#i just started hades the other day and it has consumed my soul

[fullofcake]

I got my claws back into my tumblr account and promptly went crazy

[aubins]

TOA Anniversary Munday!

Celebrating TOA and the people who contribute to make our group what it is.

Repost, don't reblog. Only fill in what you feel comfortable sharing!

Happy anniversary, TOA! Here's to many more years spent together.

NAME. darcy, but i also go by elio in other places

PRONOUNS. they/them

BIRTHDAY (NO YEAR). january 9

WHERE ARE YOU FROM? WHAT IS YOUR TIMEZONE? sea & gmt+8

ROLEPLAY EXPERIENCE. i couldn't give you an exact timeline tbh i do it very on and off for the most part

GOT ANY PETS? not at the moment!

FAVORITE TIME OF YEAR. there aren't really seasons where i'm from, so more generally my favorite time of year is the start of it! something nice about seeing the year turn over i think

SOME INTERESTS AND THINGS YOU LIKE. my life is a constant cycle of consume new media > fixate on said media > repeat so my current interests really depend on what i've gotten into recently haha (rain code right now i fear) otherwise some things i always like to talk about regardless are atla, orv, ace attorney, and specifically venti from genshin & ryuki from somnium files. i'm sure there are other things that i can't remember rn tho haha. in general, i also like math, reading & writing (i mean. you know LOL), photography, and music (i play the piano)! i also just like to learn in general

SOME FUN FACTS & TRIVIA ABOUT YOU. i speak three languages, though i can only confidently say i'm fluent in two. my mandarin has unfortunately suffered from years of disuse

WHAT NON-FIRE EMBLEM GAMES DO YOU PLAY? ace attorney, somnium files, rain code…there is a pattern here lol but those aside, other games i like that come to mind are 13 sentinels: aegis rim, hades, pokemon, and honkai: star rail

FAVORITE POKEMON TYPE & POKEMON. fairy types & ditto :] i just think it's a silly little guy

HOW DID YOU GET INTO FIRE EMBLEM? my brother came home with fe3h one day and i decided to play it too because he seemed like he was having fun

WHAT FIRE EMBLEM GAMES HAVE YOU PLAYED? fe11, fe12, fe16 (+ hopes), & fe17! though i got a little bit through awakening before i stopped, and i've watched play throughs of the tellius games & sov

FIRST FIRE EMBLEM GAME. three houses

FAVORITE FIRE EMBLEM GAME. i don't know if i would say i have a specific favorite to be honest

ANY FIRE EMBLEM CRUSHES? hm, not really? if i had to say one, maybe yuri, but that's in part gender envy i think haha

IF YOU'VE PLAYED THE FOLLOWING GAMES, WHO WAS YOUR FIRST S SUPPORT? WHO WOULD YOU S SUPPORT NOWADAYS? — THREE HOUSES. claude…probably yuri these days though haha — ENGAGE. technically no one because i immediately reset it after, but i gave the pact ring to veyle before i did

FAVORITE FIRE EMBLEM CLASS. mages are fun! in general i just like magic conceptually

IF YOU WERE A FIRE EMBLEM CHARACTER, WHAT WOULD BE YOUR CLASS? i used to do archery so probably an archer!

IF YOU WERE A THREE HOUSES CHARACTER, WHAT WOULD BE YOUR AFFILIATION? i am heavily biased toward the golden deer because they were my first route haha but i'm an ashen wolves liker at heart so probably between those two

IF YOU WERE AN ENGAGE CHARACTER, WHICH EMBLEM WOULD YOU ENGAGE WITH? ooh…byleth? goddess dance is silly methinks

HOW DID YOU FIND TOA? i was struggling a lot with my writing at the time and stumbled upon the heart & soul ad on twitter! it was rather serendipitous timing i think

CURRENT TOA MUSES. one mister yuri leclerc

WHO WAS YOUR FIRST TOA MUSE? IF YOU DON'T HAVE THEM ANYMORE, COULD YOU SEE YOURSELF PICKING THEM UP AGAIN? my first muse was the lovely marianne von edmund :] she is very dear to my heart which unfortunately means i was very hard on myself when it came to writing her so probably not, but i think of her time in toa fondly

HAVE YOU HAD ANY OTHER TOA MUSES? caeda very briefly from when i first picked up the archanea games, and est whose app i wrote on the spot in the middle of the night after rereading her base conversations & supports

DO YOU THINK YOU HAVE A TYPE OF CHARACTER YOU GRAVITATE TOWARDS? i'm sure i probably do, but i wouldn't be able to put my finger on it myself. i think the process that happens for me when it comes to muses is that i find characters with certain aspects that i find interesting and would like to explore, then i learn to write them. and very rarely a character will just hit me over the head with a steel chair (yuri and est namely for muses i have/had in toa haha)

WHAT DO YOU BELIEVE YOU ENJOY WRITING THE MOST? i love exploring a variety of relationship dynamics, though antagonistic relationships and found family in particular are my favorites (paw against the glass for the ashen wolves..) and i like writing the disparity between what a character thinks internally versus what they would actually express externally. more generally, i really enjoy writing combat!

FAVORITE TOA-RELATED MEMORY. i think any silly rng moments with the dice. two that come to mind immediately are est & sirius whiffing their attacks against one another in arena and, far more recently, waking up to yuri immediately getting bodied in team zofia. those made me laugh a lot haha

HOW DO YOU PRONOUNCE TOA? by the letters! t-o-a

GOT ANY DELUSIONS THAT DIDN'T SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY THAT YOU'D LIKE TO SHARE? fun fact of the day is that edelgard was going to be my first muse before i got intimidated at the idea of writing a lord mfksldjflskd i unironically have delusions of writing sommie haha but otherwise i have half-written apps for clarisse, both solm royals, lysithea, and shez

[dewi205]

Nico di Angelo Headcanons/Fic Prompts

- sometimes he sings Hazel to sleep

—— like Italian lullabies or idk Safe and Sound by Taylor Swift

- his eyes are actually gold like Hazels but it looks dark because his hair is always in his face

- when Nico is tired or just waking up he calls Hades “papa” or “padre”, Persephone “mamma Seph”, Thanatos “Uncle Than”, and Cupid “the b*tch”

- he likes wearing a small half man bun (with his shoulder length hair) when training

- he sees Lester (mortal Apollo) once in Camp and immediately tosses a wad of cash toward his head and sprints away

—— Lester starts chasing him screaming “ANGELLL!!”

- when he was in Tartarus and about to be put in a jar he bit one of the titans that put him in the jar and ripped a chunk of flesh off one of the titans’ hand, he kept the flesh in his mouth and rationed some of the meat to eat before eating the pomegranate seeds

—— he has always been eating meat raw-ish (it comes from his mothers side of the family)

—— baby has adorable sharp as fuck canines, comes from his mother

- it’s impossible for anyone to lie to Nico because there are no lies in death and shadows (it’s what Nico uses to judge souls), death consumes everything and Nico is The Prince so the only other person higher than his authority is Hades and Persephone, even Demeter needs to do as he asks when they’re in the Underworld

—— (Solangelo) Apollo is also the god of truth so if Will inherits that trait as well then the Will/Nico is just the most brutally honest couple that acts as judge, jury, and executioner at camp

- he is ambidextrous, so is Leo

—— as another way to commemorate his first human friend he learnt how to use Jason’s gladius and duel wields his sword and the galdius

—— he fights and texts at the same time

- Nico is absolutely horrible at archery but basically forced multiple archery experts (no one was spared, he asked dead people, gods, and living) to teach him their skills

—— as a way of coping with Bianca’s decision to leave him for Artemis

- one summer the heat actually became so ridiculous Jason walked up to Nico during breakfast, picked him up and put Nico on his lap to cuddle with an ice pack

—— Nico was only okay with it because it was so early in the morning he couldn’t work up the anger needed to shove Jason off (or eat, Jason ended up feeding him)

- the gods really want to make Nico immortal because he manages to keep relative peace in Olympus, and let’s be real, they can’t do shit without Nico and Hades smacking some sense into them

- sometimes when he’s REALLY happy and excited he doesn’t smile he just wiggles his toes, it’s always hidden under his shoes so no one can tell when he’s happy but yeah —— when he’s talking about mythomagic but restraining his enthusiasm he does toe wiggles

- Nico came out of the war with Gaea with Marie Antoinette syndrome, half of his hair turned white during his 3-day stay in the infirmary the night after they got his shadow traveling thing settled —— people saw his gold eyes during that time as well so people genuinely thought he ascended and became his namesake—an angel —— he meticulously dyes his hair black because he thinks the white hair means his body succumbed to weakness due to stress, Nico doesn’t like when his body betrays him like that (his partners are getting him to work on it)

- Hades and Persephone call Nico “Niccolò” and Mr.D calls him “Nico” ( no one knows why Nico is his favorite)

- he never grows taller, but Hazel also never grows taller, Hades children now forever exist as tiny and cute

- Nico can activate small parts of his Roman aspect as well, but it’s like really derpy (when he wants money he gets a diamond launched at him)

—— when Nico and Bianca were children Nico once really wanted this chocolate bar but didn’t have money so he wished reeeaaallly hard for money and was showered in like $20 in euros, dollars, yen, etc (he jumped like a startled cat, went up like 5 feet istg)

I don’t write fics or draw but if someone wants to use my headcanon please do there is no need to ask.

[sideblogformindtrash]

CW: SELF HARM; feelings of shame and self hatred; past trauma; blood/cuts; whump of a minor; drug mention; whipping; institutional abuse; religious themes; deshumanization, my complete inability to write linear stories;

He hates himself for this, but up to this day, even if he feels he has escaped the claws of that place, even if he rejected the dogma, even when he engages in heretic behavior and rejects the very concept of sin… He misses the stupor of repentance, the sheer emptiness that followed it, and the sharp, terrible pain that resulted.

Orfeu tells himself that it was poison. And he knows it was. Those moments were poisonous, and he was manipulated into it for far too long.  It made him hate himself, as a broken little sinner, even if at that time his only crime was being born with sharp teeth, being born wrong despite being made by a God who was the source of all perfection.

And he reminds of that day were he sneaked in the ceiling of City Theater, were they were performing old tragedies the entire week and, that day, Orpheus and Eurydice. How he decided that would be a more fitting name than the one he had before.

Orpheus, who lost Eurydice, who should never, ever had looked back. Orpheus who lived eternally in the courts of the underworld playing his harp for Persephone ruler of spring and of death.

But he did look back, just like the fallen hero had, and now he had to live with a shadow of doubt and regret. He missed the stupor his mind went into the rituals, missed feeling clean and pure right after it. The days were candlelight casted the shadows of angels in carved walls of the temple, the cave-like ambiance in penumbra, hundreds of voices singing in perfect harmony to elevate their spirits over to reach the merciful God Above, all done under the sorrow-filled eyes that stared down from the cross.

And like the one crucified: All merciful, all kind, and terribly wronged both by His Father above and by those below, they should offer themselves as human sacrifice so their sins would be forgiven.

A line of man and woman in penitence – and he the one teenager among them –, kneeling in the cold stone floor, singing praises, while the whip singed in the hands of the elder. The candles consumed the oxygen, the air was pestered by strong incense, the half-darkness was hypnotic, the gregarious voices all around them penetrating his very soul.

The whipped marked his back and he felt nothing but a distant stinging. His sins were cast crimson like blood, but they would be purified. Even if they were crimson, they shall be white like snow. It was only for a mere second, when leather contacted skin, that he felt pain, and soon, it faded again into the harmonious stupor, as his soul was distant wandering somewhere above, trying to reach the heavens.

It’s only later laid in the cave-like bedroom, in the old mattress, that he will feel the marks on his back. Every single lash hurting like the fire of hell, making sleep impossible and grounding him in reality with sharp burning agony. Only when the chanting is over, when the pure bliss that follows is gone, then all that is left is pain, and exhaustion, and traces of a feeling he only could describe as a hangover.

And there on the dark, after his candle burns out, he would cry and tell himself that this couldn’t happen again. But it always did. Sometimes he thought he needed it, sometimes he wanted it, sometimes it was pressure, or fear or even force.

And just like that, drops of blood fall into the shower floor and he feels nothing, as he moves the blade in curves, unconsciously humming tunes he barely remembered, in a pale imitation of the stupor he used to put himself into.

…It’s superficial but it tints the shower floor in red. Red like his sins, red like searing pain, red like knocking on a wooden door and dragging his mind back into reality harder than any pain every could. Blue and white and gray like the person waiting outside.

He breaths. How long has he been there, carving skin, staring into the emptiness? Another shy knock this time more desperate. And he needs all his strength to sound convincing, so the voice doesn’t crack.

“…Darling. Just a second”

He looks down. And now that feeling is gone and it hurts. But he deserves that pain. As he turns on the faucet, blood swirls down the shower drain, the sins he cast in red turn white like the shower floor.

He dresses himself quickly, not wanting to look at the mirror. It felt okay to do this before. More okay than now. He was alone. It never mattered. But now someone is waiting, someone who needs him to be there, despite how much of a failure he is at… anything. At caring for others, at caring for himself. At keeping himself sane.

Haru needs him. Little Haru who needs all the courage he can gather to even knock on the door. Little Haru named after light and spring, and with a heart far too big for his body, in constant overflow. Little Haru who needs him to do better, be better and truly take care of him.

Needed him to crawl out of the underworld and escape Hades without looking back.

He opens the door and smiles, scared blue eyes staring at him, clutching the tiny notebook close to his chest, he falls on his knees immediately, a shaky hand holding a piece of paper.

‘It is sorry for disturbing Master. So, so sorry. It was wondering if Master needs help. Pet wants to stay close and help Master with anything please. Sorry if not. It is sorry for being a bother”

He stares at the paper for a second. Then he noticed the dark clouds forming and distant lightning as the storm approaches, the strong wind curving the trees outside.

“No, you didn’t disturb me at all. I actually was going to call you in a moment.”

Haru sighed in relief, and nodded with expectant eyes waiting to see what his Master wanted next. Of course Orfeu knew it didn’t really matter what it was, he just didn’t want to be alone. It was going to rain, and rain terrified him.

“I was, hm, thinking we could watch a movie? Would you like to?”

He nods eagerly. Thunder cracks outside and Haru flinches and grabs his sleeves for a moment, eyes shut tight, but then quickly let’s go, even more anxious now, eyes widening as he starts to scribble an apology, writing fast as if terrified the notebook would be pulled away at any moment.

He waits. He doesn’t really need to see what he is writing to know. But he waits. And surely, he gets shown an apology, lots of unreadable worlds, a mess of pronouns and fear and tear-stained paper.

“Hey, hey.  Its fine” he says, offering his arm again “You can hold me. It improves the experience of movie-watching by a lot.”

He stares for a second, fear-filed eyes, and slowly holds his arm again. He closes his eyes and leans his head on Orfeu’s shoulder, as if relieved.

They sit together to watch whatever. Haru fights to stay calm and watch the movie, even if each thunder causes him to tremble and hold tighter. If his nails were long enough, they might be sinking on his arm now. That would be okay too. An anchor to reality.

Taggging: @whump-me-all-night-long @whumpzone @twistedcaretaker @cupcakes-and-pain @oofthatsgottahurt

[seokoloqy]

No Face | myg (m)

➳ PAIRING: demon!yoongi x reader

➳ GENRE: supernatural!au, smut

➳ WORD COUNT: 11k

➳ WARNINGS: mentions of hoseok in a car accident and in a coma, mentions of jungkook overdosing, blood, choking (not sexual lmao), fingering, dirty talk, wet dreams, voyeurism, masturbation, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, creampie, Yoongi’s dick... has ridges :)

➳ SUMMARY: Desperate to save your comatose brother, you make a deal with an ancient demon who wears the faces of his previous masters. When you refuse to wish for anything else, what does a demon do when he no longer has orders? He learns how to be human.

➳ A/N: this is my @bangtanarmynet partner collab w @softjeon!!! As always lemme know what you think!!! Maybe now y’all can get over hades yoongi lmao

—

The woods this time of night should be petrifying in the harsh dead of winter. Darkness entraps everything in the forest. You've been wandering through the desolate woods for an hour now, trying to find the exact location you were told about. The tree you’re in search of has been rumored to be a site where people's wishes can be granted for a steep price. Only meant for those who are brave enough to sacrifice everything for one wish.

And you are dumb enough to sacrifice everything. 

You have to do this. Even if it means sacrificing your soul, your life, to save someone else's. You have to save your brother, Hoseok, and you’ll do anything—absolutely anything. 

That’s how you stumbled across Jimin, an expert on all things supernatural, in a desperate attempt to find a miracle. 

Of course, you thought the eighty dollar price for Jimin’s absurd secrets meant it was a hoax, especially when he started explaining how this deal you were about to make works. 

“A demon,” the man said cheerfully, plopping down the thick book in front of you. 

“A demon?” you echoed, becoming more and more wary of the man. “Like… Like the devil and stuff?” 

If you weren’t so desperate and had exhausted all your ideas of helping Hoseok, you would have run out once he said demon, calling him crazy. 

Jimin nodded, excitedly flipping open the book for a specific page. “This demon grants wishes. Anything you want, as long as you’re willing to pay the price.” 

That sends chills through you. You look down at the yellowed pages, skimming through the text, none of which you understood because it was all written in a different language. “What kind?”

“Ten years. That’s all it gives you.”

You had a feeling after ten years nothing good would happen. Jimin flips the page and on it is an ink drawing of a haunched creature, grotesque claws, and the face was nothing but a black smudge. 

“After ten years the demon will consume your soul and steal your face to make it its own.”

The whole time you wander through the woods, boots crunching against the thick blanket of snow, pushing aside dead branches. The day has come to rest over the horizon and the moon rose over the valley, you feel like you've ventured even deeper into the void and there's no going back to safety now.

  The deeper you wander into the abyss, the more you feel something eerie watching over you. Its eyes crawl over you, stalking your every movement like it wants to steal you away and trap you in its grasp. It must be the demon watching over you, hoping you must be foolish enough to come looking for it. 

The tree Jimin told you about is supposedly easy to spot. Twisted branches, ancient text carved into the trunk of the tree that was all dead language. The area around it is untouchable not even the freshly falling snow can touch it. The tree is timeless, years will pass and it will remain the same even as generations live and die. 

Your boots sink deep into the snow with each stride you take, pulling you deeper into the forest. 

There is a low hum, a haunting call echoing through the trees and ringing in your ears that guides you towards the edge of a steep ledge. At the bottom, you get a glimpse of the twisted branches, scarred trunk scrawled with carvings, a perfect dark circle around the tree that remains untouched by the snow. 

You carefully move down the slope to the tree, nearly sliding down and falling in the fluffy snow below. Once you step into the circle it’s warm, almost like summer heat. You look back at the blanket of snow, taking off your glove and sticking your hand outside of the circle to feel the cold biting your fingers. The drastic change in temperature is startling. This is definitely the right tree.  

The backpack on your shoulder slides off and you crouch down to retrieve the knife you brought along, carefully tucked away in the pocket of the bag. The intimidating silver blade gleams and reflects beneath the moonlight as you inspect it. 

Should you really be bringing a deadly weapon to meet a demon? 

It doesn’t seem like the brightest idea, but then again none of this is a good idea. You’ve gotten this far, so desperate to save Hoseok you don’t even care right now if the demon will take your life in the end. 

"Here goes nothing," you say, taking a deep breath in before running the blade across your palm. The burn of your open wound is temporary, stinging at your flesh is cut open and blood flows freely and meets to open air. Red blood pools in your palm, your other hand wiping away tears that have sprung in your eyes. "Fuck this. Fuck all this shit."

The tree seems to glow, sensing the new sacrifice about to come. You hesitantly lift your bloodied palm, blood freely flowing down your wrists and dripping off your elbow, tainting the dirt ground below.

There's no going back if you choose to press your hand against this tree and tie the demon trapped in it to you, but you won't let that fear hold you back from saving your brother. 

You press your hand against the trunk, wincing when the rough wood touches your open wound. Blood drips down the wood, sinking into the slits and crevices. Your hand tingles with warmth and you no longer feel the pain in your palm. When blinding light emits from the tree, it forces you to clench your eyelids shut and turn away.

Soon the light fades and you're left in the chilling darkness, but not alone. The hairs on your arm begin to stand as a warning. You're afraid to open your eyes and be met with whatever creature you've just summoned.

"Why so afraid, master?" The voice, not a singular voice, more like multiple distorted voices speaking at once, calls out to you. "You're trembling. Is it because of the cold or are you just afraid of me?"

You bring your hand back from the tree, still refusing to open your eyes. "The cold."

"Liar," the creature says, monotone voice lowering to your ears. "You're a liar."

"No," your voice betrays you by cracking and you wince, afraid that its volatile personality will snap at you.  

"Then look at me, master.”

The oil lamp flickers in its glass case creating an ominous atmosphere surrounding you. You force yourself to peek one eye open, seeing the tree bark stained red with your blood. Slowly, you turn your head, met with the horrifying creature. The face you're met with is no face at all. Just a black abyss looking back at you. It takes everything to hold your tongue and not scream out.

"Are you afraid?" It asks again.

"No." The wavering in your voice remains the same and the no faced creature scoffs.

"You’re a liar, but then again, they all are."

You cross your arm, refusing to let the creature control your feelings. "Maybe I am a liar, b-but you’re supposed to answer to me.”

The creature stands taller, mimicking your crossed arms. "You're right, master. So what is it you want?"

You wet your lips, "I need you to save my brother."

"Save?" It sneers. “I’ve never had to save anyone.” 

You find the strength to explain, “M-My brother, Hoseok, he was in a car accident. The doctors said he might not…”  

You didn’t need to hear the dreadful news from the doctors when you went to first visit Hoseok. You could see him through the glass window at the hospital hooked up to wires and tubes and it was clear to you that he was on the brink of death. He looked so lifeless. You could hardly stand the sight of your brother that way. You were too afraid to go into his room—afraid you’d feel death lingering by his side waiting to take him away from you forever.

The demon inches closer, curious now. 

You resist shutting your eyes to block out its dark ghostly face. You’ll never be able to stand in the dark without imagining it lingering in the corner, watching and waiting to drag you into the darkness with it.

“Fine,” the demon sighs, lifting its hand. A hand that looks so real, not the grotesque claws you saw in Jimin’s book, if you hadn’t seen its face you would have believed it was human.

You flinch in fear it will grab you, steal your face early, or rip you to shreds. Instead, it snaps its fingers. You don’t feel muscles being pulled to shreds, your insides boiling, or anything physically painful happening to you. 

“He’ll wake soon,” it says, dismissively shrugging its shoulders. “So, when are we going to have real fun, master? What do you really want? Money? Power? Name it. I’m dying to know.”

“I don’t want anything else,” you say resolutely. 

“Nothing?” it says, despite the distorted voice, you can tell it’s shocked. “You’re a liar. There has to be something. All you humans are greedy, pathetic creatures.”

“I won’t make any more wishes.” 

It shakes its head, moving to the edge of the ring. It looks down, although you can’t see its face when it sticks out its hand to feel the snow for the first time in years you sense that it is remembering what it feels like to be free of its cage. 

“Let’s go.” 

It steps out of the circle and into the fresh snow, looking as its feet sink in. You trail after it, as it glides through the snow with ease while you’re lagging behind, trudging through the deep snow. You feel out of breath trying to keep up with its fast pace, nearly falling over a few times. 

“C-Can you slow down a little?” You call out. 

It turns its head, unsettling inky darkness looking back at you, teasingly saying, “if you can’t keep up why don’t you wish for better speed?”

You grimace and don’t reply. Luckily, it stops walking to let you catch up to it. You try and run through the snow to get to it faster because the feeling of that darkness staring at you is frightening. Running blindly through, your foot snags on a branch buried beneath the white blanket and you nose dive right into the freezing banks.  

The creature laughs. Its laughter hauntingly echoing through the woods with its distorted voice. 

