#not across the street where there's a small FIELD of snow and instead choose to walk back and forth yelling

[ilxiu]

i fucking hate the noise of children playing

[bisexualcrowley]

Undercover

Pairing: Harry Hart x Fem! reader

Summary: While doing surveillance at a gala, Y/n and Harry's identities are threatened to be uncovered and they take to a rather intimate method of hiding their faces

Content/warnings: smutty themes? nsfw, fluffy stuff, cursing, suggestive themes, semi-public foreplay/teasing, making out, Merlin’s still alive bc i want him to be

Word count: 3,729

“A Gala. In the middle of winter, this means I might have to fight in heels, is this really necessary Merlin?” Y/n sighed, glancing out at the light drifting of snow that had begun to flutter down from the sky. Its not that she had anything against winter, the woman mused to herself, just that it makes this sort of work so much more difficult. 

The year had been tough enough already, having lost Harry to Valentine, getting Harry back, the whole issue with the Golden Circle, and the constant stress was getting to Y/n, the smallest thing now able to piss her off, and unfortunately for her, this latest mission seemed to be more than a small thing. “C’mon Y/n, i know we all could use some rest but this is important, the target is threatening to release catastrophic amounts of classified government information. I’m not asking you to be on the front line here, I just need you and Galahad on the sidelines, more as surveillance and backup than anything else.”

Y/n had been less than impressed with Merlin’s words, wanting to stay as far away as possible from field work until she had gotten a decent amount of sleep, but her ears perked up at the mention of her best friend and previous partner at Kingsman.

“You’re letting Harry in the field again?”

She asked, surprised at the man’s words. “I thought you said he wasn’t ready yet, after the problems he had while working alongside the American agents.

“Not fully, as i said, the two of you will just be keeping tabs on him from the crowd, not making contact unless absolutely necessary.” Merlin must have picked up on Y/n’s eagerness to work alongside Harry again and allowed himself a slight smile as he spoke, sliding the paperwork across the table to the younger agent. “This place is fancy, i mean really fancy, you’re gonna want to look your very best. Go over his papers today and be here dressed and ready at 20:30 tomorrow. And I mean it, y/n, be dressed to kill, in more than just the metaphoric sense”

Most of her annoyance having melted away at the mention of Harry, Y/n agreed, taking the papers and shaking Merlin’s hand before turning on her heel and jogging down the hall of the Kingsman offices, hoping to find her friend. Luckily Y/n didn’t need to search far, finding him in the actual tailor section of the building being fit for a tuxedo.

Y/n caught Harry’s eye in the mirror in front of him and she shot him a grin, leaning casually against the door frame. “Lookin’ good, Galahad. Excited to be headin’ back into it?” She asked, affection shining in her smile at the sight of Harry Hart suiting up for battle once again. 

It was no secret among many of the Kingsman agents that Y/n had fallen hard for the man, her feelings becoming clear to them when Harry was shot as she had broken down in tears at the news despite being one of Kingsman’s toughest agents, however she did manage to keep the secret from Harry himself, terrified of losing the relationship they already had by revealing her feelings only to find that they weren’t reciprocated. 

Eggsy and Merlin, of course, had required a fair amount of bribery to be convinced to keep their mouths shut, finding the whole situation more than amusing and wanting nothing more than to spill the beans to Harry, whom they were fully convinced shared y/n’s feelings. Y/n didn’t crack though, and eventually the men had settled on the childish teasing of Y/n and placing bets on who would make the first move. Eggsy had put 50 pounds on Y/n cracking first, but Merlin put his money on Harry, having said something about Eggsy underestimating the woman.

At the moment, despite her refusal to share her feelings with Harry, Y/n feared that Eggsy was going to be the one to win the wager as she felt her heart beat faster at the happy smile Harry had offered her in return.  “Looking forward to be working alongside you again, Y/n, it’s been lonely without my partner”

Y/n felt her face heat up at the compliment, but determined not to let her resolve fail she once again held back the words she wanted so badly to tell her friend, instead choosing to push herself off the doorframe and saunter over to Harry’s position in the center of the room.  “So... A gala. Haven’t done one of these together in ages, have we.”  Y/n’s hand came to rest on Harry’s shoulder, still not having broken their eye contact through the mirror. “It has been a while, although luckily, I never forgot how to dance”

Y/n’s confident exterior faltered at his words, tilting her head to the side and eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “We have to dance?” She asked, voice coming out far quieter than she had hoped. Harry let out a very ungentlemanly laugh at her shock, turning his gaze from the mirror to meet his friend’s eyes properly. “I’d assume Merlin didn’t tell you for this very reason, y/n” He chuckled. “We’d stick out too much, standing in the middle of a ballroom. To draw the least amount of attention to our position, we’re gonna have to dance”

Y/n froze for a moment, weighing her options. On one hand, she thought, I’m dancing with Harry. On the other hand, i’m dancing. In public. What a terrifying thought, i should just tell Merlin i won’t do it. But if i don’t do it, i don’t dance with Harry. 

She squinted slightly, fighting herself for which option was better, but in the end decided that the upside of pretending to be Harry’s date outweighed the negatives in the situation, and after another moment of hesitation, Y/n nodded, nervously drumming her fingers on the man’s shoulder.

“Alright then. If we’re gonna dance, we’re gonna do it right. I’m gonna go find a dress, i guess. See you tomorrow, Galahad” Y/n breathed, a hint of humor making it’s way into her words as she went on, which to her luck Harry picked up on, and replied with an exaggerated salute, earning him a giggle and smile from Y/n before she slung on a coat and took off again.

Lucky for her the London streets were nearly empty, most seeking cover from the bitter cold within the comfort of their homes, and the trip to her own home was quick for Y/n. Almost immediately upon arriving, she threw open the doors of her closet, flicking through hanger after hanger of clothes that Merlin would be less than happy about her wearing to such a prestigious event. It appeared that luck was still on her side, however, as Y/n paused, pulling out a dress previously hidden behind a thick winter coat.  It was beautiful, a slim gown of deep green velvet with a loose, plunging neckline and thin black straps with a shimmering gold woven throughout, and y/n smiled, knowing it would be perfect for the following night.

The next day passed quickly, Y/n having to study the target’s file, shower, do her hair and makeup, fit a variety of concealed weaponry on her person, and what felt to her like a million other things, and it felt like no time at all before she found herself outside the Kingsman Tailor shop, glittering heels clicking along the icy sidewalk leading up to the building. Y/n reached for the door handle, shivering slightly in the cold but was met with the door swinging open in her face, Merlin staring down at her with Eggsy, Tequila and Harry behind him. 

“Y/n, you’re late, c’mon, there’s a car waiting in the back, c’mon lets go” Merlin ushered her along, the group rounding the building to find a black towncar waiting in the alley. It took a bit of maneuvering to fit everyone into the vehicle, coats bunching up in the small space, but eventually the group situated themselves in a somewhat comfortable fashion, and they were off.

The drive was longer than Y/n had expected, but no time was spent relaxing, having found herself rather distracted by her body being pressed against a very well dressed Harry, the cramped space forcing her leg to shift up onto Harry’s so that she was sitting partially on his lap, a position that had the both of them blushing furiously and Tequila chuckling from Harry’s left. 

Hoping to distract from the uncomfortable and unfortunately mildly arousing way she was seated, Y/n leaned forward to peer past Harry and raised an eyebrow at the American agent, who in return mimicked her expression, which brought a mix of annoyance and amusement to the still blushing woman.  “Mind if i ask why Harry was forced into the middle seat? Last time i checked, i’d fit a fair bit better” Y/n asked, Harry humming in agreement with her statement.

“Why, you wanna sit on my lap instead?” Tequila smirked, earning a snort of laughter from Eggsy and Merlin in the front seat and a glare from Y/n, where Harry shifted uncomfortably and blushed harder.

Y/n’s snapped back, but her retort was cut short at the feeling of the car slowing to a stop and Merlin leaning over the drivers seat to run over the night’s details one last time. 

The plan went smoothly from then, Eggsy and Tequila positioning themselves near the main doorways and Merlin settling himself behind a computer, leaving Harry and Y/n to shed their coats and make their way further into the ballroom. A string quartet was set in the middle of the north wall, playing what y/n recognized immediately to be a slower rendition of the seal lullaby, and she fought the urge to twirl around a couple times, instead smoothing out her dress and holding out a hand to Harry.

“Well Mr. Hart, may i have this dance?” Y/n spoke calmly, careful to avoid appearing overly enthusiastic so as not to draw unnecessary attention to the pair, but the warmth shining in her eyes was undisguisable to Harry, who took her arm with a smile and led her to their position in the ballroom.

The image of the two Kingsman agents settling into a graceful mix of a waltz and a simple slow dance was reflected off the marble floors, creating what would have been a beautiful photo had there been a photographer near them and y/n relished in the moment, hand clasped with Harry’s, his hand pulling her waist to his as they swayed to the music.

Harry caught Y/n’s eye as he caught her after a spin, a grin breaking through his character that made her heart flutter. The song slowed to it’s end and the couple for the night paused, the taller figure dipping y/n and freezing, their faces inches apart. Y/n felt her breath hitch in her chest, heart pounding at the intimate position they had paused in.

Her eyes met Harry’s again, the latter panting slightly, his pupil dilated and face flushed red, and dear god it turned Y/n on. Biting her tongue to hold back what would have been a rather humiliating moan, she rested her weight into Harry’s arms, allowing herself a second to catch her breath. As the next song began, Harry shook himself out of whatever state he was in and pulled y/n back up against him, resuming the dance like nothing had happened. Y/n, still flustered, tried to distract herself by shooting a glance towards their target, who had moved from lingering by the side entrance to scanning the crowd from a nearby refreshment table.  As the song reached a peak Harry spun y/n around again, but this time around her heel caught on the seam of her dress and she stumbled, accidentally turning away from her partner. Quickly righting herself, Y/n returned to her previous stance, but not before making brief yet intense eye contact with the man they were watching.  “Shit... Merlin do you have eyes on the target? I might have just fucked us over” Y/n’s voice came out in a hoarse whisper, eyes blown wide with horror at the prospect of ruining Harry’s first real taste of action since the Golden Circle incident.

“Hang on, hang on, don’t abort mission yet” Merlin muttered through her earpiece, y/n hearing the clacking of keys as the older agent fussed with the security cameras

“Fuckin hell, Galahad, Y/n, he’s coming your way. Hold your position, we don’t blow your cover unless we’re 100% sure he knows who you are. Keep dancing, but don’t let him see your face” 

Merlin’s voice cut across the earpiece again, and by the way y/n felt Harry's shoulders tense she knew he heard the message too.

“Shit, what do we do?” she hissed back, watching her partner risk a glance to the left and finding the target moving smoothly through the crowd, eyes set on the couple.

“Keep dancing, stay inconspicuous for as long as possible, if we’re lucky he’ll just pass on by. Now i’ll say it again, don’t let him see your bloody faces.” Merlin’s voice was low, and Y/n couldn’t stop the nervous feeling they caused from setting in as she watched the man grow nearer out of the corner of her eye.

“Merlin i don’t know what you expect us to do here if it’s so imperative we don’t move from this spot, we can’t just-”

Y/n tuned out Harry’s urgent whispers as a solution came to mind, eyes widening at the ridiculousness her own mind had come up with, but not seeing a better solution she shushed him, placing a finger over his lips.

Harry looked confused but went along with it, cocking an eyebrow in silent questioning and giving her shoulder a soft squeeze as the man drew closer, nearly close enough to get a good look at the pair, and y/n knew she had to make her move.  With a quick whisper of “forgive me for this Harry”, Y/n brought her hands up to cup her friend’s face and pulled him into a kiss. Harry froze momentarily, his jaw tensing in shock before he followed her lead and returned the kiss, their lips moving against each others perfectly in sync and y/n couldn’t keep herself from sighing into the kiss, unconsciously pressing her body closer to his. 

Harry deepened the kiss, his hands moving to thread through her hair and a vague thought reminded Y/n he was just helping to conceal her face, but it was shoved quickly to the back of her mind with a particularly passionate movement from Harry which she met enthusiastically. Her hands inched upwards to tug at his perfectly styled hair, which earned Y/n a low moan against her lips, and she pressed closer again, unconsciously slipping her leg between Harry’s. She felt his cock twitch against her thigh and all thoughts of what they were there to do flew out the window, one hand clasping at the collar of his tuxedo’s jacket and the other cupping his cheek, pulling his face down to her own.

Feeling bold, Y/n made a move to nip at Harry’s lower lip but before she had the chance, they were interrupted by a more than amused Eggsy clearing his throat beside her.  The pair flinched in surprise and pulled quickly out of the heated embrace, leaving Y/n wiping speared lipstick from her face and fixing disheveled hair, Harry somewhat discretely adjusting his clothing to hide the now quite sizable bulge in his trousers with a deep blush across his cheeks and Eggsy watching from the side, eyes tearing up from the effort of holding in his laughter.

“Merlin says good thinkin’, Y/n. The two’ve you were a bit busy to notice but Tequila got the guy, he went down nice n’ quiet, we’re supposed to get to the car as soon as possible” Eggsy had a shit eating grin plastered across his face as he spoke, which only got wider when Y/n gave Harry an awkward smile, which he returned briefly before shoving his hands in his pockets and staring down at his shoes.

Snickering, Eggsy escorted the pair through the crowded room and through a series of side doors, which after a seemingly unnecessary number of hallways led to a back exit where the towncar that had brought them to the gala was waiting. Dreading what was sure to be an uncomfortable conversation with Harry, y/n winced at the thought of how inappropriate her actions towards her friend were, and she moved to open the passenger side door but was stopped by Eggsy once again, who flung open the door and threw himself in next to Merlin, who quite to her displeasure shared Eggsy’s smirk. 

Y/n’s eyes locked with his, silently pleading to switch seats but her weak attempt proved to be in vain as Eggsy winked and pointed over his shoulder to the back of the car, where Harry was already seated.  Y/n glared at Merlin but didn’t argue, and took a deep breath before sliding into the car, which to her luck was no longer so cramped due to the third agent having stayed behind with the target. The space was still smaller than she would have wished, but the cover of darkness provided a touch of comfort that y/n was endlessly grateful for. 

Shadows crossed across her legs as the car rolled into gear, Merlin driving out of the alley and beginning the long journey back to the Kingsman headquarters. Y/n sighed, leaning her head against the window and closing her eyes, hoping the cold glass against her skin would help to drown out her racing thoughts.

Much to her dismay, however, they had been traveling for less than ten minutes when Eggsy turned around, leaning over his chair with the same wicked smile stretched across his face as he had worn before.

“So, you two had some fun t’night, didntcha?” Merlin let out a snort of laughter from beside him, Eggsy nodding his head suggestively between the pair in the backseat. Too tired to come up with a snarky reply, y/n simply rolled her eyes at Eggsy, and went back to working up the nerve to say something to the uncharacteristically silent figure seated beside her.

The realization that Harry was rarely this quiet around y/n outweighed her fear of confrontation, concern for her friend pulling her focus from Eggsy to the older man, and she turned to face him.  Harry was sitting stiffly, hands clasped in his lap and head straight forward, but he must have been watching y/n out of the corner of his eye, as he looked to the side to meet her eyes when she turned from her position by the window to look up at him. 

In that moment, the car was silent aside from the low rumble of the engine, the tension between the two growing from tolerable to an absolute peak, hanging thickly in the air between their bodies.  It was thick enough, apparently for Eggsy to pick up on it, and with a chuckle about “giving you two some privacy”, he pressed a button beside his seat that caused a black divider to come up behind him, separating the front from the back of the car and leaving Y/n and Harry in silence.

Both Harry and Y/n stayed frozen in place, faces turned to each other and her eyes locked on his. Hesitantly, y/n placed a hand on Harry’s knee, a motion that years of friendship had taught him meant she had a lot to say, but didn’t yet know how to say it, and Harry nodded, the silent exchange sharing more than words would be able to.

“...I... I’m sorry, Harry, i shouldn’t have...” Y/n’s voice was low, barely above a whisper as she spoke, trailing off as the words caught in her throat. 

"No, y/n, it was my mistake, i just...” Harry's voice faltered as well, fingers coming up to fuss nervously with the strap of his eyepatch, a habit y/n had noticed Harry picked up when he felt flustered.

Neither of them knew what had happened; one moment they were sitting in silence, y/n’s hand on his knee and tension high, and the next moment y/n found herself being pulled into Harry’s lap, her hands once again tugging at his hair as they met again in a heated kiss.  Her dress had hiked up to her hips at this point, allowing Y/n to straddle her lover properly, and this time she didn’t hesitate to grind down against him, Harry’s hands coming to grip her smooth hips as she rubbed her barely covered sex along the bulge in his trousers, both letting out groans of pleasure at the friction.

Harry’s fingers trailed down y/n’s body as they made out like horny teenagers in the backseat, moving from her hair down to cup her covered breast, and down further to trace along the slick fabric of her panties. Y/n whimpered at the touch and moved to return the favor, her own hand coming to palm at his cock through his pants, at which Harry gasped and yanked her down onto his lap once again, hips thrusting up to grind against y/n’s cunt.

She moaned against his mouth once again, pulling away for just long enough to strip off Harry’s coat and unbutton his shirt before returning to her position on his lap. The two were so caught up in the moment that they didn’t notice the car pulling up to the curb and stopping, however they did take notice to the door flying open and the flash of a camera, followed by Eggsy’s delighted voice and a deep laugh from Merlin.  Embarrassed, y/n quickly tugged her dress back into place and slid out of the car, holding out a hand for Harry to take as he climbed out, looking as red faced as y/n felt.

“Go on, buggers, we took you to Galahad’s place. I’ll find out who won the bet tomorrow, go have some fuckin’ fun.” Eggsy laughed at their dumbfounded expressions at his words, but chose not to respond, instead returning to his seat beside Merlin who drove off a few seconds later, leaving two very sexually frustrated agents on the sidewalk. 

“Well then... Wanna take this inside?”

[minuyu]

undying love [yandere! prince! x female! reader!]

Warning: This story may contain dark and unsettling themes. Proceed at your own risk.

01: The Three of Swords.

               “The prince may be the finest man I have ever laid my eyes upon. He is so light-hearted and sparkles like the most expensive jewel in the spotlight. He truly is perfect. I mean, have you seen his countenance ¹? His face has been sculpted by the very gods themselves. Not to mention, he excels in everything that he does. If he so much as looked me in the eyes, I would reach enlightenment. I do not have a doubt in my very words. Oh, he has lips that were made for kissing a maiden’s rosy cheeks. He has eyes that hold me hostage with their beauty, by much greater than the night sky ever could. His accent and words roll off his tongue like silk rubbing against bare skin, so soothing. I tell you, he is the love that all women want but no woman can receive.” The young, golden-haired maiden spoke in a hushed whisper on the streets to a small group of friends who huddled around her. With every dreamy sigh she took between her description of him, white puffed from her lips due to the cold weather. Despite this, the miniature crowd of women were warm in their hearts and cheeks, just at the very thought of the young prince.

               “Can you believe that he has never looked at a woman with desire? Despite of this, I can’t blame him. Somebody who deserves their body to be placed in the stars as a constellation is much too good for me. Nonetheless, I still dream every night of him. His love must be the greatest treasure a woman can get.” One of the women among the crowd continue on. The women continue to swoon, packed on the side of the cobblestone street.

               The kingdom of they called ‘home sweet home’ was one of cold weather throughout most of the year. Resting on the top of the tallest mountain that was surrounded by a ring of smaller mountains, it granted extra protection from possible enemies. At the foot of the mountains, about a two day walk from the kingdom, laid a deep and dark forest around this ring of mountains that gave them a great advantage over invaders. Tales about the forest had spread around the kingdom like wildfire due to it being so mysterious, but longer than any of the kingdom’s inhabitants. Perhaps, one of the reasons that the people were hesitant to leave the kingdom by foot, was the dark forest. Despite this, Spring still managed to peak out and greet the people with warmth and gracious nature every year. The kingdom was freezing, but with technologies advancing everyday, such as better ways of insulation and heating of homes with radiators throughout the floors and much more, they only got better at surviving the extreme temperatures. One must grow accustomed to the cold before they even think of treading in the King’s territory.

               One may be surprised, however their King was one of the very best in centuries. He was one of great kindness and care for the people, a true father of the nation. In that respect, his son made the future of the kingdom seem brighter. Excelling in just about every field, prince Bastiaan, the only son and child of the King and the late Queen, seemed to be a promising leader. One subject of the kingdom could not even batter an eyelash at the royal family. Instead, she preferred to focus on those who were near to her, like other lower-class people who lived among compact housing.

               Across the street from where the women had been gossiping, there laid a place where one could get their fortune told to them at a low price. Despite not giving a care in the world for the dearest prince and his father, women often came to her for tarot card readings that would hopefully predict that they would become the prince’s future queen. The shop, rugged in appearance yet strikingly colourful was her home. A big, wooden door with prune paint chipping off due to being worn out by harsh breezes during the dead of winter. On the door was a wooden sign hanging by a thick thread on a nail messily put into the door, that read ‘ Fortune Teller’.

               Inside of this shop, their was a small table and multiple beanbags and cushions spread around the floor. Shelves were fulled to the brim of tattered books about astronomy, myths, tarots, readings and so much more. A small chandelier hung from a cracked ceiling, painted with a beautiful mural of golden and purple-toned flowers seeming to rain from the night sky. The chandelier had a purplish hue that made the shop seem all the more magical. In the back, through an empty threshold with a curtain of silver star-shaped beads, was a table higher off of the ground with symbolic carvings of gods and holy symbols in the purple paint of the table. Freshly lit incense stands in a painted ceramic bowl filled with rice, imported from the warmer climates down South, at the center table surrounded by the cloths design.

               At the moment, two chairs were occupied. One, was taken up by a frequent client. Her name was Abella, who had also been entranced by the prince but not as much as other women. She came every week to the fortune teller, as she was always paranoid about the future. The tarot card readings gave her a sense of control, or at least helped her to prepare for any events that would take place. Abella had wavy white strands of hair that looked like the snow that fell outdoors much too often. Despite her young age, the white strands of hair were natural. Her face was long and clean, with little makeup placed upon to hide things that she called ‘flaws’. She wore a large, red trench coat that complimented her ruby crimson eyes beautifully. Only her grey, wide-ankle pants were able to be seen under the large coat she wore. She leaned in over the wooden table with the purple carvings with anticipation.

