#if some lost soul from the Ghost fandom fell here by chance or mistake do apologize

[ultimatebethylficlist]

Veteran Author of The Month: June 2021

The featured veteran author for June is also a co-admin right here at UBFL: SquishyCool (or @im-immortal )!

SquishyCool can be found on AO3 and FFN under the same penname.

When asked what got her into Bethyl and what the fandom means to her, she said:

I’ve been a hardcore TWD fan since the show began airing, but that’s because of my love for zombies. In all honesty, I didn’t really ship anyone for the first 3-4 seasons. I kind of shipped Daryl with Carol, but then it became clear that it was a platonic relationship and in all honesty, I just wanted to see them both get some action lmao. Then the prison fell... and in those first moments of “Still,” when we see Beth and Daryl running and running and finally collapsing on the ground, breathless and exhausted... the butterflies started. Something clicked and I immediately thought, “uh oh.” The rest is history, especially considering how “Still” and “Alone” played out. I can’t explain how or why I’m still so heavily invested, especially considering my last 2 fandoms only kept my attention for about 2-3 years each, but here I am. And I love it! I am so incredibly grateful for the Bethyl fandom because not only has it helped me improve my writing so much more than I ever could have imagined, but it has also introduced me to some of the most amazing people, including someone who I now consider one of my very best friends! It’s my happy place :)

For her personal fic rec list, she recommends:

In The Maw by ronsparkyspeirs

Way Down We Go by LeathernLaces

Surfacing by lindentree

Wild Things (The Moonshine Poet) by Abelina

The Gift by Feliz

The Man Who Can't Be Moved by burningupasun

New Experiences Series by wallflow3r

Whisper Softly to Me by taylorcatherine

Interstice by leftmywingshome

To Love Like a Man by Seraphique

Death, Death (i defy thee) by alamorn

In My Blood by Courtneyshortney82

Let the Good Times Roll by gutsforgarters

Resolved by Allatariel

the weight of these wings by peachthorns

all my spaces are filled with you by annabeth_writes

A Little Jailbreak with the Little Jailbait by wandering_gypsy_feet

between the beginning and the end by sheriffandsteel

SquishyCool’s Works & Personal Thoughts:

Dirty Fingernails and Dried Blood Summary: What happened during the months between "Still" and "Alone"? Beth uses the last pages of her diary to write down every detail of surviving with Daryl. Thoughts: My first Bethyl fanfic. It holds a special place in my heart for that reason, though it is pretty rough. If I could go back, I never would’ve done it entirely in first-person. But I do plan to finish it one day. There are some scenes I’m particularly proud of, and I still have a long note full of ideas and plot points.

Most Wanted Summary: After Beth’s mother and half-brother are murdered in a drug war, the godly veil on the Greene Family operation is lifted, and law enforcement comes down hard. In an effort to protect her family, Beth commits a heinous crime that could mean life in prison alongside them. Now everyone she’s ever trusted is in police custody and her only chance at freedom is to get as far away from Atlanta as she can... Thoughts: Well, this is a must-read if you like my writing. I hope to one day convert this into an original fiction and maybe get it published, but I need to finish it first LOL. I got the idea from ONE scene of “Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt,” and from there, it exploded into a huge mystery thriller (with lots of romance and smut). I’m really really proud of it, and I’m scared I’ll fuck it up tbh, so I keep putting off continuing it. But I really need to get back to it because I really want people to see what I have planned! (Also, this fic is the reason @courtneyshortney82​ started talking to me, so that alone is pretty historic lmao)

The Crow’s Song Summary: Beth and Daryl spend a few more days together in the funeral home and come to terms with all they've lost along the way. But soon, they must decide what comes next. Thoughts: This fic... this fucking fic. It took me a full year to write. I made numerous edits. I even got a little depressed while I was writing the last two chapters, and my bf didn’t know why until he read what I’d been writing lol. It’s honestly the Bethyl fic I’ve always wanted to write but just didn’t know how. I’m still really really proud of how it turned out.

Carnival Games Summary: Daryl is a traveling carnival worker and Beth is a barely legal farmer's daughter looking for a night of fun when the carnival comes to town. Thoughts: Omg this fic is so fun!! One of my first Bethyl fics, and one of my first Bethyl smut fics. Short, sweet, a little funny, and a lot hot. I am still impressed with myself on this one, especially considering how much my writing has improved since lol

Breathe. Please. Summary: Beth shows up at the Hilltop. Alive. Daryl can hardly believe his eyes. Until she's lying in his bed, an arm's reach away. And he can hear her inhaling... exhaling... inhaling... Thoughts: Another “fix-it” that I’m proud of. Tbh I didn’t think it was anything all that special, but a lot of readers have said it’s one of their favorites, and some say they reread it regularly, and nothing makes me happier than hearing that, so I am extremely proud.

picking @ scabs Summary: Sometimes, no matter how much you love someone, being with them just isn't right. But what wouldn't you give for it to be right? Can someone like Daryl learn how to swallow his pride and stop repeating the same mistakes over and over? Can someone like Beth learn to fight off her demons and allow him to get close enough to hurt her again? How can they stay away from each other when it's all too easy to fall back into one another? Picking a scab will leave a scar, but they both have so many scars already... what's a few more? Thoughts: This fic is very, very personal for me. It’s like my “therapy” fic. I have poured some of my deepest feelings and struggles into its chapters, and the whole idea that got me to start it was that I wanted to find a way to navigate and cope with ending my 3-year long relationship with my emotionally/mentally/sometimes physically abusive ex. I still have a lot of fond memories from that relationship, but even more so, I have painful memories. Not to mention, going through your early 20s as a woman in the modern day is a fuckin’ trip, so this kind of explores that. It’s really self-indulgent, I think, but I’m really proud of the smut in it. And more than that, I’m proud of the response. I’ve had a few people message me or comment to say that they’ve felt all those things, or have experienced similar things, and it’s really just... relieving. I put my heart and soul out there, and what I got back was “you’re not alone.” So yeah, this fic is special. I wanna finish it soon, but I have to be in A Mood to do so. 