“Poor human,” it mocks.

You look up from the snow, your entire face numb from the cold. You’re beginning to hate this demon. 

You pick yourself up with no help from it, wiping off the snow and marching on as if nothing happened, quietly simmering behind the sauntering demon. You walk behind it once again, staring curiously at the back of its ‘head’. It’s not really a head, just darkness shaped like a human head. 

"Is that your… normal face?" You pipe up. 

"Yes. Does this face frighten you, master?” The demon stops, turning around to face you. “Would you like a new one? I have taken many over the years, and soon yours will be added to my ever-growing collection."

The thought of this demon taking your face and using it to cause harm is unsettling. 

"Maybe you'd prefer a sweet innocent face," the demon says. His face begins to smoke and a real human face appears in a matter of seconds. The doe-like features of the young man would almost make you think this demon was an innocent human. "You might recognize this face.”

You’re surprised to see a familiar face. One that was plastered over billboards and television screens daily, a world-famous star that died suddenly. 

“J-Jungkook?” 

A roguish grin appears on the star’s face—one you never thought you’d see up close. 

Jeon Jungkook was a household name, a boy that seemed to come out of nowhere and shook the world with his talents. You were a fan at the start of his career when he was just a humble musician that rose to stardom through the Internet. 

“Ding ding ding,” he laughs, an all too familiar laugh you heard through the television during interviews countless times. “Bet you never thought you’d see this cute face again.” 

“B-But you… you’re not him, right?” 

It’s impossible. He died nearly three years ago due to an overdose, at least that’s what the media said. 

“Yes, I’m not the golden boy you knew. He’s long gone.” 

So the demon is just wearing Jungkook’s face. 

“He made a deal too?” You couldn’t understand why he would want to make a deal with a demon. He had everything—the talent, personality, looks. It was hard not to love Jungkook. 

“Do you think that video of him singing would have gotten recognition without my help? He wanted to be a famous singer so I gave him everything he desired. He was humble like you at first, then he began wishing for drugs, alcohol, and lovers. By the time I took his soul, it was like there was nothing left of it. He was too consumed by his own greed and became an empty shell.”

 You know Jungkook’s story, the downfall of one of your favorite singers, publicized by the media. Not a day went by without hearing about Jungkook caught up in some drug scandal. You had no idea it was all because he wished for it. 

Near the end of his life, you could tell how tired Jungkook was through the screen, he was no longer the energetic, lively kid you saw on talk shows. The dark circles under his eyes and bar fight bruises couldn’t be concealed with all the makeup in the world. 

It broke your heart to see him that way. All because he couldn’t stop wishing for more. The circumstances of his death become clearer to you now. It wasn’t an overdose, he made a deal with a demon and paid the price. 

What if that happens to you? What if you become too greedy? The thought of being consumed by selfish desires scares you. Who would you be in ten years if you were to continue making wishes? Just an empty shell like Jungkook, making wishes to fill the unfillable hole in your chest. 

“I wonder what sins will eat you alive, master."

You shake your head, “No! No, I won’t be like that. I don’t want to.” 

The demon scoffs, rolling his eyes as if to say ‘sure’. 

“I guess, his face won’t do out there anyway. Too recognizable, I don’t want to cause a frenzy. Think of the headlines: Jeon Jungkook risen from the dead?” He laughs again. 

It’s unsettling to see Jungkook’s face, knowing how tragic the end of his life must have been. Now he’s being used as a puppet by a demon who’s laughing as if his death was something to joke about. 

What you’re really looking at is a mirror. This will be you in ten years time. The demon will take your soul, your face and parade around, wreaking havoc. A chill runs through you. 

“Let’s try Yoongi’s face, shall we? I haven’t worn him in centuries.”

Soon the beloved singer, Jeon Jungkook, molds into a stranger. You watch in amazement as his features morph easily. Even his hair shifts colors, dark brown roots bleeding into bleach blonde hair. 

“How about this one?” His voice is different—lower, much more mature. But whoever’s face he takes on doesn’t change what he is. He is still a demon. You can’t forget that no matter what face he wears. 

“He’s fine,” you dismiss. You just want to get out of the forest and back to someplace warm. The cold is beginning to numb your fingers and bite at your cheeks. 

“Yoongi it is.” 

—

Your eyes dart nervously around the bar. It's not so busy tonight, unusual for this bar, but you're glad there are no roaring voices. This chance gives you time to think about what you've done.

Before you even got out of the woods, you received a phone call from your parents, tearful voices exclaiming that your brother woke up from his coma. Yoongi really had given your brother a second chance. But as soon as your joy had worn off, the realization came crashing down around you. 

Sitting here, staring into a shot glass, you dare to glance over at the lounging demon haunched over the bar with his own drink. You're not sure what he ordered, your thoughts a bit clouded at the moment, but his glass is tall and filled with a clear teal liquid and topped with a maraschino cherry.

His finger drags up and down the stem of the glass, a bored sigh escaping his mouth. You eyes move from his hand and hesitantly drag up to his face. You nearly jump out of your chair, hairs standing up on the back of your neck when you realize he has been staring at you the whole time. 

His eyes are brown, nothing like the vermillion red color they frequently flash whenever he feels up to no good. 

"So," he drawls, picking up his martini glass, having a small sip. "What's on your mind?"

There are many racing thoughts going around your head right now. You've just signed the rest of your life away to a demon, saved your brother, and are currently sitting and having a drink with the demon that's going to end your life in ten years.

"Nothing," you lie, turning your head back to your drink.

"You really like to lie to me, don't you?"

You don't reply, glancing to the side and catching the eye of the bartender staring at you. He looks away, flustered that you caught him staring, continuing to wipe down the counter.

You, in a sort of dizzying state from alcohol, are keenly aware of how cute the bartender is. Your eyes trail down the name tag on his shirt. Taehyung, it says. 

Eventually, Taehyung reaches your side and casually wipes down the area next to you.

"How's it goin' over here?" He asks.

"Good," Yoongi answers gruffly before you have the chance to open your mouth to answer.

You attempt to laugh Yoongi's curtness off, "Oh, yeah, everything is great."

"Well, you look lost in tonight, just wanted to see how you were doing."

"I'm just feeling a little conflicted."

From the corner of your eye, Yoongi looks betrayed that you chose to confide in the bartender instead of him even though he asked you the same question just two minutes ago. In your defense, you'd rather speak to the cute bartender than the demon who eats souls and steals faces. What kind of advice could a demon offer you?

"Feel like talking?" Taehyung asks, throwing the rag over his shoulder and leaning against the bar. 

"Hey, cutie," a drunken slur comes from behind you and takes a seat to your right.

You involuntarily lean closer to Yoongi to get away from the stranger's alcoholic breath, grimacing when he smiles and winks in a sad attempt to flirt.

"Hi," you politely respond, turning your head to look back at Yoongi's now empty martini glass, the stem of his maraschino cherry sitting on the counter. You try not to give the stranger the opportunity to talk any further with you, but he's persistent.

“How you doin’ tonight?” he slurs. 

“Great.” You offer him a close-lipped smile and that’s all he gets out of you.

You do your best to ignore the stranger continuously pestering your right ear, turning to occupy yourself with the Taehyung and Yoongi. Now, you'd rather talk to the demon on your shoulder than some creep at the bar.

It’s clear the stranger doesn’t appreciate you ignoring him. 

“Hey,” the man barks, reaching over to grab your arm. You flinch away, consequently pressing yourself against Yoongi who instinctively wraps an arm around you. 

"She said she's not interested," Yoongi interjects, holding you closely. He's more annoyed than he was with the bartender and the energy radiating off of him is burning. If he wanted to he could decimate the man with a snap of his fingers, but he doesn't. He doesn't even let his gaze waver as he stares down the drunk.

"What you gonna about it?" the man challenges

"Look, buddy," Taehyung says, "How 'bout one more drink on the house and then I call you a cab."

The man mumbles a disgruntled 'fine' and Taehyung pours him another drink. He slides off the barstool with his complimentary drink and stumbles over to another undeserving girl minding her business.

You let out a relieved sigh, "God, I wish guys like that would just drop dead. They’re so annoying."

"Interesting." Yoongi smiles and you blanch, sensing exactly what he’s about to do. He brings his hand up and snaps his fingers.

Easily, the man that you had just been talking to crumbles over, groaning in pain, eyes clenched shut. The agony on his face terrifies you. You wished for him to die and now Yoongi is granting that wish. You're the one who's killing the man. 

You shouldn’t have let your words slip out so easily. You didn’t mean it literally. A note of carefully phrasing your words better is placed in the back of your mind. 

Taehyung immediately runs around the counter, calling out for someone to call the police as he goes to aid the man. 

You grab onto Yoongi's shoulder, shaking him and try to plead with him silently. "I didn't actually want him to die! Don't kill him, Yoongi!"

"This is what you wished for though," he says calmly, watching in amusement as the man suffocates on his own tongue. "I'm only granting your wish."

"I take it back! I wish he wouldn’t die!"

Yoongi rolls his eyes and already the man is taking his last breath, face turning a light shade of blue from lack of oxygen. You cling onto the smallest shred of hope that Yoongi will spare the man's life. You wished for him to live so he should obey, right?

"But I didn't really like him that much either," Yoong shrugs, "maybe I want him to die."

"You can't do that," you nearly shriek, "Y-You're supposed to do what I tell you!"

Yoongi sighs, eyes rolling over to the gasping man. “I hate when they say that,” he mumbles, but you can hardly hear it over the choking and patrons screaming for help. 

It takes a full second before he snaps his fingers again and the man takes a deep breath, the air finally returning to his lungs and color bringing his face back to life.

Your shoulders slump, face clasped in the palm of your hand. Your hands tremble against your cheek, despite relief flooding your system, you know the man's fate could have turned out worse.

"You seem to care a lot about whether or not a scumbag like him gets to live to harass another girl."

"It's not like that," you whisper, "I-I can't kill someone."

Your thoughts are conflicted. Maybe Yoongi is right. Maybe the man will go on to hurt someone in the future and this is your chance to stop it from happening. But you can't kill someone because they might be guilty. You can't know if this man would go on to do despicable things or if he was just some old drunk in a bar. You don't want to play God and decide who lives and who dies. You shouldn't get to choose. This power that Yoongi gives you is too much.

“Let’s kill him, master, make him suffer."

"No." You won't take a life. You already told yourself won't make another wish ever again. 

Yoongi frowns, disappointed in your choice. “I was so sure you’d ask me to kill him.”

You slide off the stool and grab your bag to fish out money. "Well, I won’t be like all your other masters. We're leaving."

—

You both arrive at your apartment near eleven while the moon is slowly falling towards the horizon. It was a quiet ride on the bus. You tried your best to sit as close to the window as possible while Yoongi lounged lazily in the orange plastic seat, a content grin on his face.

He quietly commented on the city as it passed by in a blur, the subtle scent of musk, and how he preferred this mode of transportation over teleporting. He spoke as if the mundane parts of life were a luxury to him. 

You didn't speak once, letting him ramble to himself while you were lost in thought. You didn’t seem to care much about how much the demon seemed to be enjoying the peace.

When you reach your house, you head straight towards the couch. 

"You're too quiet, master," Yoongi notes, looking around your apartment and comparing it to his previous masters'. He must have seen much more lavish looking ones than the humble one-bedroom apartment you own.

"I don't feel like talking," you mumble, moving to throw yourself onto the couch. You grab a decorative pillow and bury your face in it to muffle a sigh. The familiar smell of fresh cotton eases your nerves until Yoongi falls down next to you. Too closely for your liking.

You remove your head from the pillow, surprised by how bleary your vision is from the tears building up. 

"I think your face will be a wonderful addition to my collection."

You gulp, shifting away from the demon lounging too close for comfort. You're glad he is wearing a face and it's not just a black abyss you were first met with. Somehow the handsome face he is currently wearing lessens your fear, but it brings you anything but comfort.

Yoongi slouches into your couch. "I haven't been able to relax like this in centuries. My previous masters always had orders, something they wanted and couldn't wait for. I was a dog at their beck and call."

You shy away from the arm that slings itself over the couch, holding your breath as his fingers loop through your hair to entertain themselves with the loose strands. 

"I’m sure you had to grant bad wishes but I don't want anything else from you. So, you can relax as much as you want.”

"Oh, you will want something. I guarantee it," he says confidently, "maybe not today or the next five years, but eventually, you'll give in."

The plan was to get help for Hoseok, that's it and you got your wish. No way you're going to let yourself be tempted to ask for more. 

But maybe one thing won’t hurt. Paying off Hoseok’s hospital bills would be a big help. Maybe even paying off your college debt. It doesn’t sound too bad… 

No! That can’t happen. The more money you ask for the more you won’t be able to resist begging for more. 

You push yourself off the couch and away from Yoongi. It feels as if the more you're around him, the more you feel the desire to succumb to those deep desires.

“I said no!” you yell, unaware of the demon’s rising temper. 

Yoongi’s hand darts out to grab your wrists, pulling you back down eye level to him, eyes turning the deep shade of red. You twist your arm, but he refuses to let you go. His anger radiates through the air, you can feel yourself begin to sweat. 

“Stop denying what you want, you foolish little girl,” he snaps, “just make a wish, go ahead, ruin your life! Just like they all did before! You’re already going to hell, make the most of your dwindling years.”

You don’t want to stand here and listen to him remind you of how long until you’re going to die. Instead of fighting, fearful he might lash out further, you speak curtly, "I want to go to bed." 

He releases you and you nod goodbye, skirting off to bed, worrying that the demon will follow.

Lucky for you, he doesn't move an inch from the couch, remaining there for the rest of the night even as you toss and turn in bed, whimpering from the nightmares plaguing your dreams of a faceless demon.

––

When the sun rises promptly over the horizon the next day, it's Yoongi who hovers over you silently waiting for your eyes to open.

"Good morning," the demon coos, surprisingly softly as if he were trying to wake a child from a nap.

"M-Morning."

"Any wishes today?" His lips curl into a devious smile, taking any softness he held away. His finger runs down your chin and traces your collarbone, touching your skin gently. 

"N-No," you answer, hoping this question doesn't become a daily occurrence. You swat away his hand, getting off the bed.

He moves away from the edge of the bed, letting you get up and start your morning routine while maintaining a safe distance. He quietly stands in the background while you brush your teeth and wash your face, but doesn't leave the room when you change. You settle for making him turn around while you strip into work clothes.

"I can snap my fingers and make you rich. You’ll never have to lift a finger ever again. Don’t you want me to help you? Isn’t that why you sold yourself to me?" he says, eyeing a spoonful of golden cereal flakes. 

He asked if he could have some of your breakfast so you poured him a bowl of cereal. You're not even sure he needs to eat it. He's more curious if anything.

"I-I didn’t sell myself to you!” 

He makes it sound so scandalous. 

Yoongi smirks but doesn’t say anything else. 

“I don't want anything else," you groan. "What do you want me to say? After you nearly killed a guy yesterday, there's no way I'm going to make another wish. Like you said most of your masters were awful people who became greedy and selfish and I-I don't want to become that."

You stir your milk around, watching as the leftover, soggy flakes of cereal swirl around the ceramic bowl. You promised yourself you'd never make another wish, no matter how badly you want to. If you ever became as sick and twisted as Yoongi's former masters, you'd end your contract early and have him kill you.

You look up at Yoongi who has been quiet for a while now, odd for him to sit and not taunt you about something. Staring at his face, you wonder about the person he’s wearing. Yoongi isn’t the demon’s real name, just the name of the person whose face he’s wearing. You wonder if Yoongi, the human, felt pain when he died. 

“How will you do it?”

“Hm?” 

You swallow, letting your spoon go and watching it sink into the milk. “In ten years, when you have to… take my soul, will it hurt?”

Yoongi blinks, cocking his head a subtle amused grin on his face. “I don’t know. They never scream if that makes you feel better.”

It doesn’t. 

“So, you’ll wear around my face after that?” 

"I will,” he says. The reply is short and you’re not sure you want to hear more about what he’s going to do once he has your face. And after that, he adds, “this cereal is really good.”

Blinking, you gape at him, not expecting that. "Uh, yeah, d-do you want some more?"

"Mhm."

Yoongi follows you to work—in fact, he follows you everywhere. He never leaves your side, always glued to you and making comments about your mundane life and how he can make it more exciting if you just make a wish.

“Why do you never leave me alone?” You ask, finally fed up with the sound of his footsteps pattering behind you incessantly. You feel like he’s doting on you. Without any orders or wishes to grant, he has nothing to do. He can’t entertain himself by wreaking havoc because you won’t allow it. 

Yoongi sips on his fruity beverage, blinking at you tiredly. He waits a beat to answer, “I have to protect you until the day you die. Your soul is mine to have and no one else’s.”

His words are heavy on your shoulders. It doesn't make you feel better. You'll never get away from him, huh? You'll always be reminded of the clock counting down on your life. 

Yoongi moves past you as if the brief conversation was nothing to him. 

“Come on let’s go visit your brother. I’m dying to meet him.”

—

"H-Hi, Hoseok," your voice barely comes out as a whisper, afraid you might break down and cry if you speak any louder.

"Hey! You finally came!" Hoseok smiles brightly, opening his arms wide to gesture you in for a hug. He’s sat up in his hospital bed, light blue gown on and disheveled orange hair. You're startled for a moment. The last time you saw your brother he had a tube stuffed down his throat and IVs running through his arm that all connected to beeping machines.

Pale and cold, that's how you remembered him and how you would have remembered him if you had let him die. He was on the brink of death, but you brought him back. Now he's returned to the brightest ray of sunshine you always knew. The hand you touch is warm, full of life, just like his smile. 

The cost of what you did for him will always be there, lingering in the back of your head. But you'd save Hoseok again in a heartbeat no matter the cost. There is no price high enough that would make you give up your brother. 

"You weren't here when I woke up and you barely answered up my calls and texts," he pouts and another pang of guilt hits you. He must think you were neglecting him. "I think you owe me an explanation. And..." He pauses, eyes darting over to Yoongi lingering near the sliding door. "Who's the guy?"

Hoseok is asking too many questions and he always has a way to get you to spill your guts. If he finds out you made a deal with a demon, he'd try everything to reverse it. You're not sure how he could, but you don't want to risk it. 

"Just… just," you struggle to find an explanation for Yoongi. 

"Her boyfriend,” Yoongi speaks from his place near the door. 

You can’t believe the words that just came out of Yoongi’s mouth. Where the hell did that come from? You certainly didn’t prompt him to say that.

Hoseok’s brows raise, his lips form an ‘o’ shape. He looks between you and Yoongi. “I missed a lot, didn’t I?” 

“Yeah you did, but I’m here to see you! I wanna know how you’re doing!” You try and divert the conversation away from Yoongi. If he starts asking how you met him, you’re going to let something slip. 

You pinch his cheeks, laughing as he swats you away. 

“Come on,” Hoseok chuckles, “you don’t visit me for almost two weeks and then turn up with a boyfriend out of the blue. I gotta know what my little sister has been up to.”

“Forget him, Hobi, seriously,” you groan, stepping into his view of Yoongi. You wish that the demon listened to you when you asked him to wait in the cafeteria or the hallway, but he always insists on staying close to you. 

It’s like he watches every detail of your life closely, mimicking the way you speak to others, do things like ordering food or going about your day. You assume he’s trying to learn about life.

“Can I at least say hello?”

You begrudgingly take a step aside and gesture Yoongi to come in. The demon crosses over the threshold with a wry smile. 

“Hi, I’m Hoseok,” your brother greets your ‘boyfriend’, extending his arm out for a handshake. 

“Yoongi,” the demon says, “I’m glad to see you getting better. It’s like a miracle.”

You laugh awkwardly, ignoring Yoongi’s last comment. 

“I know, I’m so thankful to be alive right now. And glad ___ is finally here to keep me company.”

“You’re lucky to have such a dedicated sister, Hoseok. I hope you never forget that.” 

Yoongi sounds far away, raw and more… human that you’ve ever heard him. The longing in his eyes, now disguised as a warm brown, burns dimly, but it’s there. 

You wonder what the demon with no face yearns for. 

—

You came to the conclusion that if you only have ten years to live your life, you were going to live it to the fullest. You try and go places you’ve always loved and end up taking Yoongi places he's never been, and for an immortal being that has existed for centuries, there are a lot of places he's never been. 

You first start with the amusement park where he discovers cotton candy for the first time. His sweet tooth is automatically attracted to the sugar coating his tongue and he continues to buy more and more. You can't help but smile at the joy in his eyes when he receives his fifth bag of cotton candy and he can't help but smile back.

And when he takes your hand to pull you towards the ferris wheel, your heart beats a little faster. 

Even on casual days when you stroll down the street with Yoongi while he follows you to the grocery store and ask him if there’s anything he wants which causes him to stall. You were the only one of his masters that had ever really cared about him and it gave him a weird feeling in his gut. He can’t remember a time a human bothered to ask him what he wanted.

He was only meant to serve, nothing else. He helped others indulge in their selfish desires, but what about him? Here he is, given the chance to be free, to do what he wants without human orders controlling his every move. And he finds that all he wants to do with this freedom is spend it with you. 

On a separate occasion, you have a day off and choose to stay up till midnight watching Titanic with him. When Yoongi sees you crying over the human sacrificing himself to save his lover, he feels an ache in his chest and wonders why you would willingly watch a movie that makes you cry.

He just doesn’t understand it. You tell him that it’s because it feels good to cry sometimes, that it’s cathartic. He can’t say that he’s had much experience with human emotions, but he knows that he doesn’t enjoy seeing you cry. It makes his chest tighten when he sees the way tears streak down your face and the way your nose reddens when Jack sinks to the bottom of a freezing ocean, leaving his lover behind.

Sacrificing yourself for someone you love to live. 

Where has he heard that story before? 

It doesn’t take long until he looks back at you to realize. You sacrificed yourself to save Hoseok and he was just the iceberg that ruined everything.

“Stop staring,” you chuckle, wiping away the falling tears. You can’t help, but cry every time you watch this movie and Yoongi being here to judge you doesn’t make you feel any better.

You hold your breath when his hand reaches out to brush a tear away. His hand cools off your heated skin as he tenderly caresses your cheek. 

“I’ll always be a monster, won’t I?” he mutters under his breath, a sigh following after. "I'll never really be like you—no matter how many faces I take, no matter how many souls I consume."

It never occurred to you that the demon with no face longed to be human so badly.

"Yoongi..."

"I accepted it a long time ago," he brushes it off. 

Yoongi knows he shouldn't, but he moves closer, pulling you into his chest. He wants something—someone—to hold. He desperately wants to be human and feel normal—to allow this pain in his chest to be normal. 

Your heart hammers in your ears. Normally you’d pull away from his touch, but now it only brings you comfort. You stay like that through the end of the movie where Jack and Rose reunite once again in the afterlife. If there is an afterlife, would you ever be able to meet Yoongi there?  

He rests his chin atop your head, sighing, "yeah… I've accepted it."

Somehow you doubt that.

—

You visited Hoseok once again where he continued to grill you about your mysterious boyfriend. You never let anything slip, letting Yoongi take the lead on explaining how you two met and fell in love. The tale he weaves together is surprisingly romantic and you wonder if he’s been watching romcoms without you to better understand humans. 

The air once you step out of the hospital is a refreshing break from the strong sanitary odor of medical supplies and the lingering chill of death on your spine. 

You said goodbye to Hoseok, making a promise to visit him again soon. After tonight’s visit, you feel… good. 

“You seem happier,” Yoongi notes.

“You know what? I am.”

“You should,” he says, pulling his hoodie over his bleach blonde hair.

“This is all I could ever wish for. Hoseok’s happy and healthy thanks to you.” You pause, letting Yoongi take a couple of steps further before he realizes you aren’t next to him. “You know… I never really thanked you for saving him.”

His brows raise, furrowing when he realizes what you’re saying and how genuine you sound. 

