she stepped onto the stage. A short, raven haired young woman with an aura Ayumu could only describe as passionate. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Yuu sit up straighter as she seemed to sense something about this girl. Like the previous several others, Ayumu wasn’t familiar with this one, but something about her held her attention.

“Yuki Setsuna, was it?” Umi read from her list.

“Yes.” Setsuna confirmed.

“And what do you have for us today?”

“Well, I read the script and really enjoyed one character, so I would like to recite a few of her lines.”

“You’ve already memorized lines from the script?”

“Yes.”

“The script you were just given earlier today?”

“Yes. It was just so~ good. I couldn’t put it down.” Setsuna seemed to be actively holding back her excitement.

“Impressive.”

In a nearby seat, an orange-haired girl bounced a little, seemingly excited by the admission. Perhaps she was the one who had written the script?

“Oh, I may have also added a few lines.” Setsuna admitted. “I believe they fit the character.”

Umi gave a glance toward the orange-haired girl behind her who nodded enthusiastically.

“Very well.” Umi turned back toward the stage. “Carry on.”

Setsuna closed her eyes and took a deep breath before releasing it slowly. When she opened her eyes again, her entire demeanor had changed from restrained excitement to a fiery passion. Even from several rows up, Ayumu felt she could see flames in the young woman’s eyes.

Suddenly, Setsuna struck a dramatic pose. “At last, I have found you, foul beasts!” She practically shouted, pointing to somewhere else on stage.

Ayumu jumped a little in her seat, having not expected the outburst. She heard Yuu giggle quietly beside her.

“It is I, Artemisia Ullrin! Hunter of Horrors by trade and Collector of Cryptids by hobby.” She held her hand to her chest as the belted the lines proudly. “By order of Lady Lycaonian, I am to exterminate the infestation of werebeats suffered by her lands. You are welcome to resist, though I assure you that you shall lose. However!” Setsuna emphasized her lines with exaggerated gestures. “I offer an alternative! Surrender and be added to my collection.”

As melodramatic as the performance was, Ayumu couldn’t deny that it was quite entertaining. She watched in amusement as Setsuna skipped ahead to what she assumed to be a battle scene where she called out attacks like a cheesy hero show for kids. She knew the production was intended to be a little tongue in cheek, but Setsuna seemed intent on not just chewing, but flat out consuming the scenery, happily.

And then, seemingly all too soon, it was over.

“Bravi! Bravi!” Mari cheered, loudly, as she stood up from her seat. “Bravissimi!”

The orange-haired girl joined in standing as well, clapping and laughing. Then Yuu stood, as well several others.

“Thank you, everyone.” Setsuna bowed before standing back up with a beaming smile.

“<Where in the world have you been hiding,> Secchan?” Mari exclaimed in English

“Se-Secchan?” Setsuna blinked.

“Really, you were perfect!” The script writer added. “I love the new lines! I’ll be sure to add them!”

“It would appear you’ve earned a few fans.” Dia spoke next, fairly coolly and calmly, though Ayumu was certain she detected a touch of amusement in her tone. “That will undoubtedly play in your favor when we make our final casting decisions.”

“Thank you.” Setsuna bowed again before moving off stage to allow the next audition to proceed.

“Alright, next we have…”

Whatever else Umi was saying was lost to Ayumu as hands grabbed her shoulders.

“That was amazing!” Yuu did he best to keep her volume down. “That really got my heart racing! Actors are amazing! Theater is amazing! Ooo… I want to meet Setsuna-chan in person now!”

“-chan?!” Ayumu balked.

“I can’t wait to see the production!” Yuu continued as though she hadn’t heard Ayumu. “How long did you say it would take?”

“Well, it’s a musical, so that apparently adds more time.” Ayumu recalled. “I think I remember either Umi or Dia saying they were slotting for twelve weeks before opening night.”

“Twelve weeks?” Yuu visibly deflated a bit. “That’s like three whole months! I don’t think I can wait that long…”

Ayumu chuckled at her girlfriend’s newfound obsession. She’d seen this dozens of times before as Yuu would latch onto and hyper-focus on some new hobby or interest. “Maybe we can find some old clips of plays performed by the other Sonoda or Kurosawa theaters?”

“That’s a great idea, Ayumu!” Yuu’s eyes sparkled like emeralds. “Let’s do that tonight.”

“Alright.” Ayumu nodded in agreement.

Satisfied, Yuu settled back into her seat to watch the ongoing audition.

For her own part, Ayumu found her thoughts drifting. Artemisia? Ullrin? Lady Lycaonian? Mythology was not her strong suit, but it sounded like that wasn’t the case with the script writer either. It was almost as if she had simply Googled something about werewolves and just went with the first result that came up. Also, wasn’t Artemis already a woman? Did her name really need an -ia at the end to make the character female?

Well, the showrunners seemed fine with the ideas and the script writer and at least one of the actors were excited about them. So, who was Ayumu to judge? It wasn’t as if she herself hadn’t been entertained by Setsuna’s performance.

Setsuna… -chan… Ayumu glanced at her girlfriend. She had seen Yuu fawn over fictional woman before, but this was a first time she remembered her doing so over a living, breathing woman. And for some reason, that bothered her. Was she jealous? Ayumu shook her head to clear it of such thoughts. She was probably overthinking things and being insecure. She and Yuu had been happily dating for several years now. She shouldn’t be worrying about losing her at this point… right?

----------

“Yuu-chan, wait!” Ayumu protested as her girlfriend pulled her through a door clearly marked Employees Only. “We… I mean, you shouldn’t…”

“I just want to meet Setsuna-chan and thank her for the wonderful performance.” Yuu responded, not letting up her pace.

They rounded a corner and…

“Takasaki Yuu-san.” Dia stated solemnly as she stood in the center of the hallway.

“Oh, hi!” Yuu responded cheerfully. “You’re one of the women I met at the front door and decided to let me in. Dia-san, right?”

Dia blinked, obviously not expecting Yuu to skip a level of formality. But Yuu had been like that for the entire time Ayumu had known her. Still, Ayumu winced as she wondered how much trouble they were now in.

“Yes…” Dia confirmed.

“Right. Thank you again for letting me watch the auditions today.” Yuu continued. “They were amazing! My heart was racing pretty much the entire time. Especially with Setsuna-chan’s.”

There she goes again with -chan…

“Yuki-san did indeed give us quite the performance.” Dia agreed. “Anyway, as I was about to say, Takasaki-san, you are not employed here.”

“Nope. Not yet.” Yuu grinned.

“Not yet?” Dia raised an eyebrow.

“This whole experience has been so inspiring that I want to apply to work here.”

Ayumu also raised an eyebrow. That was news to her.

“You wish to become an actor?” Dia inquired.

Yuu shook her head. “No, I don’t really want to be on stage; I’d rather watch from the audience. But I can’t help wanting to support the amazing members of your cast in whatever way I can.”

“I see.”

“I could haul supplies around.” Yuu suggested. “Oh, I’m pretty good with my hands.” She held them out for emphasis. “So maybe I could help assemble sets or props? Ayumu has taught me a thing or two about hair and makeup, so I could definitely help her. Oh, and I worked a while as an editor for my college newspaper, so maybe I could go over the script and help there? And I did some composing for the band and orchestras, and even learned to play a couple instruments, like the piano, so I could help in the pit as well.”

Dia nodded. “I think I am starting to understand. You are essentially a jack of all trades.”

“Master of none.” Yuu confirmed.

“But better than a master of one.” Dia completed.

“Right. I’m no specialist, but I’m pretty good at picking up the basics.”

“Yuu-chan is a fast learner.” Ayumu added.

“I see.” Dia nodded. “Then I would suggest you get a resume in order and send it our way. Uehara-san should have the contact information.”

“Oh, I have that already. I was actually the one who found this place and recommended that Ayumu apply. I probably would have applied as well at that time, but I had a job then.” Yuu shrugged. “But they decided they needed to cut costs, and as I was the most recently hired, I ended up being part of that cost.”

“Well, I admire your enthusiasm and desire to help my cast and crew.” Dia smiled. “I shall look forward to working with you soon. Now, if you will excuse me, there are matters to which I must attend elsewhere.” That said, she stepped past the couple and moved down the hall.

Ayumu released a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. So… Dia wasn’t kicking them out after all? She wasn’t in trouble for letting a non-employee into this area?

“C’mon!” Yuu said, grabbing her hand again and shattering her thoughts. “We still gotta find Setsuna-chan. Say, do you know where her dressing room is?”

“I, uhm… know some of the rooms are off to the right.” Ayumu motioned in that direction. “Though I’m not sure if she has one assigned to her yet.”

“Well, let’s go see.”

“Uhm… alright…” Again, Ayumu was pulled down the hall.

The couple turned another corner, moved past the rooms for Yazawa and Nishikino, another without a name plate and… huh…

“She has one.” Yuu said, stopping in front of a room. “They must have just given it to her.” She indicated the paper sign taped over where the a more permanent placard would be placed. “Maybe she already got the part she wanted?”

Ayumu shrugged. She didn’t know enough about the overall process to comment.

“Setsuna-chan!” Yuu called as she knocked. “Are you in there?”

“Yes,” the young actress replied from within “you can come in.”

Yuu opened the door and stepped in.

“Uehara-san?” Setsuna turned away from whatever she was setting up on the vanity. “And… uhm…?”

“Yuu.” The twintailed girl responded. “Takasaki Yuu. I’m Ayumu’s girlfriend and they let me watch the auditions with her.”

“Ah…”

“So, you’re the source.”

“Eh?”

Yuu flicked her tongue. “Of the scent I smelled earlier.”

“Sc-scent?” Pink dusted Setsuna’s cheeks.

“Flame. Fire.” Yuu stepped closer and leaned in toward the young actress. “But not the kind I am used to… Just what are you, Setsuna-chan?”

“Yuu-chan!” Ayumu scolded, moving forward to pull her girlfriend away from Setsuna who was starting to display some defensive body language. “You shouldn’t just ask such things so bluntly.”

“Mm? Why not?” Yuu seemed confused. “I think it’s pretty obvious now that Dia-san and Umi-san intended to create a sort of haven for us here. And if we’re all going to work together, it makes sense to know what we all are.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Anyway, I’m a lamia.” Yuu indicated herself. “I’d show you, but I wore pants today.”

Well, at least she has the decency to not unceremoniously drop trou in front of someone she just met. Ayumu thought to herself. Like she so often does at home…

“But I can do this.”

Eh? Ayumu felt her cheek being pinched.

“There. As you can see, Ayumu is a moon rabbit.”

Eh? Eh?! Ayumu caught her reflection in the mirror near Setsuna. Sure enough, white, fluffy rabbit ears had sprouted on her head.

“Mohhh… Yuu-chan!” Ayumu punched her girlfriend lightly in the arm.

“What?” Yuu giggled at the playful jab. “Ayumu always looks so cute like that. I can’t help wanting to see you like that more.”

“Mmph…” Ayumu puffed her cheeks out to pout, though she couldn’t deny liking the compliment.

“They are indeed quite cute, Uehara-san.” Setsuna agreed with an amused smile.

“Oh, uhm… thank you.” Ayumu replied. “And, Ayumu is fine. Like Yuu-chan said, we’ll be working together a lot, so I don’t mind being a bit less formal.”

Setsuna’s smile grew. “I’d like that. Please feel free to call me Setsuna in return. Oh, and if you don’t mind my asking, by moon rabbit, do you mean…?”

“Well, I wasn’t actually born on the moon, if that’s what you mean.” Ayumu explained. “My ancestors were though.”

Setsuna nodded in understanding.

“But you should try her mochi, though.” Yuu spoke up. “It’s the best. Same with her rice cakes.”

Setsuna seemed to recall something. “I think you’ll find a good friend in Koizumi-san.”

“Oh yeah,” Yuu thought out loud “Ayumu, wasn’t she the one you said they brought a huge container of rice for?”

Ayumu nodded in confirmation. “I was honesty surprised how much she was able to eat, though she wasn’t the only one.”

“I suppose some of us have larger forms to feed.” Yuu shrugged. “Anyway, I gotta know the source of that fiery smell.” She turned her attention back to Setsuna. “You know what we are now, so what kind are you? Why is your fire so different than that of an ifrit, salamander, phoenix, dragon or whatever?”

“Oh, uhm…” Setsuna fidgeted a bit. “I’m a Cthughan.”

Yuu furrowed her brow in thought for a moment before something came to her and she looked up excitedly. “You mean you’re the Elder God, Cthugha?”

Setsuna shook her head. “Great Old One, actually. And I’m only a descendant of him. Cthugha is my great great great… I actually don’t know how many greats, grandfather.”

Oh, kind of like me being a descendant of rabbits who actually lived on the moon way back when. Ayumu thought.

“That’s. So. Cool!” Yuu practically squealed. “No wonder I couldn’t identify it, I’ve never met an Elder God before.”

“Great Old One.” Setsuna corrected again.

“Right, sorry. Anyway, that wasn’t actually the reason I wanted to meet you today.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I actually wanted to tell you how amazing you were in your audition and that I really hope you get the part.”

“Thank you. And they did actually already give me the role.” Setsuna said. “That’s why I’ve been setting up my stuff here.”

“I was right.” Yuu tossed over to Ayumu. “Congratulations, Setsuna-chan!” She offered the actress.

“Thank you again.” Setsuna smiled. “I really like the part.”

“It looked like it was a lot of fun to play.”

“I know right?” Ayumu detected some of the excitement Setsuna displayed before her audition.

“I haven’t read the script yet, but…

“It’s so~ good!” Setsuna seemed less able, or perhaps less willing to suppress her excitement. “I was able to talk with Chika-san, who wrote the script, and she was able to tell me a ton of things about what she had planned for possible modifications, depending on who got what parts and, oh my gosh, it all sounds amazing, and I think they already know who to cast for the main villain and while I didn’t expect that choice, Chika-san’s explanation was awesome as she revealed her plans to me and what she has planned for Yazawa-san and Nishikino-san’s characters, oh it sounds like so much fun and…” Setsuna suddenly recoiled and stepped back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go off like that…”

Yuu laughed. “It’s fine, it’s fine.” She dismissed. “Your excitement makes me want to see if I can track down this Chika-san and get a copy for myself.”

“You can have one of mine!” Setsuna pounced at offering.

“One of…?” Yuu asked, picking up on the word choice.

“Oh, uhm… I may have made a couple copies for myself to write ideas on after Chika-san said she would like to see what I think.” Setsuna admitted as she shuffled through a stack of papers. She started to hold out a set before pulling them back. “Wait, you don’t work here though.”

“Not yet.” Yuu admitted. “But your audition, and many of the others, inspired me to apply here so I could support the amazing actors here however I could.”

“Ah.” Setsuna nodded, holding out the papers, only to pull them back yet again. “You’re not a spy from that other theater down the street, are you?”

Yuu chuckled. “If that was the case, I’d just get my info from Ayumu.”

“Right, that makes sense.” Finally the actress gave the script to Yuu.

“I already offered to Dia-san that I could help with editing.” Yuu skimmed it excitedly. “I wonder if Chika-san would mind if I slipped in a few ideas of my own.”

“She seems pretty willing to accept ideas from others around the theater.” Setsuna said. “Both Osaka-san and Nakasu-san have offered some of their thoughts already.”

Yuu opened her mouth, but whatever she was about to say next was interrupted by her stomach growling. She giggled. “I guess it is getting a little late.”

“Let’s head home then.” Ayumu spoke up. “I’ll make dinner for us. It was nice meeting you, Setsuna-san.”

“I don’t think I can make it all the way home.” Yuu said. “Why don’t we stop at that sandwich shop along the way.”

“Alright.” Ayumu agreed.

“Wanna come with us, Setsuna-chan?”

“Eh? Me?” Setsuna seemed caught off guard by the invite.

“Yeah, that way we can talk about the script and stuff.”

“Oh, uhm, thank you, but I wouldn’t want to impose. Besides there’s still a couple things I want to do here before I head out.”

“Alright. Maybe some other time then.” With that, Yuu took Ayumu’s hand and headed for the door. “See you later, Setsuna-chan!” She called as she exited.

At first Ayumu felt relief that Setsuna had declined, but as she and Yuu walked down the hall, a sense of disappointment set it. She actually did want to talk about the upcoming play. Perhaps next time…

----------

“Ne, Yuu-chan.” Ayumu said as the couple walked home.

“Mm?”

“Would you… uhm… Would you support me if I decided to become an actress?” The way you say you want to support Setsuna-san and the others?

“Of course!” Yuu gave her a toothy grin. “I think Ayumu would be an amazing actor.”

“Really?”

Yuu chuckled. “Well yeah, the Ayumu I know and love may be shy sometimes and hesitant to try new things. But when she decides to do something, she’s the hardest worker I know. She always gives it her best. That’s one of my favorite aspects of Ayumu.”

Ayumu blushed at Yuu’s affirmations.

“So, what prompted this all of a sudden?” Yuu looked at Ayumu with sudden curiosity. “Did the auditions inspire you as well?”

“A little…” Ayumu admitted. Did she need to include her desire for Yuu to look at her the way she looked at Setsuna?

Yuu smiled. “Well, maybe tonight we should look into finding some acting classes for you to take.”

“Classes?”

“Well, I don’t know anything about acting, so I’d be no help to you there.” Yuu explained. “Though I’d be happy to help you rehearse lines or whatever. And you’ll want some knowledge before you start auditioning for roles, right? Surely there has to be some evening or night course you can take somewhere.”

“Alright.”

Yuu’s expression became whimsical. “Mm… I can imagine it now. Uehara Ayumu stars in… something something big show, the marquee proudly proclaims with flashing lights. Ayumu on stage bowing before a standing ovation. Flowers are tossed on stage by devoted fans.”

“Y-Yuu-chan…” Ayumu murmured a quiet protest.

“What? I can’t imagine my amazing girlfriend being adored by all?”

“Well… I don’t really need to be the star, do I?”

Yuu shrugged. “Even if you only want supporting roles, I’ll still happily come watch your performances.”

Ayumu smiled. She loved this side of Yuu, her unwavering and unconditional support, always willing to adapt to anything Ayumu wanted to do. It was a constant source of confidence from which she drew to take on those new things, when she did.

Maybe she was overthinking the thing with Setsuna. Yuu was just being Yuu, getting excited over a new obsession, and Setsuna’s performance just happened to be the gateway into that obsession. As for Setsuna herself, she seemed equally excited about acting as Yuu, if not more so. And as her audition proved, she had talent. Perhaps Ayumu could learn a thing or two from her through observation, or just talking with her.

“Alright.” She set her mind on her decision. “Let’s look into classes when we get home.”

----------

Author’s Note Continued in Followup Post

[theshipshipper]

wish i could be | the little mermaid jonsa au

Chapters: 1/1

Words: 10,113

Read it on AO3

---

i.

It’s mornings such as these, with the cool sea breeze and the sun rising from the horizon, that Jon loved the most. He’s travelled a great many distance and visited many incredible sights but to be at sea was still his favorite.

“Fine morning, My Prince,” His father’s old adviser greeted, coming to stand next to him on the deck of the ship. 

Jon turned to face the man, finds his expression hard and dissatisfied. He's known Connington since he was a child, the man was his father’s most loyal adviser and now his own, and he was fully aware that the expression on his face was due to the fact that this trip hadn’t been as fruitful as Connington hoped.

The sole purpose of their journey to Essos was to find Jon a match. 

As the future King of Dragonstone, it’s expected of him to find himself a woman to marry. A woman who would stand alongside him as a symbol of a prosperous kingdom. Connington had taken it upon himself to introduce him to the Royalties in the East to hopefully find him a girl he may wed to secure the Targaryen line, though the effort had been a fruitless one.   

The whole thing felt absurd to him -- his future kingship, most especially. 

He never imagined that his father’s Kingdom would be his to rule one day. He was the second son and a bastard one besides, to even think that he would one day be King was preposterous. He knew it was his brother, Aegon, who was always meant to rule and he’d welcomed it. 

Growing up in Dragonstone had been suffocating. Everything he did was scrutinized and it felt as though there was no room for him to breathe. Second son or not, there were expectations of him and not all of them he could meet. It had been a relief when he turned sixteen and was allowed to forge his own path, choosing to explore the sea and relish in the freedom it had to offer. But his brother’s death had altered his fate forever.

“I shall miss this greatly once we land,” Jon sighed out, his gaze once more on the horizon, though the statement was meant more for himself than his present company.

“I’m sure you shall,” Connington replied gravely, no trace of understanding in his tone. “But your voyages has kept you from Dragonstone long enough, My Prince. Your people would surely find pleasure in knowing you’re among them once more.”

Jon stifled a sigh. He’s not sure it’s true. His people surely would have preferred his brother. Aegon was primed to rule them, not him. Up until a year ago, Jon had been but a sailor, and now, before him, lay an endless road of responsibilities he’s expected to cross.

ii.

Sansa scanned her surroundings carefully, determined to find a new treasure to add to her ever-growing collection of human artifacts. 

Though the site was too far from her father’s kingdom and too close to the Golden Witch's realm, she has been excited to visit the site specifically. She's heard from merfolk and other sea creatures that this shipwreck was one of the few that still remained untouched by humans and therefore still full of wondrous treasures to be found.

As she swam through the area, though, she found exactly why that was. The damage to the ship had been too massive to salvage anything. Most of the items she’s found so far had been covered in black dust and nearly ruined; there wasn’t much that she could keep. 

A smile blossomed onto her face as her eyes alighted on a small item hidden among the corals. She swam towards it and grabbed it for inspection, wondering what it’s meant to be. It’s thin and long, the design similar to her Father’s Trident, though significantly smaller and of a different color.

She frowned, waving it around to try and figure out its use. Finally, she sighed and inserted it into her sack, resolving to ask her friend, the Seagull, what it was. He would surely know.

She wandered around for a while longer, finding more treasures than she expected before finally calling it a day. She was sure there was plenty more to discover but she didn’t want to stay and risk being caught. Her Father would be angry if he found out she’d been visiting the shipwrecks.

“Sansa!” Sansa! Sansa!”

The sound of her younger brother’s voice brought a smile to her face upon her return home, turning to catch the littlest of her siblings as he swam towards her.

“Hello, little brother,” she greeted fondly, planting a kiss on his cheek. “Are you done with your lessons for the day?”

He nodded before glancing at her sack eagerly. “Did you find anything?” he asked her in a quiet tone, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

Rickon, her youngest and wildest sibling, shared her fascination with humans and their ingenious inventions. He's asked to bring him along during her travels many times before but she refused in fear of getting him in trouble. 

Rickon followed her into the cave she’d found to store and hide all her treasures and she showed him each of the new items she found and its uses

“Dinglehopper?” Rickon repeated, taking the trident-like item from her hand. “What’s it for?”

“For your hair,” she told him dutifully. “Humans use it to keep their hair proper.”

“Huh.” Rickon mused, weaving the end of the Dinglehopper through his own head of curls. “Incredible.”

Sansa laughed and showed him the other items, explaining each as she’d learned from the Seagull. Her brother listened eagerly, trying them all out for himself. 

"Next time will you let me come with you?" Rickon asked quietly as they made their way back to the castle. "Please, Sansa? I want to see the surface too."

She made a face. "Rick, you know I can't. I'm not even supposed to go there myself. Father would be furious if he ever found out I also brought you along."

He pouted and she was almost tempted to agree to let him tag along next time if she didn't know any better.

Though she herself didn't see any problem with it, her father, the King of the Sea, had decreed that no merfolk shall ever wander close to the surface and interact with humans.

None of her siblings had a problem with this; they were content as they were, but Sansa, with her dreams of one day venturing onto land, couldn't help but be curious of the life above. 

A sudden loud eruption caught her attention, followed by another one. She looked up and saw strange colors reflected in the water. 

She bit her lip, itching with curiosity. Any other time she wouldn't have hesitated to swim up and see what the commotion was, but it's getting too late and their family would surely notice their continued absence.

"What do you think it is?" Rickon asked curiously, changing his direction upwards.

She grabbed onto his arm, shaking her head. "Rick, you know you're not supposed to."

"But, Sansa, don't you want to see?" He asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes before untangling himself from her grasp.

"Rick," she shouted after him, gaining speed to try and catch onto him.

It's too late, though, because he reached the surface before her, and she found herself speechless once she saw what the commotion actually was. It was some sort of explosion that lit up the sky with strange shapes and colors.

"It's amazing," Rickon said, his voice filled with wonder.

"It is," she agreed with a grin, before she noticed the ship where the shapes were coming from. "Rickon, stay here and stay out of sight."

"Where are you going?"

"I just want to see something."

"Wait - " he reached for her arm when she started making her way towards the ship. "Sansa," he said in a hushed tone. "We're not supposed to go near humans."

"I know," she admitted, though this wouldn't be the first time she tried.

"I'll be back soon," she promised before swimming towards the ship.

It's a familiar one, dark and slim with a big sign painted with the color of blood. There's many dark tales surrounding the ship in particular and all sea creatures feared the sight of it. She's heard the whispers among her people about the humans responsible for the demise of their kind.

She was frightened the first time she ever saw it but the fear had diminished the longer she observed them. They all seemed so harmless and joyful. She always saw them - what was it called? - dancing with their feet and swaying about.

With enough practice from times she'd done it before, she managed to climb to the side of the ship. She peeked through the small opening and the big four-legged creature was upon her almost immediately.

"Hello, friend," she greeted with a giggle, reaching out to touch its face. The humans on the ship called him Ghost, Sansa decided it must be its name. "Did you miss me?" Its tongue lolled out and licked her face, making her giggle all the more. "I guess you did."