               On the other chair opposite from her, sat a young woman with [hair colour] strands of hair. She wore a large and over-sized coat as well, except hers was made out of a porcelain white faux fur. Her [eye colour] eyes seemed like a maze easy to get lost in, and her black eclipse-like pupils focused on the cards as she swiftly laid them out with her [skin tone] toned hand. The back of the cards were identical, all with the same simple symbol of a round, golden circle on a plain, pitch black back. The cards were placed neatly in unison with ease that one could easily tell that the fortune teller, who was called [Name], was a master with the cards before she could likely even speak. Her soft gaze averted to the Abella, inspecting Abella’s face that was scrunched up due to the difficulty of thinking which card to pick. They all looked the same, but let to very different outcomes.

               ”Pick a card, any card. Your fate will remain the same. Choose the ones that call for you, and it will be true.” You reassure her. Abella was always terrible at making decisions, but with reassurance from the very person who she trusted to help her every week, Abella squeezes her eyes shut and quickly chooses three random cards. [Name] picks up with cards that Abella had chosen, and inspects them.

               “For your past, you have gotten Death in the upright position. Death means that you have moved onto a new era of your life quite recently. It may have required some sacrifice and difficulty.” You tell Abella, who looked at you with her eyes as wide as saucers.

               ”I guess the Death card isn’t too bad.. when it’s the tarot explaining my past. Please, carry on to my present.” Abella says, biting on her lip afterwards in anticipation for what the next card would be. You move your attention back to the cards in your hand and put down The Tower card. Abella had never gotten this card before, so she quirked up at the sight. “What does it mean?” She asks desperately, as if her life depended on it. You chuckle slightly, and gently remove your touch from the tower card, leaving it in front of her and beginning to tell her what it meant, after you could hear the card speaking to you.

               ”The Tower in upright position. It means that there are big changes coming your way. These changes mean that any part of your life can be affected. Relationships, your job, or even financial circumstances. The chaos that the tower unleashes in this position will usually only affect one part of your life, but quite thoroughly as well. If the structures of your tower of life cannot handle this disruption without collapsing, then I suggest that it is best for you to add some new structures into your life.” You tell her, keeping your gaze focused on her to see the reaction you would receive from such a card. It wasn’t the luckiest card to get in present, but it also wasn’t the worst. The Tower meant that a part of her life will be heavily impacted. And that may be a good thing, as it will also give Abella a chance to build herself up again and choose better decisions in that part of her life.

               To your surprise, Abella doesn’t speak out and shout in a blaze of worry, she continues to bite her lip and nods her head, seemingly accepting the card in front of her. It seemed as though she knew what you were talking about and knew that in the end, it would have a positive impact on her life. “Carry on, [Name].” She says, in a more serious tone. She was properly thinking about the road of her life and obviously looked like she wanted to take caution and just live the best life that she possibly could.

               Finally, with the last card in your left hand’s fingers, you place it down on the table and tell her what was coming in the future, “You have gotten Strength in the upright position. This is a very powerful card and is generally a good omen. It means that anything bothering you at the moment will seem like nothing in the near future. Time will deal with all of your problems, but this happens all the time. You are lucky, Abella. The Strength card is a very good card to receive.” You tell her, a smile on your face at the good news. You feared that all the readings would be bad omens, but it seems that the Strength card turned the whole table around.

               Abella smiles delightfully, tapping her shoes on the ground with joy. “What wonderful news! I was scared that The Tower would lead to more bad. It turns out it will lead me to Strength. I must go through the hardships against me, mustn't I? Thank you once again, [Name]. Knowing what is coming my way truly helps to calm my nerves.” Abella thanks you, before pulling her sleeve up slightly to show a silver watch, which produced the subtle sound of time ticking away. “I’m going to be late for lunch with my friend if I don’t hurry. I’m afraid I may have taken my sweet time.” She says before taking two silver coins out of her coat pocket and placing them on the table. “Thank you kindly for the services once again, [Name]. I’ll be back for another one next week, as per usual.” Abella says, a pleased smile on her lips, completely different to the serious and frightened expression on her face as she was biting her lip earlier. Abella rises from the wooden chair and walks towards the exit of the shop, her white hair looking like a waterfall of snow as it drifted to her tailbone. Soon, you heard the door open and slam shut, meaning that she had left. Now, you sat alone in silence, with the muffles of life outside barely able to be heard. You get the cards and shuffle them up once again before placing them inside a box.

               Standing up, you place the pack of tarot cards within a small wooden box on one of your shelves, where it was now accompanied by at least a dozen other decks in the box. Closing the box, you decide that perhaps it was time for yourself to grab of something to eat, after all you could hear your stomach crying out for something pleasant to the tongue. You walk to the other side of the back room and pull open a black curtain, revealing a dark wooden set of stairs to the second story of the building. In the kingdom, most people usually had a shop on their lower floor and their home on the upper one. You found it quite functional and began walking up the steps calmly, despite the planks of wood moaning out with the threats of snapping in two due to wear and tear for decades. You lived in quite an old building. While it was not the best, it still had cheap rent and was home to you.

               Alas, your home could never compare to the gleaming white palace of pearl and golden detailing. The palace had towers that stretched up to the heavens and large windows that could barely give one a peek at their lavish lifestyle among the riches that their ancestors had collected through the eras. It may surprise a newcomer, however they were the only family that had ever been on the throne. True, pure blood royalty.

               The main doors were large and plain white with golden detailing and a large star in the middle that was made out of stained glass. The stained glass changed, depending on who’s reign it was. During the current King’s reign, it was red with a white flower in the middle of it, standing for fortune, purity and hope. At the back of the palace however, things got even grander with a garden too large for one to walk around in one day and manage to admire every single beautiful thing that it had.

               In despite of this, the prince’s keen, dark pearl eyes stared into the forest from his bedroom window, wishing for some adventure, or at least something new. Being forced to try your best at everything was tiring, and it was more tiring having to live up to everybody else’s expectations of you for your entire life. The prince was tall, standing at about six feet and three inches tall, about 190cm. He had a slender build, but his black outfit hid his well-toned muscle that had been build up over the years. Nevermind the fact of him being the best in combat, such as sword fighting especially, he didn’t have a single scratch on his skin that was as pale as the snow. Naturally, his cheeks were dusted with red due to the cold weather and slightly around his eyes as well, that were narrow and accompanied with orbs that were dark like the night sky. His lips had a slight red tint to it, but so subtle that one could tell if they examined him for a moment. His jet black hair was wavy and medium-cut for a man with it split in the middle of his forehead. His hair was undercut as well slightly, giving him an even cleaner look.  His hairstyle was truly charming, and was one of the most trendy hairstyles every year. The prince nonchalantly ran his long, slender fingers through his hair and stood up from the window seat, the grey light peaking out from the clouds falling on his shoulders. The prince wore a long-sleeved black shirt was a button-up, however the shirt went past to be buttoned up at the left side of his chest. His buttons were also black. There was a golden dragon embroidered on the prince’s shirt, but nothing was embroidered on his pants. They were plain black as well, and his shoes were pointy-toed and gleamed with ever step, but could never out-shine the prince no matter how much one polished them.

               “Your highness, the king awaits you in the amber private tearoom. He wishes to discuss your future.” The prince, named Bastiaan was being spoke to by a man who was neat in countenance despite the wrinkles beginning to form on his face. This man was his personal royal adviser. He had his grey hair slicked back, and the usual uniform of a white dress shirt and black pants but with red detailing, showing that his status was high thanks to the fact he was working closely for the royal family. The only person in the palace who ever dressed to show off their wealth was prince Bastiaan’s father, Alaric Beaumont Marchand Oscar D’Aramitz, who’s old age didn’t restrain him from wearing heavy red cloaks and jewels and badges all across the sash he wore. His pale grey hair still held some black streaks from his early, younger days.

               ”Very well then.” Prince Bastiaan responds monotonously, face void of emotion. His shoes clacked against the gleaming floor with elegance, and as he reached the expensive door, it was opened by two royal guards on either side. Walking past them, the prince makes his way to his father, the king himself. He could feel a nervous lump in his throat.

               As Prince Bastiaan walks along the polished halls, the floor tiled with black and gold marble. The wallpaper was extravagant and light in colour. There were paintings of past rulers and paintings done by famous artists, some of the paintings centuries old. Soon, he regretfully arrived at the end of the hall at a door much larger and grander than the rest, so detailed by gold that you could barely see the canvas that the gold had been laid upon. Prince Bastiaan dusts his outfit off and fixes himself up before running his hand yet again through his dark, silky smooth locks. Then he clears his throat and stands still. At last, the guards open the grand door for him and he is wet with the conservatory. Despite it being winter, the glass was so thick that it was warm inside. The room felt cosy despite being fairly large due to the large fireplace that roared on viciously behind his father. There he was. The man of the era. The man that ruled the kingdom. The man that ruled his life. He sat deep in thought, not noticing his son’s glamorous arrival. Several of his knuckles rested upon his chin as he contemplated deeply about god knows what. The room was dim, most likely ordered to be by his father who disliked bright light, complaining about the strain it placed on his eyes. Instead, the orange light of the fire lit up the room, accompanied by several lavender scented candles scattered about the room.

               Prince Bastiaan coughs, gaining his father’s attention. The king turns his head, looking at him with surprised eyes, having not noticed him enter. “You wished to speak with me, father?” He questioned, looking at his father’s grey orbs that matched his hair like the grey stone walls that had protected the kingdom for decades.

               ”Indeed. Please, take a seat, my boy.” His father responds. The king takes a porcelain teapot with fine blue designs on it from the table, and pours chamomile tea into two matching tea cups. There was a small three tiered tray of savoury treats, all attractively colourful and delicious. Their smell mixed with the lavender, making the room that tiny bit more enjoyable. Following his father’s wishes, the prince swiftly sits down on a matching, large wooden chair that was cushioned with soft, velvet, maroon fabric.

               ”It is time to speak about a certain topic, my boy. Your future. However, I would like to focus on a specific part. Which is, love. Every king and every queen has had a partner by their side. Love makes us stronger. My son, you are a gift from the heavens. Everyday, with each new achievement you make, I think to myself, ‘Is he really my boy? He’s so talented, and capable, someday maybe he will be as great as me.” The prince’s father begins. The prince stays silent, grabbing his tip of tea gently with his left hand as he pays attention. The only thing interrupting his father was the slight cackling of the fire.

               “My son, I wish for you to find a beloved. Perhaps, even a wife. Or even, a meaningless fling with a noble lady to your liking. You must relax. Sometimes, I look at your listless face and ask myself, ‘What happened to the little boy who used to smile at every single thing, as if it meant the world to him?’. I do not wish to find you a wife myself, however I may feel inclined to if you do not find one within the next six months. Or at the very least, a love interest. Every woman in this kingdom rests at your feet, worshiping your status, beauty and intelligence. Surely, it will not be an issue.” The king states.

               ”Father, this is unfair. I hate to argue with you, I truly do, but I do not wish for any of these women. There is no challenge. They all fall to my feet and would willfully marry me if I so much as glance at them. They claim to love me so deeply, they claim that I am god’s lost child, however they do not know me at all. The noble ladies wish to marry and converse to me for the status and money. My looks and capability are just a bonus. If I marry women like them, what will become of me? I must set an example, and if I get married, my wife shall be an example to the rest of the kingdom as well. I refuse for you to control my love life. I am perfectly capable of ruling this kingdom on my very own. When the time is right, I will marry. If that time never comes, it is of no importance. It is only love.” The prince responds, hands tightening around the arm rests to restrain his temper. In his head he could hear multiple voices of those who have commented on his love life before.

               ‘Prince Bastiaan is perfect, so why doesn’t he marry already?’, ‘I wish he would look at me and realize that I’d be willing to marry him. He’s a gift from the divinity I tell you.’, ‘Have you seen the prince? He must be quite a loner if he hasn’t ever had a lover at his age.”

               You could visibly tell that Prince Bastiaan’s calm response had set the king off with rage. “You will marry. You have six months at most. Do not dare defy me once more.” The king threatens, his voice dangerously low. Full to the brim with anger and disappointment towards his father, the prince raises up to his feet and begins taking swift and large strides along the halls towards his bedroom. Once he reaches his destination, he opens the door himself, leaving the guards slightly confused, only to realize what had happened when the prince slams the doors behind him

               His back was now pressed against the door and he looked down at his feet. He knew that he couldn’t impress everybody. He knew that everybody admired him, or at least, everyone except his father. He couldn’t understand why it was so important to find a partner in life, and he truly didn’t wish for one. He had read multiple romance novels from the palace library and all seemed to be filled with heartache and tragedy. He was not about to sign himself up for something that he knew would inflict emotional pain on him. If he was hurt in any way, he couldn’t continue being the perfect man that he was, and it seemed that only god knew how difficult it was to live to people’s standards. With the marker set up so high, even if he was slightly off target, everybody would be disappointed. The prince clicked his pointy tips together before walking towards the window and inspecting the kingdom that lay before him. The kingdom that he was set to reign over.

               Prince Bastiaan had heard from whispers on the street that there was a fortune teller. One that could tell fortune with great accuracy, and who’s abilities brought those who didn’t believe in her to their knees. He gazed out, looking for his answer in his mind. If he hired the fortune teller, perhaps it would help with his love life. Especially if she would tell him about his progress every week and what is to come. That way, he could be prepared for any emotional storm that would come. That way, he would learn how to win a woman’s heart with his personality alone. Despite of this, the prince felt his hope slip through his arms as he realized that he did not know what his personality really was. He was a puppet, or even a mere doll that everybody played with. The doll had to be whatever the people wanted, and they wanted a true idol. One that could compete against the greatest gods. Before he could think any further on that matter, a loud knock sounded on the door.

               “Your highness, lady Isla from the house of Brodeur has come for your meeting. She is waiting for you inside of the amber private tearoom where you once were. Your father has retreated to his private quarters, so you two will have the tearoom to yourselves.” The royal adviser's voice informed the prince through the door, slightly muffled.

               ”Yes, I’m on my way.” The prince says. “That’s today?” He whispers to himself surprised. He sighs, deciding that perhaps lady Isla was his only choice at the moment. After all, she was obsessed with him. She stuck to him like glue and whenever they were at the same ball or gala, she would follow him despite the weaves and turns he would make. She often bragged to her group of friends with how she was childhood friends with the prince, despite him not considering them friends at all for that matter. Her affections were completely one-sided yet she never stopped chasing after him. The prince looked back at the kingdom and sighed. Perhaps he should gather some suitable choices for himself before making his final decision. He needed somebody suitable to be the mother of the country. He wanted them to be great, or even greater than his late mother.

               The prince spun on his heel and went through the same corridor and door to return back to the tearoom. He had managed to recollect his thoughts, and felt much more calmer now. However, he had no idea how he would appeal as amorous or even properly flirtatious to a woman. After all, he did not find Lady Isla even the slightest bit appealing, not as a lover or a queen.

               When the prince entered the room, he saw Lady Isla standing tall and joyfully. At first glance, she seemed neat and mature. She was quite tall for a woman, standing at around 5’9. Shiny dark brown hair cut into a bob. Her diamond blue eyes scan over the prince, taking in all of his beauty with a pleased smile on her face.

              “Your highness, thank you for meeting with me today. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time.” She says thankfully, grabbing the back of the chair where the king himself had once sat, and curtsied, bowing her head much deeper than required to show how grateful she was. In all honesty, the prince had only agreed to this meeting in order to tell her straightforwardly that he was not interested in her. The love-sickness that was tied to him had grown annoying and was interfering with his work. Now it seemed that we had to do the complete opposite of what he desired to save face.

               ”You may sit.” Prince Bastiaan says motioning to the chair in front of him. Lady Isla blushes as she sits down on the maroon chair. The fact she was in his presence and could have his full attention for a small while made her feel like her heart was about to pound of its chest. The prince saw her as foolish, especially since she had sat down. Yes, he may have told her to, but she should know that it is required that any royal blood sits down first. It seemed that she had failed in the department of manners. How could a queen not even know the rules, manners, and laws of her own country? Prince Bastiaan sat down opposite Isla and felt pressured by her large eyes piercing at him intently, not leaving his figure for a split second. He felt uncomfortable but decided to use his confidence. He was a prince after all.

               The prince looked Isla directly back into her eyes with a listless face. She could feel that her heart was skipping beats like crazy, she was surprised that she had not fallen over with a heart attack. Though she didn’t know that the prince was testing out one of the moves he had learnt from reading romance books. His heart was supposed to flutter at the very sight of her, he was supposed to feel his heart skip a beat. But there was no warm feeling, no happiness, no sped up heartbeat. Nothing. Perhaps it was time for him to accept that he had been granted the gift of being talented in return for his ability to love.

               “How was your morning?” The prince asks, as a servant comes over and begins to pour them a pot of freshly brewed green tea. He breaks gaze with Isla and picks up his teacup, taking a small sip out of it to take the warm liquid in.

               ”It-It was alright. And yours, Bastiaan?” She asked, longing for his dark orbs to stare into hers again. Even if the interaction was over, her heart would not stop beating quickly. Prince Bastiaan put down his teacup as he tried not to flinch with repulsion and her poor manners. Was she a noble lady or a slave? He decided that she really was not the one that was worth the status of being Queen.

               ”It was lovely meeting you once again today. I have my studies to attend to. Thank you for coming, perhaps we could meet again in the near future. However, I am quite busy today.” The prince lied with his cold tongue. In whatever way though, the noble lady’s heart could not be cooled down.

               “That is...is quite alright,” She stuttered out, in disbelief that he had actually said that he hoped that they could ‘meet again in the near future’. Had something changed? Perhaps the prince was finally paying attention to the sort of things that other men his age would. Regardless, the prince just wanted to get out of this situation and as far away as possible. He didn’t want to appear rude after what he had pulled today, it may damage his reputation.

               “I’ll be off.” He vocalized, before standing and retreating back to his chambers. He rushed to the window and placed his hand on the clear glass, as if reaching out. Taking a deep breath in. He needed help, desperately. He was afraid to admit it, but this fortune teller seemed to be his only choice. If he was to find his perfect bride within six months, he needed to get help in avoiding women who didn’t live up to the standards. He needed hints. So with that, the prince walked over to the part of his room where a rope hung from the ceiling. Grabbing it with his hands and pulled, ringing the summoning bell. Several moments later, the royal adviser walks inside of his bedroom.

               “Summon that fortune teller near the compact housing. The one that the common folk and nobles alike speak of.” He demanded, not seeing any reason to justify his actions. He was simply complying with his father’s wishes, but not so much in the way that the king expected. He spoke with utmost certainty, determined to find the perfect queen, even if there were no feelings of admiration.

               The royal adviser simply compiled, slightly caught off guard by the request. “Right away, your highness. I will come back to you with them soon.” The adviser responds, before disappearing once again, the doors shutting closed silently behind him.

               Prince Bastiaan sighs sorrowfully, and sits down on a large couch in his bedroom. His room had a black and white marble floor, with wallpaper that was black and golden. Black was his favourite colour. It was practical and fit every occasion. Parties, afternoon tea, funerals, ceremonies, etc. Not only that, but the young prince swore to wear black for the rest of his life after his mother had passed, at the age of eight.

              Entering your shop, you move to take your coat off but are interrupted by insistent knocking on the front door. You open it a smidge and peek through to see a young man in full plate armor.

               “Are you the fortune teller of this shop?” He asks eyeing you down.

               “Yes…?” You answer, opening the door a bit more. You are about to ask what kind of fortune he wants to be read, when he speaks again.

               “Prince Bastiaan of the royal family requests your audience.” You stand there with a confused look on your face. You had just gotten home from finishing a late lunch, and several minutes later, a palace knight had come knocking on your door. To tell you that the prince “requests your audience”.

               ”Why?” You ask, hoping to get some answers. The whole scenario makes you scratch your head, wondering why the prince would want a simple fortune teller.

               ”You are expected at the palace by ten in the evening, tonight. A carriage will come to pick you up at nine in the evening. Have a splendid day. Long live the king.” The knight states, completely dodging your question. It seemed that your question was either confidential information or the guard did not care to answer. You sigh, seeing that you had no choice. You slam the door shut with anger at the knight who hadn’t even bothered to give you a simple answer. Now, your thoughts will wander until ten in the evening, when you were supposed to meet the prince. Then, you froze. Akin to a statue when you realized that you were meeting the acclaimed perfect prince from fairy tales that young ladies dream about. You had to look your best. If you looked the slightest bit scrappy, god knows what would happen to you. The prince may think that you are disrespecting him with informality and as a result, his father would behead you. Alright, perhaps that was a bit of a stretch, but it was still plausible.

               You hurried upstairs. It was already six in the evening and you only had three hours to make yourself look better than you ever have before. You admit, you didn’t care much about royalty or wooing the prince. However, you did care about paying respect to where respect was due. Though you hated to admit it, the prince had a heart of generosity. Not only did he give 90% of his homeless subjects homes and jobs, he helped fill their stomachs until they were stable and able to survive on their own without his aid. Prince Bastiaan had even risked his life in battle more times than you could count for the kingdom, returning without a scratch. He was the rightful owner of the title, Angel of Beauty and Blood. It sounded quite cliche to you, but you knew that it was true.

               Your wooden planked floors creaked with every step you made, begging for repair and threatening to break. You paid no mind to the creaks and entered your small box of a bedroom. It was full of herbs, orbs, and dried out vegetables, specifically for making medicines. The white wallpaper was stained yellow and was chipping off of the wall. Some of the wall was covered by a large tapestry of a purple eye, which was pinned up with two small nails. In the corner of the uncomfortably small room was a dresser, with your clothes hung up with thin, metal hangers. There was a drawer at the bottom, where inside were your underwear, tights, shirts, and pants.  You reached out for a hanger that held a purple and white dress. It was lilac and strapless, and the chest area looked as though it was a purple-toned water lily. The bottom was quite puffy and had translucent fabric stacked on top in order to add that extra volume. It had small, silver shimmers that seemed as though they could catch the moonlight, and overall, was quite cute and elegant. It had matching, long lilac gloves that went up a few inches past your elbows, and had silver ends with white flowers embroidered on neatly. This dress was once your mothers from what you could tell judging by the tag inside having the words ‘from mother’ sewed into it. You only wore it on the most special occasions, and this one was certainly a special occasion.

