#makes me wish he could hunt for us in the farmlands

[hakusins]

CAGE EVENT CAGE EVENT CAGE EVENT CAGE EVENT-!!!!!!!!!

[gretavanmoon]

an omnipresent force• ch 2

Chapter 2- DARK ENIGMA

Jake x reader (we'll get there... I promise)

Words: 12.4k

A/N: Semi-AU// Set six years in the future, the world has decided to cast humankind aside, starting with the poisonous entities that are destroying her the most.

Warnings: Dystopian Horror Cursing, Smoking, Mention of Drugs, Feelings of Fear and Uncertainty, An Apocalyptic World, Hunting, Violence (mention of firearms), Kidnapping, Wounds and Pain, Blood, Death & Dying, Burials, Lying, Deceit, Sadness, Panic Attacks, Use of Restraints, Mentions of Sex

Cheatham County, Tennessee

Five days later

Y/N

The old wood of the rocking chair squeaks beneath me as I gently move my body back and forth, snuggling into my thick afghan wrapped around my body. There is a light dusting of snow on the ground, and I’d spent the majority of the evening out here on the porch, taking in the scene of my grandparents’ farmland before me. The lead in the pencil I’ve been writing with all evening is starting to dull, but I press a little harder to get the last few sentences written down into my journal. 

December 29, 2030

Day five back at Pap and Gran’s farm. We didn’t do much today except peel some potatoes and boil chicken for broth. Gran’s state has deteriorated since we made it back here. Paps and I truly thought that maybe bringing her back to her home would make her feel better, but she’s only gotten worse. Part of me thinks that she might have just wanted to find her peace here, in her own home, in her own surroundings before she decides it’s okay to let go. Awful of me to think that, isn’t it?

I miss my Mom. And I miss my dad, and I really, really miss my brother. Having nearly no time to mourn them has truly put me in a weird headspace, I don’t know how I’m making it day to day. Sometimes I think back to that fear I felt when I first realized I had to get the hell out of my house when I found the faultline in my foundation, that feeling that it could all come crashing down on me at any second, burying me in walls and furniture and drywall to the point I can’t breathe… That’s what this feels like. Like I’m standing in my basement again, just waiting for the whole thing to crush me. 

The only thing that is keeping me going is Paps and Gran. And the fact that if I stop, then they stop. And Gran is already slowing to a crawl. 

I pull out my pocket knife from my pants, opening the blade and sharpening the graphite in my pencil a bit before licking the tip, and getting back to work. 

I’ve lost nearly 16 pounds, and my hair feels so thin. I can feel my muscles starting to wear out, and the joints of my bones are beginning to ache. Lack of nourishment, I guess. But I don’t let it stop me, and neither does Paps. We are still getting up at the crack of dawn every single morning to look for roaming wildlife to catch. Thankfully we were able to get our hands on six chickens, a rooster, a goat, and the neighbor’s old Blue Heeler, Hank. Hank sits by my Gran’s side day in and day out… I think he remembers that she used to throw him scraps out into the front yard.

The strangest thing happened to me yesterday, and I feel embarrassed to even admit it in this stupid journal. 

For the first time in months, I got the overwhelming urge to want to fuck. 

I wish I could write that in invisible ink like we used to do in text messages, yikes. But, I guess I have to realize that I am still a living, breathing woman who still goes through her monthly cycles, and still possesses the urges associated with it all. God, I  fucking laughed out loud at myself. I haven’t seen another man close to my own age since we left Nashville and I saw a group of young people throwing a cinder block through the front glass of a coffee shop. For fucks sake I’m so embarrassed. 

But I actually even dreamed about it last night. Real, true, romping sex in some strange place… it was so real that I woke up in a cold sweat with my heartbeat between my legs. Shit. I don’t even know who it was with, but that part didn’t matter. I used to love those pointless, carnal dreams that made you blush in your sleep. But damn, now? That’s as close as I’m probably ever gonna get. 

I had to spend the rest of the day fighting the flashbacks while spending time with my literal grandparents. Ignoring the fact that I used to daydream about it, then make a phone call to whoever, and make it happen. It used to be so easy. Shit, I miss random hookups. Fucking hell. 

Now I’m spending my days collecting freshly laid eggs before a pack of wild dogs come and kill my chickens. Goddamnit.

ANYWAYS. 

Tomorrow is my 33rd birthday. And I don’t even care. It feels silly to even think that even though the world is pushing me off the literal land I stand on, I still have to age. I still have to deal with being a human. And mourn the loss of my family. What the fuck. Just lost the last of my immediate kin, I’m digging up last season’s potatoes from the ground and nursing my sweet Gran as she lies in her bed in pain, and I’m having sex dreams. Really, really fucking good sex dreams. If I could roll my eyes with paper and pencil, I’d be doing it right now. The human experience is so fuc

My thought process is stopped when I hear the sound of something I haven’t heard in literal days. Weeks? I don’t know… But I hear it, the faint sound of a tune and a melody coming through an old, staticy speaker. I close my pencil into my journal and stand, realizing I’d been sitting outside for a while now as the stars had become bright and the moon sat high in the sky. 

My brow furrows as I listen harder. It’s Billie Holiday. I push the front door open and enter the warm house, firstly noticing the crackling fire that Paps had kept burning all day. I then saw him standing in the dimly lit corner, fiddling around with his old vinyl records and adjusting the volume of the music. The wall behind him is stuffed full of records, floor to ceiling and two shelves wide… all full of the music he filled mine and James’ lives with since the time we could walk. He’d been collecting his entire life.  Truly, I owe my love of music to him. 

“Paps…” I say softly as I enter the living room. 

“Hey youngin’, sorry if I disturbed ya…” he said, puffing some pipe tobacco smoke up into the air. I used to tell him he needed to quit, but now… what’s the use?

“You didn’t, Paps.”

“I sorta… forgot that music exists,” he chuckled, opening the cover of a Bill Monroe album and inspecting the inside.

I place my hand on his back, giving him a few pats as I lay my head against his shoulder, watching the record spin on his antique hand-crank phonograph. “I kinda did too, actually,” I reply, admitting it to myself. “What made you pick Lady Day?”

He shrugs. “Not sure. Always loved her voice, hated it when she passed. She left one hell of a legacy, though, huh? Your Gran sure loved her, that’s for sure,” he mumbles on, looking back to the daybed we had set up for Gran in the living room so she could be closer to the heat of the fireplace. 

“Love her, Don. Not loved. I ain’t dead yet,” we both hear Gran stir from under her blankets. The both of us erupted in a fit of laughter at her unbridled and filterless sense of humor. 

“Hell’s fire, Jane. Didn’t think you’d be able to hear us,” my Paps laughs as he places the cover back down on the table and goes to join her at her side. I follow behind. “Did we wake you?”

“You did, but that’s okay. No better way to be woken up from a dreamless sleep than by some pretty music,” she says, propping herself up on her pillows. She still has so much strength, and though she’s weakening by the day, I’m still astounded by her ability to get up and even walk herself to the restroom. “And!” she boasts with her crooked finger in the air. “No way I wanted to miss my favorite granddaughter’s birthday when the clock strikes twelve,” she adds with a reassuring nod. 

“Gran, you don’t need to stay up this late! It’s almost midnight now, go back to sleep,” I push her, not wanting to miss one second of any rest she can get, while also wishing that she and Paps could sit up and reminisce with me until the sun comes up. I’d give anything to have just one more hour with my parents and James.

“Oh, child, I’m fine!” she pushes my hands away, pulling herself back up. “You’ve gained another year. This day and age, that means something, you know?” Her voice is weak, but she still sounds like herself, her southern drawl coming out to play as she tries to fluff the pillows behind her. 

I nod in understanding. “If you say you want to stay up, we’ll stay up!” 

There really isn’t such a thing as a true bedtime, anymore. I’m up at strange hours of the night, take many naps throughout the day… time doesn’t matter, aside from the rooster reminding us of when the sun is about to come up every morning. 

But we still set the clock, and we’ll change the batteries. The Grandfather clock against the back wall reminds us of each hour, every day. And how lucky we still are to have each and every one, no matter how long they drag us on. 

Gran taps her fingers along to ‘Love Me or Leave Me’ as Paps sings quietly along, and I place a few new logs onto the fire to keep it burning. The smell of this house has always stuck out to me– matured wood, the scent of the barn wafting through the cracked windows, the Murphy’s Oil Soap that Paps was always obsessed with cleaning the floors with… it’s all still stuck here, unmoving in time. Just like the photos on the walls, the dinnerware filling the shelves, and the wall that’s covered in pencil markings and dates, marking mine, James’, and my father’s height growth over the years. 

It’s all still here, exactly where they left it. Exactly where they carved things into the load-bearing beam that runs the span of the house. The wearing in the wood of the floor where Gran stood for fifty some odd years in front of the stove cooking meals. The screen door that hangs haphazardly on the front door, the screen ripped and aging as it served its purpose keeping the flies out of the house for however many summers.

A time capsule. And by god, were the three of us overjoyed when we pulled up and found it not sitting at the bottom of a sinkhole.

“Have you got any Sinatra?” my Gran asks, pulling me from my deep-thought trance as the Billie record spins now, without any sound. 

“Of course, sweetheart,” Paps agrees as he stands to replace the record, knowing that he’d give my Gran anything she could ever ask for, just like he always had. 

He makes his way back over to his setup and finds exactly what he’s looking for, switching the vinyl out and putting the needle back down. Gran tilts her head back onto her pillows as she hears Frank’s voice come over the crackly violin sounds. 

“Ol’ Blue Eyes,” she mutters before sitting back up and grabbing at my hands. “You know, Y/N, I didn’t always love music, it was your grandfather’s doin’ that got me to fall in love with it.” Much like he did for me, actually. “Of course I’d go to the dances at the school and I knew a few songs here and there, but it was when I met him that I truly found my love and appreciation for it.”

“He’s had that effect on us both, then, hasn’t he!” I jest, smiling and squeezing at her frail hands. We both glance at him still standing by his collection, eyeing the spines of the covers and pulling them out to look over. I truly did owe a lot to him, he taught me more about artists than I could have ever taught myself. Older ones, especially. He knew the stories that were never recorded in interviews and tabloids. He knew, because he kept them all in the back of his mind as if they were his own family stories.

“That man got me to follow the Dead around for nearly six months before I told him he’d better get me back to Tennessee so I could have me a garden,” she went on, making my face warm with a grin. I’d heard the story a hundred times before, but I’d sit and listen to it a hundred times more, if time would let me.

“Oh, shoot, Jane. We had a good time,” Paps interrupted, scowling at her as he puffed his pipe. 

“Didn’t say we didn’t, Don!” she pokes back, and I can tell they’re about to get into one of their little playful spats. “Your grandfather and I tried LSD for the very first time while we sat in a drum circle after a Dead show in Kansas City,” she said, her eyes wide as she still held my hands. 

Now that, they’ve never shared before. 

“Gran!” I exclaim, truly surprised.

“Now Jane!” Paps barks from his place.

“What?!” she replies, shrugging her bony shoulders. “It was a damned good time and I can honestly say I came back a changed woman. Nothing wrong with that, now is there? I’ve lived one hell of a life…” she trails off, earning a scoff from Paps as he waves her off. “There should be nothing stopping you from still living your life, Y/N. Do you hear me? The Earth might swallow us up, but that doesn’t mean you can’t keep running, keep on living, you understand, child?” she asks, moving her cold hands to cup my cheeks.

“‘Course I do, Gran. I promise,” I relent, and I envy her ability to speak to me with this regard, knowing that the end of her life is near.

“Good,” she pats the side of my face. “Don, how about a little acoustic for a dying old woman?”

Paps drops his shoulders. “Now Jane, do ya have to keep talkin’ that mess, or am I gonna have to make you?” he teases.

I laugh and stand to go into the kitchen as Paps makes his way over to the corner, plucking his old acoustic from its place. I re-wet Gran’s cloth in the icy water, wringing out the dripping water and returning to place it back over her chest. 

Paps sits beside us on the daybed, the smoke rising from his pipe as he plucks at his strings, his feeble but strong hands re-tuning them to where it sounds best. My grandfather is, and was, a very handsome man. Strong and built like an ox. I can see why Gran followed him around chasing after the Dead for six months.

Finally he strums a perfect chord, raising his eyebrows at Gran as she smiles back at him. “Guess it’s a good thing I never got my hands on an electric, hm?” he says as he bites the end of his pipe. 

Neither Paps or I have shown any signs of the rash, at all. No where. And neither of us could fathom why.

The two of us sit and listen to Paps play a plethora of familiar tunes, his fingers still agile enough to float over the strings and play little snippets of all of Gran’s favorites. I can feel Gran’s body relax as she listens to him, her mind probably floating through a million memories of watching him play over the years. He hums along a little as his eyes close on their own, listening to himself play. I swear I could sit here for days. 

After a few minutes, his fingers contort and play a little more harshly, strumming out a tune that hits a nerve buried so deep within me, I almost cry right there on the spot. His very own rendition of one of my favorite songs in the world, You’re the One. 

“Paps…” I murmur, almost whining.

“Hush, child, let me see if I can still pull through these chords,” he shushes me. And he does. I want to scorn him for bringing up the music that was made by my favorite band in the entire world. But then again, in later months, Greta had become one of his favorite bands, too. 

“Babe, ain’t no denyin’, that I got you in my head…” he sings to Gran, making her cover her face with her hands. He plays through about half of the song before he stumbles over a note or two, and decides his hands have gotten too tired. 

“How dare you, Paps. You know that struck a nerve…” I say, scowling at him. 

“Oh, quiet, now. You used to walk around the house singing their songs for days on end. Watch those silly videos of them, hell. How many shows did you go to?” he asks, truly schooling me on my own obsession with that band.

“Twenty-three,” I mutter under my breath. 

“How many?”

“Twenty-three! Okay?” I play along with him, the both of us knowing that he attended the last five of them with me. 

We’d traveled over to Kentucky for his first time seeing them live after I’d shown him a few of their songs. He was hooked after his first play of From the Fires, ripping the album cover from my hands to read along with the lyrics. After that we moved on to Anthem of the Peaceful Army, Garden’s Gate and so on, each play enrapturing my grandfather even more than the last. 

“These kids have some damned promise, that’s for sure. This is a sound I haven’t heard in ages… and their talent? Boy…” he’d said. I still remember the day I surprised him with tickets to his first show, watching him fall in just as much love with them as I was. Swaying along to their classics, singing along with the lyrics he’d learned to love. He learned their names, he learned their personalities a little. He even met a few of the friends I’d made along the way, flirting with them as we’d all stand in line before a show. 

It was Paps and Gran’s travels with the Grateful Dead that inspired me to follow Greta Van Fleet around on their tours. Not for six months straight, as I had to hold down my job, but nonetheless. Twenty-three shows I went to over the course of nine years. Strange Horizons all the way up to their last tour before the world shut down. I had tickets and plans to meet up with my group of friends for a show after Greta had gotten back from Greece, but, of course that never happened. 

Paps grew to love them just as much as I loved them. Love them. For so many years, they were my escape. My solid rock to land on as the headaches of daily life surrounded me. I made lifelong friends through them. Traveled to other countries to see them, with my friends by my side. I watched them grow into men, as I had grown into a woman right alongside them. Watched them evolve, grow, and retreat into silence before exploding back onto the scene with something brand new and fresh, roping me right back into their world. Obsessing over every little detail they fed us. Digging deeply into the meanings of songs, and discussing all the lore with my cohorts on social media. I can account many of my life’s milestones to at least one song of theirs. 

Now, when I find the world more quiet than it ever has been in my lifetime, I find myself reminiscing on those times, some of the best times of my life with that band, and my friends that felt more like family. I catch myself humming their songs, just trying to keep myself centered and rooted to the earth as it literally is falling apart beneath my feet. Greta was always my solid foundation, and even during the End of Days, they hold true to that assignment.

The grandfather clock finally decides to strike midnight, signaling my 33rd birthday.

“I’m sorry we can’t celebrate like we normally would, sweetheart,” Paps says as he continues lightly strumming.

“It’s okay, Paps. Just having the two of you still here with me is celebration, enough.” And I truly mean that. I watch as Gran’s sullen eyes fill with tears as she watches the two of us, and I know I’d give anything to keep the two of them alive as long as I possibly could. But her rash is worsening by the day, and Paps and I can tell that though she puts on a tough exterior, she’s suffering inside.

Gran had fallen back asleep peacefully to the sound of Paps’ acoustic, and we covered her up and threw another few logs onto the fire to last us a few more hours, at least. Paps kisses my forehead after he places his guitar back on its stand in the corner, wishing me a happy birthday as we both retreat to our beds.

+++

The next morning, I wake to myself shivering; Paps and I both must have slept through the night without waking up to tend to the fire. I stretch my muscles and rub my eyes, but I’m instantly startled  by the sound of someone coughing. I throw on my robe and slippers and rush to the living room, finding Gran sitting up in her bed, coughing terribly. Paps and I are by her side in seconds, asking her what she might need to get through the fit, but she just shakes her head. 

Her skin is cold and gray, and it looks as though her muscles are shaking uncontrollably. She’s almost completely covered in the rash, now.

“Do you want to get in the tub, Jane? Do you need to get in the water?” Paps begs of her, kneeling by the bedside. 

She shakes her head more. “No,” she chokes out. Her throat sounds scratchy and dry and we offer her water, but that, too, she rejects. Finally her coughing subsides and she relaxes back, and Paps and I share a knowing look. A look that we’ve both shared three times, when everyone else finally succumbed to the rash. 

This is so fucking unfair. Why don’t I have the rash?! Why can’t I take this pain away from her? Why am I not suffering, too?!

“I’m ok Don. I’m ok,” she mutters, her voice barely her own. 

We both sit there with her for hours, until the sun is noting midday. We hold her hands, caress her face, talk to her, tell her stories… anything to get her to pass with as much comfort as we can. She coughs, still, but each time she begs us to carry on with talking to her. I watch as my grandfather finally sheds a tear, wiping it free from his face as he sniffles through it. 

“Don’t you dare cry for me, Don,” Gran says. “We’ve had a beautiful life together. Beautiful… family,” she struggles to breathe. My chest feels heavy, too, with the overwhelming amount of sorrow it’s holding. I want to throw my fist into the wall, curse everything that has ever lived. I feel a rage building up in my stomach, one that is beginning to burn with so much fury that when it finally awakens, I’m not sure I’ll be able to contain it.

“I love you, I love you both…”

And with one small exhale, she ceases to breathe any more. 

We both allow ourselves time to weep at her bedside for a minute or two before I finally stand and open the windows, uncaring of how it will chill the house. I wanted to let her soul be free. 

+++

It took me about three hours to dig my grandmother’s grave, as the ground was hard from the cold and one shovel can only dig so fast. Hank the heeler was by my side the whole time, sitting and watching guard as I threw the shovels of dirt into a neat pile. I insisted Paps let me do it alone, and he spend a little bit of time with her to say his goodbyes.

 It was cathartic, really, putting my body through physical grunt work as I let the tears fall freely. I wept for her, for the rest of my family, for the heartbreak of my grandfather. But mostly, I cried for myself. I shouldn’t have, it felt selfish to, but I had hardly allowed myself any time to feel sorry for me. Fuck, a person can only take so much. My heart was already broken into a thousand pieces, but the numbness of the past few months had shielded my ability to listen to myself. My body somehow must have felt the need to get it out, so that I could put a brave face on for Paps. He’d need me to. So, as a rare bit of bright sunlight came down and scorched my arms, breaking through the freezing cold wind, I allowed myself to cry again.

It’s almost sunset, now, and Paps had wrapped Gran up in a few white sheets, topped with a pretty lace tablecloth that she had woven many years ago. It used to cover the dining room table, but it did seem fitting for it to be with her, now. 

I give Paps a sweet smile as I make my way into their bedroom, sitting on her old chest as I open the top drawer of her armoire. There, arranged still so neatly, was all of her expensive jewelry that she hardly ever wore. Gold bracelets, diamond rings, emerald-encrusted pieces… all if it is so precious, so valuable, and so completely worthless. 

I take a second to collect it all up and slip it into a canvas drawstring bag, making sure first to keep just one piece out for myself. She’d have wanted me to, I’m positive of it. 

A sterling silver ring topped with the prettiest piece of deep blue turquoise. Her grandmother had given it to her many years ago, and she only ever wore it to special occasions, but it fits perfectly on my middle finger. And if I wanted something to remember my grandmother by, it would most definitely be this. 

I go back into the living room and gently grab my grandmother’s cold, bruised hands, replacing each piece of precious jewelry onto her fingers and wrists wherever I can fit them, stacking them one on top of the other. 

“Should we add her books, Paps?” I manage to ask. 

He shakes his head solemnly. “No, might be best to keep things like that above ground…” 

Paps and I make our way out to the barn as dusk falls, and I light the few candles he has placed around on the shelves and tables. It’s dilapidated but in a good way; the walls and ceiling showing wear of many, many years of hard work. I watch as Paps grabs up one of the candles and walks to a swing door I’d never really noticed before, using some force to pull it open and propping it with a cut of a two-by-four. My eyes take a second to adjust to the darkness as he walks further inside the room, illuminating the space. There in the center of the small room is a pine box casket.

“Paps, what in the world? When did you…?” I breathe, walking closer to it. I notice that it has my grandmother’s name carved right in the top, the letters painted in black.

“About fifteen years ago, I’d say. Jane and I always said we wanted to be buried right here on the farm, when our times came. Guess we never told you kids about that. Your parents knew, a’course, but we never dreamed they’d go before us…” 

Paps pulls his blue handkerchief from his back pocket and wipes his nose, his eyes still dripping with remnant tears. 

“It looks really good, Paps. You did a great job,” I commend him, but he pays no mind. Instead he blows across it, relieving some of the old sawdust from its home on the lid. He pulls the top open and inspects it again, pulling a few pieces of straw from the inside. 

“Help me get it over to the site?” he asks, and I realize I’d never even asked him where he wanted me to dig the grave. I just picked the prettiest place that I could. Something tells me he would have picked the same place, too. “Under the willow?” he asks. 

Great minds.

“Under the willow.”

We lower the casket onto the wheelbarrow and roll it across the back yard and along the fenceline, right beside the weeping willow tree. It was Gran’s favorite place to come and lie in the grass with a book. Hank walks alongside us, his snout on guard for any wild packs that may be a threat to us. 

Together, we lower the pine box into the hole I’d dug, making sure it was level at the bottom. “Want me to go get her?” I ask. 

“I’ll get her,” he responds as he takes off back toward the house. The wind is whipping my hair across my face, now, as the stars are beginning to show themselves, and I can’t stop myself from crying again. This shouldn’t be happening. I shouldn’t be standing beside a grave I just dug, with a casket my grandfather built, watching his back walk across the tall grass to retrieve the body of the love of his life. This shouldn’t. Fucking. Be. Happening. 

In the moonlight, I finally see the figure of him coming back through the shadows with her in his arms. I silently thank the heavens above that he is a strong man, still yet, with more brute strength than any man his age should have. Just like James.

I help him lower her inside, but not before the both of us place kisses on either of her cheeks. I work to cover her back up with dirt as he stands behind, Hank begging his hand for a pet.

“You wanna say a few words?” I ask him as I throw the last shovelful of dirt on top, wiping a hand across my cold-sweat forehead. 

He takes a quick, chopped breath. “Sixty-two years wasn’t nearly enough with you, sweetheart. Won’t ever be enough. Thank you for every single laugh, every single tear, every single argument and happy moment. Thank you for our beautiful children, and grandchildren, and thank you for filling my heart with more joy than any man should have the privilege of havin’. You sure made my life worth livin’. Give ‘em hell up there in heaven, Janie. I know ya will. I love ya to the moon.” He sniffles again as he gives in to Hank’s requests, finally leaning down and wrapping a strong arm around the dog. I sidestep and wrap my arm around him, too, and we stand there in the wind until we can’t stand any more.

JAKE

“RRRUHHHHH!” I growl loudly as I wake up from unconsciousness in a full-on panic. My eyes are shifty and dry as I work to sit myself up quickly, my hands still bound at my back. The tape is gone from my mouth now, though. 

It’s dark, and it's cold, but I’m indoors. I just can’t fucking see a god damned thing. 

“Hey! Help!! Can anyone hear me?!” I yell, my voice echoing hard off the walls that surround me. My voice feels dry and knotted in my throat as I try to swallow what little moisture I have in my mouth. When I get no response, I crack my neck sideways as pain sets in over my body, and not just from my arms being bound. I feel as though my legs have been hit with something hard, and my back feels like it’s bruised and sore. What the fuck? What the fuck!

“Heyyyyy! Somebody come and fucking talk to me! What do you want?!” I yell again, my heart rate flying as reality sets in that I’ve been kidnapped from the cabin. Alone. 

The last thing I remember is being alone in the back of that truck, rolling around as whoever was driving had little care for it’s cargo in the back. Maybe that’s why I feel bruised and beaten. Or maybe it’s not. 

Yes, alone. In the truck… six intruders… weapons… it’s all coming back now, in little spurts of memory. Where is everyone else? Where is my family? When was I brought in here? I feel bile rising in my throat as I feel a panic attack setting in, and I grind my hands against one another so as to try and free them from their ties. But it’s no use, of course. It only digs them into my skin more. 

I sit in silence listening to only the sounds of my uneven breathing, trying to calm myself and make a plan of action. No time to fall into fear, Jake. 

I maneuver my body around to get to the walls, standing on my sore legs to turn and let my hands run along them. There’s nothing there– no windows, no chairs or furniture. Just a box. I diligently run my hands along every one. Four walls. With nothing. Nothing but– 

A door. 

I turn my body to try and find a doorknob or whatever to open it, and when my hand finally grasps the spherical knob, I realize that the mother fucker is locked. Of course. I turn and slam my shoulder into it a few times to see if I can pry it, but it’s no use. “Hey! You son of a bitch! Let me out of here!” I yell again, getting mad, now. 