"Ghost! Where did you go off to, you big oaf?" 

Ghost turned and headed directly to his caller, a man with dark hair and dark grey eyes. Sansa sucked in a deep breath when she caught sight of him. The Prince, she thought with a dreamy sigh. She's only been admiring him from afar, watching him in the daylight with the wind touching his hair as he watched the sea.

He was already a sight to behold from a distance but seeing him up-close was even more glorious. Oh, how she longed to be next to him. 

"Beautiful," she sighed out, watching him laugh with the other humans as music played around them.

Thunder rolled suddenly, followed by the strike of lighting,  making her turn to the sky. The waves have started to get violent, tipping the ship dangerously into sinking. She fell back into the sea when the ship tilted, swimming away for her own safety. 

She met her brother at a distance, and together, they watched in pure horror as the ship ultimately collapsed.

iii.

The soft humming voice is what finally  brought Jon back to consciousness, the sound as gentle as the calmest sea. 

He coughed out uncontrollably as water dripped out of his mouth, trying to get up. He opened his eyes to the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, her hair aflame and her eyes as striking as lightning. Radiant, was the first word that slipped into mind as he stared at her, the thought proving more accurate when a bright smile enveloped her face.

“You’re awake,” she told him softly, ceasing her singing.

“Where - ” He blinked, trying to make sense of what happened.There was the storm and his ship catching fire. And trying to get Ghost into the boat and getting himself stuck. “What - um,  who are you?“

She opened her mouth to respond, except it’s not her voice that he heard. 

“Prince Jon! There you are,” he heard Connington’s voice calling him from a distance. “We’ve all been worried sick, I was preparing some men to go back into the sea and...”

He doesn’t hear the rest of his words. He  turned back to the girl, except she wasn’t there anymore. He looked around and tried to think where she could’ve gone. “Where is she?”

“Where is who?” Connington asked, reaching for his arm to try and help him up.

“The girl,” he clarified. It took a bit of effort to stand up, his entire body protesting at each movement.  “Where did she go? She was just here.”

“What girl?” Connington asked again, as though he wasn’t making any sense. “Goodness, Jon, your skin is pale and hot. We need to get you ins -”

“No. Wait - I need to -  ” He tried to push Connington away but stumbled when he tried walking on his own. He felt much weaker than he realized.  “The girl - ”

“There’s no girl, Jon,” Connington insisted, leading him to the direction of the castle. “Come inside. You need to be seen to by the Maester.”

Read the rest on AO3.

[dobriking]

Bend Into A Break (2)

Summary: Not one, but two vlog-squads came with the death of Vine. And the rumored beef between you two is absolutely true! So, you and David (begrudgingly) set up a month long-retreat among your groups to film team challenges and go against each other. Y’know. For views. Pairing: David Dobrik x Reader, Enemies to Lovers, living together. Warnings: Profanity, Arguing

1 | 2 | 3

“Sorry, what?” Heath’s the first before the outbreak.

With your hands hooked together in front of your stomach, you take in a breath but don’t find the courage to let anything out. He’s not mean — certainly not to you at least — but his voice is so harsh about it. You look to David thinking he’d have something to say to tame Heath but he looks back at you. He’s not smiling snobbishly or anything. He’s keeping the baton passed to you.

And inside his head, there’s nothing malicious about it. He admits despite what he knows about this whole thing that it’s best if you explain it.

“We — me and David uh…” one last look and this time he encourages you with a nod. Your two groups, sitting as scrunched together as can be on David’s living room couch, bond with looks over how peculiar this is. “We decided that…it would be really good in terms of content and material means to—“

He drops the supportive look and rolls his eyes, stepping up to shout (quite coolly), “We’re going to be living and fighting with each other for a little bit. No big deal.”

In a moment of worry none of David’s group has ever seen, your Cody breaks the silence with a strained, “What?”

And then hell breaks loose.

“I-I think,” Drew looks around, “I think this is a joke…or-or something…”

Cody crosses his arms. “Definitely not funny.”

“Cause I am definitely not living with him.” Zane snorts almost, pointing to Cody without sparing a look.

You smile, balls of your cheeks as high as you can raise them. “Well good! Cause you are!” David chokes on his laughter and that provokes everybody even more.

Heath jumps from his spot, betrayed and pointing to David with both hands. “You’re in on this?!”

Noel squeezes himself deeper into the armrest. “No shit he’s apart of this.”

Heath stops, looking to David (who gives him nothing) then Zane. He claps, stomps, and shouts, “The fuck you just say to me!?” He finds the amusement at how fast all of this blew up on Cody’s face too condescending, and Cody claps his hands to his knees while looking at Heath with a mocking glare.

"He said no shit he's apart of this, dumbass!"

Standing, Heath begins to yell at Cody and Noel. Poor Drew is stuck in the middle of it, as quiet as Scott, Corinna, Amanda, Toddy — everybody that isn’t Zane, Heath, Cody, and Noel. Zane even stretches over Drew to yell in Noel’s face, clapping periodically when his voice gets its highest.

David jumps seeing how far back your eyes roll into your head. He just about thinks he’s kickstarted a seizure — so he goes “HEY!” and shuts everybody up.

“Guys, stop. Look, me and Y/n agreed to this together, okay? So if everybody would just sit down…?” His hands fan down. Heath is wary but he does. Cody, however, can’t help but stick his tongue out at him like a child, squishing his eyes nearly shut. The only thing that keeps Heath seated is you and your piercing eyes.

David holds his hands to present you. “Y-you wanna…?” He stutters.

You step forward but resist looking at anybody. You only look to various points in the room that could classify as ‘staring into space,’ mostly to avoid catching an irritating set of eyes that discourages you.

“So…” you start. David nods. It’s a bit of a push to get you to continue, “everybody on this website knows we hate each other. Okay well not really. We know we hate each other, the fans think this is just a fun little rivalry. If we do this they’re going to go absolutely crazy—“

Corinna raises her hand. You’d say she’s a sweetheart as she’s never been too harsh with you but you can’t shake the feeling that she’s judging you whenever she looks your way. You point and she puts her arm down, crossing them and leaning back against the wall (Toddy by her side). “We don’t even know what this is. So can you like—“

“Yeah, can you guys explain it?” Toddy interrupts.

Corinna scoffs and distances herself a little bit.

Shame to say not everybody is in this room. Only the “OG” group is present. And OG in itself is a tricky thing. You’d say the people present are the most beloved of your two groups, the ones in your vlogs most consistently, and the ones that have been around the longest. It’s even more of a shame to say that Tom isn’t here because the damn Brit is off being British in Britain. Your group is outnumbered. Even though Gabbie isn’t here, the addition of Natalie still puts you at odds.

You sigh, knowing to deal with it later. “The idea is that our two groups battle each other over the course of a month."

“Oh.” Cody pipes. “Yeah, I’d be willing to beat up this guy.” A thumb points over to Heath.

“Oh screw you.”

“No,” you pinch your nose, “not that kind of fight. Fun fights like volleyball. Or dodgeball or hell I don’t know, tennis maybe — shit you’d do on Field Day in elementary school. It’d be great for all of our channels, good for merch, good for sales cause I know that’s all some of you care about.” Noel just has to gasp out loud at the diss you whispered. “TLDR; we host a team-event with goals and prizes and take over Youtube, basically.”

They all hum.

Chloe’s in thought squinting at the ceiling. Emily is in a similar state but comes to her conclusion earlier. “So wait we’re like…the Jake Paulers and Logang…ers, now?”

You blink. “No.” But technically, “Wait, maybe. Never-mind that!”

“Wait wait wait,” Heath holds up a finger. “You said we were going to be living together.” That finger points to David.

"That's like the Team Ten house!" In comes the overlapping chatter.

You smile. “Yes. That’s cause it was David’s idea that we do. So!” You pull an expandable metal pointer from your sleeve (to the surprise of many) and David steps to the side, revealing his television. He glares softly for calling him out but the transition was so quick there’s no chance for retaliation. Natalie (thankfully yet to be caught in the crossfire) starts up the same presentation you showed him. Though you took in the time to add some of his ideas.

“I got in touch with my agent and found two possible places we could all pack up and yes, live in together!”

A shared groan. The boys on the couch begin flailing about like grumpy babies without enough space.

David jumps with the picture that pulls up. He does a double take, one at the screen and the other at you. He’ll never not admit you work your ass off, that’s for sure.

“The first option is the Ella Rose Estate, second is the Houdini Mansion.”

As the soft name may suggest, the Ella Rose is beautiful. It's painted white with a dark grey, almost black rooftop (for contrast) and despite vines and moss eating up most of the front side, the pop of color is what adds to the beauty. Only $1,500 a night although that might change with twenty fucking people, but it has a medium sized pool in the back and a more contemporary to modern aesthetic. Its size will certainly be a hassle getting around in with so many people but maybe that’s a good thing.

As for the Houdini…you flip to the pictures of that (also white on the outside with dark roofing) and the whole room jumps. Cody buries the side of his body deeper into the couch, and Zane looks back to see if his group is seeing what he is.

David jumps as well. Quite the change indeed.

It’s a Victorian-esk mansion on the outside, beautiful and pristine, but the inside (while kept up) is dark with everything made of stainless, shining cherry wood, and decorations which also point toward the Victorian aesthetic.

“David! You tryna put us in a horror movie?” Zane shouts.

“We’re already in one,” you mutter.

Natalie keeps flipping through and everybody is very audible with their chills. The house is beautiful (as Erin and Carly note, lips pressed tight but impressed with the pictures you’ve picked) but everything without the lights is so damn dark.

Beautiful, but dark.

However, it is very spacious. The dining room (depending on how you space the chairs) could hold 10 people on a side. And for the bedrooms you explain, “Houdini Mansion actually used to be an orphanage—“

“Nuh-uh!” Zane jumps and pulls his legs under him. “Don’t even try to tell me that place isn’t haunted!”

You grin. “Actually tourists report—“

“HELL NAH!”

“Yeah no."

“Noooo no no no no!”

People actually have the audacity to start leaving the room!

You drop your hands to your side, speechless frankly. When you were in school and your teachers started boasting about how immature you were being you always thought they were being overdramatic. This is the equivalent of students leaving three minutes before the bell. If they would just sit and listen they’d know where you were going with this. There's a pang in your chest for all the teachers you underestimated.

Because here you are with a bunch of actual children.

David doesn’t pay attention to the escaping flock. He looks at the presentation carefully. It’s on a photo of the entrance room. The composition isn't centered but straight ahead there’s the staircase (one of two he assumes), to the right is the kitchen separated with a glass door, and past the stairs is a horizontal hallway and another room he can see. He never-minds the fear of any extra cost you’ll have to pay in damages, and with a giggle and his tongue poking out of his mouth he goes, “I’m in. I choose this one.”

Somewhere in everybody’s collective mind, a record-scratch can be heard. People look over their shoulders for him to repeat, “I've decided. We’re going.”

Chloe chokes. “You can’t make us go.”

David ‘pouts’ and you do too. It’s not even on cue but the way your heads tilt inward and your arms go limp by your sides is so coincidental it's frightening.

You grimace. “Oh, but I can.”

David clicks his tongue and sighs. “Guess it’ll just be Y/n and me.”

“For a month getaway.”

“I mean — I guess it's fine since we’re the only two that’ll have a share of the money, I dunno—“

“FINE!” Heath steps forward, and so does Zane. You find it strange how Cody and Noel only step forward when they do. They return to their spots on the couch but this time poor Drew has some air to breathe now that he’s decided it’s best to stand up.

“Yes,” Cody seethes, rubbing his eye, “Y/n…continue.”

You nod at Natalie and she goes to the next slide.

“David’s crew will be red, mine will be blue. Which means for a month the only color any of us will be wearing is our team’s.” Enya (Always looking damn good in red) grunts into her first and slaps her chair’s arm. You look solemnly at her but shrug it off knowing full well that girl can pull off blue.

Carly raises her hand. “Okay wait. What don’t you classify as ‘colors?’”

David picks at his lips and mumbles “Black, silver.”

You shrug, “White. Also, you could get away with wearing black the whole time if you dye your hair.” It’s true. She feels at some tuffs between her fingers, getting along with this idea.

“Me and David would come up with challenges and things that can be won from those challenges. David will keep uploading Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and I’ll keep uploading on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. And each day we will post a challenge spliced in with other shenanigans.” You look at him and keep eye contact. “And David and I can figure out what we’ll do on Sunday cause we agreed that we want a steady stream of content so whatever it is will probably be small or just between us like a uh…?”

“Q&A?” Cody suggests.

Bless Cody and his words which break your eye contact with David. “Uh yeah. That’s actually a good idea. We’ve also agreed it’s only fitting that David's his team’s leader and I’m my team’s leader—“

Corinna raises her hand, “What do you have in mind for merch?” but doesn’t wait for you to acknowledge before she lowers it.

“Well I haven’t gotten to—nevermind, we’ll get to that. Typical shirts, those like short-short 70s shorts, leg-warmers, headbands and uh…?”

“Bandanas,” David pipes up. He picks at the corner of his eyes. “Socks, backpacks, water bottles and stuff.”

“And how do we figure out where we’ll be staying?” Chloe asks.

You keep your lips shut.

David’s unsure if he should continue or not. But when his extended groan fails to jolt you out of your stasis, he steps forward and lazily gestures the presentation behind him. Natalie flips through it sporadically to match up with what he’s saying. You’re just shocked they’ve all become so accepting.

“Well Y/n said she’s already planned a photoshoot. So like, of individual teams, teams together, individual members, members together. And like members would be paired based on their stereotype or something?” He looks for assurance and you nod. “So Amanda and Toddy — you two would be paired I guess. Uh…Heath and Cody, Chloe and Carly, Erin and Emily — ha, that’s ironic. Right?” He nudges you. He’s actually concerned at this point. You look so flustered and he’s chewing on his cheek leaning forward to get a look at you. Thankfully you snap out of it before he looks like a creep.

“Uh yeah. Yeah yeah, that sounds right,” you say.

“Okay wait,” Zane purses his lips. “What kind of photoshoot?”

“We didn’t steal your 200th video idea if that’s what you’re asking.”

He sits back with nothing to say.

“Are we allowed to leave?”

You nod. “You can go do whatever you want in your free time.”

David sniffles. “We might leave to do some stuff too.”

You click your tongue and bask in the silence. But then it gets too awkward for your liking so you clap your hands together and open your arms to any more questions (physically and figuratively). But there are none. Matt perks up but deflates immediately, and the same for the others as they find questions but come to their own conclusions.

“So…” you clap, “sound good?”

The image of you and David standing almost as one, as leaders and together for once submits everybody else into something of children looking up to their apprehensive parents. So they act as such. Some cross their arms, others stomp but ultimately say nothing. And while most begin to pout there’s a select few who couldn’t care less, only thinking of the experience they’ll be able to say they had. They seem content: Carly, Erin, Natalie, Drew, Amanda, Scotty, and Toddy.

“Good!”

David puts his hands in his pockets and begins to sway. “Okay you can go now.”

They sluggishly leave the room and that leaves you two alone in semi-silence. Nothing is said but you react appropriately and together to the curses and hisses thrown around in the next room.

“Well…” you bite your lip, “this is going to be fun.”

David holds his hand to you.

“Yup.”

And you shake it.

TAGS

@wefracturedmotivation @blackhood5sos @i-heart-movies @sinfulmango @edalalalalalala @mostlydobrik @latelycrazy​ (Added the people who liked the original post asking to be tagged. Message me if you don’t want to be, or message me if you would).

[softeddiek]

for axg week 2019

day 3: reunion

read on ao3

book canon only, with spoilers for all books + the ‘Mercy’ sample chapter from TWOW; arya is aged up for reasons 

i will not ask you where you came from 

It’s Harwin that recognizes her first. It seems rather fitting that it would be him. He had known her as a child; served her father in his life and was now serving her mother in her death. It had been him that had known her to be Arya Stark when the Brotherhood had found them. Gendry had only known she’d been highborn because she’d told him.

They had been making their way back to the inn with some of their brothers. Gendry stayed there most of the time, smithing and keeping watch over the lot of orphans that had collected over the years, but whenever a wayward Lannister or Frey came across their path, he took part in the short trip to Lady Stoneheart. He didn’t used to make the entire trip, choosing to turn back at the river so as not to leave the orphans alone too along. (But really it wasn’t just about the orphans. Deep down, beneath his simmering anger, some part of him, a very small part, would remember why he had joined the Brotherhood in the first place. Truthfully, it was that part of him that made his feet turn back around.)

That had changed once they had gotten news of the wedding. After that, he made it a point to go to as many hangings as he could. See the deaths of as many Freys and Lannisters and traitorous Northmen as he could. The news hadn’t affected Lady Stoneheart the same way. She’d believed her daughters to have been dead all along, refusing to believe that the Bolton bastard had married Arya. Gendry had never found it in himself to face her—that horrible, milky face, shredded to ribbons—and tell her that her daughter hadn’t died; that it was Gendry that had lost her. It seemed Harwin and Lem and all the others had never gotten around to it neither.

The lady had been extra swift with her justice since they had lost the Kingslayer and the ugly woman knight right out from under them. It’s after one of the more brutal trials that they’ve found themselves creeping up slowly through the trees upon a small figure with their cloak up huddled in front of a fire. The cold had been creeping into the Riverlands for years; snow was a daily occurrence. But even still, what fool would chance a fire in the middle of the day? The Riverlands had not been safe for as long as Gendry had been there, and they had been able to see the smoke from a league away.

“Just looks like a small boy to me,” he whispers to his right.

“Boys can be lions or wolves. Pretty smelling roses even. Same as some of us was,” someone bites back at him.

He glances over at his brothers, sees their hands slowly moving to hilts and quivers, sneers on their faces. He is suddenly transported back to when he was a young boy, coming out behind a wall with Hot Pie, only to be met with some of these very men. Friendlier faces. They wear no friendly looks now, even knowing this one small boy would stand no chance against them. Sometimes he thinks there is little point in even calling them a brotherhood anymore. They are not brothers. The only things that bind them all together now are hate and anger.

He shakes his head, clearing it of thoughts of the past that do him little good anymore. He notices that he has missed the signal, his brothers already advancing silently without him. He takes a quick step forward, onto the freshly fallen layer of snow, when he hears a crack. Grimacing as he looks down, he sees the end of a twig he has stepped on, half buried beneath the snow.

He can sense everyone has stopped moving at the noise and looks up to see the back of the boy’s head is tilted at an angle, like an animal might. The boy makes no further movements, though it’s obvious he knows someone is there.

“Alright,” Harwin says, his jovial tone holding a bit of an edge. He steps out to where the boy would see him if they turn around. “I don’t want no trouble. Turn around nice and slow lad, hands out where I can see them.”

They hesitate a moment, head still cocked. “And your friends? Do all five of them ‘want no trouble’?”

Gendry feels his eyebrows shoot up, both in surprise at them knowing just how many of them there are, and at their voice being distinctly feminine.

The girl does not wait for an answer, and Harwin doesn’t seem like to think of one quick enough. She stands up like he told her to, slowly, but hasn’t yet turned around. The rest of them give up the pretense and come forward, forming a half circle around her.

She brings her hands up and slowly lifts the cloak off her head, revealing short cropped brown hair. Harwin has a look on his face that seems more thoughtful than the situation warrants. She takes small shuffling steps to turn around, showing off her face to each of them one by one. It’s when it is fully exposed to Harwin that Gendry hears the man suck in a sharp breath. Gendry looks over to him as he says, “Milady. We’d not thought to see you again.”

He can feel confusion ripple among his brothers. It is then that he looks away, letting his eyes roam over the girl.

She would be small for a boy, but for a girl she looks rather healthy, well-fed. If he had to guess, he would put her at no older than five and ten. Her jerkin and breeches look clean but foreign, and the cloak she has on is only a little faded. It is when he gets to her face, to those eyes, that the breath is knocked from him. He hasn’t seen those eyes in years. Her hair is similar in length to when he had last seen her, only this time the locks are more even. Like they’d been cut in a purposeful way, and not sheared off to make her look like a boy. She is no longer the scrawny, malnourished girl she had been in their youth, but she is undoubtedly Arya Stark.

“Neither had I,” she replies. Her voice knocks him out of his observations and all he can feel is an overwhelming sense of relief. Relief that she isn’t dead. That she hadn’t met her end at Saltpans. And no sooner had he thought that then was the relief snuffed out, replaced by guilt. Because if she hadn’t died then that meant that the rumors were true, and she had been wedded. Wedded and bedded by the Bolton bastard. The guilt he’s been carrying for years in his heart and in the constant scowl he wears hits hard as he thinks on what horrors her husband is said to have inflicted upon her.

“We looked for you, milady. All around the Riverlands we followed Clegane’s trail.”

“Did you, Harwin?” she asks, eyes narrowed as if looking to catch him in a lie.

She does not wait for his answer, instead looking around at the faces of his brothers, taking them all in carefully, perhaps trying to see if she recognizes any. Her face is carefully blank until her eyes reach him. It is only then that she allows for the shadow of a smile.

“Gendry.”

He realizes then he has not thought to say a word up to this point. He clears his throat, feeling as though there is something lodged in it. “Arya,” he manages to get out.

She faces Harwin again, the shadow gone. “I’m heading North,” she starts, turning back toward her fire to put it out. All of his brothers but Harwin have their weapons at the ready, prepared to stop her from leaving. “And this time, you won’t stop me,” she finishes, unwavering at the sound of steel that has been drawn.

“Put your bloody weapons down,” Harwin barks.

“And why should we? The fuck’s this?” pipes up Luke, not recognizing this older version of Arya.

Harwin ignores him. “North, milady? Is that not where you have just come from?”

Her brow furrows. “Why would I have come from the North?”

“We had heard it that…” Harwin looks lost. “Well news had been that you were Lady Bolton now,” he says gently. In fact, the Harwin before him looks downright paternal compared to the Harwin that had been present the last few years. More like the one who had gently prodded Arya along when she had been the Brotherhood’s captive, and less like the hardened outlaw that hung the noose around the necks of their enemies as often as any other fervent supporter of Lady Stoneheart.

“Oh that.” She seems unperturbed. “No, I’ve not been North. It seems some other girl was unfortunate enough to marry a Bolton in my stead.” And just like that, Gendry’s emotions swing right back around. She hadn’t been married. Whatever Arya had been through, wherever she had been, it was likely a great deal better than being butchered at Saltpans or trapped in her family’s castle with a monster in her bed. He can’t help but let his shoulders sag a bit from the relief.

“Then where have you been, milady?”

All that meets his question is silence.

“If I had to guess,” one of his brothers pipes up when it becomes clear that she will not answer. His eyes begin to roam up and down Arya’s body. Gendry can feel his fists clenching at that. It’s the Tyroshi. He has been with the Brotherhood for a while now, joined right before Lady Stoneheart had taken over, though Gendry has never spoken to him. But it’s hard to miss him with his dyed hair and thick accent. “I would say this girl has spent time across the Narrow Sea.”

He sees Arya’s jaw tick for a fraction of a second before it stills, her face a calm mask. “Valar morghulis,” the Tyroshi adds, with what he must imagine is a charming smile thrown her way, speaking in that odd tongue Gendry had heard Greenbeard use before he had gone and left them. Arya just sends a hard look the man’s way, eyes steely.

“I really ought to be going now,” she says, directing her words toward Harwin and Gendry while eyeing the Tyroshi. “I have a long trip and it’s not getting any warmer.”

“Wait, milady,” Harwin says none too quietly, hands coming out as if placating a spooked horse. “We can’t be letting you go just yet.”

Her left eyebrow shoots up and all eyes are drawn to the hand that she’s inching toward her waist, slipping between the fold of her cloak where she undoubtedly has a weapon. “I don’t think you’ll be getting much gold out of me Harwin. There’s no one left to ransom me to I’m afraid. Don’t worry, I’m sure Beric won’t be too upset with you.”

At the mention of their former leader, over half of their faces turn weary. She falters at that, clearly expecting to get more of a fight out of these men. She looks over at Gendry, a question in her gaze.

Seeing no one else is ready to break the news, he manages to find his voice. “Arya, things have…changed since you left.” He takes a gulp, knowing where this will go. Knowing what they will have to reveal to her. Knowing she will likely hate them for what they have turned her mother into. Hate him for what he let them turn her mother into. His eyes flicker toward Harwin. His jaw is clenched but otherwise he gives Gendry no indication as to what he should say. He feels her eyes still on him, looks back to see those grey pools urging him on. The concern she wears is the most emotions she has shown since he has set eyes on her.

Taking a breath, he steels himself, sends a small prayer in his head to R’hllor and all of the other gods he has never been sure he believes in. A prayer that this won’t send her running, the horror that her mother has become. Not when he has just gotten her back.

“Beric’s dead.”

--

Gendry hears nothing. It’s all silence. He knows he should be hearing the chirping of crickets, the hooting of owls. And, distantly, maybe even the howling of wolves. Some sounds of life. He knows he should hear Harwin, cursing as he tries to break chinks into the frozen streambed, and he certainly should have heard his own loud, crashing footsteps as he hurried from the tent. But he hears nothing.

Suddenly, Harwin is in his face, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. Then he hears it. A ragged gasping sound. Looking for the source, his eyes finally land on Arya, kneeling in the snow by the stream, scrubbing furiously at her hands. He jumps at that and heads toward her, bending down beside her. Her motions are jerky and quick, but she stops and looks over at him, a wild look in her eyes.

“Lady Stoneheart…your mother” Harwin begins behind them.

“Don’t call her that,” she snaps back.