In Toto Corde Summary: Despite a million reasons not to, Beth and Daryl fell in love. Then he made the ultimate sacrifice in order to keep all of his promises. Now, facing unimaginable consequences at the hands of witch hunters, Beth has no choice but to use her powers to bring Daryl back from the dead. "He won't be the same..." Thoughts: I LOVE THIS FIC. I love it so much that I had to rewrite it after like 4 or 5 years. And I already started on a sequel that I really hope I’m able to finish. Though it doesn’t have many hits, and I don’t think many people have read it at all, which I understand since it basically is entirely focused around Daryl being killed. But damn, I’m proud of this one, and it was really fucking fun to write because witch!Beth is just... the best.

risk it all (part 1 of in for a penny, in for a pound) Summary: Daryl Dixon has a pretty decent life, all things considered. He's got his own place. A good dog. A few friends. Even a girlfriend. He keeps himself out of trouble. Until he starts texting Beth Greene. And hell, if he ain't about to risk it all for this damn girl. Thoughts: This was supposed to be one short multichapter fic focused entirely on smut and social media. Then I got on a roll and it ended up being the beginning of a series! This fic is purely fun. Nothing too serious or heavy. I write it when I’m in a Good Mood because it’s my little happy place. I have plans for about 4 more fics before the series will be finished!

Don’t Make Me Haunt You Summary: So here's the thing: Merle Dixon is dead as fuck. And as it turns out, Beth Greene is the only one who can see or hear him. Which is weird considering she's never met or even heard of this guy, let alone anyone with the last name Dixon. That's her first problem... Thoughts: The reception to this fic has absolutely blown me away. I had no idea anyone would want to read about ghost!Merle haunting Beth and forcing her to solve his murder with the help of his grumpy brother. And it was all inspired by an episode of South Park lmao then I started really getting into it and now it’s just like, my super fun fic where I explore a range of emotions and all kinds of religious beliefs and different mythologies and I can build the world however I want and goddamn I just love writing this fic. Plus there’s a podfic for it! I can’t even begin to explain how much I love this fic and how proud I am of it :)

[unlockthelore]

Experience

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: 幽☆遊☆白書 | YuYu Hakusho: Ghost Files Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Hiei/Kurama | Minamino Shuuichi Characters: Hiei (YuYu Hakusho), Kurama | Minamino Shuuichi Additional Tags: Developing Relationship, During Canon, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, Banter, Attempt at Humor Series: Part 8 of Growing Pains Summary: Meeting the most important person in Kurama's life leads to one of the most rewarding experiences of Hiei's.

It all started with an innocent question. Lounging on Kurama’s window sill as the fox had dinner with his mother downstairs, the sound of their laughter and talking mingling with the singing cicadas and gentle tick of the clock on the wall. Hiei’s back leant against the wall as he stared out the window, half-listening to the conversation but lost in thought. Shiori Minamino was off limits not only in this game that he and Kurama played but to any demon hoping for a chance to devour human prey. More than once, Kurama asked that if Hiei had to make the choice, then his mother’s life should be prioritized if their partnership was to stand. It wasn’t a difficult request or an entirely unreasonable one. While the fox was in his human vessel, his mother was a provider and a caretaker, he relied on her for certain things due to the age of his vessel and thus she was necessary to his survival.

However, it was curious. The legends of Youko Kurama didn’t speak of a benevolent being that would prioritize the life of a single human woman. What was it that set this Shiori Minamino apart from the scores of people that fell prey to the fox’s hand?

Hiei’s first thought was nothing — but then again, he’d only seen her at a glance, from a distance or through the Jagan. Her voice and her words were never directed at him and he couldn’t assess her personality through Kurama’s clear bias of her kindness. The way that he described her was a veritable saint and Hiei had his doubts.

The fire demon’s ears twitched at the sound of the doorknob turning but a quick sniff and a glance aside told him that the intruder to his quiet musings was a familiar one. Kurama stepped into the room with a bowl in his hand, rising steam billowed from it’s contents and a pair of chopsticks rested on across the rim of it. Hiei tilted his head as Kurama approached him and extended the bowl with a patient smile. Peering inside of it, a rice dish with bits of vegetables and meat greeted him. With a hint of spice that singed his nose and a strange sweetness that drew him closer, he glanced from it to Kurama skeptically.

“Aren’t you going to take it?”

“Isn’t it yours?”

He’d grown to understand that there was a limit to what he could and couldn’t touch of Kurama’s. The fox had rules and he loathed to break them. This seemed like an easy rule to follow: don’t steal Kurama’s food.