“Quiet, Jacob,” a voice I do not recognize suddenly fills the room. My stomach drops. 

I open my mouth to reply, but nothing really comes to mind. The voice is male, but distorted. Quiet? QUIET? 

“Who the fuck are you? Open this door and come and talk to me!” I yell again, my body suddenly feeling like my blood is going to pulse from every orifice of my body. 

There is a long pause. 

“I said quiet, Jacob,” it repeats. 

I grit my teeth. This voice is really pissing me off. 

“I’ll be quiet when you come in here and fucking show your face!” I yell even louder this time.

There is another long pause, and finally, I hear the metallic screeching of the heavy door opening. I waste no time in trying to push through it, relying on only my hearing to know what is going on, just as I had back at the cabin. Everything is so fucking dark.

But I get nowhere. I’m stopped by my body running into two stern and sturdy men again, pushing back further into the echoey room. I nearly lose my footing, but I press forward again, determined to get through that fucking door. But they stop me again, thrashing my body back so hard I hit one of the walls. It nearly knocks the breath from me, but I catch it. “Who are you? What do you want? I want to see my fam–”

“It’d really do you good to stay fucking quiet, like we told you to.” Suddenly I feel a gloved hand cupping across my mouth, stopping me from speaking. The man’s face is close to mine, whispering in my ear as he pins me back against the wall with his other arm. “Do you understand? Can you keep your voice down?” It asks, a little more lax. 

After a few seconds, I nod, but my mind doesn’t have the time to process another plan. Maybe if I cooperate, they’ll let me the fuck go. His hand slowly falls from my mouth, and I stay quiet, nothing filling the room now but my haggard and nervous breathing, again. “Who are you,” I whisper, my tone demanding. 

I notice that the second man must be standing behind the one still holding me to the wall, hearing him huff a laugh under his breath. How can they fucking see me? 

“Let’s just say that if you play your cards right, we’ll be your new best friends,” the man says as he releases my chest, allowing me to breathe. I hear the tear of velcro twice, realizing he must be taking his gloves off. 

“I don’t need any more fucking friends. I have plenty back at home,” I bark, still gritting my teeth as I stay at a quieter level. 

They laugh again. “Home? You mean the cabin you were holed up in? Barely surviving?” the man behind the first asks sarcastically. 

“Home is where my family is, actually,” I bite.

“Aww, isn’t that cute,” they laugh at me again as I hear that they’re both standing, now. I should try and run again, right? But it might get me knocked unconscious again. Maybe not. Not yet. 

“Little Jake Kiszka, maybe you really do have the heart of gold everyone says you have,” the first one says. “Maybe being rich and famous didn’t get to you, after all.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about? Who are you? How do you know my name?” I ask. 

They both scoff again. “You’re fairly fucking famous, my guy. Lots of people know your name,” the second one blurts. My guy? Who–

“Well it’s pretty convenient that I don’t know yours, seeing as how you have me fucking tied up in a pitch black room. Can we cut the shit? Or am I gonna have to try and run again?” I ask, completely over this game. Suddenly, I don’t feel very threatened. 

“You won’t get very far if you do, Jake,” the first one whispers, and I hear his boots step closer to me again, and his breath hot on my face. “Listen to me, and listen closely, okay? Are you listening?”

“Yeah, fuck, I’m listening,” I say.

“We told you to stay quiet for a reason. You’ve been captured by an outfit that’s been around for a long, long time. But you weren’t caught for just any reason,” he goes on, barely audible. 

“What does that mean? What reason?” I ask. 

“They’ve got reason to believe that you know.”

“Know what?” I ask, confused. 

“Why the fucking world ended. Or actually, how. Your brothers, you all wrote about this, didn’t you? In your music?” he goes on, and if I wasn’t confused before, I sure as shit am now. 

“What?!” I squeal, almost laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding me…”

“Hmm-mm. They aren’t kidding. Does it feel like they’re kidding right now? No.”

“Why do you keep saying they? You are the one that’s got me locked up, right now,” I retort. 

“Because we’re pretending,” suddenly the other one is in my ear. “They think we work for them. The brunt work. The dirty jobs…. Like kidnapping you,” he says. 

“Listen Jake,” the other interrupts. “We know you, we know who you are. We were… we were fans of your band, back then. But these people, the ones who hired us, they trust us. And they have worse plans for you than holding you in a dark metal box with your hands tied…”

“Why me? Why did they take me?” I ask. 

“Your music, your songs… you fucking predicted more about all this than you think you did,” the other explains. 

Josh’s dreams. 

“We didn’t predict shit, we were just writing fucking songs, we didn’t–”

“All of it is real, Jake,” the first whispers, his lips brushing my hair. “The stories you told, the worlds you built… all of it exists, and has existed for a long time.”

“I don’t get it,” I say, blinking my eyes in the darkness. 

“The lyrics you wrote about, the Garden you all dreamt up… It exists. In a complete other realm.”

I damn near laugh in their faces. “You’ve got to be kidding me, right? This is a joke?”

They stay quiet for a beat. “No jokes here, Jake. Just know that more is happening than you could ever even fathom. It’s not just the end of the world here. It’s the end of the world there, too. Well, it’s about to be, if the battle is lost,” the second says. 

“You’re both insane, and I’m in on some kind of prank. This is all a joke!” I argue. “We didn’t create that world...”

“No, you didn’t. But you knew about it. You wrote songs about it, didn’t you? You told tales of a Battle, wrote songs about war and peace, lyrics about the water rising, and the air so thin…”

My head is spinning. I’m getting a headache. And I could really use a fucking cigarette.

“Yeah, global fucking warming, who didn’t know about that?” I defend. 

They both laugh under their breath. “Let’s just say you guys literally wrote the time and space of another world as if you’d read their history books. And, lived there alongside them.” 

There’s no fucking way. This is absolutely ridiculous. 

“What do you mean if the battle is lost?” I ask, the question coming from my mere curiosity. 

The second crouches down in front of me again, from what I can tell. “Our world here has already begun to end, right? Technology itself is murdering us by the boatloads. The thing we created. It’s omnipresence became too much for earth to handle, started to suck away at her resources and poison her. Poison her natural way of ebb and flow. So she said fuck you humans, I don’t need you. You shall all suffer my wrath, and I’ll use the poison that you created to kill you,” his voice had gotten a little dramatic, as if he was reading a romantic tragedy. 

“Okay Shakespeare, we get it,” the first says, and I can’t help but laugh a little. “Here’s the thing… the other realm is suffering, too. What happens on earth is mirrored in that realm, but the mirror isn’t a clear reflection. It’s more of a…”

“Cloudy and messy shadow of what happens in our realm,” the other says. 

“Yeah, actually,” the first agrees. “It happens here, it happens there, just not the exact same way. So their world is suffering, too. But they’re going to try and stop it.”

“How are they going to do that?” I ask.

“...Have you not figured that out yet, man? Don’t you think that uh— capturing a few guys who have predicted it all to a tee so far and using them for information on what’s to come next wouldn’t be a nice and easy route for them?”

“You’re shitting me, right?” I say blankly. “You kidnapped me because they think I know what’s going to happen next after the world ends?”

“Mm, kind of. You’ve gotten it all right, so far.”

No, Josh has. Apparently.

“That and… a pretty good other reason,” the first mumbles. 

“What other reason?”

“You don’t have any signs of the rash yet, do you?” the second inquires, throwing me off. How would he know that?

“No… but what’s that have to do with all of this?” I say, my mind spinning. 

“You’re an immune. Just like us,” the second says with a bit of pride in his voice. 

“An immune? How the fuck do we know that we just haven’t gotten it yet?” I press. 

“You’ve seen how fast that shit kills people,” the first scoffs. “Don’t you think you would have at least shown a little bit of a sign of it, by now?” 

He’s right. It’s been months since the first sign of the rash, killed more people than I’d like to discuss. And quickly, too. But my whole family… none of us have shown signs…how are we all so lucky?

“Maybe the earth decided that she’d keep a few of us, the ones who aren’t fucking assholes,” the second barks, earning what sounds like a slap to the chest from the first. 

“I don’t think that’s how it worked, idiot,” he says. “Anyways, we’ve already spent too much time in here with you, Jake. But listen. Remember we’re all pretending. They’re going to push you, they’re going to make us push you. But we want you to know we’re on your team, even if we act like we’re not. They’re out collecting immunes as we speak, trying to put everyone into some type of commune to protect the longevity of mankind. But you’re special, because they think you know. They’re special because they’re immune. You following me?”

“When they kidnap more immunes they’ll group me with them, but treat me differently because they think I can help them, got it,” I say, catching on fairly easily, for some reason. 

“Bingo,” the second clicks his tongue. 

“Do the people who hired you live in the other realm, too? Like, why do they care?” I ask, feeling like I just read the plot of a fantasy novel.

“Think of it like a family intertwined between both worlds. They’re able to bounce back and forth, but they all take up space in both places. One realm can’t live without the other. That’s why they’re trying to stop the end of their world there, so they have somewhere to be if our’s ceases to exist,” the first explains. 

“That’s fucking confusing,” I whisper. “If ours ceases to exist, one can’t exist without the other. Isn’t Earth already too far gone?” 

“Maybe her inhabitants are almost wiped, but as a planet, she’s still got a long way to go before rejoining the cosmos. If the other realm is saved, it could power Earth enough to stop her eradication. Plus we have immunes. Earth won’t completely die, she’s just trying to do a hard restart, if that makes sense,” the second one adds. “She’s sick, and she’s trying to make herself healthy again.”

I let out a huff as I try and wrap my head around the dystopian film I’m apparently a part of now. Half of me thinks these guys are lying to me. Playing games to distract me. But then again, why would they be wasting their time?

“Play dumb, Jake. Pretend you don’t know a goddamn thing. Especially when they start to question you about what you guys wrote in this last album,” the first says, standing to his feet and putting his gloves back on, from what I can tell. “This isn’t gonna last forever, we’re going to put a stop to this.”

“You are? How?” I ask, pulling hard on the ties around my wrists. 

“We are. With your help,” the second whispers. “There’s a whole group of us who plan on breaking free of this shit, we’ve just got to trust each other that we can run. Gather up the other immunes once they’re captured and create our own destinies.”

“But, if we don’t go along with them, won’t Earth completely shit out on us? If their realm dies too?” I ask. 

“Catching on quickly, Jake. I’m impressed,” the first whispers. “If we recreate our own line of mankind from the immunes, everything will be okay. We just want to do it out from underneath the thumb of these selfish motherfuckers. We can do it on our own.”

The two of them turn on their heels and start to walk toward the door again, leaving me sitting in the floor. “Hey, where is my family?” I ask. 

“They were assigned elsewhere. Separated all of you, we don’t know where they ended up. Sorry, man,” the second says. And within seconds they’re both gone, and I’m alone, yet again.

Y/N

I trudge back inside the house now under the cover of darkness, after having spent a few minutes outside trying to breathe and calm myself. Paps has lit a few candles inside, and I can see the warm glow of them through the windows making the house look like a jack-o-lantern. I smile a little at the thought. As I push the door open and lock it behind me, I turn and notice he’s stood by the kitchen table, a few more candles lit across it. There in front of him are two bowls of potato soup. 

“Paps, this is so nice of you,” I mumble as I hang my afghan on the back of a chair. “I thought you said you weren’t up for eating tonight?” 

“Your Gran would have been ticked if she knew we were too upset to feed ourselves, you know that’s a fact,” he says, pulling my chair out for me. I take a seat and I can smell the herbs he’s put into the soup.

“You’re right…” I agree. “She wouldn’t have been happy with us at all.”

“Plus, figure you could pretend one of these candles is on a birthday cake, and blow it out. Since we didn’t get to celebrate you the right way,” he adds as he takes his own seat. 

“I think I could do that,” I say, picking up my spoon to dig in. “Thank you Paps, you’re really too good to me.”

“We’re all we’ve got, sweetheart.”

As we eat, I watch as Paps’ hands seem weaker now, and how they shake a little as he brings his spoon to his mouth. He’s done an excellent job on the soup, but we both know we’re choking it down, both of our stomachs too wrought with nerves and heartbreak to enjoy it like we should. 

As we clean our bowls, he pushes one of the candles toward me, holding his hand out to motion for me to blow. The candle is old and burned through almost all the wax, but it still smells of pumpkin and apple pie. “Don’t forget to make a wish, sweetheart. And make it a good one,” he says, giving me a sweet wink from behind his glasses. 

I take a deep breath and wrack my brain, feeling like making a wish right now is selfish. Normally, I’d wish for a happy next year, health and fortune for my family, or even for the next man that walks into my life to be the right one. 

But all of that feels stupid now, pointless to request of the universe. 

Next year isn’t even promised. 

Over half of my family is gone. 

And no man is destined to walk into my life to better it in the least, let alone offer me kinship of any kind. 

So instead I wish for Paps to stay as healthy as possible for as long as possible, and that the universe bestows good things upon us both. Because like he said, we’re all we’ve got. 

+++

After I’ve cleaned the dishes and tidied the kitchen, I’m stopped in my tracks from the same sound I heard coming through the walls last night– the sound of quiet, staticy music. 

I find Paps with his record player again, cranking the handle on the side as the sound begins to spill from the horn. For a second, I’m happy that he’d kept this old thing, knowing that without it, we wouldn’t be able to hear music at all, probably ever again. 

I step up beside him and watch it spin, listening to “Lovin’ You More Every Day” by Etta James drift into the air. I know that Gran loved this one, too. It was one of the songs they danced to at their wedding. 

So I take his hand in mine, pulling him to stand with me on the old oriental rug in the middle of the room. I begin to sway around as he gently places his hand on my back, swaying right along with me. We’re dancing a little too slowly for the speed of the song, but neither of us care. We’re just enjoying our time, wishing that Gran was here to clap for us after the song ends. But as it comes to a close, we’re met again with static, waiting silently for the first note of the next song. 

“You’re a bit too big now to stand on my feet,” he says through a stiff smile. 

“Maybe so,” I giggle. “But it was your training that got rid of my two left feet…gave me a sense of some rhythm…” I grin. 

He smiles again as he sniffles through some more tears. “I’m sorry I won’t be there to dance with you at your own wedding, sweetheart,” he mumbles as he pulls me close, and my heart shatters into a million pieces. 

“Now Paps, don’t talk like that…” I argue. “Lord knows I’m not gonna find a man who can dance better than you, anyway.”

I hear a chuckle run through his chest. “May be, sweetheart. May be.”

We sway along to a few more songs before we’re both yawning. “Believe I’m gonna hit the hay,” he says solemnly, patting me on the head a few times before making his way to throw a few more logs onto the fire. 

“Me too, I’ll see you in the morning?” I ask, realizing that this will be the first night in over sixty years that he is going to sleep knowing he won’t wake up to the love of his life. 

“When the rooster crows, my sweet. Love you.”

“I love you, Paps,” I say as we part ways, drifting off to our respective rooms. 

I’m thankful the weather isn’t too horrendous tonight as I snuggle into my bed, pulling the covers onto my chest. I relax, but leave my candle lit, staring up at the ceiling and recounting the day. The look on Gran’s face as she finally met peace, no longer feeling the wrenching burn of the rash that had enveloped her body. Poor Paps. I can’t even imagine what he’s feeling, right now. 

I grab my journal back up and flip to the page I’d left off on, realizing I’d stopped in the middle of a thought. Instead of finishing it, I start a new one. 

I write about Gran’s passing, how and where we buried her, how I adorned her hands and wrists with all her old jewelry, and how Paps had made me a special birthday supper. I try to be as detailed as possible, leaving nothing out as I let my hand flow from print to cursive. My eyes begin to get heavy as the candle light flickers, and I realize just how exhausted I am. How mentally and physically drained I’ve become, simply from trying my best to stay alive. 

My eyes close a little, drifting down onto my forearm that’s covered in tattoos. My dad hated them, but Paps and Gran always told me they were an expression of my life at the time, like a roadmap of all of the things I loved, when I loved them. Keepsakes I’ll never part with. I always thought it strange, that coming from grandparents from an era of humans who normally found tattoos distasteful, but. 

But they were right. I have over twenty tattoos, but my forearm is dedicated to the band that I knew and loved so much, and who brought me some of the happiest times of my life.

The first one sits right in the crook of my elbow, a simple sun and crescent moon that I got right after I fell in love with From the Fires. Then words, right below that, reading ‘In an age of darkness, light appears’ in small font, wrapping all the way around my arm. Under that, a swirling symbol that resembles a radar, 13 lines that make an almost complete circle to commemorate the song that reminds me to step back into the natural world. Beneath that, a sword and an arrow, parallel with one another. And lastly, a symbol that truly represented their fifth album, lines shaped into what looks like a bird in flight. 

I never got to get a tattoo from this last album. And honestly, the darkness of the theme of it made choosing what I would have gotten a little difficult, anyway. 

I run my hand over the dark black ink and my mind begins to sleepily drift. I wonder what my friends are doing right now…are they alive? Are they sad, too? Are they still clinging to the good times we shared to keep their minds from falling into the deep depths of solitude?

My fingers stop over the Age of Machine tattoo, the little ridges of the skinny lines still rigid on my skin. I think about how much this tattoo reminded me to unplug and drown myself in nature every chance I got. How that song truly motivated me to do the exact opposite of letting myself be pulled into the false world of social media, and spend my time in my garden, or swept up in a book. Strange, now… thinking about how it made me feel when I listened. Haunted, dizzy, and uneasy. Scared, almost, but cautious. Ominous and anxious, but in the most peaceful way. Now I’m glad of the inspiration it gave me. Maybe that’s why I haven’t gotten the rash. It’s almost like that song was warning us of what was to come…

What are the men who wrote this music doing right now? Are they okay, too? My heart wrenches in a different way than it has, yet. Yearning to know of the state of people I had never met, yet worried about the wellbeing of for so many years of my life. “Silly,” I whisper to myself. But, it’s not silly. It’s just the heart they helped me find within myself to care about other people so deeply.

I close my pencil into my book again as I blow out my candle, thinking of all the nights I went to sleep excited to wake up before the sun and double check the luggage I’d packed, grabbing a quick coffee before I hit the road to travel to god knows where to see my friends and my favorite band again. Carefree, and careless. Living my life the way I wanted to, choosing the road ahead to achieve that happiness I’d always chased when it came to hearing their music live. Life unchained, the way Gran lived hers. 

+++

Just as my body is relaxing into a well-deserved sleep, I’m awoken by a loud rumble, a deafening sound so deep that I feel it in my bones. I shoot up in bed, realizing that the bed below me is shaking, vibrating. I pull the covers back quickly, rushing down the hall to find Paps already coming toward me with his candle in hand. 

“What’s going on?!” I yell above the loud rumbles. 

“I don’t know! I don’t know!” he yells back, and we both make our way to the large picture window in the living room. The moonlight illuminates the hillside of the farm, revealing a giant faultline that reaches from one side of the field all the way to the next. 

“Shit,” Paps mutters as I feel panic setting into my gut. “Faultline.”

“What’s that mean?! Paps, what is it?” I ask in succession, watching as the crack as wide as a river is eating up the ground.

“Probably another sink hole. Or one is going to happen nearby, I’d say,” he barks as he turns and rushes back to his room. “We’ve got to go. We’ve got to run,” he hollers. 

What?! Run?? We can’t run! 

“Paps, but the house! We’re alread–”

“Get your backpack. Get dressed, hurry! We’ve got to get away from it!” he commands, his voice booming. The house begins shaking again as I run to my room, throwing on my pants, jacket, and boots, and tossing my heavy emergency backpack over my shoulders. I make sure to secure my toboggan onto my head before stuffing my journal into the free pocket of my backpack, rushing back out into the living room to find Paps ready and waiting. 

I hear plates and dishes falling from the shelves of the kitchen, and books falling off the shelves of the living room. It’s just like an earthquake, except I had watched a crevice form in the ground, right before my eyes. My hands are shaking, and I am already broken out in a cold, panicked sweat.  We rush to the truck, throwing our things into the bed as we climb inside. 

“Hank! Where’s Hank?!” I yell, looking around for him. 

“Leave him, we’ve got to go,” Paps says as he turns the key in the ignition, hearing the engine purr to life for just a second, before shutting right back off. He tries again, pumping the fuel pedal to get the block to heat and the glow plugs to light. “Fuck, fuck!! Come on, baby! Don’t do this!” he yells, trying to coax the machine. But it’s to no avail. The battery has died.

We open the doors and clamber to grab our bags again, realizing that on foot is our only means of escaping the growing faultline. We take off rushing down the dirt road, still hearing the deep rumble of the ground separating behind us. I wish I could describe the sound, a noise unlike anything I’ve ever heard before. The cracking and snapping of deep roots, the crashing of trees, a low bellowing sound so deep that it sounds like it came from hell, itself. Unreal. And utterly fucking terrifying. 

My legs carry me, and luckily so do Paps’, straight down the long driveway and back onto the main road. I hear the wood of the house start to creak, and more wooden-sounding bangs. Fuck. Please, not the house… 

“Should we go to the woods?” I pant, knowing that Paps is just as out of breath as I am. 

“No, to the knoll,” he points, panting too as he motions toward the top of a high hill. When we finally make it there, we stop, taking a breather as now it feels as though we’re far enough from the field to get a better view of everything that lies beneath. And there, right in the center of the field is another sinkhole, giant and deep and dark with half the farm swallowed up in it. 

Luckily, the house is untouched.

“How on God’s green Earth…” Paps breathes as he lets his hands fall to his knees, trying to catch his breath as the two of us look down on the scene in front of us. Like it was straight from a horror film. 

“Had to of been Gran. She wouldn’t let the devil himself take her home, if it was the last thing she did,” I say, earning a breathy laugh from Paps. 

“You’re goddamn right, sweetheart. You’re goddamn right,” he says, finally catching his breath. “We need to run, we’re pretty close to this thing, still.” We take off again, rushing back down the road as we still hear the ground shaking below us. We hear trees falling in the distance, and we begin running again. I’m truly thankful for Paps’ stamina and heart right now, his legs getting him to safety even at his age. 

“Keep going, Paps, not much further,” I encourage him, just in case he needs it. “We’re okay, we’re okay…”

Suddenly, I see a set of headlights in the distance, barreling down the road towards us in a cloud of dust. When it finally approaches, I flag it down until it stops beside us. An old man is sitting in the driver’s seat, his face just as panicked as ours. “Hop in! Hop in!” he says, and we listen. Paps and I rush to the passenger side and slide into the cab, the man already hitting the gas before Paps can even shut the door all the way. 

“You’ve got to turn around!” I say, “There are sinkholes this way!”

He turns the wheel harshly, and I’m glad he listens to me. We rush back the opposite way, zooming down the road so fast I can hardly fathom what’s happening. Pure panic. 

“We’re alright, Paps, we made it out,” I try and calm him, reaching for my canteen of fresh water and offering it to him as he catches his breath. 

Suddenly we’re being thrust forward as the man steps on the brake, and I’m close to cursing him before I notice he’s stopped before another faultline in the road. “My god…” the man says, opening his truck door and climbing out. 

“No, no… what are you doing?!” I yell, wondering why in the hell this man is getting out of our escape vehicle and walking towards the crack in the ground. I watch as he steps closer to it, inching his steps as he peers down over the edge. “Is he insane?! Are you insane? Please, come back!!” I scream, but he doesn’t listen. The ground shakes again, throwing the man off balance as it makes him stumble, swallowing him right up into it. 

“Oh my god!!” I yell as Paps lets out a guttural scream. My hand covers my mouth as I yell in disbelief, watching as the man is there one second, and gone the next. 

“Drive, Y/N, drive!” Paps urges me, pushing my arms to scoot to the driver’s seat. I throw the truck in reverse, pulling the door closed as I rush to get us away from it all, pushing the pedal to the floor as my eyes scan for more faultlines. It feels as though we’re surrounded by them. My heart is pounding, now, as my body does the necessary work on auto pilot. 

“Keep going! Keep going!” Paps says as we get closer to town, and away from the vibrating ground. After a few minutes of shaking panic, it feels like the buzzing of the ground has subsided, and I can finally take a deep breath. A shaky one, but a breath nonetheless. 

As I finally allow my eyes to adjust and my hands to stretch, I’m finally feeling in control of my body again. Okay, okay, I’ve got this. Just keep driving. “Paps, you okay?”

“I’m okay sweetheart, you okay?”

“I’m good, I’m good,” I breathe, taking another deep breath in to calm my shaking body. “God, why the fuck did he do that?”

“Couldn’t tell ya, dumb and curious, I guess,” he says, taking another drink from the canteen before offering it to me. “Head toward the city, we’ll need to find a place to hunker down, tonight.”

And though my heart is still pounding as his words hit me, I take the right turn off the state route to head to the interstate, both of us in high hopes that the city will offer us more than it did when we left it. But honestly, I’m losing faith. 

I’d been driving for nearly twenty minutes on the empty road before I take a cutoff exit, determined to cut our drive time down and conserve fuel. The exit leads to a sideroad that is heavily wooded, but I know it will get us to the city more quickly. As the headlights shine down the two-lane road, I notice some kind of dark, shadowed figures standing down in the distance. I blink a few times, trying to see what is there. 

“Is that deer?” I ask Paps. 

“Can’t tell, it’s too dark,” he says, so I slow my pace. My headlights do little to light them up, but the closer we get, the more human they look. Tall, dark… just standing there?

And they aren’t moving. I bring the truck to a stop, my headlights almost no help at all as the figures begin to close in on us, instead of moving out of the road. 

“The hell is this, what’s happening?” Paps yells as the figures have us completely blocked from continuing down the road, now. My panic returns. I hear Paps cock his shotgun. “Drive, drive!!!”

My foot smashes the pedal to the floor, but the truck doesn’t move. The tires screech as I continue pushing it, willing the truck to keep going. But it won’t. It’s like I’m running it into a brick wall. “What’s happening!! Why won’t it go?!” I scream, my hands gripping the wheel as the truck begins to fishtail from the force of the tires on the ground. The lights from the truck are completely gone, now. We’re in total darkness. “Paps!”