He bows his head a bit, in shame. “Lady Catelyn—"

“Don’t call her that either. That thing was not my mother.” He can feel her crackling with rage beside him, a sense of clarity having returned to her.

“It was done with good intentions, milady. Beric himself is the one that did it.”

“I don’t care about Beric’s intentions. Or yours, or your stupid fucking brotherhood’s.” She pauses. “My mother should have been allowed to rest. She should have been allowed to return to my father.” Her eyes grow glassy, and he thinks she is about to let out a sob, but instead she turns back to the stream to try and wash the remaining blood off her hands.  

Harwin sighs, a large furrow to his brow. Gendry can tell he is torn. All he has ever known is the Starks. His father was Lord Stark’s man and then he himself was. He had seen the Stark children grow up and it was Lord Stark that had sent him out with Beric to catch The Mountain. And now a Stark has killed the Stark he was serving. But Gendry will be damned if he lets Harwin tell the Brotherhood about what happened in that tent.

After Beric’s death, they had stopped giving fair trials. Hanging any enemy of Lady Stoneheart’s, helping her take her revenge. Anyone left with them now eagerly supported her, had the same thirst for revenge as she did. Gendry included. He knows that no argument about Arya being Stoneheart’s daughter will stop them from decrying her for a murderer. It won’t stop them from trying to hang her too.

“You’re going to let us go, Harwin,” he says with purpose, leaving little room for the man to argue. “You’re going to tell them we left in the middle of the night, choosing to head back to the inn. Then maybe we were set upon by Freys or some other River lords. We were never in that tent.”

He looks over at Arya, still crouched beside him in the snow. Her hands are now pink and shriveled and she is levelling a cool gaze at Harwin.

“Aye.” The man nods his head. “You were never in that tent.” Gendry lets out an inaudible sigh, grateful that Harwin’s loyalty had extended to Arya this time, rather than the Brotherhood.

“You’ll need to go, quick. You know what paths the Brotherhood takes boy, what towns they stop in. Be careful.” He takes one last look at Arya before turning to make his way back up the sloped incline.

“Harwin,” Arya calls out.

“Milady?”

“What do you know of funeral rites in the Riverlands?”

“Very little, milady.”

“You’ll ask?” Her tone says that he must.

“Yes.” His back turns to them one last time as he walks off into the night.

Sensing she needs a minute longer, Gendry reluctantly settles down beside her in the snow, letting it soak through his breeches. Silence hangs between them, but his head is full of questions. Where has she been all of this time, if not in the north? Had she really been in Essos? How did she survive on her own? Had she been alone?

Instead he blurts out, “Everyone thought you were dead.”

She turns to look at him, a strange look passing over her face. “Arya Stark was dead,” is all she ends up saying, before looking down at her hands. He had known something was off when he had seen her again. That restless energy she’d had before she had disappeared seemed to be gone, replaced by something calmer. Her words had a different inflection to them.

“We need to leave before dawn. The Brotherhood’s not the only group of outlaws out here. If we head—”

“We don’t need to do anything, Gendry. I’m going North. And you should stay here.” She begins wiping snow off her breeches, preparing to get up.

He stares at her, dumbfounded. “Course I’m coming with you.”

“Don’t be stupid Gendry.”

He can feel his jaw clench and his nostrils flare. “No, Arya, you don’t be stupid.” She looks at him upon hearing her name, her movements stopping. “I thought you had died. I couldn’t stop you from running and for years I thought it had been my fault. And then we heard about your wedding—”

“It wasn’t my wedding,” she snaps. There’s anger in her voice now too, a hint of the old Arya returning.

“Yeah, well I know that now, don’t I? I was finally hearing you’re alive, only to be told it might’ve been better if you actually had died. But now, here you are, strolling through the woods, easy as you please, and I find you. I actually find you, safe and alive. Not dead, and not married to some bastard.” Her eyes have become downcast at that, and he sees her teeth are worrying her bottom lip, just as she used to do.

“Arya,” he hesitates, “I didn’t spend the last few years taking care of orphans and serving your mother for no reason.” He stops there, figuring it best to let a few things be left unsaid for now. “So, yeah, I’m not letting you leave without me. Not this time.”

She nods, the moon casting her pink, cold bitten cheeks into light. He clears his throat. “Alright. Like I said, we should leave soon. But why north?”

Her brow furrows. “What do you mean?”

“The Riverlands aren’t safe Arya, but the North’s not much better. And if we get there, and someone recognizes you and realizes that the real Arya Stark isn’t holed up in some castle…”

“Gendry,” she starts, “all of my family is dead.” She lets out a humorless laugh. “I’ve just seen to that.” He winces. “Jon…well I’ve heard things about Jon, and I need to see for myself. I need to go north.”

“And your sister?”

“Sansa? What about her?”

“Not long ago we heard some news about her. Some say she’s been in the Vale with some lord from King’s Landing.”

She shakes her head. “No. No, I went to the Vale. Sansa’s long dead, I know it. The imp probably killed her,” she says with disgust.

He is taken aback by how much Arya’s reminds him of her mother in this moment. Or the version of her mother he had known. “Stoneheart was sure it wasn’t her neither. You really want to go north then? The winds are rising Arya, and I may have never been further than the Riverlands, but even I know it’ll be a hard journey.”

She leans forward into him, placing her left hand on his right. He looks down at where they’re joined. He knows her hands are freezing from drying in the cold night air, but all he feels there is heat. Her hands are still as small and soft as he remembers, though he can feel the slight dig of callouses along them. Shaking his head to clear it, he looks back up at her, their eyes meeting.

“I’ve heard horrible things about Jon, Gendry, all the way in—” she stops. “I need to see for myself. I need to find out what has happened to my brother.”

He’s noticed her incomplete sentence, but, seeing the distraught look in her eyes, drops it, finding himself wanting to reassure her. “We don’t get much news from the north Arya. I have no idea what’s waiting for us up there, but we will. We’ll find out about your brother.”

She shakes her head up and down quickly, eyes glistening. She looks tired, and Gendry doesn’t blame her. Who knows how much sleep she had been able to get traveling out here all on her own? After what she had been through today though, he doubted she would be having a peaceful sleep in a while.

He looks up at the sky, sees that they have been sitting there much longer than he had planned to. He is finally starting to feel the snow that has soaked through into his clothes and his ass is freezing. He looks back down at her, prepared to tell her they really need to leave this time, when he catches a peculiar look on her face. She is staring intently at his own, only her eyes aren’t focused on his, they seem to be focused on…oh.

His face starts to heat up despite the cold as she continues staring at his lips unabashedly. Her eyes flicker up to his quickly, the hand that had still been resting on his own now reaching up and landing firmly on his chest. He feels frozen as he sees her face moving slowly toward his. He is intensely aware right now of just how different this Arya is from the one he had  all those years ago. For one, that Arya had been a child, hounded by hunger and constantly on the run. This Arya is near a woman grown, her body having filled out from age and consistent meals. That Arya had been wild, prone to outbursts and impatience. This Arya is calmer, with a calculating, almost predatory look in her eyes. As she closes more distance between the two of them, her cold breath mingling with his own, he realizes just how attracted he is to her.

He gulps nervously, knowing he should pull away. That he should insist they leave, right now. But he cannot seem to look away from her eyes, sensing a hint of vulnerability beneath the predatory gleam. He breathes out softly, nearly whispering, “Arya, what are you—” She cuts him off with her mouth. Her lips are cold and firm against his. They move against his for just a second before she breaks away.

He is staring at her, dumbfounded and confused. He can see the heat coloring his cheeks mirrored on her own. “Just wanted to know what it would be like as Arya Stark,” she says. His forehead scrunches up in thought. He figures there must be some truth to what the Tyroshi said about where she had been, given the odd way she has been prone to speak every few sentences. He had never heard anyone in Westeros refer to themselves by their own name like that.  

He can barely form the words to ask about it when she says, “We should head out now. Dawn will come soon, and we’ve been here too long.” She stands, a hand offered out to him to pull him up. He grabs onto it, bringing himself to his feet. “We’ll need to steal some horses now that the Brotherhood has mine.”

She begins walking away from him, opposite the direction Harwin had gone. He can’t help shaking his head a bit at the confidence with which she is guiding them, despite not knowing her way around. He is glad to have seen glimpses of the old Arya within this new woman that has returned to him. He will not ask where she has come from just yet, who she has been with, or what she has been through. They will have plenty of time to speak on their way north, and he does not expect her to be willing to yield that information just yet.

As he begins following her, it feels as though a weight has been lifted from his chest. He is not proud of things he has done over the years in her mother’s name. In her name. As much as he had taken care of those orphans at the inn to try to atone for what had happened, it did not erase all of the blood that the Brotherhood had spilled and the death that they had brought that he had turned a blind eye to. Assisted in, even. Perhaps, over time, Gendry will be able to speak about that too.

He has caught up with her when she suddenly stops, glancing over her shoulder at him to say, “You still walk too loudly.” A small smile graces both of their lips as she faces forward again and continues on. Yes, they will have time.

As they continue on their way, moonlight the only thing to guide them, Gendry thinks he hears the sound of wolves in the distance, louder than they have been in months.

[hogwarts-and-mistletoe]

The Other Yule Ball

Title: The Other Yule Ball

Rating: Mature/NC-17

Category: Yule Ball (obviously, though it’s not the one in 4th year)

Summary: Ron and Hermione attend a charity Yule Ball twenty-five years after the original Yule Ball where everything went wrong. This time both of them end up getting what they want.

A/N: I know the fics are published anonymously but still wanted to add a tiny note. Basically, this is the first fic I’ve written in maybe six(?) years, so apologies if the writing is incredibly rusty. I hope you’re, nevertheless, able to enjoy the Christmassy theme and everyone’s favourite couple.

16th of December 2023

“You reckon Rose and Hugo will be embarrassed to have to deal with their Mum and Dad showing up at their school dance?” Ron asked his wife while absentmindedly adjusting his dark navy coloured dress robes in front of the bedroom mirror.

“Oh, I doubt it,” Hermione laughed while her hair neatly arranged itself in a low bun at the back of her neck at the flick of a wand. “I’m sure they’ll be quite happy to see us as long as you keep off the dance floor.” She stepped forward to adjust her husband’s tie.

“You know, ‘Mione, I’m actually quite excited to go,” Ron smirked, “kind of makes me feel like I’m getting a second chance at this whole Yule Ball thing with you.” He wrapped his arms around Hermione’s waist, as she turned towards the mirror to adjust loose strands of hair around her neck. “Perhaps, I’ll even get a cheeky snog out of you this time unless old habits take place and I end up behaving like a jealous git again.”

Hermione spun around in Ron’s arms to face him with a devious look in her eyes. “I doubt Krum is coming so your chances of a snog are rather high,” she placed her hands on Ron’s cheeks, feeling the prickly stubble under her fingers, “we do, however, really need to get on our way to catch the ministry portkey or Rose will probably deduct house points off us for turning up late.”

***

After hurriedly apparating to the ministry and using an old red umbrella as a portkey, Ron and Hermione found themselves at the front gates of Hogwarts. Hermione, having returned to the castle to complete her education had eventually gotten used to the school and its grounds again following the horrors of the battle but Ron’s visits to the school following its restoration after the battle had been limited to hurried visits through various of the seven hidden passageways and a few nights in the Prefect’s Bathroom.

Now, twenty-five years later, he was returning to the castle as an honorary Order of Merlin First Class invitee alongside his wife and best friend. As the years had passed, he had grown increasingly tired of attending one charity event after another. It was not as if he did not care or believe them to be important, he just felt that the best way for him to remember Fred, Lupin, Tonks, Dobby and everyone else was by spending time with his loved ones in the comfort of his cosy home, or at work with the Auror department ensuring similar terrors could never take place again. However, he had to admit to himself that tonight he was excited – he always really missed his children during term and it had been a while since him and Hermione had had a night off work together that included something other than them just falling asleep in each other’s arms on the sofa.

As Ron walked towards the Great Hall his mind kept wandering back to the last time he had attended a ball in the very same room. The magical ceiling was glistening in a similar way and enchanted instruments on either side of the room were playing cheery winter tunes. If only he could’ve travelled back in time and smacked his 14-year-old self on the head and forced him to make a move on Hermione and ask her to the ball, many things during their year on the run could have perhaps been so much easier. But as he walked a few steps behind his beloved wife, who had just spotted Harry and Ginny chatting with Neville and Hannah Longbottom, he was overcome with the familiar warm feeling that even if their path to each other had not been the most straightforward one, they had gotten there in the end and that was all that mattered. As a content smile crept upon his lips, his thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a familiar voice not so different from his own.

“Oi! Knew you and Mum would be here at the last minute. Had trouble tying your tie? Or got too distracted while getting dressed? Actually, don’t answer that last question I really don’t want to know,” 15-year-old Hugo laughed and hugged his father.

“Watch your words young man, I’ve heard you’ve got a date of your own for tonight. Would be a shame if any embarrassing stories came up within her earshot,” Ron said and ruffled Hugo’s hair.

Rose, Albus and Lily also appeared from the crowd, and once Hermione had hugged both of her children, and Ginny and Harry had greeted Albus and Lily, the group headed to find their assigned seats. As they walked through the hall, towards one of the round tables in the front corner, Harry picked up glasses of bubbling champagne off a tray floating nearby and handed them to his friends.

***

Eventually, the quartet had seated themselves and the chatter bubbling around the room settled down as Kingsley Shacklebolt made his way towards the front of the hall dark purple robes whooshing in the air following his steps. As the Minister reached the enchanted microphone the hall fell silent in anticipation.

“Welcome, everyone. As I’m sure all of you know, this year marks the quarter century jubilee of the Battle of Hogwarts during which Lord Voldemort was defeated thus marking the end of the Second Wizarding War.” Kingsley eyed the quiet room. “Despite all the grieving and ache faced by too many families, it brings me the greatest joy to see everyone gathered in this room tonight. The Ministry, alongside the educational board of Hogwarts, felt that a celebration was in order, to pay special remembrance to those we lost, and to appreciate those around us who fought valiantly for our community to get it where we stand today.”

“The generation now studying within the walls of this castle, has been fortunate to grow up in a safe and tolerant wizarding society. However, we must never forget the price paid and the sacrifices made to achieve this status quo. Through hours of relentless work by our Aurors in the field as well as the numerous officials at Ministry headquarters, we have established a wizarding community that not only takes pride in its inclusiveness, but seeks to teach this moral right here at Hogwarts to ensure a peaceful future to all witches and wizards, regardless of their family background.” Kingsley waved his wand and his champagne flute glided smoothly across the air into his hand. “Therefore, I invite all of you, to raise a toast with me to everyone who has helped shape our future into where it stands today, and to each and every student, present and future, who will wander through the corridors of this castle and contribute to guaranteeing many more generations of peace.”

The end of Kingsley’s speech was marked by a stern nod and followed by the bright, glistening sound of hundreds of glasses clinking together. Then, with a swift wave of the Minister’s wand the enchanted instruments picked up a cheerful song and every plate within the hall was filled with a mountain of delicious food.

“Well, I’ll drink to our children being safer than us in this castle any day,” Ron said and emptied his champagne flute in one go.

“You’d better pace yourself,” Ginny smirked from across the table, “doubt your and Harry’s tolerance is at the same level it used to be at twenty years ago when a Firewhiskey bottle was a staple decoration on the drawing room table at Grimmauld’s place.”

“Or maybe,” Ron turned towards Hermione and whispered into her ear, “I’m in need of a bit of liquid encouragement to actually ask you to dance with me.”

Ron placed his hand on her thigh underneath the table as Hermione challenged him.

“Can’t remember heaps of encouragement being necessary the other night while we danced in the living room.” She saw the slightest of blushes creep up her husband’s cheeks, for which she highly doubted the alcohol now circling his veins was solely responsible for.

“So I heard Hugo has a date?” Ginny suddenly asked Hermione allowing her to pretend to ignore her husband’s hand creeping slightly higher along her thigh.

“Oh yes, he told us he was going with one of Lily’s friends. He seemed quite nervous in the letter he sent to us last week,” Hermione smiled at Ginny as they eyed the group of the fifth year Gryffindors to see what their younger children were up to.

“Well, I’m just glad to be at a Yule Ball where the two of you,” Harry piped in and gestured towards Ron and Hermione, “are actually talking to each other. Really would not have fancied another evening of silent treatment and moping on either of your parts,” he continued making both Ginny and Hermione laugh.

“Well, best friend, I’ll have you know my wife and I are both planning to behave just swimmingly tonight,” Ron said in a mock-serious manner to Harry, followed by a collective chuckle among the group.

***

After three delicious courses of dinner and a few shots of Firewhiskey had by Ron and Harry (Hermione and Ginny had forbidden them from sharing the drinks with Hugo and Albus who had eagerly approached the table in hopes of sneaking off with something stronger than Butterbeer), everyone was in good spirits. The dancefloor at the centre of the room had been getting more crowded as the night went on. The band of unmanned instruments at the side of the room was now playing a steady waltz and small enchanted snowflakes were steadily falling from the ceiling of the Great Hall. Ginny and Harry had been among the first guests to enter the dancefloor, but Ron and Hermione were still sitting at the table, attempting to unnoticeably keep an eye on a flustered Hugo who was dancing with his date. Rose and her friends, on the other hand, had disappeared to Gryffindor tower a while back smuggling what looked like quite a few bottles of mulled Christmas wine with them.  

“Boy that daughter of ours is smart,” Ron muttered to Hermione, “reckon if Harry and I had just grabbed a drink and disappeared all those years ago with the lads we could’ve avoided that massive argument.”

“Or, you could have just asked me to the ball with you, we could have had a nice swirl on the dance floor and everything would have been fine. On the other hand, I highly doubt Harry’s diplomacy skills would be half as good as they are today if it hadn’t been for all of our arguing,” Hermione said with a snicker.

“Well, not everyone can have the social skills of our son there,” Ron nodded in the direction of Hugo who was, rather impressively, waltzing with his date, “but I do think I’ll probably need to sneak a dance out of you at some point tonight, so we might as well get on the dancefloor before George and Harry convince me to join them at the bar for another round of Firewhiskey. Can’t guarantee I won’t be stepping on your toes if I have more to drink,” Ron said while standing up confidently, pulling Hermione up with himself and towards the dancefloor.

As the gentle notes of the music twinkled in the air, Hermione and Ron swayed on the dancefloor their steps circling in a soft, waltz-like manner. The confidence gained by both of them over the years, in addition to the familiarity of being close to each other, meant the actual act of dancing required little focus.

As Ron’s palm on the small of Hermione’s back pulled her closer, she shifted her hand from her husband’s strong shoulder to fidget with the soft fabric at the collar of his dress shirt.  The air between their bodies seemed to be getting increasingly more static as the dance went on. Hermione could feel Ron’s warm breath on her cheek and when looking up, she was pleasantly unsurprised to find her gaze met by an accustomed longing in Ron’s blue eyes. With the notes of the waltz beginning to subtly fade, Ron leaned down towards his wife.

"I think one song was enough dancing for tonight,” he attempted to say nonchalantly but ended up catching his breath mid-sentence. “Fancy a bit of fresh air? I think the hall is a bit -”

“ – crowded? Couldn’t agree more.” Hermione blurted and nodded towards the doors.

***

Ron was suddenly very glad of every forbidden night-time-wander around the castle, knowing exactly which direction to head in. He could hear his own blood rushing in his ears and pooling in other parts of his body and by the hastiness in Hermione’s steps alongside him, he knew she was feeling the same way. Eventually, they reached the end of a corridor finding a simple wooden door with a heavy but unlocked pewter latch. After a quick peek behind them, the couple hurriedly stepped into the storage closet.

As soon as Ron closed the door, Hermione’s fingers rushed to intertwine with strands of his hair and pulled him down to a deep kiss. Feeling Hermione bite down on his bottom lip, Ron’s arms snaked around her waist, eagerly lifting her up onto the almost-too-conveniently-for-it-to-be-a-coincidence placed shelf, hiking up the hem of Hermione’s dress in the process.

“God, as much as I loved dancing with you it was really a struggle to keep my hands somewhere appropriate for the public eye. Had forgotten dancing with you gets me all hot and bothered,” Ron breathed placing kisses down Hermione’s neck in the process.

“Mmm,” Hermione hummed kissing her husband’s stubbly chin, “I personally was struggling to keep my thoughts away from how during the ball years ago all I hoped for was a snog in a broom closet with my ginger best friend, no matter how hideous his dress robes –”

“Better not mock the dress robes, might just ditch you here and now,” Ron laughed, the vibrations of his voice sending shivers down Hermione’s spine. “Not that I have even a fraction of the self-control necessary for that,” he continued with his voice quivering as Hermione’s hands traced down his torso, unbuttoning the silvery buttons on his dress shirt.

With his desire developing within him, Ron made a conscious attempt to stay focused as his hands entangled themselves from Hermione’s hair and traced their way to the back of her neck. After eagerly unzipping the fabric of Hermione’s silky dress, Ron pulled the top half of the smooth fabric down to expose a red lace bra, which he knew to be part of a set with matching knickers.

“Cheeky witch, you planned this, didn’t you?” he chuckled his hot breath lingering in the air for the slightest moment before being captured by Hermione’s lips. Their kisses grew increasingly desperate and Hermione leaned against the wall as Ron’s mouth worked its way skilfully down her chest and then up her neck towards her ear, where he played with her earlobe between his teeth making her feel dizzy.

Hermione’s hands found the waistband of Ron’s trousers under the robes and with swift, rehearsed movements she unbuckled his belt, the sound of metal sharp in the dim air of the storage closet. As Hermione slid her hand downward and picked up a steady pace around Ron’s hardened erection, he placed his hand on her thigh, as an attempt to balance himself.  Ron leaned his forehead against Hermione’s, his lips only barely not touching hers, as his hand found its way to the centre between Hermione’s widened legs pushing aside the delicate lacy fabric. Tentatively, he dipped two fingers inside her warmth, gaining an appreciative sigh in response.

“Really not the time for teasing,” Hermione groaned, pushing herself down onto Ron’s palm, only to find her pining met by a smug smirk on her favourite ginger’s face.

“Oh is it not, now? Are you saying this is what you’ve had on your mind for the whole evening then? Just been thinking of me fucking you in a storage closet? You really should voice these thoughts more often, you know,” Ron replied struggling to keep huskiness out of his voice with Hermione’s fingers altering between gentle caresses and firm strokes along his cock.  

“N-not just this –”, Hermione whimpered as Ron’s skilled fingers picked up their pace and he leaned in to nibble on the sensitive skin around her collarbones, “– need you, closer,” she pleaded sparing the tiniest of thoughts towards whether the closet they were in was soundproof.

Reaching down towards Ron’s length once more, delicately playing around with her fingers, she watched his eyes turn darker with lust. Within moments she found his large hand drawing her towards the edge of the shelf as he positioned himself, teasing her folds with his tip for an excruciatingly long second, before sinking deep into her. Any anxieties regarding the door of the closet being locked, or whether anyone would be able to hear them were long gone from Hermione’s mind as she groaned at the feeling of Ron filling her.

“Not even sure I remembered to tell you how fucking beautiful you looked tonight”, Ron muttered amidst trying to catch his breath while the shelf Hermione was positioned on slammed rhythmically against the wall. “I mean, fuck, you always do but, fuck, did I want to unzip that dress off you before we were even out of the house tonight.”

Ron picked up his pace and slid his hand down to rub Hermione’s clit, resulting in her nails pressing down on the skin on his back, reminding him of the days of being extra cautious in the changing rooms at the Auror Academy if he did not want everyone to see the marks his girlfriend often left on his pale skin amidst their desires.

It did not take long for the rhythm of Ron’s thrusts to become uneven and Hermione slid her hand to the back of his neck, grasping strands of his hair between her fingers in the process.

“Fuck, Ron, it’s too much”, Hermione choked right before her legs tensed around his waist and her centre dissolved into warm pleasure. As she pulled Ron’s lips down for a heated kiss and nibbled on his lip, his moans became increasingly louder and an assortment of profanities rolled off his lips into Hermione’s mouth as his knees buckled ever so slightly at his release.

“God, I love you,” Hermione whispered gently while placing soft kisses on her husband’s sweaty forehead as the pair remained intertwined.

“Love you too,” Ron mumbled, steadying himself and standing up to catch his breath.

After a few waves of wands to clean up, some moments of gentle kisses and Ron eventually managing to convince Hermione that her hair looked acceptably unmessy (“I swear, ‘Mione, if it looked like it normally does post-shag I would tell you! It looks fine, no one will know where we’ve been”), Ron peeked out of the door to check that the corridor was empty.

***

“If only I had actually bothered with Divination at school and been able to see what just happened, perhaps I would have been a lot more convinced of the subject’s credibility”, Ron sniggered, closing the storage closet door behind Hermione and himself. As the couple turned around the corner they were momentarily shocked to bump into Hugo, who looked to be in a hurry.

“Where on earth are you on your way to?” Hermione quizzed him, making a mental note of the fact that Hugo was alone and did not seem to be on his way to the very same closet his parents had just vacated.

“Ehmm, the loo?”, Hugo said his answer sounding more like a question as he eyed his parents with a confused look on his face.

“You sure you’re not just planning on sneaking into that storage closet at the end of the hall for a cheeky snog with your date?” Ron laughed deviously, glancing at Hermione who was attempting to inconspicuously check her dress was looking presentable.

“Storage closet? The only thing at the end of that hall, as far as I know, is a boy’s loo”, Hugo said pressingly and directed a judging glance at his parents. “I reaaally don’t want to know why the pair of you seem to be under the impression there’s a storage closet. On that note, I’m off. I’ll see you later.”