“Thank you?” He repeats as if he’s never heard the words or spoken them. “No human has ever thanked me before.”

You’re not surprised to hear it. You’re not sure what crazy person would ever thank a demon. But you can’t help but feel thankful for him. He brought your brother back to you, and no matter what price you’ll have to pay in the end, you’re glad to have him. 

“Then I’ll be the first.” 

“That makes me feel…” he looks to you expectantly, silently asking you to fill in his blank. 

“Good?” You try. 

He mulls the word over in his head as if trying to remember what it means and what it would feel like. Then he smiles, “yes, that’s the word.” 

“All I’ve ever done is cause pain and suffering. I’ve always expected my masters to ask for selfish things, but these past few weeks I’ve learned what it’s like to be human. To not have orders.”

Yoongi looks up at the stars, shining in the darkness. He’s looked up at this unchanging sky so many times throughout his existence. It stays the same just like him. 

“I like this freedom. I like what you’ve given me. Thank you,” he smiles at the stars. “Thank you, ___.” 

—

“Goodnight, Yoongi,” you say, retreating into your room, waving at him awkwardly as he settles down on his usual spot on the couch. You don’t know why you feel so different. He thanked you tonight. Something he’s never done before, you never thought he would. You had no idea he felt that way. You were both thankful for one another which sounds impossible, but it’s true. 

“Goodnight, ___, sweet dreams,” Yoongi replies, falling onto the couch with a content sigh.

You disappear into your room and settle into bed. 

That night instead of the usual nightmares about a faceless demon ripping your soul away, you find yourself lost in sanguine eyes, rich as wine and a raspy melodious voice echoing your name and writes fire across your skin.

The heat in your core ignites at his slightest touch over your bare chest. You have no idea how you got undressed or why you felt so breathless in this darkened bedroom. A face comes out of the shadows, the features you know all too well. 

“Yoongi,” you say, but it comes out as a whine, so desperate and wanton it hardly sounds like you. 

You say his name again, but it’s muffled by his lips, soft and gentle. It’s not what you’d expect, but you don’t fight it. You simply melt under his touch and his hands do the talking. 

His fingers brush the underside of your breasts, admiring the shape before fondling one, fingertips coming to pinch your hardened bud, rolling the tip between the rough pads of his fingers. You bite your lower lip, taking his hand in yours, pausing his motions. You slowly begin to lower his hand, allowing it to press against your navel, hoping he’ll understand what you want. 

It’s so hot, your body is on fire, scorching as he touches your skin and ignites it even more. You just yearn for him—his touch, his body. It’s like an addiction and you have to have him now. 

“I’m here to serve you, master, to please you in anyway I can. What would you like me to do?” 

He speaks, but his mouth doesn’t move. Your pleasure is too heightened to care. You want him, you want every sinful part of him that he can give you. 

“I want it all. I want you. Please, Yoongi,” you beg, looking into his deep red eyes glowing with ardor. 

“Anything for you.”

Yoongi uses both hands to part your legs, spreading you open for his eyes to feast upon, a hungry predator starving for a taste. His finger runs up and down your folds first, gathering up your wetness, teasing a finger past your lips. 

“Yoongi,” you whine, grasping his hand and guiding him deeper between your folds. He allows you to use his hand to get yourself off without resistance. Your hand pulls his fingers into your clenching walls. 

The intrusion feels like three fingers instead of one, you aren’t complaining, it stretches you so good and fills you up nicely. “Mhm, Yoongi,” you moan, releasing your grip to let him continue pleasuring you on his own. Your hand moves above your head where you clench the sheets beneath it, almost writhing. 

Yoongi remains eerily quiet while your moans fill the room, crescendos of your helpless cries echo in the dark. He continues to assault your pulsing cunt, drilling his fingers deeper with each rough thrust. Every motion has you hurling towards a quick end.

Your breathless voice rasps his name, nothing else on your mind but him and his fingers. You shut your eyes, focusing on the feeling. Your back arches, hips grinding against his fingers. 

“Wake up.” The voice sounds like Yoongi. What is he saying?

Your brows furrow, but your eyes don’t open, ignoring the voice to focus once again on your pleasure. 

“Master,” his voice teases, “you must be having a pleasant dream.” 

Dream? 

Suddenly the hands on your core fade into nothing and you’re left empty, just on the edge of orgasming. When you open your eyes again, you’re in the dimly lit bedroom, sanguine eyes hovering above you. The sheets damp with your sweat. You can feel the heat and slick between your legs that pooled from your dream and an ache in your core that was never relieved. 

Oh god, that dream. 

Yoongi blinks, red eyes flashing at you and reminding you of whose fingers made you so wet while asleep. 

“You were moaning,” Yoongi states.

Your cheeks burn from embarrassment. You bring the blanket higher to cover half your face. You’re praying you hadn’t let his name slip out in your dream state. 

“Care to tell me what your dream was about?” 

You lick your chapped lips, finding the courage to speak, “I-It was you.”

Perhaps you’re still feeling the effects of your dream, that desire manifesting itself right now, hoping that the true version of Yoongi could finish what dream him had started. 

Yoongi cocks a brow, taking a seat on the side of your bed. As it begins to dip under his weight, you shift and sit up, ignoring how your shirt dips too low over your chest. 

“Explain.”

His hardening gaze makes it difficult for you to think about anything but the way he looked at you in your dream, ready to devour you. A rush of arousal goes straight to your core and you cross your legs. 

“Y-You were in it and you were t-touching me.”

“Touching?” He echoes, his eyes drift from your face down to your low neckline. “Touching you how?”

You really don’t want to explain it in detail. Doesn’t he get it already? Does he really not understand or does he want you to say it out loud? 

“Well,” you wet your lips, “I was naked and you were above me.”

“Oh.” Is all he says. It doesn’t sound disappointed nor disgusted, that’s good at least. He nods his head as a sign for you to continue. 

“A-And then your fingers… your fingers…they…” You clam up, suddenly recalling how deep and real they felt inside you, filling up your walls and making you scream. 

Your eyes cast down, unable to look at him anymore, but that’s a mistake. His hands rest against the bed, propping himself up. The blue veins that run across his hands and slither up his arms, catch your eye. That hand, those fingers—your legs clench beneath your blanket. 

“I should stay with you tonight,” his voice raspier than before. You’re not sure if it’s what you said that brought this on. All kinds of elicit thoughts run through your mind. In the same bed, beneath the same sheets, those veiny hands roaming your body once again. You’re dying to know what it feels like for real. 

“It could be an incubus plaguing your dreams.”

And suddenly the fantasy is cut short.

“Incubus?” You've never heard of one. 

“A sex demon that preys on women while they sleep.”

Well, that would explain the dream, but why would it appear as Yoongi? Did you really want Yoongi so badly a demon had to take the form of him to trick you? 

“O-Oh, you really want to stay with me?” 

“I won’t let anyone else have you, especially not another demon.”

With that, you allow Yoongi to stay with you for the rest of the night. The throbbing and want in your core never subsiding. He lays down next to you and suddenly you feel shy, scooting to the very edge of the bed until you’re threatening to tip off.  

You know he doesn’t need to sleep, so you’re wondering if he will just lie there the whole night listening to the sounds of your steady breathing, or possibly more moaning if the dream returns. 

“Did you enjoy it?”

Your entire body tenses, “y-yes.”

You don’t dare to turn over. 

“Did you cum?”  

“No.”

The bed shifts, his body moves to press against yours, molding together, fitting like a puzzle piece. His warmth envelops you, calming your erratic nerves. 

What is he doing? 

“Would you like to?” 

Yoongi’s fingers sneak around your abdomen, trailing down slowly to cup your heat. His middle finger brushes against your clit beneath thin shorts and underwear. You chew on your lower lip, fighting back the urge to rub your legs together and whimper.

“I liked hearing you moan. I almost didn’t want to wake you. But now I wonder, what do you sound like when you cum?”

He brings his lips to the shell of your ear, hot puffs of air emphasizes every word he lowly whispers. 

“Will you let me hear those sweet little whimpers again? I’ll fuck you good, sweetheart, I promise.”

“O-Okay.”

He takes his hands away to allow you to willingly roll onto your back. You watch as he moves to hover over you, his knees on either side of your thighs, his finger intertwined with a strand of your hair. 

“Don’t be nervous, ___,” he whispers, oddly comforting. “I’ll take care of you.”

Those words remind you of his promise.

“I’ll protect you until the day you die. You’re mine to have and no one else’s.”

Your shoulders relax under his words like a spell cast over you. His finger releases your hair to drag down your face tenderly. 

“You’re already wet, aren’t you? Did that dream take care of you well?”

His hands fall away from your face to the waistband of your shorts. Teasingly hooking around the elastic and tugging to get a peek at your baby pink panties. 

“Answer me, baby girl.”

“Mm, y-yes, I am,” you answer, beginning to feel warm under your clothes despite how thin they are. 

Yoongi snaps the waistband back and slides his hand up your shirt, tugging it off your body. Your breasts are exposed to him now and suddenly it feels real. This isn’t another dream. You’re really agreeing to give yourself to a demon. 

His rich, sanguine eyes roam your body, memorizing each fine detail of your skin. You fight the urge to hide yourself. No one has ever seen you so intimately before nor looked at you as if they were ready to devour you whole. 

Yoongi’s hand moves to touch your chest, but your reflexes force you to flinch away. You’re nervous about him touching you, thinking he’d be disappointed that you’re not everything he lusts after. He’s a demon, he must have been with—corrupted—countless humans. 

“What’s the matter?” He asks, pulling his hand back.

“I’ve never…done this before,” you admit, looking anywhere but his face. Your eyes travel downward, the column of his neck, the deep pools of his collarbones, his loose-fitting wrinkled shirt, to his crotch. His bulge is prominent in his dark jeans, begging to be freed. You wonder how big he is. What if he doesn’t fit? 

“Don’t worry, ___, I said I’d take care of you. Uncross your legs.”

You do as you’re told and Yoongi bends down slowly, pressing a kiss to your neck while his hand caresses your waist. He moves a hand up towards your breasts and brushes his thumb over your erect nipple. You squeak, a hand coming up to rest on his shoulder and squeeze out of nervousness. 

“Don’t be shy,” he rasps, nuzzling his nose up to the shell of your ear. “I just want to make you feel good.”

His thumb rolls over your nipple again as he gets back to work marking your neck. You sigh, letting your eyes flutter shut, but still keeping one steady hand on his shoulder for comfort. 

He sucks bruises into your skin that will stay as a reminder of this night and you don’t care what he leaves. You’re just enjoying the feeling of his lips on your skin. They’re so warm. You can feel yourself slowly getting addicted to his touch. It leaves you growing wetter than before. 

His lips move wet kisses down your chest down to your navel. His hand leaves your breasts, trailing towards to your waistband once again.

Your hand falls from his shoulder and you rest it against your chest, feeling the pounding of your heart. You can feel it beating—boom, boom, boom—you’re so nervous about having someone so close.

“Will you show me how wet you are?” He looks up at you with a mischievous smirk. You can feel your heart racing even faster. One finger runs down your clothed slit, earning a quiet whimper from you. “Touch yourself. I want you to coat your fingers and show me.”

“Y-Yoongi,” you stutter, “I-I…”

“Don’t tell me to haven’t touched yourself before.” 

You have touched yourself, but never in front of anyone else. Touching yourself in front of Yoongi sounds more and more appealing the longer his finger moves against your slit. You just want some relief for your aching core. 

“Okay.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. Your hands move to slowly slide your shorts off, panties going along with it to the floor. Now you’re completely bare, left vulnerable to Yoongi. 

He sits between your spread legs, watching your hands move. Enamored by your trembling hands, he can hardly wait for you to finally touch your wet slit. It’d be so easy for you to do it. You’ve probably done it many times before. 

Yoongi could imagine you lying in this bed in the middle of the night, shrouded in darkness with quiet whimpers while you pleasured yourself. You’d think of faceless men, only focusing on their cocks filling you up, pounding into your cunt the same why your fingers did. 

He feels himself get harder beneath his pants, the strain beginning to get uncomfortable. 

Your finger brushes over your slit, gathering just enough of your arousal on the tip for it to shine in the light.

“You’re dripping already,” he groans, “fuck, I can’t wait to have my cock in that tight little cunt.”

You almost gasp at his sudden vulgar words. It’s nothing like your dream where he was silent through most of it, letting his fingers do all the talking. But you like this version better—much better.

“Bend your knees,” he orders. “Put that pretty pussy on display.” 

You do as he says, the way his words sound like growls has you clenching, the throb in your core becoming unbearable. Your hand moves to your clit first, running over the sensitive bud. At first touch, you softly gasp, already feeling the jolts of pleasure running through your body. 

“Want you to put a finger in.” Yoongi can’t look away, 

You force your finger from your clit, running your fingers up and down your slit to collect all the juices that leaked out of you. Then, you ease your middle finger in, your walls already clenching around it. 

Your mouth falls open with puffs of hot air coming out as you gasp. When you begin moving your finger in and out, you bite down on your lip to prevent any loud whimpers from escaping. 

“Faster. Fuck yourself with your finger.”

Once you pick up the pace and move your finger in and out of your soaking pussy, you begin to need more. You want to be stretched full—so full of him. 

“More, I-I want more, Yoongi,” you mumble.

“Slip another one in.”

You immediately respond to that and stretch yourself with another finger. Your mouth hangs open becoming parched and a moan almost escapes you, but you catch it in your throat before it becomes any louder.

Yoongi shakes his head, “I like hearing you. Go ahead and moan.”

“B-But the neighbors.”

You’re sure they wouldn’t want to be woken in the middle of the night hearing you moaning through paper-thin walls. 

“If they like what they hear we can just invite them over,” he smirks, “and if not, I’ll take care of them for you, babygirl. So don’t be shy and let me listen to how good you fuck yourself.”

Yoongi takes hold of your hand, guiding your fingers into your soaked walls. His thumb presses against your clit and moves in circles, heightening your pleasure. 

You whimper, releasing a breathy moan when he presses harder. Your hips buck, grinding helplessly on his thumb. 

“There it is. What a good girl,” he praises while coaxing your fingers from your pussy. You whine when he refuses to let you stuff them back in, feeling his grip tighten around your wrist as a warning. His other hand fingers your slit, easing two digits in suddenly.

His fingers are much longer than yours and they feel amazing, prodding your pussy deeper than before. Your back arches, head falling to the side as you let out a wanton moan. 

Squelches and obscene noises coming from your wet pussy fill the room along with your uncensored moans. Drilling his fingers faster, Yoongi releases your wrist to rub your clit. 

“Ah, Y-Yoongi,” you whimper, digging your nails into the sheets. 

“Do you like my fingers buried in your sweet virgin cunt?”

“Mhm,” you mumble, rolling your hips against his hand. “I like it. P-Please keep going. It f-feels so good.”

Tension knots in your abdomen with each thrust of his fingers, curling inside your walls. Your forehead is damp, hair sticking to the sides of your temple. Your legs fall open wider.

“You gonna cum all over my hand, babygirl?” 

Whimpers and a simple nod of your head tells Yoongi what he wants to know. His voice is enchanting, a low hum, instructing you to meet your release and you do. 

You feel yourself gushing and squirting all over his fingers, your entire body tense while your walls clench and unclench. His name falls hoarsely from your lips.

“You’ve made a mess,” Yoongi tsks, pulling his fingers out of your abused hole to play with your dripping cum. He traces your outer lips, rubbing cum all over. 

Yoongi runs a finger along your thighs and over your abdomen to paint your body with your own sticky cum. “You’re all prepped and ready for my cock now.”

Your breath catches in your throat when his hands move to unzip his jeans. You’re anticipating the feeling of his cock sliding into you. How will it feel for the first time? You know it must hurt from all the stories. Nevertheless, you’re ready. You feel ready.

When he finally frees himself from his pants, throwing them off to the side,  you’re left speechless, unable to think of what to say. 

He’s big, so much bigger than you imagined. His fingers are nothing compared to his girth. It’s almost jaw-dropping. You’re afraid he won’t fit even with how wet you are. 

And it’s not just how thick he is that’s causing you to do a double-take. Along his shaft, are smooth ridges dotting his length. You’ve never seen anything like it. 

Your hesitant hand dares to reach out and graze one of the ridges. It feels just like skin, raised like a hard bump. Your hand flinches back when he gasps. You look up at him, a silent question hanging off your mind. 

“It’ll hurt, I won’t lie, but I’ll try to go slowly,” Yoongi says, hoping to reassure you. 

You lick your lips, glancing back at his hard xoxo once more. Your body is on fire and there is no denying how badly you yearn for Yoongi to be in you. You need this demon with no true face to fuck you. 

“Go ahead.”

Yoongi pulls on your hips, aligning his rigid cock head to your swollen pink lips. He pushes himself in, the thick head of his cock entering your walls for the first time. He forces himself not to bury himself into you, reminding himself how untouched you are and how he doesn’t want to hurt you.

“Yoongi,” you whimper, grabbing onto one of his hands on your hips. “S-Slower, please.”

You lay there, breathing shallowly as he watches you carefully. You move your hips experimentally around his cock, trying to adjust to the thickness as it steadily pierces you. You can feel the ridges of his cock as it enters you. The ache is uncomfortable and you wince. 

There can’t possibly be any more, you think until you choose to look down to where your bodies are connected. He’s just halfway in and you gasp. Not even with all of his length in you, you feel incredibly full. 

“Such a tight cunt,” he hisses, pulling out partially and thrusting back in, keeping up the slow rhythm to help you adjust. 

You’re beginning to feel pleasure instead of the uncomfortable pain and with each of his thrusts, he pushes himself deeper until you can take his whole cock. 

“So… hng, full,” you moan, feeling him hitting your cervix. Your back arches off the bed. You can feel every ridge sliding against your walls. Sliding your hands from his, your nails rake up his back, making red scars that will remain until morning. You anchor onto his shoulders. 

He drills into your cunt, no longer concerned with your pain, only focusing on giving you pleasure. With each of your whining moans, he rolls his hips until you’re flushed and panting. 

“S-Shit,” he hisses, “you like this, babygirl? You like being fucked?” 

“Yes, yes!” you cry. 

“You can feel me all the way in here,” he smugly remarks, pressing a hand flat against your abdomen where you can see the bulge of his cock moving inside you. His cock feels like it’s stretching you open, each thrust threatening to split you in half. 

You whine, wrapping your legs around his waist and pulling him in closer. You can feel your second orgasm approaching quickly. Your toes begin to curl in absolute ecstasy. 

“I wanna-”

“Cum? You need to cum, babygirl?” He groans hotly into your ear. 

Your fingers move to lace in his blonde hair, tugging at the locks. Your hips buck to meet his in a hurry to finish. “Yes! I need to!” 

His finger moves between your bodies to flick your swollen bud causing you to shudder releasing a choked sob. His finger rubs your clit in circles. 

Your muscles tighten, stomach and eyes clenching as all your nerves light up. 

“Cum then, let go.”

You cry his name as you cum, back arching and your sweaty chest meets his. White leaks from your used cunt, gushing around his cock, and you’re absolutely spent. 

“Good girl,” Yoongi coos, almost out of breath but not quite. Being a demon means plenty of stamina. “Such a good girl.”

Your eyes open, blinking—once, twice— and realizing he’s smiling down at you. His blonde hair pushed back, revealing his forehead and glistening sweat. You’re wondering how he’s feeling after this because you’re definitely confused. Do you love Yoongi, the demon, who only wants to be human? It’s hard to say. 

“I might love you,” you admit. You might as well say it. You have nothing to lose anyway. 

That forces his smile to fall. He has nothing to say in return, he can’t say anything. This is wrong—all wrong. His mouth sets in a hard line.

You're forgetting the inevitable. The inevitable moment when he's forced to take your life. Even if years do go by, even if he does allow himself to fall in love with you, it won’t end happily.  

“And maybe I could too.”

[alpaca-writes]

Mystics, Chapter 7

When Arch becomes hired on at Mystics by Lyrem, everything seems to be going well- their life nearly becomes perfection. Soon enough, however, Arch realizes that perhaps not everything is as perfect as they think...

Directory: [chapter one] [chapter two] [chapter three] [chapter four] [chapter five] [chapter six]

Tag list: @myst-in-the-mirror

CW: leg injury, knife whump, 

---

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE GODS OF JUST AND UNJUST MEN

        The man keeled over just as the darkness had engulfed him and the sensation of ground had returned beneath his feet. Ragged and shaking, he cried out in agony, clutching his right leg that poured deep crimson blood staining his fingers. A soft blue light emanated from a tunnel above his head, showering him in a beckoning glow.

       Beside him, a woman formed from the drifting darkness of the abyss. Her black hair was pulled off to one side in multitudes of smooth braids that reached her hips. She knelt down in her simple white linen gown, and touched the man on the shoulder. He stared up at her, his face soaked with more tears than rain or sweat.

        “Th-They don’t… They don’t remember me,” he stammered shakily.

        The Goddess hushed him softly, and brought her hand down to the knife handle. She met his gaze, and searched his green eyes. He became lost in her mesmerizing essence and in one swift motion, she pulled the knife out of his thigh.

        He launched onto his back, roiling in the unfathomable release of pressure in his leg. He was screaming, but the void consumed his cries until the very end.

        “I gather you were unable to kill him?”

        She had waited for him to stop screaming before tossing the knife down in a clatter by his head.

        The man still laid on his back, caring not for the wound that was bleeding out with fearsome speed. His lower lip quivered and he closed his eyes.

        “No,” he answered through gritted teeth. “He… He was in a meeting.”

        The woman breathed out the last of her hope and stood over him, shaking her head.

        “We don’t like excuses,” she expressed, circling him. “Lyrem is only a man, and Hades wants results. If you don���t deliver, then you don’t get to stay on Earth. Running away with another human is not what we asked of you, was it?”

        He shook his head, wiping a hand over his face like he was shielding himself from the rays of her shame.

        “Next time,” he said. Forcing himself to sit up, he looked at her squarely, and turned his face to stone to address the Goddess as she ought to be. “I’ll get him next time. Persephone, please send me back- I”-

        “No.”

        He forced on, “I’ll get him this time, I swear”-

        “Ar”-

        “SEND ME BACK!”

         This time, his voice carried farther through the void and then it echoed back to them. He lowered his voice reactively, sensing that he had done something severely improper.

        “Please… Send me back.”

        Seeing his emotionally fragile form was endearing as well as tremendously unsettling. Persephone lowered herself to him as he laid there, barely supported by his one elbow. Huffing, she laid a hand against his leg. He stared into her perfectly dark eyes, trusting her once more with great effort.

        “I can heal you partially,” she offered, “And with a bit of time, I’ll be able to send you back.”

        “Don’t bother healing me if you can send me back now.” He argued, “Lyrem has Arch”-

        “If I don’t heal you, you’ll bleed out and return here within minutes. And you will be of no use to us then. You’re a mortal, remember; dancing between worlds of life and death.” Persephone explained. Gently, she cupped his cheek with a soft, sympathetic hand.  “The rules were never written for someone like you.”

        He tore himself away from her grip, and gulped down the last option that he was given. He took some time, considering her words with the reverence that one would give to a wise crone.

        “I don’t know how long they… Fine,” he finally agreed.

        Arguing with Gods and Goddesses alike wasn’t a normal habit for him- but for now, he would take what he could get.

       “But I promise you… I promise Hades… I will kill Lyrem. I’ll do it, no matter what it takes. I’ll deliver his head to you on a fucking silver plate if it means I can go back to my old life.”

        “Usually, I would advise against making promises you cannot keep,” the darkness called through, washing over him. It was the voice of the Underworld; of Hades Himself. He could not be witnessed in the dark abyss, where only the dead contained the sight to see the God in His glory. The voice carried on, shaking the injured mortal to his very core as it rumbled through him like a thunder.

        “But with you… I am willing to believe that there may be some hope for us all.”