“Mother made it for you, so here.” Kurama held the bowl up a bit higher and Hiei’s eyes followed it, transfixed on the steam. Out the corner of his eye, he could see the fox smiling but Kurama wisely said nothing about Hiei’s single-minded focus on the bowl’s contents as he set it down across from him on the sill.

With that, the fox turned on his heel and began to make his way across the room.

“Why?”

Kurama’s movements halted but Hiei didn’t look up at him. He was too busy trying to decipher the meaning behind this gesture.

“I told my mother that I had a friend who was in a precarious situation, and she insisted that I bring you that should I see you tomorrow,” Kurama explained with carefully chosen words that made his voice flow and ebb like the tide. It was calming but also disarming which beget danger and skepticism in Hiei’s mind. Eyes flicking up to meet Kurama’s, Hiei said nothing but his silence made the fox’s smile falter.

“We had the same dish for dinner, Hiei, it isn’t poisoned.”

“It isn’t that.”

Kurama tilted his head to one side, a silent question of ‘what is it’ posed, and Hiei glanced away. His answer being ‘I don’t know’. He wasn’t sure how to assess this gesture. True, it wasn’t the first time that someone had offered him food but it was the first time that it was done without some sort of string attached and from someone that he wasn’t entirely involved with.

“She has no reason to care whether or not I eat.”

“You’ll come to find that with my mother, it doesn’t matter to her, if she could find a way to solve world hunger — I’m sure that she would.”

Hiei huffed and picked up the chopsticks, hesitating before he poked at the meat then the rice. A few seconds of moving vegetables and the like around, giving them a light sniff before moving it away and onto the next. Kurama said nothing while he examined the contents but Hiei could feel his weighty gaze on his person. The fire demon picked up a piece of meat and looked it over before opening his mouth and eating it hurriedly before his mind could convulse with repulsion. After a few chews, his eyes widened. The meat was tender, juicy and the spiciness accompanied by the sweetness had a hint of saltiness to it. It wasn’t bitter but it was different and Hiei dug in to find another piece, putting it with the vegetables and delighting in the crunch. After a few hearty bites, the bowl was half gone and Hiei was chewing happily.

“I’m guessing that you like it.”

Pausing in mid-chew, Hiei glanced aside. Kurama sitting at the foot of his bed with his chin resting in hand. Green eyes glimmered with mischief and Hiei’s face fell. The chopsticks pressed to his lips as he chewed, he glanced away from Kurama to the food.

“It is passable.”

No, those words didn’t do it justice in the slightest. He’d cooked his own meals more than once when he lived on his own and even part of the bandit outfit he’d grown up in. The taste never mattered to him as long as his body had fuel to keep going. Taking the time to season and savor his food could result in death. Sentimental fools were the ones who expressed care for even what they ate. As long as it was not poisonous or putrid, it was edible.

“Does your mother cook like this every night?”

Kurama shrugged. “It depends on how tired she is from work, but she even insists on those days.”

“Sounds like someone else I know.”

A half-hearted glare shot his way was dutifully ignored as he picked up another bit of rice, vegetables and meat to distract himself with. War with himself was never fun. It always was a roundabout that left him tired and far more confused than before. However, crossed between wanting to act on his idea and stay where he was, Reason told him that it would give him an opportunity to understand this Shiori Minamino but practicality told him that staying within the shadows would keep him alive.

“You’re thinking loudly, Hiei.” Kurama’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, his tone curious and soft, but with that teasing edge that Hiei despised.

Hiei set down his chopsticks and rested his hands in his lap. “Answer a question for me, Kurama.”

“Of course, what is it?”

“Why is Minamino Shiori so important to you?”

For a moment, Kurama said nothing. A million emotions swept through his eyes, eyes that were too knowing for their own good, and yet guarded in a way that yielded no answer to Hiei but only questions. He’d heard Shiori tell the fox that eyes were the window to the soul. Yet the soul that Kurama possessed were shuttered behind blinds deceiving of their true nature. It was difficult to look away from him when he looked like that. Intense and yet gentle, a fox among sheep.

“If you meet her,” Kurama carefully intones, a smile easing its way onto his face. “Then you’ll understand.”

That vague answer is what led Hiei here. They’d made a plan, corroborated their stories, and put it into motion. Kurama leading the way one afternoon after he’d returned home from school with Hiei following behind him dressed in human clothing. His bandana was a non-negotiable part of his human disguise. With his growing mastery over the Jagan, they both deemed it important that the evil eye wasn’t mistakenly activated. Risking Shiori was something that Kurama would never do and Hiei loathed mistakes.

“Mother, I’m home!” Kurama called from the entry hall.

Hiei shut the door behind them and took to the task of removing his boots, setting them beside Kurama’s shoes.

“Welcome back, Shuuichi! How was school?!” Shiori called from further inside, likely the kitchen from the way that her voice echoed, and the bubbling of boiling water filled the air.

Shuuichi. Hiei glanced aside at Kurama as he talked his mother, distracted by telling her of his day. The junior high student that nearly bested him in his wounded state, the one who claimed to be the Legendary King of Thieves, and the son of a human woman. It was almost laughable but from the easy smile that brightened Kurama’s eyes and the coaxing wave that he gave Hiei to have him follow, Hiei found it harder to laugh. The fox had been excited for most of the day. Far more restless than usual, fidgeting even, but his smiles were warmer and whenever he looked Hiei’s way — the fire demon found it hard to breathe.