“Cheeky lad. The loo?”, Ron said grabbing Hermione by the waist as they headed down the corridor. “I’ll bet you five galleons that in a few seconds we’ll run into that girl he was attempting to charm with his well-rehearsed dance steps –” but his thought was interrupted when he noticed the expression on Hermione’s face.

“Actually, I don’t think he was lying”, she said a complacent grin creeping upon her still flushed cheeks, “but rather we’ve just established something no one was entirely sure of until today.”

“What’s that?” Ron asked looking increasingly perplexed while inattentively smoothing down the unruly hair at the back of his neck.

“Funny, isn’t it, how conveniently placed that shelf to the right of the door was? Perfect height for you to lift me on? Handy that no one else barged in despite us forgetting to lock the door and the castle being packed tonight?”, Hermione smirked. “It seems the Room of Requirement may not have been destroyed by the Fiendfyre all those years ago after all.”

[sarah-bae-maas]

A Court of Hearts and Darkness Chapter Thirty

It’s been over a century since the epic and bloody war against Hybern, but a new, unprecedented horror lies in wait to threaten everything the Inner Circle holds dear.

At a mere 17, it seems that the only one who can save them is the Heir to the Night Court, Feyre and Rhysand’s daughter Eleana, but as a creature so vile promises to kill everyone she loves, she must combat the urge to succumb to the darkness herself. The key to success lies hidden within her mate, the bastard born Kaden, who is as oblivious to the bond as her Court is oblivious to the war on the horizon.

With the help of her cousin and warrior Felix, the son of the famed Nesta and Cassian, they will try to save everything they hold dear, hopefully before the darkness takes them all.

(This fic was written pre-acowar, so please bear in mind there are some small differences but it can still hopefully be enjoyed!)

Link on Ao3 Masterlist

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***

-Chapter 30- 

Rhys sat in the atrium turned war room, calmly waiting as the other High Lords and their entourages sat. Or more rather he looked calm. He felt sick to his stomach, clutching Feyre’s hand tightly.

They were all in a wide circle, the middle taken up by a round table with a map of Prythian covering it.  Places where there were confirmed creature attacks were highlighted in red, suspected attacks blue, and potential attacks yellow. All the potential places had been compiled by Cassian and Azriel over the last twenty-four hours, and Rhys was sure more of the map would become the colour once the other courts had their input.

Rhys leant back to where Cassian was sitting behind him. “Where are Azriel and Kaden?” he hissed.

“They’re not coming, some issue arose. Az said they would try to make it.”

“Is he kidding? This is not the time for something else.”

Cassian shook his head. “I don’t know what to tell you other than I’m sure it’s important.”

Rhys sighed and tightened his grip on his wife.

“Thank you all for coming after the events of this morning,” Feyre opened after they’d all sat and settled.

The tension in the room was so thick it felt like you were inhaling it with every breath. Rhys stared at them all – the trauma their courts faced evident in everyone. To his left was Lucien, who had the least amount of deaths in his court but the most physical destruction. Next to him was Glaslane, his hair in disarray and his clothes still stained from the battle this morning. Rhys sympathised with the young fae; it was his first true battle, all the other High Lords seasoned warriors at this point. Thesan had not donned his usual ornamental gold and ruby clothing, he too still wearing his battle clothes. The Dawn court had the highest number of fatalities among the courts, including the youngest brother of Thesan’s mate – a gut-wrenching loss for the males. This was especially devastating, as the majority of his Peregryn forces were across the sea collecting information on a project Thesan didn’t disclose.  Kallias, next in the circle with Viviane close at his side, was lucky in battle. They were, by random chance and the luck of the Cauldron, having their annual Winter Games. All his soldiers and most of his citizens were in the capital, meaning his army could more easily defend the Court. Helion had not been so lucky, the High Lord gravely injured himself, unable and not willing to find a healer until the creatures were gone. His right arm was in a sling, and it was unclear if he would ever have full use of it again. Lastly, on Rhysand’s right, was Tarquin. Without the Night Court forces Rhys had been able to provide, the damage would have been much, much worse, but it was still significant.

Rhys didn’t know what the others were thinking. He couldn’t imagine the thoughts running through their heads at such a sudden attack. There was a war on the way, and until today they didn’t even know about it.

“I appreciate the pleasantries, Feyre, but we did not come here for that.” Thesan’s voice sounded like gravel as a body was dragged along it. “I’m not going to sit here and pretend that it wasn’t your daughter who ravaged my court.”

“It wasn’t Eleana,” Feyre began.

“I saw her with my own eyes,” Viviane finished. “She was at our Court too.”

“And mine,” Glaslane said, though it clearly pained him. He and Eleana were friends, and it would hurt him to think she was capable of such things.  

“We know, but please listen to us,” Rhys begged. “We know it was Eleana, but it wasn’t really her.” Rhys gave them an edited version of what had happened to his daughter, making no elusions to the possibility that she may have done this herself nor that Felix was dead.

“Rhys, you know I think highly of you, but I wouldn’t put it past you to lie if your daughter was in danger. How do we know you’re telling the truth?” Tarquin asked.

“I don’t need to tell you stories of her, you all know her well.  Tarquin, she came to you months ago about attacks she feared were related to each other. Varian can attest to the grief we have felt losing her.”

“With all due respect, that means nothing Rhysand. With great power comes an easy demise at your own hands. As much as I hate to say it, it’s not out of the realm of possibility that she turned mad,” Thesan said.

“You’re wrong.” Everyone in the room snapped their gaze to Glaslane. “She told me her theory about the creatures at Starfall. It was I that urged her not to share with anyone else, lest she be ridiculed by such a preposterous idea. But I also said to find more proof and it seemed she did. And while she investigated this, so did I.” Glaslane reached down and pulled a stack of notebooks from a satchel, standing and passing them around. “Eleana was scared, but the girl’s smart; she knew exactly what was happening in my court. If you had seen her you would know there’s no way she orchestrated all this. I swear by it.”

The High Lords and Ladies started flipping through the books.

“My research led me to our once-sacred mountain. It was there I discovered where I believe the leader of the creatures first came to Prythian – through a magical portal of sorts. It was a room full of strange artefacts and symbols, ones that would glow at your touch.”

“Can you lead us there?” asked Helion.

“No, I destroyed it upon realising what it was. I couldn’t let anything else come through – though I do believe only this one woman did. But her magic is dark, something I fear we haven’t seen before. Her grasp over life and death is something reminiscent of the Cauldron.”

“This information is… staggering,” Viviane whispered, turning to her mate with fear in her eyes.

“But why Eleana?” Thesan prodded.

“Besides her obvious power, there’s something else.” Glaslane turned to stare at Rhys, his eyes ablaze. “Every track, every trail, every sign, leads back to the Night Court.”

____

 Kaden was tempted to murder the thing behind the iron bars. His hands went to the blades at his sides, his feet shifted into a fighting stance, and he bared his teeth and snarled.

“Not the warm welcome I was expecting, but that’s okay; I still love you.”

Kaden launched himself, and Azriel caught him by the back of his shirt and yanked him back. “Calm down, son.”

“What the hell is that.”

“Well, it claims to be Felix. We know better, of course. Whatever magic it has can’t be used in its cell though, so just calm down.”

“Where did you find it?”

“It set off the wards at Cassian and Nesta’s. It was trying to enter the house.”

Kaden’s being buzzed in anger. Visibly shaking, he looked the horrid thing in the cell up and down. “You’ve chosen the wrong form to take.” Kaden spat in its direction, the thing behind the bars wiping the saliva off his crinkled face.

“At any other time that might have turned me on a little, but I hope you know how disgusting that was.”

Hearing words that once might have come out of Felix’s mouth, and in his voice, revolted every cell in Kaden’s body. It was lucky Azriel was here to hold him back, or Kaden would have had a field day ruining this thing. He would replicate everything his brothers did to him as a child, then make it worse.

“I will kill you, and I’ll enjoy every second of it.”

“And you thought I was the dramatic one. You put me to shame!”

It grinned so widely Kaden felt blinded by it. He turned his face away, looking to Azriel. The older male was observing the interactions thoughtfully and didn’t look as though he was going to add anything.

“Now,” the thing said. “Let’s stop dallying and get me out of here. I have little sisters and one very emotional cousin to attend to.”

Kaden and Azriel gave it dirty looks. It rolled its eyes in response and continued on.

“Speaking of my sisters, have you done what I asked Kaden?” For the first time, the thing faltered, his forehead creasing and doubt transforming his eyes. “I’m not sure how long I was gone for… The last thing I remember before awaking was telling you goodbye. How long has it been? Quathryn and Thea are still small, yeah? I hope they are.”

Kaden grabbed on to Azriel’s arm, pawing at him the way a hurt animal seeking comfort might.

“Don’t listen to it,” Azriel whispered. “I believe it has daemati abilities. It knows so much because you do.”

“But its magic isn’t supposed to work.”

“Potentially if it was strong enough, it might be able to read our thoughts from inside. Rhys can; I’m sure Eleana could, too.”

“Not daemati, but as good looking as one. How can I prove to you that it’s really me? I’ll tell you anything you need to hear to know for sure who I am.”

“Not an option,” Kaden snarled. “If you’re daemati you’d know everything we do, which I’m sure you’ve already guessed.”

“Kaden, please. It’s me, I swear on the Cauldron it’s me.”

Kaden turned his back to it, stepping in front of Azriel so their eyes were level and he could pretend that there was nothing behind him. “Why did you bring me here? Let’s just burn it and be done with this.”

Azriel put his hands on Kaden’s shoulders. “I needed you here because this thing set off the wards, but also got into the house. It never should have been able to cross the fences into the yard.”

“What does that mean?”

“That its powerful enough to get around something Rhys, Mor and Feyre all made together or…” Azriel trailed off, not needed to say the words aloud for Kaden to know what they are.

“Or it’s Felix, and we know what the other part of Eleana’s bargain was.”

“Indeed.”

Kaden turned back to the thing, who was leaning on the bars listening in on their conversation.

“Eleana made a deal? Do I even want to know what she’s gotten herself into now?”

The sound of Eleana’s name in his mouth felt like scissors being jammed into Kaden’s ears. It was an excruciating reminder that his best friend was dead, the love of his life may as goddamn well be, and there was shit all he could do about it.

Kaden couldn’t be held back this time as he snapped, pulling the thing to him by its hair and slamming his fist into its face, once, twice, again. He snapped his hand back to do it again but was bested by the thing who used Kaden’s hold of his hair to pull him forward and slam him into the bars.

“Stop,” his voice boomed through the halls. “You are better than this. You don’t needlessly attack people. You don’t fight people when it’s not fair.”

“You don’t know me.”

“I know you better than anyone.”

“No, Felix did. Eleana did. And then he left, and she did, and maybe my conscious and morality followed along after them.”

“You are no beast.”

“I wasn’t before, but you dare utter her name again and I’ll happily kill you, fair fight or not.”

_____

 “What are you implying?” Feyre was scandalised, Glaslane wouldn’t seriously implicate them in this?

“It’s no secret that the Night Court lives and breeds power. By all accounts, Eleana’s magic shouldn’t even be able to exist at her age, let alone for someone who isn’t even a High Lady yet. And correct me if I’m wrong, but she hasn’t started displaying the signs of inheriting yours, hers just keeps growing and growing.”

“That’s correct.”

“Pair that with the most powerful High Lord to ever exist, the first High Lady to ever exist, as well as an Inner Circle who all in their own right have a peculiar amount of strength, and what do you get? A beacon to anyone who comes here and can sense magic. I’m not implying you had anything to do with this, I know for a fact you don’t, but it also doesn’t surprise me that this creature decided Eleana was the perfect vessel for her.”

“That makes sense,” Kallias affirmed. “Furthermore, it seems to align with what we think this so-called queen’s motivations are. It wants control more than anything else, what did you say it called her creatures? The most vicious yet subservient form of life?”

“Indeed, she did.” Feyre was near positive on it. Of course, it was Kaden that had heard those words, not her, and repeated them.

The fae in the room nodded in agreement, all still skimming through the notebooks Glaslane had given them. The moment of silence that had followed Glaslane’s revelation was a welcome one. It gave them all an opportunity to reflect on the information that had been given to them. What struck Feyre the most, and what often crossed her and her mate’s mind, was how many people Eleana had confided in about the creature attacks before them. It was somewhat comforting to think it was only the High Lord of the Spring Court’s words that led Eleana to her secrecy, but Feyre also knew the truth.

At one point, her daughter had stopped trusting her. And now that Feyre knew the whole truth, she couldn’t delude herself into thinking anything else. The moment that had led to this was another memory that was scarred in her mind. When Eleana had brought the fatal, bloodied Felix home, claiming that he had been attacked by an Impeath, Feyre hadn’t even tried to believe her story.

Next week would have been Felix’s twenty-fifth birthday, and only a few days after would have been Eleana’s eighteenth. When Eleana was born, a bloody affair itself, they joked that the real reason she came early was because her and Felix couldn’t wait to be best friends any longer.

“So, what next?” Kallias broke the silence.

Rhys looked at Kallias, then all others in the room.

“Next, we go to war.”

_____

 Azriel used the hilt of his sword to beat the thing’s hands off of Kaden, pulling his son back. He opened his mouth, likely to tell him off, but Kaden had other ideas.

“I know how to prove it’s really you.”

“Do tell; as lovely as this cell is I’d rather my nice room at camp, thank you very much.” His tone was dripping with a sarcasm so familiar it made Kaden’s heart ache.

“Tell us something we don’t know. Something that only Felix knows that we can verify.”

Azriel looked impressed at the suggestion.

The thing claiming to be Felix looked hesitant, and it was just another nail in its coffin.

“See, you can’t!” Kaden drew a blade. “Can I kill it now?”

“Kaden,” it whispered. “If I know something none of you do it’s because it would hurt you, and I don’t want to do that.”

“What an incredibly predictable excuse.”

It sighed. “Your brother Leeam has a bastard child with a fae he assaulted. He doesn’t know about it, but I moved both her and the child to the Spring Court, where she now works as a maid for Glaslane in the mansion.”

Kaden shut his mouth.

There was silence after the statement, the thing looking at the floor regretfully. “I wanted to tell you, truly. But the mother is someone I know, and she swore me to secrecy. She’s happy now, and safe. Glaslane made sure to keep her and the baby well.”

Kaden didn’t respond, not sure what to do with the information. He glanced at Azriel, who’s jaw had set, and eyes had narrowed. “It will take me one, maybe two hours to confirm this. Kaden, you stay here and guard it. I’ll be back soon.”

“I should come with you-”

“Glaslane is currently at the meeting with Feyre and Rhys, and I’m sorry but right now you have no hold over your emotions. We need to be discreet about this. Cassian and Nesta can’t know anything until we’ve confirmed what exactly this is. Stay here, and make sure it doesn’t go anywhere.”

_____

 They had to know what they were up against, and that included showing the fae in the room the specimen they had retrieved after the Bloodrite. When they first captured it, it was in the hopes that the other Courts won’t have seen it yet – that this was would an easy introduction into the horrors they were about to delve. They had no idea that by the time the meeting occurred all the other Courts would have had brutal strikes against them. They could still use this creature though, for tests on weaknesses and such.

The soldiers that had captured it were also keeping it, and now that group was standing at the doors to the room, a barred cage between them.

All looked on in a mixture of horror and fascination as the soldiers demonstrated things they had learnt about it. Usually, such an important task would be given to a member of the Inner Circle, but Mother knows none of them were capable of such a task considering the state they were in.

They showed oils that made the creature recoil, discussed how starvation and dehydration had affected it, and most interestingly, showed how opal, a seemingly harmless gem, was toxic to the skin.

The demonstration was met with plenty of questions, Cassian himself even asking a few – not as well informed as he would have hoped. He didn’t blame himself. This was not his job and being with his family was his top priority right now.

Cassian was about to voice another query when he saw familiar shadows slinking around the room unbeknownst to everyone there. He was curious as to what his brother was up to, but he wouldn’t interrupt him. Whatever it was, was so predominant that he didn’t announce himself even though he would be invaluable in this discussion.

He watched as Azriel appeared behind Glaslane, who was standing at the back with his entourage in front of him. Azriel stepped out of the darkness to tap Glaslane on the shoulder, silently gesturing him to follow him outside.

Whatever it was, Cassian was sure he’d found out soon.

Glaslane was gone for over a half-hour, but the creature held everyone’s attention so well that they didn’t notice. Cassian would have to have a word with the young fae about that – he needed a more diligent team with him.

When he did come back, it was not with Azriel at his side. He looked slightly troubled and very confused but didn’t speak to any of the fae he’d brought with him, making Cassian question what the issue between him and Az had been.

How very, very curious.

_____

 “For the sake of play pretend let’s say you are Felix – oh, the upper right corner thanks.”

The man drew an X in the spot Kaden indicated. In return, he drew an O under it. “That seems easy enough.”

“X lower right. Anyway, so if you are Felix, then you are my best bet for advice.”

“Ha! I win.” The man looked triumphantly at his line of Os.

“You went first and got the middle spot, of course you were going to win.”

“You’re just a sore loser. Is the advice you want on naughts and crosses strategies?”

“Maybe, this is the first time I’ve played. But I digress. I have an issue with my better half’s aunt.”

The man scoffed. “By her aunt do you mean my mother? My father told me she can be pretty nasty if the circumstances are right, and she’s likely quite emotional over my death. Do you have cards?”

“No to both. Amren returned to Velaris and thinks I’m an impostor of sorts. She even implied I had something to do with Felix’s death. I have string, we could play Cat’s Cradle.”

“Maybe we should hold off on the games for a second and chat about this Amren problem.”

Kaden nodded, bored out of his mind.

At least he wasn’t angry anymore.

Or tired.

He sat against the wall with his legs straight in front of him, the man in the cell mirroring him, scribbles in the dust from the various games they had played to fill the time.

“She’s not wrong. All this trouble with the creatures started happening after Eleana and I met. Apparently, Eleana’s personality has completely changed since meeting me, which is just lovely to hear. It’s almost validating in a way; I always knew I would be her downfall.”

“What Amren is forgetting is that I knew you well before El- sorry, won’t say it, before she did. Not just that, but we found shit from years ago that looked like creature attacks. That was eons before you even thought about leaving your family. As for her personality, she is definitely a lot more on edge, but one would expect that after what she’s been through. Honestly though, I think she would have been a lot worse if not for you. You kept her grounded. You made her feel safe, feel loved. There’s not a single time in our lives that I can remember her being as happy as when she was with you. Don’t take what Amren said to heart – she’s wrong about you.”

“How do I change her mind?”

“Just keep doing you. She’ll see you the way we all do eventually, Amren is just very protective. We were the first children in her life, and it was like we were one of the many treasures she hoards. When we were with anyone else, they were happy to let people come greet us. If we were with Amren? She would literally snap at them – with her teeth.”

“That’s a sweet thought. Little baby Felix and Eleana with their protective aunt.”

“Baby? She did this well into our teens.”

Kaden laughed, a deep happy rumble that hadn’t come from him since the Bloodrite.

“Okay, fake Felix, tell me what Eleana was like as a child then.”

“If you’re wondering if she was always,” he waved his arms around, “so much, then yes. Everything she’s ever done as been over the top and in a manner to get the most attention possible. Like her first big show of magic was when she was one, two? Her and her bloody darkness filled up the whole damn forest. The animals didn’t come back for days! And she just sat there, all cuddled up in Rhys’ arms smiling away. She also loved having her hair done.”

“She still does. I’ve become somewhat of an expert braider because of it.”

“That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest.”

“What else.”

“She was a baby born for the skies. There is no Lay- sorry.”

“You can say her name if you want. It’s a beautiful name.”

“It is. Feyre hated it before she was born.”

“How can that be?” Kaden snickered.

“Rhys just started calling the bump that. He was convinced it was a girl and told everyone her name was Eleana. Do you know how confusing that was for six-year-old me? Feyre would always bite his head off about it, but then Laya was born and it was perfect.”

Kaden smiled. “You’re a good liar, fake Felix.”

“Yes, but not right now.” He smiled wistfully, scuffing his foot in the loose stones and dirt. “Since I’ve been so gracious with my knowledge, can you answer a question for me?”

Kaden pursed his lips. “Why not? But I am just as good a liar as you.”

“Before, when you said you’d lost me and Eleana, what did you mean? Where is she?”

Any laughter Kaden had, any semblance of a good mood was gone at the mention of what happened to her.

“You’re a creature of some sort, I’m sure you already know,” Kaden whispered.

“Humour me then.”

“I’m not in a very humorous mood.”

The fake Felix grunted in return.

“I wish you were real,” his voice was scathing, angry at himself for the confession. “I want so badly to see Felix again.”

Fake Felix’s face fell, and he inched towards the bars, sliding his arm through the gap and tapping Kaden on his shoe. “It’ll be okay, buddy.”

“Felix saved me. Eleana healed me, but it was Felix who saved me.”

Fake Felix brought his arm back, wiping it across his face while sniffling. “Stop being so gushy, you’re going to make me cry.”

_____

 It was quite the sight to behold – High Lords and Ladies scrambling around a table squabbling about what the best plan of attack was. Every time Cassian thought he might interject he changed his mind. Let the leaders of Prythian wear themselves out first, and then the generals can step in and take the shards of their ideas and turn it into an actual plan. When Cassian heard a suggestion that might be good, like smoking out the mountain, he looked to the other generals to see if they were on the same page. Thesan’s mate often looked to him for confirmation as well, the two clearly thinking the same things. There were also times when the High Leaders, as old and wise as they were, had truly stupid ideas that Cassian had to refrain from laughing at, like sending in specially trained squadrons to try and kill the creatures individually. Was it not clear by now that if they stepped foot in those mountains than they would die?

It was becoming tiresome – they just kept going in circles. No one could agree on what their first step should be, and Cassian found even he didn’t have an answer. They couldn’t find them in the mountains nor anywhere near civilian life – and evacuating everyone to a zone made them no better than sitting ducks. They had nothing that might entice this queen to come to them, and it was still very unclear as to exactly how many creatures she had.

Rhys was growing increasingly weary, and the other High Lords looked no better. Cassian didn’t want to suggest they end for now, but that started to look more and more like a good option.

Thesan noticed as well and asked for everyone in the room to quieten. When they didn’t immediately, he smacked his fist down on the table and growled.

“This is a strange predicament for all of us, but none of you are considering what must be addressed.” He turned to Rhys and Feyre, his expression grim and his voice grave. “The loss of your little girl must cause you immeasurable pain.”

“We’re hopeful she can be saved,” Rhys responded.

“Saved? Rhysand, you can’t be serious.”

All ears were on what Thesan would say next.

“Rhysand, your little girl will be a loss we all feel, but she has to die; you know that.”

“No. I can save her.”

“We have to consider everything here. Don’t speak to me and pretend that there’s someone here who is powerful enough to expel what is inside her. We must continue forward with the assumption that Eleana and this creature are one in the same.”

“Stop saying such things!” Feyre hissed. “Our daughter is seventeen, you can’t consider killing an innocent life-”

“I can if one life spares thousands. This queen has never shown any weaknesses, never lost in battle; she could obliterate us in a heartbeat if she wanted. We have to be tactical here-”

“You’d be killing my child! No, we just need more information. And now that we all know what’s going on we can prepare better. We’ll start mining the opal in the Night Court, manning our soldiers with concoctions made from the oils we now know hurts them. We have time to come up with a solution,” Feyre spat.

“Don’t you see, Feyre? She’s already dead. Her body may live on but there’s nothing left of your daughter inside that thing. If there was, Eleana would have control, she was strong enough to have gotten it back by now. We aren’t killing your child, we’re putting her to peace.”

“No, no, no no no no no no no no.” Feyre pushed away any fae in her way as she stormed to stand in front of Thesan. “You try to touch her and I’ll skin you alive.”

“Losing a child-”

“You know nothing of losing a child,” Cassian stopped him, his voice deep and thick.

“Neither do you,” Thesan scoffed.

“Speaking of children, where is Felix? He’s young but I think his perspective would be quite valuable here,” Helion asked.  

Beside Cassian, Nesta stiffened, her hands gripping the back of his shirt at the words. Amren, who was behind him and observing the organised chaos with her seedy gaze, stepped down and in front of the pair of mates.

It was too late. Nesta already had tears welling in her eyes, and Cassian’s breathing had become ragged.

Helion’s eyes widened in shock, and Thesan put a hand over his mouth, realising how untrue his words were.

Before they could be questioned further, Nesta grabbed Cassian’s hand and dragged him away, whispering that they could no longer be there to Rhys. No one tried to stop them, and they had just made it out the door when Nesta stumbled. Cassian caught her, but she was already shaking from her sobs, her cries undoubtedly being heard from the others. Cassian embraced her tightly and she sobbed into his chest. He winnowed them away, just as he heard Rhys say that no one from the Night Court would be discussing that incident.

_____

Kaden hummed under his breath while he watched fake Felix – the male laying on his stomach with his eyes closed. They had stopped speaking at Kaden’s request; he still couldn’t bear to hear his friend’s voice out of a phony’s mouth.

He’d gotten too deep in the illusion for a second there, a mistake that wouldn’t be repeated.

Kaden was roused from his state at the sounds of pounding footsteps coming in his direction. He stood up quickly, knowing that it was likely Azriel coming with a guilty verdict. Kaden got a dagger ready; he would make this man’s death a quick one.

Azriel was frazzled when he appeared and completely ignored Kaden, nearly sliding into the bars in his rush to put the key in the cell’s lock.

Kaden wanted to ask what he was doing, but before he had a chance Azriel had slammed open the door and rushed to the side of the still lying man.