        Persephone blinked slowly; the words of Hades filling her soul like she had taken a breath of fresh morning air. She looked down to the human, allowing a small smile to sneak its way onto her face, as his filled with cautious determination.

                                              -------------------

          “I think I like them.”

        Lyrem looked up from his two fingers of scotch whisky and smiled to the man sitting across from him in a matching orange armchair by Mystics’ storefront window. The lights of evening downtown glowed inwards, as the two of them caught up with each other. Lyrem had finished his story of the strange and annoying priest at the hospital- and the terrible treatment that his charge, Arch was receiving there.

        “I thought you might,” Lyrem replied. “I’ve primed Arch with talents they’ll be able to carry forward for years and years to come.”

        “And yet, you still cannot trust them to keep their memories.”

        There was a twinkle in the dark eyes of his guest. Everything from his squared off top hat to his jacket and to his bejeweled cane spoke of decadence and divine tailoring. He smoothed his long black beard down to its tip with long fingers, studying his friend and regular supplier with great interest as he took his time with his response.

        “I cannot be certain that they will follow me.” Lyrem admitted, taking a sip from the glass tumbler that sat in his right hand. “They are so connected with people… with life… How can one twist a mind that pure?”

        “All that purity, it ends somewhere. Everyone has their limits. Goodness leaves us all in the dust eventually and your successor cannot be someone with sentimental ties. One day, even you will have to leave them behind.” The man’s pinky finger danced in the air as he raised his own glass. “Since you know, the Devil always comes to collect on her debts.”

        Lyrem grunted rudely at the reminder.

        “Any word on when that might be?” Lyrem asked with deepening interest in his tired face, “I know you have an ear to the abyss, Paimon. You can tell me.”

        Paimon merely chuckled, and clicked his fingers. The record player began to set itself up, playing the tunes that were primed to go. The album was something picked out by Arch from the record store across town several weeks ago after they had grown tired of John Denver.

           I wouldn’t want to be a chimney sweep,

          All black from head to foot,

         From climbing in them chimneys,

         And cleaning out that soot…

        “Just enjoy life, Lyrem- while you still can,” Paimon winked as he finished his glass and clunked it down. “Throw out your stoic wisdom, already, and prepare your charge for when you’re finally dead. That’s my advice.”

        Sensing that Paimon was on his way out, Lyrem stopped him. 

        “One more thing... I suspect that a particular captive of mine has found a way out of the Labyrinth in the back room. There are no… other doorways that you neglected to mention when I purchased it off of you, are there?”

        “I am leasing it to you, Lyrem.” Paimon corrected him with a shake of his head in pity. “Like all rental properties, sometimes renovations are necessary.”

         Lyrem scoffed at his flippant response. But before he could say anything else, the demon had vanished from his chair.

         “At least give me a bloody notice first,” Lyrem muttered to himself before finishing his glass with a final swallow. Only the melody would keep him company now.

         The honey from the bee,

        The shellfish from the sea,

        The earth, the wind, a girl,

        Someone to share these things with-

        Lyrem switched off the record abruptly and then picked up the empty glasses left on the corner table. Paimon’s words rang in his head as though they were warning him. He had been sensing for quite sometime that Hekate had grown impatient with his antics. He had been given many gifts from the underworld’s many inhabitants in his short time on Earth, and as a result owed many debts; some debts simply would not be repaid in the bones of ancient Mayan sacrifices- though sometimes they did make thoughtful gifts.

        Demons and divine spirits, Gods and Goddesses alike, all had some opinion on Lyrem Nomadus. At one time or another he had procured an item or two for almost all of them- whether it was something as frivolous as an original Da Vinci sketch or as dark as a human heart for ritual consumption. Whether they had a fair opinion of the man, or a sour one, they would all agree that for a human, he was really rather quite useful and would go the extra mile to make them happy as long as he was paid in full with their favors.

        Lyrem was well aware that those days of retrieval and dealing were long past him now. His age was beginning to show in all the worst ways. Sentimentality becoming the latest of wrinkles in his pallid complexion. The first wrinkle of which was when he had removed memories from Maria, his one and only love, so that she could be happy living out the rest of her life with a normal human. Meeting Arch, and the strong connection that they had grown, was just another one of the latest displays of his sentimental nature. The visit from his old friend this night yet again, a reminder that his good work would soon be coming to an end.

        Lyrem had to be sure that Arch was prepared by any means necessary. This meant there could not be room for distractions. There was no room for failure. If Arch was unable to make use of the gift they were given, then they would die before they even started.

        “What now?” Paimon returned, sensing Lyrem call for him in short thoughts. The demon stood, leaning against his cane by the door, regarding Lyrem with a tired interest.

        “I have an idea,” Lyrem postulated, placing the tumblers on the counter as he paced the store’s sale floor. “-but I will need your help to locate a shape-shifter.”

        Paimon perked his head higher, as Lyrem continued hesitantly.

        “One, preferably, that is extraordinarily good at acting.”

        Paimon’s lips curled as his eyes danced with amusement, and nodded.

        “I’m always willing to help out an old friend,” he smiled.

[nickydestati]

just an overview of my fics, mostly for navigation purposes!

MULTI-CHAPTER

 Sing, o Muse (completed)

Sing me, o Muse, of the love of Yusuf and Nicolò, stronger than hatred and all-consumer death, one that saved many men from the house of Hades, strong-greaved Greeks and Trojans alike, tamers of horses. Sing it from the moment when they first slew each other, These enemies, bound by fate to face eternity together.

Or: what if Nicolò and Yusuf met during the Trojan War instead of the crusades?

Between the Lines (completed)

Yusuf and Nicolò are characters in a fairy tale, designated by their Narrator to be sworn rivals, fighting over the heart of a woman. (In the blank space between the lines, however, a whole different story unfolds.)

Or: what happens if your characters decide to hijack your story.

The Music of Your Soul Calling Mine (completed)

In all senses but the literal, Nicky is lost. In an attempt to find himself again, he leaves Italy for a year of solitude in the US. Soon, he finds a safe harbor in the local museum, a place where he can think and find rest. A place where he one day meets an intriguing pianist by the name of Joe. It is Joe who rekindles Nicky’s dream of becoming a cellist he had been forced to cast aside, and it is Joe who stands by his side all the way to achieving it. But most of all, it is with Joe that Nicky finds everything he didn’t know he was looking for and more. 

ONE SHOT

Confession to the Crescent Moon 

After killing each other many times and failing to keep the other dead, Yusuf and Nicolò begrudgingly decided to work together to figure out what was wrong with them. In search for answers, they chase the women they keep seeing in their dreams, but it is a long and troublesome journey. Even so, the two men come to know the human behind the enemy. For Nicolò, this comes along with the crumbling of everything he has ever held for truth. But the more time he spends with Yusuf, the more he discovers a new, life-altering truth. And one night, he slips away to make a confession.  

DUOLINGO PROMPT SERIES

under the cut because there are a lot and there will be more! 🦉

1. I Am a Butterfly (also on tumblr, Joe x Nicky, modern au)

After a long and hard day at work, it's always nice to come home to your husband and an unexpected butterfly. 

2. My Wife? I Adore Her (tumblr, Andy x Quynh)

When the Guard goes dancing at a club, Andy quietly reflects on her love for Quynh.

3. He Is Not My Enemy But My Friend (tumblr, Joe x Nicky, pre-canon)

After years of travelling together, the hostility between Yusuf and Nicolò has changed into something neither of them expected.

4. Our Garden Has a Beautiful Yellow Flower (tumblr, Joe x Nicky, soulmate au) 

When Yusuf was eight years old, his mother told him about hearts and flowers and souls meant to meet. Or: another take on the soulmate-trope.

5. Is It His Jacket? (tumblr, Nile & Booker, post-canon)

Even though Nile hasn’t been part of the family for long, she feels the stinging emptiness Booker leaves behind, like a gaping wound. 

6. Who Am I? What Am I? (tumblr, Joe x Nicky)

Nicolò used to think there was only one heaven and that it was unattainable for people like him. Over the centuries, though, he has been proven wrong.

7. Saturday Night (tumblr, Joe x Nicky, college au, band au)

After years of friendship, Joe has finally mustered the courage to ask Nicky on a date, but he is in for a surprise. 

8. Why Don’t You Come With Us? (tumblr, Booker centric)

Sebastien does not know how they find him because even he does not know where he is anymore. There’s only this endless ice, this perpetual snowfall that lives within him and clogs his ribs. He’s so cold, so cold. 

9. It Is Not Enough (tumblr, Joe x Nicky, Pygmalion au)

Yusuf has always loved marble. Ever since he first set foot in the workshop where he started his apprenticeship as a little boy, he felt as if he understood it. As if it shared its secrets only with him.

10. On Which Balcony Are You? (tumblr, Joe x Nicky, modern au proposal fic)

Usually, Joe was more of an improviser, a let’s-see-what-the-moment-brings kind of man. He just followed his heart wherever it wanted to go and dove into things head first. This time, though, Joe had planned everything meticulously, feverishly almost, because this had to be perfect.

11. Who Did You See in the Mirror? (tumblr, Joe x Nicky, pre-canon)

On their travels in search for the women in their dreams, Yusuf and Nicolò come across a woman claiming to possess a magical mirror that can tell them a truth about themselves. They do not expect it to work. They expect even less that it will change everything between them.

12. Night of the New Moon  (tumblr part 1, 2, Andy x Quynh, Siren!Quynh)

It is said you should stay clear of the water when the new moon resides in the night sky. It is said something lures unfortunate souls into the depths with an ensnaring song. It is said they are never to be found again.

Andromache never believes what is said until she has seen it with her own eyes.

13. Does He know? (tumblr, Joe x Nicky, pre-canon)

“Does he know?”

Nicolò clears his throat and focuses on the scimitar again, pretending to clean the spotless metal. “Does he know what?”

“Does he know that you love him?”

14. You Do Not Believe Me (tumblr, Andy x Quynh, angst)

Andromache may have stopped the search for Quynh, but her attempts to get her love back from the grasp of the ocean will never cease. She has not given up on her, and she will prove it.

15. Refrigerators (tumblr, Joe x Nicky, crack)

When all is silent and his family has settled in the warm embrace of sleep, Nicolò sneaks out of the house to meet his secret lover.

Or: a crack Romeo and Juliet AU no one asked for.

[mirror-juliet]

~Searching For Soulmates~ Park Seonghwa X Male Reader

Requested by Jax on tumblr.

Since there isn't a lot of male readers that read my things (To my knowlege) I decided to make this one special by using Jax's name, the one who requested this. I hope you enjoy it bub.

Tagging: @themainineveruse @atinybrew @vocalyunho @hongjoongs-hoe​

Love story's are so over-written these days. So hard to write about. They say write the unexpected, but everyone's already done the unexpected. If you write it wrong, nothing will become of it. If you excel in writing the impossible-you are praised beyond belief. Unexpected love story's are impossible. Most story's are Frankensteins of other stories, stitched together by a dream and desperation. But the well known authors dreamt those dreams before you could write them. You'd just be copying them if you made a story close to the lines of theirs, if the two characters hate eachother, or if they don't know eachother. Who's to say you didn't dream those dreams first, And why wont the world let you dream those dreams more than once. Aren't dreams supposed to be eternal. An extension of our thoughts, how can someones thoughts be wrong. There is no right way to think, it isn't a math formula with a set outcome. So why have people decided that we must think in a set algorithm?

The world's too busy thinking about their own love theory to worry about a simple love story written for a college literature class. Only the teacher would read it, so why's Jaxson stressing about it so much? There are set outcomes to what grade he'll get so it doesn't really matter how he writes the report.

"Here's your Pomegranate potion, Weirdo. You come to a coffee shop and order tea." Maggie, Jaxon's favorite barista and best friend since they were younger ruffles his hair. "You're the one who dragged me here today. I could have finished my report at home."

"There was no way i was going to let you stay cooped up in that apartment one more day. It's a lovely atmosphere here," She's not wrong about the atmosphere, it has the right amount of teenager swag mixed with an almost professional look. "Plus if you get bored you can entertain yourself by watching me train the new guy." Jaxson pays close attention to Maggie now

"That's today?.. And you are going to be the one to train him? Lord help this shop now." Maggie attempts to wack Jaxson upside the head, but he's too fast for her tiny fist of rage "That isn't funny Jax. I'm a good trainer, After all i was trained by the glorious booknerd that is you." She bows and holds her hand out gesturing to him. The boy wonders why he's friends with such a weirdo in the first place, but he supposes it's because he acts just like her. "What was he like, the new guy. Do you know?"

"You could always ask me what i'm like, pretty boy." Jaxson freezes in place, fear painting him as he watches Maggie wear the most shit-eating grin of the century. "Seonghwa, it's nice to see you again. This is Jax, he's off today but he's one of the workers here. Jax meet Seonghwa." Jaxson turns to greet Seonghwa, But holy God's why did he have to call him pretty boy? He's the pretty boy for gods sake! "You were talking up a storm just a moment ago, what happened; Cat got your tongue?" Curse him for having such a beautiful face because Jaxson does nothing but stare and hold his mouth agape! Seonghwa chuckles and goes behind the counter next to Maggie. "When do i start coach?"

Jesus his smile is pretty and he knows it. Jaxson watches him roll up his sleeves into uniform cuffs, his forearms are way too toned for his good, his tan skin extenuates them so much. Despite how good looking he is, he is quite clumsy with the espresso machine. It's expected since he explained to Maggie "I don't like bitter things so I've never used one of these." He has coffee grinds all over his apron and at the bottom of his white shirt. Jaxson had given up working on his report to examine Seonghwha and his arms. Both of them were covered in tattoo's, he cant help but wonder if one of them are perhaps his soul-mark he tries to hide in the cluster of ink. Maggie never tried to hide her mark, though it did look quite odd to only have the veins of butterfly wings on her cheek. Her soulmate, Yeosang did try to cover his up. It looked like 'an unattractive pink blob' in his opinion. Though, Maggie thought it looked cute in pictures, when they kissed for the first time, their marks melded into one. Now Maggie spends most of her weekends looking for Jaxson's soulmate even though he's made it very obvious he doesn't want to find them. After searching forever, he got tired and was convinced that his soulmate had either not existed or died before he had ever met them.

"Seonghwa you'll be okay, i'm just leaving you to make some of these for lunch hour. You're doing much better than an hour ago." Maggie sings sweet words to Seonghwa who seems to be shaking like a leaf in the wind. "I don't think i should make anything for anyone to consume."

"Okay, make Jaxson something and then prove me wrong. If he decides it's too horrible then he'll take your place for the day and we'll train you more."

"Why do you have to drag me into this?" Jaxson groans, he was enjoying his day off-well, not really; But Maggie doesn't know that! Then again, she probably does given the knowing look on her face. After a few minutes of a silent stare match between the two he gives in. "Make me an iced americano." The tan color leaves Seonghwa's face as Maggie leans against the counter, leaving him all alone with the coffee maker and his wits (Which arent a lot when it comes to the machine). His toned arms are clumsy with everything, making a much bigger mess than needed, Jaxson could have sworn everytime something got dirty Seonghwa cringed. After five minutes of entertainment Seonghwa Shakily sets the drink in front of Jaxson. "Whats wrong newbie, see a ghost?" Seonghwa glares at that, upset his own joke was used against him. In retaliation he mutters something under his breath that Maggie nor Jax can quite make out.

He takes the drink and puts it to his lips, only having it on his tastebuds for mm, less than two seconds before spitting it back in the cup. He wipes his mouth and grabs his things. "I'll be back out in a minute. Don't let him near customers." Seonghwa watches Jaxson walk into the employees lounge and come back out in uniform, buttoning his sleeves up and shoving his way behind the bar. "I want you to clear off tables, you'll have to move fast because this place gets packed in about fifteen minutes." But Seonghwa isn't moving, Only staring down at the shorter male. "What?" Jax's getting impatient as he's wasting time standing around when he could be preparing for the forty people he's going to have to deal with for the next two hours.

"Can i take you on a date?" Maggie drops the cup she's holding, hot espresso now on her new martins, the only thing saving her from burns. "What?" Is all Jaxson says because Seonghwa's hot! This is a manga scenario that only happens every blood moon, no love story has ever prepared him for this moment because any situation in a manga would never be accepted by society. And what't the point? Whats the point of dating someone that isn't your soulmate? "Go clean tables please."

The three of them don't talk about the situation the rest of the day, only trading words to explain an order or if they need to wash more mugs. But they do watch eachother. Seonghwa watches Jaxson make coffee and tea at an alarming rate, Jaxson watches Seonghwa clean tables with so much care; never leaving a cup ring. And Maggie watches the tension in the room between the two grow it's like candy burning to the side of a pot. Sickening but sweet. At the end of lunch rush, it's nearly time for the quaint little coffee shop to close it's eyes for a good night's rest. You think for how many people visit it, it would stay open longer than Three pm.

Yeosang came to pick up Maggie for their date night leaving Jaxson to close at the shop. That isn't the plan tonight because for the love of Hade's Jaxson cant figure out why the manager decided to hire Seonghwa other than his looks. Every drink he's had Seonghwa make in the past thirty minutes he has managed to burn or fuck up magically somehow. "Why is making coffee so hard?" The tall man groans out, backing against the counter away from the machine. "It really isn't. You've just added way too many steps to it. Here hang on." Jaxson grabs a fresh cup and starts up the machine once again. The poor thing might be overused by tomorrow.

It's crazy how simple Jaxson makes it look to Seonghwa, not only that but how elegant he is while doing it. His fingers flip switches effortlessly, pouring the milk into a beautiful leaf shape he's convinced the shorter man shouldn't be able to make. But he almost does it with his eyes closed. Seonghwa should be able to make designs like that- "What?" He says, realizing Jaxson must have asked him a question given the quizzical look on his face.

Jaxson's laugh is pretty, Seonghwa decides. It's just the right amount of baritone with the ever so slightest bit of soprano. "I'm telling you to take the coffee so you can see what it's supposed to taste like."

"Aren't we supposed to be teaching me how to make this instead of drink it?" Jax jumps to sit on the counter, taking his own teacup in his hands. "I needed a break and the machine is making sad noises, so here we are. Go on, taste perfection." Jaxson's cocky words brink an obnoxious smirk to the older's lips. Because there's no way his coffee is that good.

But it is

Seonghwa isn't one for bitter taste, hell he doesn't like coffee. But the cup Jaxson handed to him it seems he's refusing to put down. "Woah, woah. You're gonna give yourself a stomach ache." Said boy causing concern hops down to drag the cup away from him. "I'm sorry, i didn't think you had to drink it slow." A pinkish hue covers Seonghwa's neck. "I don't like coffee usually...." He trails off.

"Seonghwa." Jaxson's voice is gentle, Seonghwa wonders if he's gotten sad somehow. "Why are you working here? You don't like Coffee and you absolutely suck dick at making it. So why?" Jax hops on the counter once again and Seonghwa has to avert his eyes from the smaller male, intrusive thoughts invading his head. He shakes his head hoping to get rid of the thought like an etch and sketch. Anywhere but his eyes is better, does he not think before talking? Seonghwa thinks. "I, like most people in the world need money. This quaint little coffee shop so happened to be the only one hiring. So i had to get it before i ran out of money for rent. Why are you working here?" A question for a question, fair enough right? "I like the aesthetic of this place, it's calming to me. And it pays fairly well." The two sit in silence, sipping their respective drinks, only sharing glances at one another.

"Say whats on your mind pretty boy, You've been looking at me with a question in your eyes." Seonghwa smirks, only making Jaxson blush harder from the nickname. God he wished Seonghwa would use a different name. "Sorry. I was just wondering where you used to work before here. "

"I worked in a tattoo shop." He crosses his arms, the drink from before long since drained. "It was a pretty good gig too, i was the only apprentice that was allowed to work on people, plus i got half off tattoo's...if i let them do it drunk." Seonghwa looks up into the air, a meloncholy smile on his face. "It was the best job of my life."

"Can i ask you another question, if you don't mind." He lets out an approving sound, not bothering to look down. "If you were so happy....Why leave?" Jax realizes he's touched a soft spot when Seonghwa looks back at him, his eyes are hurting, hidden behind a small smile. "Aren't you just a nosy little one." He takes a deep breath "The old man that owned the shop passed, it was taken over by his daughter. She decided to turn it into a hair salon, kicking everyone that worked there out of a job. It was quite selfish of her, don't you think?"

Jaxson nods his head, wondering what it must have felt like to suddenly loose a friend and a means of living. Suddenly the cup of cold tea is more intriguing than the saddened face of Seonghwa. "My turn~" Said man sings out, tipping Jaxson's head up with his finger. "When can i take you out on a date?"

"O-oh, you were serious about that......."

"Why wouldn't i be?" Jax pulls away from him, hopping down to begin cleaning dishes. "Because i don't like dates." Seonghwa takes the cup out of his hand. "So, don't think of it as a date. Think it as if were just a couple of friends hanging out for an afternoon." A sarcastic chuckle leaves Jax's lips. "But it's still a date."

"Will you at least give it a shot? If you don't enjoy yourself in the first fifteen minutes i'll even take you home." Both of them stop movement, Jaxson wondering why Seonghwa is so hellbent on getting him to go on a date. "Fine. Only fifteen minutes, where will you be taking me?" Jax snatches the mug back from Seonghwa. "That." He pokes Jaxson's nose "Is for me to know and you to find out, tomorrow at two?"

"If you mean a.m. then hell no."

***********

Seonghwa had in fact not meant two am, but precisely when the autumn's sun hits Jaxson's glasses just right to blind him. Where even was Seonghwa? He had told Jaxson to meet him in front of the Cafe five minutes early just in case he got there before.

He hadn't.

He hadn't shown up the first five minutes after the intended meet time. Where the hell was he? Turning the corner onto the Cafe street, the loud motorcycle that was annoying Jax approached in front of the Cafe. Only once the rider pulled off his helmet did he realize Seonghwa was the knight under the mask. A knight wearing a leather jacket to reveal a blue floral shirt tucked into black skinny jeans with no chains this time. Instead he's swapped them out for makeup smudged onto his face, making him seem even more attractive than he already is. "You expect me to get on that? Wearing this." He motions to his outfit, denim jeans, a striped sweater and sneakers. Obviously not appropriate apparel for a Motorcycle. "You'll be fine pretty boy. Hop on." Seonghwa pats the seat behind him, pulling out a second helmet. "The five minutes i spent waiting count against your time."

"The ride doesn't though, Deal?"

Jaxson wishes the ride would have counted against Seonghwa, they've been driving for the past thirty minutes on the highway. He swears Seonghwa's speeding on purpose for Jax to have to cling onto his torso so the small boy wouldn't fly off the bike. Once the bike ride was finally starting to be bearable, it stops. "We here?" A chuckle from Seonghwa. "Do you think i stopped here for gas?" It's an aquarium, It could be worse, it could be a movie theater. "C'mon, i wanna show you a lot here."

A lot he did show Jaxson, from river bass to sharks in a dive tank. He even payed for the extra experiences like holding hermit crabs or feeding the sea turtle from a pole. Jaxson has to admit, he is having fun; he didn't leave two hours ago when the fifteen minutes were up. "Oh, c'mon we're at the touch tank!" Seonghwa Pulls Jaxson through sliding doors to a room with quite a large touch tank in the middle. In it are stingrays of all sizes. He leaves momentarily to come back with two small cups of something foul smelling. "We can feed them by hand." Seonghwa hands the cup of sardines to Jaxson, not waiting for him to grab one before taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. "Just put it between your knuckles, their teeth are on their bellies so don't be afraid."

Easy for him to say as he seems to have no fear towards the slimy sea pancakes, his arm is already submerged past his elbow, getting his rolled up sleeve wet. "This big one i named Calvin. Say hi Calvin." The large stingray swims on the bottom to take the fish from his human friend. He even lets Seonghwa give him rubs and pit pats. It's quite cute to see him acting so young and happy. "Well go on, the worst that can happen is one of them tickle you."