               You slithered out of your day wear, abandoning your old clothes on the floor before picking them up and placing them in a small laundry bag that hung on door’s knob, handcrafted from an old sack of potatoes. Afterwards, you proceeded to put on your special outfit. You admit that perhaps you had grown quite a bit since your last special occasion, as it was slightly more difficult to zip yourself up into the dress. As you put on the rest of your outfit on, such as the gloves and your white tights due to the cold weather. Afterwards, you went into the bathroom and stared yourself in the mirror. You wanted to give yourself a speech to psych yourself but as your lips parted, nothing came out. You had the lowest rank a person could have, and the second highest rank, only to the king, that belonged to the prince wished to get in touch with you. Yes, you. The [hair colour] haired girl staring right back at you in the cracked mirror. Perhaps you had the right to believe that broken mirrors granted you bad luck. If word got out you met with the prince, wouldn’t business become better? What if they gave you free snacks there? What if you were making a big deal out of nothing? What if you showed up to palace looking like a purple doll while the prince was in his pajamas? Wouldn’t you look like an idiot? In fact, what if business went south? What if people got jealous that you talked to the prince? What if all the women in the kingdom couldn’t accept you?

               You shake your head before the anxieties driving around your mind could come back to you any faster. You gripped the edges of the sink with your fingers turning white due to how hard you gripped it. You breathe in. “One, two, three. Breath out gently.” A young man with golden hair and snowy white orbs, looked you right in the eyes as you opened them gently. “Better, isn’t it? If you feel worried, then remember to breathe. I won’t always be here to remind you of that.” He says, a small smile on his rosy lips.

               “I feel much more calm now. My nerves.. aren’t as tense. Too bad the sweat on my hands can’t be taken back into my skin, I feel like I’ll form a river. I just.. I’m so nervous for this. I truly believe in this, Florian. I truly do. If I can make even the smallest change-“ You were cut off by Florian’s small, melodic chuckle.

                “Yes, I know, I know. [Name], you can change the world. You can do much better than your pathetic excuse of a friend. Keep your head held high. As a famous poet once said, ‘a happy soul is the best shield for a cruel world’. Stay smiling bright like you always are. Now, get out there and knock their socks off!” Florian reassures you, his hands gripping the sides of your arms and encouraging you. His smile shone brighter than a million suns and you felt blinded by his beauty and grace. Your soft fingers gripped into the sides of his arms in return, with stress and darkness. It was as if there was a rain on your parade and the sun had come to personally greet and save you. You regretfully let go of his arms, your own dropping to your sides. You bite your bottom lip and nod, feeling determined.

               “You sway the heavens like the branches in the wind. Surely, you can sway this crowd of people with your talent.” Florian says, before squeezing your sides tightly then letting go.

               You pant, your eyes wide and shaky. Your legs tremble and you fall down onto your backside, colliding with the hard tiled floor of the bathroom. Who was Florian? Yes, it seemed like a memory, but you weren’t sure if flashbacks got that intense. Your hands felt numb and your fingernails hurt from how hard you had unknowingly gripped upon the sink.

               Though you did not like to spread the information, you had amnesia. The earliest memory you ever had was waking up on the side of the street completely stripped of any memory or coin, as though you had been brutally kidnapped then abandoned. You’ve been dealing with it for seven years. Seven years of never knowing who you were, where you came from or what your family was like. It did not make you too sad because you couldn’t miss a part of your life that you couldn’t remember. You occasionally got, what you believed to be, glimpses of your past. They put you through intense emotions, and left you feeling as though you had experienced a panic attack about a hundred times within a minute. Your head ached desperately as your fist weakly hit the floor. God, you wished that you could remember something. Your fist raised from the cold floor and onto the top of your head. However, your hit against the top of you head was weak as well. Your fingers, covered by gentle cloth intertwined with your [hair colour] strands that rose messily out the top of your head.

               Getting back up shakily, you stare at yourself in the mirror. There was a small, wooden clock that ticked sorrowfully in the lonely bathroom, signalling that it was already at seven in the evening. Had time really flown by so quickly? Well, time is a construct. It flies by when you long for it to linger for longer, and lingers for longer when you long for it to fly by.

               You pick up the brush that rested on the sink and brushed out the tangles in your hair, and styled your hair in a way so that it was neat and tucked behind the ears. Doing so gave you a clean look, as if you were a completely different class. You practiced smiling in the mirror. As you practiced, you suddenly halted. Had you become crazy? Why were you practicing how to smile?

               Slightly angry at yourself for wasting time by getting carried off on a tangent, you hurriedly finished up your hair, using all sorts of products to make it smell luscious and look better than it ever had in its lifetime. You finished several minutes after the clock had hit eight. Now, you lightly placed some natural appearing makeup and hugged your faux fur coat tight around your body. You looked at yourself and took out a pearl necklace. It was on sale, and perhaps fake due to the cheap price you managed to get it in, so you had bought it just in case something like this had come up. You slipped on some white flats, not willing to risk a mishap in heels.

               It was now half past eight and you were pretty much ready. All that was left was to pack the things you’d need. The prince most likely called upon you as audience due to your fortune telling abilities. You made your way downstairs, switching the light off in the bathroom.

               You picked up a white satchel with some embroidery done into it of purple flowers. You had gotten it for such a cheap price despite it being quite the steal, especially since there was purple. You felt connected to the colour, even if it maybe wasn’t your favourite. Your empty satchel felt like a feather as you wrapped it around your body, then proceeded to look around the shelves. The small, brown box called out to you from the shelves, driving you to pick it up. Inside, there was a small, glass orb. The glass orb could give the user a warning to one’s future at the price of a drop of blood. This let the orb know whose future to read, and helped it to accurately show a glance at one’s future.

               You began your course of action for the drab, amber box that held around about a dozen different tarot cards. You selected the one that stood out of the pile. The cards had a back of black with the national flower painted upon. It was truly a beautiful selection of cards, so you put it into your bag as well, with all the cards held together inside a black card box. It wasn’t in top condition with numerous scratches on the cover, however you didn’t pay any mind to this, considering it was the tarot cards that mattered.

               Deciding to not travel too heavily, you simply place your purse into the satchel, now ready to go. You wait several minutes while sitting at the round table in the back room, eyes straight at the rusty clock. It was ten minutes away from nine in the evening, which was when you were told to be picked up. However, you jumped slightly when you heard a loud, firm knock upon your wooden door, causing the door to threateningly shake, as if it were to fall any moment.

               Quickly, you advance towards the oak door, unlocking it shakily. Your hands shuddering slightly as the brass key in the lock turned. You opened the door just by a peak, to see the royal knight’s eyes shift from staring straightforward at the door, towards you. His eyes widened slightly, yet he was quick to conceal his feelings. The royal knight seemed to be around his early thirties, still looking fairly young despite signs of ageing beginning to form. He wore a cerulean and argent uniform with a plain white sash around his slightly built form. There were several badges on it, indicating that he was of a fairly high status.

               ”Greetings. I came here early to warn you, but it appears that you’re ready.” The knight says, able to see part of your outfit and how nicely you had done your hair compared to beforehand. “Well, I’m glad that we’ll have no rush. We can leave early if you’d prefer. That way, we can be positive, with the utmost certainty that you won’t be late.” The knight suggests, his grey gaze staring at you, waiting for an answer.

               “I guess that’s logical. Let’s be on our merry way then.” You respond, stepping out of your house and locking the door behind you. Afterwards, the guard leads you to a black car that was as spotless as a ballroom floor. Waxed so greatly and excessively that you would’ve mistaken it for some sort of gorgeous eclipse. The windows were lined with a pale gold and there were two small kingdom flags on either side of the back. The guard holds the golden handle and opens the door with ease, gesturing for you to go into the car. In all honesty, this felt a bit sketchy, as though you may be getting kidnapped.

               Despite your thoughts, you complied and simply stepped into the vehicle, resting against the fine, red leather. The front of the car was separated from the back with a wall, which had a screen inside, allowing the person at the back to open or close it as they pleased. You stay still and gaze outside the window, reality starting to come to you. You really were about to meet the prince. You really were in a royal car. You really were summoned. As all this was processed, you gulped nervously.

               “You did amazing, [Name]! I’m so proud of you.” Florian tells you, a bright smile on his lips.

               “I know this is a competition but my god, you are good. I don’t think I can win this.” Florian adds before gazing towards the mountains. Your gaze follows his, resting on how the snow fell gently, like a million feathers upon the ground. You smile gently to yourself, seeing the sunset paint the sky purple and red, all as though it was from an expensive painting brought to life.

               “I only did well thanks to your great advice. Remembering to breathe helped me much more than I would have thought. All of the methods you teach me are very helpful.” You reply gladly.

               ”Gosh, this is tiring. I guess we’re working together now instead of going solo. On the bright side, there’s only one more mountain to go.” Florian reminds         you before pointing his pale finger towards a tall, dark mountain. Clouds hid the top of the mountain, with shadows from the sky cast a cloak of mystery and dread.

               “Are you sure that’s the right mountain? I thought the instructors said that we wouldn’t have to go up a mountain that high.” You speculate, hand on your brow in confusion.

               ”Please, [Name]. My navigation skills are top tier. You’re lucky I’m helping you. Look at the map, I’ve read it perfectly.” Florian responds harshly, obviously stressed. He didn’t have the best map skills, but believed that he could manage. So, he handed the tattered map over to you.

               “Oh, this is supposed to be a competition. Why are you so supportive? Do you have some ulterior motive?” You interrogate him, your gaze breaking away from the frosty mountains and towards your friend with golden strands. His diamond eyes squinted slightly before turning to you. He pouts as he turns to gaze at the mountain again.

               “You’ll feel relieved to know that I don’t. I understand how this competition can benefit us both, however. Enjoying these moments with you along the way is much better. I’d be happy to let you win, [Name].” Florian responds, before his smile fades away and his eyebrows knit together, concerned. While you both chat, you continue to look at the map.

               ”Florian, the map is upside down!” You yell, before sighing heavily. “I can not believe this. This is outrageous. We’ve been walking for a week in the completely wrong direction, Florian!” You complain, a whine escaping your mouth as you kick your legs in a childlike manner.

               “What?! Since when-?” Florian is cut off by a knock. Wait, a knock?

               ”Ma’am, please wake up. I’m terribly sorry to disturb your doze, however we have arrived.” The knight tells you from outside the window, his knuckles gently acting as an alarm for you to wake up to. The knocking had brought you to your senses as your [eye colour] eyes examined the real world around you. Two flashbacks in one night? This was too much for you. You noticed you had a blanket of goosebumps on your skin and that you had been lying there in a cold sweat. Slightly embarrassed, you nod your head.

               ”Yes, it is no problem. Do not apologize, I’m the one who should be sorry. I apologize for falling asleep in the car.” You reply, your fingers reaching for the handle, only for it to be pulled away by the guard opening the door for you. He had no need to bow, especially since your rank was lower than his. In fact, you were lucky that he was being kind to you at all. You heard many stories of knights who were disrespectful and rude to those in the lower class.

               You step out of the polished black car and as soon as you do, a butler steps inside and drives the cab away. You watch it for a second before following behind the guard towards the palace. As you looked up at it, you felt your jaw drop to the ground. It was more beautiful than the paintings or stories could have ever told you.

               The palace consisted of pearl and white marble on the outside, with gold intricately interrupting the sheet of white, adding more elegance. The palace was so large yet sparkling clean, as though there was a layer of fresh snow, glimmering with beauty and grace in the moonlight. Marble steps led up to the palace. Taking note of this, you were careful of each step you took towards the top of at least dozens of steps, especially as marble was slippery, and looked freshly washed. This made you thankful for the light blue carpet that extended from the landing at the top of the steps and through the closed doors of the palace that hovered over you.

               “We’ve arrived ten minutes early, so please wait in the staff room. Once the prince has summoned you, I’ll ensure somebody comes to guide you to his private library.” The knight informs you. As you both walk towards the main door, two other knights equipped with gleaming gold did some sort of knock on the door, signalling for it to be opened. As the large doors open, you felt all the luxury hit you in the face. Standing in shock at the perfect fairy tale scene. You had no idea that the inside would be able to compete with the extravagance of the outside.

               The walls of the palace were tall and were not shy to show off the expensive foreign wallpaper plastered upon them. The floor was made of black jade, with golden symbols detailed upon the jade. On the ceilings hung chandeliers as if they were made of the most expensive pure diamond, crying droplets of light that illuminated the hallway. There was a bright red carpet on the floor that led up to a set of silver and golden double doors at the end of the hallway.

                “Please follow me, ma’am.” The knight who was accompanying you stated, leading you down the long hallway. You were still in the hall, your eyes gleaming like a child eyeing their Christmas present and your legs nervously wobbly from the thought of the person you were about to encounter. One’s home reflected the person, and if the prince’s home was this grand, then perhaps, you had underestimated just how meaningful, important and powerful the royal family really was. You knew they had the power to kill you without a single person questioning the act, but you had never known that perhaps the empire was larger than you had thought. How were you supposed to know? Books were not exactly of easy access to you, as you had to buy them or pay the entry fee to go inside the public library.

               The knight takes a left, leading you down a different hallway. Stopping at the third door on the right. The door was extravagant, however looked less expensive than the others. The knight proceeded to open the door for you and stepped to the side, his arm pushing the door open.

               “Go inside, ma’am. You will be summoned shortly.” The knight states as you walk through the door, only to jump slightly as the knight lets it slam shut behind you. You look around to see several maids sewing and gossiping on a purple velvet couch. Several butlers and cleaners seemed to be resting as well. It seemed as though you had been put in the staff’s resting quarters. Your feet tapped against the grey and white marble floor. You approached a small, round table colored brass. You sat down on the matching chair nervously, hoping not to catch too much attention. Despite your attempt, one of the maids seem to notice your presence at long last and whispers to the other maids before putting down the scarf she was knitting to approach you. She sits down on one of the four chairs surrounding the table, and smiles kindly at you.

               The maid was wearing the usual black and white outfit, with her hair a shade of premature grey. Looking to be in her late twenties.

               “Hello there, I am Guinevere. I’m the co-head of the south wing’s maids. Are you here for work?” She asks, tilting her head with curiosity.

               “Actually, I’ve been summoned by the prince to tell his fortune. It is lovely meeting you by the way, I am [Name].”

¹ countenance ; a person’s face/expression

Status: Edited

[inkstainedfanfics]

Chasing Ghosts

Request: I rly love your blog a lot!! I was wondering if I could request a newtxreader song fic with the song "Hide and Seek" by Imogen Heap? Where the reader tries to warn Newt about Leta, but he gets mad and they have an argument? Then he loses contact with the reader for several years and tries to find her, but each time he gets close to finding her, she gets farther away? Really angsty please??? Thank you so much!!!❤️❤️❤️"

Word Count: 4,359

Pairing: Newt x Reader (Platonic)

Tag List: @dont-give-a-bother @red-roses-and-stories @caseoffics @myrtus-amongst-the-stars @ly--canthrope @studyforthreehands @whatinbenaddiction @thosefantasticbeast2 @benniesgalaxy​

A tinge of despair so intense it seems tangible still clouds Newt’s mind as he digs into the box of mementos, deeper and deeper until his dirt-caked nails crack against the bottom of the wooden crate. Nothing of significance. Nothing of importance. Nothing of use to him unless he wants to remember.

Cursing, he shoves himself to his feet. This room, this hall, this house is all useless junk now. He may as well burn it down; it’s not as if you’ll be returning at any point, not now that you know he’s discovered it. With a growl, he kicks the box, sends it tumbling onto its side. Its guts spill out, rolling across the ground, creating a mess that will remain until the landlord comes knocking for the next month’s rent. Already, it’s too late. You’ve vanished, and the short and chubby landlord with the beady eyes and missing smile won’t be able to track you down.

My fault, my fault, my fault.

No, finding you is Newt’s job, and he’s determined to do it.

A layer of fresh snow rests over the sidewalk and crunches under Newt’s feet as he trudges through the thick snow of Prague. Midnight’s dark has left the lantern lit road empty except for Newt and a few shady figures slinking in side streets. The chill of the air nips at his cheeks, turning them a faint pink, and his fingers are frozen in their curve around the handle of his suitcase. He pushes forward, eyes set on the hotel resting at the edge of the city.

“Hey, honey. How’re you doin’ tonight?”

Newt glances at the woman leaning in the alley just ahead of him. Her hair’s pinned up in a tight updo, curled against the base of her neck despite the temperature. Strands of it slip free from their pins, drooping in gentle curls to brush the collar of her fur jacket, a warm looking coat Newt knows he doesn’t want to know the history behind.

“I’m quite fine, thank you.” He ducks his head, striding forward, hurrying.

Her heels click against the pavement, cutting through the snow with ease. “Awe, come on, don’t run away. I just want to help. You look lost.”

“I’m quite all right.”

“You sure, honey? I’m a native to this place. I could help.”

It occurs to Newt that this woman is speaking English with no noticeable accent, but he brushes the questions away. A woman in her line of work must have plenty of talents. “I really must be going.”

Still, she follows him, feet steady even with the fresh snowfall and the patches of ice. “I ain’t gonna hurt you, darlin’. I promise.” When Newt says nothing, just scans the alleys, she laughs. “I ain’t got no friends with me, darlin’. You’re safe. Say, what’s in that suitcase o’ yours?”

“Clothes.” Partly true, at least.

“Ah, so you’re stayin’ at a hotel now, are you?”

“No.”

“No? Then what’re you doing? Ooo, can I guess?”

Newt says nothing, just continues forward. Two blocks left.

“You look like a fancy businessman with that jacket. So’s it for business?” She peers up at him, keeping in step surprisingly well. “No? Hmm, what’s a good-lookin’ man like you doin’ here, then? A woman? No? Come on, honey, you can tell me.” She draws her hands from the fur-lined pockets, grabbing onto Newt’s arm. “Oh, I know.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “It’s a friend, ain’t it?”

Newt’s pace quickens. He shouldn’t be here.

“That’s right, ain’t it? You’re here to see a friend. Well, sir, ain’t that special.”

“I’m sorry, I really must be going.” He tries to shake her hand free from his arm, but she’s clinging to him, grip so tight it hurts. One block.

“I know, an old friend. Someone you ain’t seen in a while.”

Newt’s stomach turns as the stranger continues.

“You had a fallin’ out, didn’t you? I bet it was over another girl.”

Newt grits his teeth.

“Ooo, I hit a nerve.” She giggles. “You know, I bet if you knew this girl, she’d still have a message for you. Something like, oh, I don’t know, an old scribble on some parchment.” Then she opens her hand, revealing a scrap of fluttering parchment, yellowed with age.

Newt halts, sucking in a breath and snatching it from her hands, unfolding the paper. It’s just a small doodle he’d given you for Valentine’s day in the fifth year, after you’d been upset about receiving nothing. “Where did you get this?”

The woman backs away from Newt, covering her mouth as she giggles yet again. “Oh, honey, she don’t miss you. She finds this chase a bit of fun, that’s all.”

Newt blinks away the surprise, curling the scrap in a fist and staring at the woman. “You know her?”

“How d’you think she’s avoiding you, honey? She’s a smart one you let get away.”

Newt breathes through parted lips, numb. Here she is, a contact, a method of reaching you if only he can conjure the right word. “Take me to her. Please.”

She shakes her head, leaning against a post. “Can’t do that. She won’t appreciate it.”

“Please. You don’t know who she is.”

“An old ghost, right? Well, honey, you’re just a zombie chasin’ her around. “

“Tell her I’m sorry. Please. Please just tell her that for me.”

“Can’t. She won’t hear it. She don’t miss you, and she wants you to know: she’d have already forgotten your name if you weren’t chasin’ her everywhere.”

The words slam into Newt’s chest like a brick, but he just shoves his hand in his pocket, digging for his wallet. “Please. Whatever you want is yours. Just tell me where she is.”

The woman shakes her head at his begging. “Sorry, honey. You messed up.”

Newt’s shaky breath forms clouds in the cold air, clouds that shoot forward with every frenzied word, “Please. I just want to apologize. You understand, right? Please give me a chance to apologize.”

For a moment, Newt thinks she’s going to agree, thinks she’s going to sigh and relent and drag him to wherever you are. He believes he’ll finally have a chance to apologize and make it up and the two of you can return to who you were, can work together, can talk the way you did for six years, the way you did when he was truly happy.

But instead she shakes her head again. “It’s just not gonna happen, honey. Best advice I can give you is to let her go.”

“Please.” He whispers.

She gives him a look of pity, so imperceptible he wonders if he truly saw it, then she’s gone, apparates away without another word, and Newt’s alone on the snow-covered sidewalk, fingers frozen and eyes shut. He was close, so close, and still you slipped away from his fingers.

Uncurling his fist, he stares at the doodle. It’s nothing intricate or ornate, just a tiny niffler holding a heart with your name in it. It isn’t Newt’s most complex or even well executed drawing, but you’d lit up when he handed it over. The day after receiving it, you’d proudly displayed it in the middle of a worn, gold locket so old the clasp no longer worked. You’d declared the drawing a treasure, something you would never choose to part with.

Yet here Newt stands, alone under the star-studded black sky, with a pink nose and the drawing clutched in fingers growing so numb the rational part of his mind fears frost-bite’s fury.

Though he knows he’ll find nothing but an empty room, Newt marches the final block to the hotel room, heart as numb as his fingers.

“What have you heard?” Newt asks the question as casually as possible as he lifts a frame from Theseus’s office desk. It’s a picture of his brother and nephew, taken months prior, just before Newt disappeared into the Andes for three months.

Theseus pours himself a drink and gestures to a second glass, shrugging when Newt shakes his head. “You know, little brother, I’m not sure you’re sincere when you say you visited solely to check up on how Marvin is doing.”

“He’s a charming boy.”

“True. But something tells me you’re here for a more selfish reason.”

Newt lifts an eyebrow. Theseus, never able to be straight to the point, even when it truly matters. “Such as?”

“A girl, perhaps?”

“Yes, well, you’ve always had little faith in me.”

Theseus laughs at this, his wide, galumphing laugh he usually reserves for important business meetings here in his private office. “I think a better way of putting it is that I’ve always known you better than you’re willing to admit.”