Staring at Kurama’s back, Hiei sighed. It was all too curious. And far too late to turn back.

“Shuuichi, I was thinking that we could make cake —“ Shiori’s voice trailed off abruptly as her eyes met Hiei, smile faltering.

Hiei tilted his head and looked her over. She appeared young with dark hair slipping down her back and over her shoulders, framing her face and warm brown eyes. Her features were similar to Kurama’s in the sense that they both seemed soft and kind. Shiori’s eyes weren’t as intense as Kurama’s but they held a weight of their own, just as guarded, but with a warmth that was distracting rather than overwhelming. Her lips pressed together and she tilted her head to one side. A motion that Hiei knew well.

“Mother, this is my friend, Hiei,” Kurama said, gesturing to Hiei with a tilt of the head and a polite smile.

Hiei could practically feel the waves of nervous anticipation drifting off of him but kept his expression neutral, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans.

“Sorry for the intrusion.”

Shiori blinked at him and Hiei knew that if his heart beat like a normal human’s, it might have skipped. What was she thinking? What was she going to do? What did he want her to do?

“Your eyes,” she said softly. Hiei stared at her confused, his face scrunched. “They’re beautiful.”

His eyes widened and she laughed softly.

“I’m sorry, how rude of me. I’m Minamino Shiori, Shuuichi’s mother, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Hiei. Shuuichi doesn’t bring home friends of—“

“You think my eyes are beautiful?”

The interruption startled not only Shiori but Kurama, the fox looking at him with a curious expression but Hiei’s eyes were on her. Shiori seemed to think his words over, turn them in her mind, and her gaze drifted from head to toe. Hiei wasn’t sure how he felt being appraised like this but whatever Shiori found, she must have made up her mind. Standing at her full height, she nodded with a softness to her eyes.

“I do, you’re a very handsome young man.”

Hiei’s lips parted then pressed together. His face felt warmer and he ducked his head, looking away from her.

“Would you like to stay for dinner?”

Hiei’s head jerked up, eyes wide and he knew that he was caught when the interest showed on his face. Shiori’s eyes sparkled and that look he knew well. It was without the mischief that often came with Kurama but it was still the same. Glancing aside at the fox, Kurama seemed to be interested in the cupboards. Hiei’s eyes narrowed. He must have told her about how much he liked the food she set aside for him.

“…That would be nice.” Turning his head away, Hiei glared at nothing in particular.

A gentle yet heavy weight settled on top of his head and his heart leapt into his throat. Three little pats to the top of his head and from beneath Shiori’s hand, he could barely see her face but he knew that she was smiling.

“It’ll be ready in an hour. Shuuichi, we’ll see about making that cake, okay?”

Kurama nodded, mirroring her smile with one of his own. “Alright mother, do you need any help?”

“No, no, I’ll be fine.”

With that, she turned on her heel and lifted her hand from Hiei’s head. Without the weight, it almost felt empty and he wasn’t sure of what to make of the way that his eyes lingered on her back even as Kurama nudged him to follow. When he didn’t budge, the fox held him by the back of his t-shirt and practically dragged him to and up the staircase.

“Well that went better than I thought,” Kurama said, clapping his hands together. “You reacted well to mother’s touchiness, I’m glad that you didn’t threaten h—“

“I liked it.”

Kurama turned to look at him as they reached his door, standing outside it, their voices low but with the sounds of pots and pans from downstairs Hiei doubted Shiori could hear them.

“You liked it?”

“Her compliments, her touch, they were genuine…”

Almost overwhelming. It was as if she knew but she said nothing. Not in a way to withhold information or to tease or to have the upper hand but simply out of kindness.

“She’s a good soul, Hiei.”

That was plain for anyone to see but he couldn’t be sure. He told himself that there was a flaw somewhere. A chink in the armor that was Shiori Minamino. However, she made it hard for him to want to see it. That night as they sat at the table, full from the meal she’d made, Hiei helping to gather the dishes — she turned to him just as Kurama began to sip his tea.

“Hiei, you can come over any time that you like.”

He paused in movement and Kurama’s eyes opened wide from behind the rim of his tea cup. Shiori’s elbows resting on the table, her chin on the bridge of her fingers, she seemed to be weighing her words before she spoke with a soft assurance.

“It’s only Shuuichi and I here, and I wouldn’t mind if you’d like to stay over if you have nowhere else to go.” Her words are carefully chosen but each one pricks and squeezes and warms Hiei’s heart. It’s harder to breathe when she looks at him like that. Soft around the edges but with an assured confidence that gave choice rather than ultimatum.

“I hope that you can come to think of us as family.”

With that, she turned toward Kurama and the spell that she cast on Hiei was broken. The fire demon easing his hold on the dishes that he hold so he wouldn’t crack them.

“Is that alright with you, Shuuichi? He is your friend.”

Put on the spot, Kurama performed effortlessly. Though Hiei wasn’t sure what to do with that small genuine smile that Kurama gave him. Was it a performance or something else?

Dangerous.

The both of them were dangerous.

“Yes, that would be lovely, mother.”

Shiori nodded in agreement and the two of them turned the full weight of their gaze on Hiei. The fire demon was never one to duck away from a challenge but he found himself looking away.

“…I’ll think about it,” he grumbled, heading into the kitchen with the dishes collected. Away from them, he couldn’t help but smile himself.

They were dangerous.

