#what leads here is only dark and a winding path over a river which severs memories' ties

[julesthoughts]

Before The Lies

Chapter 8

A/N: "Before the Lies" is the prequel to "Trap of Lies" started by @babeczka415. You can find the other chapters here.

Each chapter is written by these amazing writers: @babeczka415, @paigenoelchas-blog, @duskwoodgirl4life, @raemae17

⚠️Warning: prostitution, murder, drugs and alcohol ⚠️

She walked the foggy streets with a heart as heavy as lead. She was alone and her instincts were all screaming to turn around and call off the mission. Everything in her resisted this operation, but she ignored it. She kept walking in the direction of her destination, the lair of a disgusting man who only spreaded injustice. A wind blew through the wet trees and the rain broke from the leaves and fell down on Janice, causing goose bumps on her skin. She may be the best of the White Nights, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t terrified , at the end of the day she was only human. That fear in her threatened to break out, but she squashed it like a beetle under her shoe. She kept walking, with a false confidence in her stride that she didn’t feel, when a fox chasing a mouse ran across the path bringing her stumbling to a halt.  

She sighed and spoke to herself, "Even nature tries to stop me."

Just as her instincts were winning her internal battle, a shot rang out from far away. The fox from earlier ran timorously back into his hiding place and whimpered softly. Janice turned to face the shot and saw a thousand birds flee the area from the trees. All the birds fled from the horrific event. She shook herself and started walking again. Again and again she was stopped, whether it was by a wild animal living out its nightlife or whether it was a branch that fell to the ground. 

Mother nature didn't want her to go there.

"I have to do this! Please understand that!" she whispered into the wind. She didn't know who she was speaking to, whether it was nature, the universe, or her own mind. She only knew one thing, she was alone. She felt almost lost, knowing she might not  come back to her beloved son, Jake. She turned around one last time to take a look at her hometown. 

Duskwood.

There was nowhere to hide, as the city lights burned.

That's why the villains' hideouts were never found in the city. It would be far too easy to find them there. 

Another shot rang out, and by reflex she reached into the slit on the right side of her skirt and felt her gun under her garter. If Arthur found out that she stole his gun for this mission, no, he wouldn't find out. In fact, she knew she probably wouldn't need a gun at all, but that wasn't why she stole it. 

She wanted something of him with her.

From Arthur.

So she wouldn't feel completely lost and alone. 

She listened to the rush of water from the river beside her to steady her mind. The owls sang their songs and she listened to them with a smile as she walked on with firm steps. After she finally got rid of all negative feelings she went on.

What was she willing to lose?

She covered her wounds from the past, but underneath them a million voices in her head screamed, "Stop, now!" but she didn't listen. She tore herself from her peaceful life for this mission. She left all the thoughts for her loved ones at home so she could focus on the mission alone. 

She came closer and closer to the unfamiliar building. With a pounding heart, she entered her enemy's territory and climbed over the fence that surrounded  a cozy brown shack. Before attempting to enter the cabin, she snuck  a look around the property. 

At the entrance hung a wall lamp, in which a candle was close guttering out. The walls were very dark wood and ivy snaked up one of the square windows. In the reflection of a window she saw a flame blazing from a nearly burned out candle. To the right of the building were several carriages with horses. 

This was no ordinary bar. 

This was a whorehouse.

In the backyard, she heard two men arguing loudly.

"Why did you shoot her twice?"

"She was pregnant by me! You know what happens to married men who sleep with a prostitute!"

"Maybe you should have just held back, you miserable bastard! And how could you be so sure that she's pregnant by you, huh?"

"She was new here and I was her first guest."

"You are disgusting! Cheating on your loyal wife who would die for you. You should be punished with death!"

The man drew a pistol and pointed it at the married man. Janice decided to move from the scene. She had to concentrate. Just as she was about to enter the bar, a shot sounded, goosebumps spread over her skin. The poor woman had to die because of this disgusting man's horniness. She shook her head, said an inward prayer for the poor woman, and finally entered the bar.

Arriving at the bar, she heard the moaning of different women from different little rooms. No one seemed to mind, which was no wonder given how drunk all the men here were. She saw a man paying a prostitute, before they disappeared into a back room. 

It wasn't long before she was approached by a man. He offered her money and wanted to satisfy himself on her. He held out money to her and, not waiting, started kissing her neck. When she took the money from him, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her into a side room. He smelled of drugs, alcohol, and his eyes were slightly red. He was an easy target and she would pound him with questions.

As he locked the door behind him with the key, he turned to Janice, pushed her onto the bed behind her and climbed on top of her. He kissed her all over and ran his hand up her skirt, but faltered when he felt her garter and the gun on it.

"You are not a whore," he stated, looking at her with wide eyes.

"You guessed it, and now I want answers," she ordered while he was still lounging on her body. He didn't move, forcing her to bang her head against his. While both moaned in pain, she didn't let it stop her for long and kicked his crotch hard. He pulled away from her and jumped up, clutching his hand to his crotch, hissing in pain. She stood up, taking advantage of his vulnerability and flipped his body over with his back to the bed and kicked him in the stomach, dropping him onto the bed. She immediately mounted him and squeezed his hands under her knees while he pressed his lip tightly up in pain. She smiled softly at him and he swallowed hard, realizing his situation.