Newt shifts weight from foot to foot, setting the photo back on the desk, suddenly irritated. He’s standing here, surround by glass cabinets and a desk covered in official papers while you’re out there, Merlin-knows-where, just waiting to learn of Newt’s whereabouts and disappear again. He wonders for a moment what joke you would make about this place, about how stuffy it is even with the open windows, about how a war hero can’t take out his own trash. He can hear your voice in his mind. It’s been how long? 6 years since you last spoke? And still Newt can hear you as clear as day.

The sound brings a smile to his face, a smile that Theseus unfortunately misreads and misunderstands as a response to some joke of his own.

“See, I can be funny sometimes.”

Newt shoves his hands in his pockets to hide the quick beat he’s tapping against his side. If Theseus sees, he’ll know. He’ll know how desperately Newt wants this, how important this is, and there’s nothing Theseus wants more than to believe this is just Newt chasing down an old friend as a hobby. “A real comedian. Now, if you don’t mind, the information?” He tilts his head to the clearly marked file in the middle of the desk.

Theseus takes a sip of the whiskey, staring out the window and into the field behind the office building, suddenly solemn. “You know, I was surprised when I first came out here. They gave me the address, and I almost didn’t show up. The place seemed likely to be crowded by buildings and people.” He sighs, almost sadly, as though remembering some far-off memory, and despite Newt’s unrest, he pauses to listen to Theseus. “I couldn’t stand being trapped, feeling like I had no escape. The war, believe it or not, was not as easy as I make it seem.” He smiles, but it’s bitter. “I spent plenty of nights there wondering about our family, where you were in the field, whether mum at home was safe, whether pa would be proud. I can’t tell you how many nights I had nightmares after hearing about ambushes on troops…” Shaking his head and clearing his throat, Theseus continues with a stronger voice. “When I came home, I met Helen. You know that, but there were many nights I spent alone before marrying her when the nightmares would return. It wasn’t until we’d been married for four months that I realized I hadn’t had any nightmares since that first night. Being with her, having her there at my side was enough.”

He pauses, collecting his thoughts. “I wasn’t sure if I’d take the job, but when they showed me the office and the field back there, I knew I had an escape, a place to go should anything become too much. Helen agreed to meet there if I ever needed someone. She could apparate in with no worries about muggles, no need to wait for muggle technology to bring her to me like we would need in the city. The moral of this long-winded story, I guess, is to find someone to escape to, like Helen, and somewhere free, like this field.”

Theseus stops, then, still staring at the grass waving in the wind.

“I’m happy for you.” Newt’s quiet. You were that for him at one time, the person he could walk to when his nose bled or Leta said something or a creature passed. You were his escape before he ruined it all.

“As am I.” He lets out a sigh heavy with the weight of a war, “Listen, Newt, I know you miss her. But is she right for you? Are you certain? Was she the person you went to when it all became too much, when you couldn’t forget the worst parts of your past? Because you need someone, Newt, and you can’t settle with a ghost. You need someone present.”

“She’s my best friend.”

“Does a best friend abandon you and avoid you?”

Newt wants to shut his ears, to grab the folder and leave because, yes, this was his fault. Who else would have managed to ruin a friendship with someone so patient? “It’s my fault.”

“You know that’s not true. It was the timing, the circumstances. Not you. Even if it was, if she was meant to be your escape, she’d be here today, Newt. You know that.”

For some inexplicable reason, Newt’s eyes are watering. He knows this is his fault, has thought it through time after time after time, and he’s never come up with any other answer. But Theseus’s words waver in his head, offer a relief from the guilt wracking his nerves, and he desperately wants to accept them and remove the burden from his shoulders.

But he can’t, he reminds himself. It’s his fault.

His voice is weaker than he wants when he talks next. “Just give me the information, Theseus.”

Theseus swirls his drink, not looking away from the field. “You can see it on the desk. Take it, if you’d like, but I’m not feeding this habit anymore. You need to give her up, Newt, before you burn yourself out and miss life.”

Newt steps forward and swipes the folder, ignoring the tears gathering in his eyes. This is ridiculous. Theseus is ridiculous. It’s not burning him out. No, he’s in the wrong, he was the one that pushed you away, he was the one that cut you off, he was the one making bad decision after bad decision and all you wanted to do was help. You were a friend, and yet Newt turned his back on you when you asked for help, for somebody to listen, for a friend. He let them all say that about you right in front of him, and he did nothing. He owes you nothing less than an apology.

If only you’d let him give you one.

Shame floods his cheeks, a dark red wave crashing against him and making it hard, hard to think, to breathe, to want to move.

But you’d returned the drawing, the gifts, his personalized notes and the only picture you’d kept of the two of you. The thought fractures him, drags him deeper into that despair that’s all too common now. Maybe you don’t want him back.

Maybe he should stop looking.

But no, that’s wrong, he knows, because he owes you, he owes you so much that he can’t give. You were his real friend, and he’d just left you like it meant nothing.

Clenching his jaw, he shakes his head. No, this is foolish, letting Theseus get in his head like this. His older brother may mean well, but he’s not in this situation. He’s never done something so horrible. Newt just needs to keep trying, keep tracking.

Shutting his eyes to apparate, he pictures you the way you looked that day, tears on your cheeks, backing away.

With a pop, he disappears to read the files in peace.

“So sorry. Excuse me. Pardon me.” Merlin’s beard, how do people stand being packed together like this every day? How do they not tire of rubbing shoulders with a stranger or bouncing through a crowd, shoved by everyone? New York, Newt decides, is a mess.

Theseus’s information had led him here, to this city, to a specific apartment building. The first trip for something related to you in a long time. Too long. It’s been a year since his last lead in Prague. A year and half since California, two since Brazil, three and a half since Cairo. He’s not even certain how long ago Chicago, Ottowa, Moscow, and Glasgow were. All he knows is that it’s been too long since he saw you and made you smile.

But when’s the last time she made you smile?

Newt shakes the thought from his head, cursing Theseus for implanting any ideas about your own culpability. This isn’t your fault, can’t be. Newt’s the annoying one, the awkward one.

Flinching at his thoughts, he makes his way from the train station, dodging people left and right, gripping the suitcase in his right hand, left hand dug deep in his pocket to be certain the drawing doesn’t drift out.

Five blocks of dodging people and suddenly he’s there, in front of the tilted building. It certainly isn’t as glitzy as some of the previous establishments you’ve rented. It’s not grand or towering or at the end of a picturesque road lit by starlight and lanterns. No, this building is an ugly grey, its foundation sticking up from the ground, every third window seems to have some sort of crack in it, and the railing may fall the next time someone touches it.

Checking the apartment number, Newt pulls open the creaky door and steps inside. Steps wind up the side of the narrow entry way. The floor overhead squeaks, and Newt questions the safety of taking the stairs when the wood of the first step bends low under his weight.

You’re here, though, just five stories overhead, forgiveness only a staircase away, so Newt begins the climb. Nobody stops him. The only signs of life he sees are a couple of tomcats darting after rats the size of Newt’s hand.

He wonders if Theseus’s information was correct as he makes his way to your door. A muted song leaks under the door frame, and before he can let himself consider the consequences, he knocks.

Three minutes pass. Three agonizing minutes.

Finally, the music stops and the door creaks open.

Newt’s spent hours imagining meeting you again. The dreams always consisted of smiles and tea and spending hours reconnecting and sharing stories, watching your eyes light up as you weave tales about traveling to various cities, hearing the excitement in your voice, finally finding his best friend again.

You just stare at him from the crack, careful, eyes watching his every move.

“I, um,” Newt clears his throat. “I’ve been looking for you.”

You still say nothing, so Newt gestures behind you.

“May I step in?”

You eye him for another second before nodding and stepping away.

The room’s a wreck. There appears to be only one offshoot for a bathroom, and Newt has to bend to step in through the doorway. The walls are the same draining grey as outside, cobwebs infest the upper corners of the room, the two windows are both grimy with a substance Newt doesn’t dare try to identify, and the small record player in the middle of the room is dented in three different places. He’s hesitant to set his case down, doing his best to avoid a pile of dust.

He conjures up a joke, one that would normally make you laugh, but you don’t even flinch. “I thought Hogwarts dorms were cramped.”

You cross your arms, leaning against the wall farthest from him. “What are you doing here?”

Newt swallows, a mix of relief and shame and the culmination of so many years of grief knotting up and climbing up his throat, cutting off his voice. He has to clear his throat twice and stare at a ball of dust on the ground before he can talk. “It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”

You cock your head. “Has it?”

“Six years?”

“Seven.” You plaster a strained smile on your face. “If you count sixth year as a loss, that is.”

“I’m sorry.” Sixth year, when you’d come to him, tears in your eyes, blood on your face, and he’d let Leta drag him away. Sixth year, when he saw you boiling in the hall after someone singled you out, and he’d walked past with a bowed head. Sixth year, when he’d chosen Leta over you, when he’d called her a better person, when he’d as good as wrecked the friendship with a single word.

“You don’t get to be sorry.” You spit out, words as bitter as they had been when you’d confronted him by the lake and he’d chosen to leave. The immediacy of your anger surprises Newt, but he doesn’t challenge it. No, he deserves this.

“I know.”

“You don’t get to be sorry when you’ve chased me around the globe trying to make up for something that was all your fault. You can’t keep following me, Newt. We’re done, don’t you understand that?”

Newt blinks, dropping his eyes to the ground. “Of course.”

“You ruined this.”

He did. That’s what he’s best at, after all. Mid-twenties with no friends to speak of. You left, then Leta left. He never formed any lasting connections otherwise.

Wandering the world searching for you had been a lonely endeavor.

“You were the one that left me, Newt, don’t forget that. I had a bloody nose from being punched and you let her drag you away. I had to heal myself.”

You’re supposed to forgive him like he forgave you for letting him walk away, for not bothering to fight, for ignoring him even after the experiment exploded in his face. Sure, he messed up, but he needed someone after the expulsion. You hadn’t even written a short letter.

Would a best friend abandon you?

Newt’s sharp breath startles you into silence, though the deep lines in your forehead don’t disappear. “You abandoned me.”

You recoil from the accusation. “Why should’ve I stayed when you’d been sure to let me know where I sat on your list of important friends?”

Would a best friend abandon you?

“Because you were my friend.”

“You made it clear that I wasn’t.”

Newt shuts his eyes; Theseus was right. “You were.” He finally forces himself to look at you again, to meet your gaze. “You were all I had after the experiment.”

If Newt isn’t imagining things, if it isn’t his desperation simply creating illusions, he swears he sees tears form in your eyes. From guilt? “You were being so selfish, Newt. I was your friend. How could walk away from me for her? How could you do that to me?”

“I was wrong.” Merlin, the words feel good to say. “But all due respect, so were you.” He peers up at you from under his flop of hair.

“How could you blame this on me?” You sound furious, but the tears spilling over the bottom of your lids alter the tone, turn it into one of grief. An emotion Newt knows all too well.

Newt’s own misery is dwindling, a sudden clarity replacing it. “I tried to apologize.”

“Three years later. After Leta left you.”

“I was a fool. And I couldn’t understand what I chose then. I promise, I wouldn’t make that choice again.”

You run a hand across your cheeks. “It’s too late. It’s too late.”

Newt’s heart breaks, a simple break that cracks right down the center. “You can’t forgive me?”

You wait, Merlin’s name, you consider the question, try to find it in yourself, but the hesitation is only a worse fate for Newt when you meet his eyes again and shake your head. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Newt shuts his eyes, breathes out, then opens his eyes again and smiles a smile that could never pass as genuine. “I’m sorry, truly, for any pain I’ve caused you.” Then he reaches into his pocket, pulling out the parchment paper. “I was hoping you would accept this, for my sake.” He steps across the room and holds it out toward you. “I know I’m not in the position to ask for anything, but I can’t bear the sight of it, not when it belongs with you.”

You reach forward, hand shaking the slightest, and accept the gift for the second time in your friendship. Newt turns, lifting his case, and starts toward the door.

“I missed it, you know.” You say, stopping him.

Newt doesn’t turn, just stares at the doorknob in front of him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You stop, but Newt, despite the many years separated, knows you well enough to wait for the rest of your response. “Thank you.”

He nods and pushes the door open. “Best wishes.”

It clicks behind him, muting the ‘best wishes’ you echo back.

No tears fill his eyes, nor anger his chest. No, all Newt knows now is an exhaustion planted in his bones years ago, now taking root and begging him for a long nap.

Newt steps onto the staircase and nearly drops his suitcase when someone runs into him.

She shouts, a small noise, and grabs the railing. It groans but somehow holds. “Mercy Lewis, that could’ve been bad! Are you okay, sir?”

Newt steadies himself and nods. “Quite fine. Now if you don’t mind…” He gestures to the staircase behind her.

She glances back then realizes what he means. “Oh, of course, sorry. Sir, are you sure you’re all right? You look a bit upset.”

Newt ducks his head in a nod. “I’m quite fine, simply in a hurry, is all.”

The woman gathers her grey coat against her, wincing when it pulls a strand of her chin-length black hair. “Of course, I understand. Sorry for running into you. I really should be paying more attention to where I’m going.”

Newt squeezes past her, “No harm done.”

Then he pounces down three floors before apparating back home.

It’s time to visit his brother and his nephew. It’s time to stop chasing a ghost.

[lawyernovelist]

Action/Adventure Writing: Captivity

The latest in this ongoing series, and the natural follow-on to the previous post on Capture scenes. It's in many ways similar to that one just because those two types of scenes are so inextricable from one another.

Naturally, practicalities are going to change a lot depending on your story and the characters involved, so I'm going to be veering between meta story concerns and practical in-story considerations. There are a few pet peeves in there, but I'll try to make sure I don't chase those down too many rabbit-holes.

Spoilers for the Hobbit movies and The Hobbit, Lord of the Rings (book and movies), and Luck in the Shadows. Talk of imprisonment (of course) and mild mention of abuse.

First of all, I have to admit that a lot of the really bad fails I've seen on this sort of subject come from fanfic. Professional action-adventure actually seems to put very little emphasis on characters being held prisoner - I can only assume because it's considered kind of boring and doesn't make the hero look especially awesome. And I have to admit that unless there's plenty else going on it is going to be a case of playing the waiting game. I think this is why so many fanfics that use this plot point add a rather unsettling amount of torture.

Anyway, I'll admit that this can be a pretty boring part of any sequence that includes it. That having been said, it shouldn't just be ignored, especially since the practicalities can have an effect later.

The first issue is pretty basic: location. Obviously, your captor has to be holding the captive somewhere. This is where the subject of resources, which I mentioned back in the Capture post, comes back to being important: obviously, different characters are going to have access to different resources, and that includes a prison.

The natural solution is the good old dungeon aesthetic: the traditional dark, dank underground prison cell with a heavy door that creaks ominously and probably has a small barred window in it. Add rats, dirty straw, dripping noises, and articulated skeletons still manacled to the walls to taste. However, even leaving aside the fact that that cliche doesn't belong anywhere outside a parody unless you can talk pretty fast to convince me to take it seriously... there are problems.

First off, the very existence of the thing. You're only going to be able to have a nice, solid underground stone room if your captor has access to a very permanent stronghold of some sort. It doesn't have to be hers, and it doesn't have to be purpose-built, of which more anon, but this isn't something that's going to just exist anywhere and it can't be thrown up in a minute.

When making this decision, consider the setting of the story and the general nature of the captor. A stone dungeon works well for the local corrupt lord and castle-owner, or for the sheriff who's responsible for holding arrested criminals, but not for a gang of forest bandits or a military patrol who's captured an enemy prisoner in the field.

I've seen the forest bandit thing, by the way. I've also done it, but I made sure to make it clear that they'd deliberately occupied an old ruin that had some cellars they could re-purpose.

That brings me to the next thing: a prison doesn't need to be purpose-built; a shed will do just fine, especially if the prisoner is also restrained in some way, of which more anon. This will especially depend on how long the captor is planning to hold the prisoner at all; I'm defining 'captivity' pretty broadly to mean any period of time in which a character is being deprived of his liberty. He may be serving a life sentence in prison, being held to ransom in a bandit camp, or being transported from one place to another. All of those will have different levels of pre-planning and permanence to them, and accordingly different locations.

So that's the first big-picture thing: reach beyond the aesthetic and actually consider the realities of the story and the impression you want to give.

Second, and leading on from the first, the actual practicalities of the prison. Let's start with size. And, hey, it's been a couple of hundred words and I've not complained about the Hobbit movies yet.

(Image source)

I don't blame Kili for looking really pissed; he's just been shoved in a cell that barely looks big enough for him to lie down in and is going to be there for the foreseeable future.

Cell size may seem like a minor thing, but it's actually pretty important for the prisoner's health, as well as for any scenes you might want to run in there and for the reader's perceptions of the situation. By all means toss your prisoner in an oubliette and leave him there, but no reader is going to believe you if you then say that the character holding him prisoner is not a complete asshole.

I'll come back to this when I talk about treatment of the prisoner, but preview: people need to be able to move or their circulation and muscles will go all to hell.

By the way, just jumping back for a moment to some of the points I made in the aesthetic section... who was Thranduil intending to hold when he built those dungeons? As I say, they're small for dwarves. How many tiny interlopers does Thranduil have to deal with? These movies raise questions.

Another detail is the location of the prison itself. To an extent, this ties in with the stuff I was saying about aesthetics, but it also ties in with space and another point: secrecy. While deciding what resources your captor has available, you should also be aware of the other things she'll need: if she's not an official figure such as the aforementioned sheriff or local castle-owner, she might need to keep the very existence or nature of her prison a secret. This will have implications for where she can have it as well as how big it can be or how it looks. A small prison is easier to keep secret; a prison that appears to be a storage shed is easier to keep secret. A prison that is known to be what it is can be far more obvious and imposing.

Similarly, by the way, if it's known that the captor has the right to take prisoners and she doesn't need to keep the fact that she's holding the prisoner a secret in itself, that will affect how easily he can be transported in and out. If it's absolutely secret that he's there, she's not going to be marching him in in chains in broad daylight; she'll instead have to smuggle him in in a box, or disguise his identity and state in some way, or something, and what option she chooses may be involve more or less restraint on or threat towards him.

These are all factors that will intertwine, and they should all be borne in mind. They start coming into focus, however, when we start talking about the actual characters involved, their needs, and their interactions.

First point: the more secret the prison needs to be and/or the less secure it is in itself, the more restraints need to be put on the prisoner. That's also affected by what's available to the captor (in another example of something I've seen, I'd like to point out that natural caves do not normally come equipped with manacles), and will affect the state of the prisoner. People need to be able to move; for more details, see "bed sores" and "muscle atrophy" (Warning: medical details and some gross pictures).

That need brings me on to other needs. To an extent, this stuff is obvious, but man oh man have I seen things. I would really like to never again read a fanfic in which the author apparently thought that prisoners were an entirely new species that didn't need food or water. Because... they do. That's the second point.

This is another reason that the captor needs to have a reason to take someone prisoner: she then needs to take care of him. Now, granted, if you want to go here you can have a prisoner deliberately deprived of food and/or water, but that will then quickly start having a physical effect. This applies even when a prisoner is being fed, but over a long period he's not getting a balanced diet: see also Scurvy, Anemia, Beriberi, and... you know what, just Malnutrition and Starvation generally (Warning: upsetting pictures).

And, well... what goes in must come out. I get if you don't want to think too hard about the results of putting someone in a room and leaving them there with no toilet facilities (especially if they're restrained and can't move all that much), but if you don't want things to get really gross pretty fast, it's something to consider.

Third point: Warmth. Not only do prisoners need to eat and crap, but they also need to not freeze. And you know a circumstance in which someone can get really cold really fast? Lying directly on bare ground in, say, a dungeon. Bedding may not just be a kindness, but also an actual necessity. Movement will also help, as well adequate food: all those things which I've mentioned above might be in limited supply depending on the circumstances.

Related to that is the subject of clothing: it supplies warmth, some physical protection (especially in the case of shoes), and dignity. All of those are things that a captor might want to take away from a prisoner whether to make the experience of imprisonment more miserable or to discourage escape: how far is anyone going to run across rough, stony ground or snow or hot desert sand with no shoes? How easy is it going to be to blend into a crowded street in nothing but underwear? Or in a prison uniform?

As ever, I'm assuming an average human here - if you're writing fantasy or similar, your characters may have different needs.

I've been talking a lot about vague practicalities, but as I've hinted a couple of times a lot comes down to the characters involved and their interactions with one another. Who is the character holding the prisoner? What does she have available? How motivated is she to treat him well?

Obviously, the captor is the one who determines a lot of what goes on in a captivity sequence just because she's the one with all the power. However, the prisoner is also a character, with his own resilience, motivations, and general personality.

Also, as I did in my Capture post, I'm going to give them names now that I'm talking about them as characters: The captor is Thaurian, the prisoner is Erain. She's female and he's male to subvert the cliche of the moustache-twirling villain tying the innocent maiden to the railroad tracks.

The big thing that came up a lot in the practicalities part is the simple question of how cruel Thaurian is prepared to be to Erain. Maybe she doesn't mind how injured and malnourished he gets in her custody just so long as he has no hope of escaping, so she strips him naked and puts him in a small dungeon, tied so he can't even roll over, and deprives him of food. Maybe for moral, legal, or practical reasons he needs to be kept healthy: she's keeping him hostage until a delicate peace agreement is settled, and it won't stay settled for long if he's returned emaciated and covered in bone-deep sores, for example, so she keeps him somewhere secure, but comfortable and makes sure he gets three square meals a day.

As ever, you see, motivation is the key factor. However, you also need to consider Thaurian's identity when determining what resources she has. As I mentioned earlier, there has to be a balance here just in order for her to hold Erain at all: if she has access to a secure building or other enclosed space, great, otherwise she's going to have to find some other means of restraint whether she likes it or not. And as I mentioned in the Capture post, that means of restraint doesn't have to be physical.

This is where we need to consider Erain's character. How inclined is he to try to escape? What threats or other pressure might work to keep him from doing so? What does Thaurian know about that, can he trick her (or can she trick him), and how do they interact, if at all?

Speaking of interaction, a little bit of a pet peeve of mine: I really hate the trope where the Big Bad has captured Our Heroes and the Teenage Boy Hero or Spunky Princess proceeds to sass him with exactly zero consequences.

What are you doing? And I'm talking to both author and characters!

Stakes are important, and if there are no consequences to the main character engaging in a bicep-measuring contest with someone who's taken him prisoner, how am I supposed to believe he's actually in any danger? Even some comedy shows I've seen get that in these circumstances something needs to happen to the characters that they won't like, even if it's played for laughs.