But someone like her and someone like Kurama was too good for this world. From now on, he’d have to protect them as well.

[novantinuum]

Death and All That Follows (Ch. 2)

A03

Fandom: Trollhunters

Rating: K 

Words: 4000~

Summary: When Merlin's elixir began to work its magic, it cleaved the then-human trollhunter's soul in two. One half lived on in a hybrid's body. You know how this portion of the tale goes, of course.

But what of the other half? What happens to him?

Well... this is his side of the story.

Chapter One

Note: Unfortunately, fic circulation online is getting harder and harder as the months pass. Please, if you read to the end and enjoy, consider helping me out by reblogging this post, or even commenting/giving kudos over on AO3. Thanks! :D

Chapter 2

His soul eclipsed with sheer happiness and relief, he practically threw himself at his once-thought-lost friend. For a split second he feared it was all grief and smoke and mirrors, that he’d merely phase right through the troll’s blue tinted spectral form, even though grabbing Kanjigar’s hand earlier surely proved this world had some degree of solidity. But blessedly, this was not so. Draal stumbled one step backwards as Jim wrapped his arms as far around him as he could, dropping his head against his chest.

“You’re alive,” he gasped in relief.

“Not alive, regrettably. Not really. This is the Void, remember? I’m nothing but a ghost, same as all the others.”

“I don’t care! I watched you die,” he said, barely able to croak out that last word in his hoarse state. “You took that knife for me, and then you fell and you turned to stone and died, a- and the cavern collapsed, and I couldn’t even stop, couldn’t mourn, o- or-“

“Jim,” Draal reminded in an almost uncharacteristically gentle manner. “My death is not your burden to bear. It is my life and my honor to serve the trollhunter. To… to watch over my friends. And I can rest easy knowing that at least that part of my duty has been fulfilled.”

“But you’re my friend too,” he said, peering up to meet his green and gold rimmed eyes. “I should’ve protected you, should’ve saved you! I was so close, and then…”

Instinctively, he lifted his hand to dab away tears with his palm, before finally realizing with shock that he hadn’t actually been crying at all. He didn’t notice until now but he never had been here, at least not in any physical sense. His heart wept, and he felt like his eyes were puffy and wet, but they somehow… weren’t. Why weren’t-? Oh. Oh, of course. He was a spectral being now. His body was nothing more than an outline of hard light, woven together by the might of ancient magic. And much like the Void’s window to reality, this instinct to feel the tangible effects his emotions summoned was merely an afterimage of the human life he’d left behind. Unneeded habit. Distantly, he wondered how long it’d take for habits like these to fade away, but at recalling the centuries many of his predecessors had spent in this place he quickly shoved this distressing notion into the back closet of his mind. He’d address that elephant in the room later. Much… later.

One day, just one day without a double dose of existential crisis, that’s all he wanted. Wow, it’s almost depressing how low the bar was.

Draal moved Jim’s small hands off his stone skin, breaking their embrace. His expression shone with genuine affection, but also a lingering sense of duty.

“Nevertheless, it in the past. Now is not the time to mourn what could have been, not when there’s still a battle to be fought.”

“He’s right,” Deya spoke up from behind them. “Deep beneath Arcadia’s streets, while the trollhunter trains under moonlight, the dark magic grow stronger with each minute that passes. We can sense it.”

“Morgana,” spoke a distant, stray soul in a mournful baritone, flitting about around them in a flickering azure haze.

“Morgana!”

“Morgana is free.”

“The Pale Lady!”

He swallowed hard. The reminder of the eldritch witch who’d tormented his friends only served to heighten his anxiety, festering like an incurable itch in his overactive mind. Another soul moved in haste right past his ear. He bit back a yelp as he flinched, dodging it. Its whispers were fervent, in rhyme, teetering on the edge of madness:

“She returns in haste and fury, Clad in emerald without light! Crystal’s flame will burn no longer, Snuffed out by Eternal Night-“

Deya lifted a hand towards this restless spirit. “Peace, Heliosa, peace. I promise, our hour of glory will soon come.”

Heliosa’s cryptic whispers abated at her words. Her spectral form grew still, hovering in the space between Draal and Jim. It seemed she didn’t plan on manifesting fully like the others, however. Odd. He scoured his mind as he gawked at the spherical light, trying to test if his knowledge could place a face to her name, but he came up blank. History lessons in Blinky’s library felt so achingly distant now. All those lazy evenings between missions spent in the warmth and familiarity of Trollmarket… the nights Aaarrrgghh let Claire and him lean against his back as he rested, and how his mane of hair always engulfed them… Toby, twisting the amulet’s antiquated translations of A Brief Recapitulation into endless puns… the in-joke he shared with Blinky once upon a time, with their running tally of the (rare) occasions they caught Vendel smiling…

His features softened at the rush of fond memories.

“-may recall from Blinkous’ many, many lectures, is one of the most spiritually attuned trollhunters, and-“

Hold on, when exactly did Kanjigar start talking again?

“Wait, wait, wait,” he spluttered, holding up a hand. The elder trollhunter paused, peering at him with pursed lips. “Sorry, what? I, uh- I kinda blanked out there a bit. Sorry,” he repeated, desperately ignoring the slight embarrassed crack in his voice.

Draal titled closer to whisper in his ear, or at least as close to a whisper his bombastic friend could manage. “My father was introducing you to Heliosa the Harbinger.” He gestured towards the soul still hovering between them, its inner light pulsing at a heartbeat’s pace.