Jaxson mustered up the courage to roll up his sleeves, only dipping his hand about forearm deep. Shortly a small sea pancake fly's over and goes straight for the fish. Thanking the boy by flapping his wings against his arm. More cute giggles coming from Seonghwa. The more fish he goes through, Jaxon finds himself moving closer and closer to Seonghwa. Eventually the two are brushing hands, Seonghwa startles him by grabbing ahold of it. "If you wanted to hold hands you could have asked." He smiles, not one of shitery or mockery. But a genuine smile, directed at Jaxson.

A warm tingle pricks both of their arms, on the verge of being hot. "Look." Jaxson points to their interlocked arms. A white snake being engraved into the knot of his black snake. The opposite of Seonghwa. He freaks out and pulls his arm out of the water to inspect the new tattoo. "Wha-"

"Mommy Mommy look! They got their soul-mark!" A little girl bounces next to them, pulling on her mother's arm. "Is that what this is?"

"It looks like it." Seonghwa hands a paper towel to the smaller of them. "Wanna go get dinner?" It took some convincing but Jax finally agreed to go to dinner, there they talked about what it meant, and how Jaxson could have possibly missed the white snake in the cluster of Seonghwa's tattoo's. It is the only white tattoo he has after all.

A/N: This feels kinda bad compared to my other works but my friend who read it over says it quite nice. (They prefer to remain anon) Jax bub i hope you liked this. I had some troubles making it but i think it's okay. Remember to like and reblog if you're reading this on tumlr

[shardweavers]

Chapter Twelve - Old, Unhappy, Far Off Things

[Half a bell prior to the death of Shoto’s door...]

Closing the book that sat before him, the Crystal Exarch glanced to the small chronometer on his desk and sighed, rubbing his temples; page after page of Allagan tomes researched, all of Beq Lugg’s notes and annotations and fae wisdom, and yet he felt no closer to an answer on how to imbue the vessels--no closer to guaranteeing the Scions a safe return to the Source before the First consumed their souls. “Another sleepless night, and so little to show for it,” he grumbled. Standing and stretching, he glared at his chair, silently rebuking it for the aches in his back; picking up his staff, he took the book he’d just finished researching and replaced it on the bookshelf, looking around the Umbilicus afterwards.

Surely, somewhere in this grand tower, the answer he sought was waiting to be found...he could feel it. He just had to persist, didn’t he…?

When his gaze fell on his desk once more, he realized the journal he'd been writing in for the last few weeks was still open; the Exarch placed his staff on his back, and gently plucked the journal up, intending to put it away. The last bit of his entry from last night caught his eye before he could:

Seeing the encouraging look on Angel's face was...nostalgic. It reminded me of when we were trying to find clues to open the Tower in the first place. He was so fascinated by my retellings of Allagan history back then, in a way only Lyna has since echoed. 

Maybe that's why I'm so certain the answer will come to me if I just keep searching…? I have so many people around me who bring about miracles.

"...Miracles," the Allagan Miqo'te trailed off, then frowned, sighing again. "Mayhap... that was the wrong word to write." 

He shook his head to clear it, then closed his journal and placed it under a larger book...now wasn’t the time for melancholy. His friends, the brave Warriors of Light and Darkness, were heading out into Norvrandt today. Once he had seen them safely off, and run his own minor errands, he could return to struggling with the vessels.

Flicking his ears, the Exarch allowed himself a small smile and took in a deep breath as he headed out of the Umbilicus. Yet no sooner had he entered the Ocular…

Something was wrong. He could feel it.

Biting his lip and frowning hard, the Exarch yanked his staff from his back as he hurried to the mirror at the center of the Ocular. He paused for a moment, then tapped his staff on the floor. The soft clang echoed through the empty room as the mirror lit up with a glow.

A view of the Crystarium appeared as its citizens bustled about, starting their days. The Mean's artisans were setting up their workshops, the Musica's vendors were preparing their shops, the guards were preparing for a shift change... nothing seemed out of place yet. 

The red-haired Miqo'te put a finger to his chin, thoughtfully. "Am I just imagining things...?" 

A sudden burst of movement flickered from the mirror, and all at once, he sensed the aetheric signature of powerful magic used somewhere in the Crystarium. The Exarch’s heartbeat kicked into overdrive; he sent out a silent magical alert. Every guard in view leapt to attention; Lyna came hurrying in to give orders. 

The Allagan Miqo’te grit his teeth, then raised his staff toward the mirror.

"What was…?" he let his question trail off, nothing else had been disturbed... He checked in on the Catenaries, but the people there seemed safe, and looked to be just getting up and ready for their days. ...Another violent pulse of magic, more powerful than any he knew--the Pendants. There was no mistake; this time he was sure. "My friends," he whispered, worriedly; he shifted the mirror’s image in a hurry. 

The moment he looked in on the Pendants, he was greeted by citizens clamoring near the Master of Suites, and guards trying to calm them down. His ears pinned back, then he shook his head and took a deep, calming breath. He needed to sort out what was happening before he ran off. 

The Exarch lifted his staff again, then looked in on each of his friends' rooms. Sumire's room was a bit disheveled; his bed was a mess, and his door was still open, but it didn't look damaged. Yuki's room was quite tidy, though her coat was still on her bed, by an unpacked bag. Ice and Angel's room bothered him the most; food was half-prepared, a knife was on the floor, a chair knocked over, and the door still wide open. When he went to try to look in on Shoto, he found aetheric interference made it difficult. He knew he'd found the source of the disturbance... but why--?

For a brief moment, the image cleared. He saw his friends on defense, and a familiar figure, all too familiar. A figure that made his ruby eyes narrow, and his blood run cold. The Crystal Exarch had his answer.

“...Emet-Selch…!”

He loudly clanged his staff on the Ocular's floor to disperse the mirror's image as he ran out to head to the Pendants...

* * * [Half a bell after the Ascian Tea Party.]

"My lord?" Lyna's voice broke through the Exarch’s thoughts as he stared at the blank mirror, pushing away the memories of earlier that day. His ears perked at the Viis’ quiet voice, and he closed his eyes as he let out a silent breath.

"Yes, Lyna?" His voice was quiet and contemplative; he still felt himself shaking inside, but tried to make sure it didn't bleed through. He had to maintain some level of authority and decorum.

"Are you certain this is wise?"

"No," he replied without thinking; his ears flicked and he sighed again, shaking his head. "But I'm not certain what other course of action I could have taken, to be truthful." Turning from the mirror, he headed down the steps in the center of the room, his captain following him.

"We could have kept him locked up," she offered.

He immediately shook his head, "No. He’s too powerful, magically, to be held that way--if he'd have wanted to, he'd have simply disappeared from his cell, or torn free from his bonds. I'm not really certain why he didn't at least try."

"Then... do you trust him to keep his word?" Lyna was confused, and it showed in her expression. The Exarch had entrusted her with many details, yet she knew he still hid much from her; this felt like another of those times where she wouldn't get a straight answer.

"I don't trust him as far as I could throw him," the Exarch grumbled, glaring at the floor--and, to a degree, at himself. After a silent moment, he looked back to Lyna. “... I do, however, trust our Warriors of Darkness. After all, if not for them, I--" he stopped, then shook his head a little as he corrected himself, smiling ruefully, "rather, none of us would be here."

"...If I may speak freely, my lord...?"

"Of course," the Exarch tilted his head a little. Lyna made a face, then took a breath.

"Was he not the one to place you and the Warriors in mortal peril before...?" She took a step forward, "I worry for you all should he decide to try once more. He is one of the 'Ascians' you told me of, correct...?" The Exarch's ears perked at her question... he'd forgotten that he'd explained that.

"Yes... I understand, Lyna. But...in this matter, we must trust them." He smiled at her, doing his best to reassure her; as much as himself. "I am certain that, if they must act, they will make the right decisions."

Lyna looked to the Exarch for a moment, then smiled a little. She saluted and nodded, "I will head out to make sure transportation is available when they are ready to head out." She turned, then hurried off.

The Crystal Exarch stood in the middle of the Ocular, alone. For a brief moment, he felt the emptiness of the tower itself, and let his eyelids fall shut.

"Ah... I have work to do as well, don't I, my friends...?" He opened his ruby eyes, feeling as tired as he ever had, "For the Scions, and the Source..."

* * * In the aftermath of that morning, Yuki found herself quite overwhelmed with everything that had transpired; thinking about it at all gave her a headache.

First they’d fought a desperate battle against Hades, seemingly returned from the dead. Then there was how the battle had ended, and afterwards, all of this talk about creation magic and the lost powers of Amaurot…! The Viera glared at her palm, almost daring something to conjure into existence suddenly; her expression fairly said “go ahead, aether, make my day.” ...Of course, nothing happened.

What a nonsensical notion, she thought to herself. 

And yet...and yet the most sensible woman she’d ever known was buying into it completely, to the point that the Ascian was coming along with them to Eulmore! To Eulmore, the very place he’d helped twist into…!

It was all a mess. The Viera groaned, flopping back onto her bed. Her emerald carbuncle hopped up lightly to join her, snuggling close to her; Yuki brought her thin fingers down on its head, gently petting the creature...it helped her clear her thoughts, and grudgingly accept that there was no changing things, not at this point. 

She’d better get moving; Shoto would be expecting her and her compatriot. So first, obviously, came gathering Sumire from his room.

Standing up, Yuki hoisted her dark blue travel bag, slinging it over one shoulder and moving towards the door. She glanced back at the room one more time to make sure she didn't leave anything; a sheen from the nightstand caught her attention, her carbuncle bouncing happily over to it, scrabbling at the nightstand with her little paws. Her eyes widened a bit in surprise, and her hands automatically went to find that, sure enough, she’d forgotten her necklace! 

This morning must really be getting to me, she thought ruefully to herself, fastening the black cord about her neck and adjusting the single crystal...touching it brought back memories of a younger Miqo’te, his purple hair bouncing as he bounded through the Limsan crowds to present it to her like a trophy, grinning from ear to ear; his little token of thanks to his best friend.

Yuki allowed herself a soft laugh. It all seems so long ago, now...Heh.

With her necklace secure, she patted the carbuncle’s head again and headed for the door, the magical beast following with a coo. 

"Thank you, Carby. Now, let’s see if we can go get Sumi moving." 

Late, late, late; always late despite all their best efforts. And on today, of all days! An important day like this! They sprinted through the streets of Amaurot, hoping very faintly that the others weren’t gone, but knowing that--

"Theia! Over here!" A familiar voice called.

"You haven't left yet...?"

Why were they still here...?

"Because we're supposed to leave together, silly. Don't you want to go with us?" The familiar voice responded with a snicker.

"But I'm so very late..."

"You often are," another voice replied, reassuringly, "So why would we leave before you arrived?"

"You're part of our constellation," a warm, calming voice spoke from behind. "Worry not, we would never leave you behind, Theia."

"Persephone..."

Sumire had fallen asleep again after coming back from the Ocular; despite his getting dressed after the fight, he hadn't made up his bed before he'd left. The blankets had been kicked off the bed at some point during the night, and he hadn't picked them up. He was using his pillow more like a stuffed animal than a proper pillow, and he was curled up tightly near the bottom of his bed... despite having laid down across the middle.

"Per...se...pho...?"

He blinked awake, just as the sun peeked out from behind some clouds to light up his room. Tears stung his eyes, and the Dragoon reached up to wipe them away in confusion.

"What was I...?" 

Sumire pushed himself up, then rubbed at his eyes again. He tried to recall even the end of his dream, but it wouldn't come back, and all he could feel was the lingering sadness deep within his heart that he had no context for. 

"Just a dream," he told himself, then frowned, "Like always, it's just a dream." 

Taking a deep breath, he looked around his room, fighting down another yawn. "How long have I been..." 

Shaking his head, he flicked his ears as he stood up, letting his thoughts trail away into nothingness. A yawn overtook him, and he almost involuntarily stretched his whole body; even his tail, shivering afterwards...he still felt out of it. Drowsy wasn’t quite the word, but it was close, perhaps? Sighing, he pulled his shirt off and headed to the bathroom to wash his face--maybe the water would help him wake up more.

The young Dragoon cupped the warm water from the faucet, letting it heat up for a moment before splashing himself in the face a few times, grabbing a towel afterwards to dry off. Leaning on the sink, he stared into the mirror with a pensive frown.

That dream...it didn’t feel quite right. I’m used to strange dreams, ever since back then, with the dragon...But...That was stranger than any I remember...

...And it felt like... Reaching up to push his hair back, he examined his right eye in the mirror, the pupil and iris moonstone-white; dead to the normal sense of sight, it could now only sense the otherworldly radiance of aether. It had ached so badly in the Ocular, especially every time he looked over at the newly resurrected Ascian, but now it felt fine, and it looked no different than ever. He flicked his ears.

“Honestly, what...what was all that drivel about creation magic...?" Letting his hair drop back over his sight-blind eye, he let out a long, haggard sigh. “Couldn’t it...Couldn’t just...be...their normal magic, acting up…? Or being weird, or just…” He made a face and glanced over to the towel once more…

“But then, I’d have to worry about Yuki, wouldn’t I…?”

No, no, that couldn’t be it. Yuki would be fine. She had to be. She was the stronger one.

Sighing with the weight of his fatigue, he went back to the process of washing his face. He cupped more water, then ran it and his fingers through his shaggy, violet hair to push it all out of his face. He kept splashing his face and running water over his head until he no longer felt like he'd go back to sleep if he stopped.

Yuki would be fine. She had to be. She was the stronger one.

* * * Sumire hadn’t expected the person he was thinking of to greet him as he stepped from the bathroom, but-- “You’re late.”

--there was her familiar voice, greeting the shirtless Miqo’te as he was drying off and nearly making him drop the towel he was using to do so. He managed to instead put said towel over his head as he blinked, his eyes wide with sudden surprise at the presence of the Viera before him.

“Y-Yuki!?” His ears flickering nearly sent the towel to the floor a second time, so he put it around his shoulders. “Wh-What are you d--?"

“I came to make sure you were okay,” she said in a mildly reproachful tone, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes just so. “It’s already been half a bell. You were asleep again, weren’t you?” He didn’t answer, but the color in his cheeks and the way he quickly went back to drying his hair, as well as the unkempt status of his bed and the way he guiltily glanced over to it, gave her all the answer she needed. Yuki let out a long sigh, frowning more than a little at his lack of denial.

“Is it that late? I...I didn’t think I’d been out that long, honest. I didn’t mean to make you worry...I’m sorry.” His ears pinned back and she shook her head, smiling just a little, though she still looked worried.

“I'm just concerned about how...worn out you’ve seemed to be. Are you sure you're feeling okay? You don't have to push yourself."

Well, that was enough to make Sumire very, very interested in the ground, scuffing his foot against the ground. “I...I’m not pushing myself.”

“...Sumire.” Yuki was not having it.

“I’m not pushing myself that much!” Sumire protested. “Look, it...It’s probably a side effect of the whole...rejoining of souls, that we were just hearing about. It makes sense, you know? Given that back when we were in the Tempest…” The Seeker gripped the ends of his towel around his neck, "I saw Renda-Rae in the Light, and she lent me her strength to help Shoto. Just like you saw Nyelbert, right?” “...That’s true,” Yuki admitted, chewing her lip. Each of them had spoken, in that brief moment, to one of Norvrandt’s former Warriors of Light. “So no matter what, we know they’re part of us now, at least,” Sumire said, nodding, his tail flicking and curling lightly in thought. “And my body’s probably just...adjusting to that.” “Even with that logic, no one else is--” Yuki started in, huffing, but paused as she realized that wasn’t quite true. “...Alright, so Angel did sort of summon a glowing...orange...not-carbuncle in front of everyone...And Shoto mentioned strange things happening too.” Her long ears twitched slightly as she considered this. “...But still--”

Her voice died as she saw the disappointed look on Sumire’s face. "So you've really not noticed...anything since then?"

Part of him sounded like he didn’t quite believe her; the other part just sounded kind of saddened, and the combination was enough to make Yuki turn towards the window with a sigh, staring out of it for a long, silent beat… “I...No. I haven’t. Everything is fine,” she replied, insistent, accenting the fine. “It’s you we need to worry about. Mostly, anyway.”

“Alright,” Sumire replied; he wasn’t sure he wanted to push further on that topic right now, and besides, he kind of needed to put a shirt back on, he was getting a little cold. He reached for the one he had been wearing, but it turned out that a certain Emerald Carbuncle had curled up on it quite comfortably, and Carby made a plaintive warble when he so much as reached for it. Acquiescing, he hung the towel over the back of the chair and dug a new shirt from the dresser; he caught Yuki watching him out of the corner of his eye, though she made a frustrated noise and looked away when she caught his gaze.

It should’ve made him chuckle, or at least smile; even if it was overbearing, he didn’t mind that Yuki was concerned for him at all, it had always been her way. But when he picked up the shirt, his hands shook, and he stopped.

A wave of alien sadness, sadness from nowhere he could identify, welled up in his chest; tears pricked his eyes, several falling onto the fabric. He shook his head and hurriedly tried to wipe the tears away, but Yuki had noticed and practically bounded over to him, even more concerned. “You’re not okay,” she whispered, “I knew it.”

He felt his face flush in embarrassment, but he couldn’t lie to her. Sighing, he shifted to sit on the dresser; he slipped the shirt over his shoulders, but didn’t button it up at all yet. “You were crying, Sumire, please...at least tell me why,” Yuki pressed, and his tail flicked, his ears drooping.

“I don’t...I don’t remember.”

"Remember what?"

"I don't remember why I'm sad. I-I woke up like this." He took a long breath, shaking his head, and kept going before Yuki could ask another question or interject. "The only really different thing, other than just being tired, is...is this, and the dreams.” “I thought you told me your dreams are usually just...echoes, from the dragon’s blood?” Yuki’s frown intensified.

Sumire nodded. “Usually, they are! But these are...different. They’re strange, they don’t feel like the ones I get from the dragon’s blood, and I can remember those. These, I can’t. I can’t even recall the faces I saw, or imagined I saw.” He reached up to touch his chest. “All that I’m left with is whatever emotions the dream stirred up, like...this stupid sadness, sadness I have no context for.”

Yuki’s eyes narrowed, but not in a glare; more like she was mentally comparing something. “You can’t recall anything, at all?”

Sumire blinked and cocked his head to the side. “...Now you sound like you know something about them. Are you okay, Yuki?” He couldn’t help but give a bit of a wry smirk at the opportunity to tease her, even lightly; and he was rewarded with the Viera’s cheeks coloring as she huffed, pouted, and pointed a finger at his forehead.

“No no no! We’re talking about you! I told you, I’m fine, nothing is different, everything is okay! But you are having weird dreams that you can’t remember, which make you cry; Angel is having nightmares and orange imagination beasts; a-and Shoto’s crying her eyes out, over eggs.”

Sumire blinked. "I don't think it was eg--"

“Eggs, Sumi!” Yuki had turned sharply to the side, put her hands on her hips, and stomped her foot. The violet-haired Miqo’te blinked again, his mouth a perfect “o”, but he let it go--he knew when Yuki didn’t want to talk about something, and Yuki did not want to address the Ascian-shaped elephant in the room, least of all Shoto’s feelings of guilt involving the Paragon.

Yuki crossed her arms, taking a few deep breaths and calming down, lowering her voice a little. "You should all go talk to Chessamile. Maybe she's got a tonic that'll cheer you up." Her expression now looked downcast, and Sumire couldn’t help but hop down from his seat on the dresser, shaking his head. “Yuki...I’ll be okay. I’m feeling better already, just talking like this, I don’t need a Cheering-Up Potion.” He offered her a smile.

She did not believe him. “That dream had you crying over the sight of your, of your own shirt,” she said, biting her lip, her ears twitching slightly again. “You’re going to be okay in Kholusia, in Eulmore? We’re going to be there a while, and…” “Of course I’ll be okay,” he replied immediately, not even having to think about it. “I have you with me.”

There was a long, long moment of silence, in which Yuki blinked, and her cheeks went a brilliant cherry-blossom color, her mouth hanging open. Her expression turned rapidly to a protesting pout, her hands finding her hips as she stared right into his eyes and Sumire began to feel rapidly like he’d made a terrible mistake.

“Wh-wh-what’s that supposed to mean, Sumi?!??”

Sumire held up his hands, blinking. “Nothing strange…? It’s just...We’ve gone everywhere together since we met, haven’t we?” He tilted his head. “You’ve saved me numerous times when I got in over my head. You've been the reason I could make it through so much that I probably shouldn't have."

"Sumire," she mumbled, paling. Her pout was giving way to a crestfallen look, an ashen, fearful expression, the more he spoke, but Sumire hadn’t noticed as he kept speaking-- “You’re my partner, aren’t you?” ...There was another long moment of silence as Yuki’s expression changed again, her cheeks going brilliant red once more. “...Y-yes! That! Of course! Of course I am, and we’re...Right!” Now, despite her affirmative words, the Viera looked clearly angry; she looked like she might kick over the table, and her ears twitched much differently than her earlier agitation, extremely irritated. Once more, Sumire worried he’d made a huge mistake.

“Yuki?” "Yes. Yes, we're partners! Y-you're absolutely right, and there's no way that could be misconstrued or anything! It's, it's all fine! Everything is great!" She stamped her foot again, and the table shook from the force. The Miqo’te’s own face was now full of concern. “Yuki, are you...Sorry, I worded that wrong, I should have--”

"N-NO! You're fine! I'm just, I need, to go get some air! Aaaugh!" 

Yuki turned on her heel, then stormed off; Carby leapt up from Sumire's shirt, then bounded after her. She only took a few steps before she stopped; the carbuncle leapt up into a twirl, then disappeared into aetherial mist… and Sumire was left there, staring at where the carbuncle had disappeared and stunned by what had just taken place. 

Part of him wanted to immediately run after her, try to get her to understand what he'd meant. But that would be foolish, he knew; she needed some time to herself, especially if she had also dismissed Carby. Sumire shook his head, gazing at the floor with a soft, small sigh.

And then he noticed it; a bright glimmer, a shining thing. When he knelt down, he realized...it was a violet-colored...crystal, it looked like? It hadn’t been there before.

"That's odd, did she drop this?" He reached out to pick up the crystal so he could return it to her, but pulled his hand back instantly at the touch; it felt like it had burned him, but not with heat. 

"What the--... it.. it's cold...?" 

He looked down to his hand, then the crystal, "...Violet... ice?" 

Sumire didn't want to touch it again, as cold as it was, but he was curious.. upon closer inspection, he realized the violet-colored ice was shaped like a tiger cub...

* * * Stupid Sumire. Why did he have to go and say things like that?

Yuki’s teeth were grit tight enough to snap as she stalked across the length of the Exedra; she didn’t know if anyone greeted her, and she didn’t really care, right now. Her body was almost on autopilot, it felt like, and she was just trying to get...away.

But she couldn’t. As fast as her stride carried her, her village caught up to her in her mind’s eye; the violet-leaved trees surrounding the Crystarium melted away into the deep green forests of her youth, the bustle of the Exedra and the Dossal Gate became birdsong, and she could hear her mother’s voice, bright and melodious.

“Mjöll!”

That isn’t my name, she thought.

But it had been, back then. Back when her whole world was the woman she could still see if she thought for even a moment; her light brown hair, long, tied into a single braid that fell down between her shoulders, framing her long ears. Her mother’s smile was always warm, always welcome, her arms always open to embrace her only daughter. “There you are, my precious Mjöll!”

“Stop it!” she hissed to no one, quiet and fierce, trying to calm the storm of her emotions, her eyes shut tight. 

When she opened them, she realized she’d made it up the stairs to the Amaro Launch, standing out on the round platform where the amaros took off and landed...when she gazed out at the barren mountains of Lakeland, in the distance, it struck her how truly similar they were to the Skatay Mountains of her homeland...or would be, if it ever snowed on Norvrandt. 