OK, so according to Thaurian's motivation she won't do anything to harm Erain, but especially in the situation where she also has power over people he cares about, she can still punish him if he acts up, and I would really like to see more situations in which that happens: "Yeah, OK, I'm keeping a tally of how many times you're rude to me in this meeting and for every one I burn another village in your homeland and enslave the inhabitants; how does that sound?" Or "Turns out heroes also die when shot in the head. Let's see if you run out of insults before you run out of party members." Or "I need you alive, you know, not whole."

Of course, in some circumstances that level of threat isn't appropriate, but I would still appreciate it if this sort of behaviour was ever framed as unwise.

I'm acting as if Erain's aim will be to avoid harm to himself and those he cares about, but this is where we need to consider him as a character. Is it important enough to him to be defiant that he'll run whatever risk he has to run? Is there a particular threat that will make him submit? For that matter, is there a particular motivation or belief that will make him submit?

To use one of my own works in progress as an example, I have a character called Nikolai who due to a legal quirk in the kingdom in which he was born has been living in exile under a death sentence since he was less than a year old. If the kingdom where he now lives allies with that kingdom, it's likely he'll be handed over for execution. He's determined that if that happens he's going to die a martyr's death to demonstrate the unfairness of this law and the kingdom that would execute a man for a crime his father committed when he was a baby, and for this reason he will make no attempt to escape, resist, or otherwise give them cause to say he's not entirely innocent.

(This is a source of intense frustration to his friends, who would like him to follow their advice and be spirited off to safety)

On a similar subject, a quick note on Stockholm Syndrome.

Please stop writing it as cute and romantic; it's not. It's a survival strategy triggered by a severe, abusive power difference which by definition removes the possibility of free consent.

On a similar topic, I actually really like Lindsay Ellis' video Is Beauty and the Beast About Stockholm Syndrome? as a study - I'm not sure I can add anything to it, so just watch the video.

Controversy aside, it is a phenomenon that we ever see, so... I'm not going to say don't write about and explore it as such.

Maybe Erain has a reason not to resist and Thaurian doesn't have to do much to hold him. Maybe he would rather die than be kept prisoner and doesn't care who goes down with him and she has to not only keep him from escaping but also keep him from committing suicide, and no threat will work because he doesn't care what she does to him. Maybe anything in between. It all depends on the characters. The important thing is to keep track of what's happening and remember the practicalities: what the characters have, what they need, and what will happen if those needs are denied.

My final point is the general meta story aspect of sequences like this. I mentioned at the beginning that they have the potential to be pretty boring and that's true. You can put a lot in a captivity sequence and I'll deal with some of the types of sequences that can be used to break it up - interrogation, escape, and rescue - in later posts, but without changing the nature of the thing it's going to at its core consist of waiting. It's worth noting that the stories that sprang to my mind that include captivity sequences don't focus on the captured character:

In The Hobbit, we follow Bilbo rather than the dwarves when they're imprisoned in Mirkwood. I'll admit that might just be because he's the main character.

Similarly, in the Hobbit movies, the dwarves appear to be imprisoned for about five minutes due to pacing fail and a lot of that time is spent with Tauriel.

In Luck in the Shadows, we follow Alec and Micum while Seregil is imprisoned. Again, Alec's the main character.

In Lord of the Rings, when Frodo is captured we focus on Sam. This has the benefit of increasing suspense because we don't know what's happening to Frodo.

There's not a lot of time to be spent on a character sitting and waiting before you start to try the reader's patience, so keep it fairly short unless you're prepared to do a lot of legwork.

Some ideas for what that legwork can be include:

Changes in treatment

New locations

Character interactions. This can be with the captor or with other prisoners

The details will depend a lot on the circumstances, but I will put in a word for character interactions. Lord of the Rings has a great example of two ways of making a captivity sequence more interesting: at the beginning of The Two Towers we first focus on the Three Hunters as they search for Merry and Pippin and pursue the orcs that have captured them. We then go back and spend a couple of chapters with Merry and Pippin as prisoners, in which we see them treated differently in different circumstances, we see Pippin try to escape, we see them moving across Rohan, but the thing that really keeps it from being a slog is their interactions with one another and observations of the orcs.

In almost any story, in any type of scene, interaction with another character will make things more interesting, and that's actually especially true here; I've long felt that it's an interesting character study to give a character power over someone they hate or fear, or to put them in the power of someone they look down on, just to see how they handle that situation - is Thaurian the kind of person who will inflict petty cruelty to revel in her power over someone she fears? Is Erain's sense of self damaged by suddenly finding himself at the mercy of someone he's always had authority over? What happens to these characters?

There are other benefits to the story from a properly-handled captivity sequence: it can also slow things down if used properly, or introduce new obstacles for Erain and other characters around him - look at some of my comments on Seregil's imprisonment in Luck in the Shadows, for example. It can introduce suspense, as happened with the captivity sequences in Lord of the Rings. There are real pacing and structural benefits and pitfalls to this.

And yeah, pitfalls. Let's return to the Hobbit movies for a moment: I mentioned that the dwarves seem to be only held prisoner for about five minutes. We then get a similar problem with Gandalf later, although at least the dwarves' capture had the plot justification that it provided the setting for Kili and Tauriel to meet and make eyes at each other. Gandalf's was purely to waste time, and as a result both of them kind of have... pacing problems.

Actually, that's not entirely true. The problems aren't so much with the pacing as with the timeline and the stakes: in both cases it's not really clear how long they're actually held for. The dwarves really do seem to only be imprisoned overnight, which is where the stakes become a problem; it turns into a Road to Nowhere: "Oh no! The dwarves have been captured by Thranduil! Now they'll never fulfil their quest! Oh, wait, never mind, he only holds them for a day and arguably they're better off because they get a ride down the river in barrels rather than having to walk". Tolkien, by the way, doesn't suffer from this problem because in the book the dwarves actually are held for a long time and we actually do get a sense that this is exhausting and wearing and hopeless for Bilbo, whose POV we're following.

Gandalf's imprisonment has these problems magnified: we really don't know how long he's held for, his being held prisoner achieves nothing for the plot except getting him out of action (the second army could easily have been spotted without it and nobody listens to his warnings anyway because these movies love the Cassandra trope), and - worst - there's no in-story reason for it. There's no reason for him to go in alone to scout. There's no reason for Sauron to take him prisoner rather than killing him. This whole thing is just there for padding.

Now, I know I said to keep these sorts of sequences fairly short, but not to the point where the reader can reasonably ask why you bothered having the character(s) captured at all. What's more, even if you're keeping things short you still need to follow the usual rules: the characters need to have motivations to do what they do, and the sequence needs to move the plot and the characters forward, not just hold them back.

So yes, this is a sequence that can be boring. It can be difficult to remember all the moving parts. It can be gruelling for everyone. But it can also do a huge amount for the story if done well.

[writerspink]

K-12 Words

K

dry wet shoe ten long stay yellow watch inch cup time words same six bones black child ear most page work white five arms snow main nine water head eggs rain test seven root law fall cow red doctor baby feet room rule one blue dark legs wind skin ball green two ever car body box orange gave door four europe picture wish purple ready try neck brown through sky grass air sign whether dance pink eight drive too sat gray three hit man love hand the of and a to in is you that it he was for on are as with his they I at be this have from or had by but not what all were we when your can said there use an each which she do how their if will up other about out many then them these so some her would make like him into has look more write go see number no way could people my than first been called who oil sit now find down day did get come made may part

1.1

anything syllables past describe winter even also eleven moon fruit sand apple women nose solve Math problem plus minus equals stone pants shirt starry thousand divided just train shall held short lay dictionary twelve suddenly mind race clothes learn picked probably raised finished end plaid years bill place hundred different drop came river milk beautiful square lake hole fingers flat sea type over new sound take only little work know live me back give most very after things our name good sentence man think say great where help through much before line right too means old any same tell boy follow want show around form three small

1.2

interest job because such think thirteen subject answer letter meet north length need times divide (by) times table edge soft months present energy point sound log south wide members exercise flowers set found things heart cause site brother teacher live read billion another distance written kept direction developed wall east happy million world must house turn west change well twenty felt put end does large big even here why ask went men land different home us move try kind hand picture again off dress play spell air away animal page mother study still learn should America

2.1

paragraph weather window third believe discovered simple gone paint new store form cells matter follow perhaps cannot good means around line center kind reason move forest sentence return instruments beside represent wild study back farmers sum difference product quotient remainder mother animal land region record summer general caterpillar scratch modern adjust passenger promise equal creak almost croak book dainty song high every near add food between own below country plant last school father keep tree never start city earth eyes light thought head under story saw left don’t few while along might close something seem next hard open example begin life always those both paper together got group often run

2.2

misty poor caution pest phrase life startle squirm alone centaur rise mountain above illustrator footprint temperature decorate country sweat sometimes hair smiled everything began thick compass themselves enough took although splendid crowded second act attach sly talk wonder let’s whirl someone Africa borrow beat belong blink per fasten pain begin drenched bed shell free earth tiny slippery count factors important until children side feet car mile night walk white sea grow river four carry state once book hear stop without late miss idea eat face watch far Indian real almost let girl mountains cut young soon list song being leave family it’s

3.1

drowsy bashful hatch glad copy possible wicked grin sibling shovel run verb sail polish ride young steep case Indian laughed soil appear bolts costume melody narrow behave howl example flee together lot filthy alarm spiral selfish idea conductor fight rolled middle glacier tree dizzy gather sneaky already construct every miss lively metal couldn’t gold plant mask chat nation hear either bundle section near rescue face divide sob celebrate family loosen jealous crash chimney daily own cozy ripe cut son natural serious carry care paper broken cue within body music color stand questions fish area mark horse birds problem complete room knew since ever piece told usually didn’t friends easy heard order red door sure become top ship across today during short better best however low hours black products happened whole measure remember early waves reached

3.2

being instead ache exactly hard speed buy age late artistic close affordable fraction eyes appetite complain sleep seem eat below remove rusty grow glum stormy trust enormous scale open add grab upset weed denied expensive story terrified lead jumped died basket side bear bend list tomb while batch grateful father gleaming dress light sprinkle amount exclaim result yank leave cheat whimper angle outside remain heap champion surprise dodge moment fancy squeeze pretend village shriek city thunder rapid iron striped don’t attitude bell hat tug isn’t applause children honest cross spring freezing listen wind rock space covered fast several hold himself toward five step morning passed vowel true hundred against pattern numeral table north expert slowly money map farm pulled draw voice seen cold cried plan notice south sing war ground fall king town I’ll unit figure certain field travel wood fire upon

4.1

pattern cave hope mile group travel blush killed seed bottom hide important let ticket timid pounds restart silent cranky keep real bright quite curved repeat trip without dart consonant mountains quiet apologize roar grip groan bolt food injury century exhausted cabin atmosphere floor it’s scold transportation delighted giant hill something build fog method rough left everyone obey deserve speak therefore soon french switch until pushed state knob hobby between surround collect fire I’ll arrive road happened certain top order astronomy inches club catch farm nibble color yourself received connect told gaze check wear English half ten fly gave box finally wait correct oh quickly person became shown minutes strong verb stars front feel fact street decided contain course surface produce building ocean class note nothing rest carefully scientists inside wheels stay green known island week less machine base ago stood

4.2

round award crowd slowly yet products, goods, services vowel himself strange whose draw team hold feel flood sent save stood yard notice warn enemy deep please flap coast music wrote safe blast behind island lizard figure famous garden correct whisper listen joined clear share net thus calf maybe cried piece fold seen england decided bank fell pair control clean telescope trouble glass float morning horse produce course hunting rest step statement contain shouted filled zigzag accident cents instrument fly single express visit desert seeds chew dome experiment break gravity against branch size low plane system ran boat game force brought understand warm common bring explain dry though language shape thousands yes equation government heat full hot check object am rule among noun power cannot able six dark ball material special heavy fine circle include built

5.1

mark wealthy row feeling across attention ran map students inside design art mouth ring skill hot during shelter full till log (book) blossom discard bring quickly scientists party town covered wise early cram grain harm goal pause inform heal clue fame freeze badge pimple dim missionary diet dumb rod march agree stick government bulb mall ban greed skiing poison stove image grew fact material dangerous flow gap ago stack explain didn’t strong voice true drawing surface gift corner cloud since king dawn pulled dozen friends greedy burning upon knew insect decimal nervous pay foot weak smooth aware steady serve lost nonetheless beach front atlas questions less cost slight motor banner wire area carefully separate equation local minutes fast table plan fine waves fair sing dive suppose boat thousands shape among toward gas factory birds wait understand sure ship report captain human game history reflect special brave bounce though else can’t matter square syllables perhaps bill felt suddenly test direction center farmers ready anything divided general energy subject Europe moon region return believe dance members picked simple cells paint mind love cause rain exercise eggs train blue wish drop developed window difference distance heart site sum summer wall forest probably

5.2

include cage language base red brain building feast better built demolish excess leap tower ocean plains cold claw information scholar climbed woman worry strand heavy herd common ground damp pack choose president least increase half english invent class measure dash tremble object become doubt became bare wheels continued shiver engine core couple business stars week peak numeral brought nothing touch reached uncle symbols however rumor evening inasmuch (as) force curious heat career system valley dust flock spray robber practice lonely remember luxury warm heard calm rock frighten leader difficulty best gum cheer key support universe stream bit usually fish parade balance money note cliff stand proof you’re pale machine complete cool shown street today shy easy several search unit war power caught settle itself fuel mention fresh planet plane straight period person able direct space wood seal field circle lady board besides hours passed known whole similar underline main winter wide written length reason kept interest arms brother race present beautiful store job edge past sign record finished discovered wild happy beside gone sky grass million west lay weather root instruments meet third months paragraph raised represent soft whether clothes flowers shall teacher held describe drive appreciate structure visible artificial

6.1

afraid absorb british seat fear stretched furniture sight oxygen coward rope clever yellow albeit confess passage france fan cattle spot explore rather active death effect mine create wash printed process origin rose swift woe planets doze gasp chief perform triumph value substances tone score predict property movement harsh tube settled defend reverse ancient blood sharp border fierce plunge consider terms vision intend total schedule attract average intelligent corn dead southern glide supply convince send continent brief mural symbol crew chance suffix habit insects entered nursery especially spread drift major fig diagram guess wit sugar predator science necessary moisture park ordeal nectar fortunate flutter gun forward globe misery molecules arctic won’t actually addition washington cling rare lie steel pastime soldiers chill accordingly capital prevent solution greek sensitive electric agreed thin provide indicate northern volunteer sell tied triangle action opposite shoulder imitate steer wander except match cross speak solve appear metal son either ice sleep village factors result jumped snow ride care floor hill pushed baby buy century outside everything tall already instead phrase soil bed copy free hope spring case laughed nation quite type themselves temperature bright lead everyone method section lake iron within dictionary bargain loyal resource struggle vary capture exclaim gloomy insist restless shallow shatter talent atmosphere brilliant endure glance precious unite certain clasp depart journey observe superb treasure wisdom

6.2

prepared journey trade delicate arrived track cotton hoe furnish exciting view grasp level branches privilege limit wrong enable ability various moreover spoil starve dollars digest advice sense accuse pretty wasn’t industry adopt loyal suggested blow treasure cook adjective doesn’t wings tools crops loud smell frail wisdom fit expect ahead lifted deed device weight gradual respect interesting arrange particular compound examine cable climate division individual talent fatal entire advantage opponent wouldn’t elements column custom enjoy grace theory suitable wife shoes determine allow marsh workers difficult repeated thrill position born distant revive magnificent shop sir army struggled deal plural rich rhythm rely poem company string locate church mystify elegant led actual responsible japanese huge fun meat observe swim office chart avoid factories block called experience win crumple brilliant located pole bought conditions sister details primary survey truck recall disease radio rate scatter decay signal approach launch hair age amount scale pounds although per broken moment tiny possible gold milk quiet natural lot stone act build middle speed count consonant someone sail rolled bear wonder smiled angle fraction Africa killed melody bottom trip hole poor let’s fight surprise French died beat exactly remain fingers clever coast explore imitate pierce rare symbol triumph ancient cling disturb expose perform remote timid bashful brief compete consider delightful honor reflex remark brink chill conquer fortunate fury intend pattern vibrant wit

7.1

capture remark western outcome risk current bold compare resident ambition arrest furthermore desire confuse accurate disclose considerable contribute calculate baggage literacy noble era benefit orchard shabby content precious manufacture dusk afford assist demonstrate instant concentrate sturdy severe blend vacant weary carefree host limb pointless prepare inspire shallow chamber vast ease attentive source frantic lack recent distress basic permit threat analyze distract meadow mistrust jagged prefer sole envy hail reduce arena tour annual apparent recognize captivity burrow proceed develop humble resist peculiar response communicate circular variety frequent reveal essential disaster plead mature appropriate attractive request congratulate address destructive fragile modest attempt tradition ancestor focus flexible conclude venture impact generosity routine tragic crafty furious blossom concern ascend awkward master queasy release portion plentiful alert heroic extraordinary frontier descend invisible coax entrance capable peer terror mock outstanding valiant typical competition hardship entertain eager limp survive tidy antonym duplicate abolish approach approve glory magnificent meek prompt revive watchful wreckage audible consume glide origin prevent punctuate representative scorn stout woe arch authentic clarify declare grant grave opponent valid yearn admirable automatic devotion distant dreary exhaust kindle predict separation stunt

7.2

evade debate dedicate budge available miniature petrify pasture banquet pedestrian solitary decline reassure nonchalant exhibit realistic exert abuse dictate minor monarch concept character strategy soar beverage tropical withdraw challenge kin navigate purchase reliable mischief solo combine vivid aroma spurt illuminate narrator retain excavate avalanche preserve suspend accomplish exasperate obsolete occasion myth reign sparse gorge intense revert antagonist talon aggressive alternate retire cautiously blizzard require endanger luxurious senseless portable sever compensate companion visual immense slither guardian compassion escalate detect protagonist oasis altitude assume seldom courteous absurd edible identical pardon approximate taunt achievement homonym hearty convert wilderness industrious sluggish thrifty deprive independent bland confident anxious astound numerous resemble route access jubilation saunter hazy impressive document moral crave gigantic bungle prefix summit overthrow perish visible translate comply intercept feeble exult compose negative suffocate frigid synonym appeal dominate deplete abundant economy desperate diligent commend boycott jovial onset burden fixture objective siege barrier conceive formal inquire penalize picturesque predator privilege slumber advantage ambition defiant fearsome imply merit negotiate purify revoke wretched absorb amateur channel elegant grace inspect lame tiresome tranquil boast eloquent glisten ideal infectious invest locate ripple sufficient uproar

8.1

apprehensive dialogue prejudice marvel eligible accommodate arrogant distinct knack deposit liberate cumulative consequence strive salvage chronological unique vow concise influence lure poverty priority legislation significant conserve verdict leisure erupt beacon stationary generate provoke efficient campaign paraphrase swarm adhere eerie mere mimic deteriorate literal preliminary solar soothe expanse ignite verge recount apparel terrain ample quest composure majority collide prominent duration pursue innovation omniscient resolute unruly optimist restrain agony convenient constant prosper elaborate genre retrieve exploit continuous dissolve dwell persecute abandon meager elude rural retaliate primitive remote blunder propel vital designate cultivate loathe consent drastic fuse maximum negotiate barren transform conspicuous possess allegiance beneficial former factor deluge vibrant intimidate idiom dense awe rigorous manipulate transport discretion hostile clarity arid parody boisterous capacity massive prosecute declare stifle remorse refuge predicament treacherous inevitable ingenious plummet adapt monotonous accumulate reinforce extract reluctant vacate hazardous inept diminish domestic linger context excel cancel distribute document fragile myth reject scuffle solitary temporary veteran assault convert dispute impressive justify misleading numerous productive shrewd strategy villain bluff cautious consist despise haven miniature monarch obstacle postpone straggle vivid aggressive associate deceive emigrate flexible glamour hazy luxurious mishap overwhelm span blemish blunt capable conclude detect fatigue festive hospitality nomad supreme

8.2

exclude civic compact painstaking supplement habitat leeway minute hoax contaminate likeness migration commentary extinct tangible originate urban unanimous subordinate collaborate obstacle esteem encounter futile cordial trait improvises superior exaggerate anticipate cope evolve eclipse dissent anguish subsequent sanctuary formulates makeshift controversy diversity terminate precise equivalent pamper prior potential obnoxious radiant predatory presume permanent pending simultaneously tamper supervise perceived vicious patronize trickle stodgy rant oration preview species poised perturb vista wince yearn persist shirk status tragedy trivial snare vindictive wrath recede peevish rupture unscathed random toxic void orthodox subtle resume sequel upright wary overwhelm perjury uncertainty prowess utmost throb pluck pique vengeance pelt urgent substantial robust sullen retort ponder whim saga sham reprimand vocation assimilate dub defect accord embark desist dialect chastise banter inaugurate ovation barter muse blasé stamina atrocity deter principal liberal epoch preposterous advocate audacious dispatch incense deplore institute deceptive component subside spontaneous bonanza ultimate wrangle clarify hindrance irascible plausible profound infinite accomplish apparent capacity civilian conceal duplicate keen provoke spurt undoing vast withdraw barrier calculate compose considerable deputy industrious jolt loot rejoice reliable senseless shrivel alternate demolish energetic enforce feat hearty mature observant primary resign strive verdict brisk cherish considerate displace downfall estimate humiliate identical improper poll soothe vicinity abolish appeal brittle condemn descend dictator expand famine portable prey thrifty visual

9.1

stance vie instill exceptional avail strident formidable rebuke enhance benign perspective tedious aloof encroach memoir mien desolate inventive prodigy staple stint fallacy grope vilify recur assail tirade antics recourse clad jurisdiction caption pseudonym reception humane ornate sage ungainly overt sedative amiss convey connoisseur rational enigma fortify servile fastidious contagious elite disgruntled eccentric pioneer abet luminous era sleek serene proficient rue articulate awry pungent wage deploy anarchy culminate inventory commemorate muster adept durable foreboding lucrative modify authority transition confiscate pivotal analogy avid flair ferret decree voracious imperative grapple deface augment shackle legendary trepidation discern glut cache endeavor attribute phenomenon balmy bizarre gullible loll rankle decipher sublime rubble renounce porous turbulent heritage hover pithy allot minimize agile renown fend revenue versa gaunt haven dire doctrine intricate conservative exotic facilitate bountiful cite panorama swelter foster indifferent millennium gingerly conscientious intervene mercenary citadel obviously rely supportive sympathy weakling atmosphere decay gradual impact noticeable recede stability variation approximately astronomical calculation criterion diameter evaluate orbit sphere agricultural decline disorder identify probable thrive expected widespread bulletin contribution diversity enlist intercept operation recruit survival abruptly ally collide confident conflict protective taunt adaptation dormant forage frigid hibernate insulate export glisten influence landscape native plantation restore urge blare connection errand exchange