“Oh!” Distantly wondering if there was any way to save this conversation, he rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. God, he might as hell have stuffed them in his mouth. “Uh- hello. I’m… Jim. Jim Lake Junior. Although you probably all know that already, so-“

Deya bestowed him a thin, pitying smile. “Be aware, she’s become a troll of few words within the past decade or so. Today is quite the rarity.”

“Hence why we’re introducing her,” his immediate predecessor nodded. “She only speaks in verse. You’ll soon grow used to it.”

Heliosa, still manifesting as a burst of spherical energy, began to dance in unpredictable corkscrews around the small gathering. The display left him mesmerized, gaze obediently following the faint trail of her glow like a cat’s paw to a pen light. Once more she spoke, her willowy voice laced with an unquestionable arcane authority:

“I foresaw the choice of Merlin, Knew the Lake of fate’s design, Centuries prior, time predicted Hunter born of humankind. Born of flesh, remade forthright Daylight’s child chained by night By wizard’s magic forged anew To eclipse Darkness with their might.”

The three trolls standing beside him gawked— Deya and Kanjigar in noticeable awe— clearly not expecting such a vocal presence from this trollhunter of old today. However, where their reaction brought pleasant surprise, all he felt was… well, the only way he could think to describe it was as a sort of reverse dread. His brow creased, her prophetic truth leaving him hollow. It stripped him bare, like a pumpkin with all its guts scooped out. With a spoon. He found the mere idea that destiny wove the threads of everything he’d experienced— that despite his many gambles and unpredictable strategies she’d led him by the hand to this very moment unhindered by chance— deeply uncomfortable. If fate really was his master, then… then he must be nothing. A minuscule, predestined knot in life’s tapestry. A mere pawn, his choices be damned.

Not that he ever had one to begin with.

He felt his spectral form collapse into a dense pinprick of light, perhaps to match how tiny he truly felt.

“I- sorry, excuse me,” he breathed, genuinely not knowing if he’d said these words aloud or if they merely existed as an echo within his mind.

Everything revealed since he awoke here suddenly becoming too much for Jim to process at once, he pulled himself away, immediately taking to floating as if second nature. The presence of Draal and all the others grew smaller and smaller as he sank further into the shadows of their metaphysical forge.

Betrayed, by destiny…

Confused.

Alone.

So, so alone.

I have to finish the fight! Alone...

If you walk out that door, you will die!

What choice do I have?

Oh there’s always a choice. Run away, save your skin!

My amulet does not make mistakes…

Despite whatever doubts you may have, it is now bonded to you. This is a mantle you cannot refuse.

I thought you said I had a choice!

I care, I do! I just see the bigger picture...

Your humanity is not enough, you are not enough!

In order for Merlin’s magic to work, something had to be left behind.

...

So what am I, then?

“Jim.”

Ambient noise emanating from the dull thrum of the forge became all but absent at the call. Impossibly stubborn and not desiring visitors in his current state of distress, he shifted his presence further into the shadow.

He was being stupid, he knew. The voice calling was clearly Draal’s. Why the hell was he hiding from Draal? And after all they’d experienced together...

As he tried to evade him, he bumped directly into a solid, warm surface instead. Living stone, life energy pulsing beneath. He felt a hand swipe towards him and he dodged. At this point he genuinely didn’t know if it was out of reflex or because he actually wanted to avoid his friend.

“Jim,” he repeated, stressing his name. “Look at me.”

Even if the only stimuli he could truly intake right now in this form was sound and touch, he swore he sensed the moment he himself pulsed with light, matching the wave of annoyance cresting within his mind.  

“In case you haven’t noticed, I kinda can't do that right now,” he shot back.

“I do not mean-“ Draal sighed, the rough sound betraying his otherwise calm facade and revealing his concern. “Look with your soul, not your eyes.”

Despite his current cynicism towards everything in the universe, he gathered his wits and began to focus in on himself. Soul, not eyes. Soul, not eyes. Puzzling, and infuriating. He had no physical form, how on earth was he supposed to—

Oh. Oh. That’s new, he thought, feeling the slight pricking of another consciousness against his own. The consciousness’ shape intrinsically matched with what he knew of Draal, like how one might recognize someone by scent or the timbre of a voice.

“Ah, so you’ve found it. As you can sense now, we exhibit a different kind of sight here.”

“What… is this?”

“We’re the souls of the dead. How else would souls communicate, without the form granted by the amulet’s binding magic?”

“So. Let me get this straight. Basically, you’re saying the physical Void as I know it only exists through Merlin’s magic?”

He gently hovered beside his presence as Draal paused to consider his next words.

“As far as I’m aware, yes? Do remember,” he said, before Jim could probe for information he apparently didn’t have, “I arrived here mere nights ago. Father has only explained so much.”

“Okay, and about that.”

“About-?”

“You. I- I thought the Void was, y’know. Just for trollhunters. How did you…?”

“It was my father’s doing,” he explained. “At his request the elder trollhunters made an exception for me, against the normal rules. That’s all.”

“Well, I’m glad they did,” Jim said softly. “If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that some rules are worth breaking.”

“Some, yes.”

The troll’s presence pulsed with genuine warmth against his soul’s own. He wondered, if he had capacity for sight right now, if he’d see his friend smiling.