“I’m here, I’m here, honey!” and I feel him grab my hand. Suddenly the truck doors slam open, and my body is being grabbed and pulled from the seat. I thrash and kick at whatever has grabbed me, but nothing works. It’s too strong. I feel a painful hit to my head, and my ears scream as I start to lose consciousness. I feel a dark cover be put over my head and secured, completely blocking my vision altogether. “Paps!!!!” I try and yell, but I’m slipping quickly into unconsciousness as my voice is barely a squeal. My hands are being tied in front of me, and all I feel is cold. 

+++

I wake up in a cold sweat, my hands still bound as I sit with my back against a metal wall. My breathing is ragged as I try and take in my surroundings, and I realize I still have the covering over my head. I wince in pain from the impact of whatever hit my head earlier. I hear others beside me, many crying, panicked voices whimpering in the same room. I try and make a sound, but my voice is hoarse from screaming. I try and speak, but there is tape over my mouth. What is happening, where is Paps?!

My heart is pounding in my chest as I try to raise my bound hands and remove the covering, but it’s secured tightly. I’m in pitch black darkness, and I can’t see a fucking thing. I try to stand, but my muscles are weak and sore, and I can hardly will them to move, let alone stand. It’s unclear how long I was knocked out, and how long I have been sitting in this cold, metal room, but it feels like only a few minutes have passed. I feel tears begin running down my face, I feel so helpless, so exhausted. So blind.  

Suddenly I hear a loud noise, like a heavy metal door being thrust open. I see a light through the covering over my face, and I try and yell again. But nothing comes out. Just like in those nightmares where you are unable to make a sound. I hear footsteps come into the room, heavy boots pounding against the concrete floor. My covering is forcefully removed, and it takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the bright light. 

Finally, I’m able to see eight or ten others with me, all of us sitting with our hands bound, lined up against the walls of this room. Some beside me, some directly across from me. I watch as two tall, masked men work their way around the room, removing each and every face covering. A woman, a man, a teenaged boy, an elderly lady… and then, Paps. I make excited eye contact with him as I feel a squeal leave my taped lips. He’s safe. He’s here. 

I watch as the rest of the covers are removed one by one, the person seated directly across from me being saved for last. They leave him sitting for a few seconds as they exchange what looks to be laughs with one another before one of them gently kicks his legs a little before undoing his head covering. 

The man’s face is beaten and bruised, his brown hair tangled and long and falling in front of his face as he winces in pain. They throw his face covering back down to the floor beside him, laughing again as they turn and leave the room without a word, locking the door behind them. 

I peer to the hair-covered face again to get a better look, and I swear if my mouth wasn’t taped shut, I would have screamed out in disbelief. 

That’s Jake fucking Kiszka.

He feels my eyes on him as he finally looks up to me, noticing my awkward stare. Neither of us can speak. I feel myself smiling under the tape, what are the fucking odds? What is happening?! Where the fuck are we?

His eyes grow wide as he realizes I know him, and he stares back at me in utter confusion. Do I tell him I recognize him? Shit, he can probably tell I do, by now. For some odd reason unbeknownst to me, I maneuver my tied hands to slowly pull up the sleeve of my shirt, showing him the splattering of tattoos that line my forearm. I know you. I watch his eyes see them as I straighten my arm out, willing him to see them, recognize them.

I watch his chest rise and fall as he begins shaking his head slowly side to side, his breathing picking up significantly as he looks at me with red, swollen eyes. 

No? Is he telling me no?

Just as I hear the sound of the heavy footsteps coming back down the hall, I watch as Jake slowly lifts his bound hands to his face, his pointer finger sticking up in front of his taped mouth. 

My stomach falls as I realize he’s serious. Not only is he telling me no, he’s telling me to stay quiet.

Tags: @gretavangroupie @britney-gvf @sacredstarcatcher @wetkleenex-gvf @farfromthehomelands @takenbythemadness @writingcold @builtbybrokenbells @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @fleet-of-fiction @milkgemini @gvfpal @ageofcj@dancingcarbon @highway-tuna @stardustjake @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @gvfmarge @gracev0609 @myleftsock @literal-dead-leaf @peaceloveunitygvf @ageofbajabule @slut4lando @jordie-gvf @sadiechar @tinydancer40 @rosabellagvf @capnjaket @lyndz2names @thetroublegetssoloud71 @gretavanomens @spark-my-nature @josh-iamyour-mama @anythingforjtk @alwaysonthemend @danieljlmwagner @klarxtr @fortunatelytinybasement @demonrat444 @gretavansara @watchingover-hypegirl @hippievanfleet @digitalnomadz @raviolilegs @lipstickitty @hippievanfleet @klarxtr @strange-whorizons @do-it-jakey-baby @myownparadise96 @gvf-luna @starshine-wagner @cassiesgreta @joopsandjangs @whimsiliz @kiszkas-canvas @whimsiliz @joopsandjangs @broken0mens @scoreofinfantryvines @whereiskeara @do-it-jakey-baby @miravanfleet @heckingfrick@kiszka-canvas @whimsiliz @joopsandjangs @broken0mens @scoreofinfantryvines @whereiskeara @do-it-jakey-baby @miravanfleet @heckingfrick @jenniferkiszka @jjwasneverhere @gvfmarge @pineapple-photographer @vanfleeter

[redux-iterum]

Charred Legacy: Chapter Sixteen

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Would the humans never go away?

Fireheart had to admit to his own building frustration as each night had the same answer to if the Clan could go back home: they could not, because the cars and humans were still in the forest. Each announcement from whoever scouted over the moorland elicited a louder and louder communal groan. They could all be grateful for the warm air in the Barn as the slush became snow that did not touch their temporary home, but even that was thinning their patience with how stuffy it could get.

What was also thinning quickly was the rodent population in the Barn. Every night it became steadily more challenging to find a mouse—the wisest of them had hid all this time and were not inclined to be discovered just because there was more room for them to wander. Granted, the added difficulty wore out the apprentices and warriors quicker, giving them all something to spend their energy on. Though, as Fireheart thought with every meal, he’d love to spend that energy on finding a mole or bird.

Bluestar and Speckletail allowed cats to walk around outside after the wrestling between apprentices got too loud and frequent, with the caveat that apprentices were to stay with a warrior at all times. To Fireheart’s disappointment, the kits were not included, and the two litters were stuck inside as the rest of the Clan got to explore the farmland.

“I’m sorry, little guy,” Fireheart said to Cloudkit as he prepared to go out with Greystripe. “I wish I could take you with me.”

Cloudkit, to his credit, did not pout about it as much as he could have. He just looked at the ground with a sigh.

Fireheart gave him a friendly nudge with a paw. “I’ll try to find something fun to bring back for you and your siblings. Is that alright?”

The fluffy kit perked up a little and nodded. “‘Kay. Make it really fun.”

Fireheart used the same paw to ruffle his nephew’s head-fur. “I’ll do my best.”

Bramblekit came up beside Cloudkit, glancing at Bluestar as she flinched walking by him. “What kinda fun will it be?” 

Fireheart ignored the look on Bluestar’s face and said, “It’s a surprise. Try to guess before I come back.” 

He turned and trotted away, catching up to Greystripe, and the pair strode off to the Barn’s right.

“I feel bad for the kits,” Greystripe said, shaking a snowflake off of his nose. “If I’m bored, I can only imagine how they’re doing.”

Fireheart opened his mouth and caught a snowflake of his own, taking a pause to marvel at the ice turning to water on his tongue before answering. “And even if they could go outside, there’s not much to do here. I mean, I know we kind of do the same thing every day at home, but…”

“We get to at least travel all over the place wherever we choose,” Greystripe replied. “And we do it a lot—hunting or marking borders or chasing off foxes—which means the nights we get to stay home and relax are so much sweeter, don’t you think?”

“You have a point.” Fireheart’s paw scraped at the very, very thin layer of snow on the ground. “I hope the humans leave soon.”

Greystripe grumbled, “They better. I don’t even know what they think they’re doing in there. The fire’s out.”

“I still think they’re looking for the dogs.”

“For this long? And they wouldn’t have caught them by now?”

“Well…” Fireheart started, before his eyes drifted over to a pair of cats ahead and to the left. “Ask him.”

“Get him to argue your point for you, sure,” Greystripe said with a friendly (restrained) nudge, and then called, “Hey, Ravenwing!”

Their friend looked up from watching Snowpaw pat and scoop at the snow and frozen earth. “Oh, hi. Where are you two going?”

“Just seeing if there’s anything out here that isn’t a mouse.” Greystripe led the way up to him. “Is this a new training tactic?”

Ravenwing gave Greystripe a dry look. “He’s exploring snow for the first time.”

Snowpaw seemed to just now notice the older toms. He straightened up and gestured with a twitch of his fur, something that Fireheart faintly remembered to mean “cold”, to which he nodded. He used a paw to point to Snowpaw and then to the white-dappled ground: that’s you. Snowpaw gleefully nodded back and scooped at the snow again, pulling it towards him in a molehill-lump.

“I’m glad that he’s enjoying himself,” Greystripe said, giving the little tom a fond look.

“Well!”

Eyes turned to Barley, round and smelling like strange meat, as he trotted over to them from the direction of the house. His patched fur, short though it was, flared out merrily.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen a cat like the snow,” he continued. “I sure hope he doesn’t get tired of it—he’s perfect for hunting in this weather.”

Ravenwing huffed a short chuff and turned to his apprentice again. “He’s going to need that coat, yeah. Hunting outside of the Barn is tough enough as it is.”

Barley blinked, then caught on and sighed sympathetically. “Ah, you’ve gotten the fever. Sick of mice, I take it?”

“A little,” Greystripe said. “Isn’t there anything else out here?”

“Well, sort of, but you don’t have to hunt it.” Barley turned around, gesturing with his tail for the warriors to follow.

Ravenwing nudged Snowpaw, getting his attention again, and was the first to go after Barley. Fireheart and Greystripe walked together, and Fireheart frowned as he sniffed the scent coming off of the loner.

What is that? he thought, narrowing his eyes. I could swear I’ve smelled it before…

He got his answer quickly, when Barley took a turn and trotted for a pair of dishes on the outside wall of the Barn. One dish had kibble in it, and the other had several slabs of pale meat. They were raw and fresh, and they smelled so familiar…

“Chicken!” Barley announced proudly. He took a step back, clearing the path to the food. “I only had one chunk myself. By all means, have at.”

Fireheart chanced a look at his friends, predicting their stunned and revolted faces.

“This is from your humans, isn’t it?” Greystripe said, grimacing. “There’s no way I’m eating that.”

Snowpaw tapped Ravenwing and signaled ‘prey’, tilting his head. Ravenwing shook his and said to Barely, “Er, we appreciate the offer, but… I think we’d all prefer natural-caught food.”

Barley, surprisingly, did not look remotely bothered. He rolled a broad shoulder. “Ah, well. I thought I’d offer. Didn’t want it to go to waste. Surely someone’s hungry enough to eat this, though.”

Fireheart thought for a moment. “Greystripe, help me bring some of this to the kits. They won’t mind it’s not mouse.”

“Seriously?” Greystripe squinted at his friend.

“Seriously,” Fireheart said breezily, and maneuvered past Barley to chomp down on a rather thick slab of meat, pulling it away from the bowl. He didn’t wait for Greystripe, just trotted off back in the direction of the doorway, not wanting to admit that the taste of the chicken was good enough to almost make him eat it himself. Going by the surprised noise Greystripe made, he had the same reaction.

Ravenwing and Snowpaw trailed behind as Fireheart entered the Barn, Greystripe now at his side. He called wordlessly and dropped the meat down at his paws, which Greystripe copied, and waved his tail in greeting as the kits waded through and around a pile of hay to investigate, Goldenflower behind them.

“Got a special treat for you, kits!” Fireheart said cheerfully. “Are you hungry?”

A few squeaks of eagerness, and Cloudkit led the charge as they crowded around the chicken and started biting into it without even sniffing it. Fireheart purred, watching their tails wag.

“What is this, honeymouse?” Goldenflower circled the kits and greeted Fireheart with a headbump. “It doesn’t smell like anything I know.”

“Barley’s humans threw out some extra meat for him,” Fireheart said, and just as she opened her mouth, he added, “I know, it’s from humans, but he’s not going to eat it all and it’d be silly to let food go to waste in winter.”

Goldenflower shut her mouth again with a sigh through her nose, though her eyes were affectionate. “Very well, then.”

“’Wh’zi?” Cloudkit asked, chomping on a chunk.

“It’s called ‘chicken’,” Fireheart replied. “It’s a meat only kittypets eat, because it’s given to them.”

Cloudkit’s rich blue eyes widened, surprised and intrigued. He swallowed his mouthful. “You mean they don’t hunt for food?”

“Right. They just eat what they get.” Fireheart caught the start of a grimace on Goldenflower’s face and hurriedly added, “But their food isn’t very good anyway. It’s way better to hunt.”

Cloudkit hummed thoughtfully as he took another bite.

“Well, at least they have something to distract them,” Brindleface said sleepily, yawning as she came around the corner to join the kits and matriarch. “Don’t tell Dustpelt you got them this, he’ll be furious.”

“About what?” Swiftpaw asked as he popped up around the outside of the door, trotting in with Lizardtail and nearly bumping into Ravenwing just ahead of them. When Fireheart gestured to the kits, he had a briefly confused look at what they were eating before saying, “Oh, yeah, don’t tell him about that. Barley offered me some of that stuff earlier, actually.”

“He didn’t take it,” Lizardtail said, in a tone like that was something to be proud of.

Fireheart decided not to comment on that, instead asking, “Did you go out to hunt too?”

Swiftpaw grumbled a sigh. “And there wasn’t anything out there.”

Lizardtail looked at his apprentice humorously, saying to Fireheart, “He’s trying to prove he’s ready for his assessment.” He tapped Swiftpaw with his tail. “Apparently, catching a lot of prey is the qualifier.”

“Something’s gotta be!” Swiftpaw gave his mentor a frustrated scowl. “You even said yourself that it’s about time for me to get my name! I know we’re not at home, but for crying out loud…!”

“Easy, easy.” Lizardtail gave a ‘quiet’ gesture with his paw. “Your sister doesn’t have a name either.”

“And it’s time for her, too!”

“Well, sometimes seer apprentices take longer.”

Swiftpaw grumbled again. Fireheart watched as his paws tip-tapped and his claws poked at the hard ground. Even with the appearance of mere eagerness to get his name, his jaw was clicking a bit and his tail-fur stuck out.

You just want a distraction while you’re not at home, Fireheart thought sympathetically.

“We’re all a little frustrated and bored,” he said aloud. “I get it. I’d love to see Swiftpaw get his name here, honestly. Think of that: he’d be the only cat in ThunderClan to have his ceremony where humans could see.”

Lizardtail’s lip twitched in distaste. “They better not peep in. We’ve been lucky that they haven’t bothered us.”

“Oh, they looked in here,” Goldenflower said, and though her voice was gentle as ever, her claws sank into the straws. “Earlier, when you all were gone.”

“They didn’t come in, at least,” Brindleface said. “Just looked and then left.”

Greystripe finally spoke up with a snort. “Hey, Swiftpaw, maybe your assessment can be chasing the humans away.”

“I could totally do that.” Swiftpaw chuffed even with the overly confident tone. “They’d see skinny old me and pelt it for their house.”

“You’re not that skinny anymore,” Lizardtail said, gently pushing at Swiftpaw’s side. “Ravenwing is way thinner than you. And you’re not fighting any humans.”

“I could fight Terror right now,” Swiftpaw said, nudging Lizardtail back. “A human’s nothing for an assessment.”

“What’s Terror?” Ashkit asked, lifting his head from what remained of the chicken.

“Oh—” Swiftpaw looked down at him, calming down immediately. “It’s a spirit. Uh, a scary one. It shows up as the most frightening thing you can imagine. Kind of a test, I think.”

“Ohhhh,” Ashkit said, blinking blankly. He tilted his head. “Why’s it test you?”

“A ‘test’ is a way to put it, I guess,” Ravenwing said, adding to Ashkit, “In stories, a lot of cats have to face it down and overcome their fear to continue on their quest. It could be a monster, or a Titan, or a human, or an owl. Whatever scares you the most, it sees, and it turns itself into.”

Aspenkit mumbled something nervously, but Ashkit puffed out his chest. “Well, I’m not afraid of nothing. I can fight it!”

Brindleface nosed his ear. “You don’t fight Terror, baby. You just have to be very brave and stand your ground.”

Tawnykit squinted. “That doesn’t sound very hard.”

“It’s harder when it’s the thing that scares you the most,” Ravenwing said, and gave a dark imitation of Yellowfang’s smirk, muttering seemingly to himself, “I’d love to see my Terror. Big stupid ball of judgement.”

Greystripe bumped his head on Ravenwing’s shoulder. “You’re lucky the thing doesn’t exist, then.”

“It totally exists!” Swiftpaw exclaimed, looking shocked. “Why else would we have stories about it?”

“RiverClan’s got poems about talking squirrels,” Greystripe scoffed. “You don’t say those are real.”

“RiverClan’s dumb,” Swiftpaw said, missing Fireheart’s instant frown. “But everyone talks about Terror. WindClan, ShadowClan, everyone. It’s real.”

“I see it every day,” Ravenwing murmured to Fireheart.

Fireheart turned his head away from watching Greystripe and Swiftpaw argue to whisper back, “I don’t think you see it as much as you used to.”

Ravenwing opened his mouth like he was about to make another sardonic remark, then closed his mouth and turned his eyes to Snowpaw, who was sniffing at the remains of the chicken.

“No,” he said quietly. “I don’t. You’re right.”

Warmth—pride, really—bloomed in Fireheart’s chest and he mimicked Greystripe’s headbump to Ravenwing’s other shoulder. “You’re like a whole new cat these days, you know that? It’s amazing.”

Ravenwing made a very soft and calm version of a splutter. “I don’t know…”

“Would you, as an apprentice, have been able to even try and talk to Snowpaw, much less teach him anything?” Fireheart said. “Or tell a story to everyone in the Clan? Or…”

Or expose murders in a trial?

Fireheart swallowed that thought. “Or anything, really? You were too afraid to even talk to Greystripe when I met you.”

He gauged Ravenwing’s eyes, which had turned contemplative. His face was completely serene—something Fireheart didn’t think he’d ever see in his life.

“I just mean to say I’m proud of you,” he added. “We all are, but me and Greystripe especially.”

Ravenwing twitched his whiskers, his eyes still on his apprentice, tussling with Cloudkit.

“Thanks,” he said, and purred under his breath.

[tinydark]

State of the Studio - Summer 2024

Eight months since the last update, and things have not gone as planned: in a very good way. Current roadmap is here. It was last updated today, September 4th.

Raigen I've mentioned Raigen before. He'd done some work to improve the Hub and tinydark.com in 2023. This year, he was brought on in a part-time capacity to help with the studio while still under my mentorship. The result has been life-changing for me. I never thought I'd see anyone else contributing code directly to GAM3 (our game engine), but here we are six months after he got access and he's taken so much off the list, including things I wanted but didn't have time for, such as accessibility. Mini-profiles, the Character Codex, encumbrance, level-based icons, and improvements to our sound implementation are among his biggest contributions.

The work process goes as follows: I write a spec, he submits the code, then I review it and clean it up if necessary. This has meant that I personally don't get as much time to code as I normally would, but we're still knocking things out at a pace I could only have hoped for.

Black Crown: Exhumed Spent time in February getting it actually working: the game is playable. It still gets tripped up at times, however, and that's my immediate priority. I have confidence that Black Crown will launch mid-late October 2024. It will be only a web release, not app store. This will be my first launched game since 2018's Bean Grower.

Licensing Someone wants to use GAM3 to build a cantrlike (which I'll officially be defining soon). After determining project requirements, I realized how close the engine is to being useful for other non-Tinydark developers. I told them $50/mo and to expect something workable in December. Check out the Palin discord server here to get a glimpse of what they'll be building.

I want to make cool, memorable, enriching games, but I also want to enable other people to do so. It has always been my intention to do Tinydark full-time and I hadn't seriously entertained hosting some installations for profit until this person came to me asking about GAM3. If anyone's interested in building something with the engine, find me on Discord or send me an old-fashioned email at vael@tinydark.com

Following Black Crown's release, we'll be spending the rest of the year improving the engine in various ways that are supportive of multiple games, as well as standalone (non-Hub/Tinydark) games.

URPG We've seen some big features so far this year: notably Area Stats, which allowed me to make a farming mechanic where players improve the farmland, and the Codex, which brought memories with it. I recently also made some UI improvements, though more quality passes are needed to reach my goal of "feeling like a Steam game."

Regarding a release date: URPG, still the Untitled Roleplaying Game awaiting its perfect title, released into alpha on December 26th, 2020. We're nearly 4 years into what I dubbed an alpha playtest. I know it's taken very long, but great things take a while. If I were only remaking Marosia with modern technology, I would have been done two years ago. The more time I put into URPG, the more imperative it becomes that it is a financial success, and the more likely that will be true. Still there's the plain fact that games such as these need to sit for a while to build a playerbase.

I wish I could say release was coming next year. It's entirely possible that we will see beta in Q4 2025. More likely is 2026, but take a look at the roadmap to see what all that time is for. There's also the reality of releasing and supporting a multiplayer game; marketing; stress-testing. I will also begin to quietly market the engine and I don't know what that could mean for my time commitments.

URPG-specific work will slow until next January, but allow me to build some hype. 2025 is the year we get NPCs. The year you will be able to hunt an animal, use Death Magic to resurrect it, then inhabit it, and roleplay as you would any other character on your account. It's the year of real-time travel in a true open world, not the facade we have now. The year of custom battle skills that you design yourself, FF7-materia-style. All of that is definitely coming.

Back to work. Vael Victus

[naralanis]

little bumps in the road (pt. 6)

Previously...

they don't talk for quite a while after crossing the river into tennessee. lena needs some time to process this new information, and kara seems to sense this need. the blonde goes back to staring solely at the road ahead, occasionally tapping little rhythms on the steering wheel and humming little songs under her breath -- though she'll often stop herself, as if she thinks that lena needs complete and utter silence to sort her feelings out.

lena doesn't. she can appreciate the humming, even -- kara has a lovely voice and carries a tune well, and the distraction is a welcome one from the complete mess she's trying to unravel in her mind. it creates a soothing pace to the crops and occasional cows speeding last lena's window, almost lulls her to sleep despite her tangled lines of thought.

it's late afternoon and the sun is going low, low, low in the sky when kara finally says something.

"there's a motel a few miles ahead. we'll stop there for the night," she says, but then she quirks her head towards lena briefly, eyes hopeful. "if that's ok with you, i mean."

lena stops staring through the passenger window for a moment -- she's been looking at miles and miles of crops and farmland as far as the eye can see, and her eyes are beginning to glaze over.

"of course."

she studies kara’s expression, wondering why she’s suddenly giving her any sort of say at all on where they’re going. kara just looks ahead, maybe a little sheepishly. 

“ok, then.” 

the motel is… well, it’s a motel; it’s not any nicer than any of the other ones they’ve stayed at recently, but it’s also not any worse, either. they check into a single room -- kara rarely has lena out of her sight, minimizes those occasions as much as she possibly can -- but on the way there, the blonde spots a payphone, right by the corner of the building, and shoots lena a look. 

“do you mind if i…?” she doesn’t finish her sentence, but she doesn’t need to; she simply cocks her head towards the payphone expectantly. 

“go ahead,” lena says, trying to give her a heartfelt smile for… encouragement, maybe? she doesn’t know if she succeeds, but kara smiles back earnestly and turns on her heel to walk briskly to the phone, hand already reaching into the pocket of her jeans for another roll of coins. 

the keycard takes a few tries to unlock the door, but eventually the lock clicks and lena practically stumbles in, dropping her worn duffel on the floor, right there by the entrance, onto a rug with some questionable stains. she feels exhausted, mentally and physically drained to a degree she can’t recall ever experiencing before. 

it’s been hard, lately, to get her thoughts in order, but lena suspects that’s nothing to be too surprised about. she’s used to compartmentalizing--it’s one of her talents-- but right now the knowledge that alex danvers is the one hunting her fills her with dread. even if alex knows her sister is alive (she was the one to revive kara after all, according to kara herself), she still doesn’t know that kara is essentially harboring a fugitive. she still thinks lena is running out of her own volition. 

she still thinks lena meant to kill kara. 

that thought doesn’t mix well with the multitude of other worries swimming in her head, at the moment, doesn’t sit well in her chest and makes her stomach curl uncomfortably into knots. 

lena’s not so out of it that she misses kara’s fumbling with the lock, but she does almost miss the look of defeat in the blue gaze once kara finally gets the keycard to cooperate. 

kara sinks into one of the chairs by the little table in the corner, sighing audibly as her whole body seems to deflate. 

“no luck?” lena tries, and kara shakes her head in the negative. 

“nope,” she murmurs, popping the ‘p’ as she digs little shapes onto the cheap wood of the table with her nails. “nothing yet.” 

lena nods--she’s not sure what to say, here. she’s a little conflicted on how she should feel about kara finally getting in touch with alex--part of her wants answers, but a much bigger part of her is terrified of an agent danvers on the warpath. she knows alex would move heaven and earth for kara, no question about it, but with lena in the picture?

she’s not so certain what the reaction would be. she’s not sure she wants to find out. 

“are you hungry?” kara asks, breaking her grimmer trains of thought. “i grabbed a flyer for a pizza place nearby--looks like they do delivery. personally, i think we could use a break from the cup noodles.”

lena smiles a little. “i haven’t had so much instant ramen since college, i think.” 

kara laughs, and it sounds so...so free, unreserved, so alien to their current predicament, it’ almost easy for lena to join in, too. it’s not even a funny comment, not a particularly snarky observation, but for some reason they’re both having a small giggle fit and it feels good, cathartic even, to be sharing a laugh with kara again. 