9.2

feasible teem pang vice tycoon succumb capacious onslaught excerpt eventful forfeit crusade tract haggard susceptible exemplify ardent crucial excruciating embargo disdain apprehend surpass sporadic flustered languish conventional disposition theme plunder ignore project complaint title dramatic delivery litter experimental clinic arrogance preparation remind atomic occasional conscious deny maturity closure stressed translator animate observation physical further gently registration suppress combination amazing constructive allied poetry passion ecstasy mystery cheerful contribution spirit failed gummy commerce prove disagreement raid consume embarrass preference migrant devour encouragement quote mythology destined destination illuminating struggle accent ungrateful giggle approval confidence expose scientist operation superstitious emergency manners absolutely swallow readily mutual bound crisp orient stress sort stare comfort verbal heel challenging advertisement envious sex scar astonish basis accuracy enviable alliance specific chef embarrassed counter tolerable sympathetic gradually vanish informative amaze royal furry insist jealousy simplify quiver collaborate dedicated flexible function mimic obstacle technique archaeologist fragment historian intact preserve reconstruct remnant commence deed exaggeration heroic impress pose saunter wring astound concealed inquisitive interpret perplexed precise reconsider suspicious anticipation defy entitled neutral outspoken reserved sought equal absorb affect circulate conserve cycle necessity seep barren expression meaningful plume focused genius perspective prospect stunned superb transition assume guarantee nominate

10.1

install reticent corroborate regretfully strength murder concise cunning intention holy satire query confused progression disillusion background mundane abrupt multiple enormously introduce emulate harmful pragmatic pity rebut liberate enthusiastic elucidate camaraderie disparage nature creep profitability impression racist sobriety occupy autonomy currently amiable reiterate reproduce cripple modest offer atom provincial augment ungratefully expansion yield rashly allude immigration silence epitome exacerbate somber avid dispute vindicate collaborate manufacturer embellish superficial propaganda incompetent objective diminish statistics endure ambivalent perpetuate illuminate phenomenon exasperate originality restrict anxiety anthropology circumstances aesthetic manufacturing conventional dubious vulnerable reality precedent entity success term critical repair underscore stepmother republican hesitantly classic wary contents prediction immediate invoke notorious implicit excluding input skeptical foster element punish frank humanity profound dessert orthodox substance disappear encourage neighborhood elder superfluous naive ascertain complacent resilient deafening military tend prudent glare acceptance skillfully induce monster beam gullible conciliate vessel petty cantankerous disclose archaeology anecdote disdain electronics substantiate subjective tourism advisable joyful incredible provocative psychological ruins discipline condone indifferent misfortune judgmental industrialize tasty assume astute mission mar protective definitely escape oppress shocked virtual zealous endorse qualification hostile eccentric abstract disparate geographical scrutinize generalization tolerate activity claim dogmatic influential obsolete extol implausible subsequent resource chronic benevolent improve confidential ambiguous seriously dearth perplex hatred throughout dine contemporary evoke essentially economic flagrant obscure alleviate eloquent dreaadful clumsy sympathy victim condemn vigor condescend spontaneous quell reprehensible substantially sleeve equivocal ironic decry errand articulate progressive eradicate refreshments elicit aspiration recently exemplary bribery theoretical disingenuous partisan revere particle nostalgia self-aggrandizement debunk tyranny rhetoric hierarchy warning whimsical venerate commend assert miserable awful vibe constrain undermine explicit differentiate compliment scrupulous contempt erroneous ideal refute imply cynical rash presume insight revival vary delay renounce indignant offensive temperate circumstantial export peep logo advertise suppress distort chunk convoluted denounce overwhelming fertility rigorous acquire arrogant university antagonize profitable indulgent strategic breathing idiosyncrasy profession frugal discern accommodation adversary incredulous disturbance digress social belie roam smug continual pertinent voluntarily elite subtle blame sincerity lick horror censure involvement candid infer futile impetuous exploit bewilder sustain diligent sincere protect sealed musical empathy callous parenthetical insure acorn sarcasm seize sacrificially allege emphatic irrelevant progress diplomatic stunned improvise deride reconcile meticulous deject scientifically incontrovertible pressure justify gloomy depict supplant endurance analogous diary bolster slip contemplate pesticide glow religious advocate negligent creator lament fundamental embrace throne inherent inferior valuable thrive trivial pretense reserved capricious refresh refusal flight boost explanation coherent prevalent tenacious official royalty assassin rub poach delete

10.2

warrant circumscribed somewhat explosive optimistic mandate previously detract opinion intuitive feasible intimate persistent humble simplicity tempt deliberate painful unethical fundamentals discrepancy remorse pessimistic possibility conclusion acknowledge impregnate soberly creation paralyze suitability oblige tranquil medal arbitrate pacify illusory susceptible vibrate vengeance infection democratic stressful grave speculative sample identification stifle obligation revenge organization namely mediocre practical scream weaken consensus affectionate deficient treacherous console isolation ingenious memory melodrama despair awestruck composition regret recommendation celebrity decision devoid opaque ornamentation longevity participate dread restore interrogate aid accordingly mislead embarrassment optimism domestic apt funds virtue geography fundamentally thoroughly press despite horrible chilling rental esteemed disappointment innovative contemplation assign popularize haunt deafen serene percent estrangement suffer extravagant throng estimate comment priesthood mass dreadfully promote periphery animated saying relate clarity triple derivative succeed distortion register suicide improvement discreet inquisition probable curative incident praise convenience baffle covet dreadful genuinely weary undisturbed disgruntled humility renown nonchalant monopoly comedy vague decisive inconsequential announcement fabricated nevertheless vigilant scarce neglectful hushed attainment tedious explode snatch pslm agency sentimental tension adhere meanwhile sacred avert conformity likewise challenger accessible responsibility peril contact event roast fallible catastrophic competitor violate resolute deceive exaggeration discredit intolerable approve paste dimly novelist demeanor norm politician satisfaction obvious vehicle reservation defer involve restoration crush audible assistant backpack attain inanimate commemorate confrontation emigration parasite disperse quantitative laughter policy vulgar occasionally repay effective eulogy starvation empty therapeutic overall immortal encompass inappropriate opportune engagement illustrate turmoil observatory classification expression reminiscence comedian invention depress remedy protagonist gesture texture diplomatic election prolong conducive emotional invigorate curiosity expressive %

K-12 Words was originally published on PinkWrite

[loveinpanem-blog]

Dandelion in Darkness

by titaniasfics

Banner by the amazing @akai-echo

Summary:  Katniss is the Queen of the Underworld. Equal in power to the Goddesses of Lightning and the Sea, she chooses a life of solitude in her dark kingdom. That is, until she meets Peeta, son of Demetros, the Earth God. She cannot help but love the young god and would possess him at all costs. But what consequences will her choice have on the world?

 Retelling of the Persephone/Hades myth. Hades!Katniss and Persephone!Peeta.

 A story in three acts.

Personae Dramatis:

Katniss Everdeen - Hades/Pluto/Queen of the Dead

Gale - Thanatos

Madge - Hermes

Prim - Apollo

Mags - Seer

Mr. Mellark - Demetros

Peeta Mellark - Persephone/Proserpina

Haymitch - Aphrodite

Effie - Cupid

Johanna - Ares

Wiress - Hephaestus

Paylor - Zeus

Annie - Poseidon

Finnick - Amphitrite

Thresh - Artemis

Rue - Gaia

Beetee - Cyclops (Forged Katniss’s Helmet)

Brutus -Charon

Chaff -Herdsman of Asphodel Fields, Keeper of  Katniss’s horses

Plutarch, Caesar and Crane - Moirai/Fates

Ennobaria, Glimmer and Cashmere -Furies

Buttercup - Cerberus

Prologue:

It began with the wind.

 Icy and bitter, it swept across Panem in furious gales. Trees bent before it and man-made objects struggled to remain rooted to the ground. People who ventured beyond their homes saw their skin redden and crack as they leaned against it. They had never experienced a cold so cruel and scrambled to find warmth and shelter.  In a land where the weather expressed itself in the mildest way, the sudden harshness of this new season was met with horror and confusion.

 After the wind came the snow. Though beautiful to the eyes of the citizens of Panem, it brought its own complications - frozen rivers and streams, slippery streets, dead crops and animals. When the land of Panem was covered in ice, the hunger followed soon after, and the lamentations could be heard atop the Capitol itself. People suffered as the earth grew colder and harder. Around them, life receded, overwhelmed by the power of death. They began to tell stories of a world that would end in ice.

 The people clamored to the gods for relief. Why were they being punished?  Why were the gods angry?  Oracles and seers were consulted all over Panem, now desperate at the prospect of their own demise.

 Every person touched by the gods in the land of Panem returned with the same response. Demetros’s son had vanished and now he wandered the world, searching for him. As he hunted for the daemon who had robbed him of his youngest, he withheld the life force that would nourish the earth and the people of Panem languished in consequence. He had vowed that until his son had been returned to him, winter would reign eternal in the land of the living.

Act I:

 Death of a Seer.

 She wore the war armor of her divine office.

 Sleek, shiny leather covered her entire body, made of the hide of the immortal herds that roamed the Asphodel Fields, in the care of Chaff, the herdsman of the gods. Her booted feet could cause the earth to tremble with each step but she took care to step lightly and to mask her presence when she took her rare excursions to the Overworld. Her helmet was forged by the great Beetee as part of her suit of armor during the war against the defeated Titan Lord, Cornelius. It granted her invisibility, provoked fear in her enemies and made physical the awesome might of her power.

 She made her way through the dark chambers of her innermost lair, hidden deep beneath the bowels of the earth, where the boiling core made rock and metal turn to rivers of lava. In the upper levels of her palace, raw diamonds, rubies, onyxes and emeralds studded the walls and ceilings.  She paused in her weapons chamber and picked up the heavy, gold scepter, with which she commanded the earth to split open before her, and continued her stately walk until she left her habitation behind. Crossing beyond the bands of eternal night that hid the long entrance of Tartarus, she reach the Gates of her estate which were guarded by Gale, the incarnation of death.  

 “Chaff has prepared your horses,” he said solemnly, face dark and inscrutable as her own.

 She nodded in acknowledgement as they strode together across the great pomegranate orchard to reach the stables. The Underworld was a silent place, even for those who had life enough to speak. Those who were divinely decreed to live beyond the mortal world moved beneath skies that were not dotted with clouds or the vibrant fire of Primrose’s chariot riding from east to west. Instead, as far as the eye could see, the world was suffused with the vapors of the seething core, where the very physiognomy of the earth was decided from the shifting and collision of the earth’s tectonic plates. The deepest channels of mineralized water flowed just beyond them, feeding the spring from which Oceanus originated - the ocean at the edge of existence.  She found a melancholy pleasure in observing the deep browns, reds, and greys of her kingdom.  It did not contain the vibrant colors of the living world but possessed another kind of beauty altogether.

 “It is uncommon for the Queen of the Dead herself to accompany a soul to the Underworld. She must have been a great Seer,” Gale probed.

 “Prim asked that I attend. I cannot deny my sister. And it’s been many months since I’ve seen her.”

 “It is rare for the light of her chariot to penetrate into this dark place,” he answered and said no more. He did not help her on to her gleaming, golden chariot - her step barely touched the ground, and she did not expect such deference. Despite her distance from the living world, she was well known for being the most humane of the gods.

 She fixed her helmet over her head and stared out at the broad backs and wide shoulders of her four immortal steeds. They were the color of the deepest black, reflecting no light and bearing no blemish. Taller by half than even Gale, who had one of the most imposing statures of all the gods, they wore manes of silky ebony that flowed like a trail of black fire behind them when they took to the skies. Beyond them lay the shores of Oceanus, the sea that separated her from the living world. Picking up her reins, she clicked her tongue at the four giant steeds, stirring them to life.

 Nodding at Gale, who now stared transfixed at the horses, she snapped her whip, rousing them into motion accompanied by an uncoordinated chorus of neighs. She lurched in her chariot as they pulled her forward. Gathering speed, they hurtled toward a cliff overlooking the gentle waves of Oceanus. The dim light of a distant sun, the light of her sister, brightened between the walls of the chasm that opened to allow her passage to the Overworld. The rush of wind lifted the braid that held her hair, long and black as the Six Nights of Tartarus. The explosion of speed was one of the very few things that made her blood quicken and soon, she was whooping with undignified excitement. What did it matter - with her helmet in place, there was no one to see her.

 The Babylonians knew her as Ereshkigal, the Aztecs called her Mictecacihuatl. The Japanese prayed to Izanami and the Greeks feared Hades.

 But to the people of Panem, she was Katniss, Queen of the Dead and Guardian of the Underworld.

 XXXXX

 With helmet firmly in place, Katniss set down outside of a village, near the Sun Temple built in honor of her sister Prim, who was sometimes called Helios or the divine sun. This moniker was a mistake, of course, for it was her chariot who bore that name. But those who worshipped her often ignored the distinction. As if Katniss’s thoughts had summoned her, the lovely girl appeared in her resplendent glory, golden hair and skin gleaming with the muted light that she brought to the world when she rode across the sky.

 “Does your chariot ride alone today?” Katniss asked, shedding her garments as she walked in exchange for a soft, black chiton, cinched at the waist with a belt studded with emeralds and sapphires. She reveled in the warmth of her sister, all goodness and beauty, blazing like a star in her arms as they held each other in greeting.

 “Helios is a living thing, like your horses. She is my constant companion and knows the path I take across the sky,” Prim answered.

 Katniss felt a powerful pang of jealousy. She preferred no one’s company over that of her sister’s but, because of their responsibilities, they were often separated. That she should share time with anyone else in any kind of intimacy stimulated all of Katniss’s less tender feelings.  

 “Pity Helios is not here now, to give you her much desired company.”

 Prim laughed, her light-blue eyes blazing with humor and understanding. “Do not worry, dark sister. You are always my favorite, even though you are a most frightful creature.”

 Katniss felt her humor soften. “You must never be afraid of me.”

 Prim leaned in to Katniss, dropping her voice to a whisper. “I can never be afraid of you!”

 Katniss shook her head, allowing herself a small smile - for there was no one in the world who could provoke her gentler spirit except her sister.

 “How may I serve you?” Katniss asked at length.

 Prim became more serious. “One month ago, the great Seer, Mags, fell ill. She was a most devoted servant and those gifted in my arts have struggled in vain to heal her.”

 “So you said. You esteem her so greatly?”

 Prim nodded. “I do. But she will soon depart. It is the sad fate of all mortals ---”

 “You tried to cure her despite everything,” Katniss concluded.

 “I did, but the Moirai will not be defied. Her thread has been cut. I wish only for a peaceful passing. I know this is more of a task for Gale or even Madge but---”

 Katniss sighed. “But you want her to have the honor of being escorted by me.”

 Prim smiled. “Yes! I know you will not let her shadow become lost. Nor will you allow the judges to slight her in the least. She is a good woman, for this she is well known.”

 Katniss placed a hand over her sister’s. “Do not fear. I will end her suffering and take her directly to the Elysian Fields, as you have asked.”

 Prim squeezed her hand. “Thank you, dearest one.”

 Pressing her hand in return, Katniss turned towards the bleached, white building that stood in glory to the Goddess of the Sun. Katniss stepped inside, following the smell of the mortal’s decaying lifebreath. She passed marble statues, rendering her sister in different poses - remarkable likenesses that made Katniss pause, if only for an instant, to admire their detail. The hand that had sculpted these figures had been touched by the Muses.

 She finally entered a darkened room, where an old woman reclined on a simple mat. Long grey hair lay tousled about her, her skin deeply lined. Her eyes were rested closed against jowly cheeks. Upon Katniss’s arrival, though, her eyes fluttered open and she stared at Katniss without fear or surprise.

 “Great...Goddess,” she said slowly, with the exhaustion that comes from fighting against Death itself. “Queen of the Underworld...of wealth...and of...secret...places...”

 Some mortals were uncommonly gifted in the perception of the gods in their lives. These were the ones who became poets and priests, seers and wise people. And Mags was one of the greatest. “Shhhh…” Katniss said gently. “Your troubles are at an end.”

 “Will you be gentle?” Mags asked, looking suddenly so very small beneath her. Katniss never forgot how fragile and ephemeral humans were. These creatures, who built temples and worshiped the immortals, were just as necessary to the gods’ existence as the gods were to theirs. It was a fact gods too often forgot.

 “It will be but as a breeze over the sea,” Katniss whispered. “You will not suffer.”

 “Thank you,” Mags answered before she took one long, last breath. Katniss brushed her fingers over her sternum. The skin of her hands darkened to her elbows as she called forth her supernatural power. A strong wind blew in through the opening in the room. Slowly, with a delicacy no one would believe she possessed, Katniss drew Mags’s shadow from her chest. As she stepped from her body, Mags’s aspect became sharper, more defined until the spirit Katniss drew forth became, in appearance, the woman who now lay still on the mat.

 Staring at the shadow was like gazing into a star studded night. A constellation of lights dotted the darkness, each pin prick representing a good deed or a kindness bestowed on another. Some souls were bereft of those diamond-like eruptions; others, like Mags, were covered in their goodness like a bride adorned in riches for her groom. Katniss felt remarkably comforted by the evident purity of the seer’s soul and knew there would be no question where she would spend her eternity.

 “Come,” Katniss said gently, beckoning to the shadow to follow. Without hesitation, Mags floated beside her mistress, taking one last glance at her mortal shell before leaving the room, and the temple, forever.

 Katniss arrived to where her sister stood. The shadow, now rendered nearly translucent in sunlight, shimmered in excitement at the sight of the goddess she had served for so long. Mags dropped to her knees before Prim, hands together in supplication.

 “Rise, my servant,” Prim said in a voice that sounded to mortal ears like the melodies of all the music that ever was or ever could be composed. “You have served me well. My sister will care for you, with the same kindness you have shown all who have come to pay homage at my temple.”

 “Oh, great Goddess!” Mags said, rising to her feet. Even in death, her eyes were wide with awe.

 Katniss stepped away from Mags and Prim to take in her surroundings - the preparations for the funeral were underway - novices under the Seer were tearful as they went about their duties. Katniss was invisible to them as to all mortals. She made sure of it. But as she observed the activities of the humans around her, she felt the eyes of another, studying her, as if etching her into clay or stone. In her eagerness to see Prim, she had largely ignored the presence of anyone else. The shadow of Mags now floated beside her, waiting patiently for the escort that would take her to Elysium and to her eternal peace.

 Above the hillock, surveying his dominion, was Demetros. A giant of a god, with gold hair and pale skin that blazed in a way that Prim’s chariot did not, though they were both life incarnate. Hers was the power of pure energy, of origins and creations, of the sun that gave to all without discrimination. His was the power of living things - green, fecund, full of birth but also of the decay that fed life in an endless cycle of existence and non-existence.

 He was a fastidious deity and took great pains to care for the kingdom that had been entrusted to him since the days of the Titanomachy. His dominion stretched from the deepest roots of the most ancient trees to the tips of eagle’s wings that soared beneath the foot of the Capitol itself. Every creature that drew its sustenance from the earth was under his protection and it was his power that fueled life. He existed in necessary symbiosis with Katniss - for he was Life and she was Death and one could not exist without the other.

 However, it was not Demetros who captivated her attention, but the youth who stood beside him. Demetros was famously jealous of his children and hid them even from the eyes of other gods so that Katniss did not recognize this young being at his side. And a god he was, most likely a son, for he possessed the same golden color. He quivered with the same power as Demetros, carried the same powerful build. His eyes had stolen blue from Prim’s firmament and were of a color that was dazzling even from the distance where she stood. He stared in her direction with none of the fear with which she was usually greeted, but with open curiosity, as if he could not fathom what exactly he was looking at.

 But there was an impunity, even a challenge, in his now roving eyes. She fit her helmet onto her head, which appeared to startle him. This was no surprise, for from his perspective, she would have simply vanished before his eyes. He scanned the place where she stood, and the company of people milling about the burial site. She was sure he was searching for her but he would not see her unless she willed it.

 The shadow at her side shifted, catching her attention.

 “What say you, Seer?” Katniss asked, unable to keep the impatience from her voice. She continued to contemplate the young man, and resented even the smallest distraction from this pursuit.

 “Fate, my queen,” Mags said in a voice that, to the ears of a mortal, would have sounded like nothing more than the beating of a sparrow’s wing.

 “I have no time for riddles, human.”

 “Fate,” she repeated. “The Moirai have made their decision. Your fate is now tied to the world. Soon Winter will come and the living world will cry out in lamentation until Spring is restored.”

 Katniss pursed her lips in displeasure. She took great pains to stay out of the affairs of humans, exercising her dominion in her own kingdom and excusing herself from the happenings of the Capitol. She cared very little for the petty jealousies, affairs and vendettas of her fellow deities.

 “You’re mistaken. I have nothing to do with these things you call Spring and Winter. Come.” She made herself visible to Prim, nodding towards her sister, who looked at her with a longing that made Katniss’s cold heart glow warm and aching. Katniss desired only the solitude of her kingdom, to be insulated from such unfamiliar and powerful sensations. She withdrew from the now dispersed company but not before she cast a last glance at the young man, who scanned the horizon beyond her. Katniss had a fleeting thought, that she had not seen such beauty since the dawn of her existence.

 Resolutely she turned on her heel and led the shade back to her chariot where they would escape with all haste back to her dark kingdom, to the safety of a world without shining gods.

 XXXXX

 Katniss brought Mags to the gates of the Elysian fields, where she watched as the spirit melted into the Isles of the Blessed with the other worthy spirits of the afterlife. This special place was reserved for those who had been reincarnated three times, living virtuously each time. Katniss regretted her distemper towards Mags earlier and was extra gentle with her until she’d been released.