“Now tell me, flesh bag. What distresses you at this hour?”

His heart skipped a beat. Well, if he still had a heart, it would’ve skipped a beat. (Language technicality was going to be the death of him here.) In lieu of working organs, he was pretty sure his soul did about the equivalent.

“I’m fine now, really,” he hastily attempted to cover up.

Draal was absolutely not having it.

“Hmm. Interesting.”

“Wh- what is?”

“Your strange definition of ‘fine.’ You ran away, and then hid in the shadow for twenty minutes.”

“Uh- okay, okay. Fine. Or, or,” he stuttered, “not fine, I mean. Just…. there’s a lot to unpack. That’s all.”

“Are you planning to elaborate, or leaving me to ponder forever?”

Jim lapsed into momentary silence again as he considered. Draal was only wanting to help. He knew this. Also, where once his worry was vulnerability, now he literally had nothing left to lose.

“Well for one,” he eventually began, biting sarcasm coating his words, “I’m dead. I killed myself, and now I’m stuck here with a bunch of- of moody former trollhunters for all of eternity. And then. And then! Apparently, it sounds like every day of my life was bound by some divine destiny, or whatever. And I was fine with that, at first, with the idea of destiny. Because I thought-“ the emotion he’d been stifling began cracking through his level headed facade- “I don’t know! I thought it was something I could control. I thought that the amulet chose me for who I was. For being... special, as stupid and selfish as that sounds. But all of this was prophecy, Draal! It was always meant to happen! So what’s the point in it specifically picking me if I was just a pawn to fate all along? And not only that, but one of my predecessors literally knew Merlin was gonna blindside me with all this half-troll business and do they ever consider giving me, you know, a little heads-up? No!”

“It was only a prophecy.”

“Yeah, well it was a prophecy about me! I would’ve wanted to know. Maybe if I had more time, i-if I had the foreknowledge, could actually think on it before just- God, this was all such a mistake!” he cried. He could sense his spectral form growing cold and dim, only suspended by a single thread.

Draal’s consciousness brushed against his in what might have been his attempt at a metaphysical pat on the back.

“You miss your friends,” he observed.

Jim considered levying him a snarky ‘no duh’ in response, but his soul was too weary for sarcasm right now. Instead, with a little focus and a shimmer of daylight, he manifested himself physically once more and wrapped his arms around the one true friend he had left. He pressed his forehead against his chest.

Draal lowly huffed through his nostrils, slowly returning the embrace. While the fierce troll would never admit it, Jim knew from the hours spent fighting by his side that he cared far more than one might assume. Most of the ‘tough guy’ act he exuded was precisely that: a facade. Draal was actually fairly sentimental, and more soft-hearted than a lot of other trolls he knew. (He’d kept a few knick knacks gifted to him by his father in the basement.) If Jim ever brought it up he’d probably throw him in a headlock, though. Some things never change.

“They won’t ever- they don’t know I’m dead,” he said, words sticking in his throat. “They’ll never know, ‘cause to them I’m not-! I-I… can never see them, ever again.”

“I understand.”

He stood there leaning against his friend in relative silence for a time, his breath shaky as he allowed the rest of the emotion coursing through him like an avalanche to gradually dissipate. Draal didn’t budge an inch, still resolute in his duty to support the trollhunter. The smallest of smiles broke through his anguish at this thought, curving across his face. He was so grateful for that.

“Blinky,” he began, small and hesitant, as he pulled away from their hug. “He always said that destiny… that it’s a gift. Thing is, it really doesn’t feel like one right now.”

“Would you like my input, Trollhunter?”

He met Draal’s eyes, the troll peering into his in such a knowing way that it almost made him squirm. “S-sure. Go wild. I’d take anything at this point.”

“You’ve chosen to define the sum of your life as the destination every action leads you towards. But have you considered that perhaps… what matters isn’t where, but how?”

“I’m not following, sorry.”

“Destiny may guide you, act as a beacon for days to come. But in the moment, you decide how you react to the challenges life throws at you. That choice is yours, and yours alone.”

“Oh, great,” Jim muttered, a sour cynicism corroding his tone. “Helpful. So life may suck, but hey! At least I can approach it with a smile!”

“No. That is not what I mean. What happens in the moment has far more impact than you realize, Jim. Consider me, for instance,” he explained, jabbing a finger solidly against his chest. “You chose to spare my life in our duel. A single life. Do you really think the elders’ vague prophecy could’ve ever predicted a young human having the courage to break entirely from tradition, to forge his own path? I wouldn’t be here right now without your intervention. Your camaraderie, and your friendship. Every action— even the smallest— creates ripples, Trollhunter. Do not be so quick to forget that.”

At this reminder, the hollowing of his chest receded, his anxieties ceasing to eat away at him so quickly. Draal was absolutely right. Even moving through the patterns of fate, he still exhibited a great deal of agency. Even within the framework of a game he didn’t create, he possessed the capacity for free will. His grim assumptions earlier were wrong. He wasn’t somebody’s pawn, he was the hand strategically moving the pawn.

Nevertheless, a pang of melancholy ran cold like a shiver through his bones. At the edge of war, he sure hoped his living counterpart realized this too.

“So… what do we do now?” he said. “Not like, about the battle,” he clarified hastily, “but. Just in general? It’s way too quiet here. I could do with some sparring, or something.”