“well,” kara quips, yanking the crumpled flyer out of her pocket and smoothing it over the tabletop, “i don’t think tey have that fancy kale monstrosity you liked to order at gino’s, but at least it’ll be better than instant ramen, right?” 

“right,” lena chuckles. “just… get me something with at least a vegetable in it, for the love of god.”

kara makes a face, but she’s still smiling as she reaches for the phone. “as you wish, as you wish,”  she says dramatically, muttering there’s no accounting for taste, really and tutting under her breath while she dials. 

lena smiles--wide and real, she can even feel her eyes crinkling at the corners--as she listens to kara rattle off their order (three large pepper--you know what, better make that four--four large pepperoni pies, wait, no, extra large, and then…) and, unbidden, her mind seems to get stuck on a different time, an entirely different reality, when she and kara would just… order pizza (though kara limited her order to two large pizzas back then), watch movies, and just talk about everything and nothing until the sun came up. 

lena misses that peace. 

kara seems to be in the same wavelength; she has a wistful look on her face once she hangs up, as if she’s reading lena’s mind, experiencing the same brand of nostalgia in the same moment. 

lena has to break it; it’s too painful to wallow in it. “kara? can I ask you a question?” 

“Hm?” kara hums distractedly, craning her neck to look at lena’s direction with a little smile. “just one?” 

“wel. no, not just one,” lena admits, trying to organize her thought again. there’s just so much she wants to ask, so much she needs to know, and she’s not sure where to start.

kara just waits, her gaze unwavering. 

“back in national city,” lena starts, picking a lane and sticking with it, so to speak. “ when you… when you died… when alex brought you back… who exactly brought me to you? it couldn’t have been alex, if she doesn’t know i’m with you.” 

kara looks pensive for a moment, steepling her fingers over her thigh. “what do you remember?” 

lena has struggled with precisely that for the past couple of weeks. the truth is, the time between watching supergirl drop like a rock from the skies and being shoved into the jeep with a kara that was very much alive is a complete blank.

“pretty much nothing after you fell,” lena answers honestly, and she looks to kara for an explanation for this significant gap in her memory, but finds nothing. “but then… someone took me from somewhere and suddenly… and there you were. who was that?” 

for some unfathomable reason, kara looks amused. “oh,”  she chuckles like she can’t help it. “that was nia.”

lena can feel her own eyes bugging out. “nia?? are you telling me nia nal put a bag over my head and basically kidnapped me?” 

kara snorts. “that’s exactly what i’m telling you.”  she turns serious, suddenly, and her lips tighten into a line for a moment. “alex prepared the jeep and a few supplies, but nia had a dream--a vision that she wouldn’t explain. she just told me to take you with me, and I wasn’t about to argue.” 

lena can’t lie to herself, she’s a little hurt, but definitely not surprised, that bringing her along had not been kara’s intention. she chooses not to dwell on it -- there’s already far too much to dwell on. “oh,”  she says instead, looking for words. “what happened between the time you were… recovering and the time we ran off? was i not…” lena stops, struggling to remember but drawing nothing more than a blank. “was i not arrested or something?” 

it occurs to lena that she has no idea how much time it took kara to recover, or what happened to her while alex nursed her sister back to life. she can’t explain how kara survived; she can’t explain what happened between her fall and their escape, she can’t explain how lex hasn’t found them yet. 

kara can only shrug her shoulders. “i don’t know. alex sent me to the jeep’s location the minute i was well enough to not need the sunlamps; when i got there, nia was already there with you. didn’t exactly have the time to argue--lex would definitely find out i was alive if i stayed in national city.” 

“ain’t that the truth,” lena quips bleakly. a thought occurs to her. “frankly, i’m surprised he doesn’t know. he owns the DEO in this reality.”

“thank rao for small miracles,” kara mutters. “we sure need them, the way things are going.”

another thought occurs to lena--she thinks back to the past few days, but more specifically, to mere minutes ago, when kara was gouging faint little marks on the wood of the table with her nails--something so trivial, something she used to do herself as a child, bored and anxious at boarding school-- and she realizes with sudden clarity that there’s a lot that she can’t explain--but one thing seems to stick out, glaringly.

“kara,” she says, trying to add up the days in her head and not liking what she comes up with at all. “it’s been at least two weeks, right?” 

kara nods, looking grim as if she knows exactly what lena is about to ask. “give or take, yeah.” 

lena’s question comes out as a statement, and at the exact same time someone knocks on their door, startling them both. 

“and you still don’t have your powers.”

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

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[hermannsthumb]

for the autumn fic meme.. newmann #20 like newt chasing leaves and hermann outwardly is psh, childish and internally heart eyes and is crunching the leaves around his feet with his cane when newts not looking (this became really long lol feel free to just post it not as a request)

20. Crunching Leaves

from autumn fic prompts here

this is such a cute idea

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

"It's weird having a break from things, isn't it?" Newton says.

Hermann hums noncommittally. He prods the small fire in their chiminea with the end of a rusted poker (dug up from a garden shed that's seen better days), and moves his leg back just in time to avoid spraying his trouser hem with sparks. Newton tugs the sleeves of his sweatshirt down over his knuckles and gives him a small smile. "Even a small break," he amends. "It's like a mini vacation."

Hermann is not sure—if given the opportunity to do so—he would've picked the northwestern United States as his ideal vacation spot, nor would he spend three out of their four days there networking and lecturing at an international Kaiju Science conference, but he supposes he understands Newton's point. The location of their rental cabin is remote and wooded, which has made for rather calm, picturesque evenings by the living room fireplace, and everything (even their sparse accumulation of groceries) is on the PPDC's budget, which means it's hardly the hit to the wallet it would have otherwise been. Ideally, he would not have to handle Newton on a vacation, either, but Hermann supposes nothing can be perfect. He watches silently as Newton pours himself another cup of coffee from the rental kitchen's French press. "Mm," Hermann says.

Their flight back to Hong Kong leaves tomorrow afternoon. Over their shared dinner of instant mashed potatoes and fish sticks from a box, Newton had suddenly become deeply incensed that they had not taken full advantage of the rental cabin, and dragged Hermann outside onto the small back patio to do some proper autumn things—to Newton, that meant finding two wooden deck chairs languishing under moss and ivy at the very back corner of the property, lighting a campfire in the dusty chiminea with an ancient book of matches discovered under the sink, and attempting to roast marshmallows with a broken tree branch. He gave up on the marshmallows after he kept burning his beyond recognition, too impatient to hold them anywhere but directly in the flames. Hermann had not bothered in the first place. He's always been somewhat repulsed by their texture. "Have you ever been camping?" Newton says.

Hermann shivers at the thought of willingly spending time inside a tent. Even sitting outside beneath trees right now (where twigs bounce from above onto his clothing, bugs keep landing on him, and all sorts of things to set off his hay fever) is pushing the limits of his patience. "Absolutely not."

"I used to go camping every October when I was a kid," Newton says. "I loved it. This place kinda reminds me of the campground we'd go to. So many—" He waves his hand around, and adds, lamely, "Trees."

Hermann privately thinks that all forests tend to look the same, but he doesn't tell Newton that; it's not as if they can take a stroll through the woods whenever they'd like back in Hong Kong, where they spend about ninety percent of their waking moments toiling away in the dark and the damp of the basement laboratory, and he's not keen to put a damper on Newton's good spirits. He knows Newton has spent more than a few days off of work hunting down the nearest hiking spots, always returning (often the following morning) with his pockets full of leaves and interesting rocks he looks up online. Hermann has always, quite frankly, found it endearing. Not that he would ever confess such a thing to Newton.

He pokes the fire again. This time, sparks shoot out at Newton's boots. Newton doesn't bother moving out of the way. "I never spent much time outside as a child," Hermann says. "Too busy with school, I suppose." When he was not doing schoolwork for his classes, he was practicing whatever his mother and father decided school was not sufficiently instructing him in (for the Gottlieb children were expected to be exceedingly accomplished and well-rounded in their skills)—advanced mathematics, languages beyond their native German, even piano, for a spell, before Hermann finally confessed he loathed the instrument, though he still retains enough of it he reckons he could play some Chopin should you sit him down in front of one. He used to have a treehouse—a hand-me-down from his elder brother, as most of Hermann's things were—he would keep his telescope in, and he would fall asleep there some nights, one eye still pressed to the eyepiece. That was when he still had the full capabilities of his left leg that were required to shimmy up and down a ladder, of course.

"Didn't you live on a farm?" Newton says.

It was not actually a farm, as Hermann frequently reminds Newton, merely a former farmhouse on what was, at one point, likely farmland, but that must've been at least a hundred years before the Gottliebs moved in. The house was certainly old enough. Newton never fails to roar with laughter over it anyway, and Hermann knows it's because he's picturing Hermann's in dungarees and milking a cow or some such nonsense. Hermann can see Newton's mouth twitching into a broad grin even now. "Hardly," Hermann says. "I really do mean I was too busy to have the time to do much else. My mother and father preferred it that way."

"'Much else'?" Newton echoes.

"Childish sorts of things," Hermann says. A dead leaf drifts from a tree overhead and lands near him on the patio. Hermann stabs it with the poker, debates condemning it to the fire, and then flicks it off to the side inside. He drops the poker back on the ground. "Er. Playing. Indoors, or outdoors."

This sobers Newton up. "You mean, like, being a normal kid?"

"I suppose," Hermann says.

"Jeez, dude," Newton says. "That's...kinda depressing."

Hermann shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee. He doesn't think much about it these days. He doesn't think much about his childhood in general, really, and certainly doesn't waste time moping over it—there are much more important things that require his attention. "Is it?" His coffee's gone cold. They've been out here for quite a long time; the sun has almost set on the horizon, and the chill of the October evening is settling upon them fast. Hermann suddenly wishes he'd thought to pack a thicker sweater. Or, oddly enough, a book. It feels like the appropriate setting to read something, perhaps even aloud to Newton (not that they would ever agree on what to read). Perhaps he and Newton might draw their chairs together, and toss a heavy blanket over themselves, and Newton would put his head on Hermann's shoulder and poke fun at Hermann's taste in literature, but listen intently anyway...

The fire pops. Hermann coughs and shoos his traitorous thoughts away. Another leaf drifts down, this one landing in Newton's hair, and Newton's smile returns as he extracts it. He clenches his fist around it with a satisfying crunch. "I love fall," he says. He raises his boot above another leaf and slams it down with an even louder crunch. His smile widens into a grin. "Hey, do you remember if there was a rake in the shed? I kinda want to make a leaf pile."

"It's nearly dark, Newton," Hermann points out.

"And?" Newton hops to his feet. "I'll be right back," he says, and, his scarf flapping behind him like a cape, tears off back in the direction of the shed, taking care to trod on each and every dry leaf in his path.

He returns a minute later empty-handed. "No rake," he says.

He jumps on another leaf. Then another.

"Don't be such a child," Hermann sighs, though his heart twists in his chest at the sight of Newton so unabashedly happy. He often envies Newton for how carefree he can be sometimes, though he has a sinking feeling what he's feeling now is nothing remotely like envy. Newton really is a thorn in his side.

Newton, rather appropriately, sticks his tongue out at him, and then jumps on another leaf. The force of it jostles his glasses so far down his nose they threaten to fall to the ground themselves. "I'm having fun, man. This is the first time I haven't been stressed out of my fuckin' mind in months." He pushes his glasses back up. "I wish we had another day here."

Oddly enough, Hermann finds himself agreeing with Newton. But he'd prefer an additional day without Newton, of course—Hermann would love to have a day all to himself here, where he could sleep in late, take advantage of the bathtub (which he's been too shy to so far, given that their cabin has only one restroom and he shares it with Newton), and devote as little time as he pleased to all things kaiju-related. Well, maybe he'd let Newton stop in for dinner. Or for a passionate debate or two. Or to share a blanket and a book, if only in Hermann's wildest fantasies. It does sound a bit like a bore without him.

While Newton's back is turned, Hermann uses his cane to crunch a few dry leaves littering the ground by his feet. The sound really is quite satisfying. "Can we go inside now?" he says. When Newton turns to him, his hair sticking up at odd angles, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes bright behind his glasses, Hermann must affect a frown to keep himself from smiling. "I'm—er—I'm getting a bit cold."

[luffles424]

Lucidity (9)

☼ Pairing: BTS x reader (this chap is Namjoon x reader)

☼ Genre: vampire!BTS, succubus!reader, smut, fluff, angst

☼ Count: 6.3K

☼ Warnings: 18+, teasing, biting, minorish blood play (it’s a vampire fic so like, there’s some feeding), some dom/sub themes, unprotected, light choking, creampie, referenced kidnapping, captivity, implied attacks, minor character death (nothing in detail)

☼ Summary: You’ve spent years jumping from country to country, starting countless new lives. Crafting new lives is as easy as breathing for you, lies flowing easily and people are charmed with a simple bat of your eyes. When you meet a witch who offers the idea of opening a supernatural club, using your powers combined with hers to ensure safety to those who enter, you decide to join her in an adventure that is entirely new to you. But your new life in Seoul is drastically changed when you’re forced to face something you’ve spent centuries hiding from. But just because you might be running for your life again doesn’t mean you can’t have some fun along the way, right?

☼ a/n: Surprise~~ The truth is finally here! Hope you enjoy and that it was worth the wait! While the truth is out, there’s still a long way for everyone to go! And be sure to heed the warnings! This chapter is pretty heavy. My ask box is always open ~ 💙💙💙💙

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

You groan, stretching out on the silky bedding. The room is warm, summer light casting rays across the room where someone left the window cracked to keep you cool. You pause and listen for a moment, but there’s no sound of movement around the house signifying anyone else is home. Namjoon and Jaeho must have gone to the village for a while. 

You kick your leg out from beneath the sheet that covers you, hoping to cool yourself just slightly from the heat that settles over you. You sort of wish one of them was home right now, just for some company. You all had been working so much lately that you hadn’t seen much of them other than occasional meals. You can’t even remember the last time the three of you fell into bed together at night and woke up together. You’ve all been so busy lately. 

Sighing, you stretch out again and breath in deep to catch their scents. At least you have a small piece of them. You don’t think you’ll ever be able to repay Jaeho for all that he’s done for you. You’ll spend the rest of your life repaying him for the chance he took on you. You had been forcibly turned and abandoned with no knowledge of what you suddenly were. Your memories of the specific encounter have always been hazy. You just remember coming to and having the sudden, insatiable craving for sex. 

Jaeho took you in months after you were turned, when you were aimlessly roaming and feeding. There had been no rhyme or reason to what you did, you simply functioned off instinct, moving around through a confused, lustful haze. You don’t even know if you had killed anyone. At the time, you simply didn’t care. The changes had muddled your mind so much that you lost yourself for a while. Jaeho had found you in an alley about to drain someone completely. 

He taught you control, and in all honestly probably kept you from getting yourself killed too. You weren’t exactly subtle in your feeding, you at least knew that much. Sometimes, when you traveled with him later, you’d hear rumors from years ago. Of a woman or attacks or strange instances that sound eerily like you and your actions. It really would’ve only been a matter of time before someone caught wind, connected them, and hunted you down. He had done the same for Namjoon, you found out later. He’d been turned, either on accident or maliciously, and abandoned. Namjoon had held out for weeks, hunger slowly growing as he struggled against his new instincts to hurt those around him. Jaeho found him on the edge of going feral and helped him.

When they’d found you, they brought you back to the modest place the two had been staying at and you all had talked. He explained what they were, how he’d been around for a few centuries, the few years Namjoon had now been with him. He extended the same offer to you, to stay and learn control with others who knew the struggle of a never ending thirst. He knew some about your kind, enough to teach you about yourself and how to handle your new powers. It had been the first time you’d heard what you were, succubus. 

You would’ve assumed that once your powers were well and truly under control that the three of you would go your separate ways. Or at least that Jaeho would send you on your way, confident that you wouldn’t leave a trail of bodies behind you anymore. That maybe Jaeho only saw you as someone to help out before letting you go to feel better about himself. But a couple decades later and you’re still all together, closer than ever. The relationship developed slowly over the years. All three of you danced a little awkwardly around each other. Products of a time where monogamy was most well known and the concept of three people together and happy seemed so foreign to you all. 

One balmy night in Paris, when you’d come back from work, you found the two of them sprawled in just their underwear. All the windows were thrown open and a gentle breeze ruffled the curtains, casting shifting patterns of moonlight across their skin. And it struck you like a bolt of lightning in that moment, heart warmed by the sight that welcomed home. The sight that you were always so excited to come home to. A sight that you realized that you wanted to come home to forever.

“I love you.”

You had blurted it out. You don’t know if you had startled yourself more with the sudden admission or them. They both stared at you with wide eyes before exchanging a quick glance. Jaeho had tentatively, and nervously, something you had never seen from him before, asked who you were talking to. You would have thought it would’ve been hard to answer. Which one did you mean. But it was the easiest thing in the world to say as you looked from Jaeho to Namjoon and said ‘both.’

Their faces had remained nerve-wrackingly blank for long moments. Before Jaeho broke out into a wide relieved smile. 

“Oh thank god. I thought I would have to be the one to bring it up first.”

Namjoon’s shock and confusion lasted a little longer. First directed at you then towards Jaeho’s admission. Even without Namjoon’s answer, you felt giddy and excited. Both of you turned expectantly towards Namjoon, who seemed to flounder under the sudden attention. 

Jaeho was quick to intercede. “It’s okay if you need time or don’t feel the same, Joonie.”

Namjoon blinked a few times before quickly shaking his head. “No, I- I’m just surprised. I promise. This is… amazing.”

His soft confession was enough to finally propel you forward, tugging him up and into a feverish kiss. One that Jaeho interrupted to steal a searing kiss of his own before planting the same on Namjoon. After, the three of you had fallen into bed together and haven’t separated since, with exception of occasional trips. But those never last long for any of you. You always end up missing the others too much to stay away for long. And for all the fun there is in the world, there’s nothing better than being in their arms. 

Maybe you should suggest a small vacation soon, you’re fairly certain there’s some anniversary coming up. And your small little plot of farmland will survive a few days without the three of you around. Long enough for a quick trip somewhere. You wish you could go back to Paris. But that would take too long to travel. It’d have to be somewhere a little closer. 

The rustling of grass filters in through the window, signaling someone’s approach. You think about getting up to greet them, but decide that you’d rather try to get them to join you in bed. You’ve missed them too much to let the opportunity to get to be close with them for a little while go. The door is opened and closed and you can hear them shuffling around beyond the partition. The movements are too soft to pick out who it is, but after a moment, Namjoon’s warm scent spreads through the house.

“Joonie…” you croon. 

There’s a pause and then a chuckle and the footsteps come closer. “Is there a particular reason you are still in bed and naked, love?”

You reach a hand out towards him. “In the hope that one of my beautiful men will decide to join me again. I miss you both.”

A smile tugs at his lips, cheeks dimpling. He tugs his hair free of it’s tie, silky strands falling to his shoulders as he gives them a quick ruffle. You know you’ve already won with that action, even if he’ll pretend to think about it. He’s not going to leave until you’re happy and satisfied. “Is that so?” 

The ties of his belt are undone and he lets his top fall open. Your eyes trace over the newly revealed skin, tongue darting out to lick your lips. His skin is more tan than you last remember, leaving him practically glowing golden in the sunlight.

“Have you been working outside without a shirt lately?” you murmur. 

He hums, shrugging the shirt from his shoulders and letting it pool on the ground at his feet. “There is a lot of work to do around here.”

“Are you saying I don’t do any work around here?”

He chuckles. “I think you do the most work, love.”

He hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his pants, tugging them down his legs and leaving him bare before you. You hungrily drink him in. Now that he’s able to stay out in the sunlight longer, his skin is finally starting to return to the golden of when you met, losing some of the paleness that came from his new sensitivity to sunlight. The years spent tending the fields around your little home has left him built, so much so that you're positive that even without the vampire strength that he’d be able to lift you easily. The idea makes you squirm.

Beckoning him once more, you slide the thin sheet from your body, shameless in your nudity before him. His gaze flickers across the expanse of your form before taking a step closer and stretching out beside you. Propping his head up on a hand, he uses his free hand to trace idle patterns along the soft skin of your stomach. His cool touch leaves goosebumps in their wake. 

“Well, love, now that you have me back in bed, what are your grand plans?”

Shifting onto your side, you press yourself closer until you’re pressed against him, finger tips ghosting up his arm. “I’m certain we can think of something to occupy ourselves with, Joonie.”

He chuckles, the sound deep and warm enough that you want to do nothing more than bask in it forever. His hand cups your cheek gently and you lean into the touch a moment before turning your head just enough to press a kiss to his palm. “You’re insatiable,” he murmurs, trying to sound like he’s reprimanding but his tone oozes nothing but fondness. 

Humming, you thread your fingers through his hair. “You don’t seem to particularly mind, though.”

“Brat,” he murmurs, before pressing his lips to yours. 

You smirk into the kiss though it’s short lived as Namjoon’s hand slides off your cheek to grip the back of your neck possessively, guiding you into a deeper kiss. Moaning when he nips your lip before slipping his tongue into your mouth, you feel your pussy clench at the sting and let your hands drift from his chest down to his half hard cock where it presses to your thigh. You wrap your hand around the already hefty girth even when he’s only half hard and you get a grunt in response. Giving him a few slow pumps, you revel in the feeling of him firming up in your grip, the physical proof of the effect you have on him. Decades later and you still love the feel of them hardening with just a few strokes. 

You could do that with anyone, but there’s something special about Namjoon and Jaeho. The bond you all share makes moments like these so much more than just sex or feeding. There’s a delight in the fact that time has left them just as in love with you as you still are with them. Love so deeply rooted that you don’t think it could ever be removed. 

Namjoon’s lips reverently trail along your jaw. “You’re in your head. All that work to get me here and you’re just going to imagine something else?” His tone is lighthearted and teasing as he ends his question with a nip to your neck. 

“There exists nothing I’d rather imagine than to be here with you. And oh,” you grin, looking pointedly to where you’re pressed together, “will you look at that. I’m right here with you.”

“I know someone who would perhaps have an objection to that.”

Leaning in, you steal a quick kiss. “It’s what he gets for leaving the bed.”

Namjoon chases your lips when you go to pull away. “Someone should do some real work around here.” 

He continues pressing forward once your lips reconnect, forcing you onto your back and he shifts to pin you to the bed with his hips, hard cock pressing delightfully against you. Grinding your hips up into his, you let your legs wrap around his waist to keep him close. His cock slides through your wet folds, creating the perfect rub of friction to your clit that makes your toes curl. 

“Joonie…” you whine as his lips trail down to your neck. 

“I don’t know if you’ve earned anything yet, love,” he coos, fangs grazing across your skin, a shock of adrenaline racing through you at the teasing promise of being bitten.

They’ve fed from you countless times, but time does nothing to lessen the excitement that comes from the promise of the pleasure that will course through your veins as they feed from you. The first time either of them had fed from you, Jaeho had you sat on Namjoon’s cock. And you had cum almost the second Jaeho’s fangs pierced the skin of your neck. The euphoria that flooded your body had been almost overwhelming and when you had come back to yourself, Namjoon had been squirming beneath you, whining to Jaeho about how tightly your pussy can clamped around him while Jaeho had fed. Jaeho had merely laughed before lifting you easily and helping you ride Namjoon until he came as well. Not that it took long after the way your pussy had been convulsing around him. Now you’ve grown a little addicted to the feeling of being fed from by them, especially when all three of you are together. 

Thrusting lazily against you, Namjoon pulls you back to the present, giving you only just enough pressure to your clit to leave you aching for more, squirming as much as you can with your hips pinned down by his. His teeth nip at your skin, the sting sending a jolt through your body, dragging a whine from your throat. 

“Please…”

Namjoon makes a thoughtful noise, though he seems far more preoccupied with your neck to truly be thinking about your pleas. You wonder when he last fed. It’s been a while since he’s fed from you, so you know that he must have gone out to feed from a human. But with the way all your schedules have been lately, you don’t know exactly when that was. The way he’s interested in your neck though says that it’s maybe been a while since he’s fed. Or, you think with a small thrill, maybe he has just missed feeding from you.  

You know you could easily overpower him. While in normal circumstances his strength far outweighs yours, this is your domain. And the lust slowly clouding the room means that it would be nothing to flip you both and simply take what you want. Something that he most certainly knows after being with you for so long. 

But there’s something to the surrender, the implicit trust you put in him. In each other. Namjoon lifts his head and his eyes shine with happiness. Ducking down, he presses a soft kiss to your lips. Then he presses a second kiss, far more urgent and needy. It consumes you as he grinds against you, thick cock rubbing perfectly against your aching clit.

You whine against his lips, drawing a deep chuckle from him. “Tell me what you want, love,” he murmurs.

You nip at his bottom lip with a small grin. “Just you.”

Fingers digging into your hips, he adjusts you slightly so his cock just presses against your entrance. “Who would’ve thought that the sex demon would be so soft, hm?”

Before you can retort, he pulls you in, cock sinking deliciously into you. You moan as he presses in fully to the hilt, letting you sit there full of him until you start squirming, wanting him to move.

He chuckles again. “So needy, love.”

His hips draw away, until just the tip remains before he thrusts back in. The force jostles you up the bed, pulling a gasp from you and he sets a slow, almost lazy rhythm. You sink into the feeling, reveling in the drag of his cock against your walls. There’s a level of care and calculation to his movements and anticipation builds in you as you wait for his next move, pleasure slowly building in your belly. His fangs drag teasingly against the thin skin of your pulse point and your pulse races at the promise of a bite. 

Teeth digging in gently, nowhere near hard enough to pierce your skin, you whine, trying to push up into the easy pressure against your throat. Namjoon’s hand finds your throat, fingers fitting right under your jaw and forcing your head back and fully exposing your throat to him. The hint of danger sends a thrill through your body and your pussy clenches around his cock. 

His tongue traces the path of your racing pulse until his lips bump his fingers. “So, so needy. And yet, you won’t just ask for what you want.” He tuts, plush lips pressing to your jaw above his fingers. “Tell me what you want or you won’t get it.”