 As Katniss turned away from the gates of paradise, she caught sight of Madge flying on her winged sandals, speeding above her, perhaps returning from escorting souls to the underworld or, most likely, from visiting with Gale, as was her habit when she ventured below.

 Katniss smoothed out the folds of her chiton before wandering into her beloved pomegranate orchid and plucked the ripe fruit from the ancient trees. With a tap of her finger, the fruit split open, revealing seeds the color of blood.  Katniss ate them, reveling in the incomparable flavor of their sweet juice and thought about the young man she’d seen earlier. Her chest palpitated with an expectation that was entirely new, provoking a strange desire to lose herself in a field of flowers beneath the warmth of her sister’s chariot.

 Uncomfortable with these sudden fantasies of flowers and fields, she plunged into the business of rulership, consulting with the three judges when there was confusion over sentencing a shade, though the complications were normally too few to warrant close attention. She toured her kingdom, beginning with the seven rivers of Hades. She visited the river Styx, which circled the Underworld seven times, coiled like a serpent around her dominions. She walked the banks of Acheron, seeking out the silent Ferryman, Brutus, who stared out from beneath lidded eyes, made immune to the pain the river could inflict with a continuous supply of ambrosia and gold coins.

 On Katniss’s side of the river was the actual entrance of her dominion, where the ferocious, three-headed creature she’d fondly named Buttercup stood guard. With mangy, orange-striped fur, glowing eyes the color of burning coal and a snarl that made shivers run up Katniss’s spine, it nonetheless whined whenever Prim threaded her fingers through its matted fur.  

 Katniss was careful not to touch the waters of the next river, Lethe, for it promised forgetfulness to all who drank from it. It encircled the Isles of the Blessed, where the truly virtuous like Mags achieved eternal rest. From the burning banks of Phlegethon, she was sure she could hear the rage of the Titans erupting from the near infinite depths of Tartarus, only to be drowned out by the even more chilling noise of Cocytus, the river of wailing.  It was with some relief that she reached Oceanus, beyond which lay the permeable boundary between the living and the dead. Though she was in a place beyond earth, beyond its boiling center and unrelenting rock, when she commanded the earth to open, she could just make out her sister’s Sun Chariot casting its brilliant rays deep into the most obscure bowels of Hades.

 She passed the Asphodel Fields, where most of the dead ended up. Having lived unremarkable lives, they watched Katniss with empty eyes as she passed, the oldest souls being the most impassive.  How many times had they watched their mistress in her travels between the fields of Hades?

 Katniss hurried past the Mourning Fields - where those with unrequited love ended. It was telling that there was a special place for this particular type of suffering, of all the myriad of suffering humans endured. She wondered what it was like - to love and ache so terribly that it was enough to define your existence for all of eternity. She could only imagine it, for she had never desired someone in such a way and would have scoffed at the idea of it altogether, were it not for the clear evidence of its power in the human and supernatural world.

 Her mind betrayed her at that point and flew to the son of Demetros. Men like him could send countless women to the Mourning Fields. She still marveled in her memory at the extraordinary beauty of the young man - the way the very hairs on his head appeared alive with his life-giving energy, the large, sensuous build of his hands, veins and muscles undulating in the perfection of his form. Gods were always beautiful, with perhaps the exception of Wiress, who toiled in the merciless heat of her forge and had been cursed with deformities at her very creation. And yet even she possessed a power that captivated. She was not without her own aesthetic.

 But Demetros’s son was another creature altogether. He was not brooding, like Gale. He did not have the accidental perfection of Finnick, Annie’s consort. Yet he possessed the kind of face that she could easily stare at for an eon.  

 Katniss shook herself of her silly thoughts and set out towards her palace - a place of austere beauty that she hoped would sooth her thoughts. But her restlessness continued for many days, her thoughts compulsively returning to the young man.

 XXXXX

 A strange and unknown desire began to grow in Katniss.

 She had to see the young man again.

 She avoided this desire at every turn, seeking some other relief from that impulse. Anything would do - she even rode her chariot to the Capitol itself to visit her sister, who had long taken up her place at the side of Paylor, the Goddess of Lightning.

 The Capitol was everything the mortal world was not - opulent, radiant, and lavish in its comforts. It floated above the clouds, impervious to attack, by Paylor’s design, and all gods were invited to take residence there - a move that concentrated the power of the Earth and Air deities in the Capitol. But Katniss, like Annie, the third Goddess of the Great Triumvirate and Queen of the Sea, was not without her own power.

 As she strode down the gilded halls, Katniss had the misfortune of encountering Haymitch, the God of Love, lounging in the dining hall.

 “Haymitch,” she growled in greeting.

 A slow smirk spread over his dark features.  Though renowned for his virility and his facility with the amorous arts, he was also prone to bouts of profound laziness. He lay sprawled across a settee, appearing to be in a state of half sleep. A tray of fruit and a flagon of drink sat on a table beside him. “Katniss! You’ve left your cave and now do grace us with your invigorating company. Tell me, how do you spend all your time in such a dreary place?”

 “It suits me fine,” she retorted.

 “You do not give me enough to do, Goddess. Perhaps you would like to borrow Effie’s arrows and make your life more interesting,” he teased, waving a goblet of ambrosia as he spoke.

 “My life is interesting enough.”

 “Oh, come now, Goddess! A sturdy ‘shaft’ would be just the thing to rid you of your distemper!”

 Katniss huffed at his vulgarity, scowling fiercely, but her indignation only stimulated his laughter even more.

 “Where is my sister?” she said, gritting her teeth together before she was tempted to resort to violence to cure his humor.

 Haymitch reclined, resting a hand over his forehead as if he’d been suddenly afflicted by a headache. “Of all the gods, she is the easiest to find. Or have your senses been dulled by your time in that dark realm?”

 Katniss whirled on her heel and marched out of the chamber to the sound of Haymitch’s laughter pursuing her. It was a fine reminder of why she chose to stay as far away from the Capitol as possible.

 XXXXX

 She sought solace in her work and the management of her kingdom, spending time in the Hall of Judgement, listening to the more complex cases of lives lived at the border of virtue and infamy and examining the details with even more attention than necessary, all in an effort to distract herself from her obsession.

 One day, however, when she thought something fundamental might break within her, she found herself inside the confines of her dark chariot, staring down the backs of her mighty steeds.  She closed her eyes and envisioned the young man, searching the world for him until she discovered him in a meadow, in the company of two young men. Without further consideration, she took to the Overworld, breaking the confines of Oceanus, ordering the earth to part and penetrating the last dark clouds that blocked the light of her own sister’s chariot.

 The meadow rose silently around her - covered in wildflowers of every color. As she set her horses under a copse, Katniss secretly admitted her love of the glorious, colorful blooms before her, the crisp smell of air under the newly risen sun filling her every sense. It would surprise gods and men alike to know how very much she admired the world above her kingdom, perhaps more than any other gods, for she had the eyes to see it anew each time she left the Underworld. She had seen fields in her life - Elysium had no rival in all the mortal and immortal realms. But this one reeked of authenticity - death vying for life among even the smallest blades of grass. Here life struggled, and won, each and every time, and despite her immortal office, this victory thrilled her.

 She approached the young man, now wrestling in the tall grasses with two other youth of his stature and coloring - most likely, the other sons of Demetros. They were all fine youth - tall and strong, though the boy who held her interest was of a medium build with respect to his siblings. His face was less angular, perhaps because of his youth or in consequence of a gentler nature that revealed itself in the powerful but muted lines of his physique. He had a cleft chin, the perfect size for a fingertip to rest in. His eyes, now squeezed shut in concentration as he attempted to pin his brother, opened, revealing that unearthly color that had so captivated her the very first day.

 She was undetectable as long as she willed it. Still, she held her breath, watching the boys, their skin increasingly slick with sweat and muscles bulging with exertion, until the young man managed to pin down the larger one while a third counted to three. They lept up, helping each other to their feet, the largest boy clapping the younger one on the back. She inched closer to hear their conversation.

 “I want a rematch!” the tall boy said, guffawing as he wiped his brow.

 “Not today. I’ll be needing my rest after such an arduous contest,” the blue-eyed one answered.

 “Nonsense, Peeta!” the third boy exclaimed. “Our brother was hardly a worthy opponent!

 “Insolent boy!” the oldest responded. It was Peeta’s turn to laugh as he watched the two boys tackle one another, both rolling in the most undignified way on the ground.

 “When elephants fight, it is only the grass who suffers!” Peeta exclaimed between guffaws of laughter, provoking an involuntary smile from Katniss. Without her volition, she had inched closer and now watched the scene from only a few meters away. The two boys continued to grapple until sheer exhaustion caused them to collapse. They finally gathered their cast-aside clothing, and with good-natured satisfaction, walked together, chattering happily between them. Katniss was disappointed - she wanted more interaction, more reasons to smile at them. But they wandered away to a place she could not rightly follow, for they now entered the sacred woods of their father, and gods were impervious in their own palaces.  Their departure left her suddenly empty and alone.

 She returned to the glade they had only just played in, noting the crushed grass springing slowly back to life. In fact, each thing the boys had touched had not been bruised by the contact but invigorated, turning into a deeper shade of its original color, its fragrance becoming bolder and more vibrant in the air. It was the way of the earth gods to make life sing from their mere touch. She looked down at her gloved hand, thinking how different her power was, how it drained and chilled instead of quickening and reviving, and the idea of it saddened her.

 XXXXX

 She returned to that spot each day, not unlike a sunflower, following the perambulations of the sun. The one she heard named Peeta did not come each time - certainly, his father had chores for the young god that took him throughout his dominion. She discovered that this field was a preferred place for him, his brothers and the groups of forest sprites and spirits who gravitated toward them, seeking their own kind of diversion. And Katniss, after she had fulfilled her duties to her dark kingdom, spent hours watching the object of her interest. She followed him wherever she could - through the vales and hills of his father’s domain.

 She learned much about Peeta through her spying. He was a curious soul, studying the creatures under his care with great interest, not unlike the way she studied him. He kept no company with other gods - she knew this was by Demetros’s decree, who wanted his sons to have nothing to do with Paylor and her heavenly lot. But he did frequent lesser spirits, and the nymphs and naiads of the forest knew his name.

 There was so much more to the young man than his appearance. Katniss watched him accompany his father on his duties. They flew over mountains and rivers, surveying the world of the living in all its glory until they arrived in a small mountain village, cut off from the rest of Panem by a mountain range and the nearly unscalable granite walls. Mortals could arrive only by an obscure, winding road up the sloped side of the mountain.

 Katniss settled a distance away to avoid discovery by Demetros and watched as Peeta, who followed his father on his survey of the natural world around the settlement, suddenly pulled away.

 “Don’t you hear that?” Peeta asked, following a sound that Katniss herself had trouble hearing.

 Demetros became visibly impatient with Peeta. “Humans call to us all the time. Come, we have other places to be---”

 But Peeta paid his father no heed as he followed whatever had caught his attention. It soon became apparent that Peeta had heard a plea for his father’s intervention and chosen to follow it. The call for his assistance came from a small hut at the edge of the village, where a widow lived, surrounded by a gaggle of small children. She begged for the bounty of a garden that seemed to struggle in the harsh mountain environment. A small bird of offering was aflame, its smoke having carried her request on the winds and directly to Peeta.

 When he arrived, he did not ask permission of his father but answered the supplication of the widow whose garden was so barren with a touch of his hand that guaranteed her bounty for years to come. Though the prayers had been for Demetros, her plea had moved Peeta and he responded with a compassion that was becoming increasingly rare with the gods in the Capitol.

 “Are we not tasked to help those who call on us, father?” Peeta asked. Katniss did not miss the hard edge of his voice and neither did his father. Demetros face flared with barely-suppressed rage.

 “I will not brook your insolence,” Demetros said in a low voice intended to cower the young man. Peeta, however, only gazed back at the older man, the silent contest between the two ending only when a wild boar burst through the underbrush, to the ecstatic joy of the widow who promptly chased it down. Demetros turned away without a word. As Peeta’s eyes followed him, a smirk of satisfaction lit up his handsome face.

 These gestures of benevolence were repeated numerous times during her period of observation and it compelled Katniss to watch him even more.  But together with this kindness, Peeta possessed something else, something indomitable that would not submit even before the will of his father. He was also the same young man who, in the meadow, was playful, even childish with his brothers, bringing a measure of humor and joy to Katniss’s heart, bereft as she was from such light-heartedness in her own kingdom.

 In all his contradictions, he was everything that a deity of life and of the earth should be, and she began to grow very fond of him.

 XXXXX

 Some time afterwards, as Katniss emerged from the Hall of Judgement, Madge, the messenger of the gods and erstwhile escort of the dead, settled down before her.  She was a tall girl with long, golden locks. Unfurled, her wings were nearly too long for her legs and were of the same color as her hair. They were attached to her ankles, so that as she stepped onto the ground, the wings folded in on themselves, curling around her calves as if they were part of the sandals she wore. Her face was flushed, her lips tender and swollen. Katniss chuckled as her friend fell into step next to her.

 “You have the look of Death about you,” Katniss teased.

 “There is no way to avoid it in this place,” Madge parried, smirking all the while.

 “It or him, dear one?” Katniss continued.

 Madge stretched in exaggeration, smoothing back her slightly tousled hair. “You know all my secrets. And I know yours.”

 “I have no secrets. And the ones that I do have, everyone appears to know them before I do myself.”

 “In this, you speak true. You pine,” Madge said.

 “I do not!”

 “Haymitch is never mistaken. On your last visit to Prim, he said you fairly reeked of longing. He is an expert, you know!”

 Katniss pursed her lips, feeling the scowl overtaking her face. Madge laughed at the fierce look, which displeased Katniss even more.

 “You would not be the first god to become infatuated. You act as if it is not possible for you.”

 “I tire of this conversation,” Katniss retorted.

 “But you do have a challenge,” Madge continued, as if Katniss had not spoken. “The young man’s father is powerful and uncommonly possessive. He will not part with his children under any circumstances.”

 Katniss felt the color drain from her face but bit her lip to keep from exposing herself. “I do not know what you speak of.”

 “Peeta! Demetros’s son. You visit the Earth God’s kingdom nearly each day to watch the young man.”

 Katniss said nothing, her pale face now aflame. She felt the heat rising in waves over her skin.

 “If you petition Paylor, she will grant him to you. You have already been promised a son of Demetros if you so choose to exercise your right of claim over him.”

 Katniss groaned, remembering the promise made to her so long ago by Paylor, a reward after the battle and victory over the Titans. It was a promise she never expected to see exacted. “By force? It is not my way. I will not ‘claim’ anyone.”

 Madge made an exasperated sound before her face slowly changed, a mischievous expression dancing on her fine features. “You do not deny your infatuation, then?”

 “Leave me be,” Katniss said impatiently. “I am not one to become infatuated.”

 “Then perhaps you...love Demetros’s son?”

 Katniss froze in her steps, turning to her friend in barely repressed anger. “Do not trifle with me. And take this warning back to Haymitch, for I smell his interference in your words. I am Death to mortals. I have not yet tested myself against immortals, but I will not hesitate to begin with him.”

 Madge’s eyes widened, then narrowed, a smile flitting hesitantly at the corner of her mouth. Madge was the only other person besides her sister with whom Katniss shared the greatest affinity but Katniss could be intimidating in her rage, even to those close to her.  “He is only exercising the requirements of his office. He is, after all, responsible for all matters of the heart.”

 Katniss struggled to calm her anger. “You are right. But I want no one interfering. Each and every time the Capitol becomes involved in the affairs of...anyone, it only results in disaster.  Please make that clear to them. No interference of any kind.”

 Madge nodded, more serious than before. “You are Paylor of the Underworld.”

 Katniss tilted her head, raising an eyebrow. “Or perhaps Paylor is Katniss of the Capitol.”

 XXXXX

 Madge’s conversation drove Katniss into reclusion, unwilling as she was to expose herself to the gods. However, her resolve was weak and soon, she tired of missing Peeta. She took extra pains when she finally set out to watch him, leaving her chariot and donning her invisibility helmet.  She materialized in his preferred meadow when she was sure he would appear and soon observed his arrival, carrying an object she instantly recognized as an easel. It was larger than one any human could carry, but he set it down with ease. Next to it, Peeta placed a wooden box, within which were the accoutrements of his hobby - paint brushes, paint, strips of cloth and water.

 Katniss let out a sigh at the sight of him, relief and euphoria warring within her. She watched him survey the landscape around him - large hands perched on his hips. He wore a short chiton that just barely hid his bottom and leather sandals laced to his knee. It was common enough attire in the Overworld, but on him, it appeared new and exotic. It no longer surprised Katniss to discover how very enticed she was by his appearance.

 After some planning, he settled down to work. As his brush swept the canvas, Katniss crept ever closer, observing as the field and sky emerged from the blank expanse, a near perfect duplication of the reality before them. Except there was something added, an overlay of his very essence, not unlike the part of himself he left behind when he walked the fields or touched the plants and animals. The trees in the painting were as alive as the ones in the forest, the grasses moved as they did now, with the wind threading between them.

 But the most extraordinary thing she observed was the sun, not as mortals saw it, but the way the she did, as all gods did. Not an indescript ball of yellows and oranges but a beautiful woman, riding triumphantly in her chariot, galloping across the sky. Nothing in a mortal’s pallet could approximate the vivacity, the pure radiance of the light her sister wore when she made her daily journey across the heavens.

 Katniss stared overlong at the magic that unfolded, drawn like a moth to an incandescent flame. She did not realize how close she’d gotten to Peeta until her elbow brushed against his, causing him to freeze mid brush stroke.

 He cast a glance around him, searching for the source of the interruption. Katniss, in her stead, did not trust herself to move even a hair, for fear he would discover her. He set the brush down, his face tightening in wariness.

 “Show yourself,” he demanded.

 Katniss stared at him unmoving, unable to tear her attention from the way the wind lifted his ashy-blond locks. She thrilled at the idea that he sought her, even if he did not know her identity.

 He swept the air suddenly, his fingers brushing her shoulder. She could tear herself away, dissolve into the ground, transport herself to her chariot and race with silent fury down into the depths of her kingdom. But she became aware of another desire, one she had been nursing in her heart since the moment she saw him on the hillock, at the side of his father. She was a master of lurking among humans and immortals alike but what she really wanted was to be discovered. She longed to be found by him.

 With an act of will, she shed her helmet of invisibility and allowed him to look at her.

 Her sudden appearance forced him to take a step back, causing him to nearly collide with his easel.  But it was the effect of only a moment, and he recovered quickly.  He took her in completely, from head to toe, and she tolerated his appraisal of her, allowing his eyes to roam over her face, her body, even her scepter. His scrutiny made her blood quicken and it was all she could do to not pant noisily before him.

 “Goddess,” he said finally.

 “Not Goddess,” she said, steadying her voice. “Katniss. And I’ve been watching you.”

 End Act I

 A million thanks to my betas and support. To @eala-musings, who is always ready to help read what I write and do her very best to fix the messes I make. To the incredible @katnissdoesnotfollowback, who remembered when I toyed with the idea of this fic almost 2 years ago.  She lent her significant betaing ability to the editing of this story and, in particular, the nuances and details relating to Greek Mythology as well as helping me keep track of the genderbending taking place in this story.

 I have to also thank my best friend and banner-maker, @akai-echo, who is my creative partner in crime. She manages to visualize what I write and turn it into gorgeous banners that are brilliantly made.

 Note about mythology:

 My interpretation of the Persephone/Hades myth that sees her complicit in her abduction. This is obviously not the myth everyone knows but it is actually one version of a myth that exists in some form or another throughout every culture. I was heavily influenced by the poem, “Persephone the Wanderer” by Louisa Glück, found in her collection, Averno.

 To cast this story, I had to try to match innate qualities of THG characters with roles they would be most associated with. In some cases, I had to fudge things. Therefore, Prim, as Apollo, would also exercise the aspect of healing, Madge as Hermes, is not only the messenger of the gods, but also serves as escort to the spirits of the dead. The most glaring “miscast” is Gale as Thanatos and not as Artemis but had I gone that route, I would have lost my Gadge and I do love Gadge so very much! Plus, I love putting Thresh in strong roles wherever I can and he fits my idea of a male Artemis very much :).

 Music inspiration is various. I'm a huge fan of covers and have recently discovered Chase Holfelder. I love his rendition of Every Breath You Take and I Want You to Want Me.

 I’ve given a good listen to Taylor Swift’s and Zane’s I Don’t Wanna Live Forever, Rihanna’s Skin and a throwback to the 90’s with Avril Lavigne’s When You’re Gone.

 Act II posting soon.

[stcrlghts]

Be Mine, Valentine.

Summary: It’s Valentine’s Day and your long-time boyfriend has planned an extensive scavenger hunt... with quite the twist at the end. 

Warnings: LITERALLY 250% FLUFF 

(also, general lack of knowledge about a “berry picking farm”... you’ll see) 

Pairing: Lin x Reader 

Words: 3,033 (SORRY NOT SORRY) 

Special shoutout to my main homie and fellow scorpio, @hamilbye, for fangirling over this earlier. I really needed that confidence boost. You’re my fave ♥♥ 

Happy Valentine’s Day to all of you following me or reading this! I love you all and just picture me sweeping you all in for a huge group hug because that’s what I would be doing if you were all in front of me. 

You were unsure of the time you were woken from your sleep, but you knew it was early. Even with your curtains drawn, you were acutely aware of how dark it was outside. Shaking off your sleep and trying not to trip over your own feet as you shuffled across your floor, you arrived at the door. Simultaneously tugging your hair into a ponytail and peeking to see who was at the door, you were surprised to see no one standing in the hallway of your building. Perplexed, you opened the door to check again. Peering out into the hallway, you shivered in the cold air conditioning the building ran and almost missed the envelope with your name written on it. You bent down to pick it up and stepped backwards back into your apartment, closing the door behind you with your foot. Leaning your back against the door, you tore the envelope open. You never were one for patience.

As soon as you’d opened the flap of the envelope, a flurry of pink and silver glitter fell out, littering your floor. You cursed under your breath, knowing that would be a pain in the ass to clean up later. You watched the glitter fall, your sleepy stare catching on the flakes as they sailed through your living room. Returning to the rest of the contents, you fished out a piece of paper with a handwritten letter on it. Your eyes scanned the letter’s contents before finding their target – the sender’s name… which, annoyingly, happened to be anonymous. You decided that you’d have to read the letter to understand what it was. You rolled your eyes before moving through your apartment to sit on your kitchen table, crossing your legs up underneath you. It wasn’t like you lived with someone and the table was too many years old and too cheap, but it did its job.