The homeland she would likely never see again, that she’d left behind along with the name “Mjöll” and the only family she’d ever known, at the age of seventeen.

But I had to. 

I couldn’t...I couldn’t live like that!

She counted herself lucky that her tribe had been part of Clan Veena; if she’d been Rava-born, she’d have been sworn to the Green Word, and her friends in childhood had sworn that Ravan mothers killed daughters who discovered the world outside. She’d have been trapped in the Golmore Jungle forever, if the Imperials hadn’t gotten her first. 

But still, what her Clan had in common with Clan Rava was this: when they came of age, and the Wood-warders came wandering in, they would take a mate. Then, the Wood-warders would be gone again, and the women would spend the rest of their lives anchored to their village. Chained to their village, raising the children of a father they would never even know as more than a name.

She’d been revolted by the idea ever since she first understood it, ever since it was something other than a nebulous concept of roles in Vieran society. Her mother and her teachers had all promised her it would make sense as she grew, she would understand it, she would welcome it.

She hadn’t. It was vile. To...to rut with someone you barely knew, like an animal, once every three or five or even ten years, and then let them disappear back into the woods with barely a word. 

The soothsayers could mumble all they wanted about how “the distance 'twixt two bodies does not dictate the distance 'twixt two souls,” and how anyone who thought different was “looking for coexistence beneath a loincloth”, but it was all stupid nonsense. None of the Viera in her village who mated had ever thought of their mates outside of that cursed season, and why would they? The men were there to saddle the women with their children and go off into the wood to die, usually in agony, always alone.

The idea of that being her whole life, of being yet another village mother haggard from chasing after her children, whom she would raise to be nothing but more mothers, made her feel like she couldn’t breathe. It felt wrong, it wasn’t what she wanted. She knew she was meant for more than that, and she was drawn to the world beyond the Skatay, beyond Dalmasca. “Mjöll, this is foolishness! You have a responsibility,” she could hear her mother telling her. “When you hold your own precious kits in your arms, you’ll understand…”

“I don’t want that!” she’d said. “I don’t want to be forced to spend the rest of my life that way, I want to make a difference...”

“You will make a difference! You’ll be guaranteeing the future of our people!” “Not like that…!!”

“Then like how, Mjöll?” Her mother had her hands on her hips, frowning, her glare piercing.

“Like...like an adventurer,” she’d managed.

It wasn’t unheard of for Bangaa, either in small adventuring groups or whole trade caravans, to pass through the village; many of the village girls, Yuki included, would always secretly make time to go hear their stories of the outside world. For most of them, it was enough just to hear the wild tales, but what she’d heard had stirred something inside of Yuki, a yearning that had never died. And most of all, she loved their tales of other adventurers, fighting fiends and righting wrongs in far-off lands. She knew, from the first tale she heard, what she wanted to do in the future. Her mother hadn’t been amused in the least by her suggestion, her expression turning deeply angry. “You mean to run off with those disgusting, greedy lizard-men? Off to be sold into slavery or get killed playing at revolutionary?! Absolutely not! I forbid it! I won’t hear any more of this nonsense, Mjöll!”

And here was the expected outcome, her mother’s words firm and absolute. Yuki desperately wanted to protest, to convince her mother otherwise...but...it was impossible. 

Her mother believed too much in the trap that was their culture. In mothers bound to create more mothers, forever. In tears, the young Viera had gone to her room and prayed to any of the Twelve that might listen for another path. For a way out. For escape.

And she had been answered by a very different Mother. By Her.

Hear. Feel. Think.

That had been the same night she’d left the Skatay Range, and the forest that ringed it, forever. The argument with her mother had been the last time she'd talked to her. The only thing she left behind had been a single note in her room, intended for her mother, that told her of her decision and that she would be okay on her own.

Yuki curled up a bit at the memory, pulling her legs up and against her chest as she sat alone at the edge of the platform.

She had wandered for a few days after she'd left; she’d had to evade more than one Garlean patrol, and vividly remembered the terror of crouching beneath a farm shed’s ruin, breathing shallowly, as a battalion of magitek armor trampled through the smoking, burning field behind her. She was endlessly grateful to find one of her Bangaa friends on the way, and they had traveled together to Kugane.

The city had been beautiful, yes, and she’d been free.

Free and completely alone. 

It had been overwhelming, all the sights, sounds, and even smells of Kugane. Everything was so new... and she’d felt so helplessly, completely lost and afraid. All of the darker whispers she’d heard from the other girls and from the travelers on the road, along with her mother’s angry reasons for denial, had loomed like phantoms in her mind. She’d been sitting by the dock, morosely chewing on a bowl of rice she’d managed to buy with some of her last coins, when a fisherman approached her. He was a huge, barrel-chested Roegadyn; she thought now he was probably a Sea Wolf, though she knew nothing of the Roegadyn at the time save how large and rather frightening they were. “Why, ‘ello, lass,” he’d said, cautious and friendly, but she’d still jumped at his voice. “Not oft I see forest folk ‘round ‘ere.”

The young Viera hadn't known what to say; being honest, her voice had left her in her fear. Seeing how she shook, the Sea Wolf looked apologetic, and knelt down to make himself less threatening, taking one knee...she remembered most of all now how kind his weathered features had been. “Wot’ll be thy name, then?”

Yuki smiled sadly and shook her head at the remembered question, laying her forehead on her knees; a pained chuckle escaped her. The question had only frightened her more, as silly as it seemed now; she only knew she couldn’t keep her forest name after she’d thrown everything else about the forest away, it wouldn’t be right. But then, what to say? That she didn’t know her own name…? It’d been then that she’d finally started to cry…

“That was the first time I cried since I left, wasn’t it?”

The fisherman bit his lip in worried sympathy, and his warm, large hand had patted her lightly on the head. “Ay up, ay up, nowt of all t’at. Ye’ve no need t’ tell me thy name if ye don’t want te. Are ye lost?” The Viera found her voice once more, though it came after a ragged sob. She shook her head to his question, unable to stop crying. “I-I came here... h-hoping to be... an a-adventurer…”

She expected him to laugh at her, or sneer, but he just looked surprised that she’d actually responded, and then his features had become thoughtful as he smiled, his finger against his chin. “Hm. Reckons I ye might have a bit of t’ auld luck in Eorzea, more’n ‘ere...Well ‘en, tells ye wot, lass. I surely need an ‘elper on me way back t’ Limsa Lominsa--that’s t’ great port town of t’ West. An’ ye might well find adventurin’ there. What ye say?”

It had been a small thing, really; a little act of kindness. But that offer, that opportunity, that had shaped everything, really. That offer had let her keep moving forwards, instead of bringing her journey to an abrupt end or taking it down a darker, more terrible path than she wanted to think about, even now. And back then, it had been a life ring tossed to a drowning girl. She’d leapt at the chance; she’d nodded so fast she felt almost dizzy, her face beaming with her first genuine smile since arriving in Kugane, a flame of hope kindled in her heart.

“Y-yes! Yes, please!” “Then there’s nowt else for ‘t,” he’d laughed. “Ahldstyrm is I, Cap’n of t’ Glorious Summer, an’ promises I that I’ll see ye safe t’ harbor.”

She wished she could’ve given the old Roegadyn a hug now, gone to him with all her troubles. She owed him so much, looking back.

If I’d gone anywhere else but Limsa...I’d never have met Sumire, either, would I?

“Yuki?”

Shortly after boarding the Glorious Summer, she and Ahldstyrm had realized the problem with her remaining nameless--he didn’t want to press her, but she’d wanted to help, earn her keep, and both captain and crew would need to get her attention somehow.

“Reckon we’ll need t’ call you sommat, e’en if just for t’ trip,” he’d pronounced, scratching his bearded chin as he looked her over. “...Yer hair an’ ears, lass, if’n ye don’t mind my sayin’, puts me t’ think of t’ snow, surely...There’s a Hingashi word for it, ‘yuki’. Seems it fits ye? D’ye reckon, leastways till we gets t’ Limsa?”

“Yuki...” She tried it out, welcomed the sound. “Yuki...Yes. I like that.”

And just like the first snowfall that marked winter, it had stuck.

"Yuki...?"

Her name again... That wasn't from her memories, though.

No, that was Sumire's voice; she was sure of it. She lifted her head, then turned to look beside her...and there he was, dressed for the trip, had his travel bag over his shoulder, and had his lance resting beside him; he was solely focused on her. 

How long had he been here...? 

She tried to pout at him, but couldn't manage the usual amount of energy behind it.

"I thought I told you I needed some air?" She tried to grouse, but didn't really mean it; judging by the little wry smile on the Miqo'te's face, he knew that. He shook his head in response, then looked to the mountains in the distance.

"Sorry, Yuki, but...you’ve been out here for a while," his tail curled a bit behind him. "I told Shoto you went for a walk, after the chaos this morning."

"Is she still getting ready?" Yuki shifted, letting her legs dangle over the end again, while she stretched her arms and back.

"She finished. She asked where you were when she noticed you weren't at the gate. I told her I knew where you'd be," he shifted to stand up carefully, "so I said I'd come tell you she was finished getting ready."

Yuki just watched him stand up, silently. Sumire placed his weapon on his back, then held his hand out to her. She looked at his hand, then up to his face for a moment. 

In her mind’s eye, she saw his bare chest, his bright smile, all the parts of him she couldn’t stop looking at, lately. She felt a warmth spreading slowly up her spine, a warmth that spiked when he said those terrible words--

“Of course I’ll be okay, I have you with me.”

She couldn’t feel that way about him. She wouldn’t feel that way about him. It was wrong, it was disgusting, it was a betrayal of everything she stood for, she might as well have marched back into her village in the Skatay foothills and literally chained herself to the cold earth.

“We’re partners, aren’t we?”

Mentally, she heard another voice, a Xaela voice; the Dotharl chieftain’s eyes sharp even if Sadu’s characteristic smirk had never left her face, her own arms crossed as she cocked her head. The day she’d drawn Yuki aside, after the Liberation of Ala Mhigo--

“How long will you play with that one’s heart, forest girl? He’d chase you across fifteen reincarnations, and you won’t even tell him one thing or the other…?”

No. 

She’d been wrong. 

Sadu had been wrong then, and she’d continue to be wrong. She shook her head and stood up on her own, and Sumire blinked, but withdrew his arm without saying anything more.

"So, Shoto's gone on ahead then, I assume?" 

Yuki turned to head back up the long platform to the Launch. Sumire hurried to keep up with her pace, then chuckled again. 

"She wouldn't leave us behind. We're supposed to head out together, so she won't head off until we're all with her."

Yuki stopped at that, then blinked. She felt an odd sense of deja vu she couldn't place. She looked at Sumire as he took a few steps ahead of her, then stopped. He turned to look back when he realized she wasn't still beside him.

"Sumi, didn't I tell you that once?" She asked before he could speak. He flicked his ears, then looked thoughtful for a moment. It did feel like a familiar response, but he couldn't recall who'd said it before.

"You may have... I don't quite remember." He shook his head, then smiled at her, "Either way, it's true. Shoto's waiting for us."

STUPID SUMI, IT’S NOT LIKE I LIKE YOU OR ANYTHING

Hopefully you enjoyed this brief interlude into Tsundere Viera Land. Next chapter, it will be ALL CAT HUSBANDS, ALL THE TIME.

Sidenote: Enjoy Patch 5.4, everyone!! :D

[mrneighbourlove]

Evil’s Bane: Ch 3. Onward and Forward

Sunny sat in silence for a while, miffed, but quiet as she gathered her thoughts. She was ready for work when Leere told her that she was having to go away. “I don’t like it.”

“I know.”

“What you want to do is dangerous.”

“It is.”

“Are you absolutely sure you have to do this? You said that being a sage would keep you in Hyrule. Can’t someone else do this?”

“No. I’m sorry. It has to be me.”

Sunny watched Joy play in living room, wincing at the thought of losing her wife. “What about our daughter?”

“I’m certain if I don’t go, you, our daughter, and so many others will be killed. I’ve foreseen this.”

Sunny pinched her forehead, sighing deeply. “Goddarn it.”

Leere gave her moment before holding her hand. “Sunny...”

“Don’t make a girl a promise if you know you can’t keep it.”

Leere smiled, waiting for her wife to look her in the eye. “You know me, when I make a promise.”

Sunny smiled back, yet her sadness was still there. “Well, we’ll be waiting.”

Standing up from the table, she looked to Joy. “Joy? Both your mommies are leaving for work. You’ll have Aunt Galaxia look after ya.”

“Ok. Love you both.” Joy ran up to hug both her mothers, with both women kneeling down to hug her back. Leere smiled, rubbing her daughter’s hair. “We love you too.”

As both moms walked out the door, they turned to each other, stole a kiss, and walked separate ways to their work. Now the only ones who knew Leere left was her wife. Heading back to the Hive, she stopped by a mail box, having a backup letter delivered to Zizi.

~

"Hades," The notorious assassin of the Hive, nicknamed 'Black' by Bonegrinder, appeared to the Lynel. He was rather curious why the summons. Usually, the Lynel avoided him, saying the scent of undeath was disgusting. "You called?"

“I did. I need someone who can protect and aid the shadow sage, as well as our leader when we venture to Malus.”

"... you do realize I am an assassin, not a guardian?" Black thought someone had rubbed the big cat's fur the wrong way to get him thinking such nonsense. "I will go if Bonegrinder requires me, though, I am a surprise he agreed to go to Malus."

“Only because of the girl. I don’t trust her. Another reason I’m asking you to go.” Hades rested a hand on his shoulder. “If you sense deception that could put Bonegrinder in grace mortal danger, I want you to execute her.”

"I will not hesitate to kill her if I sense ill will toward Bonegrinder." Black assured the Lynel. He had been with the Anagari almost as long as Blue and White. Bonegrinder had found him wandering a graveyard and managed to help him recover some of his memories. He felt he owed the Echidnan a great debt. "Or any other being. Including yourself."

“Your loyalty and lack of flare in order to work effectively is why I value you most in the Hive.”

"I am here to serve Bonegrinder. You may be his friend, but I am his assassin." Black stated with a stoic expression. "I owe him for helping me remember who I was, how I died, and if not for him, I would have been unable to get my revenge on those who wronged me. Now, since I am still here and trapped upon this earthly plane, I wish to be useful to him until the magic which keeps me this way runs out."

“That is all I and him ask of you Black. Now come, the witch approaches.” Leere navigated the Hive, this time escorted by Silver. To be honest, she wasn’t sure if she disliked him or Red more. Least Red was physically attractive.

But Red loved to talk. "You know, sweet thing, I could totally give you some tips on how to make that pretty wife of yours just squeal in bed." The incubus floated a few inches off the floor, puffing his long jade pipe. "You do know that if you do the Omishan alphabet with your tongue, then she'll be orgasming within seconds."

"Can you talk about anything other than sex?" Silver groaned as the incubus pestered Leere. "Like... maybe the weather for once?"

"The weather in the great down under is doing just fine." Red grinned. "Moist, warm, and ready."

"... remind me to never ask you that again."

Nope. Red was worse. “Please. Stop.” Leere rubbed her temple to clear a migraine.

"Leave the sage alone, Red, she does not require your lessons in nocturnal activities." Black told the incubus with an annoyed expression. "Go back to your whore houses."

"I just don't understand how she resists me and yet fell into the claws of those sisters." "I guess they're a better fuck than you." Silver snorted. "And how would she know? We haven't fucked yet!"

“Because they’d be better company before and after. Leave.”

"You're missing out, girlfriend, that's all I can say." Red then disappeared with a puff of smoke, leaving Black and Silver to waft it away out of the air.

Leere moved through the smoke to Bonegrinders chamber. She knew well enough it was by now.

The Anagari was rapidly puffing his own pipe from Red, angrily. Needless to say, the snake was very agitated. He had books thrown about, opened to various pages, and was cursing in Omishan.

“Bonegrinder? I’m ready if you are. Leere was decked out in her monster hunting robes, ready for cooler weather. She thought it best to open up to the serpent in a friendly mood.

"He is not going." The Anagari flicked his tail, taking a deep inhale of his pipe to calm his nerves. "Malus is a wasteland, nothing but death and decay and dangerous and demons---why did you agree to take her there, you idiot divinity?!"

A sudden shift of personality and glowing eyes revealed Prama once more. "I am Prama, the Maker, and those innocents inside of Malus deserve a chance to be free of the enemy---"

With a grunt, Bonegrinder returned. "And have you thought about what would happen to your precious prophecy, your beloved Kaksa's host, if you were to be caught?!"

"You mean if we were caught."

“You won’t be. We’ll be careful every step of the way.” Leere walked over, picking his books up. “You should keep better care of these.”

"He is researching how to expel this nuisance from his body."

"Your body? We share it, you overgrown sack of scales."

"He is not going!"

"Yes, you are!"

"You cannot make him!"

"Do you really want me to take over your body for the entire trip?"

"Don't you dare! You're such a pain in the ass!"

"The Shadow Sage requires our assistance and has made a good point. Kaksa would want us to continue to try to do good."

"Kaksa is the reason this whole mess started."

"You take that back!"

"Kiss his black scale-covered ass!"

The arguing was stopped when Leere took their hand. “Bonegrinder. Not only do I believe my own life is danger, but also my families and the people of Malus. I want my friend to be with me and have my back. Can I count on you?”

"Mother has warned you of Malus, he has warned you of Malus, and you still insist upon going?" The Anagari asked his friend. "What makes you so sure that he knows how to get in the country in the first place?"

“Because of your insistence of not going. You know.” Leere patted his hand, unable to be unswayed. “Please? For me?”

"Hrm... he does not like it when you beg him."

“I could go by myself you know. Take a lot longer. More danger too.”

"Now you are being a brat."

“Am I? I’m not the one throwing a fit with himself.” Leere shrugged. “Guess I better get going if I want to save those people.”

"Prama is not Bonegrinder and Bonegrinder is not Prama." The Anagari shook his finger at Leere. "Two souls, one body." He grumbled under his breath. "He does not like it that you did not speak to him first on this issue. Malus is a one-way ticket to hell on earth, Leere. He fears for your safety."

“And I my family Bonegrinder. This is me asking a friend to help me. Can I count on you?” Leere put her hands to her hips, waiting for her final answer.

"... he will go." Bonegrinder finally replied, not liking the fact that Leere was trapping him between a hard choice and an impossible task. "Though we will not stay but one day."

“Thank you. Then let’s be off.”

“Not without us.” Hades trotted over with Black, his hooves clipping silently. “We will accompany Bonegrinder for his safety.”

Leere didn’t expect a larger party. “Oh. I didn’t think this needed your attention.”

“Believe me, it does.”

"Hades, old friend, and Black, his trusted warrior, Malus is a country full of hellish monsters and those looking to steal your soul." Bonegrinder frowned. "He does not wish to put you two in harm's way."

"I have already departed this world once, Bonegrinder, I do not fear doing so again if it is to help you." Black stated. "You once helped me with no qualms. I am going to be by your side to look out for you when others fail to do so."

“And I am a monster among monsters. None can kill me so easily.”

"And you may be the last of your kind." Bonegrinder asked the Lynel. "Would you have this Anagari be responsible for the death of the last, great Lynel?"

“Don’t worry old friend, you won’t.” Sheer-Khan patted the snake on the shoulder. “But let us make this quick so that the woman’s quest does not delay us from our tasks here.”

"Hrm, are you using this as an excuse to get away from Red for a while? We both know the incubus would love to have a roll in the sheets with you." Bonegrinder chuckled, not passing up an opportunity to lightly tease his friend. "We must be able to stay together or at least know where the other is in case of danger." The Anagari plucked three of his scales. "Consume these and he will know where you are if he has to create portals to get us out of harm's way or if we are somehow separated."

They all took them, nodding. Leere gripped her shadow medallion, giving herself assurance. “When you’re ready.”

"He must warn you all. While creating portals is an easy task with the right magic, keeping them open is another. If he says we go through then, we go then. Not later. Are we all clear?" "Yes, Bonegrinder." Black replied.

“You need not ask twice.” Hades replied.

“I understand.” Leere said in turn.

"Stay together and do not wander off." Bonegrinder pricked Leere's and Hade's fingers and took a single hair from Black since he only had dead blood. Then he started working on the portal.

"This old snake will be very limited with his magic when we arrive. The last thing he wants is trouble. If we do not find what Leere seeks within a day, we are coming back."

Leere nodded in agreement. She wasn’t going to disagree with her friend. As the portal opened, she steeled herself for what would come ahead.

________________________________________________________________

Previous Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/625816111410233344/evils-bane-ch-2-obligation

Next Ch. https://mrneighbourlove.tumblr.com/post/625816676434313216/evils-bane-ch-4-dangerous-uncharted-territory

[werewolves-blog]

SnapDragon’s Merchant Thoughts

So the game started a day late which made me very sad but whatever. Then I woke up from my nap and realised the game had started. I looked at my role and discovered I was a merchant. I spend the first five minutes wondering what the actual fuck, but that is besides the point.

Merchants huh? That is new. My objective is having the most money at the end of the game as living Merchant. Which is in fact an interesting concept but not entirely new. It debuted in ext-300 under the name “Bandits” but instead of working together we work against each other and we don’t know who we all are.

We get money by selling items. And we spend money by buying them. So my initial prediction is that we are here to play stock market and that items are the stock. In my honest opinion some items will be worth a ton and some will be worth nothing. For example in my opinion Protection items will be worth a lot so merchants have to chose between keeping them to protect themselves or selling them and get lots of gold. The same applies to weapons because it can be used to eliminate loot piñatas.

We are also the literal definition of loot piñatas. As in the role personified. Therefore claiming will be risky if not doing it at all.

So now a LOT of setup speculation. “You are a Merchant. You are here to exploit the chaos and make your fortune” is the fluff text. Therefore I’m gonna assume this is going to be a slow game with roles that can exploit the loot piñata mechanic. No extras joined so that rules out Undead since they cannot abuse loot piñatas. Vamp however live on recruiting loot piñatas so that is my lock-in for evil faction. Vamp however need a supporting evil faction. Coven fits this role to a T. With 18 players I’m going to assume 1 VM and around 4-5 coven. There is also the supporting cast of more merchants. My initial guess is there is more than 2 but less than 5 so 3-4 is my guess. The amount of merchants also influences the amount of coven there is.

On the topic of village roles. We talk about a loot piñata game. Therefore we talk about Thieves. Thieves will be the bane of our existence since it will make keeping items risky as all hell. Then we have some RuneSmiths, apothecaries and blacksmiths.

My final idea of a setup will be VM+1 Harpy, 1 Witch, 2 Djinns, 1 Furie, 3 Merchants -> 8 evil/neutrals. This leaves room for 10 villagers. With 3 merchants I’m going to assume 2 thieves, 1 runesmith, 1 apothecary and 1 blacksmith and 5 random roles that are going to be close to Vampire and Coven related roles. Stalkers/Militias/Gravediggers/Revivers and the lot. My guess is going to be 1 Stalker, 1 Militia, 2 gravediggers, 1 reviver as the final village roles. I exclude seers because they are too swingy for this setup. Except for maybe the novice seer because they would also see us as neutral and give us an incentive to claim.

On to some more merchants discussion since I think I barely scratched the surface at this point. I as a merchant want to win from the other merchants which means both staying alive as long as possible while making the largest amount of money existing. But I think there are also some drawbacks to buying and selling. I think that every merchant gets the same night options offered with no price visible. Therefore if we all want to buy the same items the price will be high because competition. If nobody wants to buy an item the price will be low. The trick I think is going for items that are not as desirable as other items but still better than the bad items. Avoiding the competition, going for the bargains. My other guess is that craftable items are worth near nothing because… well… they’re craftable. The obvious exception being Armour items (If they are craftable, I don’t have much knowledge of the BlackSmith yet).