You huff and his hand tightens marginally around your throat, cutting your theatrics off immediately. “Want you to feed. Haven’t had it in so long…”

His smile presses to your neck. “Only you would miss having a vampire drink from you, love.”

A breathy laugh leaves you. “Cause I know how good it feels. It’s so good.”

He hums, tongue laving over your pulse for a moment before his fangs are sinking into your flesh. There’s a split second of pain, twin points of burning that is washed away by euphoria as the venom sinks into your veins. Your limbs tingle and every place that his hands touch feels electric. Drinking deeply, his hips stutter to a stop, leaving you impaled on his cock as he feeds. 

In your distracted state, you don’t notice his fingers moving until they find your clit, circling the bundle with practiced ease. Pleasure burns through you, bright and hot as his fingers move and your hips move in an attempt to get more sensation, to get him to fuck you hard and fast and add even more pleasure for the greedy, hungry pit of lust growing within you. 

He pulls away slightly, dark eyes staring at the bite before he’s diving back down to lick up the blood that oozes from the wounds. His hips twitch and you know that’s he’s just barely holding onto his restraint. You sink your fingers into his soft hair, tugging the long strands and pulling a growl from deep in his chest. 

“Fuck me. Joonie, please…”

Everything freezes for a moment and then Namjoon jerks into motion, thrusts picking up pace rapidly, almost frenzied as his lips find yours for a messy, uncoordinated kiss. He fucks you hard and fast, desperate in a way you both need. You’ve missed them both so much. 

Pleasure builds quickly in your belly and you let it crest with a sigh. Shuddering, your pussy clenches around his cock as you cum, venom heighting all sensation to the point that you feel high. Namjoon’s hips stutter slightly from the sudden clench. A handful of thrusts later, just as you start to tip into oversensitivity, he cums with a groan, leaving you sated and full.

His forehead rests against your shoulder for a moment before he pulls out and flops down beside you, pulling you close to cuddle. 

“Love you…” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin.

Letting your fingers comb through his hair, you hum with happiness. There’s nowhere you’d rather be. “Love you too.”

Namjoon can hear the pacing before he even enters the house. Opening the door reveals the same thing he’s come home to for the past three days, Jaeho pacing around the small common space, completely lost in thought. He wonders if Jaeho even attended to his chores today, or if he’s been here since this morning when Namjoon left. He had at least managed to get Jaeho to sleep a little, if a little fitfully. Being wrapped up in Namjoon’s arms had seemed to help at least a little bit. 

“Jae,” he calls softly.

There’s no response initially, Jaeho looking up a handful of seconds after Namjoon has said his name, like there’s a delay in processing what’s happening around him. Worry creases his face and Namjoon steps forward to wrap his arms around the other. 

“She’ll be back. You know she always comes back,” he murmurs soothingly. He’s said it more times than he can count in the last three days. Namjoon doesn’t want to think about how he’s saying it as much to reassure Jaeho as he is to reassure himself.

The conversation the two of you had before he returned to work two weeks ago plays on a never ending loop. Wondering if there’s some hidden meaning or clue that he missed. He’d asked what your plans were for the rest of the day and you detailed that you were hungry and that there had been a werewolf that had been coming into the tea house and seemed interested. So you were going to flirt a little and see where it led. 

 Namjoon had never imagined that he would be here. Laying in bed, idly tracing patterns on his partners skin as she detailed her plans to go sleep with someone else. He would expect jealousy, or maybe even anger. And the jealousy had certainly been there in the beginning. But Jaeho and you had never ending patience with him. Helped him talk through his emotions and get to where he is now. Because he knows there’s nothing to be jealous of. That while you flit off every so often to sleep with some people and feed, that at the end of the day, you’ll always end up back here with them. Because it’s them that you love and they’re home. 

There’s nothing in Namjoon’s recollection of the conversation that reveals any hidden meaning or agenda. You had talked as if you’d be back within a day at most, like you were just heading out for a quick bite to eat and then you’d be back. 

Namjoon tries to bury the worry that bubbles up that maybe he missed something or that something’s happened. Jaeho is worrying more than enough for both of them right now and at least one of them needs to remain strong and level-headed. 

Chewing his lip for a moment, Jaeho thinks his words over carefully. “I know that. But she never disappears without telling us for more than a couple of days. It’s already been almost two weeks. She would’ve told us if she was going for a while.”

Humming, Namjoon gives him another squeeze. That was another thing he was trying to not think about. Had you told him that you’d be away for a while and he just didn’t remember and now Jaeho was worrying for nothing? But if he told Jaeho that you had said that when you didn’t and you really were in trouble? Namjoon doesn’t know if he’d be able to live with that. “You know how werewolves are. She probably just got caught up and forgot. She hasn’t been with one in a while. They’re a lot and she can feed from them a lot. Probably just drinking her fill.”

Jaeho sighs, sagging slightly in Namjoon’s arms. The words seem to sooth him, at least for the moment and that’s the best that Namjoon can ask for right now. “I guess… I just don’t have a good feeling about this.”

Namjoon presses a kiss to his head. “Don’t worry. She loves us both. She’ll be back before we know it.” Pulling away, Namjoon gives him a reassuring smile, gently tugging him back towards the bed. “In the meantime, I know just how to help you relax.”

You don’t know how long you’ve been here. Time has blurred into a long stretch of aching hunger, made more acute with every attempt you make to escape. None have been successful. You don’t even really know where you are. The last thing you fully remember is spending time with the werewolf you met at the tea house. You’d spent a couple of days with him, days full of fun and left you full and sated. You had been planning to go back to Jaeho and Namjoon the next morning. But someone clearly had other plans. 

Waking up in a dark, cold gray cellar had certainly been a surprise after falling asleep in bed warmed by a werewolf. As had the ache in your head and blood matted in your hair, though the blood certainly explained the headache. More surprising than just being in the cellar was finally taking notice of the bars separating you from a large portion of the cellar and confining you to one little corner. There’s nothing in the little cell with you. With no windows, there’s no way to tell how long you’ve been down here either or even what time it currently is. The cellar is sparsely filled too, a few boxes scattered around, but it seems abandoned. You’d tried yelling yourself hoarse the first few days after awakening, but either no one was around or the stone the cellar was built from kept your shouts from reaching anyone. 

Which has led to your current predicament. You know at least a few weeks have passed. The slowly growing hunger is proof enough of that. The growing hunger has also meant that you’ve slowly begun to lose yourself. You’ve been having moments where you’ve blacked out, where you know you’ve been conscious but you don’t recall a thing that happened. One time you came to, to find your hands slick with blood and the sting of cuts on your fingertips. After taking a moment to get your bearings again, you found blood on the bars where you assume you had tried to break your way out even if you don’t remember those actions. 

The length of time they last seems to be growing longer and you don’t know whether it comforts you to know that it will be over soon or feel guilt wrenching heartache that your last moments are here, alone and that Namjoon and Jaeho will never know what happened. 

As your periods of lucidity begin to lessen and you find yourself spending those brief moments as yourself thinking of Jaeho and Namjoon. You miss them so much. Want their comforting scents here with you, to fall asleep in their arms on soft bedding instead of being alone on a cold, stone floor. 

You wonder if they’re worried or looking for you. They knew you’d gone to meet someone, assuming Namjoon told Jaeho about your plans. Would they think something happened to you? Or would they just assume you had left for a while, even if you hadn’t told them that you planned to leave for a while. It’s something that you haven’t done since the beginning of your relationship. Back when you all were still figuring out how the three of you worked and you were a little more easily spooked by what you felt. And even back then, you never disappeared for long, always drawn back to them no matter what. 

It’s during one of these periods of consciousness that something changes. A door opens and you see a sliver of light, that given however long you’ve been in the dark, is nearly blinding for a moment, forcing your eyes to squeeze closed. Then someone descends the stairs, a lantern in one hand, casting a warm glow about the cellar that is still almost too bright considering the dark you've sat in until now. The scent hits you a moment after her appearance. Werewolf. 

Your stomach clenches painfully, hunger gnawing at you with the tease of possible food before you. You find yourself getting to your feet and approaching the bars without much thought, so fast that you stumble but you’re too focused to pay it any mind. In fact, you’re so focused that the bars startle you slightly when you bump into them.

The woman laughs cruelly when she sees that. “Forgot the bars again, whore?”

Again? Has she been down here before? Your mind reels, scraping together every brief memory from recently to see if you can recount someone coming down here. Your mind comes to only darkness. You suppose that it is possible that she came down before given the moments you’ve been losing. But that just becomes even more disconcerting because she’s been coming down here while you starve? While you’ve been struggling to get free? Fingers curling around the bars, you open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out, throat rough from disuse. 

Clearing your throat, you try again. “Who…”

The woman scoffs and you have no idea if it’s because you’ve had this conversation before or if she just seemingly dislikes you that you addressing her directly is disgusting to her. “Are we really doing this whole thing again? How you seduce anyone when you’re this stupid, is beyond me.” The lantern is set on the ground as the woman takes a seat on a small stool set before the bars. “My name is Talia. I don’t think I need to tell you that I’m a werewolf.”

“Why…”

She laughs again. “Because you slept with my mate.”

Mate? You’ve only slept with one werewolf recently. And he was certainly unmated. No marks and no mating scent. Mated werewolves carried a certain scent, a slight undertone of their mates scent that is with them always. Is that who she means? You’d discussed other current partners while you were together and he hadn’t mentioned a mate. He mentioned a guy, a werewolf from another pack that he was interested in. Was debating whether he should court him or not. You had given him some advice and he seemed genuinely happy to receive it, glowing when you asked about the other werewolf and he began to gush about how they met. 

“What are you talking about?” you croak. Everything is confusing and that combined with your hunger is making your head throb, making it even harder to focus on the harsh words she spits at you.

Tutting, she shakes her head, like she’s chiding a child. “You spent all that time with him and you’ve forgotten him?”

“I… I don’t understand… I’ve only slept with one werewolf. And he wasn’t mated.”

“You know nothing of mates.” There’s a wildness in her eyes that has you shrinking away from the bars. With it comes the dawning realization that she is the reason you’re locked up down here. 

Tears gather in your eyes, frustration, anger, and grief almost so overwhelming that it feels like you’re choking. “Why are you doing this? Please, let me go.”

“That’s most certainly not going to happen. Not yet anyway. I have plans for you. You ruin my life, I ruin yours,” she cackles.

And then she’s picking up the lantern and leaving as you shout behind her. For her to stop, to let you go, for anyone to help you. The silence sets in as the cellar door is slammed shut behind, disturbed only by your broken sobs. 

“I’m going to find her.”

Namjoon looks up from the paper he’s going over, brow furrowed at Jaeho. “What?”

“It’s been a month, Joonie. I’m worried. I’m going to find her.” He adjusts a bag slung over his shoulder, face determined.

Namjoon starts to stand. “I’ll come with.”

Jaeho shakes his head. “No, someone should stay here. In case she comes back. Someone should be here for her. I’ll check in with you every couple of days.”

Namjoon nods reluctantly, moving closer to him. “Be safe,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to his lips. 

Three days later, Namjoon catches wind of a werewolf pack that’s going to take care of a feral vampire that’s attacking a nearby village. There’s only one other vampire in the area. Namjoon’s stomach sinks and he goes to the village without a second thought.

You blink, consciousness coming back to you slowly. You notice several things that don’t immediately fully process with you. First, you’re outside. It’s night, but the buildings around you are ablaze, casting everything in bright light. Second, you are, bizarrely, no longer starving, instead a hollow fullness settles in your bones. Almost more off putting than the hunger. Third, and this one takes the longest to register because it seems so unreal, Talia stands before you. And with a growing sense of dread as you fully take in the scene, holds a struggling Jaeho by the throat. 

You take a step closer and can see her grip tighten so you stop, going so far as to take a step back in the hopes that she loosens her grip on him. Jaeho thrashes and when you call out his name, all you get in response is a hiss. Is he… feral?

Flashes of memories hit you, things that make your stomach turn. It all seems like a nightmare. You have a vague awareness of completely losing yourself, Jaeho finding you. Or was he led to you? Of you… feeding from him as he fought to subdue you. When you look at your arms, you see scratches and bruises that confirm your memories to be true, that you attacked him. That you did this to him. Squeezing your eyes shut, you force the memories away before focusing on Talia again.

“Let him go.” Your voice breaks.

She gives you a cruel, condescending smile. “I don’t think so. There’s a feral vampire causing havoc, as the resident pack, we have to take care of it.”

Tears spill down your cheek as you shake your head. You have to fix this. It isn’t his fault. He just needs to feed a little and he’ll be fine. If she just gives him to you, then you can fix this. You both can go back to Namjoon and everything will be okay. “No no no. Please. Don’t do this. Give him to me. I can make him better. Please, this is just an accident.”

Humming thoughtfully for a moment, she makes eye contact with a grin. “No.”

Then she rips Jaeho’s throat out. You scream, dropping to your knees as he gurgles for a moment before slowly sinking to the ground. All you can focus on is the blood slowly seeping into the ground. You feel cold even with the heat of the blaze surrounding you. Talia drops the mess in her hand and glances behind her. 

Burying your face in your hands, you sob, feeling the loss of Jaeho tear through your chest as viscerally as a dagger. You ache. How are you going to tell Namjoon? There’s no way to explain this. Jaeho should’ve let you go after he taught you control. Maybe he shouldn’t even have bothered to stop you that night he found you. He should’ve just left you to hunters. 

This is all your fault.

You hear voices murmuring, one calm and collected and the other frantic, and when you finally manage to drag your gaze up what feels like an eternity later, you see Namjoon standing over Jaeho’s body, face twisted with anguish. Talia’s nowhere to be seen. He drops to his knees, hands hovering like if he doesn’t touch then it’s not real. Staggering to your feet, you cross the short distance, stopping just short of them when Namjoon’s head jerks up to meet you with a hard look. It’s enough to break your heart all over again.

“How could you do this?”

His words are ice and you have no idea how to respond. You have no answer. How could you, you haven’t even been conscious. Your lust clouded your judgement and now you’ve hurt the people you loved the most. “J-joonie-”

“Don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that anymore. How could you do this? After everything he’s done for you?” His voice raises in pitch as tears begin to fall down his cheeks. “He did everything for you. For us. How could you?”

The silence after his shouting is deafening. It would almost be easier if he kept yelling. At least then you wouldn’t have to hear the way your thoughts swirl with ‘it’s your fault he’s dead.’ 

What are you supposed to say to him anyway? There’s no apology in the world that could ever bring Jaeho back. Namjoon’s right. Jaeho did everything for you. And now he’s dead.

“I’m sorry…” The words feel like ash on your tongue. Wholly inadequate but you have to say something. You and Namjoon can still continue on. You can bring Jaeho’s memory with you. You don’t all have to lose everything. 

Namjoon laughs bitterly. “You’re sorry?” He sounds incredulous and shakes his head. “Just leave. I can’t…” His breath stutters and his gaze drops to the ground. “Please just go. I don’t want to see you ever again.”

You want to argue. Bring up the idea that you don’t have to lose each other too. That Jaeho wouldn’t want you to separate just because he’s gone. But you have a feeling that he won’t be receptive to that. And as much as it pains you to leave them both. You don’t want to cause Namjoon more hurt than you already have. The kindest thing you can do now is simply honor his request. 

So you leave. Vowing to yourself that you’ll never let someone close again. You don’t think your heart could handle more loss. You bring nothing but pain to others.

[writtenonreceipts]

29 I thought ypu were dead aelin and aedion

Thanks so much for the prompt!  I had fun with this.

Slight Canon divergence—Alternate Aelin and Aedion reunion.  Mostly because I can’t remember how the actual scene went…it’s been a while since I’ve read the books.  Oopes.

And it is deff longer than I intended it to be.  My bad…

#

Reunion

The body slumped against the stone cobble of the tavern wall with as much grace as a sack of potatoes. There was nothing special about the body.  No significant rings or emblems.  Even his coat was second rate.  

As Aelin stared down at him, she almost regretted her actions.

Almost.

She wiped her knife clean on the edge of the man’s coat and left him there, his throat sliced open like a second mouth.  Aelin looked into his dead eyes, dull now that the dark blue hue appeared black.  Not even the oil lamps over head could illuminate anything in this alleyway.

Aelin stood and sheathed her knife.  She knew she should keep it out and ready.  The night had only just begun and she had deeply intricate plans of how she would spend the night.  She kicked the foot of the dead man and left the alley.

Tucking her cloak around her, Aelin slunk through the shadows.  While she couldn’t see him, she knew Rowan was lurking somewhere nearby. The ass felt it well within her right to take care of this part of her training without any help from him.

Not that he was helpful to begin with.

Aelin paused at the corner of the street.  There was something wrong with the night.

Standing just out of reach of a streetlamp’s dull glow, Aelin peered into the night.  She couldn’t sense Rowan nearby.  He was likely in his hawk form on a rooftop somewhere.  No, there was something else disturbing the peace of the night.  Something…familiar?

Aelin scowled.  She was supposed to be gathering intel on traitors to Maeve and Wendlyn.  She was supposed to be gutting men and women for their secrets.  Using their own lies against them.  She was supposed to be proving herself worthy for her own birthright.

“Where are you?” she whispered into the night.

The village she was stalking was relatively small.  There was only one main square for businesses before the main road peeled off to homes and farmland.  It truly wasn’t the most exciting place to be or find secrets hiding in the dark corners.

That did not mean, however, that there was nothing to be learned here.  Aelin only wished that she didn’t have to kill everyone she spoke with.

Not that the last man didn’t deserve it.  Not with his wandering hands, his vile tongue, and the fact that Aelin knew exactly how many mistresses he had.

Aelin shook her head. She needed to focus.  There was something in the darkness of this sleepy village that watched her.  And it wasn’t Rowan.

Never one to walk away from her problems, Aelin cast one more look over her shoulder and then stepped off the cobbled road of the village and into the forest beyond. Rowan could follow if he wanted, but Aelin was certain there was something far more menacing in this village than a grumpy old Fae warrior and herself.

Another cold breeze rushed through the trees.  The branches overhead groaned and rustled while the dead leaves on the forest floor skittered about.  Aelin pulled her cloak tighter around her, making sure the hood kept her face covered. Having the cold air assault her face was the last thing she wanted.

As she moved deeper into the trees, Aelin could have sworn she heard footsteps behind her.  If she had better control—more control—she would have been able to tell for sure who or what was there.  For now, she remained alert.  After all, hunting things in the night was one of her specialties.

The snap of a tree branch had Aelin spinning one direction when another force came up from behind.  She spun around again but found nothing but trees looming over her and shadows crawling across the forest floor.

Baring her teeth, Aelin hissed into the wind.

She didn’t have time to try and call out to Rowan when a massive shape barreled into her.

Yelping, Aelin and her attack fumbled in the dirt and debris of the forrest floor.  She managed to free her knife from its sheath only to have her attacker whip her around onto her belly, knife flying from her fingers.

Fae.

A damned Fae.

Growling, Aelin struggled in the strong hands of the Fae.  The hands holding her tightened and she was yanked up, send headfirst into a tree. Aelin barely managed to catch herself before breaking her nose.  Her cheek and hands certainly were scraped up by the rough bark of the tree.

“Who the hell are you?” she snarled.  

Aelin grabbed from the second dagger hidden in her boot.  Brandishing it, she stared into the empty void of the forest.  Her attacker disappeared.

“Little killer, little killer,” a low voice sang.  It wasn’t Rowan.  Aelin knew that much.  But there was something, something familiar about it.  “And I thought you’d put up a fight.”

“Show yourself bastard and I’ll give you a fight,” Aelin said.  She spun the dagger in her hand and strained to listen to the sounds of the forest.  Anything different, any steps, any change in the air.

The Fae moved for her. Aelin met him with her dagger slicing up for his belly.  He rolled from the attack and Aelin only managed to rip the edge of his cloak.  

His legs swiped for hers and they were on the ground again.  Aelin tried to swipe at him—to hit flesh, bone, anything.  It didn’t matter.  He blocked her every move before he got one large hand wrapped around her throat.

Gasping, Aelin dropped her dagger and reached up to grip his hand.

The male chuckled and drew leaned over Aelin.  His face was cast in the shadows of his cloak, but Aelin could still see a sharp smile on his mouth.  She scratched at his hands, his wrists.  This was not how she would die.

Where the hell was Rowan?

Overhead, moonlight broke through the cloud coverage of the night and filtered through the empty tree branches of the wood.  Finally, Aelin was able to see better than the blue and gray shadows of the night. If only she could breathe.

But the male leaning over her froze.  Something caught his attention because he swore and rolled off of her.  

Immediately Aelin gasped for air, her hands going to her throat to massage the tender skin.

“Hell,” she croaked.

Before she could recover properly, the male had a dagger out and aimed directly at Aelin.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

Aelin continued trying to breathe.  Answering him didn’t seemed to be very important.  In their scuffle her hood had fallen and now she had dirt and leave in her hair.  Shaking the mess out, she scowled at the Fae and his still covered face.

Now that they weren’t fighting to the death, she could tell his was a large male.  Tall, broad shouldered, well-built.  He wore fighting leathers and a loose tunic tucked into his breaches.  Wisps of blonde hair flew out from his hood.  

There was nothing overtly familiar about him.  Yet still, Aelin couldn’t shake the thought from her mind…she knew him.

“Don’t make me force an answer from you,” the male said.

Aelin stared up at him. The dagger in his hand gleamed in the moonlight. It was a beautiful weapon.  Well-crafted and balanced.  If she made it out of this alive, she’d have to figure out a way to steal it from him.

“Tell me your name and I’ll tell you mine,” she crooned.  

She half expected a chuckle, a curse, something other than the dead silence.

The Fae took a step closer until the blade of the dagger kissed Aelin’s neck.

“Who. Are. You.”  His voice took deadly edge, far sharper than the weapon at her throat.

Aelin cocked her head. The bite of the dagger on her skin wasn’t anything special, hardly noticeable.  Even when the small bead of blood slipped down her neck.

“Aelin Galathynius,” she said.  She was trying to discern what this male was on about.  The sooner she could figure that out, the sooner she could get out of this mess.

The words were no sooner off her tongue than the Fae had a hand at her throat again, the blade to her belly.  He pulled her to her feet.

“Liar,” he hissed.

The sudden motion had his cloak shifting and his hood fell from his face.  And Aelin found herself looking into his eyes.  Her eyes.  Ashryver.

Her mouth went dry and her muscles taut.  She’d heard rumors of the wolf.  Adarlan’s Whore.  She didn’t want to believe them.  Didn’t want to think of her cousin, her once best friend as such a monster…

“Aedion,” she whispered.

“Who are you?” he snarled.

Aelin gaped.  He was handsome, she’d always known he would be. A strong jaw, straight nose, golden blonde hair.  They could have been siblings.  They practically were.

Against her better judgement, Aelin reached a hand out to rest on the side of his face.

“Aedion,” she repeated. “By the mother, look at you.”

And he was stumbling back as through Aelin’s words, her touch, had burned him.  Breathing deeply, he ran a hand through his hair and stared.

“It’s not possible,” he said.  His gold and blue eyes were wide and wild in the moonlight.  “I didn’t want to believe that captain and what he said.  It’s not possible.”

Aelin couldn’t help the tears that burned behind her eyes.  The slipped down her cheeks as she looked at him.

“I thought you were dead,” Aedion whispered.

Dragging her hands over her wet cheeks Aelin shook her head. “I may as well have been.”

As he sheathed his dagger, Aedion kept shaking his head.  His eyes never left Aelin though.  It was as though he believed she would disappear the second he looked away.

“I never wanted to believe what happened,” he said.  “I wanted to…I tried to…”

Aelin stepped forward holding a hand out to her cousin. “I know,” she said, “I know what you did.”

And looking into his eyes, Aelin started to understand a little bit of why he did those things.  Because not only were their eyes the same color—they had the same regrets, the same horror painted in the iris’.  

“Aelin.”

Without any warning, Aedion rushed forward and pulled Aelin into a bone crushing hug.  For the first time in a very long while, she finally began to feel like she was returning home.

#

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[babedur]

The Ebon Hawk looked like a pigeon squatting among eagles as they set it down in the Royal Hanger Bay of Iziz, but fortunately the man who came to greet them looked about as worn as they did. 

“Jedi,” Captain Bostuco said. “It’s good to see you again.” His eyes flicked over her bandages, the way she leaned on Bao-Dur- and him on her- to get down the ramp. “You mentioned over the comms that you were in need of assistance. Medical is standing by.”

“Thanks,” Tiniat said, aware that she should probably be saying more. “It’s… thanks.” Nothing else came. 

They were whisked away by medics who were tired, overworked, but practiced and calm. Iziz’s brief war had given their veteran doctors a refresher in front-line trauma care and their fledgeling students a crash course. Poison gas, laser burns, these were things they’d already seen in the weeks prior, even if this time they’d happened on another planet. Tiniat was content to close her eyes and answer simple questions about where it hurt. The deeper consequences of the last few days would wait patiently. 

The only sticking point came when the medics tried to give them private rooms- a luxury, nowadays, since many of the Onderon military’s wounded were only just beginning to walk or wheel their way out of recovery. But Tiniat… would not be separated from her crew. Not yet. And given how Atton suddenly materialized at her side and how Brianna had sunken into an opening stance, they would not be parted from her, either. A shared ward it was. 

Tiniat slept. 

She woke, drank some water, relieved herself, slept. 

Woke. Mical informed her that a message had come from Telos, Admiral Onasi reminding her of her promise, but Mical had told him that it could wait. He seemed pleased with himself, maybe a little smug. It was a charming look on him. Or maybe it was good to see him look anything other than tired and a little hunted, how he often looked when she woke. She needed to catch up with him, with several others of her crew, since the last few days happened so fast that they hadn’t had any time. 

But she slept. 