You now settled in to actually read the letter, but you already understood the only person that would be thoughtful enough to do this.

My dear,

Here’s to hoping I didn’t wake you too early. I want you to get your sleep, but I really want you to get this letter too.

If you’ve looked at a calendar yet, I’m sure you’ve noticed that today is Valentine’s Day. Today is the day to celebrate you, the person I love. Contained on the second page of this letter are six (6!) clues that you should follow today. They will lead you to various locations that are important to the timeline of our story. At the sixth location, you will receive a text from an unknown number with nothing but a seventh location to meet me at.

Enjoy your day and I can’t wait to see you later today. I shall miss you while we are apart.

A soft smile pushed its way on to your face despite the early hour of the day. Lin always had a plan and you weren’t surprised he had this whole day planned out to the last detail of how you’d see each other later this evening. You felt a little pang of sadness knowing you wouldn’t see him until late, but you knew he was missing you today too.

By 8 am, you had showered and dressed to prepare to follow your first clue. You left your bathroom with the letter back in your hand, silently packing up your things in a messenger bag to carry with you. Taking a photo of the letter on your phone, you folded the letter carefully and stashed it in a pocket of the bag. You opened the photo on your phone to glance at the first clue one last time and then you were off.

____

You sighed, running your hand through your hair.

“Let’s try this again. Did a guy come in this morning to drop off a paper of any sort? Did he tell you where it was?”

It was late in the day by now and the sun was beginning to sink in the sky. You glanced one last time at your watch before watching the shop manager shake his head again. You’d spent your entire day traipsing through the city to follow the clues Lin had left. You’d been to the spot you met (a 24-hour diner), the spot you had your first kiss (the park you frequented together), the spot you had your first date (an old comedy club), and the place he had told you he loved you (back to your apartment, in your bedroom). You were now at the fifth stop, trying to wrestle the last clue out of an owner and manager who couldn’t seem to recall Lin coming in this morning. You really were running out of patience, quickly, and all you wanted was this last clue to go to the last place so you could finally get the location where you’d finally see Lin. You had guessed early on that one of his rules was to not run into you, not text you, and not call you and you severely missed him. Seeing happy couples all day had worn you down and all you wanted was to feel his arms around you and tell him how much you missed him and needed him and loved him.

The manager glanced at you before squinting his eyes, as if trying to conjure up a memory.

“You say a boy? Dark hair? Totally and utterly exhausted?”

You gave him a tired smile, “That would be him.”

The shop manager continued, “That boy came in here today, like 6 AM. Rushing around, all frantic-like. Wouldn’t stop talking, either. Told him I’d stash his letter just to get him to shut up. See, I remember now because I recognize you. You were the wallpaper on his phone and I got a glimpse of it. I’d just barely finished hiding the letter before he rushed off, muttering something about wanting to be at the jewelry shop by the time it opened. Damn boy was so tired he didn’t know what was happening.”

During this tirade, the manager bent down, searching underneath the front desk. He reappeared holding an ivory colored envelope, just like all the rest that day. You plucked it from his fingers, giving him a wide smile.

“Thank you so much! Yeah, Lin can be confusing sometimes. I’m sorry that he bothered you.”

The manager managed to grunt out a short grin, “He must really love you.”

You smiled now, casting your gaze downwards.

“We’ve been together for almost four years now. Some of the best years of my life.”

The manager kept his face still before waving you on, “Go finish this quest then. I know you must be wanting to see him just as badly as I’ve been wanting to see my wife today. Have a great rest of your day and tell the boy I say hi.”

You smiled again, “I will! I hope you and your wife have an amazing night tonight!”

While leaving the shop, you focused on opening this last clue. You spotted Lin’s loopy, crazed handwriting and smirked. You’d done it – one last puzzle to solve and you’d finished this quest.

(Y/N),

If you’re reading this, it’s almost over! I hope you’ve had an amazing time. And, without further ado, here is your final clue!

Congratulations on succeeding!

But I’m not ceasing – there’s one more to do!

This place is fruity, the place across is literary!

Remember where we pick berries!

To solve this clue!

 You knew him too well. He always talked about the date you took one summer where you drove half an hour upstate and found a corner of the world where both a library and a berry picking field coincided together. It had been your slice of heaven for an entire day. You spent half the day messing around in the library, swapping books back and forth and laughing. The other half you spent chasing each other down rows of berries and getting in various berry fights through the fields. You had ended the day completely exhausted but the happiest you had ever been. Lin often said that was his favorite date he had ever been on.

You thought of that day as you drove up, your eyes not seeing the wet snow, but feeling the summer sunshine and Lin’s hand in yours. You arrived quicker than you thought you would, given that night was falling and it was Valentine’s Day. You pulled up in front of the small, county library and parked your car. The berry orchards were covered in a melting snow and the sunset shone down on them, as if they were covered with silver glitter instead of snow. You spotted a booth sitting in the path in the center of all the rows and decided to try it first.

Striding up to it, you greeted the teenager standing inside the booth with a grin. He ignored you, choosing instead to focus on the game he was tapping at on his phone. Suppressing the urge to roll your eyes, you cleared your throat. The sound alerted him out of his trance and he fixed his eyes on you. Giving him a polite smile, you began your question. But, before you could finish, he held up his hand.

“(Y/N), right? Yeah, he’s been here. Early this morning, told me to give you this cell when you arrived.” The boy held up one of those pre-paid, burner, flip cell phones from the dollar store and you must have looked confused because, when you didn’t reach out to take it, the boy continued.

“He said you’d get one text on it and you weren’t allowed to reply and then I was supposed to take the phone and destroy it.”

You laughed then, “Destroy it? That does sound like my boyfriend – dramatic.” You stretched your hand outward then and felt the phone drop into your palm. Still standing in front of the booth, the boy watching you, you powered the phone on. As soon as the display lit up, it dinged with a text message.

Go down the fourteenth row on your left of berries. Love you. XO, Lin.

You looked off into the distant direction of where you now knew Lin was located. Before taking off, you gave the phone back to the boy, who smiled and nodded, understanding his mission. You smiled, the sky dark now, only lit by the street lights and the lights from the berry farmers. You counted rows as you passed them, finally reaching number fourteen. Peering downwards in the row, you could see Lin’s shadowy figure moving about, darting here and there. There seemed to be some sort of set-up, like a dinner table and lots of lights. You kept walking down the row, the picture coming in clearer the closer you got. When you finally saw it, it took your breath away.

Now you knew what Lin must’ve been working on all day.

There was a dinner table, yes. Circular and cloaked in a white cloth. A two-person dinner sat on it, when fine china and crystal wine glasses. Surrounding the table was a circular shape of rose petals, all fanning out into larger and wider circles the farther they got from the table itself. The backdrop for dinner was not only the beautiful fields, but a gigantic heart shaped bouquet of flowers – flowers of all sizes and colors. Surrounding the flowers and completing the heart shape were lightbulbs, ensuring the heart would shine even in the darkness that fell. And, finally, on the floor, more petals spelled out words. Before you’d even read them, you were aware of yourself crying softly, sweetly. You kept moving closer to the entire scene, finally reaching one of the chairs and setting your weary body sink down into it. Lin stepped forward, giving you one of his infamously bright smiles before taking your hand in his. You watched Lin as he bent down onto one knee and launched into a speech you knew he must’ve been rehearsing for months. It was then that you realized what your subconscious mind had realized and what had triggered your tears.

“(Y/N), am I allowed to say that I can’t quite remember my life before you? That the entire world was only black and white and you were the change that made it into vivid, high-definition color? That whatever it was I had done and was doing before I met you didn’t matter after I met you? The night I walked into that little diner and accidentally took your seat was the best night of my life. The years afterward have been filled with more laughter, smiles, bliss, contentment, love, and animation than I had ever known could exist. And, even when things aren’t quite right, I know I have you to come home to, to hold, to love, to hug, and to kiss. And I hope you know you have that in me too. I lived my entire life looking for the kind of joy you bring me. I hope you know that you have blessed my life with your existence. I hope you know that I love you like the sun loves the moon and the stars. I hope you know I will forever do everything and anything I can to make sure you’re happy and loved and treated the way you’re supposed to be. I promise to be everything you need and more. I promise to always stand by you, even when you’re wrong. I promise to always laugh at your silly jokes and take care of you when you’re drunk and cry with you when you’re sad. I promise to love you for the rest of my life. And so, my eternal sunshine, will you do me the greatest honor and agree to be my wife? That is – will you marry me, (Y/N)?”

When he had finished his speech, the expectant look in his eyes gleamed with hope, pride, and love. His grip on your hand tightened as you drew your breath inwards, working to try to calm yourself. The timing felt right, this felt right, he felt right. You just needed to find your words for the man who kneeled in front of you, holding out a delicate engagement ring.

When it took you longer to answer than he had expected, he moved closer to you, taking both of your hands in his, pocketing the ring. He forced you to look at him, his eyes not confused, but worried for your well-being.

“If this is too soon, it’s okay. I will still love you the same tomorrow as I do today, no matter what happens. I just love you so much that it can’t be contained any longer and this was the perfectly fitting next step. But don’t worry, I’m not trying to pressure you.” He kept his eyes locked on yours and moved his hand to draw a cloth from his pocket, wiping your tears dry with it.

Before you could help it, your face broke out into a wide smile and, with tears ringing your vision, you held onto his hands as if he was a life boat and you were sinking.

“Lin, I will marry you. I will marry you today, I will marry you yesterday, I will marry you tomorrow and I will still marry you a hundred years from now. You’re the love of my life and I can’t express to you what this means to me, the extensive effort you put yourself through and how worried you must have been. But you should know better of me – I couldn’t say no to this. Not to you. Not in a million years. So, yes, a thousand times yes.”

As your words sank in, Lin reached up, both of his hands caressing your cheeks, drying more of your tears. His eyes searched yours, probing deeper and deeper, searching for meaning. In an instant, you watched his emotion overcome him and, when he pressed his lips to yours with a fierce, aching pressure, you accepted the kiss happily. When you both broke away, you smirked.

“Now tell me the truth – how long did you work to perfect that speech?”

You recognized his embarrassed smile before he spoke, “Like a month… and a half. But, the guys will be so excited I finally got it right! I didn’t even have it right in rehearsals yesterday!”

You felt yourself turning confused at first… and then realization started to come in.

“Wait, the rehearsals you’ve been staying late at… were those rehearsals for…?”

He smiled again now, clearly pleased with himself. “Rehearsals for my proposal to you? Yes, ma’am.”

The pure Lin-ness of it all made you laugh. “You’re such a dork.”

Lin pulled you closer, his voice now just a whisper. “But now I’m your dork, exclusively.”

The realization of it all made you blush, realizing he would never be anyone’s but yours.

“I missed you today,” was your answer for him, a change of subject.

He chuckled, “I missed you more.”

You pressed a quicker, milder kiss to his lips. He pulled back for a moment, fishing the engagement ring back out of his pocket.

“I think you get this now.” He said as he took it from its velvet box. You held your hand out, watching the moment in slow motion as he pushed the ring onto your finger. You looked back up at him, your eyes connecting at the same moment. You spoke first.

“I love you, fiancé.”

The last word brought the largest grin you had ever laid your eyes on to his face. He pressed a kiss to each of your cheeks, pausing thoughtfully before pressing a softer, longer kiss to your lips.

“I love you more, fiancée.”

Giggling, you pulled him closer, delighting in in the feeling of his lips on yours, the way he seemed to be made for you. Under the night sky, the life you lived played out like a movie – the one you had always wanted to star in and the one Lin had helped you write. Without him, this narrative wouldn’t have been possible and this level of pure, unadulterated joy would have been unattainable.

[swipestream]

New Release Roundup, 29 September 2018: Fantasy and Adventure

Steampunk airships, buried Egyptian ruins, fallen angels, and the Titanic feature in this week’s roundup of the newest releases in fantasy and adventure.

Assault Against the Heavens – Robert Wagner

Daon is a Bronze Man, a member of an elite force of lawkeepers who protect and carry out the will of The Celestial Lord. Even though he was sold into this life as a child, just like his fellow soldiers, his beliefs are much different than theirs. Daon hates The Celestial Lord and would like nothing more than to be free.

His hope is a small thing, since The Celestial Lord is a God, who came down from his throne in the heavens to rule the people of Eur directly.

When a stranger to the capital city arrives, Daon finds himself swept up into a conspiracy, along with his friends Naya and Gal, to depose The Celestial Lord.

Caught between the duty ingrained in him and his desire for freedom, his loyalty to his friends or the loyalty to his God, one thought dominates all the others.

Can Daon even fight against a God?

Avenging Ava (The Heroes of Razak #1) – C. J. Evans

“The bear stood on it’s hind legs, and it appeared to stand twelve feet tall. It’s roar paralyzed the forrest in terror and dread. Even the birds stopped singing out of fear.“

Nate and his family live just outside of the village on their farm. One day Nate’s younger sister, Ava, is gruesomely killed by a bear. Nate goes out and seeks to avenge the death of his sister, so he joins a hunting party to go out and kill the beast! Yet there is something about this bear that doesn’t sit right… there’s something different about it… almost some sort of dark magic… Nate is in for more than he bargained for…

This novelette was partially inspired by the same story that inspired J.R.R. Tolkein, Beowulf. This is the first story in a fantasy anthology, and it’s a fun introduction to the world of Razak!

The Eternal Chamber (Relics of Deathless Souls #1) – Tom Hunter

Archaeologist Samuel McCarthy is on the verge of a groundbreaking discovery. The treasure map had led him this far, but the ancient Egyptian defenses and advanced cloaking technology guarding the cave prove impossible for one man to penetrate. Unfortunately, the men who answer his call for help may be more dangerous than the powerful artifacts buried deep underground…

Antiquities Ministry staffer Shafira Khouri longs to trade her desk job for the dig site. But when an office overhaul turns deadly, she knows she’s her colleagues’ only hope of survival. After the ministry falls into enemy hands, she fears her first field assignment could be her last…

If Samuel and Shafira can’t stop a shadowy organization from grabbing hold of a terrifying relic, the entire world could become ancient history.

The Fight for Rislandia (The Adventures of Baron von Monocle #3) – Jon del Arroz

The Wyranth Empire is marching on Rislandia City. Zaira Von Monocle and her airship crew are all that stands between the invading army and the total destruction of her country.

After her expedition to the Zenwey continent, Zaira discovers the Wyranth have a new source of their giant’s blood soldier serum. The enemy has pressed the advantage and used the lack of an airship threat to gain ground. Meanwhile, the Rislandian Grand Army is running low on supplies and food. They can’t hold out forever.

Join Zaira and her crew as they try to take on the full might of the Wyranth Empire and deal with a deadly surprise the Iron Emperor has waiting for them in the conclusion to this epic steampunk trilogy!

First Level (Replay #1) – John Gunningham

Waking up in a strange place with no memory of who you are or how you got there is bad enough but when Lana finds out she’s stuck with Peter, who seems overly excited by the prospect of an adventure, she starts to get a bad feeling. To make matters worse, Lana finds out she’s dead, has no memory of the past, and all the talk of skills, leveling up and questing make her want to scream.

All Lana wants to do is find a way to get home, wherever that is, but Peter is more than content to stay and see what this strange world filled with merchant gnomes, minotaur bartenders and angry house toughs have to offer.

Could Peter have something to do with Lana’s current, infuriating state or is he just as lost as she is as they fight towards answers and their FIRST LEVEL!

It Ain’t Easy (The Valens Legacy #10) – Jan Stryvant

With his home now secure, Sean can take the time to start catching up on the million and one things he’s been meaning to do, but never quite seemed to have the time. However, life is really never that simple. Sean’s two armies, run by his friend Chad and his great uncle Maitland are coming across a few things hinting that the Vestibulum aren’t ready to give up the fight quite yet.

The government and its minions are still not quite sure what to make of Sean or the lions he claims to represent. Divisions exist at the highest levels, and when the president decides to open a line of communications, those who are opposed to the idea are quick to act. The problem however is that while politics may make for strange bedfellows, when dealing with forces that aren’t quite human, discretion is highly advised before jumping into bed.

Masters of Deception – J. C. Kang

Hunting a traitor to the clan that raised her, half-elf spy Jie just wants to complete her mission and return home. Instead, she finds herself trapped in a foreign port, where warring crime factions vie for control of the city’s pyramid.

Cassius Larusso, a local diviner and conman, knows why: atop the pyramid sparkles a Dragonstone, preventing the Orc Gods from returning to the world. His family’s thousand-year mandate to protect the ancient artifact is almost as important to him as filling his coffers with gold, his stomach with delicious food, and his bed with a different type of delicacy.

Joined by Sameer, a paladin pursuing his forbidden love, and Brehane, a sorceress seeking her lost teacher, Jie must choose the right side in a game of shifting alliances and deception. Cassius will lie, cheat, and steal to get her to pick his.

A wrong choice doesn’t just mean that Jie can’t go home; it could lead to the downfall of humanity.

The Night Crossing – Robert Masello

Bram Stoker kept secret a tale even more terrifying than Dracula.

It begins among the Carpathian peaks, when an intrepid explorer discovers a mysterious golden box. She brings it back with her to the foggy streets of Victorian London, unaware of its dangerous power…or that an evil beyond imagining has already taken root in the city.

Stoker, a successful theater manager but frustrated writer, is drawn into a deadly web spun by the wealthy founders of a mission house for the poor. Far from a safe haven, the mission harbors a dark and terrifying secret.

To save the souls of thousands, Stoker—aided by the explorer and a match girl grieving the loss of her child—must pursue an enemy as ancient as the Saharan sands where it originated. Their journey will take them through the city’s overgrown graveyards and rat-infested tunnels and even onto the maiden voyage of the world’s first “unsinkable” ship…

Nostrum (The Scourge #2) – Roberto Calas

Sir Edward Dallingridge survived his journey through the anarchy that is now England, leaving in his wake the bodies of mad lords, foul invaders, friends, and the risen dead. There was nothing on earth that could keep him from the woman he loves.

Nothing but the horror that has already consumed her.

His journey is over, but his mission is far from complete. As a knight of the realm, he has defended England from every enemy it has. But how does one drive away a plague sent from hell? His only hope lies in the rumors of a cure–a treatment concocted by a strange man on an island fortress. Edward will do everything in his power to find this alchemist and to bring Elizabeth back from the walking terror she has become.

The Solitude of Sin (The Exinar #2) – Mikkell Khan

Twenty years have passed since the annihilation of the god ruler, Gudrunn. Yet, fractures and remnants of his domination still remain.

Princess Athena, the royal couple’s daughter, is a shining example of the benevolent rule that is loved by both the countryfolk and the rebels and is seen as one to bring peace to the Kingdom.  One night in desperation, she is kidnapped by a power-hungry tyrant and discovers the universe is far stranger than she ever thought. One day she is living a fairytale life, the next she becomes a gateway between her kingdom and Alpha Sinteres – a metaphysical plane of existence and a source of unlimited magic.

Ruil, a young man with wizardly healing abilities, could not imagine he would transition from lowly stable-boy to member of the princess’ rescue mission in a single night. He had no idea that this coming of age quest would bring him to the likes of, witches, shapeshifters, telepathy, and machines with the power of gods. Nor was he prepared for the level to which human betrayal, pain, love, and survival would take a person.

This experience would change them both, this unbinding from the comfort which they both knew, this Solitude of Sin, to which they would never be the same again…

The Warrior’s Path (Tales of Gorania #1) – Karim Soliman

Discover the world of Gorania with Masolon, the warrior from the mysterious lands beyond the Great Desert, the outcast who refuses to be the warring monster his clan needs and instead he becomes a kinslayer, the sinner who forges his path of salvation in the broken empire of Gorania with the help of his most—and probably his only—trustworthy friends: his sword and his horse.

As he wanders the kingdoms sprawling over the sun-blazed south and the snow-frosted north, Masolon builds his army to enforce his own notion of justice. His war provokes the ruthless lords of the warring realms, and the merciless outlaws who infest every corner in Gorania—a war he might survive with his body, but not with his mind.

Now enemies and false friends close in from all sides. And Masolon, shrouded in his own cocoon of guilt, meets one fiery girl who could help him find peace for his restless heart. Or maybe peace is just a delusion, and his path to redemption is nothing but a lie.

Vessel of Venus (The Diary of an Ex-Angel #2) – Richard Cain

Mark is a down-and-out IT professional with a secret. When he discovers a sorcery app that gives him incredible powers, he sets out to win his ex-girlfriend’s love and start a new life – until Venusians show up, sharing the story of how their civilization was destroyed by global warming and giving Mark the chance to fight climate change. All he has to do is offers them a sacrifice once in a while.

Will he get the girl? Will everyone finally realize that he’s the most amazing person ever? And will that damn talking locust ever shut up and leave him alone?

You’ll find out in the dementedly hilarious Vessel of Venus.

“Read this to find out the real story behind: The clean up after the the deluge to eliminate evidence of the prior civilization, such as air conditioning and the Nephilim. Pixies. Haunted houses. Crop circles. Aliens.” – Reader Review

.44 Caliber Preacher (Ben Baxter’s Western Adventures #1) – Troy C. Wagstaff

Ben is honor bound and obligated to get revenge when everything turns against him, including getting charged for murder and other crimes he didn’t commit. A sheriff and posse go after him as well as every other lawman and bounty hunter in the west desert.

In spite of the numerous challenges and obstacles Ben presses on. His integrity is challenged when one of the lawmen after him is wounded and falls under Ben’s care. The sheriff wants to see Ben hang. Will Ben get the wounded sheriff the help he needs or let him die?

In spite of the hair raising adventure Ben is on, he comes across evil men determined to destroy a town. The town offers him the job of being their sheriff. What does Bens honor dictate? Will he take the job or keep looking for his pard’s killer?

Preacher Zachary Monroe, a preacher from San Francisco is running from his painful, haunted past. Suddenly the preacher and Ben cross paths. Do they join forces to help each other in their quest or do they go their separate ways?

  New Release Roundup, 29 September 2018: Fantasy and Adventure published first on https://medium.com/@ReloadedPCGames