Fake Felix lifted his head, only to have his whole body yanked into a hug.

That’s not what Kaden was expecting.

Fake Felix engulfed Azriel back, both now standing together inside the cell.

“What’s going on?” Kaden asked quietly.

They didn’t answer him – their cries of joy too loud to hear Kaden’s words.

Kaden was confused, unsure of what this meant. Whatever Azriel thought he had confirmed was wrong – there was no way this was his brother. Azriel was just confused, he didn’t see Felix die like Kaden did, didn’t know there was truly no way to come back from that.

Kaden did the unthinkable – he turned and left, leaving Azriel alone with the creature. Wide eyed and stunned, he made his way up the stone stairs. It was only a few minutes before he was feeling the breeze on his body and stepping into the night. He had expected to be blinded by the dwindling son after being in the derelict prison, but he had been down there longer than he’d thought. It was as if he’d expected time to pause for him – to give him a moment of nothingness. But no, he wasn’t that lucky.

He breathed deeply, the smell of salt from the sea refreshing enough to snap him from his daze.

“Kaden.”

He ignored the voice.

“Kaden, stop. It’s me. I swear on the Mother that it’s me.”

He spread his wings, ready to fly away, but screamed when magic snapped them back to his body, chaining him where he was. He thrashed, but no matter what he did, what magic he used to try and counter it, he was still bound – unable to fly.

“Azriel can think what he wants, but I know what you are. Felix would never entrap me.”

“I need you to listen.”

Kaden turned to face him. The man was still in nothing but torn pants. His chest so marred that even Kaden, so accustomed to scars, flinched at the sight.

“I’m sorry I left,” Felix said, wringing his hands in front of him.

“You don’t have to apologize for dying.”

“I’m not sorry I died; dare I say I had no control over that one.” He sighed deeply, looking up to the stars. “I said I’m sorry I left. Everything just turned to shit, didn’t it? But I’m back now, and we can get this mess sorted the fuck out. Whatever’s happening to Laya, we’ll fix it; we always do.”

Kaden gave him the side-eye. He took one step toward the man, then stopped. He couldn’t let himself hope – not if it meant he would lose Felix again if this was a hoax.

But he wished, Cauldron be damned he wanted it to be Felix, but he just wasn’t sure.

“How about we go to the house and talk some more? Eleana fixed your room up nice and pretty while you were at the Bloodrite. And then maybe we can go say hello to my sisters, I’m sure Quathryn will be thrilled to see you.”

“My room?”

“At our house? How is it that I’m the one who died and yet my memory serves me better. You said you were moving in and I’m holding you to that.”

“We c-can’t.”

“Let me prove to you who I am. I’ll cook for you; I’ll make your favourite, better than anyone can.”

“No. The house is warded, only Felix and his family can enter.”

“Please,” the man begged, his eyes shining. “I’ll do anything you want. You can keep me chained in adamant, locked away, but it’s me. I promise on the lives of Quathryn and Thea that I am wholly Felix.”

The man swallowed, looking down.

“I remember every second after I died. I wanted to stay with you; I was so scared of the dark. I think I might always be scared of it now.” His breathing was shaky, so much so that his words were a weak vibrato. “It’s nightfall, and as the world succumbs to the night I fear that I’ll never leave it. You may be Eleana’s light, but you are also mine. Please, don’t leave me in the dark. Don’t leave me. Don’t – don’t leave me.”

Kaden looked at him, what was left of his heart breaking all over again.

“Felix? Is that truly you?”

He nodded his head.

Kaden rushed to him, engulfing him in a hug so tight Felix was lifted off the ground. He pounded his hand on his back, needing to reassure himself that it was actually Felix who was there. Felix held him back just as tightly, laughing in relief.

“You had me worried; I didn’t think you’d ever believe me.”

“Be quiet, you’re ruining the moment.”

 _____

 Kaden, Azriel and Felix winnowed to the meeting. They ran through the halls, coming to a skidding halt outside the doors. Azriel, ever the actual-adult, walked patiently behind them, secure in the knowledge they wouldn’t enter without him.

They expected there to be more noise from inside – maybe yelling, maybe smashing – but it was rather quiet.

“I don’t like the vibe I’m getting from that room,” Azriel said slowly. “Something has happened, but I don’t know what. You two go back to the House of Wind, take the children from Mor and ask her to come here.”

“I have to see my mother and father, they have to know I’m here,” Felix argued. “And I am as blind as to what happened recently as the High Lords are – I need to be in there doing my job.”

“No. Go home.”

“No. I’m staying.”

“That was an order, not a suggestion.”

“Well if we want to get technical theoretically we have the same rank, so you can’t order me around.”

“Rank is regardless because you are a child under my care, therefore I can order you to do what’s best.”

Felix raised his eyebrows. “I certainly hope children don’t behave the way I do.”

Azriel opened his mouth, then shut it. His frown was replaced with a small smile, his whole face brighter than it had been in days. “I’m so, so happy you’re home.”

“Me too, Az.” Felix hugged their uncle.

“If you insist on staying, please go wait in one of the rooms. I’ll send Nesta and Cassian to you.”

“Wait, no, I need you with me in case they think I’m some imposter. Send Kaden in, and then he can debrief us later.”

Azriel nodded. “Good idea. Kaden, get Cassian and Nesta will you? Tell them it’s urgent.”

“Of course.”

Felix and Azriel walked away briskly, Kaden hearing Felix asking if he had told Azriel was Felix said.

“Yes, but let’s not discuss such things now,” his fading voice replied.

Kaden looked after them longingly. His family was slowly coming back together again, and it ignited a hope in him that maybe everything truly would be okay. Felix being back was a gift from the Cauldron that Kaden would forever be indebted for, and now that his brother was here it also felt like the first step in the direction of saving Eleana.

He opened the door, not at all meaning to make it a dramatic entrance, but that didn’t stop every head in the room from turning to look at him.

Some of the faces were familiar, like Glaslane, but Kaden was acutely aware that he knew basically no one in this room full of very formidable fae.

“Who is he?” A voice broke the silence.

Kaden looked at the person who had spoken and raised an eyebrow at him. It was a dark-skinned fae with even darker hair. His arm was in a sling, and he was at the centre of a group, clearly a High Lord – which one, he didn’t know. But just looking at him made Kaden want to avert his gaze; it was like he was looking directly at the sun-personified.

“This is Kaden,” High Lord Rhysand answered.

“Where is he from?”

“He’s part of Felix’s Elite.”

“He’s no Illyrian.”

“He is standing right here and can answer for himself.” Kaden stared at the male. Usually he was cowed by such important figures, but right now he just didn’t give a fuck. He would deal with the repercussions of his rudeness later.

“Then who are you, Kaden?”

“It’s not of importance.”

Kaden turned his back on the High Lord, knowing before he did he elicited a smirk from the male.

He walked over to High Lord Rhysand and High Lady Feyre, leaning in so only they could hear his words. “Azriel needs Cassian and Nesta and time is of the essence. Where are they?”

“With Morrigan, I assume. What is the matter?” Feyre questioned.

Kaden hesitated. “This isn’t something you want to hear in a room full of others.”

The two mates shared a look, clearly having a silent conversation between them. Feyre leant forward and pressed a quick kiss to Rhysand’s mouth before standing and addressing the room. “Something needs my attention. I’ll return shortly.”

“He’s in the west wing.”

Feyre left the room, an awkward silence in her wake. Rhysand patted the seat beside him, an invitation for Kaden to sit. He did, wanting to give Felix his privacy when reuniting with his family.

The High Lord who’d spoken to him was still staring at him, his mouth a thin line. He turned to speak to one of his associates, his words too quiet to hear and his gaze never leaving Kaden’s face.

Kaden wondered what it meant but didn’t give it any real thought. He has known his whole life he was an unusual Illyrian, and it certainly wasn’t the first time he’d gotten bizarre looks from strangers.

“As we were discussing before we were interrupted,” Lucien said, “We can’t assume that the death of this queen will mean the end to the creatures. If we first discover how she is making them and halt her that way, we’d have a better chance of saving lives in the long run.”

“You aren’t wrong,” a white haired High Lord agreed. “But her death would also stop their creation and mean there is no one to lead the creatures into war.”

“But what is better?” another dark-skinned fae, this one without a sling, asked. “Creatures systematically attacking us at the command of their leader without being able to be reborn, or, these creatures spreading and unpredictably running amok through Prythian.”

“The end result isn’t what matters the most. The most imperative thing is to stop this queen from creating more creatures,” the one who had been intrigued with Kaden said. “And as much as it pains me to say it, we have to revisit what Thesan said earlier.”

Rhysand shook his head. “I already told you that’s not an option.”

Kaden was confused. It was unlike High Lord Rhysand to be so opposed to an idea if it was viable, and from the looks of the other High Lords, it seemed like earlier this male, Thesan, had suggested something valuable.

“Rhys, can you not see that we have no choice?” Thesan demanded.

“We do have a choice. Let us destroy the way the queen is making them-”

“We have no idea how she is creating them! She could kill thousands more before we even come close to discovering how to stop her process, and that’s even if we can. To me it seems like it comes from her own magic, not some spell or ritual. Rhysand, I’m sorry, but your daughter is already gone. We cannot save her, but we can save our people.”

A terrible feeling made its way into Kaden’s stomach, climbing up his spine and settling in his throat. He didn’t like the tone High Lord Thesan was using, nor what he was suggesting.

“Forgive me, High Lord Thesan, but am I correct in thinking you’re implying we kill Eleana?” Kaden asked.

“Yes.”

Rhysand was stone beside Kaden, not breathing, not blinking.

“You don’t have to be there,” Thesan said gently. “We would never make you witness the death of your daughter-”

“Shut up-”

“and we will make it as quick and painless and we can.”

“Shut your damn mouth, Thesan.” High Lord Rhysand stood, the usual glamour on his powers stripped. His magic flooded the room and the candles lighting the room flickered as Rhysand stormed over to Thesan, usually his magic to easily clear a path to him. All the soldiers in the room, no matter their allegiance, stood to guard, drawing swords in preparation for things to get violent.

“Calm down, Rhysand. You know what must be done,” Thesan growled.

Rhys grabbed him by the shirt and pushed him until he was being slammed into the wall. Thesan didn’t fight back, and Rhysand’s magic meant that no one could approach the two feuding High Lords.

“You will not touch my daughter,” he snarled.

“It has to be done,” Thesan spat back.

“I know!” Rhysand roared, the candles in the room extinguishing. The room was enveloped by darkness, and Kaden started to feel nervous sweat coating his back. The only sound was High Lord Rhysand’s heavy breathing and the shuffling of feet getting ready to attack and defend.

Thesan stayed silent, his arms up in surrender.

“When my daughter dies it will be at my hands, and my hands only.”

[kuriquinn]

Penthesilea [8/?]

Cover & Disclaimer

Chapter Summary: It isn’t until Sasuke’s recovered his breath that he recognises the feeling that flooded his entire system just now.Jealousy, he realises with disbelief that borders almost on horror.

Chapter Beta: Sakura’s Unicorn

戦国時代

With Sakura’s continued treatments, Itachi is soon at the point where he can receive visitors for longer periods of time. To make the most of it and to offer a show of strength, he asks Sasuke to convene a meeting one morning with his remaining advisors.

The war council of the Uchiha is a different sort from ages past; time and bloodshed have robbed them of the traditional council of twelve; these days, they settle for barely more than half that number.

The last member of their father’s council, Yakumi, sits at attention beside Shisui and Obito, frowning at the younger men in disapproval. Obito’s grandmother, Masumi, the oldest living Uchiha, sits beside Uruchi, Itachi and Sasuke’s maternal aunt. Their Uncle Teyaki once joined them here, but his mind has left him in his old age and, as such, he’s often left with an attendant. Finally, there’s Itachi’s mother-in-law, Hazuki, who’s sat in since the death of her husband.

She peers worriedly at Itachi. “Are you well, my son? It’s been so long since we’ve seen you, and I worry about your pallor.”

“The healers assure me that I’ll be back to normal soon,” Itachi says, waving dismissively. Only Sasuke knows the effort he puts into the gesture.  

They’ve continued circulating the story throughout camp that Itachi is fighting a stubborn strain of pneumonia. Given the poor battlefield conditions and the general stress of his position, it’s entirely plausible, and even medics sometimes have difficulty with the disease. Many a common soldier has succumbed to it over the years.

“Healers?” Yakumi echoes. “None of our camp healers have been in to see you for weeks.”

“One hopes it’s because they are seeing to the men,” Itachi says in a way that isn’t really an answer to the old man’s unasked question. “Let us return to the matter at hand. My brother assures me that the latest conscription efforts have been successful, and there are more than enough recruits at the ready should there be an imminent attack. Yet, the same cannot be said for our supply situation.”

“Another eight months to a year, at most, barring unforeseen circumstances,” Sasuke elaborates.

“There’s a village to the southwest offering supplies in return for manpower,” Yakumi says. “Enough to keep us going for another six years if necessary.”

“You speak of Oto, yes?” Itachi asks, glancing at Sasuke in confirmation; he nods. “Then, no.”

“But Itachi-sama—”

“Orochimaru betrayed the Senju to form his little mercenary state. There’s no reason he wouldn’t think to do the same to the Uchiha. His purposes are his own, separate from ours.”

“Then the army will starve!”

“If our army is starving, you can be sure that the Senju army is as well,” Shisui interrupts. “My people report that they face the same concerns over supplies and rations that we do.”

“So, it’s a long-game—who can outlive the other in the face of starvation,” Obito says, grim.

“Or perhaps it’s the opposite,” Itachi suggests. “If we bring this war to an end then both sides will be able to focus on survival, and our children and their children will not have to die.”

There’s almost a palpable collective sigh. It’s not the first time Itachi has expressed interest in armistice with the Senju, but given the unsuccessful nature of past attempts, everyone reacts with the same weary exasperation.

“Peace is obviously the preferable solution, but not if it comes at the price of the Uchiha being relegated to second-class,” Uruchi says.

“I remember my mother telling me stories,” Masumi says quietly. “Before the Madara and Hashirama’s failed peace talks, of how the Senju tried to claim all Uchiha on their land as their serfs. They wanted us to be no more than a sentinel force, bred to serve and guard them.”  

“The Uchiha are not blameless in this,” Itachi reminds her. “Madara and his vassals tried to utterly eradicate the Senju from the face of the planet.”

“As a preventative measure to ensure our own survival,” Yakumi reminds him. “If any of the Senju continue to sympathise with the ways of Senju Tobirama, there is no possible way to reconcile. We cannot be the vassals of our enemies, or war will begin again in another generation.”

“There won’t be another generation if we don’t at least try,” Shisui argues.

“But it’d be stupid to rush it just because we’re desperate,” Obito shoots back.

“Itachi—why not wait a little longer?” Hazuki suggests softly. “The floods will end soon. When they do, request a parlay with Tsunade-hime. Find out what they would expect for a truce—or a long-term peace. In the meantime, we can go amongst our people and learn what they will tolerate and what they will not. If we then present our conditions to the Senju, whether they choose to honour them or not will indicate whether they have the same wish for peace as you do.”

“And if they do not accept everything, we simply continue as we have done for so long?” Itachi asks mildly, but his distaste for the idea is clear.

“Well, obviously, there are certain things we couldn’t waver on, but we, too, can be flexible,” Shisui suggests, briefly putting a comforting hand on Itachi’s shoulder. “If it’s just a matter of convincing our people what we should be willing to bend on, I can manage that.”

“That’s not an option I would like to pursue,” Itachi replies darkly.

Obito snorts. “If, after charging it up for ten years, you’re finally going to use your Kotoamatsukami, you should use it on the enemy. It’d be nothing for you to flutter those pretty eyes of yours and make the old woman do exactly what we want.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Shisui asks, affecting an air of surprise.  

“Have some decorum,” Yakumi snaps at the younger men.

“You know why that isn’t an option, Obito,” Masumi interrupts the argument, and her grandson frowns as if he’s been chastised. “You too, Shisui. Peace that is not arrived at honestly will disintegrate. It would be a short victory for us, yes, but in another generation, the children of those you’ve ensorcelled will begin to question. And we will return to this same conundrum.”  

“Brother?”

The prompt makes Sasuke startle, and the rest of his relatives adopt an uncomfortable quiet. It’s no secret that he doesn’t support peace initiatives, that he believes them to be nothing more than idle fantasy and naiveté. His enjoyment of battle is also well-known.

But he envisions Sakura’s eyes shining at him, and Naruto’s idiot grin, and Hinata’s hopes for peace before he is forced to kill the other man. And there are deep, secret hopes that he barely wants to pay attention to that linger in his heart and could only exist in a world where there is peace.

And so, out loud he says, “If armistice is what you deem best for the Uchiha, then it should happen as soon as possible.”

There is a sense of astonishment and disquiet among his relatives, but Itachi nods slowly. He has an irritatingly unsurprised gleam in his eyes that suggests he expected Sasuke would say this.

“Go then,” he tells the others. “Obito, inform our generals that we will continue this ceasefire as long as possible. Have them focus on finding new providers for our supplies. Shisui, you have a means of getting a message to Tsunade-hime’s forces that we wish to consider a truce?”

“Of course.”

“Keep it quiet. The fewer people who are privy to this—on either side—the lower likelihood of sabotage. The rest of you will go among the people; find out under what conditions a peace could be possible. But be careful in your information gathering. Sasuke—”

“Hm?”

“Speak with Hyūga Neji to gauge what his clan elders might think of the truce. It’s best we know their frame of mind before we broach the subject in earnest.”

“Fine.”

As the other members of the council speak amongst themselves, Sasuke stands to leave. He pauses, sparing a moment to study his brother, who’s smiling wanly at something Shisui whispers in his ear. For a brief instant, Itachi looks happy and hopeful, and Sasuke decides that alone is worth attempting a peaceful resolution to this conflict.

戦国時代

As he leaves the Hyūga compound later that day, Sasuke finds his way blocked by several of his relatives and members of their vassal clans. At the head of their little group is his cousin.

“Inabi,” Sasuke says, attempting to walk around him, but the other man steps to one side, planting himself in the way. He stares down at him, jaw-clenched in the same annoyance he always feels when they interact. Inabi has never made it a secret that he dislikes deferring to Itachi and Sasuke in matters of leadership, especially given they are younger than he. But he has never tried to argue with clan law, at least. “Was there something you wanted?”

“You were in council with your brother this morning. What’s the news? Should I prepare my raiding squads for departure?”

“It’s been months since we’ve left this godforsaken camp,” one of his cronies adds.

“The Senju still have many deaths to pay for,” another agrees. “Their blood will be sufficient recompense!”

The statements are met with cheers of agreement.

“You are to continue to mind your posts and remain on the defensive,” Sasuke says. “There will be no incursions into enemy territory until the order is given.”

“If we simply wait, they’ll take us when we least expect it!” Inabi protests.

“Then don’t simply wait,” Sasuke advises. “Spend your time doing something useful like rebuilding our fortifications or distributing the non-perishable supplies to our outlying caches.”  

“But—”

“Until there is credible threat, we are not launching any attacks,” Sasuke snaps. “Those are our leader’s orders, and if you disobey them, you’ll answer to me—is that understood?”

He allows his Sharingan to spin to the surface, hammering the point home. Inabi steps forward, his own eyes bleeding red to meet the challenge, but Sasuke doesn’t move, unimpressed by his cousin’s show. They both know that in a fight, Inabi is no match for Sasuke.

Eventually, Inabi looks away and grunts, “Fine.”

Nodding, Sasuke deactivates his Sharingan and turns his back on the group. He walks away.

“That’s a change,” he hears one of Inabi’s lackeys mutter. “Remember the days when he’d have jumped at the chance to spill Senju blood?”

“He’s gone soft.”

Someone else snorts. “Some men are like that when they finally get a woman on her back.”

“Heh,” Inabi jeers, “who would’ve thought the great Uchiha Sasuke would turn into a weakling because of some common whore?”

Sasuke tenses.

His first instinct is to draw his katana and cut the man to ribbons at the insult, but he forces himself to stay utterly still. Killing these bastards now while his brother is desperate to promote peace, will be counterproductive. As he draws a slow breath in through his nose, Sasuke tries to ignore the disbelief and dismay that threaten him. He and Sakura have been very careful since Kakashi expressed his concerns. No one among the men should know of his dalliances—unless they noticed Sakura slipping away following those first illicit encounters.

“I bet if she disappears, he’ll get his balls back.”

The words are said at just the right volume that they could either be a passing comment between chums or an actual threat.

Rage at the audacity threatens to overwhelm him, and his fingers clench around his sword, but he stays his hand. If this is meant to provoke him, his reaction will show that they have touched on a nerve. That will make him appear weak, which, historically, would lead to a fight—either with him, or someone foolhardy enough to try to find Sakura.

He imagines her crushing Inabi’s bones for his trouble and smirks.

Turning ever so slightly—just enough to show that he’s heard them—he meets Inabi’s gaze. Perhaps he and his cronies note the expression and the message behind it, because a general atmosphere of uneasiness falls over them at the sight. Sasuke leaves them like that, his languid gait proving that he isn’t worried about their bluster.

But when he is far from their line of sight, his mouth turns downward.

戦国時代

Whisperings of a truce aside, the temporary ceasefire is not utterly without incident.

During a routine visit to one of the nearby neutral villages to recruit workers for their fields, Sasuke and his men encounter Naruto, accompanied by his own cadre of men. It isn’t the first time this has happened; there’ve been instances throughout the years where they’ve met outside of the battlefield. There’s usually a tacit agreement not to cross blades until far from civilians, as these are the people who feed them.

Usually.

This time, certain words are exchanged—also, certain kunai—and the skirmish begins before Sasuke or Naruto can quite stop it. Once their hot-blooded comrades are set off, it becomes a chore for them to prevent any fatalities that might spark a full-fledged battle. The only saving grace for Sasuke is that Inabi and his crew are patrolling in a completely different area, or they would be knee-deep in their next siege.  

“Since you’re their leader, shouldn’t you be able to better control them?” Sasuke sneers as he uses the hilt of his katana to knock a face-painted, Senju lunatic in the back of the head.

“I could say the same for you,” Naruto shoots back as several of his shadow clones try to divert the growing melee away from any of the village’s structures. “Or is it that you people don’t have the same understanding of ‘ceasefire’ as we do?”

“That you understand what a ceasefire is at all impresses me,” Sasuke snorts.

“Oi!”

Sasuke snaps at his men to fall back and leave the village, but they are too far away to hear him.

“Maybe you’re just having an off day,” Naruto suggests. “Could it be that you’re a little…distracted? Possibly thinking how it’s not worth it anymore? I bet you’re getting tired of all this fighting, too.”

“Don’t project your wishes on me.”

“Aw, come on—I say we get over the past and think of the future,” the blond man declares, ducking a stray kunai. “I don’t even know what we’re fighting about anymore—your man insulting Kiba’s mother or some pissing contest from way back.”

“If you feel that strongly about it, you could always surrender,” Sasuke suggests.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Naruto shoots back as the momentum of the fight brings him and Sasuke into close quarters. Both of them have unsheathed their katanas, and the blades cross as they meet. “Speaking of fun, asshole—check out my latest jutsu!”

He disappears in a cloud of smoke and when it clears, a bevy of buxom, half-naked women stand in his place. It’s a version of his favourite, idiotic technique which has never worked on Sasuke, who disperses it easily with a minor Katon.

“Moron,” he adds as Naruto reappears, diving out of the way of the flames.

“You just wait! One day, I’ll figure out what your poison is!” the other man insists with a grin that isn’t affected by Sasuke’s actions in the least. “Then you’ll be knocked out cold on the floor and I’ll win.”

“Sure.”

“And after that, we can put all this stupid clan stuff behind us and be friends again.”

Sasuke bristles. “Who says were we ever friends?”

“We were when we were kids,” Naruto reminds him insistently.

“Those days are long gone.”

“So? We can start over. And I was also thinking-–”

“You? Thinking?”

“Shut up! Anyway, when this war is over-–”

As if it’s the exercise of an afternoon and not a generations-long feud, Sasuke scoffs inwardly.

“—you should come over for dinner. We can eat ramen!”

“No.”

“Fine. If you don’t like ramen, I’ll get Sakura-chan to make something else—but just so you know, she’s a terrible cook.”  

Sasuke is startled at this. What does Naruto know about Sasuke’s connection to Sakura? Is he somehow informed about their liaisons?

She wouldn’t tell him… Would she?

Carefully controlled, he asks, “Why on earth would your medic be cooking your food?”

“Huh? I dunno… That’s something a wife’s supposed to do, right?” Naruto asks absently, pulling back his fist. “I mean, I guess we’ll be married by then, but maybe you’re right. Maybe we won’t be yet…”

At this point, Sasuke is so caught off-guard that Naruto’s next blow sends him reeling backwards. There are distant cheers from Naruto’s people and rallying cries from his own, but Sasuke barely hears them. The words ring in his ears, over and over like the fading echoes of a bell.

Wife. Married.

His eyes film over with red.

“Oi! You were supposed to duck that!” Naruto yells at him, hurrying over. “Listen, that was not me breaking the truce, okay? I was just—”

Sasuke is barely cognisant of his palm full of electricity or his body moving forward. He’s on a collision course with Naruto’s face, and the other man barely dodges in time.

“What gives?” Naruto demands, but Sasuke doesn’t bother answering, instead swerving around to take a second shot at him.

And suddenly, the light-hearted skirmish transforms into the usual duel to the death. Lightning and wind clash against one another until their comrades finally manage to drag them away from one another.