She had a… some kind of nightmare. A spreading emptiness, taking everything, all life, her feelings draining out of her. She woke to Atton shaking her shoulder, and he talked to her about repairs to the ship, absently straightening her pillow and fixing her blankets until Tiniat simply reached over and took his hand, because she didn’t know what they were but surely they were something where he could wake her from a nightmare and she could hold his hand while he talked her ear off to drown out the fear that was circling her brain like a fog.  And eventually, she slept.

She woke. She ate. The medics informed her that she could shower, so she did so, and the hot water felt like it brought her back to life. Or, at the very least, back from a very cold place. 

There was a list of things she needed to do. Speak with every member of her crew and figure out what the hell had happened- highest on that list were Bao-Dur and Mandalore. She needed to figure out what their position was with Iziz, since they’d been mooching off their hospitality for a few days, though saving the life of the queen a week prior probably covered that. She needed to actually see to the ship, she needed to sort out what her crew wanted to do next, she needed to deliver the navicomputer to Admiral Onasi. 

But first, she needed to get dressed.

Luckily, Mira was on the ball. Or, at least, outside the shower stall, with a pile of Tiniat’s clothes. “We’ve been taking turns,” she said, bluntly. “Whatever happened on Malachor- it was… bad. Mical and Visas had it the worst, aside from you, but even they were up a few days ago.”

Tiniat frowned. “How long have we been on Onderon?”

“About a week. Eight days, actually. You didn’t know?” Mira sounded like she was pushing down a bit of alarm at that. Tiniat didn’t blame her. She was pushing down some alarm, herself. 

“No, it felt like…” It felt like she’d been drifting in and out of sleep, sure, but not for that long. An entire week. “It didn’t feel like that long. Where is everyone?”

Mira was definitely happy to steer the conversation back to the practical. Tiniat took her clothes and stepped back into the shower stall to change while Mira updated her. “Around, mostly. Mandalore went back to Dxun after two days, said he’d be in touch. HK’s been snooping around the palace. Atton hates it, but I think the droid’s just bored. T3’s working on the ship. 

“Mical’s been making himself either useful or a nuisance, depending on which medic you ask- he’s barely let any of the rest of them come near you since he got back on his feet. Keeps meditating over you. Not going to lie, it’s kind of creeping me out, and I know that his healing trances actually do stuff. 

“Handmaiden- or, Brianna, I guess- has been doing her Handmaiden thing, training with the military. She made the mistake of practicing with her saber a few days ago, so now everyone’s wondering exactly how many Jedi are with us. I’m happy to let them just think it’s you, Mickey, Brianna, and Visas, honestly.”

“I’m fine with that, too,” Tiniat said. “I wonder how long it’s going to take for G0-T0 to take his bounty off… wait, didn’t he… die?” 

“Oh, yeah, HK got him. He’s very proud of that. Told all of us how he’d removed that blight from existence, and how it only coincidentally saved our meatbag lives, it was all just because G0-T0 insulted his pride as an assassination droid, you know. The works.”

Tiniat snorted. “Sounds about right. Bao-Dur?”

“Worked on the ship for a day or two, then went down into the city. He’s been doing some fancy stuff with shields to keep the beasts from the wilds from getting into what little farmland Iziz has. He looks like crap, honestly, but you know him. He prefers to be busy.”

Tiniat could only imagine. “Visas?”

“Honestly, she’s doing pretty good, compared to most of us. Meditating a lot, talking to us- I think she’s trying to sort out what’s going to happen next. I mean, it’s gotta be pretty hard on her, getting out from Nihilus’s thumb only for most of us to… do whatever we do next, I guess.”

Tiniat finished lacing up her boot and stood, looking over Mira. “And how’ve you been?”

Mira shrugged. “I’ve been fine.”

Tiniat raised an eyebrow. 

“You’ve been up for all of thirty minutes, after spending a week staring dead-eyed at the ceiling, and you want me to dump my woes on you?” 

“When you put it that way, it makes me sound kind of messed up,” Tiniat observed. “We all went through hell, Mira, I don’t expect you to be okay and I don’t expect to be able to fix it, but please don’t pretend that you’re fine when you’re not.”

Mira’s glare held for a few moments longer before she sighed. “It’s… a lot, you know. I’m figuring it out. I thought Hanharr was dead, it turns out Kreia… brought him back to life, or something? That’s something you can do with the Force?”

Tiniat made a ‘sort-of’ gesture. “Not exactly. But it’s something that has to be done while someone’s still clinging to life, and Kreia is definitely dead now, so…”

Kreia is definitely dead. She’d held her while she died. Heard her last words. Felt her leave this world.

“Woah, hey now.” Mira steered her into a plastic chair. “See, this is why I wanted to keep it to myself.”

“Just got dizzy,” Tiniat murmured. “It’s- It’s not something that can be done again. And Malachor is well and truly dust now, so it’s not like someone can go after his body. He’s gone.”

“I know that,” Mira said impatiently. “And now he might be able to finally get some peace, and stop inflicting his suffering on every human who crosses his path. But…“

“But he was important to you,” Tiniat said. “In a fucked up way. He’s still a part of your life that’s gone now.”

“It’s a good thing,” Mira said. “Well. It’ll be a good thing.”

Tiniat wished she could be so confident. Kreia was gone. But she just nodded. 

“I noticed,” Mira said, “That you didn’t ask about Atton.”

“I figured he could tell me himself,” Tiniat said dryly, and gestured at the refresher door. It opened. Across the hall, Atton jumped. 

“Hey! You’re up,” he said. Mira snorted. 

“I’m up,” Tiniat replied, standing, and looked him over- much like he was looking her over. He looked tired. He hadn’t shaved in a day or two, which was usual with him, but something in the way he stood….

“The doctor sent me,” Atton said, dutiful errand boy that he pretended to be, not at all like he heard she was awake and came running as fast as he could. “I think she said something along the lines of ‘take it easy,’ but you’re going to ignore all that anyway, so I won’t waste my breath. Also, the Queen wanted you to know that the Hawk is being repaired, we’re free to stay as long as we like since we’re her personal heroes, thanks again for saving her life, the usual.”

“She spoke to you?”

Atton rolled his eyes. “Oh, no, not me. She spoke to a messenger, who spoke to another messenger, who spoke to me. From the sound of things, Iziz is still pretty rough. Not everyone loyal to Vaklu backed down once he was executed, and there’s still all the beasts in the streets- a battle over Telos didn’t exactly help all of them get moving out of here.”

“Ugh,” Mira said. “And the streets were already messy enough before the civil war. I’m glad we’re sticking to the palace.”

Tiniat opened her mouth to remind Mira that she hadn’t been able to practice the beast trick on an actual creature yet and this would be excellent experience. Mira’s glare pushed the words back down her throat. Another time.

“Is there anything to eat in this place?” Tiniat asked, instead. 

[petri808]

Safest By My Side

Inspired by art by @reishichi https://reishichi.tumblr.com/post/626705239187275776/i-will-protect-you-todomomo-todorkixmomo

Momo Yaoyorozu kneeled before the man seated on the throne. “I’ll be fine Prince Shouto. Your father trusts in my abilities, why can’t you.”

“That’s a low blow, Momo, you know that’s not why I disagree with you.” He sighs and props his head up with his hand. “You may be one of our most skilled warriors Yaoyorozu, but I just wish you would stop putting yourself in harm’s way.”

He reaches down and gently takes hold of her hand, bringing on a blush, that she quickly turns her face away to hide. “It’s my job to protect you and this Kingdom sire.”

But the Prince ignores her response and brings her hand to his lips. “You know what you mean to me, Momo. So, I’ll honor this request as long as you promise to come back to me.” The only reason he agreed to grant this mission is because it was a fact-finding one. It was not her role to pursue anything but to assess a situation.

This time she cannot ignore the heat rushing to her face nor the racing of her pulse. Momo knew very well how much the Prince coveted her, and she for him, but she held back because of fear. Skill on a battlefield, didn’t equate to being ready for the throne and that kind of pressure was daunting to overcome.

“I shall do my best, my liege. I always do.”

“I’m holding you to it.”

Those were the last words spoken between them, before Momo headed out on another mission. A dragon had been spotted causing havoc to some of their farmlands, and she needed to scout it and figure out how to get rid of it. Not all dragons were problematic, but this one was becoming a nuisance.

Every day she was gone, the Prince paced the halls of the castle waiting for updates. He’d even sent his best falconer to accompany her for that very reason, but now something was very wrong. A whole day has passed without a new message and the hairs on the back of his neck stood raised.

He couldn’t take waiting anymore.

The Prince saddles up his horse and with a battalion of men, they head to the last known place Momo had been. It takes them a day of riding, but when they arrive, they find destroyed crops, broken treetops, and the ground marred with scorch marks. As they scour the area for clues, a local villager approaches. He brings the Prince to a nearby cottage where the injured falconer was taken.

“I’m so, sorry your majesty,” the man mumbles out through the pain. “It took us by surprise, killed my falcon, and left me for dead. I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

The Prince steels his emotions, despite the mix of rage and despair ready to consume him. “Please do not blame yourself. You’re lucky to be alive, but tell me, what happened to Yaoyorozu?”

“It took her. Picked her up and flew off.”

“Do—" he stops and clears his throat of concern. “Do you know where?!”

“The dragon has a nest. We found it at the base of the mountain.”

The Prince thanks the falconer and the villager, making arrangements to transport the man back to the Capital. He then rallies his soldiers and they head to the mountain.

It will be a dangerous mission. Dragons were difficult to take down because of their sheer size and based on the evidence, this one could breathe fire. Specialized dragon hunters were normally brought in to deal with them once their locations had been found, but there wasn’t any time to waste.

Dawn was just breaking when the men reach the mountain. They hide in the forest and watch, waiting for any signs of the dragon. Was it inside the cave or out hunting? Some information was imperative to make sure they suffered as little losses as possible. The last thing the Prince wanted was a fight or to risk his beloved inside.

It was taking every ounce of willpower the Prince had not to rush in after the woman. He didn’t know if she was alive or dead, but he held out hope. Momo was smart, strong, all the reasons he’d fallen in love with her to begin with. So, he held out hope she was still alive.

That’s when they hear, or rather feel the ground beneath their feet shaking as the dragon lumbers out of its cave. The red scaled beast was maybe a juvenile, definitely not a full-grown adult yet, but still massive compared to humans. No wonder it was causing problems. The younger dragons were prone to be handfuls compared to the adults who preferred to stay away from human contact.

As soon as it takes to the sky, the Prince, followed by his men rush into the cave with torches in hand. Fire was a risk to bring the dragon back, but without it they couldn’t see in the dark cavern. The Prince calls out for the woman, his voice echoing against the granite walls.

It was faint... but they could hear a female voice from deeper within the cave. Prince Shouto leaves some men at the entrance as guards while he and a handful race through the cavern.

“Talk to me Momo, so I can follow your voice!”

The inky blackness of the cave swallowed most of the sound or even the feeling of time itself; like walking into a void. For the dragon, it wasn’t a problem, but for humans… Shouto couldn’t imagine what it felt like to Momo being stuck in it for over a day.

“I see your light.” Her voice so close ahead redoubled Shouto’s steps. And as soon as her crouched figure comes into the fires light, a wave of relief washes over him. It wasn’t over until they got her out of here but seeing her alive was enough to make him happy.

Shouto drops down to one knee, grabbing hold and lifting her into his arms. He cradles her face to his chest, resting his against hers. “Thank the gods you’re okay Momo.”

“Prince Shouto...” he can hear the tears caught in her throat and it only makes him hug on tighter.

“Let’s get you home.”

“I-I’m sorry I failed, and you had to rescue...”

“Don’t,” he cuts her off. “I told you, I will protect you no matter what.”

She was glad the flickering fire hid the blush that was surely burning on her cheeks. Despite the situation, his words, the tone of concern, even the slight tremble in his voice made her heart leap. “Thank you, Prince.”

As quickly as they’d arrived, they leave the cave before the dragon returns and finds his captor missing. The Prince places Momo onto his horse, setting off for the castle. “You were lucky. Perhaps the dragon was planning to hoard you out of curiosity.”

“It was odd, though not unheard of.” She was lucky to escape with just a few scrapes and wounds left by its claws when it’d picked her up. “Is the falconer okay?”

“Yes, he should make it.”

“That’s good.”

“However, I do need to punish you for failing,” he tightens his hold around her waist. “To keep you out of harm’s way, I think being confined to the throne and my bed is a suitable punishment.”

“Prince Shouto, you cannot possibly—“

Leaning his head next to hers, “oh, yes I can,” he whispers. “I told you I will protect you at all costs and this is the best way to do just that.”

“But sire, I’m not cut out to rule beside you. Surely someone with higher standing would be better suited.”

“You are perfect as is, and I will not take no for an answer.”

Momo lets out the breath she’d been holding back. Before that moment, she’d tried to convince herself this man couldn’t truly be in love with her. But it was impossible to keep denying his feelings or her own. “Okay,” her voice is soft but melodic. “You win Shouto. I’ll marry you.”

He lifts her hand and kisses the back of it. “You’ve made me the happiest Prince in all the land...”

[lesbian-percy-weasley]

Chapter 1: Chance Encounters

Ship: Perciver

Content warnings: none

Description: Young Percival takes pride in the fact his mother lets him forage alone but as his adventure into the woods goes on, one certain boy makes his day worse

~🌿~🌿~🌿~🌿~🌿~🌿~🌿~🌿~🌿~🌿~🌿~

Percival Weasley was a perfectly happy child by all accounts of the word. A faun of nearly 11 living on his family's small farm without a care in the world. He knew not of love beyond his mother and father and he knew not of prejudice. He was an innocent young lad and playful too. Not to the point to cause trouble his wee brothers Fredrick and George caused that enough.

At such a young age his mother already trusted him to forage alone. He held this task with pride. His older brothers William and Charles hadn’t been allowed to forage in the forest alone until they were much older than he was. There was great fun to be had foraging. Searching every nook and cranny in the forest brought young Percival great joy. When his mother had asked him to go today he got ready at once.

He put on his new linen shirt. It was still quite big but he was growing so he knew it would fit someday. His brothers always wore a belt with their shirts to make it more flattering but he didn’t see the need. It looked perfectly fine as is. He had put on his leather satchel. It was useful for carrying things like apples he picked or the lunch his mother made for him. The rest could easily go into a basket. Unlike other fae, fauns had no need for pants or shoes so they didn’t bother spending money on them. Percival then put his mustard yellow cloak on and he was ready to go on his merry way.

He walked down the stairs into the kitchen where his mother had prepared a lunch to take with him. Along with a basket and the list of things they needed. He had shoved the lunch into his bag along with the list. His mother had kissed him on the cheek and he headed out.

He stepped out of their cottage and onto the stepping stone path that led to the road. He had bid adieu to his father and older brothers who were working on their farmland. With that, he headed to the forest.

Percival had always found the forest quite peaceful. His wee brother Ronald was always scared of it since he was a baby but Percival found tranquillity in the forest. Her many trees surrounding him made him feel connected to something bigger than himself. The birds flying around, the sun shining through the leaves of various varieties of trees, The ferns and wildflowers forming a path for him. If he had it his way he would live in the forest. But there was no time for dilly-dallying he had things to get.

He opened his satchel and took out the list to see where he needed to go. On the piece of paper, his mom had written:

Ten green apples

A bundle of wild thyme

A basket full of hazelnuts

Some cornflowers for your sister she wishes to learn how to press them

Percival put it back into his satchel and then went on the hunt.

He had gathered the green apples and wild thyme for his mother before and knew easily where to find cornflowers but he was at a loss when it came to hazelnuts. He thought he might as well get the things he knew before worrying about it. He headed off to the green apple tree just right off the trail.

Climbing wasn’t a fauns forte. Their deer-like legs were made for running and jumping but not climbing. Still, Percival knew that to get the best apples you had to reach the top of the tree so forte or not he wasn’t gonna settle. His brother Charles had taught him how to use a rope to climb it so that’s what he used. He had become quite skilled in the mode of collecting. Soon enough he had all ten apples his mother had asked him to get.

Next was the thyme. He knew there was a patch not far from here. He had found his way back to the trail. When he was walking he noticed the wind picking up speed.

‘Great,’ he thought. ‘Wind spirits were just what I needed.’ out of all the things he loved about the woods he hated wind spirits. They were all a bunch of gits who would stop at nothing for a chance to mess with a lowly faun like him. He remembered the first time he went foraging. They had built up enough force to throw him into a giant oak tree. He eventually got down at the price of a broken arm but ever since then he wanted nothing to do with the lot of them

He let out a frustrated huff and put his hood up. That way they couldn’t mess with his hair more than it already was. Anyway, he had to find the thyme. In a few minutes, he had found a wild patch. He had knelt down to pick it. He didn’t very much enjoy the laborious work it was but it was better than harvesting the barely or milking the cows so he didn’t complain. Once he picked it he tied it with the string he had in his satchel. Then as he was getting up he was knocked backward by a strong gust of wind, followed by whispers of laughter.

As joyful was young Percival perceived himself to be, he could get quite flustered and fussy at times. And he was definitely susceptible to these emotions when it came to those dastardly wind spirits. It was like they took pleasure in ruining other’s days. But again, there was no time to cry about it. He still needed the hazelnuts and the cornflowers.

Percival had found a nice clearing and decided it would be a good place for lunch. He had taken off his cloak and his satchel. He grabbed his lunch his mum had packed for him. It was a piece of bread, a slice of cheese, some blueberries, and a bottle of ale. Almost everything was made on their own farm. He didn’t mind of course they didn’t have the type of money for other cheeses or ales and why would they waste it? Percival gladly ate his lunch.

He was just about done when once again a sudden gust of wind swept by him. It took the remaining blueberries and scattered them but it also blew his satchel, his basket, and his cloak into the creek behind him. Luckily the satchel wasn’t opened so none of the contents he spent the morning getting were lost but still now his cloak was wet. What good shall a wet cloak do for him?

He rushed to the creek at once to retrieve his things. As he was turning to get to it he saw a young boy already picking up his things from out of the water. He couldn’t have been much older than Percival himself was. He was wearing a shirt similar to the one Percival was wearing but his were tucked into a pair of light green breeches. He had worn a lavender purple mantle and a pair of shoes that were fashioned to look like leaves.

If there was anything Percival hated it was people helping him when he didn’t ask. It made him feel weak and helpless, two things he was not. He huffed over to the creek to get the rest of his stuff out. He didn’t want this strange boy meddling with his things. He had already grabbed the cloak but wasn’t quick enough to get the satchel and basket before Percival snatched it quite aggressively.

The boy was taken aback. He was only trying to help the young faun but he was clearly having none of it. He had a quite confused look on his face. No one had ever acted like this to him when he tried to help them before. Maybe it had something to do with the area. His friends had told him that people near the faun village always got quite mad at their tricks and were fun to mess with but he didn’t like making people angry and it was clear the boy in front of him was.

Percival wanted so badly to just go about his day and finish his foraging but the boy was still holding onto his cloak. He considered just leaving without it but he knew his parents would be mad at him. Wool wasn’t cheap after all. But the boy was just holding it, doing nothing else, saying nothing else. Just holding it as if he was teasing Percival, which only made him madder. He tried to take it out of his arms but the boy quickly pulled it away.

Percival glared at him in a way he never had glared at anybody. The boy was clearly messing with him once again. The boy had clothes and by the look of it he wasn’t poor either so what was the point if he didn’t need it? He had been pushed around by wind spirits but never had they tried to take something from him.

“Give me my cloak back.” Percival crossed his arms. He was trying to sound intimidating but his 11-year-old voice wasn’t on his side. “But why? It is still wet.” The boy replied back. “I don’t care. it’s mine, give it back.” “But you must let me dry it first. What use does a wet cloak have?” Percival was turning a visible shade redder.

“I did not ask you to dry it. I do not have the time to wait for it to dry.” He said, trying to grab his cloak again. “What is your issue? I only wanted to help.” “I DID NOT ASK FOR HELP,” Percival screamed. He had never screamed at anybody before but this boy filled with a rage unmatched by anything he had ever experienced. All he wished was to go about his day again

The other boy looked like he was about to cry. Never had anybody been this mad at him.

“Please if you just let me dry it I’ll leave you alone.” The boy pleaded. “Fine.” Percival huffed. At once the boy manipulated the wind to quickly dry the mustard yellow cloak. After the water fully left it, the boy presented it to Percival, who snatched it away and put it back on.

He started to walk away without another word but the boy continued to follow him. Frustrated and flustered, he turned around to once again confront him.

“I thought you said you were going to leave me alone,” Percival said quite bitterly. “If you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing alone in the woods?” “It’s none of your business and besides it appears that you are alone in the woods too.” Percival started walking away again.

“Are you always this rude to people?” Percival scoffed and asked, “What is that supposed to mean?” “You have been nothing but dismissive when all I have tried to do was be helpful.” Both of the boys stopped.

“I did not ask for help. I do not need help. Especially not from a wind spirit.” “I don’t know where you come from but I’ve been taught it’s polite to offer help to people who don’t ask for it.” The boy crossed his arms at him. “Well, I don’t appreciate it. I am perfectly capable of handling things myself which is why my mum lets me forage alone.” The other boys' eyes lit up when Percival mentioned foraging.

“Oooh I have never been foraging before but I have always wished to learn how to. Do show me how.” He pleaded with Percival. “Why would I do that? So you will know all the places and take everything from them?” His family has taken years to find the best foraging spots and he wasn’t about to give them away to this random boy.

“But please I wouldn't, I just want to learn how.” “I have said no plenty of times. Does that not mean anything where you’re from.” Percival said as he continued to walk away out of the clearing, leaving the boy quite dumbfounded.

The experience left Percival with quite a lot of dread. Whoever this boy was, he wasn’t someone Percival would enjoy spending time with. He had taken up so much time with his pushy nature and friendly disposition that it was rearing close to the afternoon and Percival still hasn’t foraged the hazelnuts or the cornflowers. He remembered where his brothers had shown him the hazel tree. It was in the clearing.

He had no doubt in his mind that the boy would still be there. But he had to get the hazelnuts. He had to swallow his pride and risk the chance to once again meet the boy. Once he entered the clearing once again, he saw the boy sitting on a stump looking quite sad. But Percival had no time for it. He would take ages to harvest enough nuts to fill his basket; it was no time for distraction.

Of course, the boy noticed his return but he didn’t want to anger him more than he already had. So he just watched him. Watch him climb up the hazel tree with his rope and carefully pick the hazelnuts one by one being careful not to slip. He thought to himself how much easier it would’ve been if he had helped but he had learned how the young faun thought about help. So it was better to leave it alone.

It had taken Percival quite some time to pick the hazelnuts. When he got done he noticed the sun was setting. It wasn’t a good thing at all. His parents had warned him to stay out of the woods at night. He never knew why but it was better not to test it.

As he descended he noticed the boy was still there. There must be some reason he was still there. It seemed ridiculous for it to be because of him. So he decided to show civility and ask him if anything was wrong.

“You don’t want to be in the woods at night. Are you waiting for something?” The boy looked up at him. “My friends have seemed to forget about me and I haven’t the slightest clue how to get out.” Percival had felt a little bad about the way he behaved before. He knew his reaction was uncalled for so he thought he should make it up to the boy.

“Well, you could walk home with me. I know the way out of the woods and after that, you can just follow the road into town.” Percival said and offered his hand to help him up. “Very well then. You shall show me the way out of the woods.” The boy said with a smile. And so the two went on. Out of the clearing and onto the path.

Most of the walk was spent in silence. Percival picked cornflowers along the way. The boy was quite confused about this. “Why are you picking those? Don’t you know that they are weeds?” Percival looked up at him with equal confusion. “They’re just cornflowers. My family loves them.” The boy laughed at this. “Why don’t you get proper flowers like lavender or roses?” “We do not have money for such frivolous things. And besides just because a flower grows wild doesn’t make it less of a flower.” Percival said quite defensively. The boy shut up after that. He couldn’t understand why this faun was so sensitive to everything.

Soon enough they found themselves out of the woods and back onto the village road. Percival turned to the boy. “If you follow this road you should find yourself in the village. I need to go home now but it was nice meeting you.” He explained quite cordially. The boy thanked him and went on his way.

‘What a strange boy,’ He had thought to himself. As they walked separate ways the boy had heard someone calling a name.

“Percy! Percy!” he heard a voice call as an older faun appeared on the road and ran up to the younger one. “What took you so long? Mum’s been worried sick.” “I got caught up with wind spirits but I handled it well and good, Charlie.” They continued to talk but by that time the boy was too far away to hear anything. As he walked towards the village he said to himself, “hmm, so his name is Percy.”

[thelioncourts]

CAN WE GET A SNIPPET OF SOMETHING?????????

um. okay, so i was going to write a second halloween story this year, also about witches, but it was basically going to be, in summary: damen is a hunter and was out to hunt a witch, but gets attacked in the forest. he wakes up surrounded by witches and they soon realize they are all on the same side. in the process of hunting down their common foe, some of the other witches try to match-make damen with a young witch named laurent who is less than thrilled that his mother is the loudest match-maker of them all

***

The very first thing Damen noticed upon waking was the pain.  It was a searing kind of pain, located on his left side and consuming the entirety of his rib cage there.  It was bothersome too, the pain, and though Damen was aware of its location, it also seemed to be seeping everywhere in his body, bringing with it an ache in his arms and legs, a blinding light behind his eyelids.  It was all so much that he didn’t initially take into account his surroundings.  That only happened when someone coughed lightly.

Damen froze at the sound. 

Adrenaline spiked through his blood, pushing the pain to the back of his mind suddenly, and he stayed statue still, listening to the happenings around him.  He heard the crackling of a fire, something that explained the stifling heat of the room, he heard the howling of the wind outside, and, most awfully, he heard the muttering of voices from every direction around him.  

The hunt must have gone real bad, he thought to himself, immediately using what little energy he had to hold back a groan and instead try to think of a plan.  Gently, he tested a small movement to see how extensive the injury was, and when he barely moved his leg a brashing strike of white-hot pain bore into him, willing his body to still.  Not happening.  Next, he tried his non-injured side, wondering if he could rely on it for most of his movement; when he tried, however, it felt fine up until his left side tried to follow.  More pain.  Lots more.