Mischief glinted in his friend’s eyes.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Blue clashed against blue in a myriad of sparks, the magic that held together their physical forms flickering like television static each time they struck a hit. Jim Lake Jr. grinned as he leapt clear of the latest attack. Draal, compressed into a dense ball and unable to slow himself down, continued rolling up the side of the practice ring and clear into the rafters. Somewhere far above, the troll condensed himself to light and all but dissapeared.

“Hah, missed me!” Jim shouted in triumph, backing a few steps up as he scoped the area. His fingers wrapped ever tighter around the hilt of his sword. “Still one hit ahead of you. Y'know, my offer to play easy is still on the- Whoa!"

He manifested his shield in one hand just as his friend, chuckling boisterously, appeared from thin air and swung a playful punch at him. Even in the Void, the contact shot dull vibrations all the way up his arm.

"Not a chance, novice! Tied!" Draal countered, and immediately tucked himself into a ball again. The rumbles of his movement across the stone reverberated powerfully throughout the vast halls.

“What in the name of-!“  

Uh-oh.

Jim almost regressed back into his spectral state himself right then and there, the surprise of the elder trollhunter's voice merely the cherry on top after Draal's sneak attack. His form flickered as he returned Daylight to its mount on his back.

“Oh, Kanjigar!” he said, plastering an innocent smile on his face. Draal rolled to a stop in between them, looking equally as sheepish. “Are you here to, uh- to spar too?”

The elder trollhunter pressed his palm against the ridge of his forehead. “Am I here to- no! No, of course I am not! We do not wage battle in the harmony of the Void! And Draal, you too?” he exclaimed, widely gesturing at his son. “Must both of you make a mockery of this sacred space?”

Without so much as a second thought, Draal pointed at Jim. “It was his idea.”

“Hey, excuse me!” he hissed at him under his breath, embarrassment growing evident in his posture. That rat! He bailed him out, and in front of one of the greatest trollhunters to live, no less. Still, Kanjigar  was  his father, (and Jim couldn’t imagine ever lying to Blinky, himself), so he supposed he’d have to excuse the betrayal. He sighed deeply, and leveled his gaze towards the great troll with a demeanor of assured confidence only a fellow trollhunter would ever dare summon. “With respect, I’ve only been here for like, barely an hour, if that, and I’m already dying of boredom.”

Kanjigar blinked, utterly failing to capture the deeper meaning of his words. “I’m afraid I don’t follow. By all measures you’ve already died, Jim.

“I know that I’m-“ he groaned, carding his fingers through his hair. “Never mind, it’s- it’s just a figure of speech. My point is, I’m not gonna just float about the ether and armchair quarterback every single little fight my other self has like you, okay? I- I need something to do. Something that won’t be stressful as hell."

"What, like sparring? Sparring is not customary here."

"Why?"

Draal huffed in annoyance, and began to hollowly recite words his father had likely imparted when he first arrived. "Because the Void is a peaceful domain wherein trollhunters should seek the calming pursuits they never had opportunity to give thought to in life. Supposedly."

"We do not wage battle because our lives were a battle, young trollhunter," Kanjigar stated simply.

"But that's not fair, it's calming for me!"

He pondered on this fact as the words passed his lips, upon reflection surprised at how accurate they were. He'd actually grown to look forward to his training sessions with Blinky or Draal, back before the loss of Trollmarket. They were routine, ever-evolving, and functioned as wonderful stress relief. Many a day he'd spent letting his frustrations out on the forge machinery after a bad Spanish or algebra exam.

“Wow," he said under his breath, mostly to himself. "That's actually true, it really is. Huh. Crazy how much can change in a few months. But!" He lifts a finger for emphasis, talking directly to the others once more. "As I was saying."

"Yes, do continue," Kanjigar said, peering between him and Draal with narrowed eyes. He crossed his arms, thoroughly unimpressed.

Jim's hand moved to cover the amulet, hanging directly over the space his heart once occupied. He glossed his thumb across its rim. "I guess... the crux of the matter is, certain customs of the troll world had to change when the amulet picked a human. And now, with part of me dead, it’s the Void’s turn. I'll keep my distance from everyone else while sparring for courtesy's sake, but for the record, it makes me happy. I don't aim to stop."

And with that bold statement, he let his armor fade into light. The expression of dumfounded shock that crossed that old troll's stony face in response was almost enough to make him audibly bark in laughter for the first time today. He pocketed the amulet, and walked past his elder.

"You coming?" he said, gesturing to Draal. "I thought I'd explore around a bit more."

"Count me in."

“I heard you shouting in the distance. Tell me- what did I miss?” Deya asked as Kanjigar returned to the others.

“Nothing important,” he groused. “Only Lake and my son desecrating every rule they happen to lay their eyes on.”

She tilt her head at him, in a matter-of-fact sort of way. The knowing smile she presented— top row of sharpened, squarish teeth showing between her lips— whisked him back to the time when he the foolish youth called by the amulet, and she was one of his elders. Long, long ago.

“They’re sparring, aren’t they?”

“Exactly! And as dictated, the Void is a place of eternal peace. A peace that currently, they’re uprooting by way of their irresponsible foolishness!”  

Deya’s laugh rang out as clear as a bell. “Oh, lighten up, you old misery,” she teased, swinging a punch at Kanjigar’s shoulder. “To hell with the rules. It's perfectly harmless, sparing here. Let the youth have their fun.”