It isn’t until Sasuke’s recovered his breath that he recognises the feeling that consumed his entire system just now.

Jealousy, he realises with disbelief that borders on horror.

つづく

Reviews and constructive criticism are much appreciated! Also, if you are in a supportive mood, I have a ko-fi button at the top of the page, or you can find my tip jar here.

Thanks for your interest in my work!

クリ

Next Chapter

[cnox]

Rowen for Distant Mirror Zine #1.* ROWEN is a project between Cristahel and Cantrith Knox. They play a subgenre of the dark ambient / dungeon synth movement they call Mythical Electronic. They have years of experience and also operate Hollow Myths in New England. I thank them for their contribution to the first issue of Distant Mirror. First, Rowen is a collaborative effort between Canrith and Cristahel Knox - do you have specialties which you like to focus on when creating (someone runs the drums and arrangement, someone finds the melodies)?

Eve, Thanx for the interview. We both play synths, drum machines and write together.  As of now, when playing live, Criss handles the synths, vocal whisperings and I play the electronic drums. Along with our visuals, fog and lighting. We are introducing more vocals on some new songs. In the studio, we also add our field recordings and percussion as part of composing. We sit and mix each song side by side.    

Tell us about your musical histories before forming Rowen, because its somewhat obvious you both have experience which maybe led to the result of what Rowen is on "Ashen Spirit"!

Both of us have electronic music in our past. Cristahel with Minimal Synth and I with Darkbeat. One of the first ideas we had for Rowen was to start all over. As part of the experiment, finding ourselves and each other through making music anew. See and hear our music become it's own entity. We started developing the concept in '14, in '16 we began recording and had our first release in '18. We set out with a clear vision of what we want to do with Rowen.

Also tell us how you discovered music and what your first true love in music was... How did you come to find music that would lead you to this underworld of music culture?

Canrith: I discovered music on a radio at age 3. First, second and third grade, I would stay up nights crashing on Ritalin (due to being diagnosed as Hyperactive) watching the first ever music videos on a UHF channel in Colorado called FMTV which predated MTV by a year or two. Laurie Anderson - O Superman, Kraftwerk, Barnes & Barnes - Fish Heads videos all had a great impact on me as a kid. During that time, late 70's - early 80's, I was hooked on the music and image of both Kiss and Devo. One of the first albums I owned was AC/DC - Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap on cassette that I purchased at K-Mart. Summer '81 NYC, I saw the first video air on MTV. Later, watching another UHF channel out of Boston called V66. Heavy Metal led me to the Black Metal and the dark electronic music underground. Dark Ambient and Dark Dungeon Music have always been a particular interest of mine. Mail order distro tapes and free box extras in orders started my collection as far back as the mid 90's. In the late 90's, I got really into BM, then obsessed in '03 onward, as many UGBM labels and distros were rising on the web. We are also into Minimal, Martial, Electro, Techno, New Beat, Cosmic, Italo, 8-bit, Video Game, Soundtrack, Old School Dungeon Synth, Winter Synth and so on...

Cristahel: My first exposure to music as a child was through my grandfather, who began teaching me to play classical piano by ear at the age of four. We would sit for countless hours at his black upright Steinway as he would play Chopin, Bach, Rachmaninoff, Tchaikovsky etc. a few measures at a time for me to memorize and string together until I had the whole piece memorized. His love and enthusiasm for music, and the time he took to develop that in me, is something I will always be grateful for. Also my cousin Sue was a few years older than me and was like some kind of magical mixtape faerie, forever bestowing masterfully crafted gems upon me filled with things like Lush, Kate Bush, Cocteau Twins, and Mazzy Star that served to mold/blow my little mind.  

By my late teens it was the late 90's/early 2000's and I was immersed in a maelstrom of kraut/prog, electro, early new wave and electronic/industrial, shoe gaze. I was fortunate at the time to have a lot of friends with varied tastes and massive record collections they wanted to share with me, because back then there was like, only Napster to try and download music off this nebulous internet thing they had just invented.  

I spent a lot of time not doing my homework and dancing around my room on speed and/or klonopins listening to things like Tangerine Dream, Cluster, Miss Kittin & The Hacker, Dopplereffekt, Chris and Cosey, SPK, early Human League, Slowdive, Clan of Xymox... all of which in their own ways began to inform the atmosphere of the music I create now, warped and haunted meandering electronic melodies, analog synths, string machines and rhythm boxes, pounding 303s and 808s, tape echoes, analog delays, layered sounds lost in chasms of reverb...

I moved to NY and started making music, playing shows and djing a bit (mostly playing gabber techno synth new age sets at London squat parties to kids who wanted to hear nu rave), getting into minimal synth, and beginning my love affair with collecting and recording with analog equipment.

Of course now anything you want is available immediately online, compared to how the 80’s and 90’s crowd discovered music. I’ve asked the other artists a similar question - how do you feel about the loss of mystery these days and what will happen in the future to return to that?

I feel the ability for creating mystique is greater now thanx to the internet. Almost anyone can record some music, upload it to bandcamp, make artwork, physical releases, open an online shop, start a label, etc..   If one is good at what they do, be it a hidden persona or being a face, presenting a strong sound, image and aesthetic, either way, when done right, it works. In some ways even mystery can be a gimmick.

You both are lucky to have grown up in the best time period for music. But what about movies and books people should check out?  

I collect children's books, read a mess of olde and new Black Metal zines, Books about Black and Death Metal. Sexy comics about Vampiress and Faeries. Presently reading The Devil's Cradle, a hard back about The Story of Finnish Black Metal. It was a gift from Criss. Everyone should read Lords of Chaos '98 (then '03) and Lucifer Rising '99. I still need a copy of that leather bound Mortiis - Secrets Of My Kingdom book '01.

As for films, we watch obscure horror, foreign horror and documentaries.  

Here are some if you have not already read or watched them; 

Read: Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs ('78) James and the Giant Peach ('61) Masquerade ('79) The World of the Dark Crystal ('82) The Book of Alien ('79) Moebius - The Collected Fantasies of Jean Giraud Series ('87 - '94) Flowers in the Attic - Dollanganger Series ('79 -'86) Wir Kinder vom Bahnhof Zoo ('78) William Klein: Films, 1958-99 ('99) Wreckers of Civilisation: The Story of Coum Transmissions & Throbbing Gristle ('99)

Watch: Christiane F. ('81) Out of The Blue ('80) Deadbeat at Dawn ('88) Combat Shock ('86) Street Trash ('87) Brain Damage ('88) Zardoz ('74) Excalibur ('81) Emerald Forest ('85) Wicker Man ('73)

If atmosphere seems to be a heavy orientation for your creative drive, is your local landscape an important part of this? or is it personal experiences driving the music towards such a dark and melancholy place? something about Rowen is both light and dark.

We live on a island North East New England and seldom see others. Most of our time is spent outside, alone with the wind, the trees, on the marsh, in the mist and rain, sea side mornings, hawks at dusk and in the woods every evening. Pretty, evil and sad is what we do. We are hoping folks will also consider us in the Nature Synth category.  

New England must be a very interesting place to live... what is your favorite time of year there, and what is your favorite part of the landscape there?

We love the woods, day hikes, mountain tops, swimming holes, water falls, gorges and quarries. Small towns, old houses, fields, orchards, pumpkin patches, bonfires. Train tracks, trestles, towers, castles, monuments and graveyards. I was born in October so naturally I love the fall. Hallow's Eve and all into November.  Leaves turn, death comes and things change. There is nothing like a cold moonlit night in the snow. I appreciate being where we can really experience all four seasons.

Also You are so fortunate to live on an island.. That’s amazing. It’s cliche to talk about misanthropy with dark music but is this the reason for being secluded? What do you feel is the best thing for people could do with themselves in (what is in my eyes the end of the world?)

We made the decision to come here for a time of research, get to know each other, talk about our dreams, foster our ideas. Focus on only that of which we love and gives us purpose. Live away from it all.  If everyone did what was the most important to them, a different world this might be.  

Rowen is listed among other trees in occult literature as a tree of magical powers... Is this the reason for using the name? Is there personal beliefs at play in Rowen?

As a band we have our own ideologies, as musicians, our own theories, as artists, our own creative processes and as members, a belief system. These are shared between us and are expressed through the music, words and imagery of Rowen.

The Greeks, Norse, Celts and Druids all told mythology of the properties and significance of this mystical tree. The Greek Goddess of youth who lost her magical chalice to the demons. An eagle was sent to retrieve it. From battle, it's blood splatter on the earth grew Rowan trees. It's leaves as feathers, it's berries, the blood. The Norse myth speaks of the tree from which woman was made. And man, from a mountain ash. Saved Thor in the underworld. Runes are burned on Rowan wood. In the British Isles they tell of the folkloric tree which protects against witchcraft. The red berries of fall make up the 5 points of the Pentagram. Goes also as the Goddess or Faerie tree. The Druids used the bark and berries to dye the garments worn during lunar ceremonies black. Rowan twigs were used for divining, particularly for metals.

I had no idea the importance of Rowen to ancient people. Yes, it is true that Norse belief teaches humans were originally trees before given life and awareness by Odin, Vili and Ve. Is there any interest for you both to express your philosophy on things in the music or is this an affair of escapism and pure magic.

"The Past is not Dead, it lives on in a Woeful Drift." We are connected to our roots, our family trees, where we came from, our heritage and lands. We could only hope that our music would offer an escape. Magic is the only way.

If you could live in any time period, what time period would you live in and what would you be doing?

Canrith: I feel lucky to have been a child of the 70's and we grew up in the 80's, 90's & 00's. We were there, I wouldn't change it. I would love to live in some medieval castle in the mountains, riding a black Clydesdale, wielding a mace, reeking havoc across the land.  

Cristahel: Same as Canrith but on a white Clydesdale with a halberd.

What's the most important part of the creative process for Rowen - is there a certain revelry for using old mysterious pieces of synthesizers or do you enjoy the vast possibilities of computers? There's always the game of analog vs computer in the electronic scenes, what is your thoughts on this?

For us, again, the most important part of the process is the experiment. We use all analog synthesizers, drum machines and record live. Roland, Korg, Yamaha. Same goes for our stage show. We have used and are not opposed to using digital synths on recordings and live. Casio & Yamaha synths, Simmons drums. For instance, "In Another Dream, You Were Mine" from "Ashen Spirit" was made almost entirely on a Casiotone. We record and mix on a desk top home computer.  

What are you both really enjoying listening to at the moment?

Listening to cult 80's video Game music on YouTube while answering these questions.

do you have any thoughts on where this rising momentum will lead as far as the dungeon synth genre is headed, and do you feel proud of your place in that? am i wrong in assuming you both also run Hollow Myths?  

We are proud of our place in DS. Though we set out to make our own mythical electronic music. And think the genre is progressing as it should. We have been very active in the scene going on six years now this November. As supporters, label, distro and band. We are most appreciative of the support we have received. And from the Black Metal Underground. Our first demo was released on pro-tape by Personnel Records, a sub-label of Seedstock Records ran by Marco Del Rio of Raspberry Bulbs aka He Who Crushes Teeth of Bone Awl. We are finishing our second release that will be out on CD & Cassette this time.  

Hollow Myths, the label and distro, is the work of us two. Releases, artwork, layouts, Photography, bios, press, promo, videos, zine, jewelry, leather work, patches, we also offer clothes that we call Cryptic Raiment for After Dark. Official Dungeon Synth, Dark Ambient, Black Metal, Hollow Myths* Shirts, Long Sleeves, Hoods, Record Bags, Altar Cloths...

Correct me if I’m wrong, but Hollow Myths has had to dig deep into the underground and re-release old gems, which is like reissuing from the archives.. many people don’t really appreciate that, can you tell us about what that’s been like and if anything else like that will ever happen?  

Hollow Myths* have re-released limited special versions of cult classics in a row of how I first discovered them back when. Being also from Dallas, TX, Equitant - The Great Lands Of Minas Ithil (City Of Isildur) '94 was one the first tapes I owned of the genre (and our first release from H/M* on cassette) after I found a copy of the Mournlord - Reconquering Our Kingdom Demo from '95 (SE) for a $1 in a bargain bin. These strange and very limited cassette releases helped crystallize what Dark Dungeon Music was to me. Like hearing the Caduceus - Middle Ages Demo '95 (LT) for the first time or later with the Corvus Neblus - Chapter I & II - Strahd's Possession tapes from '99 / '01 (LV). Our second re-released offering was Equimanthorn - Entrance To The Ancient Flame on cassette, another Texas born Ritual Black Ambient project with both Equitant and Proscriptor of the Mythological Occult Metal band Absu as members. After which, we made a chain of very special limited re-releases from; Gothmog, Depressive Silence, Solanum, Lunar Womb, Cain, two from Aperion, Arthur as well as Xerión with more to come. At the same time, we have introduced many new Dungeon Synth artists, some with their follow ups; Isåedor, Wyver and Wizzard to name but a few. We began in '16 and have 43 releases to date. Some mentioned above will see second pressings in the near future.

What has been your favorite release to work on this past year and what sort of artists does Hollow Myths look for?

We focus on outsider music and art and put our blood, sweat and tears into every release. Since we are primarily a physical label and distro (Tapes, CD's, Vinyl, Merch, etc.), it has been interesting to curate and mix the last three Shadowlore Compilations.

Each run over 2 hours long and feature new and exclusive songs by legions of Dungeon Synth artists from around the world. Being Digital, we offer it for Free or name your price for those who want to add it to their collections. Corresponding J-card "tape trade" layout print outs are included in the download, so one can make their own 2x cassette version. To be shared with friends, to inspire tape trading, for more reach and exposure for the artists' projects. Shadowlore Four will be released this Summer Solstice.  

Other releases from last year we are very proud of: Apeiron - Stardust / A Separate Reality. Cosmic / Dark Ambient / Black Metal from Austria. '95 & '97 and featuring a never before heard hidden track from '96 titled "Dimensional Chanting" exclusive only to this release. Xerión - O Espírito Da Fraga / O Trono de Breogán. Black Metal / Dark Ambient from Spain. The first two demos from '01 & '02 with 3 new songs recorded exclusively for this release including a Windir cover.  Galician Mythology and Folklore. Wyver -  Tragedies of Lost Village (Demo II). Dungeon Synth / Fantasy Music follow up. (PDX) Hypogeum - S/T. Introducing outsider, Raw Black Metal from the woods of Oregon. Wizzard - The Cauldron Descent. Cryptic Dungeon Synth follow up from Sweden. Morihaus - The Empty Marches. Eccentric Dark Ambient / Dungeon Synth debut from Kentucky.  

Tell us about Rowen’s plans to start touring.

We just played our first show at the Northeast Dungeon Siege MMXIX festival. Now we are working on piecing together a tour that will begin this summer in the north east coast with the plan to then head down, across the south to California, up the west coast, pacific northwest and back across the north and through the mid-west to return late fall. We recently put the word out that we are up to perform anywhere, anytime and received an overwhelming response. If we can get on tour, stay on tour, get back to Europa without haste, we would be more than pleased.

The first two shows will be outdoor camping events. Mythical Electronic, Dungeon Synth, Black Metal, Acoustic Black Metal, Death Metal, Doom, Crust, Folk, Country, . . . Both are on private land, in the forest and BYOB. Bring a tent, water, food and supplies. Crossbows and throwing knives.

Rowen   Seasons of the Savage at The Sonorous Glade June 22nd Topsham, VT w/ Haxen, Sombre Arcane, Fed Ash, Gorcrow, Melkor, Black Axe, Void Bringer, Acid Roach and Wild Leek River  

Rowen   Woods of Gallows II August 17th  West Chazy, NY w/ T.O.M.B., Worthless, Sombre Arcane, Ordeals, Malacath, Lightcrusher, Hræsvelgr, Graveren and Callous

[calliope-hesiod]

Ad Congregandum || Kleos feat Howl

Hades attempts to summon Cassandra and Persephone. Callie learns things that were hidden. Howl assists.

TW: blood, murder/suicide flashbacks and mentions, violence, death threats

For further reading on this subject, check out previous Callie/Hades threads, Callie’s Nightmare, and the Journey to Hell Saga w Helle

@trip-downtheriverstyx & @oh-heartlessman

HADES:

It was twilight when Hades arrived, alone, at the front step of Howl’s house. Tonight was gonna be cooler than it had been. He felt the air beginning to thin and cool on his quiet walk here, while his eyes watched the sun dip low ahead. It was a perfect night for a walk like this-- for camping, for a bonfire, for watching the sunset. Or for summoning ghosts. He had a trail of ‘em anyway on his heel. They knew his plan. Ever since he’d decided on it, they’d sidled up to him to try and schmooze their way into his good graces. There was this one loser, something-something Thompson, who kept promising Hades all kinds of things if Hades summoned him back from the dead and fit him with a nice new body. I own stock. I got a wife you can borrow. I know people-- they can help make that case disappear, he’d whisper. And then another ghost would blow in like a wind and try to make a better bargain. But only one ghost was gonna come back from the dead tonight and she was no ghost at all. Sephy was alive-- her body walked and breathed, wherever it was. He was just gonna make two halves a whole again. Him, Howl Pendragon, and Calliope Hesiod. Belle was still at home. She refused to come. But Hades didn’t care. Or so he said to himself and to the ghosts who jeered that he was gonna lose his girlfriend over this. And if she broke up with him-- so be it. Hades could swallow the lump in his throat at the thought, if it meant that Seph would be back and safe again. So here he was, a parade of the dead behind him, knocking on a sorcerer’s door. It swung open, revealing Howl with his piercing eyes, backlit by the amber lights of his home. Hades raised his eyebrows at the sorcerer, his new partner in crime now that Belle had given up the role. And he smiled. Just a little, just enough. Because Howl understood. Howl wanted Seph back too. “Callie here yet?” He asked as he stepped inside.

HOWL:

Callie Harper was indeed here, sitting at Howl’s dining table, legs crossed, hands folded in her lap, as if she were trying to take up as little space as possible. Or, perhaps, more accurately, given the way she pursed her lips as her eyes darted over the dirty plates and the piles of paper, trying to touch as little as possible. Either way, Howl did not mind. He had his way of living and he was fond of it. He had offered Callie a cuppa and as he was making it, she chatted with Calcifer.

“You know what I am, don’t you?” Callie had said, leaning towards the fireplace.

“You know, I was gonna say the same to you.”

To this, Callie had giggled.

Howl made tea and Howl thought of another giggling girl who spoke to Calcifer by the fireplace. Though Seph had been pale and small and slipped into the shadows, eyes bright like gems, voice soft. Calliope, bless her heart, was tall and shining and had eyes dark and intense, voice loud and when she spoke, sometimes, Howl heard the voices of generations before him.

(Howl did his reading, he knew what she was).

“Here you go, darling,” said Howl, as the teacup glided over to Callie. She took it in her hands and nodded once, before turning back to Calcifer, who was showing her his favorite spread in this month’s National Geographic.

There was a knock at the door.

“She is,” said Howl, with a dip of his head, holding the door open to usher Hades in. “Please, have a seat. We’ll need to get started right as the sun goes down.”

Callie looked up at Hades, lifting her hand in a small wave.

“You have what I asked you to bring, I presume?” said Howl, holding his hand out so that his spell book nestled right into it. He flipped through the pages. “A personal item of hers that means a lot.

The memory, I can take from you. One with feeling.”

He had taken Persephone’s feelings for Hades on two separate occasions. The thought made his mouth draw into a thin line, but he said nothing.

“From Miss Harper--Hesiod--sorry, what is the preferred?”

“Uh. Just Callie. Please.”

“Right, from Miss Callie--”

“Callie.”

“Well, from Callie--well, that’s tricky. I do not know if it has a reagent name. For you see, you’re a rare little thing, Callie. You too, Hades, might I add.” He flicked his eyes over the both of them. They were young, the two of them, and yet in each, the stories of hundreds before them weighed on their shoulders. “We will take the--shades, I suppose, of this creature you’re trying to find. We will need both the elements of that spirit, as well as--” His voice faltered here, and he glanced at Calcifer. “As more physical elements for the body.”

He stroked his chin, facing the fire for a moment.

“I must offer you two the standard legality warning, though I am aware that both of you are familiar with deep, intricate magic, and are no strangers to the horrors that go along with it,.” He turned around, eyes glittering in the flames. “There is a chance this could go horribly wrong. I am quite confident that that chance is slim to none--but, it exists.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up some. Callie nodded solemnly.

“Excellent,” said Howl. “Now Hades, if you will---” He pulled out his wand. “Once more with feeling, yes?” He chuckled. “It won’t hurt a bit, just close your eyes and remember.”

HADES:

Yes, he’d brought the item in question-- a book of poetry by Anne Sexton. Seph had scribbled all in it, little lines herself off to the margins along with doodles of flowers and swirls and eyes. Seph liked to draw eyes, big disembodied eyes, eyes with slits for pupils or eyes with long eyelashes. In this book, she’d drawn an eye in the bottom of every page and if you flipped through the pages quick enough, the eye blinked at you. You got the feeling the book was looking back.

Hades had not opened this book or flipped through it though since Seph died. In fact, it had been on her bed, exactly where she’d left it-- one corner of a page turned over to mark where she’d stopped her reread last time. When he wandered into her room, it had been the easiest thing to grab. And he’d wanted to slip in and slip out as fast as possible and disturb as little as possible. He did not belong in there.

Hades offered the book to Howl now and then glanced down at the wand that he had pointed at him. He swallowed and gave a curt nod.

Just like with the book, Hades planned to slip into the memory only for as long as it took for Howl to take it. And then he’d slip out again before he began crying. He wasn’t going to cry here or today.

Today he was going to bring Seph back.

So Hades closed his eyes and fished back into the part of him he’d locked up, just like Seph’s room. He found Seph’s face there. His lip twitched as he remembered her smile and the particular blue of her eyes. He pictured her in her garden-- Belle’s garden-- on the day that Hades had come back from Yubaba’s Inn. He’d walked up the path and her head had turned at the sound of his shoes scuffing on the stone. She’d whispered his name before flying toward him, flinging her arms around his neck. She rubbed dirt against his neck and his hair and Hades had just squeezed her tight and twirled her around, their laughter and their tears sounded like silver bells in the air-- you couldn’t tell which was which.

He existed in that memory, felt it curl its fingers around his heart. His eyes began to sting. And that was when he snapped his eyes open and wrenched himself away from that moment. He buried it back into its graveyard.

“Did you get it?” he said brusquely. He didn’t want to do it again. “Can we move on now?”

HOWL:

The memory was soft and it was silver and Howl did not even need to raise his wand, for after it wrapped itself around Hades (as if in a hug, an embrace), it slipped over to Howl, circling around his hand. All he had to do was curl it into his palm and coax it into the little vial.

“It has been done,” said Howl, simply.

Little Calliope was watching them all, dark eyes wide. He used the term little loosely, for she was a tall girl, tall and stately and there was nothing little about her stance or her magic. It was her age he referred to mostly. Just freshly nineteen, she had an idealistic view of the world to rival that of Miss LaBouff, which Melaenis had procured at the Masquerade.

Howl turned to her after he had corked his vial.

“Should I close my eyes and think or--”

“Essentially, yes,” said Howl, “but you are going to have to concentrate very hard. Just of the spirit--the girl, Cassandra, whatever her name was. Only what you remember of your visions and dreams. You have to make sure not to make up traits or eliminate anything.”

Callie’s face was serious and she nodded.

“Alright. Begin.”

Callie closed her eyes and instantly, Howl started to see the bits and pieces come together in front of him.

It was a pale figure, spectral-like, the memory of a memory. A tall woman with long pale hair and eerie blue eyes--who looked a bit like Hades, if Hades was a woman. The image in front of him was delicate, as if it were made of dust, as if it could be blown away with a particularly strong exhale.

Howl felt a chill down his spine as he looked at those pale blue eyes, but then pushed it away, grabbing his wand to coral the reagent towards the hearth. It offered no resistance, was simply coaxed forward, like dead leaves in the wind.

Calcifer shifted over and with his wand, Howl drew a summoning rune around the hearth, so that the figure was in the centre. He sprinkled the contents of Hades’s memory around the spectre, and then lifted his hand so that a bowl of his pre-mixed Summoning Special (™)--complete with searching glances, desperate feelings, a nice collection of lost things waiting to be found, among other reagents--glided over. He added it generously.

“Now the book, Mr. Acheron,” he said, holding his hand out. “It won’t come to harm; I must simply procure her essence.”