Okay, so a physical escape was not an option.  That was fine.  He could come up with something else, maybe try to --

“We can see you moving around, dear one.  We know you’re awake.”

Shit.

There wasn’t any denying it.  The voice was right next to his head.  Swallowing once before bracing himself for the worst, Damen slowly began to open his eyes.  He saw the ceiling, the ceiling of a wooden cabin, and the flames from the fire were casting shadows onto it, the figures dancing with the waving of each orange-hued tendril.  Turning his head ever so slightly, he then saw the figure the voice must have belonged to and startled.  There, with her back facing the fire, was a witch.  

Damen only knew she was a witch because of the brooch pinned to her cloak.  Witches didn’t wear them in public, no, for it would make it too obvious as to who they are, but they did wear them when with their own.  Each coven, after all, had its own symbol. 

This coven was a starburst of gold metal, the tips of the burst itself adorned in jewels.  The witch wearing it was lovely.  She was older, perhaps but a few years younger than Damen’s own father.  It was hard to tell, for she looked quite youthful, but there were small things that gave her away, like the lines by her eyes and mouth.  She was beautiful though.  She was smiling at him, almost indulgently, and it was a kind smile; a beautiful smile actually.  It complimented her blue eyes well.  Her blonde hair was swept all to her right side, tumbling over her shoulder in golden waves that matched the brooch.  Yes, she was lovely.  And a witch.  

“You took quite a fall,” she told him.  

Damen only blinked up at her.  Then he asked, his voice hoarse, “Who are you?”

“My name is Hennike,” she said kindly.  Then she added, “I’m one of the witches you came here to hunt, I believe.  Who are you?”

“Does it really matter?  You know I’m a hunter already,” Damen said.  He turned his head a little more, catching sight in his peripheral vision of a pair of feet attached to a body in a rocking chair.  

“Well, yes, we do know that,” Hennike said, “but I suppose we’d like to know who you are to better understand why you would be here hunting us?”

“Why?” Damen asked incredulously.  “Gods, leave it up to witches to be so separated from society that they cannot even make sense as to why someone would hunt them after what they’ve done.”

“We’ve done nothing,” said a distinctly older voice, perhaps from the body in the rocking chair.  

“Then explain the fires in Mellos,” Damen said, now letting out a groan as he went to sit up, pain be damned.  

All the witches were on clear alert with Damen’s movements.  He could see Hennike’s hands up, could see blue light so bright it was almost white ready at her fingertips.  He could see now the older witch in the rocking chair, her hair long and gray, and her knitting needles moving on their own, and her eyes sparkling with a magical intensity.  There were several other witches in the cabin as well, all women and of a range of ages, and each had their own kind of magic ready for him at the drop of a pin.  

“What fires in Mellos?” Hennike asked, voice soft and wary.  

“A witch has set fire to the farmlands in Mellos,” Damen told her, told them.  “There is nothing left now.  All the crops are destroyed just before harvest was to begin, and there are villages and people that are going to die without them.  It’s utter devastation there.”

“How do you know it was a witch?” asked one of the younger witches.

“I don’t know many fires that burn green other than fires created by magic,” Damen said.

“How do you know it was us?” asked yet another.  

“Because we traced it here.  By the time we reached Mellos, the witch was still there.  We caught the briefest sight of him before he vanished, but he must have exhausted himself setting as large a fire as he did.  He could only vanish so far before reappearing, running through the woods on foot at times.  Though he did eventually pull ahead as he regained some of his strength, we found his footprints all the way to this very forest edge.”

“But that’s impossible,” said the older witch.  “Our men have been gone for weeks.  It couldn’t be one of them unless --”  She stopped cold.  

As though everyone but Damen reached the same conclusion at the same time, the room got eerily still.  Then Hennike finished the thought aloud.  “Guion.”

“Guion?  Who’s Guion?” Damen asked, his eyes searching all of their faces.  

“Guion is a witch from a coven in Belloy,” said one of the witches.

“He came through here not but two days ago,” said another.

“We thought it strange, but allowed it for he passed through without stopping or causing a scene,” said the older one.  

“It would explain his harried expression,” said Hennike.  “Oh dear.”

Suddenly her hands were on Damen’s exposed right forearm.  Damen jumped at the touch, partially from the surprise and fear of it and partially from her cold hands.  Looking at her, he could see the line of worry pinched between her brows.  

“What are you doing?” Damen asked her as she tugged once on his shirt.  

“It was one of our traps that brought you down in the forest,” she said.  “We have them set should hunters ever attack in the night.  I’ve allowed you to lie here bleeding because I thought you were intending on hurting us, but now that I know the truth, we must heal you immediately.  Shirt off.”

Logically, Damen’s brain told him not to trust a witch.  He had learned from his father long ago to never trust anyone, but least of all a wielder of magic.  But his gut-feeling told him to listen and Damen was never one to not trust a gut-feeling.  Gingerly, he pulled at his shirt from the hem and lifted it over his head.  

At his ribs, where he had determined the location of the injury to be, the shirt pulled, stuck to his skin with sticky dark blood.  Still, the shirt came off quickly and Damen finally was able to see the extent of it all.  His ribs were definitely broken, he determined quickly.  Underneath the blood and raw coloration of the skin was an undertone of deep blue, the appearance black with his own skin tone.  

“Look at that,” said the older witch and Damen looked up, expecting a grimace or expression of disgust at his side, but her eyes weren’t on his side at all.  Damen couldn’t tell exactly where they were, but they were definitely focused in on his shoulders, pectorals, or arms...or all of that really.  

“Betilda,” Hennike chastised, laughing.  

“What?  We don’t have men like that here,” Betilda said.

“We really don’t,” said one of the younger witches, her chin resting in her hand.

“Not you too, Melanie.”

“Oh, don’t deny it, Hennike.  Well, actually, do deny it.  Because the closest we have to that here is your son,” said another younger witch, waggling her brows at Hennike who just laughed again.  

“I’ll be sure to pass that along to Auguste.”

“He already knows.  I tell him every time he comes by to pick up bread.”

“I’m sorry about them,” Hennike said.  She moved from his right side to his left, fingers gentle on the edge of the injury.  Damen winced.  “This is worse than I thought it was.  I’m going to need ***, ***, ***, and ***.  Gale, would you --”

“Yes.  In the cabinet above the window in the apothecary?”

“The *** might be in the cabinets by the near the door, but the rest should be above the window.”  

Gale disappeared into the cold outside, leaving Damen sitting awkwardly on the table being watched by a few pairs of appreciative eyes.  

“Who are you?” Hennike asked him again.  When he looked at her he was struck by how utterly kind she had come across since he awoke.  

“My name is Damen,” he told her. 

“Damen,” she repeated, smiling at the name.  “It truly is very nice to meet you, Damen.  I wish it were under different circumstances.”  

“Well,” Damen started, wincing again as he attempted to lean back onto his palms and stretch out his torn up side, “I have to thank you for not immediately trying to kill me for trying to attack your coven unprovoked.”  

“It was understandable.  You did everything right, you were led astray by someone far darker than yourself,” Hennike said.  

Gale returned quickly with the ingredients Hennike asked for….

[jovialyouthmusic]

Past Times

The Dalgleish family continue their tour around John Lykel’s estate, and Elizabeth has to make a big decision.

Word Count 3233

A/N Although this is a spin off of a spin off of a fanfic, it has become it’s own story. I’m pleased to see it has prompted some interest. This is fluffy and gentle and there is longing and romance, but definitely no smut - at least not yet.  

8 Will you be Mistress?

The family spent a pleasant afternoon touring the formal gardens before being admitted to the walled garden where the head gardener grew produce for the manor. Fruit trees soaked up the summer sun on the south facing walls which also sported a large glasshouse.  Exotic plants were carefully tended in there, and they were told that such fruits as pineapple and peaches would be served at the grand dinner to be held when all the guests had arrived. John’s friend Tom and his wife were due to arrive the next day and would be staying for two weeks, and other guests would be coming from nearby estates. There would be a grand dinner and a Ball in a week’s time and most of the guests would return home at the end of the day, but there were rooms still available for a few who had further to travel.

The estate was set on the banks of a river and the fishing was good. Copses and woods provided game to hunt, and cattle and sheep grazed the meadows. There was a farmhouse with a barn and dairy and other outbuildings and a number of cottages housing estate workers, and John also employed a gamekeeper. Servants who worked in the house either slept in the top story of the manor or in one of a few cottages that stood close by. Naturally there were also stables housing a fine stallion and a sweet docile mare for riding and for breeding, and two lesser steeds which could be hitched up to draw an assortment of gigs and carricles. The farmhouse had its own stable with plough horses, and beehives provided honey. Chickens ran about the farmyard, there were ducks on the pond near the farmhouse and the pig sties were well stocked.

All in all, the estate was not only self sufficient, but a surplus of meat and other produce was sold to traders in Edinburgh. John took rent from the farmer and other smallholders and a percentage of anything made from trading. Having visitors stay at the manor and holding an elaborate dinner and ball for nearby gentry would hardly make a dent in the estate’s finances. What was draining to John’s resources was the rent and upkeep of the townhouse in the city, but Elizabeth’s dowry would help to cover those costs. She would receive an annual income from the money her father left her, plus rent from the farmhouse on his estate – or rather, John would, as the practice at the time was that any property or income a woman had passed to her husband when she married. In Scotland however, women had far more of a say in marital finances and sometimes ran the whole estate if they were able.

Elizabeth was a little overcome at the size and scope of Laxton Estate. She and John walked together, her parents admiring the exotic fruits and flowers in the glasshouse and Amelia trailing behind them. John had promised her that later they would visit the stables to see the horses and a litter of kittens that one of the farm cats had just given birth to.

‘How have you not been snapped up by a finer lady than I, John Lykel?’ she asked him as Morag admired the vegetable beds outside the glasshouse.

‘None attracted my attention like you, my dear Lizzy’ he assured her ‘Money and title are superficial and I did not expect to be managing the estate for some time to come. It is your spirit and your intellect that snared me – do you not remember our first meeting in the library?’ Elizabeth looked a little embarrassed.

‘If I had not tried to surprise Duncan, I might never have caught your attention, or you mine’ she said, and he smiled in agreement. He looked toward their chaperone and steered her a little further out of earshot.

‘Tell me my dear, what do you think of your room?’ he asked quietly.

‘It is very fine’ she replied ‘Is there anything significant about it?’

‘I wondered if your parents would be concerned that I had given you a larger bed’ he murmured ‘The truth is that it was challenging to allocate rooms and beds to accommodate both your family and other guests. I assure you there is nothing improper intended in giving you a bed that would accommodate more than one person. When we are married you may of course choose any room you wish as ours’ Again she blushed at the thought of what might occur when they were finally promised to each other and recognised by the Church.

‘John’ she said, squeezing his arm ‘We shall be wed soon, surely nothing can be improper, short of being more intimate with each other’ He smiled at her boldness

‘We have not set a date yet’ he replied ‘I wanted you to see the entirety of my estate before you accepted my proposal for certain. Some might find the prospect of being Mistress of Laxton rather challenging’

‘Mama and Papa have made sure I have been educated sufficiently for such a prospect’ Elizabeth assured him ‘Some of my friends have only been schooled in genteel arts such as dancing, singing and sewing, but as Father lacked a male heir he made sure to instruct both Amelia and I in the matter of estate as well as house management. It may come to pass that one of us might have to look after the family estate whether we are wed or not’ John raised his eyebrows in surprise.

‘Indeed, I was not aware of that’ he replied ‘You are truly a very suitable young woman, and I am very fortunate to have attracted your attention.’ He grinned ‘How have you not been snapped up by a finer gentleman than I?’ he said, echoing her words. She laughed and drew him closer, making as if to press her nose to his, but behind them, Morag cleared her throat.

‘When we have set a date, perhaps we will have a little freedom’ Lizzy sighed in exasperation ‘It is so tiresome having Morag trail us, and I am sure she wearies of it too’ she murmured, and he made a wry face in answer.

‘The next thing to do before you make a proper decision about our betrothal is to see the rest of the estate, and you will observe what your responsibilities might be beyond running the house’ he explained ‘You and I and Morag will take a gig and drive out. If your parents and Amelia wish to do the same, they may take another, for I have nothing that will seat more than three persons. I presume your father can handle a gig’  

‘Oh yes, he is very fond of driving Mama around our estate.’ She replied ‘And I am determined to be by your side for as long as fortune allows’

‘Perhaps I should reveal some of my lesser habits in case you find them repugnant’ he mused ‘Maybe I should pick my teeth or belch after dinner’ Elizabeth laughed

‘Nothing will deter me. I have read that in some countries it is impolite not to belch after eating at a host’s table’

‘I too have heard that. Perhaps we shall visit such a place together’ Her eyes lit up, but they were interrupted by Amelia sidling up to them.

‘Lizzy, if I see one more peach or rose I shall scream’ she said quietly, and turned to John beseechingly ‘They are beautiful, but you promised to show me the kittens at the stable’ John smiled

‘Very well, we shall go there next’ he said gently, and made his way over to the girls’ parents. However, they chose to remain in the walled garden a little longer, and gave Amelia leave to accompany John, Elizabeth and Morag to the stables. They spent some time admiring the horses, and Amelia played delightedly with the kittens.

‘Do you think Mama would let me take one home?’ she asked hopefully ‘It would keep me company when you – when you leave, Lizzy’ She looked so morose that her sister put a hand on her shoulder to soothe her.

‘I can’t say for sure, but you should realise that a pet is a big responsibility, Melly’ she said gently.

‘Maybe I can bring one into the house here’ she said brightly, her eyes shining as she looked up at John ‘I could keep it in my room, and when Mama sees how well I care for it…’

‘You shall do no such thing, Miss Amelia’ scolded Morag ‘The kittens are far too young to leave their mother, and are half wild. They are farm cats, and will catch mice and rats, not look pretty for spoiled young ladies’ Amelia pouted a little.

‘When we all get back to Edinburgh perhaps we will talk with Mama about you having a pet’ Elizabeth said. ‘Perhaps a little dog, or a parrot’

‘Oh not a parrot, Lizzy’ Amelia protested. ‘Eleanor’s father has one that belonged to his kitchen maid’s brother, and it says some extremely rude things, he dare not have it out for visitors. Also it makes a mess with its droppings’ John laughed at her tale, and Elizabeth looked up as her parents made their appearance. Amelia made as if to open her mouth and plead to have a kitten, but her sister frowned at her and she remained quiet. Already the stable hands were harnessing two gigs – small open carriages set up to take two  or three passengers, one of them driving the horses. John’s two gigs could each be drawn by a single horse, and he planned to drive himself with Elizabeth and Morag while Sir James drove his wife and younger daughter on a trip around the rest of the estate.

The rest of the afternoon was spent touring the orchards and farmland, the farm and the cottages. Elizabeth could not think of a single thing the estate did not have, save for a folly or some ornamental building or summer house. All was practical and business like, in contrast to her father’s estate which was largely for show, with long avenues of beech trees, an ornamental lake and a tower on a hill overlooking the house. The farmland was quite separate from the Manor, whereas at Laxton all was integrated and appeared to work well. Oddly though, Laxton Manor was, as she had already observed, a finer example with more elaborate décor and fine furnishings.

After their tour they returned to the house to rest and prepare for dinner, hoping that Lady Margaret would feel well enough to attend her visitors. The two girls endured their mother’s attentions as to what they should wear. She summoned a maid to Lizzie’s room to try out dresses and accessories for them. It was not a formal occasion, but if John’s mother was to be there, they must appear suitably dressed. It was decided that their best most fashionable gowns were to be saved for the ball and perhaps one or two other occasions, so their second best could be worn to dinner that night. They could then be put away for when the other guests were present, and they could wear less formal attire from day to day. The girls had two or three other dresses that would do for the latter, and various scarves, hats, bonnets and other hair decorations and hairstyles would transform those plain garments. Jewellery would be reserved for the very best occasions.

At last they descended to dinner. Lizzie’s father was already in the drawing room with John enjoying a cigar, on which his wife frowned, not liking the smell that lingered about him after he smoked. The Captain came forward to welcome Lizzie, taking her hands and placing a kiss on her cheek that burned her skin and made her stomach do somersaults.

‘Mother will be down shortly’ he smiled ‘She asks that we wait, and she will attend us. Would you all care for a cordial in the meantime?’ Amelia’s face lit up, as she loved sugary drinks, which her mother rarely allowed due to the effect on the young woman. She tended to become more animated and subject to flights of fancy, but at a pleading look, her mother accepted for all three of them. Sir James was already enjoying a pre dinner glass of brandy in a fine balloon glass.

‘Oh, is this raspberry?’ Elizabeth asked as a servant brought round a tray of glasses of clear red liquid.

‘Indeed it is’ John replied ‘You will have seen the fruit bushes in the gardens – we had an excellent crop last year. Perhaps you might like to try our raspberry brandy later’

‘Perhaps we might’ their mother replied politely. It was but a short time before a servant came to open the door for Lady Margaret to enter the room. The girls curtseyed and Sir James gave a little bow.

‘Please, if we are to be family we should dispense with such formalities’ the Duchess said generously ‘Sir James, your daughters are have very particular manners; they are a credit to you. I know not what it is like to bring young girls up to fit into polite society.’ She inclined her head to John ‘My dear son is not the only child I have borne, but he is the only one to survive past his infancy’

‘Oh, my dear Lady Margaret’ Elizabeth’s mother said sorrowfully ‘I am so sorry to hear it. I was fortunate to have my girls, and never a lost child to our marriage.’ At this moment John’s manservant came to announce that dinner was ready to be served, and they all moved to the dining room to seat themselves as before at the long table. It was set more formally with silverware and lit by chandelier and candelabra, the soft light setting off rainbow glints on the silver and crystal on the table.

The first course was swiftly served – lobster bisque, which John assured all was made fresh from creatures bought this morning from the nearest fishing village, some hour or so’s cart journey away. Elizabeth was fond of shellfish and declared it was the best she had tasted in a while. The family had stayed with a distant cousin in North Berwick on the coast east of Edinburgh the previous year, and had enjoyed much fresh seafood then, even though it was readily available at home due to the city’s proximity to the port of Leith. Food was more expensive in the capital due to the cost of transporting it in the quantities needed by the number of people that called it home, and many merchants charged the upper classes more, knowing they could afford it.

For the second course, some few dishes of meat and fish were set out on the table along with vegetables and sauces, all made from produce from the estate. There was salmon from the river and pork from the farm, and pickled cucumber from the hothouse, as well as delcate onion and mushroom sauce and egg balls made from egg yolks. Wine was served from the cellar, and altogether it was a fine and delicate repast that Elizabeth made sure to savour and compliment. She cast her eye over her youngest sister to ensure that she wasn’t eating too fast, but she saw that the flavours and textures of the dishes had not gone unnoticed, and she was savouring her food delicately.

She sampled a little of every dish, and the pace of the meal and the conversation was such that when dessert was served, she found that her stomach had space to take some. Sweet cakes and fruit were set out, but the highlight of the meal was the presentation of a dish of lemon sorbet, brought in with a flourish by John’s manservant. Amelia’s eyes grew wide at the sight of the dessert.

‘Oh my goodness’ she breathed ‘I can only remember having anything this fine but once before, at the Beaumont’s Easter dinner party’ John smiled at her wide eyed expression. Elizabeth thought privately that it was as well to produce such a grand dish now, so that Amelia wouldn’t be so overwhelmed at the grand dinner to come, when others would be present.

‘You saw the ice house on the tour, Miss Amelia’ he said ‘We fill it with ice every winter, and it is well insulated enough for it to still have some left when the snows return the next season. As you may have seen, we grow lemons in the hothouse also’  

‘It is extremely generous of you to serve it outside a formal dinner’ Lady Charlotte declared ‘We are, after all, almost ‘en famille’ rather than with other guests’ John inclined his head as the servants presented each of them with a glass bowl with a spoonful of the sorbet, equally distributed so the serving dish was empty. It was enjoyed not in silence, but with sounds of delight and appreciation. With a sigh, Amelia pushed her empty bowl aside and looked longingly at the little cakes close to her.

‘Please, help yourselves to more, should you wish it’ John said kindly, and timidly she took one to nibble, as the others also chose small morsels to finish their meal. John sat back in his seat, and addressed Elizabeth’s parents.

‘So, I wanted Liz – Miss Elizabeth – to see the best we have before she properly accepts my proposal of marriage’ he announced. ‘Though I must confess we have not had occasion to serve such a fine dinner since I have returned from sea.’

‘You must have many a fine dinner in the officer’s mess, Sirrah’ Lord James interjected. ‘I have been told that only the common sailors eat bully beef and hard tack’

‘Of course’ John replied ‘But I find it does well to eat with the men sometimes to remind oneself of the conditions under which they work. There is a balance to be had between maintaining order and making a bond of brothership with the lower ranks’ Sir James nodded sagely, then turned to his elder daughter.

‘Well Lizzie’ her father prompted ‘Has all this finery turned your head? Do you think you would like to be mistress of such a fine estate?’

‘I would be content with a cottage in the country, should I have the company of my John’ she replied ‘I hope Lady Margaret will be able to advise me on the management of this establishment, for I am sure I will find it a challenge’ Lady Margaret nodded her assent.

‘I am sure you will learn swiftly, and add your own flair to what will be your home should you accept John’s proposal, my dear’ she replied.

‘I would not think to have your answer with all watching, my dear Lizzie’ John replied ‘You have but to tell me in private’ She gazed into his eyes, and much as she wanted to declare her devotion then and there, she thought it best to honour his wishes. She hoped that once they were properly engaged, Morag might let them off the leash a little and they could have some time alone. She wished with all her heart that their engagement would not be a long one, and that they would soon be married.

@sirbeepsalot​ @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria​ @dcbbw​ @rainbowsinthestorm​ @katedrakeohd​ @trappedinfandoms​ @kingliam2019​ @nomadics-stuff​ @texaskitten30​ @princess-geek​ @texaskitten30​

[cxptain-capsicle]

That Wears the Crown

Pairings: Prince!Steve x Princess!Reader

Warning: just fluffy and happy for the most part

{Part 1}   Masterlist      Taglist 

“I’m leaving tomorrow and dawn, I couldn’t stand seeing you marry another man. If you wish to come with me, meet me at the southwest stables.” With that he left in the direction of his quarters, leaving you with a decision to make. “My lady,” A frail voice said from behind you. You turned to see one of the handmaidens assigned to you. “The Prince sent me to fetch you.” “Tell the Prince that I feel unwell, I wish to be left undisturbed.” You had the words out of your mouth quickly. “Yes My lady,” The girl said softly before hurrying away.                                                      ______ You couldn’t go, you weren’t going to, but then why were you loading up a bag full of clothes. While everyone was at the banquet the night before you snuck into the servants quarters and grabbed the most inconspicuous dress (making sure to leave a few coins behind for new ones). You had a large bag of coins that was tucked into a belt that was hidden beneath your skirt. Finally, you grabbed a dark emerald cloak, it wasn’t the most inconspicuous but it was all that you had to keep you warm.

Were you really going to leave? You took a look around the room that you had been staying in for several weeks, taking what may be your last look at the inside of a castle ever again. The bright and deep colors that were a sign of wealth and royalty. The delicately made wooden chairs with satin upholstery. The velvet draped that glowed in the sunlight. The sunlight. I’m leaving tomorrow and dawn Have you missed him? Are you too late? You opened your door quietly but it was still far too early for anyone to be awake. You swiftly made your way down the south staircase that led you outside not too far from the stables. Once outside you threw your hood up hoping that none of the servants would see you face. When you turned into the stable the only one there was the stable boy, and an empty space where a horse used to be. “Boy,” You turned to the wide eyed child. “Has anyone left today?” The boy stood there staring up at you in fear. You tossed him a small gold coin which he bit into to check it’s authenticity. “Has a man left today?” “Y-yes, the prince left close to half an hour ago.” He stuttered. “Did he say where he was going?” The boy only sputtered incomprehensible. “Did he say where he was going? I’m not going to tell the King.” You realized that Steve must have told him not to tell anyone. “He said he was going south to a village that lays on the edge of the two kingdoms.” You smiled at the boy, thankful for his help. “Oh thank you boy!” You embraced the boy before pulling a few coins from your bag. “Okay listen to me very carefully, I need a horse, once I’m gone get two horses from the north stable and bring them here. If anyone asks if you’ve seen us tell them that the Prince and I went north towards the city, tell them we were going to the church to be married. The two horses will be missing from the north stable so they won’t suspect anything of you. Most importantly, never tell anyone the truth.” The boy shook his head and looked at the coins in shock, the boy had probably never seen so much money let alone held it. The boy got you the smallest mare so that you could easily mount it. You gave the boy another thank you before speeding off into the direction that the Prince went. You knew the village that the boy had mentioned, it was a large dispute in the war over which kingdom it belonged to; it was about an hours journey from the castle but at your speed it would only take half that time. You soon approached the village, slowing down to a trot and pulling your hood far over your face. You scanned the village for any shop that might have peeked Steve’s attention. A small pub caught your eye especially the black steed tied out front. You rode up to the pub and hopped off of your mare. The black horse was clean and polished, it’s bridle was shiny leather with gold pendants. You slowly approached the horse, careful not to startle it. Bringing your fingers up to touch the pendant on the horse's shoulder, the royal pendant, you heard footsteps behind you. Before you could turn around you felt the sharp point of a knife at the back of your neck even through your cloak. “Step away from my horse ma’am.” Steve’s smooth as honey voice said from behind you. You slowly brought your hand up to pull down your hood before turning around to see that he also had a cloak draping over him. “Y/n,” His response seemed involuntary like the shock of seeing you standing before him pulled it out. His grip loosened on his knife letting it fall to the ground before his grip came around you. “I thought you weren’t coming.” He dropped his head and buried it in the crook of your neck. “I lost track of time.” You explain as you brought your hands up to card them through his hair. “Come with me,” He pulled your hood back up and placed his hand on the small of your back, bringing you into the pub, pushing you past the crowd and into the cellar. “Won’t we get in trouble for being in here?” “I know the owner, he said he would let me stay here until the guards have cleared the village.” He explained to you. “That may be quite some time, we need to get as far from here as we can while we still can.” You opposed him. “Why is that?” You explained to him what you had told the boy. “We should head to the east border,” You proposed. “There is farmland there that is so deep in the woods your guards will never find it, neither will mine. There are acres of land, no one will know that we’re there.” “Okay then,” He nodded. “Farm life it is.” The two of you headed east as you proposed, you led Steve through the woods for so long that he began to doubt the story of your hidden farmland. Steve was half way through a complaint when you stopped him. “Steven darling,” You turned back to see him. “What?” He sighed and looked up at you. “We’re here.” You pulled your horse to the side so he could see the end of the trees that led to rolling hills as far as the eyes could see. His mouth fell open wide and he strode past you to see more. “I’ve never seen so much empty land in my life.” He said softly. “What?” You chuckled at him. “My father and I found this place when we were coming back from a fishing trip “He doesn’t sound all too bad.” Steve grinned at you. “He pushed me in the lake.” You deadpanned to him which caused him to let out a belly laugh that pulled a smile out of you. “Does anyone live out here?” He questioned. “A few.” You began to continue forward. “This land is large enough that you could live here for years and never know that you had neighbors.” “This is on the border of the kingdoms, why is there no war here?” “Supposedly when your kingdom invaded two families came together and slaughtered the whole militia, when mine invaded it had the same outcome, the kingdoms decided it was better to leave them be.” You explained. Steve’s body stiffened quickly. “But that’s just folk lore.” You giggled.