My second thought related to merchants and selling is that selling to a fellow merchant will inflict penalties of some sort. Either being that you sell for low or sell for very high and they lose money. The other option being a bonus in that selling to a merchant will make money for both of the merchants. On that topic of protection items. I think they sell for high, but giving them to a fellow merchant is not something you’d want to do because they then can sell them the next night for also a lot of money. Then another thought. If items decrease in amount over the game they will become more valuable. That is if they end up in the GY or get used or anything.

That brings us to the next topic. What items are we able to expect over the course of this game? My guess is mainly consumables and renewables. Runes + Armour + Weapons + Potions. I think Demonic Relics are out simply because they’re rare and they would be worth a fk tonne to the lucky soul who winds up with them ergo they swing the market too much. On the same note wolf items are out too assuming a vampire. As for starting items I think Merchants will start with some. Armour + a random item. This is because we have to buy N1 and will lose money if we don’t sell so we need to have the option to sell N1.

This also brings us to the 3th Merchant thought: Trade-routes. My guess is continuously selling to the same person brings a bonus or malus depending on the items being sold. The idea being that selling to the same person establishes a trade route which will give more money depending on if you sell different items to them but less money if you sell the same item continuously. This gives us Merchants the dilemma of having to choose between maintaining a trade route or selling for gold.  

On another item topic: Popular buys will become more expensive to buy as the game progresses. And as the game progresses the items we will be presented will also increase in value. This brings me to another point that I previously didn’t even consider. There may be relic items in the game and we get the option later on to buy the relics that can trigger/remove their effects (Demonic Eye and Heart of Hades). The flaw with this is that we as merchants may decide to not buy the relics so a possible DemonCult can never trigger them. And the possible demonic items that are in the village may turn out to be useless if we never buy the trigger items. This is a very specific scenario though.

On to the next topic: Council. I think council is in the game and every merchant worth their salt wants to be on it. This is because Council can generate items out of thin air.

My last thought: Outlaws. If we try to sell to an outlaw they will just take the item and we will generate no money.

 To the last point: Strategy, I’m going to employ a high-risk strategy. With potential thieves etc keeping items is a waste of inventory. This also makes sure I can buy high later on when I believe the value of items increase.

 N1:

Okay so apparently we’re able to leave the fking town. This puts dirt in my setup speculation since I do have to eliminate coven over a numbers issue. Perhaps if it was more than 20 I would have allowed coven to remain as a viable option. If all supposed 3 of the merchants are able to leave -> 4-basement, 5-coven 6 village with the 3 loot piñatas leaving. Merchants I think are balanced around them becoming loot piñatas at all points in time which allows for the coven. Instead I’m putting in a subfaction war. Subfaction war also fills in with the chaos because subfactions want to finish each other off to detriment of the village often. There is also no council which is kind of disappointing. Then again it’s maybe good because whoever as merchant gets on the council has a definite advantage. My proposed setup is this:

VM, MS, IL, 2 GD, 1 Stalkers, 1 Militias, 2 Thieves, Novice Seer, 3 merchants, RS, BS, Apothecary, LM, Mortician.

I’m also given the Potion of cleansing buying option so I’m not gonna rule out Damned and Demoncult just yet.

I start with as predicted: Armour and a Hvísla Rune (low cost item). I’m obviously going to sell the Hvísla for 4 gold to make some money for next nights purchase. I will keep the Armour for now eventhough keeping it does not fit in my high risk playstyle. The armour is worth 31 gold at this point. I am also going to buy cleanse potions because of the volume of the items that is. All items are tier 1 items so I’m going to assume the value between the three does not vary a whole lot so 2x cleansing is more than 1x weakness eventhough weakness costs less. The other choice was Fjat Rune which costs as much as the 2x cleansing potions.

Then we go to a second alternate setup. One involving Outlaws. Merchants and Outlaws have synergy. Outlaws want to collect items while Merchants want to sell them. Therefore it would not totally be out of the question that this is a potential combination. It also poses a second neutral faction to support the vampire because both Outlaws and Merchants want the game to not finish too quickly. Collecting items and selling items etc. This poses as help for the very confirmed Vampire who wants the game to start slow even if they’re found early. This WILL eliminate the novice seer since there will be too many neutrals and instead puts in a drunk or even a regular seer. A possible setup for this would be: VM, 3 Merchants, 2 Outlaws of varying degrees, 2 Thieves, 1 RS, 1 BS, 1 Apothecary, mortician, (drunk) seer, 1 stalker, 1 militia, 2 gravediggers, whatever.

I’m not sure if I consider my ability anything strong. In general I don’t really give a crap about who I transfer items too, I just want to make bank. The only thing it does is identify potential merchants in the early game and/or find potential evils later in the game. However I’m still using the ability to generate visits AND to find a potential Merchant N1. I’m using it on the one who nukes the everloving SHIT out of the game in Gandhi who I’m also going to transfer my Hvísla to.

I have also already identified Tomyris as a potential Bandit/BoB/Merchant due to the “new faction confirmed” comment. Same with Gilgamesh referse psychologying the shit out of everybody.

On the topic of things already being proven false

-          No council

-          Price options are visible so no invisible bidding against other merchants

The rest has to remain to be seen.

[tea-and-conspiracy]

Defector (WoL/Amaurotine AU -- 5.2 spoilers)

“Don’t get the wrong idea; I have sympathy for your cause. But you know why I cannot take sides.”

Persephone still did not turn to face the other woman. Venat had caught her unhooded and unmasked, and it was only by virtue of her back being turned that her identity had not been completely revealed. Even so, crimson waves yet tumbled down to her rear, expressing some measure of her individuality.

“You do not wish to strictly oppose the Convocation. I understand,” Venat intoned. “They were your comrades and friends, after all.”

“I’m sorry. But know that, at the very least, I won’t raise a hand to stop you.”

Venat hesitated. “Emet-Selch has been tempered, you know. He won’t be the same.”

Persephone did not immediately reply. “...Venat. What exactly are you going to summon?”

“A counterpart to Zodiark. Something to bind Him, so that His hunger no longer consumes our people.” “Yes, but...” Persephone glanced back over her shoulder, flashing cornflower blue eyes. “Zodiark is our Star made manifest. If your goddess attacks Him...what happens to the world?”

She could not see Venat blink, but sensed it regardless. “He would slumber. As would the Doom entombed within Him. And with that, we could finally go on rebuilding--”

“How do you know that?”

“I’m sorry?” Venat asked.

Persephone chuckled. “Maybe I’ve spent too long in Lahabrea’s company, but...Venat...you can not take such actions on emotion alone. You need data, evidence. You have no idea what the consequences of shackling Zodiark might be.”

“Then what are they?” Venat demanded.

“I don’t know!” Persephone threw up her hands. “That is what Akadaemia Anyder was for! And before you interrupt -- yes, I know they are not interested in helping a traitor. So find someone scientifically-minded, some aetherologist who can run the scenario and determine--”

“We don’t have time!” Venat protested. “Zodiark consumes more souls by the day! How long before there is no one left to give him?”

“And if you err,” Persephone murmured, “You doom us all anyway.”

Venat’s arms fell in exasperation to her side. “I do not understand, Prometheus. Why did you leave?”

Persephone only smiled down at her hands. “I am no longer Prometheus. How could I be, when no one would listen to me?”

Venat sighed. “I am sorry for troubling you. Thank you for hearing me out, anyway.” And with that, she turned and left. Persephone waited for the sound of the door closing to finally exhale.

“...You can come out now.”

Emet-Selch stepped out of the adjoining room, frowning deeply. “You’re letting her go after hearing all that?”

“She can do what she wants. You all can.”

He sighed, sitting down at her side, and tried to catch her gaze. “You haven’t failed anyone, you know.”

“Haven’t I?” She stared at her hands. “Amaurot is lost. We’re reduced to a scattering of warm bodies. And while you have forestalled our doom we still don’t know what caused it in the first place. People once looked to me for guidance and when they needed me most, I...”

He scoffed, though it was good-natured. “Even though you were Prometheus, no one expected you to have all the answers. That was the point of the Convocation. We all must work together.”

She smiled sidelong at him. “That just sounds like you’re trying to lure me back.”

“Can you blame a man?” He placed a hand over his heart, dramatically.

Persephone gave a soft chuckle, leaning against his side. “I’m sorry. I won’t go anywhere near Him. My will is my own.”

“How can you say as much when you haven’t served?” he asked. “Zodiark is magnificent, Persephone, if you could only see--”

She placed a single finger over his lips, though her heart sank down to her toes. In this, at least, Venat had been right. Hades had never been one for blind loyalty, and seeing him with this false passion, this zeal that was not even his own, was the cruelest fate of all. Even if she somehow figured out how to banish Zodiark -- and whatever in the world Venat was now going to create -- Hades would ever long to have his god back.

“Please,” she whispered. “Let me do this.”

He canted his head to the side, golden eyes searching her face. “Do what, exactly?”

“I’m going down. Down, as deep as I can. Your gods fighting each other will only serve to finish what that infernal Sound started. I’m going to find the source of it, and I’m going to destroy it.”

He leapt to his feet. “Absolutely not! That’s suicide!”

“It wouldn’t have been had you all come with me.” She bowed her head. “If we’d but combined our powers...”

“Zodiark’s already taken care of it! There is no need! The whole point of creating him was because we didn’t know what we were dealing with.”

“But is it destroyed?”

She looked up at him. He was silent.

“Then it’s coming back,” she said, softly. “One year from now or a million, it will come back. With Zodiark binding it, this may be my best chance of striking the final blow.”

“Please...don’t. The world is already on its way to healing. It has no need of heroes.”

“Come on. It’s me. You could at least have a little more faith than that.” Persephone smiled, although she didn’t wholly believe it herself. “A true Amaurotine does not shrink from a problem that has not been solved, and problem-solving is my specialty. Stop worrying so much, Hades. I’ll be back before you know it.”

[the-lady-bryan]

because i’m waiting on the water for my pasta to boil, here’s an idea i had for a fic but haven’t worked on it hardly any not for lack of muse. the muse is there. the worldbuilding has been done to death. i just haven’t the time to add it to the mountain of WIPs I’ve already got going.

so here’s the idea.

It’s a Harry Potter/Hermione Granger Soulmate AU.

The least you need to know: involves Lily Potter being a bamf, pagan god worship, god-like Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, reincarnation, future mind/soul into past self style time travel.

also typos. oh god the typos, but i can’t really be bothered to fix them at this time.

This is gonna be broken up into parts so i’m gonna do a different part per reblog till i’m done.

PART 1:  THE PATRONAGE OF A TITAN

When Lily was a young witch - around 13 or so - her best friend Severus introduced her to some old pureblood traditions (which he and his mother did but hid from his father). She was shown how to worship the old pagan gods. To a muggleborn this was at first not well received, but as Lily had learned in the previous three years not everything about her new world was to be taken at face value. So she endeavoured to learn and not be prejudiced. She had lerned that each witch or wizard who practced the old ways had a patron god or goddess to which they prayed. This was, to her, not entirely unlike the idea of patron saints to whom muggles appealed for strength, guidance, or support. And so this is how she approached this new aspect of her magical identity. Even after her parting of the ways with Severus, she continued to learn and had even begun the practice of honoring the old gods - though she had no patron as yet.

On her seventeenth birthday she had ventured into the forbidden forest, feeling an inexplicable pull on her magic. She found herself in a clearing where there was a pond and a small smattering of trees. Despite it being the dead of winter, the clearing was warm and inviting. There was a fire lit, and an old woman sitting before it. She was naked from the waist up, and her skin sagged and her long hair was thin and silver with age.

"Miss Evans, I've been waiting for you."

"Wh- How do you know my name? Who are you?"

"I was once called the Meter Theon. But in Sparta they called me Meter Megale. My brother-husband called me Rhea."

"You're a titan."

"Yes child."

"I thought you'd be bigger."

Rhea laughs at this and invites Lily to join her by the fire. Lily learns from her that Rhea has come forward as her patron, and tells hr that the old ways are dying. That now across the world only the oldest and strongest still remain. "Zeus and his lot were some of the first to go. But stubborn old Hades refuses to give in. Refuses to give up his post and move on like the others." "why?" "What do you know of the tale of Hades and Persephone, child?" And so Lily tells her the myths she learned as a child pre-hogwarts, and of her research. Of the rites she had read about and so on and so forth. "My siblings and I may have been chained in Tartarus, but we could still see. We could still hear. Mother Gaia still whispered to us in our hearts and Father Ouranous still sang strong in our minds. It always brought me great sorrow to see how my son was treated by his siblings. Given no choice but to rule in a place devoid of warmth and love. Forbidden from walking the land with his siblings and taking part in the wonders that was the growing race of men and their curiosity. Over time many believed him cold and incapable of sharing in what they had. The reality was that he felt everything so much more deeply than they. For it was to him all souls would eventually come. Even those of his brothers and his sisters. But there was one who saw in him the goodness. The kindness and the gentleness that had been hidden by the dark." "Persephone." "Yes. As you mortals are so fond of saying, history is written by the victors. And never has it been more true than in the case of my most beloved son and his wife. Persephone was ordered to wed Hermes, whom she loathed with all of her heart. The night before they were to wed, she fled and went to the only place she knew Zeus's omnopotent sight could never penetrate. She went to the underworld begging sanctuary of Hades, who readily gave it to her. In time they grew close, and eventually he allowed himself to open up to her affection. But rumours of Demeter's search for her daughter told them it would be only a matter of time before those on Olympus realized to where she had fled and Persephone, being posessed of imortality and not a mortal soul, could be removed from his realm and there was little he could do about it. Unless she were willing to bind herself to him in marriage - but because it meant she could no longer return to the world above, to the sunshine and the light, he would not force it upon her. She chose to wed Hades, for her love for him was so great that even the thought of being parted from him brought her great pain. They were wed, and he took her to bed as any husband would his wife. And after, she ate of the pommegranate that would seal her fate. Twelve seeds, she needed to consume.... but the gates of the Underworld buckled and gave way under the might of Zeus and his Olympians. Hermes stole Persephone away after she had eaten only six. The bond to her husband only partially fulfilled. Hades was punished by watching Persephone forced to marry Hermes. But rather than marry the brute she attacked him and took up his dagger, plunging it into her own heart.... For the weapons forged in the fires of Hephaestus were so powerful they could kill even a Titan. Denied the pleasure of watching Hades suffer as his wife was married to the suitor Zeus had chosen, Zeus forbade her soul from ever entering the realm of Hades and bound her soul to mortal bones to be reborn again and again. My beloved son still stands watch, though he grows weaker by the year, in the hopes that now his brothers are long since gone, her soul may be able to pass through his gates and she is returned to him."

Lily is given the choice near dawn to accept Rhea, one of the last of the old gods, as her patron goddess or to refuse and seek out another. Lily accepts Rhea, which causes the old woman to smile and gives her an amulet with strange runes upon it.

Lily wakes in her own bed in Gryffindor tower, finding a delicate locket around her neck. Upon closer inspection, the inside has an inscription - the same strange runes from the amulet Rhea had given to her in what she assumed was a dream... Only to realize when she pulls her covers aside that her feet are smudged in dirt as if she'd been walking outside.

Lily learns as much as she can of Rhea in the following years. When she marries James Potter, she insists that they buy a specific type of wine without telling him why. He believes it is her favorite because she tends to keep a bottle in the house "for special occasions". She plants a garden where every plant links back to her patron Titaness in some way or manner. The night of Halloween, after James has gone to sleep rather satisfied after their own "after party" once they'd come home from Sirius's wild Halloween party, Lily went out into her garden in the wee hours and made her offering to Rhea who, once again, appeared to her. This time Rhea was much more ancient in her appearance, much more haggard. But she was still very pleased to see Lily had done as she had promised and continued to worship her. "You are the last of my acolytes, I am afraid. And when you one day pass, so too shall I." Lily professes that won't be the case. That one day she and James will start a family, and she will make sure that her children honor Rhea just as Lily has done - even if they have to do it behind her husband's back (to many Light families, the "old ways" are seen as dark and are thus shunned and forbidden. Otherwise she would have happily included James in her worship of Rhea.) This amuses the Titaness, but she says that no, it is her time. The age of the gods has finally come to an end. But with the passage of the gods, something new must fill the void. Something new must give mankind the comfort and protection once offered by the old gods. "I have a gift for you, my dear child. As my last priestess, I wish to give you something your husband... unfortunately cannot." "What?" "Try as you might, your husband's seed will never swell your belly. But as my last act in this existence, I grant you a boon. Your loyalty and your love have kept me alive longer than my brothers and sisters. Your love has given me more time with my beloved son Hades, and as a mother who has seen all her other children perish before her, this is a gift that can only be matched by one of equal value." Rhea touches Lily's abdomen and Lily feels a warmth flood her starting from there. Rhea visibly weakens as she is doing this, and the brightness in her eyes fades from brilliant emerald to a dull moss. "What have you done to me?" "My body fails me, but my power will remain so long as you live. I have given you the only thing of value to me left. Treat him kindly, my priestess. He has known so much sorrow and so much pain and yet he remains so pure and full of love." Lily, in disbelief, puts a hand to her adbomen. "How... what...." "Word of advice from one mother to another. If your husband tries to eat him, just paint a face on a rock  and shove it down his throat. My only regret was letting Cronus eat Hades instead of Zeus. If i knew then that boy would be such a hatefull jackass like his father, I'd have thrown him into the abyss myself and been done with him. Hera, too. And Poseidon was on pretty thin fucking ice there by the end."

Lily wakes the next morning in her bed with James, and once more her feet are smudged with dirt. This isn't the first time, so she tells James that she woke in the night for some water and wanted to take a stroll in the garden to look at some of her night blooms. The moment she is alone, she casts a charm and finds that she is, indeed, pregnant. After James has gone to work for the day, Lily prepares a special offering and leaves it in the garden tucked in a little altar disguised as a muggle garden decoration. She thanks Rhea for her gift and promises to show him all of the love and affection she possibly can - for both his mothers.

Lily does not see Rhea again, but she can feel her patron's presence from time to time and finds it comforting.

When Harry Potter is born, Lily silently praises Rhea, thanking her again for her gift and for her patronage and protection, and promises to do the best she can to raise the reborn Hades in a way she would hopefully approve.

They go into hiding, and Lily invokes Rhea's power and protection - not for herself, but for the son the Titaness had given her.

The entire day of October 31, 1981 Lily Potter feels powerful. She feels the energies surrounding her and her family intensify and a feeling of dread settles into her gut. She is reminded of the last time she and Rhea spoke face to face. The titaness had said that her body was failing her, and that so long as Lily lived, so too would the power of Rhea. During the day when she set Harry down for a nap, she prayed fervently over the boy, chanting ancient prayers of protection she had learned over the years. James comes upon her, but does not interrupt and instead waits outside Harry's nursery and listens to his wife's chanting. He slips away when she finishes and hurries downstairs. When they are both in the kitchen later, standing side by side at the counter as Lily prepares Harry's after nap snack and James is fixing himself some tea he quietly says, "I know Harry isn't mine." "What? Where the hell is this coming from? I did not cheat on you if that's what you think." "You got pregnant pretty quickly after Sirus's costume party-" "I did not cheat on you." "then who's the father?" "YOU are you dolt! I... Harry was a blessing! A gift to us for my unfaltering devotion o a dying goddess!" "you're mad." "Call me what you want, James. But I tell you if you were to pull an inheritence test on him right now you'll see he's your son. The night Harry was conceived we had just made love and she came to me and blessed me with our son. Go upstairs and look at him, James. He looks just like you, but with his mother's eyes. That's no glamour. That's no illusion or spell or-" "I know it's dark. I know it's illegal. I saw you chanting over him like some madwoman." "It was a protection chant James! In case you've forgotten we've got a madman after us who wants to kill our son because some drunken blithering idiot said so!"

The the argue a bit more and Lily storms out of the kitchen. After Harry wakes up, James realizes he's been an idiot after watching Lily playing with Harry and goes to apologize. Lily's annoyed with him, but forgives him with a "Besides, you know the wards on this place would have kicked him right out if he wasn't really a Potter you dunderhead."

That night Voldemort attacks, just as in canon. Lily is wearing her special locket that was given to her from Rhea when she accepted the Titaness as her patron. When Lily died, the remnants of Rhea's power was called forth and protected Harry in response to the muggleborn priestess's willing self sacrifice. But it was not enough to stop the horcrux that was drawn to the reincarnation of the god of the dead.

[changingourdestiny]

House of Light Finale: Ecliptic Darkness

Summary:

Fireteam Paralight and the House of Light have infiltrated Firebase Hades. But when Marcia's Taken power activates on its own, she decides to open up to Rae and friends about how she became part-Taken.

Previous Part: Here

“Stay…A͓͓̰̞͈̎̐ͪͭ̐̏͑̕ ͈͐͠W��͊͊̓͛ ͇̲̰̤̲̝ͭ͆̈ͤ̀͟A̫͝ ̨̺̫ͯͫ͗̚Y̧̤̦̰̘̮͓̙͌̑ͫ !͚ͭͭ̄̕ ̔̍͊̈́͒̋̈́!̡̯͇͈̩̌̎̎̈ͮ ͬͣ͒̈!̙͉̖̳̮”

As Marcia’s distorted voice rang out, a large orb of Taken Blight appeared as a Taken Ogre emerged and began viciously attacking the Centurion and the remaining Red Legion. “What is that thing?!” Tif exclaimed as Mithrax got into a defensive position. “Since when could Marcia summon Primevals?!” Blaze yelled out. The Taken Ogre wiped out the rest of the Red Legion before slowly turning its attention to the Guardians and Fallen nearby.