HADES:

With the memory taking from him (though Hades still had the original tucked in the back of his heart, which no one could steal from him), he felt stripped bare, part of him exposed, fragile, raw. It reminded him of Yubaba. All this, dealing with sorcery, brought up those days and nights that Hades tried to keep buried for the sake of his own-- focus. But now they woke up and Hades felt his gut curdle with distrust at the sorcerer for no other reason than he was a sorcerer. And he didn’t want to give Howl the book. He wanted to hold on tighter. Find a corner, draw his legs up-- flip through the pages and watch Sephy’s eyes blink at him. These things were cushy emotions that had no place here, and Hades knew that, so he did his best to just shove them aside. He knew that Howl wanted to see Seph too. This was about her, not him. He looked at Callie though before he gave her the book. He didn’t know why. Instinct pulled his eyes to her, that same magnetic feeling in his gut. And when he looked at her, that feeling grew. Not deja vu, but nostalgia. She met his eyes and somehow that helped relax his shoulders and get rid of all those round, soft emotions. He looked back at Howl and extended the book to him. When it left his fingers, he folded his arms to his chest, feeling all at once emptier. But he kept his eyes on it: the book.  He watched the essence get pulled into the air. His own heart raced. How could Seph be encapsulated in something so flimsy, like mist or smoke? How could she fit into a bottle? How could she get carried around in a pocket, like a perfume? How would it be enough to find Persephone’s body and draw her here? There had to be more of her, he thought to himself. There has to be more to all of us. Hades kept these questions to himself. His lips were pressed in a thin light and when the procurement was done, he swallowed and looked at the flickering hearth. When he talked to Howl about this, they’d gone over the steps. First, the ingredients, then they’d draw a cage for Cassandra’s body, a portal rune or-- or something. And because she was still a dead thing, though she’d stolen a live body, they’d do it in salt and candlelight.   Hades would light the candles. Howl’s apprentice had scurried forth while Howl procured Seph’s essence. She was on her knees now, fixing her lines of salt so they were neat and smooth. She pushed a few grains into place with the tip of her silver wand, then looked up at Howl. “Is this okay?” she said. When Howl said yes, Hades knew it was his turn. Again. Once again he looked at Callie. He could already feel the blister-burns on his fingertips, which would erupt as soon as he sparked that long-sleeping flame he no longer trusted. And what if he couldn’t push through the pain long enough, what if he couldn’t light these candles-- he looked at her and blinked and saw that same, dark-skinned woman from their dreams and his instinct was to reach out for her, to hold her hand. That wasn’t Hades. Hades wanted Belle here. Instead he swallowed again. “Can you-- can you help me?” he managed to bite the words out, though he looked down at the salt-rune and ticked his jaw after. His chest burned, though out of fear or shame or something else, Hades couldn’t place.

CALLIE:

It was like watching a story book, except right before she turned the page, Callie knew what was going to happen. She saw the rune before Howl drew it, saw Kiki scurrying down the stairs before she did.

So when Hades turned to her, she knew what he was going to say before he did.

“Of course,” she said.

Howl paid them no attention and was instructing Kiki, pointing out the intricacies in the rune and how just a stray line would mean something completely different. Callie was curious, almost wanted to listen in, but she turned back to Hades.

And she knew what to do.

She knew what to do not just in that usual way of her, but because she felt like she had done it before, had stood with a pale figure whose fire was not burning as bright as usual, whose fire left burns, left scars. She saw a forest, her outstretched hand which was darker than her own skin, but still had the same long fingers.

She saw a pale hand and her fingers linked through it.

“Give me your hand,” she said, and she knew it would hurt her instead of him, because it had hurt her once before, but then it had been the kind of hurt that she wanted, that she craved that burn. “It won’t hurt you.”

When his fingers would have blistered, hers did instead, the hand that was tucked behind her back, hiding. Her face was stoic, though she could feel her heart beating a little faster with each flicker of the candles.

Howl, done with instructing his apprentice, turned back to them.

“Ah, excellent, I see you’re already holding hands--that’s the next step, come, link around the fireplace.” He held his hand out to Callie and she took it and faced forward.

The flames of the candles grew strong, higher, flickering in a wind that wasn’t there, but never going out. Calcifer himself, the fire demon (Callie knew that), started to burn brighter, taller, bending as if a storm were going to knock him over, but never quite did.

Only the ghostly apparition remained still

There was a light in the middle of the rune--it had been small at first, so that Callie thought it just might be a trick of light, but it grew and grew, like a tear in the world in front of her, grew so that it encompassed the pale figure of the woman, the entire rune. The light was white and it was blinding and Callie started to hear that wind that was blowing the candles, blowing Calcifer, and Calcifer grew to the height of the ceiling, his flames hot, but just hot enough not to be burning and the wind was loud and howling, her hair blowing now and--

Then it was quiet.

It was still.

And in the middle of the hearth was a pale girl with dark hair and Howl dropped Callie’s hand at once.

HADES:

Callie’s hand slipped into his and he was in the forest again too. His body was slighter, though still tall and slim. He remembered all this and he remembered his own fire too-- how warm it could be, not a thing of destruction, but a bringer of light. Once, he’d never doubted it. Calliope had shown him from the beginning that this fire was a beautiful thing.

He raised his other hand and the flames flickered to life on his finger tips, like bluebird feathers. And it was soft in his hands. There was no searing pain. He lit the candles one by one and then let the fire fade back into his veins as quickly as they appeared.

He squeezed Callie’s hand and looked at her. “You okay?” he asked her without even thinking about it, because he had asked her that question time and time again and she always-- smiled at him and nodded, just like she did now.

He was about to slip his hand away (felt a strange flash of guilt-- thinking of Belle again, feeling guilty that for a second he’d forgotten) but Howl turned to them both and told him not to. Hades swallowed the guilt back. He kept hold of Belle though and once again wished that she was here. More than ever, right now. He wanted to go apologize. Maybe he still had time if he called her, if he asked her, if he said please…

No, there was no time.

He linked hands with Kiki, who linked hands with Howl, who linked the circle back to Callie. The fire grew and Hades felt it start burning in his own chest-- so bright and sudden and fierce that he opened his lips like he was going to shout, feeling like the fire might escape from inside him. He grasped Callie’s hand tighter, the fire reflected in his blue eyes--

Ladybird, Ladybird, he thought to himself. He heard it in his mother’s voice. He heard it in Persephone’s.

Then the light cleared and she was there.

Hades also dropped their hands, feeling like he’d just run straight into a wall. He choked back a sound at the sight of her. He took a step toward the rune, forgetting about everything but his sister--

Persephone’s body stepped forward faster and spat right in his face.

“You got a sorcerer to summon me?” she hissed. Those light eyes of her were harder than they’d ever been. She didn’t look like Seph at all anymore, her face twisted, her dark hair still ragged and choppy. She wore short black shorts, hugging her waistline. Black boots. Seph would not wear those shorts, those boots.

Hades turned his face away, wiping his thumb over the glob of spit on his cheek. When he looked back at her, he’d turned his expression to stone too.

“That’s right, bitch,” he hissed at her. “You’re going to tell us everything we want to hear. And then I’m going to tear you out of Persephone’s body you stole.”

“And let it rot?” Cassandra sneered. She looked at Howl. “Or are you gonna let him have it to play with? I know how fond you were of it, Howl Pendragon. A shame you never did more than k--” Her words stopped.

She was looking at Callie.

Hades’ brow creased. Cassie’s face-- Sephy’s face--crumpled, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. For a moment it was like Seph was back, all her softness and her love. “You found her. How did you find her?” she whispered. She tried to step closer but the air thickened like glass to keep her in the circle. “L-let me out. Calliope, it’s me.”

CALLIE:

Everything happened very quickly.

The girl in the circle looked like Hades’ dead sister. Callie knew how she looked like, because Callie had seen her in dreams. Hades dropped her hand, as did Howl, and Hades and the girl in the hearth--Cassandra--started to argue and before Callie could even process the words, Cassandra flicked her eyes (or were they Persephone’s eyes?) to her and Callie felt her knees buckle--

There was a forest and it was dark and there were hands reaching out to her, actual hands and arms, not the branches of trees, but rotting human flesh, bones that were decaying--

And she was running, running, running faster than she’d ever had in her life, her heart pounding in her throat, choking her, she couldn’t breathe because she just had to get there, before--

Before who? Before who?

There was a knife, already stained in blood. She took it in her hand, fingers curling around it, and she plunged it into her own heart.

Callie almost fell to the ground, but Howl swooped in and caught her, trying to steady her to her feet.

She thought about kissing a pale girl with even paler hair--thought about kissing Hades, but not Hades, not Hades but Cassandra.

She thought about running away. Being so sure that they wouldn’t be found, so sure--even though, that was stupid because of course they would be found, because the person looking for them was--

There was a block, a block, the page wouldn’t turn, she could not go further back.

“I’m not your Calliope,” she said and her voice was shaking, her hands trembling. “She--she killed herself. Because--someone killed you.”

HADES:

Callie collapsed out of nowhere. She sucked in a breath like someone was choking her, the noise grating the room, and then her knees buckled. Howl darted for her, barely catching her in time. Cassandra cried softly on the inside of the trap, her hand pressed to the invisible wall keeping her in. She cried, tears dribbling, and smiled. There was one beat between Callie’s gasped words where everything was still except for Cal’s own flickering flame.Then: “What did you do?” Hades said sharply. He glared at Cassie. Whatever just happened to Callie, it was Cassandra’s fault. She’d done something to her, even from within that bubble, where Persephone’s powers of empathy could not penetrate. “Nothing,” she said anyway. She giggled, wiping the back of her index finger with her cheek. “It wasn’t me. It was Calliope, my Calliope.” “She’s not yours--” “She is,” said Cassie, her voice trembling. “She’s the reason I came back. I came back for you, Calliope,” pled the ghost to Callie’s shaking body. Her eyes grew wide as milk saucers. “Look what I did for us. I told you I’d never leave you, I’d never l-let them separate us--” “Them?” Hades sneered again. This was all-- nonsense. Though there were parts of his brain that felt itchy, like he was experiencing deja vu the more that Cassandra talked. He thought of the other woman he kept seeing in flashes: dark skin, dark eyes. Somehow he knew the shape of her body and the lilt of her laugh. He remembered running through a forest with her. He remembered kissing her. He remembered crying in her arms. “Yes-- them,” Cassie spat out the word. “You want to know the answers to your questions, Hades? Just ask Urania Hesiod, not me.” Seph’s face once again twisted, her mouth pulled in a snarl. “She was the one who murdered me and ripped me from the earth, who put me down in that wretched hole where I didn’t belong-- find her, ask her, and then when you do--” the smile was back “-- burn her alive.”

CALLIE:

“No,” said Callie, her voice rising, on the edge of defensive. She sank onto the workbench right behind her, grasping the edge of it, trying to ground herself in the current scene, the current moment in time, lest she get swept away in this story that Cassie was giving her.

There was a forest and it was dark and there was blood…

There was a girl and she was pale and her kiss was like fire--hot and warm and light--

“Urania is a good person,” said Callie, gripping the bench as tight as she could, the wood scraping against her palms. Howl stood next to her, a hand on her shoulder, but his eyes were on the figure in the fireplace.

There was the forest, her knees on the ground, scraped by the leaves and twigs and dirt, her chest tight from running, from running to, from running from. It was dark and there were hands outstretched and there--

There was the girl’s body, tainted with dark red blood. Callie’s arms wrapped around it, her arms darker than they were in the present, but her arms, nonetheless. She cried out, she knew who did this, she knew it was--

“It can’t be, it can’t be,” repeated Callie.

All she had to do was turn her head.

There was Urania, younger, but it was Urania, standing a distance aways, looking at Callie, at Cassandra, a bloody knife in her hand.

You did this to me, she remembered saying--remembered Calliope saying.

She knew how the rest of it went. She lunged forward. She grabbed the knife. She plunged it in her own chest--to be with Cassandra, forever.

“She killed herself,” said Callie and now her voice was steadier. The room was clearly in front of her. There was a fireplace and a bench, a demon crackling, an apprentice cowering, reagents in jars on shelves, papers everywhere. She was here and not in a forest and she was herself and not a memory. She looked at Cassandra, then flicked her eyes to Hades. “The old Calliope. I’m not her--you’d have to find her back where you came from,” she said.

Urania, Urania, Urania…

“There must be some misunderstanding,” she said, standing up. “Urania would not kill someone unless there was a reason.”

HADES:

Urania Hesiod.

When Hades heard the name, at first he felt nothing. Then Callie rose her voice and the shadows rose around Hades too-- the room dropping out. The vision engulfed him. Hades saw her then, the missing piece of the puzzle all this time, how she had emerged from the trees and gripped a knife meant for him. No, her. Who Hades had once been.

Callie argued, Callie denied, Callie sounded like she wanted to cry but it was Hades who felt a new burning in his chest and his stomach. His fire seared, but this, this cut. His eyes got a faraway look in them-- unfocused, pupils fully dilated-- and then he looked down at his own hand and saw the blood from years and years ago.

Urania Hesiod had stabbed him once. Urania had wanted him to die. Because--

“A reason?” Cassandra hissed now, practically shrieked it the way that Seph’s voice rose. It shattered Hades’ own trance, bringing his eyes to her. He couldn’t remember the last time his sister had sounded like that.

“You want a reason? How about I loved you? I love you with all-- all my heart. All we wanted to do was be together,” said Cassandra. And now she was crying, the tears rolling down her cheeks. She stepped to the edge of the circle again, pressing her hand against the invisible wall. She did not look away from Callie.

“The Order wouldn’t let us. Th-those silly rules,” she continued. “But I--I loved you anyway, I-- I was go-going to take you a-away-- oh, Calliope, I know you love me too. We’re destined. P-please.”

All the tears, the stuttering-- part of Hades wanted to break the circle and hold her. It wasn’t Seph though, he knew that. And so he got angry. He shoved down those weak parts of him and curled his lip. “You’re delusional. Aren’t you listening, she died. She’s not Callie.”

“But I came back for her--”

“You wasted your time!” snarled Hades. The fire on the candles jumped in the air. “You killed my sister for nothing!”

Cassie didn’t say anything to that. Instead, she looked at him with those big blue eyes, her lip trembling, her head shaking. And then she slowly sank to her knees and wept.

CALLIE:

Cassandra was weeping in front of them. Callie felt like it was her fault, that she was the one who had messed up and caused all of this bad stuff to happen. She should’ve followed the rules. She should’ve listened to Urania and then she would still be alive and Cassandra would still be alive and--

If Cassandra and the old Calliope were still alive, Hades and Callie wouldn’t be here right now. Maybe they would--well, Callie would, she didn’t know how the passing of Hades’s powers went. They’d all be alive, all four of them--and Hades’s sister. Maybe they wouldn’t know each other. Maybe Callie would be in Greece, training under the old Calliope. Maybe Hades would still be in Manchester and Persephone still alive, and Cassandra off, somewhere, wherever she was from--Ireland, a voice whispered.

They just had to follow the rules and--

She thought of Kiara and her heart started pounding so hard that she thought she might throw up.

“Hades.” And it was Howl’s voice and Callie watched as he walked in front of the hearth to face Hades. “The next step is yours,” he said. “Though I do have reagents to help, if you would like.” He flicked his eyes towards Callie, who straightened her back and sat up a little more. “And, of course, your presence will help.”

“Yeah. Yes. Okay. Hang on.” She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself, then stood up, walking over towards Hades, looking him straight in the eye. “Okay. Ready?”

HADES:

Cassandra looked up again, her crying cutting off with a strangled choking noise coming from her throat. Her red eyes stared into Hades. “Y-you aren’t going to-- it won’t work.” The words burst from her small frame, rough and wet. To Hades-- they sounded, almost, like a plea. Cassandra could try to look tough but she forgot that it was Persephone’s face she wore. Sephy could never hide what she felt; she never tried. And Hades could read even her most thoughtful, quiet expressions and know exactly what was beating in her tender heart. And so Cassie’s desperation, it made him feel stronger, for once. He would be triumphant. He could bring her back. “You can’t,” tried Cassie anyway. She was still on her knees. “She gave up this body, Hades, there are rules.” “I make the bloody rules,” sneered Hades at her. A weak laugh tumbled from Cassie’s mouth. “No, you don’t. None of us do.” “I don’t care--” he snatched Seph’s book back and tossed it in the circle. Cassie jumped back from it like it was already on fire. The book opened, flipping to one of Seph’s favourite poems. “Stop.” Cassie’s voice trembled. The flames stretched higher in the candles. The lights behind in the kitchen flickered. “Stop,” she tried again. Hades was not listening to her. He had death at his fingertips and he was inviting it into the room. Ghosts crawled forth. Each and every shadow grew long, then longer, as a chill swept through the room, turning everything to ice. Only Hades could hear the murmurs, the whispers, the soft, ghoulish laughter. Well, him and Cassie, and he got a sick pleasure watching the colour drain from her face as they circled her like sharks. “I’m in her body, she can’t come back!” Cassie tried again. She stepped to the edge of her cage, as close as she could get. “You don’t know what you’re doing! If you give me your powers though, if you-- if I can be the ambassador, I’ll show you how to save her--” “I’m never listening to you again,” said Hades and he reached out his hand to Callie. “Callie.” “No! Don’t-- don’t, she’s mine!” Hades opened up his other palm and a flame burst to life there. The lights flickered faster, on and off, on and off until they shut off completely and then it was just the blue fire in the dark, and Hades’ voice: “I summon Persephone Acheron from the Underworld.” The flames jumped. “I summon Persephone Acheron from the Underworld.” The pages were flipping, a wind blasting through the room, coming from nowhere. “I summon Persephone Acheron from the Underworld!” Then the fire snuffed out and all was quiet and dark. Only Cassandra’s breath, ragged and short, filled the space. Another second spilled into two-- and then Cassie began to chuckle. “Goodness,” she spoke. “For a moment there, I was scared it was going to work.” The lights flicked back on and it was like nothing had happened at all. The circle remained unbroken, but the book was shut and there Cassie stood, with her bullshit smirk and the tears dried on her pale cheeks. The candles were burned out, just a tail of smoke rising from their charred wicks. Hades reacted without thinking. He lunged at her, kicking the salt loose and destroying the circle. His hand curled around Cassie’s throat and he pushed her back against a wall. “What did you do?” he sneered. “Why didn’t it work, she should be able to possess you--” Cassie gasped, clawing at Hades’ hand, wheezing-- it was the sound of a choked laugh. “Told--you--so!”

CALLIE:

She knew it was not going to work the second he tried it.

It flashed in front of her eyes, a few moments ahead, just as she touched his hand. She saw everything before it happened. Cassandra’s choked laughter, Hades’ hand wrapped around her neck (Callie could feel the place where his fingers had tightened around her own neck and for a moment too, she felt like she could not breathe), the salt flying everywhere--and then moments later it happened, Cassandra against a wall, the flames in the hearth arching high, Howl sweeping up the salt back into a circle just by glancing at it and walking towards Hades.

Howl had a hand outstretched. Howl was yelling. Callie could not hear him, but she knew what he was saying.

You cannot let her loose, we have to keep her restrained…

All Callie could hear was a low chuckle in a dark forest from a voice that used to read out loud to her from The Illiad and The Odyssey, who instructed her in dance and harp. It was warped and it was low and it sent chills down her spine, but there was no doubt about to whom it belonged.

Urania Hesiod.

“Callie,” said Howl, and she blinked and he was standing right next to her, head ducked down a bit to meet her eyes. “Are you alright?”

She blinked, once, twice. Howl stared back at her, his eyes like blue glass.

“I need to find Urania,” she said. “I need to talk to her--I…”

What did she need to do? She didn’t know. What did they need to do? She closed her eyes and tried to focus, but all she saw was blood and dangling limbs and the silver of a dagger and all she heard was a low, low chuckle through the rustling of forest leaves.

HOWL:

Around Calliope, reagents of fear and betrayal and panic started to swarm. Howl stood up, then reached to put a hand on her shoulder.

“Come,” he said, softly. “Kiki and you and I will go to Hatter’s and get some hot chocolate, while Mr. Acheron here finishes what he needs to. He no longer requires you.”

Howl did not know whether this was true or not, but he stared Hades down, before glancing at the burns on Callie’s hands.

“It’s his own path now, darling,” he said, turning back to Callie. “Ours leads to hot cocoa and scones.”

[itswallstreetpr]

Pot Stocks Set for Biden Boost? (GRWG, CURLF, MCTC, TLRY)

The drumbeat to legalize cannabis is getting louder and louder in the US. Joe Biden is, by all accounts, starting to run away with the presidential takeover, relegating Mr. Trump to the history books as a rare one-term president, and potentially via a decisive landslide. Among other things, such an election result will suggest the incoming administration will have a mandate on certain core issues, one of which, surprisingly, seems to be cannabis legalization, or so say the smart folks at CIBC. We should note that this is also speculation driven by polling and betting odds that show a strong likelihood that the democrats will take the Senate as well as the White House, while holding onto the House of Representatives, when they sweep through town in November. Right now, betting site Predictit.org is showing Biden with a 63-40 price edge to win, and Democrats overall with a 62-39 edge in the “Who will control the Senate after 2020?” market. Furthermore, because of the virus, the vote is likely to actually take place well ahead of November given the massive numbers expected to mail in their ballots this year to avoid crowded polling stations as possible transmission hot spots – and your typical mail-in vote is often penciled in weeks ahead of the official election day. In other words, if Trump is going to mount a comeback, he had better get moving because he has a lot of ground to make up, and only a matter of weeks in which to do it. All of that takes us back to CIBC’s analyst projection out on Monday: if Biden wins, and the Dems control both houses of Congress, then expect the US to legalize weed for recreational use nationwide sometime in 2021. This makes perfect sense because it ties into what Biden will face as a critical issue in year one of his presidency: the specter of state bankruptcies across the country following the horrors of our collective battle with the virus. Legal weed reduces the burden of enforcement and creates a major tailwind in tax receipts. In other words, people will toke it up either way. But legal weed has a massive impact on state fiscal health. What does that really mean?  It means that it’s time to get excited about Pot Stocks! With that in mind, here are a few interesting names in the space: GrowGeneration Corp (OTCMKTS:GRWG), Curaleaf Holdings Inc (OTCMKTS:CURLF), MCTC Holdings Inc (OTCMKTS:MCTC), and Tilray Inc (NASDAQ:TLRY). GrowGeneration Corp (OTCMKTS:GRWG) trumpets itself as a company that, through its subsidiaries, owns and operates retail hydroponic and organic gardening stores in the United States. GrowGen also operates an online superstore for cultivators, located at https://growgen.pro/.  GrowGen carries and sells thousands of products, including organic nutrients and soils, advanced lighting technology and state of the art hydroponic equipment to be used indoors and outdoors by commercial and home growers.  GrowGeneration Corp (OTCMKTS:GRWG) just announced the pricing of an underwritten public offering of 7,500,000 shares of its common stock at an offering price of $5.60 per share. GrowGen expects the gross proceeds from the Offering to be approximately $42.0 million, before deducting the underwriting discount and other estimated offering expenses.  According to the company’s release, the Offering was upsized from the previously announced offering size of $35.0 million of common stock. GrowGen has also granted the underwriters a 30-day option to purchase up to an additional 1,125,000 shares of common stock offered in the public market. The Company expects to close the Offering on or about July 2, 2020, subject to the satisfaction of customary closing conditions. It will be interesting to see if the stock can break out of its recent sideways action. Over the past week, the stock is net flat, and looking for something new to spark things. GrowGeneration Corp (OTCMKTS:GRWG) generated sales of $33M, according to information released in the company's most recent quarterly financial report. That adds up to a sequential quarter-over-quarter growth rate of 29.9% on the top line. In addition, the company is battling some balance sheet hurdles, with cash levels struggling to keep up with current liabilities ($11.4M against $17.3M, respectively). Curaleaf Holdings Inc (OTCMKTS:CURLF) operates as an integrated medical and wellness cannabis operator in the United States. CURLF is a major vertically integrated MSO cannabis operator with a strong presence that is expanding to 23 US states.  Curaleaf Inc.'s Florida operations were the first in the cannabis industry to receive the Safe Quality Food certification under the Global Food Safety Initiative, setting a new standard of excellence. It cultivates, processes, markets, and/or dispenses a range of cannabis products in various operating markets, including flower, pre-rolls and flower pods, dry-herb vaporizer cartridges, concentrates for vaporizing, concentrates for dabbing, tinctures, lozenges, capsules, and edibles.  Curaleaf Holdings Inc (OTCMKTS:CURLF) recently announced that it closed its milestone acquisition of GR Companies, Inc., the largest private vertically-integrated multi-state operator in the United States, on July 23, 2020. According to the release, with completion of the acquisition of Grassroots, Curaleaf is the world's largest cannabis company by revenue and the most diversified vertically integrated cannabis company in the United States, the world's largest cannabis market. The transaction expands Curaleaf's presence from 18 to 23 states, with the combined company having affiliated operations spanning over 135 dispensary licenses, 88 operational dispensary locations, over 30 processing facilities and 22 cultivation sites with 1.6 million square feet of current cultivation capacity. Curaleaf's expanded geographic dispensary presence now offers access to medical or adult use Cannabis to more than 192 million people, or roughly two-thirds of the United States population. And the stock has been acting well over recent days, up something like 14% in that time. Curaleaf Holdings Inc (OTCMKTS:CURLF) managed to rope in revenues totaling $129.8M in overall sales during the company's most recently reported quarterly financial data -- a figure that represents a rate of top line growth of 177%, as compared to year-ago data in comparable terms. In addition, the company has a strong balance sheet, with cash levels far exceeding current liabilities ($251M against $177.1M). Cannabis Global, Inc. (OTCMKTS:MCTC), currently still trading as MCTC Holdings (OTCMKTS:MCTC), is an R&D play in the CBD and cannabis markets. In a very interesting step, the company just moved into the cannabis delivery-based dispensary retail business through a release that dropped last week. In the release, officially, the company announced the closing of a definitive agreement to “enter the fast-growing California cannabis delivery market.”  According to the release, Whisper Weed, Inc. and Cannabis Global have created a new California Corporation to be named CGI Whisper W, Inc., which will provide management services for the delivery entity. CGI Whisper W, Inc, will receive 51% of the profits from the new entity, which will be recognized as income by Cannabis Global, Inc.  "The delivery sector is the hottest area of the California cannabis business and we are very pleased to have a seat at the table," commented Arman Tabatabaei. "We not only will be able to grow our revenue base relative to direct delivery, but we also see Whisper Weed as a perfect platform to launch our infusion technologies in the regulated marketplace.  With the deal closing, we are already in the process of adding other delivery platforms and other businesses to our overall portfolio." Cannabis Global, Inc. (OTCMKTS:MCTC) views this agreement as an important step toward the verticalization of its IP-driven focus. Many of the technologies developed for CBD and non-THC marketplaces can be directly applied to the regulated California cannabis marketplace, including the Company's newly developed tetrahydrocannabivarin (THC-V) and Cannabinol( CBN) delivery technologies.  Shares of the stock have been running in recent days, up as much as 60% in the past five trading sessions. MCTC Holdings Inc (OTCMKTS:MCTC) had no reported sales in its last quarterly financial data. But it appears to be closing in on commercial-stage operational gains for shareholders and has a strong IP edge in the industry. In addition, with this agreement, the company should now be in a position to start booking topline growth in the cannabis delivery-based dispensary retail business. Tilray Inc (NASDAQ:TLRY) engages in the research, cultivation, processing, and distribution of medical cannabis. The company offers its products in Argentina, Australia, Canada, Chile, Croatia, Cyprus, the Czech Republic, Germany, New Zealand, and South Africa. Tilray, Inc. was incorporated in 2018 and is headquartered in Nanaimo, Canada. One of its key subsidiaries is High Park, which was launched to produce and distribute world-class cannabis brands and products for the Canadian market. Based in Toronto and led by a team with deep experience in cannabis and global consumer brands, High Park has secured the exclusive rights to produce and distribute a broad-based portfolio of cannabis brands and products in Canada, subject to applicable laws and regulations. Tilray Inc (NASDAQ:TLRY) just announced that it will report results for the second quarter ended June 30, 2020 on Monday, August 10, 2020 after market close. According to the release, the Company will host a conference call to discuss these results in the afternoon (at 5:00 p.m. ET) on that day. The report should be important for the space in general because TLRY is known for being somewhat overhyped relative to its actual operations, and the market will be anxious to understand how this archetypal “pot stock bubble victim” has managed to evolve in terms of the long-term prospects for servicing its major liabilities.  TLRY shares have been moving higher over the past week overall, pushing about 3% to the upside on above average trading volume. Tilray Inc (NASDAQ:TLRY) managed to rope in revenues totaling $52.1M in overall sales during the company's most recently reported quarterly financial data -- a figure that represents a rate of top line growth of 126.2%, as compared to year-ago data in comparable terms. In addition, the company has a strong balance sheet, with cash levels far exceeding current liabilities ($174M against $171.4M). Read the full article

[bountyofbeads]

Women Are Fleeing Death at Home. The U.S. Wants to Keep Them Out. https://www.nytimes.com/2019/08/18/world/americas/guatemala-violence-women-asylum.html

Her Ex-Boyfriend Killed Her Mother. Will the U.S. Offer a Refuge?