“Sounds like wonderful company.” He threw out sarcastically.

You saw a cottage or two while exploring the land until Steve found a small pond, hidden by a hill and far away from any other people. This would be your new home. Steve had visited your closest neighbors, an elderly couple, the women blinded from illness and their grandson. He traded work for tools that he could use to build a small cottage for you. These people had never left their land so they posed no threat of recognizing either of you. Steve came home each night, exhausted from work in the sun only to work throughout the nights but soon you had a roof and four walls. One day Steve had returned from a hunting trip where he shot one large buck, you hadn’t seen so much food since you had left the castle about three weeks ago. You sat outside nurturing the fire you were building to cook the food when you saw the young grandson riding quickly towards you. The trotting brought Steve out of the cottage. “What is it boy?” Steve called out. His white undershirt was yellowed from sweat and dirt, his face was no longer clean shaved but now covered in a beard. “The Prince and Princess have escaped the castle,” He panted, out of breath from the ride. “The royal guards passed the woods but grandfather said they gave no notice to our land and continued up the border.” “Thank you son.” You nodded to the boy as calmly as you could. A wave of relief washed over Steve, your plan may have just worked. Steve thanked the boy and sent him away. “I think such good news calls for a feast.” You grinned up at Steve and motioned to the cooked food.

7 years later

“Y/n,” Your unofficial husband called your name. Steve had proposed to you several years ago but neither of you wanted to risk getting officially married in a church. You held a small ceremony with your neighbors who had become like family to you. “Yes darling?” You came outside to see what he wanted when you saw the young boy who was now a grown man coming over the hill. “The King is dead!” The boy screamed as he cane over the hill. You looked over to Steve in shock. Steve’s father had died not long after you fled the castle and Prince Grant assumed the throne with no Queen at his side. You suspected that he did not wish to share his power. “The King has died, a lance to the heart.” Only he could find a way to be killed in a joust. “There is no heir to the throne.” “What of the King’s mother?” You asked the boy. “She lives, but she wishes for her son to take the throne, the one whom fled all those years ago.” The boy explained. “Yes, I remember.” You nodded. “Thank you, you may return home.” The boy nodded and turned back towards his cottage. “We must go back.” Steve spoke up. “No Steve we mustn’t.” You shook your head at him. “You may go back but I shall stay, I would be hung if I went back.” “No you won’t.” He took your hands in his. “You shall be Queen.” You scoffed at him. “I thought we left to escape this?” You turned away from him. “That was when there was a King, Y/n we could go home, we could get married, we could live without fear, you could see your sisters, your mother.” Your mother still lived, she gave the throne to your sister Mary not too long after you left. “And what if someone recognizes us before we reach the castle?” You turned to him.   “No one will recognize us, you know we don’t look too royal anymore.” He joked. It was true your hair had grown much longer and without the intricate braids and large dresses you were nearly unrecognizable. Steve’s beard was long and dark, hiding the lower half of his face, his hair had grown past his ears, you cut his hair once it grew too long for him to work with but never more. You sighed and turned around to look up at him. “Prepare the horses.” Steve smiled at you and turned on his heels to get the same horses you had left on. It nearly crushed your heart to leave your home behind, the house that Steve had built for you in those first weeks. The cottage was the first place that had ever felt like home to either of you. “We must leave now if we’re going to make it to the funeral.” The funeral would be your only chance to sneak into the castle and see the queen. You mounted your horse and rode it up the hill before looking at your house one more time, no smoke rolling through the chimney, no oil lamp lit in the window. Going down the hill and past your neighbors house you saw the grandfather waving you to slow down. “What is it?” You asked the man. “Are you off to the castle?” The man asked to which you nodded. The man took one hand off your reigns and held it in his. “Be careful Princess.” He said softly as he looked far into your eyes. “How did you-?” You sputtered. “I was a royal guard.” He brought his other hand to trace the royal pendant on your horse's bridle. “I guarded the young princesses, you were only a few months old, but your eyes have not changed.” The man gave you a sad smile. “Why didn’t you turn us in?” You shook your head in shock. “I fled as well,” The man began. “I felt as though you were brought here for a purpose. I was meant to protect you.” “Thank you.” You let a tear fall down your cheek. “I-I don’t know if I’ll be able to return.” You choked out. “I’ll water your flowers.” The man smiled at you which caused you to laugh. “We have to go!” Steve yelled at you from far in the distance. You gave the man one last smile before riding to meet Steve. _____ “The Queen is in the throne room awaiting your condolences.” A guard yelled into the crowd. Steve and you filed into line with your hoods far over your head. You began to near the queen, and your hands began to shake with nerves. “Next!” A guard yelled, you recognized him from your time in the castle. Steve promptly stepped forward, lifting his head so the Queen could see his face. The gasp that escaped her lips echoed through the hall as she stood to her feet. “Steven..” Her voice quivered as she extended her hands to him. Steve took them and wrapped his arms around his mother. “Send everyone home.” The Queen told her guards. “My son has come home.” Murmurs spread throughout the room and the guards began pushing people out. A guard stepped in front of you and began to push you away. You protested and tried to push against him. “Wait!” Steve shouted and came to your rescue. “She’s with me.” He pulled you past the guards and looked you in the eyes, checking to see if you were okay. The guards looked at the queen and she nodded at them. “Mother,” Steve brought you up to stand in front of his mother. “You remember Princess (Y/n).” “Of course,” She nodded slowly. “The girl who my son fled the castle for.” “I’m so sorry you highness-” You began but you were cut off by her embrace. “Thank you, girl.” Her voice quivered. “He was so happy with you, I begged his father not to marry you to Grant.” “Oh...you’re welcome.” You said uneasily causing Steve’s warm laugh to make you feel safe again.

35 years later

“We’re so proud of you.” Your now official husband said to your son, the newest King. James was a good boy, much like his father, he led with his heart. James was fully grown and in his twenties now, it was time that he take the throne.

“Why must you leave?” James looked at you.

“Oh darling,” You took your son in your arms. “The royal life is done with your father and I, we gave you the map though so you can always find us.” James nodded at you.

“I’m sure it won’t be too long before we come to see you.” Natasha, your son's wife said to you. You smiled at her knowing that your son and crown were in good hands.

“Is she still here?” A yell filled the halls as you saw you youngest sister Agnes running up to you. “Oh I thought you’d left!” She wrapped her arms around you. Agnes was not the small child who you saved from invaders so long ago. She was in her fifties now, widowed and left with two sons. Mary, the queen, came in calmly after her.

“So you’re taking one from mom’s book, retiring.” She smiled at you.

“It’s time.” You nodded to her. “If you ever need anything-”

“I know.” She nodded a single tear running down her cheek. You brought your hand up to wipe it away. “I love you my little sisters so much.” You brought Agnes and Mary in a tight embrace. ______ Coming over the hill it felt like you had been gone for only a few days. You excitedly rode your horse down the hill and hopped off with giddy. You walked around the house to see every view that you missed so much. When you reached the far corner of the cottage you stopped in shock. Beyond your feet was the flower bed, still as bright as the day you had left them. You knew the man must have passed by now, his grandson must be the one taking care of them. “What’s this?” Steve came from behind you. “He said he’d water my flowers.” You simply stated. You never told Steve what the man had told you that day, that was between you and your guard. “Well,” Steve wrapped his arms around your waist. The two of you were no longer the two young heirs who fled the castle but even after all this time your vigor for life and love for each other had never faded. “We’re home.”

@futuremrspeterparkerholland @camiidesandoval​ @raekenliar​ @zabdisamor​ @ouchiemyfinger​ @peterpandco​ @delicately-important-trash​ @whatdafricklefrackle​ @saturn-aka-six​  @teellmeyourwish​ @fearlessprncss​ @jillanaholland​

[junie-bugg]

Prospects and Propriety - Chapter One

Summary: Everlark Jane Austen AU

“We’re very similar, you and I.” He turns the leaf over in his palm one last time and then presses it into my hand. His fingertips are warm where the leaf is brittle.

We are, aren’t we? Me, a girl forced to marry by the rules and expectations of society and him, a boy whose freewill was stolen away before he could even walk. We’re both prisoners. Destined to fates we did not choose ourselves. Now I see what was so funny to him.

The two of us: we are absolutely tragic.

Katniss Everdeen and her younger sister Prim are the adopted daughters of Mr. Haymitch Abernathy, a wealthy man with no biological heirs. By the rules of Panem society, an older sibling must be married before the younger can wed. In a time when women have no means of making their own living, marriage is the only way for Katniss to save her sister from destitution and set her up for a happy marriage of her own. Katniss sets her sights on Mr. Gale Hawthorne, a wealthy man who just moved to Whitley and who seems to have his eye on her. But what of the poor baker’s boy who once took a beating to save her life?

Read here on Tumblr or on my AO3 account: izzacrosswriting

Author’s Note: 

This is a story inspired by my love of Everlark and Jane Austen’s novels. I am in no way an expert on the Regency period and I include fashions/details that are not historically accurate.

The setting is an alternate England-like Panem.

The plot is my own (Gale is not Mr. Darcy people, don’t get it twisted) but does borrow aesthetics and ideas directly from Jane Austen and Suzanne Collins.

The cast of characters is a mix of canon Hunger Games and original characters I’ve created.

I plan on including links to music and ambiance videos I used while writing so feel free to explore those! I typically play nature sounds and music together on my laptop so sorry if you're reading on a phone!

Warning: I do plan on this series getting a lil smutty. There will be graphic depictions of violence, sex, and possibly death. I’m still working everything out:)

Nature ambiance(s):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UZ9uyQI3pF0&t=1694s

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hUjUhZ1Yy7Y

Music:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0cc9ofwF-e4

(If you want to listen to this on Spotify it's called 'The Secret Life of Daydreams' from the Pride and Prejudice soundtrack.)

Word Count: 1,727

Chapter One

I run my hands through the tall grasses at my waist. It’s the perfect morning. The crisp air doesn’t quite hold that harsh bite of winter that will soon sweep the countryside in blizzards and ice. Emerald leaves hint at the coming autumn with the slightest tint of yellow along their stems. The sun shines bright through branches and I watch the forest come alive with squirrels and chipmunks that scurry through the thick brush. The dirt path I followed to get here grazes the edge of the woods, but I’ve abandoned it to traipse through the wild-flower dotted hillsides instead. 

From this high up, I can see everything. The village of Whitley lies to the west. I can just make out the rooftops of the squat brick buildings off the main square. By this time the merchants will have opened their shops for business. The rest of the countryside is peppered with grand estates and bountiful farmland. Rivers gleam like veins of silver and dirt roads are wreathed in the dust kicked up by horse-drawn carriages. I wish I could stay and sit here all day. I would drink in the sun and drown in the low hum of insects, though Haymitch has warned me of the nasty gossip that follows a lady with a tan and a set of freckles. 

A lady. I almost snort. Apparently, that’s what I am. Or what I need to be if anyone is ever going to ask for my hand in marriage. The thought ruins the good mood my morning stroll had put me in. I throw myself down among the tall grasses and begin plucking mindlessly at their stems. 

Haymitch Abernathy, the legal guardian of me and my sister, has never been one to force us into doing things we dislike. I’m allowed to ride my horse alone, hunt with a bow and arrow, and take off into the woods whenever I please, like some woodland nymph from one of my father’s old stories. If it wasn’t for Prim and my greenhouse back at home I would probably live out here. Until it got cold of course. I’m allowed more freedom than any other young girl in the county, I’m sure. But not even Haymitch can protect me from matrimony. 

My sister is excited for me. I imagine she’s fantasized about her wedding since she knew what a wedding was. To her, marriage is a romantic fairytale. A strong, handsome man of large fortune will sweep her off her feet and give her an estate to run and small, cherub-faced children to care for. To me, marriage sounds like a death sentence. They say if I’m lucky, I’ll marry for love as well as for fortune, but I never want to love someone as much as my mother loved my father. Because when he died, in a way, so did she. The only person I know that I truly love is Prim. 

Primrose Everdeen, my little sister, was never the outdoorsy type like me. She’s fair, with golden blonde hair that hangs in ringlets past her slight shoulders, and a face as fresh and as pure as a spring dewdrop. She spends her days drawing, flower arranging, and studying languages with my old tutor Mrs. Winthrop. 

“She’ll be a highly accomplished woman by the time I’m done with her. Mark my words, this young girl is special,” Mrs. Winthrop had said to Haymitch mere days after first starting Prim’s lessons. She had been my tutor for years and had never said anything nearly as flattering about me. Sullen Katniss Everdeen must have been a lost cause in her eyes. 

I’m four years older than Prim who’s a mere twelve. We share the same parents, though we look almost nothing alike. Where she received the fair skin, blonde curls, and gentle blue eyes of our mother, I received the olive-toned, straight black, and storm grey palette of our father. 

I sit up suddenly, aware that I left home hours ago and it must be getting time for my lessons. I dread heading back to that stuffy room where I’m required to sit straight and learn to be “lady-like” under the scrutinizing gaze of Ms. Effie Trinket, my new tutor. Manners are of the utmost importance to her, seeing as she makes her living off of teaching them. She considers being late an unforgivable sin. 

With this in mind, I take my time gathering wild-flowers. There are so many at my feet, their delicate white and yellow petals peeking up amongst the grasses. I deftly craft two flower chains. One for me, which I place on the crown of my head, and one for Prim clutched in my hands. I notice some dirt under my nails and smile, wondering what Effie will say when I arrive late and grimy. 

She purses her lips and crosses her arms as I enter the room. “Where were you?” She demands in that high pitched voice of hers. 

“Out,” I shrug. I hadn’t seen Prim on my way in so I’m still clutching her flower crown. I offer it to Effie instead. “Flowers?” She squints at my offering, probably checking for bugs, before gingerly taking it and placing it down on a side table. 

“Katniss, I need you to take today’s lesson seriously.” Her clipped tone sets my teeth on edge.

“I always do-” I start, but Effie cuts me off. 

“Don’t lie to me, Katniss. I know you don’t care for etiquette. I know that to you a spoon is just a spoon, even when that spoon is a soup spoon and should only be used for soup!” 

Again with the soup spoon thing, it was one time. But she’s right. I find learning manners and etiquette a waste of time. I’ve only been out in society for a short while. I barely attend balls seeing as I’m sixteen and prefer to stay at home anyway. I look up and realize that Effie is still talking at me.

“Are you even listening? Mrs. Winthrop was right, you are hopeless.” She sighs and wipes non-existent dust off of her shimmery lilac skirts. “It is imperative that you start paying attention and make some kind of progress in these lessons. Mr. Gale Hawthorne has recently taken possession of Templeton and is traveling here, as we speak, to take up residence indefinitely. Do you know what this could mean for you?” Suddenly, her annoyance melts away and is replaced by a teary, almost hopeful expression. The way this woman’s emotions swing back and forth between happy and exasperated hurts my head. She comes to clasp my face between her palms. “Mr. Hawthorne earns ten thousand a year, Katniss. Ten thousand!” 

I have in fact heard of the Hawthornes. Maybe those lessons have had more of an impact on me than I thought. I was forced to spend months poring over books filled with the names and family trees of wealthy, well-known families that I had either already been acquainted with or might be acquainted with in the future. A healthy knowledge of people, especially rich people, will get you far in life. At least that’s what Effie says. 

Gale Hawthorne is the eldest son of the wealthy businessman Ezra Hawthorne. I forget exactly how Mr. Hawthorne first made his fortune but the word mine sticks around in my head. What his mine produced, I’m not sure. Precious gems? Gold? Coal? All I know is the Hawthornes are incredibly wealthy, and Gale being the eldest son inherited when his father died. He is in possession of everything from the family fortune to a legion of servants to the many extravagant houses in Town. Now it seems he’s grown tired with the city and has decided to try his hand at country living. Good, I think. A wealthy man who’s used to the high society of the Capitol won’t last long out here. He’ll be out of my hair before the month’s up. Effie must not realize this since she’s still staring happily into my face. 

“And?” I ask.

“Well, he’ll fall in love with you and ask for your hand in marriage!” She beams as if this is obvious. “If you play your cards right of course. For instance, he won’t find you very agreeable if all you do is scowl at him like you do me-” I jerk out of her grasp. 

Of course. Marriage. It’s one of the only things Effie has talked about the entire time I’ve been her pupil. 

“Yes, Mr. Abernathy warned me that'd you'd be. . .avoidant. But don’t you see? That’s the reason I’m here. To teach you how to win a husband! It’s an art you know.” She sighs, probably seeing the panicked look on my face, and slips back into a tone of tired annoyance. “You’ll have to marry someone, Katniss. Might as well marry knowing you’ll spend the rest of your life in the lap of luxury.”

She’s right, of course. There’s no way for women to make their own living. I can’t go to university to study business or law, I can’t run my own shop, I can’t inherit Haymitch’s estate or fortune. When he dies the money goes to some estranged cousin on his father’s side. I am a woman, therefore, I am destined to either marry or die poor and unprotected. And Prim…

If I don’t marry, then Prim can’t marry. One of the rules of proper Panem society is that a younger sibling cannot marry unless the eldest has, meaning I must be happily settled before my younger sister can even entertain the idea of love. If I don’t get married and Haymitch goes and does something stupid like die, there will be nothing I can do. For either of us. We’d be turned out of the house and left to beg for scraps. And I will not let that happen to Prim. Not again. 

I force myself to swallow past the lump in my throat and spend the rest of the afternoon paying careful attention to Effie. She’s trying to teach me to communicate with men via body language, long gazes, and the fluttering of lashes. 

This is the only way to save Prim, and with each horrible flutter I produce and each disappointed sigh from Effie, I feel my chances slipping away.

[fuwafuwamedb]

To Live as a Mongrel (Gilgamesh, Hakuno)

He saw her the first time when he was working the fields.

Chained, beaten, and overall simply tired, he’d looked up to find her running across the pathway around the fields. Her brown hair had whipped in the wind. Her hands had cast out, casting blow after blow in the direction of the Nippur citizens that owned these lands.

“CATCH HER!”

The ones who’d captured him were running, trying desperately to get their hands on the woman ahead of them. Their arms waved violently back and forth alongside their person, their hands in fists as they shouted and screamed at the strange woman. Their shouts were met with insults. Their warning to curse her family were met with laughter.

Endless laughter; she laughed with the whole of her being, as free as wildfire.

“CATCH HER!” The main labor enforcer screamed. “WHOMEVER CATCHES HER EARNS FREEDOM FROM SERVING THEIR DEBTS!”

He doubted that.

Still, that didn’t stop his peers from running forth. Each of them held their chains, running as fast as they could manage. His squirrel of a fighter looked around, noting her placement and the dangers. Her hands held the clay tablet in her hands closer and cursed in a manner that would have made any parent toss her to a temple for repentance.

Blow after blow, she served them as they came upon her. She ran a lot, leaping into the fields and ruining the robes that she was adorned in. The headdress adorning her hair fell off, lost amongst the plants and the soils from whence the materials had come. She moved wildly, casting her spells and cursing them with every breath she could bring to those lungs.

She was simply brilliant.

Divine, even.

He lost himself for a bit, watching her turn and hit and run once again. She didn’t flee as she should have when she had the people beaten back. It seemed that she knew that running was not enough. Her pursuers were large in number. She would never make it far.

He himself had learned that lesson the hard way, thinking he could merely count on the people around them to agree that he bore no debt with these strangers.

This woman, on the other hand, relied upon herself. She beat one after another, making his hands itch when she stole a sword and hacked at one of the men. Blood rained upon her as she cast another spell. And then there was another, blowing back a hoard of the foul beasts whom called themselves men. She hesitated from her running as she found the shouting one approaching.

“You are my betrothed, you useless foreigner,” the man growled. “You are to bend to my will, plead for my hand.”

That soft expression and flawless face looked up to meet that man’s face, the thrill of battle no doubt singing in her veins still. “Go present your backend to Ereshkigal and stick your sword in it.”

To call the woman suitable was a gross understatement.

The moment those words met his ears, Gilgamesh found himself looming closer, wishing to watch more. The man in question held his sword at the ready in her direction, sensing him.

“Bring the guards,” he demanded. “I want all of Nippur to watch my woman be branded. We’ll have her eat from the stables for a month, perhaps two. You’ll be worn down until that sweet tongue of yours is softened by the remains of my obedient beasts.”

“There is nothing you own that is obedient, only suffering,” the woman replied. “But then, considering the look on your face when I stabbed your mother, I have my doubts you even understand the concept of devotion and loyalty out of love. Tell me, did she make you eat horse shit or did you father find it to be a suitable punishement?”

The sword went swinging at her.

Gilgamesh found himself lunging forward, catching the blade in the chains that held his arms together.

“…You… You useless worm!”

“If you are going to prove your worth,” Gilgamesh told the woman, “now would be the time to do so.”

Those brown eyes stared up at him, holding the depths of the earth in that gaze. Her lips moved a moment before he could feel the man before him crumble to the ground.

“…You saved me… Why?”

“Do you know where the keys to these chains are?”

The woman hesitated, looking him over before her eyes went to his head. “Your hair’s been shorn.”

He nodded.

To see the man die such a simple death did little to quell that fact. He would ensure that he shackled and stabbed the fool a good few times for his misdeeds.

“I will free you on one condition,” the woman told him.

“Oh?”

His savior nodded. “I’m to be wed to someone. The gods were bribed to say that this man we’ve knocked out is the one for me, but I won’t have it.”

“You want me to marry you.”

“Immediately.”

“You’re aware that a bald young man is the same as a cursed or godless heathen?”

“I just slaughtered at least a dozen men in cold blood, half in chains, knocked out my betrothed, and killed my betrothed’s mother by pretending to faint and running a dagger through her chest. Not a drop of divinity looks my way at this point, let alone speaks or holds opinion of me.”

“Consider yourself mine.”

The smile was proud, her arms hoisting him up almost making him laugh. This tiny fool, only barely making it to his chest, was now attempting to carry him back to the main house on this land. She was managing it too, although she tossed her tablet on him and pushed mana through her veins.

They made it back to the house and found the key in record time, freeing him and running onto the roads.

They stole horses from the stables down the way.

The woman raced him into the depths of the night, teasing him every length of field they went. Her hair was once more blowing wildly as they went, her smile and her wicked tongue pouring honey into his soul.

He claimed her outside of Nippur.

They raced through the wilds of the world, pausing to claim one another or eat from one another’s hands.

This wild woman of his, upon seeing his hair growing once more, was overwhelmed with joy.

“Your hair is as golden as the sun,” she breathed, kissing his barely grown hair.

Now she had to use her spells, coaxing it to come forth for her. She began to delve her hands into it after their bodies were too exhausted to continue. Lying beneath the blanket of stars, with neither of them having any memories of their pasts or ideas for their futures, they settled for touching what was just before their eyes.

They found pleasure in their moments.

And then, upon the top of a great cliff, they built a house.

Hakuno began to treat anyone whom came with ailment or flu. She concocted medicines and tonics to treat the suffering and the tired.

The magic eluded him for some reason though.

His body became violently sick as he tried to use any power he could possess, collapsing for a few days. Hakuno coddled him until his health returned, cooing to him to leave the magic to her.

“I am your magic,” she breathed, brushing his golden hair back. “Just like you are my physical strength.”

He built their home and he chopped them tools and firewood. Anything physical, right down to hunting and fighting, he took upon himself.

The world was at its finest with them together like this.

Or… He had thought so.

He awakened to a carefully crafted bed and blankets weaved and dyed by his woman only to stare at his ceiling.

“You don’t understand the first thing about humans!” Ereshkigal had growled at him.

“Oh?”

“You would never survive as a true human. You’d die or be enslaved quickly enough,” the goddess promised.

King Gilgamesh had become human…

His eyes roamed the room, noting the handcarved items and the home he had built in his three years away from Uruk. Perhaps more, since he didn’t know how long he’d been trapped in that farmland in Nippur…

“Gil?”

He looked over at the woman nearby, listening to the woman whimper in her sleep.

“Gil, my magic is going haywire with this storm. Can you close the windows?”

He used the Gates of Babylon to close the windows all at once.

His eyes drifted down to his hands, noting the power that now flooded his veins. The callouses and the wear that his body had acquired were gone.

I’m divine again.

What did he do now?