“L̤͈̤̬ͧ͝E̺͚̳̦͗̑́ͩ̈́̐ͤḀ͎̼̦̟V̟̳͓̠̚E̙͑̊ͨ̎ͤ̚̕!̹̰̜̓̎̓ ͮ̅̍͋N̵̲̱͇͆͊̽ͩ͌ͪ͋ ̗͔̣ͨ͆̾̃ͥO̅͆̒̃̋͆̆ ̸͍͆ͪW̛̟̹̪͓͇̜̟ ͓̯̃͑!̬ͫͥ͐ͯͧ ̘̪̎ͮ́̀͊ͮ!̸̘̮̮͈͕̣̔̏̓ͭ̎ ̠̪̰̹̘̫̬̈ͣ̔ͭ̓!̶̯̂̿ͥ͒̈̀͛”

As Marcia roared at the Taken Ogre, it disappeared in a flash of light. Rae rushed over to Marcia and helped the rogue Lightbearer to her feet, “Are you ok? What happened?” “I…I dunno. That’s never happened before.” Marcia muttered, “It’s usually kept at bay by the amplifier crystal. And even then, it only summons a Taken if I tell it to. My power’s never summoned one by itself, let alone a Primeval.” “Wait. You can summon Taken?!” Blaze’s jaw nearly hit the floor. “What is a…’Taken’?” Tif asked, “You mean the Kle?” “Kle?” “It means ‘Steal’. Some Eliksni would be consumed by this weird goo and return as weird monsters like that thing.” “Many Eliksni stolen. Few from House Light.” Mithrax added, “None return. Dar den.” “Dar den means ’gone forever’.” Tif explained. “Look.” Marcia began, “It’s a long story. I’ll explain it all when we get back to the Tower. For now let’s get that reactor and get out of here.” ——————————————————————— Rae watched on as Blaze and Adam helped Mithrax and Tif install the reactor on Mithrax’s Ketch and began to start setting it up so it would produce Ether. She glanced over to Marcia, who was sitting in the corner of the room, staring at her left arm with an uncomfortable expression on her face. Rae walked over to Marcia and sat next to her, “You alright?” “Not really.” Marcia sighed, still staring at her arm, “I’ve been getting these weird surges in my arm for the past few days now…but it’s never done that before. My powers haven’t done anything like that since…” Marcia cut herself off as she subconsciously rubbed her forehead. She sighed in defeat as she looked up at Rae, “I promised you I’d explain why I can summon Taken, didn’t I?” “We’d like an explanation too.” Blaze spoke up as she and Adam made their way over to the two Paragonialans. “If it’s not too much trouble.” Adam added. “Nah, it ain’t.” Marcia replied, motioning for them to sit down with her and Rae, “You guys deserve answers too.” Blaze and Adam sat down opposite to Marcia and Rae. Marcia took a deep breath before speaking, “Ok, first thing’s first. You can’t tell a soul about what I’m about to tell you, yeah? The only other people who know the full story are Eris and Drifter.” The trio nodded in understanding as Marcia continued, “Before I was revived, I was a respected member of Tribe Claw on Mars…well, respected to an extent. I was part of a group called Seekers. Our job were to scout around Mars to keep tabs on enemy forces and report back to the tribe leader, Chieftess Tsume, if anything was off. We wanted to prevent any tragedies before they happened.” “So…you were kinda like a spy?” Blaze asked. “You could say that.” Marcia replied, “One day, I was scouting on Phobos when I saw these creatures. I didn’t know what they were at the time. They looked like Cabal, but all shadowy and monstrous.” “Taken.” Rae muttered. “Yup. I went back to the tribe to alert Tsume, but she wouldn’t listen. She brushed off my claims as I just saw ‘some Cabal covered in tar’ or something. She said that unless I got her proof of otherwise, she wouldn’t send out a team to investigate these things.” Marcia’s expression became somewhat agitated as she continued, “Remember that part. SHE wanted proof. So I went to get it for her. But things went wrong…very wrong. I got too close and the Taken began attacking me. One of them, a Vex I think, got a strike at my face which gave me this scar on my chin. I couldn’t take them all at once and the next thing I knew there was a flash of light and everything went dark. I was in some sort of pitch-black void with tiny dots of light all around. I had been Taken. I thought that was the end of me, but something odd happened. I felt both my Paragonialan Light beginning to stir along with the Darkness trying to corrupt me. It was like the two were trying to cancel each other out and the pain was unbearable. I don’t know how long I was stuck like that. After that, everything was a blur. I remember barely having any control over my body and having to practically drag myself back to my ship. I managed to somehow safely land my ship back at the tribe, hoping my fellow tribe members would help me. Instead I was met with Tsume aiming a gun at me. I remembered feeling seething rage run through me and then Taken Thralls appeared everywhere, killing everyone in sight. Next thing I knew, I was waking up on the ground looking up at the night sky…and there was Nox. I still had my memories for some reason, however. I just assumed that it had something to do with the Darkness. I was able to get a light amplifier crystal to make both my new Light and Paragonialan Light strong enough to fully cancel out the Darkness. But my arm now looked like this.” Marcia rolled up her sleeve to reveal her Paragonialan markings.

“I was now able to summon Taken when I removed the crystal.” Marcia explained, pointing at the crystal earring, “I spent most of my Guardian life in the wilds after I took my ship to Earth, occasionally running into a certain rogue Lightbearer and getting pulled into whatever shenanigan he was stuck in. Not that I’m complaining.” Marcia smiled slightly, a small blush dusting her face as she fixed her sleeve, “But when I eventually arrived at the Tower, everyone kept a distance…everyone except Eris, who was able to tell me about the Taken. She was my only ally at the Tower. Well Cayde was cool with me but was still kinda freaked out by me. I didn’t feel welcomed there. So I left. It was then I met other Lightbearers who didn’t trust the Traveller or didn’t feel welcome at the Tower. So I formed a group of rogues, making a place where we all belonged. The Umbrialyx – Paragonialan Latin for Dark Light – and they made me their leader. Or as they liked to put it, their queen. But the Umbrialyx fell when we all lost our Light, thanks to Ghaul. They were either killed by the Red Legion or scattered across the globe trying to escape. I was one of the lucky few, defending myself with guns and a lot of Taken. Eventually I heard Drifter had shown up at the Tower, so I thought ‘Screw it. Staying at the Tower is better than living in the Wilds alone.’. And you know the rest.” “That’s…a really sad story.” Marcia looked to her side to see Tif and Mithrax sitting and listening intently to her story. Even though he was sitting, Mithrax still towered over everyone else. “It-it’s nothing!” Marcia cleared her throat, trying to hide her embarrassment, “It was centuries ago, so I’m long over it. So does anyone have any questions?” “How old are you anyway?” Blaze asked, “Rae was around 800 when she died, so how old were you?” “Eh. Lost count after my first millennium. Counting my Guardian life, I’m well over 1,000, which is the Paragonialan equivalent of a middle-aged woman. 800 is a young adult.” “1,000 is middle-age?! How what age equals old to you guys?!” “We’re immortal, so we don’t really have a ‘near-the-end-of-your-life’. But I guess you start to look elderly around 5,000. Never met anyone that old though.” “That’s cool!!” Tif exclaimed, “I wish I could live that long!” “Tif, you’re a Guardian. As long as you keep your Ghost safe, you will live that long.” Marcia explained. “Really!? That’s awesome!!” Mithrax looked at Tif with a confused look. “Ne frer go di.” She explained in Eliksni, which Mithrax nodded in understanding. “Ok, she either said she’s free from death…” Marcia explained, “Or she’s freely a Kell that’s dying.” “Pretty sure it’s the first one.” Rae chuckled before turning to Tif and Mithrax, “How’s the reactor working out?” “Great!” Tif grinned, “We’ll be getting Ether in no time!” “House Light give many thanks.” Mithrax added, “We forever allies of Paralight.” “And we’re forever allies of the House of Light.” Rae smiled. “Welp!” Marcia stood up and stretched, “Imma head over to the farm to see Zakris and head back to the Tower. See ya next Gambit, punks!” As Marcia transmatted off the Ketch, she glanced down at her arm, feeling the Darkness stir up again, but not as strong as last time fortunately. “Hmm…I think it’s time I pay an old friend a visit.”

To Be Continued in Shadowkeep.

[writeforself]

Remembrance [1/?]

Brasidas x Reader

A/N: Did someone say more Brasidas? No? Well, here’s more!!

Brasidas has no idea how long he has been here, in the underworld. After a while the concept of time itself seems to escape from him, like sand slipping through his fingers, as well as the memories of his life. He is conscious that he was once a fearsome warrior, and because of it, he had done something regrettable, which resulted in where he is now.

The words from his father still resonate within his mind from time to time. Although he had stopped thinking about the meaning of it after he was assigned to this task, he is still haunted by it. Sometimes he wonders what Elysium could be, and ponders on the definition of honour. Nonetheless, it is pointless for such question down here. 

Once in a while he would try to remember the previous life beyond violence and bloodshed, past honour and glory; he tries to memorise the beauty of his home state, of harmony and grace of nature, of the people he once loved dearly. Nevertheless, after spending so much time in the underworld, surrounded by misery and wailing, he cannot remember much of the life before.

The only thing that he could remember vividly is the grandeur of the golden fields. How he used to spend his spare time lying on the hills watching the tranquility; the sound of the wind sweeping across the field; the smell of the early autumn that traveled far with the cool breeze; and how the stars sang their lullaby to help him sleep beneath the twinkling canvas. Hypnos doesn’t visit the underworld, but Brasidas still slips into slumber from time to time. When he has time to sleep, he would have dreams of himself treading upon the yellow carpet, of himself hovering high in the cloudless sky among the shining waves. Yet every time he wakes up from those dreams, he would feel a sense of loss, emptiness, like most of the seconds he spent down here, weariness devours him like waking up in a dark winter morning.

But in the underworld, memories fades away like ripples above a windless lake. When duty comes, nothing else matters.

***

“Safe Journey.”

Brasidas waves at the recently reunited couple that are on their way to cross the river. These are the few enjoyable moments for his life in the underworld. He stays and watches them handing the coins to Charon, and be on their way, hand in hand with a toddler between them. 

Turns out he is very adept at reuniting broken families. Maybe it is due to his exceptional observation ability that he had acquired in the previous life as a general, or the strong emotional pneuma that comes from those people. Until now, he has always fulfilled the tasks with efficiency and accuracy. Sometimes he even has time to perform a quest or two for the busy ferryman Charon.

 “You are just as helpful as your friend.”

Brasidas has just helped another lost soul navigate its way across the river. Charon is in a good mood. Smile doesn’t appear on his face everyday. The queue in front of the dock has finally shortened. It has been a busy day—helping an elder realised her passing, leading a warrior to his glory, guiding an orphan to find his parents— it certainly is the busiest day Brasidas can remember.

However, this friend Charon mentioned, Brasidas can still remember clearly how she helped him find his way in the underworld. Without her help, he would still be trapped on that battlefield, fighting until eternity, soaked in boiling blood and stinging sand. Sometimes he wonders what happened to her after everything. He could not remember her name or face, but the way she fights, resonates through his mind. His memory echoes like a distant chanting, vague and away. After all, he had met many exceptional fighters in his mortal life.

“Well, if you need my help. You know where I am.”

He waves at the ferryman with a tired smile and starts walking south toward the cradle.

Shrouded by the clouds, the sun hangs in the sky, halfway through the middle, never rising nor falling. The light always seems to be dim in the underworld, lingers within the strangest hour of a day, too early and too late. The only purpose of the wind that sweeps across this deserted field is to blow sand into travellers’ eyes. Already accustomed to life in the underworld, Brasidas walks by the dusty road with his eyes half opened. When he reaches the river banks, he would stop to feel the coolness of the water, it is the few leisures he could find.

“Ah there you are. Just the one I’m looking for.”

Hades appears from nowhere behind him. But Brasidas has already familiarised himself with the tricks this god likes to play with him. He turns and bows gently as the god of the underworld gradually descends to the ground. The air always feels frozen where he emerges.

“You seem to be in a good mood.” Hades smirks at his response.  “Oh? What gives it away?” “Just an instinct.” “If you are curious,” The air feels warmer as the smile arises on that stern pale face. “I have spent some quality time with my dear queen.”

Yet the warmth soon vanishes, and the usual coldness crawls into Brasidas’ bones.

“Anyway, I have a task for you.” “A task?.” His voice remains flat to constrain any emotions.

“Yes. I see you have been helping our dear ferryman. Since some of his tasks eventually fall into your hands,” He lowers his gaze down onto Brasidas, trying to figure out some reactions. “I thought, why not just order you directly?”

Care not to provide any detail, Hades raises his glowing scythes and points north, he continues without patience.

“The village at the north end of the field. Do what you must.” Then he vanishes into the dusty winds.

***

Brasidas couldn’t figure out whether Hades approves he helping Charon. Hades can be easy to read sometimes. He tends to set up a few torture shows when he’s in a bad mood. Especially when he loses bets with his brothers, or when he has a quarrel with that queen of his. Days like that the entire underworld would experience the fury from its dual rulers. On the other hand, when he’s pleased he would grant wishes for the lucky mortals—so has Brasidas heard, he never has the chance to witness such occasion so far.

Brasidas walks pass the newly arrived souls and ventures toward the opposite direction others are heading. During his time in the underworld he has yet seen any souls marching with pleasure. All of them march with a dreadful pace; their gaze fixed onto their steps; every step they take consume all of their strength, carving marks onto the ground, until eventually tucked under layers of trails.

When the village appears in his vision, he hears Charon calling for him not far away. He turns and realises there’s a small dock by the shore. Few souls come for this dock. There are only a dozen of them scattered by the road, each of them staring or toying with the drachmes in their burnt hands. Charon stands at the front of the line with a scroll in hand. He waves at Brasidas and signals him to come closer.

“Didn’t expect you to see you here.” Charon chuckles without raising his head. It sounds empty like the eyes of the souls lining behind.

“Hades asked me to come here, for another lost soul.” He answers and points at the village lying in ruins up ahead.

Charon raises his head as soon as he hears the name of lord of the underworld. But Brasidas can sense nothing in those bottomless black eyes. Nothing can escape or enter those pairs of eyes. The only clue Brasidas receive was Charon’s amusing reply as he draws a long dark line on the scroll.

“Oh, that mad one... I was going to ask you to help me with that too.” He drags his sentence as he leaves the line.

“Do you know anything? Hades didn’t say much.” Unlike Hades who enjoys trickery, Charon usually provides some tips for Brasidas’ task. But Charon merely frowns at his request this time.

“The only thing I can say is that this one is related to your main job. I guess that’s why Hades went straight to you for this one.” “Separated by war?” Brasidas mutters to himself.

“Go on then. Hades wouldn’t like you wasting time in idleness.” Charon urges Brasidas to move on before he calls for the other souls to stand in front of him.

Brasidas marches on thinking about the meaning behind their words. When he realises he is already standing in the middle of this desolate village. There is an uncanny atmosphere in this village like most of the uninhabited location in the underworld.

He looks around but couldn’t find any trace of person. Then he ventures on to the higher part of the village. Finally, among the muffled moans that drift along the river, he hears a small, almost imperceivable laugh coming down from the house next to the river.

That is you, covered in crimson, standing by the river. Your eyes glimmers when your body moves along with your soft chuckle. And you haven’t noticed Brasidas approaching you. He is baffled by your behaviour. It has been a while since the last time Brasidas saw a genuine smile. He remembers how he used to laugh under a bright summer sky, or during a chilly winter morning.

“Chaire.” The way your head turn feels like it’s all happening in slow motion. The smile on your face does not disappear when you hear his voice. It remains, like a stranded whale clings onto every bit of water. But those eyes, they shine with such lustre. “May I ask you what are you laughing about?”

You seem unsurprised at all when a stranger sneaks up from behind and asks you such a peculiar question. Brasidas could not find a word to describe his feelings. The only thing he could think of is the first meal after a long and tedious battle. He savours every particle of joy he could find.

“Just some silly memories.” You chuckle and continue, like you are talking to an old friend. “I used to spend time by the river during summer.”

If he is a free man, he would like to listen to you for eternity. He wishes to remain silent and admire the way you talk with such vibrance. It is a refreshing scene in the underworld. But he has a job to do.

“I see…” He mutters, thinking about how to break the news to you, because you don’t seem to know. “May I ask what you are doing here?”

“Just resting, river brings me such fond memories.” He sees a fragment of disappointment flashes through your eyes. Maybe you already have the idea? He hates to be the bearer of bad news. “I must be on my way. I’m meeting someone.”

“How did you get here?” He wants to be sure. “I’ve traveled a long way!” You answered with delight. “I’ve never traveled so far before.”

Yet your answer only uncovered more mysteries. Is it why Charon used the word “mad”?

“Where are you going? I may be able to help.” Somehow it would pain him to watch the lustre gradually fades away in your eyes, darkens with ambiguity like the ambivalent sun in the sky.

“Somewhere…” For a moment the smile is wiped away from your face. The muscle on your cheeks twitches while you ponder on the answer. “Somewhere… we promised each other to meet… somewhere…” You stop breathing after the last syllable. Standing, and shivering like you are being watched by the gorgons.

“Why don’t I take you to look around?” He takes your hand and has no idea why he does it. Nevertheless, when he senses the intense quivers from your arm, he only strengthens his grips. As far as he can remember, it seems to provide assurance. “I’m quite familiar with this part.”

“That would be wonderful! I’ve always wanted to travel with someone.” You snapped back to the captivating expression, like nothing had happened.

Although enchanted by your outlandish behaviour, Brasidas has not forgotten his task to help you find your way. He chooses his every word and step carefully because of a story he once heard regarding a lost soul. A story of how the devastating truth can damn the soul to an eternity of drifting. With no purpose, no memory, no thought of their own, like a madman driven into insanity, lost forever. He would never let that happen. At the same time he is befuddled by his determination.

“Let’s go then.” He didn’t know he still has the ability to smile. Not until now, when the muscle on his forehead softens and his lips press against each other to form a charming shape of a new moon. “He’s waiting.”

tbc...

[therkalexander]

The Good Counselor - Chapter 8

Book Three in the Hades and Persephone series. Seventy years have passed since Elysion was created, and Persephone's efforts to conceive a child with Hades have been in vain. But a secret rite on Samothrace might bend the Fates and give her all that they have dreamed of, or pave a path of untold suffering.

Chapter 8

Wind battered the west wall of the temple and guttered the torches. The winter had been a stormy one, a hard start to the season. The Thracians had worried that there hadn’t been enough sacrifices to Zeus at the Spring of Midas, The Arcadians swore that Poseidon had whipped up the seas in anger, and the Athenians worried that they hadn’t sent enough propitiations to Eleusis for Demeter.

But the summer had been kind to all. There were bountiful stores of grain— not just on Samothrace, but in every small village and great city in Hellas, Thrace, the islands and cities beyond. Orpheus stared out at the pool that dominated the center of the atrium. The oculus above and the slender clerestory windows had been sealed shut for winter, covered by tar-thatched reeds and battened down with hempen rope. It would keep the place warm for anyone seeking sanctuary. He reached the twelfth brazier and stoked it with an iron poker, the heat grown heavy beneath his woolen himation.

“Where did you hear the name Zagreus, hymnist?”

Every hair on his neck stood up. Orpheus stopped in his tracks and held his breath.

“Tell me.”

The hall was empty: the few who had sought shelter there during the day had found other places to stay for the evening. Though he was sweating in the temple’s close warmth, ice filled the pit of his stomach. He fell to his knees, his palms clammy against the stone floor, his eyes fixed on the ground. “It… i-is it you, God of Nysa?”

“After the first moon of winter, as promised,” the voice said. “Stand. There’s no need to kneel before me. It is I who come asking you for favors. Now, who gave you that god’s name?”

Orpheus swallowed. “The name…”

The visitor grew silent. He was holding his breath.

“It came in a vision. Certain herbs…” Orpheus swallowed. “I had composed a hymn to the Moirai and the residents of the lands below, the night before I came here from Eleusis. There was a ritual at the temple on the night I arrived, and all within partook of a ceremonial draught. Its ingredients had been prepared for us by a nymph-born woman who lives in the forest. This order had consumed it before, for a generation at least, but that night I saw… visions of sigils and symbols and epithets, and when I slept that night, I dreamed. I dreamed of the Mnemosyne and the waters that restore life eternal and memory to those who go to Elysion. I dreamed of a god not yet born. I saw a babe crying out, coming into the world in a flash of flame and light. I heard his name, then. And in that moment I knew that he would be the one to keep and protect Paradise itself through the ages, who would reveal its true purpose, one who could unite tribes and nations…”

There was a rustling, then the faint outlines of a very tall man with jet black hair. As he grew clearer, he lowered a polished gold helm to his side and stared down at Orpheus with eyes that had seen the rise and fall of civilizations. He spoke evenly, almost conversationally. “And in your vision the name this unborn god was given…”

“It was Zagreus. Zagreus Sabazios Eubouleus. As clear as if I were awake. And it was not only I who had that dream that night.”

“There are other mystics here?”

“I would never go so far as to call myself one.”

“If the mantle fits…”

“I merely listen. But yes, others that night heard that exact same name. Saw what I saw.”

The man— the god, rather— straightened. A faint smile teased the corner of his mouth. “Eubouleus. The Good Counselor. That epithet also belongs to another.”

“I know, my lord.”

“You know who I am, then.”

Orpheus paused. He knew it in his bones. He also knew that he risked being struck down if he was wrong. But he had trusted this god so far. Still he closed his eyes when he answered. “You are the Unseen One. The Receiver of Many.”

“You are permitted to use my name, Orpheus.”

“You’ll forgive me if I do not?”

The Unseen One nodded at him, then shifted and paced the room, glancing at the empty niches and the absence of any statuary of the gods. “I know your reasons. But in knowing why, you likewise understand why no one must learn mine nor my wife’s true identity if this is to succeed.”

“I do.”

“Have you thought on my offer?”

“It is all I have thought about these many months. Especially since time grows short.”

“What do you mean?”

“We hold these rites once every three years, on the third full moon after the first crocus blooms. This is the year.”

“I want you to know this,” Aidoneus faced him and crossed the room to stand in front of Orpheus. “If you say ‘no’ to me, there will be no repercussions for you or yours. I, Hades Aidoneus Chthonios, firstborn son of Kronos, swear it to you on the Styx. You will not have displeased me, you will not have displeased my wife, nor any other god or creature who dwells on or below the earth. And when you pass from this world and journey to mine, your choice here will have no bearing on the hereafter.”

“And what of the gods above?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “These aren’t their matters. They care nothing about this.”

“Why would you come to me— to a mortal, my lord— for something like this? We are such finite, small beings when compared to the Deathless Ones.”

“I am not an Olympian, hemitheoi , and don’t hold myself on high above your kind. Those who oversee the earth, whose lives are intertwined with the mortals and their immortal souls, cannot afford such… vanities. Your kind have a wisdom that comes from the knowledge that your lives are finite— one lifetime in which to accomplish what you can. That itself is a powerful thing. More than you, or the gods above truly realize.”

“But in Elysion we have a hope of remembering what we were,” Orpheus said, his voice growing earnest. “Of continuing on and growing and learning even after death, once we drink from the Mnemosyne.”

Aidoneus shook his head and sighed. “The words written on your scrolls, the ones you place in the mouths of the dead… are a fiction. A pleasant one, to be sure, but all who reside in my realm must drink from the Lethe. For their own sakes.”

“But…” Orpheus felt cold creep over him. The rites for the dead he’d performed for countless adherents… Were they all for nothing? “The visions I had, though, they said that you would let those who are worthy of Elysion drink from the Pool of Memory, that they—”

He shrugged. “I do not know whence those visions came to you, but rest assured… Elysion is new, but the laws that govern Chthonia remain unchanged, as they have for aeons.”

“But the memories and lives of those who are reborn—”

“And with good reason.”

The god had raised his voice. Even now, it faintly reverberated through the hall. Orpheus swallowed. His words came out thin and reedy. “I only know what I saw. As clearly as I saw the child you believe will come from this rite. If I were to say no, to say no to you , why would you let me go so easily?”

“Because it is not your decision alone. It is ananke. If a child is not meant to be made by these means, then I accept that. As does my wife.”

Orpheus let out a sigh, feeling a great weight lift from his shoulders. For all this time, he was convinced that he was being given an order by a god. “I’ll do it.”

“For the gift of a lyre?”

“No.” He paused then shook his head. “Partly. But more so because I know for certain I can trust you. And that my decision wasn’t compelled.”

Aidoneus smiled and folded his hands behind his back, then turned away from Orpheus, observing the walls of the stark temple. “My wife will be very pleased by this.”

Orpheus leaned against the column. The King of the Underworld’s voice had hitched. He was moved and didn’t want to show his emotions.

“The god revealed to you… Zagreus… that was the same name my wife and I had decided upon when we first knew we wanted to have a child of our own. We never told anyone. And this has given me reason to hope.”

He whispered. “My lord, I have hope as well, but… I can promise nothing.”

“Of course.”

“Our visions were clear, and all saw the same things come to pass. And we all saw that the Unborn One would come into this world from the womb of a mortal woman.”

“ Your visions also told you that mortals’ memories are restored in Elysion. When we dream, we see first what we know and believe. None in your order would imagine the rites being attended by gods.”

“No. Certainly not.”

“But only gods beget gods.” The Receiver of Many hesitated. “Orpheus, tell me… Eumolpus spoke of it before he passed, and you said the same this spring: that the sacrifice we’d make would be greater and unlike anything we could imagine… My wife and I have much to lose, so you can understand how that might give me pause.”

“It wouldn’t—” Orpheus shut his eyes momentarily, trying to find the right words. “It would not throw the spheres into chaos. A farmer’s crops would not wither any more than a king would lose his crown or a priest be cast out of his temple.  That much I know. It would be something personal. Not a sacrifice for the Lord of the Underworld, but a sacrifice for… Aidoneus.” Orpheus shuddered involuntarily, and his gaze fell to the floor.

“You can’t be any more specific?”

“I am sorry, my lord. I cannot,” Orpheus said. “It is not known by me, nor would it present itself immediately. The sacrifice unfolds in time. It is in the hands of the Fates alone.”