Violence against women is driving an exodus of migrants from Central America, but the Trump administration is determined to deny them asylum.

By Azam Ahmed, Photographs by Meridith Kohut and Daniel Berehulak | Published August 18, 2019 3:12 PM ET | New York Times | Posted August 18, 2019 4:15 PM ET |

JALAPA, Guatemala — They climbed the terraced hillside in single file, their machetes tapping the stones along the darkened footpath.

Gehovany Ramirez, 17, led his brother and another accomplice to his ex-girlfriend’s home. He struck the wooden door with his machete, sending splinters into the air.

His girlfriend, Lubia Sasvin Pérez, had left him a month earlier, fleeing his violent temper for her parents’ home here in southeast Guatemala. Five months pregnant, her belly hanging from her tiny 16-year-old frame, she feared losing the child to his rage.

Lubia and her mother slipped outside and begged him to leave, she said. They could smell the sour tang of alcohol on his breath. Unmoved, he raised the blade and struck her mother in the head, killing her.

Hearing a stifled scream, her father rushed outside. Lubia recalled watching in horror as the other men set upon him, splitting his face and leaving her parents splayed on the concrete floor.

For prosecutors, judges and even defense lawyers in Guatemala, the case exemplifies the national scourge of domestic violence, motivated by a deep-seated sense of ownership over women and their place in relationships.

But instead of facing the harsher penalties meant to stop such crimes in Guatemala, Gehovany received only four years in prison, a short sentence even by the country’s lenient standard for minors. More than three years later, now 21, he will be released next spring, perhaps sooner.

And far from being kept from the family he tore apart, under Guatemalan law Gehovany has the right to visit his son upon release, according to legal officials in Guatemala.

The prospect of his return shook the family so thoroughly that Lubia’s father, who survived the attack, sold their home and used the money to pay a smuggler to reach the United States. Now living outside of San Francisco, he is pinning his hopes on winning asylum to safeguard his family. They all are.

But that seems more distant than ever. Two extraordinary legal decisions by the Trump administration have struck at the core of asylum claims rooted in domestic violence or threats against families like Lubia’s — not only casting doubt on their case, but almost certainly on thousands of others as well, immigration lawyers say.

“How can this be justice?” Lubia said before the family fled, sitting under the portico where her mother was killed. “All I did was leave him for beating me and he took my mother from us.”

“What kind of system protects him, and not me?” she said, gathering her son in her lap.

Their case offers a glimpse into the staggering number of Central Americans fleeing violence and dysfunction — and the dogged fight the Trump administration is waging to keep them out.

Across Latin America, a murder epidemic is underway. Most years, more than 100,000 people are killed, largely young men on the periphery of broken societies, where gangs and cartels sometimes take the place of the state.

The turmoil has forced millions to flee the region and seek refuge in the United States, where they confront a system strained by record demand and a bitter fight over whether to accept them.

But violence against women, and domestic violence in particular, is a powerful and often overlooked factor in the migration crisis. Latin America and the Caribbean are home to 14 of the 25 deadliest nations in the world for women, according to available data collected by the Small Arms Survey, which tracks violence globally.

And Central America, the region where most of those seeking asylum in the United States are fleeing, is at the heart of the crisis.

Here in Guatemala, the homicide rate for women is more than three times the global average. In El Salvador, it is nearly six times. In Honduras, it is one of the highest in the world — almost 12 times the global average.

In the most violent pockets of Central America, the United Nations says, the danger is like living in a war zone.

“Despite the risk associated with migration, it is still lower than the risk of being killed at home,” said Angela Me, the chief of research and trend analysis at the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime.

The issue is so central to migration that former Attorney General Jeff Sessions, eager to advance the Trump administration’s priority of closing the southern border to migrants, issued a decision last year to try to halt victims of domestic violence, among other crimes, from seeking asylum.

To win asylum in the United States, applicants must show specific grounds for their persecution back home, like their race, religion, political affiliation or membership in a particular social group. Lawyers have sometimes pushed successfully for women to qualify as a social group because of the overwhelming violence they face, citing a 2014 case in which a Guatemalan woman fleeing domestic violence was found to be eligible to apply for asylum in the United States.

But Mr. Sessions overruled that precedent, questioning whether women — in particular, women fleeing domestic violence — can be members of a social group. The decision challenged what had become common practice in asylum courts.

Then, last month, the new attorney general, William P. Barr, went further. Breaking with decades of precedent, he issued a decision making it harder for families, like Lubia’s, to qualify as social groups also.

Violence against women in the region is so prevalent that 18 countries have passed laws to protect them, creating a class of homicide known as femicide, which adds tougher penalties and greater law enforcement attention to the issue.

And yet, despite that broad effort, the new laws have failed to reduce the killings of girls and women in the region, the United Nations says.

That reflects how deep the gender gap runs. For the new laws to make a difference, experts say, they must go far beyond punishment to change education, political discourse, social norms and basic family dynamics.

Though gangs and cartels in the region play a role in the violence, most women are killed by lovers, family members, husbands or partners — men angered by women acting independently, enraged by jealousy or, like Gehovany, driven by a deeply ingrained sense of control over women’s lives.

“Men end up thinking they can dispose of women as they wish,” said Adriana Quiñones, the United Nations Women’s country representative in Guatemala.

A vast majority of female homicides in the region are never solved. In Guatemala, only about 6 percent result in convictions, researchers say. And in the rare occasions when they do, as in Lubia’s case, they are not always prosecuted vigorously.

Even defense attorneys believe Gehovany should have been charged with femicide, which would have put him in prison a couple of years longer. The fact that he was not, some Guatemalan officials acknowledge, underscores the many ways in which the nation’s legal system, even when set up to protect women, continues to fail them.

In the courtroom, Lubia’s father, Romeo de Jesus Sasvin Dominguez, spoke up just once.

It didn’t make sense, he told the judge, shaking his head. A long white scar ran over the bridge of his nose, a relic of the attack. How could the laws of Guatemala favor the man who killed his wife, who hurt his daughter?

“We had a life together,” he told the judge, nearly in tears. “And he came and took that away from us just because my daughter didn’t want to be in an abusive relationship.”

“I just don’t understand,” he said.

‘It’s Like Our Like Daily Bread’

Lubia’s son crawled with purpose, clutching a toy truck he had just relieved of its back wheel.

The family watched in grateful distraction. Years after the murder, they still lived like prisoners, trapped between mourning and fear. A rust-colored stain blotted the floor where Lubia’s mother died. The dimpled doorjamb, hacked by the machete, had not been repaired. Lubia’s three younger sisters refused even to set foot in the bedroom where they hid during the attack.

Santiago Ramirez, Gehovany’s brother, never went to prison, spared because of a mental illness. Neighbors often saw him walking the village streets.

Soon, Gehovany would be, too. The family worried the men would come back, to finish what they started.

“There’s not much we can do,” said Mr. Sasvin Dominguez, sending Lubia’s son on his way with the toy truck. “We don’t have the law in our hands.”

He had no money to move and owned nothing but the house, which the family clung to but could hardly bear. His two sons lived in the United States and had families of their own to support. He hadn’t seen them in years.

“I’m raising my daughters on my own now, four of them,” he said.

He woke each morning at 3 a.m., hiking into the mountains to work as a farm hand. The girls, whose high cheekbones and raven-colored hair resembled their mother’s, no longer went to school. With the loss of her income from selling knickknacks on the street, they couldn’t afford to pay for it.

His youngest daughter especially loved classes: the routine, the books, the chance to escape her circumscribed world. But even she had resigned herself to voluntary confinement. The stares and whispers of classmates — and the teasing of especially cruel ones — had grown unbearable. In town, some residents openly blamed Lubia for what happened. Even her own aunts did.

“There’s no justice here,” said Lubia, who added that she wanted to share her story with the public for that very reason. Her father did, too.

In her area, Jalapa, a region of rippled hills, rutted roads and a cowboy culture, men go around on horseback with holstered pistols, their faces shaded by wide-brimmed hats. Though relatively peaceful for Guatemala, with a lower homicide rate than most areas, it is very dangerous for women.

Insulated from Guatemala’s larger cities, Jalapa is a concentrated version of the gender inequality that fuels the femicide crisis, experts say.

“It’s stark,” said Mynor Carrera, who served as dean of the Jalapa campus of the nation’s largest university for 25 years. “The woman is treated often like a child in the home. And violence against them is accepted.”

Domestic abuse is the most common crime here. Of the several dozen complaints the Jalapa authorities receive each week, about half involve violence against women.

“It’s like our daily bread,” said Dora Elizabeth Monson, the prosecutor for women’s issues in Jalapa. “Women receive it morning, afternoon and night.”

At the courthouse, Judge Eduardo Alfonso Campos Paz maintains a docket filled with such cases. The most striking part, he said, is that most men struggle to understand what they’ve done wrong.

The problem is not easily erased by legislation or enforcement, he said, because of a mind-set ingrained in boys early on and reinforced throughout their lives.

“When I was born, my mom or sister brought me food and drink,” the judge said. “My sister cleaned up after me and washed my clothes. If I wanted water, she would get up from wherever she was and get it for me.”

“We are molded to be served, and when that isn’t accomplished, the violence begins,” he said.

Across Guatemala, complaints of domestic violence have skyrocketed as more women come forward to report abuse. Every week, it seems, a new, gruesome case emerges in newspapers, of a woman tortured, mutilated or dehumanized. It is an echo of the systematic rape and torture women endured during the nation’s 36-year civil war, which left an indelible mark on Guatemalan society.

But today, the countries with the highest rates of femicide in the region, like Guatemala, also suffer the highest homicide rates overall — often leaving the killing of women overlooked or dismissed as private domestic matters, with few national implications.

The result is more disparity. While murders in Guatemala have dropped remarkably over the last decade, there is a notable difference by gender: Homicides of men have fallen by 57 percent, while killings of women have declined more slowly, by about 39 percent, according to government data.

“The policy is to investigate violence that has more political interest,” said Jorge Granados, the head of the science and technology department at Guatemala’s National Institute of Forensic Sciences. “The public policy is simply not focused on the murder of women.”

The femicide law required every region in the nation to install a specialized court focused on violence against women. But more than a decade later, only 13 of 22 are in operation.

“The abuse usually happens in the home, in a private context,” said Evelyn Espinoza, the coordinator of the Observatory on Violence at Diálogos, a Guatemalan research group. “And the state doesn’t involve itself in the home.”

In Lubia’s case, she fell in love with Gehovany in the fast, unstoppable way that teenagers do. By the time they moved in together, she was already pregnant.

But Gehovany’s drinking, abuse and stultifying expectations quickly became clear. He wanted her home at all times, even when he was out, she said. He told her not to visit her family.

She knew Gehovany would consider her leaving a betrayal, especially being pregnant with his child. She knew society might, too. But she had to go, for the baby’s sake, and was relieved to be free of him.

Until the night of Nov. 1, 2015, at around 9 p.m., when he came to reclaim her.

The New York Times tried to reach Gehovany, who fled after the killing and later turned himself in. But because he was a minor at the time of the murder, officials said, they could not arrange an interview or comment on the case.

His oldest brother, Robert Ramirez, argued that Gehovany had acted in self-defense and killed Lubia’s mother accidentally.

Still, Mr. Ramirez defended his brother’s decision to confront Lubia’s family that night, citing a widely held view of a woman’s place in Jalapa.

“He was right to go back and try to claim her,” he said. “She shouldn’t have left him.”

He looked toward his own house, etched into a clay hillside, a thread of smoke from a small fire curling through the doorway.

“I’d never allow my wife to leave me,” he said.

The Smugglers’ Road North

Mr. Sasvin Dominguez woke suddenly, startled by an idea.

He rushed to town in the dark, insects thrumming, a dense fog filling the mountains. In a single day, it was all arranged. He would sell his home and use the proceeds to flee to the United States.

The $6,500 was enough to buy passage for him and his youngest daughter, then 12. Traveling with a young child was cheaper, and often meant better treatment by American officials. At least, that’s what the smuggler said.

He hoped to reach his sons in California. With luck, he could find work, support the girls back home — and get asylum for the entire family.

The Dominguez Family’s Journey

A week later, in October of last year, he left with his daughter. A guide crossed them into Mexico. Soon, they reached the side of a highway, where a container truck sat idling. Inside, men, women and children were packed tight, with hardly enough space to move.

A dense heat filled the space, the sun baking the metal box as bodies brushed against one another. They spent nearly three days in the container before the first stop, he said.

The days went by in a blur, a log of images snatched from the fog of exhaustion. An open hangar, grumbling with trucks. Rolling desert, dotted by cactus. Sunlight glaring off the metal siding of a safe house.

They rode in at least five container trucks, as best they can remember. Hunger chased them. Some days, they got half an apple. On others, they got rice and beans. Sometimes they got nothing.

One night, they saw a man beaten unconscious for talking after the smugglers told him to be quiet.

“I remember that moment,” said his daughter, whose name is being withheld because she is still a minor. Her hands twisted at the memory. “I felt terrified,” she said.

Days later, starved for food, water and fresh air, she passed out in a container crammed with more than 200 migrants, her father holding her, fanning her with whatever documents he had.

In early November, they arrived in the Mexican border town of Reynosa, and were spirited into a safe house. After weeks on the road, they were getting close.

That day, the smugglers called one of Mr. Sasvin Dominguez’s sons, demanding an extra $400 to ferry the two across the river to Texas. If not, they would be tossed out of the safe house, left to the seething violence of Reynosa.

Mr. Sasvin Dominguez’s son sent the money. Last-minute extortions have come to be expected. A day later, they boarded a raft and entered the United States.

They wandered the dense brush before they stumbled upon a border patrol truck and turned themselves in.

Mr. Sasvin Dominguez said he and his daughter spent four days in Texas, in a facility with no windows. The fluorescent glare of the overhead lights continued day and night, troubling their sleep. It was cold. The migrants called it the icebox.

When they were released in November, Mr. Sasvin Dominguez was fitted with an ankle bracelet and instructed to check in with the immigration authorities in San Francisco, where he could begin the long process of applying for asylum.

His son bought them bus tickets and met them at the station. It was the first time they had seen each other in seven years.

California

On a sunny day in June, Mr. Sasvin Dominguez shuffled to a park, his daughter riding in front, hunched over the bars of a pink bicycle meant for a girl half her age. Behind him, his son and grandson tottered along, hand in hand.

They traversed a quintessential American landscape — bungalows perched on tidy green yards, wide sidewalks shaded by soaring live oaks.

He and his daughter live in the family’s modest one-bedroom apartment, now bursting at the seams. The trappings of suburban life fill the backyard: toolboxes, wheelbarrows, recycling bins.

But Mr. Sasvin Dominguez remains suspended in the sadness and fear he left behind in Guatemala. His other daughters are still trapped, and there is no money to move them.

Besides, he says, the journey north, even if they could afford it, is far too dangerous for three young women and a toddler to take on their own. His only hope, he says, is asylum.

That could take years, he is told, if it happens at all. A heavy backlog of cases is gumming up the courts. He does not even have a date yet for his first hearing.

In the meantime, he lives in self-imposed austerity, scared to embrace his new life, as if doing so might belittle the danger his daughters still face.

In the park, families cooked out and blasted reggaeton. His daughter play-fought with her nephew, who never tired, no matter how many handfuls of grass she stuffed down his shirt, or how many times he retreated in tears.

She has found a better rhythm in their new life. In June, she finished sixth grade at the local school, which she loves. Her older brother keeps the graduation certificate on the small dining table.

She has dyed the tips of her hair purple, a style she’s grown fond of. Her face often falls back into the wide smile of the past, when her mother enrolled her in local beauty contests.

But she grows stormy and unpredictable at times, refusing to speak. She misses her mother. Her sisters, too.

Stuck in Guatemala, Lubia and her two other sisters moved into a small apartment, where they share a single bed. A portrait of their mother hangs on the wall.

They all work now, making tortillas in town. But they go straight home after, to avoid being spotted. Not long ago, Lubia ran into Gehovany’s mother.

Life for the sisters is measured in micro-improvements, pockets of air in the stifling fear. They are scarcely more than children themselves, raising children alone. Lubia’s 18-year-old sister now has an infant of her own.

They sometimes visit their mother’s grave, a green concrete box surrounded by paddle-shaped cactus.

“We are left here with nothing,” Lubia said.

She still bears the stigma of what happened. Neighbors, men and women alike, continue to blame her for her mother’s death. It doesn’t surprise her anymore. Now 20, she says she understands that women almost always bear the blame for problems at home.

She worries about the world her son will grow up in, what she can teach him and what he will ultimately come to believe. One day, she will tell him about his father, she says, but not now, or anytime soon.

By then, she hopes to be in the United States, free of the poverty, violence and suffocating confines for women in Guatemala.

“Here in Guatemala,” she said, “justice only exists in the law. Not in reality.”

Meridith Kohut in Jalapa, Guatemala and Paulina Villegas in Mexico City contributed reporting.

Azam Ahmed is the bureau chief for Mexico, Central America and the Caribbean. He was previously the Afghanistan bureau chief, and has also covered the world of high finance and white-collar crime for the Business desk.

[xxionlinemovies-blog]

Life (2017) Movie Review

Checkout Life (2017) Movie Review on http://xxi.online/life-2017-movie-review/

Life (2017) Movie Review

MOVIE REVIEW

Calvin had been doing just fine before the astronauts showed up.

Granted, he wasn’t exactly lively. The single-celled, Mars-based organism had been fairly catatonic for a good 100 million years or so. But who among us couldn’t use a little more shut-eye? Given that his cellular structure is all eye—and all muscle, and all brain—one could argue that Calvin needs more rest than most.

But while Calvin was sleeping, a rover collected him (or her, or it) from the Martian soil and blasted him into space, to be examined by the six-person crew of the burgeoning International Space Station. They start pumping oxygen into his little box. They heat him up, nice and comfy. Once the conditions in the box reach a warm, primordial Earth-like state, Calvin perks right up and starts growing. Why, how nice of these strange bipeds to revive me like that, he might’ve thought to himself in inaudible Martian. They certainly seem frien—OW!

Now, it’s entirely possible that Calvin wasn’t thinking such kindhearted thoughts when the electrical shocks started. Given that Calvin doesn’t seem to possess a heart exactly, it’s possible that he woke up cackling silently, like an alien Snidely Whiplash. Cattle! It might’ve said in inaudible Martian. Bend to the power of the Old Ones! One can never be too sure about extraterrestrial beings.

But whatever Calvin’s initial motivation might’ve been, the events that follow are indisputable: Once the astronauts start a-shocking, Calvin starts a-killing.

Alas for Calvin, there are only so many humans to feed on in space. But the planet below has eight billion of ’em. Now, if only he could find a way down …

POSITIVE ELEMENTS

We don’t get to know our astronaut cast that well in Life, what with all the screaming and dying and whatnot. But these scientists definitely feel super, super bad when one of their own is threatened. And I think every single one of them risks and sometimes sacrifices his or her life to protect their fellow space-walkers to ensure that Calvin doesn’t get to earth.

SPIRITUAL CONTENT

Scientists believe that Calvin has been around for at least 100 million years. “We’re going to learn so much about life,” says researcher Hugh Derry. “Its origin, its nature, maybe even its meaning.”

One astronaut, Sho Murakami, whispers to a picture of his wife and newborn daughter, “I’m coming home.” It’s not completely clear whether he means he’s literally planning on getting home somehow (despite the creature that’s determined to kill him) or means it in a more figurative, spiritual sense—that he’ll see them both in the afterlife.

SEXUAL CONTENT

After the wife of an astronaut gives birth back on Earth, one of the man’s fellow crew members ribs him, “Do they have any idea who the father is?”

VIOLENT CONTENT

Calvin is not a gentle soul. When he’s still pretty small, he grabs hold of biologist Hugh Derry’s hand (protected by a thick rubber glove) and crushes, it would seem, every bone in it. (When Hugh manages to pull free, the hand is completely mangled, looking more like a contorted octopus than a recognizable human appendage.)

And that’s just the beginning. Calvin’s first fatality is a literal lab rat, kept (for some reason) shackled inside the space station’s lab. He wraps the poor, squeaking little critter in his grip and seems to absorb the thing alive, the rat clearly conscious until almost the end.

Calvin then moves on to people: He pries open someone’s mouth and kills him from the inside, blood floating from various orifices—both natural and made by Calvin—in weightless space. He kills another by crushing a coolant container in someone’s spacesuit: The victim eventually drowns in liquid coolant. He latches on someone’s leg, feeding on blood until that person, too, dies. He wrestles with someone in the vacuum of space, leading to another fatality. A mishap with another spaceship causes passengers on the visiting vehicle to lose their lives. Calvin fights with another astronaut in what would ordinarily be a space-bound “lifeboat,” and the results, while uncertain, are not good. Corpses float about weightlessly throughout the film.

The astronauts try to inflict their share of pain on Calvin, too. They attempt to barbecue him with an incinerator and, when the creature escapes outside the ship (he’s an extremely durable chap), blast him with the station’s maneuvering jets (which he’s trying to sneak back into the ship through). They shock the creature when it’s a more manageable size.

Explosions explode. Parts of the space station are shattered. Someone laments war and references a conflict in Syria.

CRUDE OR PROFANE LANGUAGE

Nearly 30 uses of the f-word and another 10 of the s-word. God’s name is misused once, and Jesus’ name is abused at least four times.

DRUG AND ALCOHOL CONTENT

Hugh is initially enamored with the life-form he and the team have picked up. Rory warns him that his apparent affection for the creature is dangerous. “You’re drunk on this,” Rory says. “Wake up.”

OTHER NEGATIVE ELEMENTS

Before Calvin becomes a deadly nuisance, the astronauts are interviewed by school children via satellite. One of those them asks how astronauts go to the bathroom, and Sho shows them the apparatus they use, explaining in clinical detail how it works.

CONCLUSION

In our individualistic society, to go “by the book” is often seen as a bad thing. We like to take chances, to color outside the lines, to get out of the box. As such, Life comes with a rather interesting countercultural message: There’s a reason we go by the book. There are occasions when we want what’s in the box to stay in the box.

About half the terrible things that happen in Life happen because someone literally opened doors that should’ve stayed tightly shut. Admittedly, keeping those doors shut often doesn’t feel like the right thing to do, particularly when an imperiled crewman is on the other side.

But ask folks who save lives for a living, and they’ll tell you some pretty sobering truths: You don’t dive in to save a wildly thrashing drowning person because they’ll likely take you with them. You don’t carry someone down from the top of Mount Everest, because if you do, neither of you will make it back. Life adds another example to the list: Best not to mess with super-strong, super-hostile Martian life-forms. We’re all about sacrificing ourselves to rescue others … but when we sacrifice ourselves and don’t save anyone, well, that’s another kettle of crawdads.

Life is a tense, often contrived story—Alien reheated, minus the acid blood. This sci-fi horror story could’ve easily been a PG-13 thriller without all the blood and harsh profanity, and frankly, it wouldn’t have lost a thing. But as it is, Life feels a lot like its Martian star, Calvin: a critter you might not want to let out of the box.