"First question, what kind of wine did you drink?"

"Wha- Why are you asking me such a weird question?"

"Answer me," she commanded. 

"Red wine!" He blurted out.

"There you go, very simple. Next question, what drugs did you take?"

"I didn't do drugs!"

She laughed mockingly. "Oh my dear, you can smell from miles away that you've been on drugs. So, I'm listening!"

"Who the hell are you?"

"None of your business. Answer me."

"I can't believe I'm asking this, but will you sleep with me in exchange for answers?" He asked.

She smiled softly at him. "But of course." She kissed him as a promise, he hummed deeply.

"Fine." He sighed. "It was the drug Madak. Happy now?"

"Not quite yet. Who are the drugs from?"

"By God's blood, I can't answer this!"

"Why not?"

"Because I don't know!"

She eyed him critically and noticed that he was only telling half the truth. She put her right hand around his neck, squeezing and getting closer to his face, so close that she could feel his disgusting breath. She heard him swallow hard and knew he was scared.

"You better tell me what you know."

"What if I don't?" He asked with a smug look on his face.

She squeezed his neck so tight that he couldn't breathe at all. His eyes flickered, but just before he could pass out, she let go. 

"Again?" she asked.

He shook his head in panic while coughing and gasping for air miserably. After an eternity, he was breathing normally again, but still coughing occasionally. 

"Answer my question right now."

"I bought it from a strange man near the wharf. I really don't know more!"

"Good." She smiled. "Any last words?"

"What is with our deal? I will give you answers in exchange for sex with you!" 

"I don't remember signing anything. I feel sorry for your wife." She glanced at his hand, which was wearing a wedding ring on his ring finger. "But if she hears that your body was found in a whorehouse, she won't care."

"I am so sorry Cecilia," he sobbed. 

"Too late, darling." She choked him with both hands and put a pillow on his face.  She finally felt him collapse lifeless under her. She climbed down from him and searched him for money, taking it.  He wouldn’t be needing it any more. 

She heard voices from outside the door. Apparently the owner of the bar found this room too quiet. Janice ran to the window, opened it in no time and climbed out. When her shoes sounded on the wood of the terrace, she immediately ran to the other side of the yard where the horses and carriages were standing. She freed one of the horses from its carriage, climbed into the saddle and rode into the night, letting the darkness swallow her.

Panic broke out in the bar because Janice had murdered a corrupt businessman without knowing it. There was no trace of Janice. The last thing the bar owner heard was the horse's hooves on the gravel.

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

Janice rode through meadows, fields, gravel roads to finally arrive at her destination. The Wharfs. She got off the horse and miraculously the horse stayed for her. Janice was just good with animals and apparently she had already found a new friend.  She gave the horse an apple from a nearby apple tree, stroked its muzzle, and said goodbye. 

As she ran down the slope to the docks, she already heard several voices. She crept behind a large wooden trestle, crouching on the damp ground as she listened.

"Is this seriously everything you got for me?" A deep male voice asked heatedly. 

"I'm sorry, but you're not the only one buying from me."

"You can not be serious."

"I am serious,” he said in a calm but menacing tone.

"Next time you'll give me double!" He almost yelled.

A large fist came crashing down on the box behind which Janice was hiding. She flinched, but quickly gathered herself and regulated her breathing again. She couldn't allow herself to lose control now. She took a quiet deep breath and closed her eyes for a second to steady her pulse. Seconds later she heard the deep voice that seemed to belong to the boss again.

"Do you have any of  the latest drug, at least?"

"Yes, the drug to make someone unconscious."

"Very good. That will help me with some problems," the boss almost cheered.

Suddenly there was an awkward silence. So awkward it was almost dangerous. She heard the seller slip away and quietly ride his horse away. After the horse's hooves had stopped in the distance, only the splashing of water could be heard. Normally she would love and enjoy that sound, but right now there was no time to relax. A man came running down the slope with a hand signal that shocked the boss. 

When Janice tilted her head back, she saw the boss's chin. He stood directly in front of the box and looked towards the slope. She pressed even more against the heavy box and made herself as small as possible, not moving an inch. She even stopped breathing. Her situation worsened when the man finally told the boss what was going on.

"We found a carriage horse up the hill, but without a carriage. The pairs of lines were cut. We're assuming someone stole the horse to get here."

"This is not good. Keep your eyes open!" He kicked the box, making Janice flinch again. 

Just as he was about to look down, something distracted his attention and he walked away from the box. She exhaled in relief and snuck deeper into enemy territory to eavesdrop. 

Her heart was pounding in her chest, so loud she feared everyone would hear. 

"Angus what the hell are you doing here?" The boss asked.

Angus…

Jake's father…

What was he doing here?

Those were the thoughts that flew through her head. She felt the tears pool in her eyes and silently ran down her cheeks. He had lied to her. Angus lied to her. She thought he had always been honest with her, but she seemed to have been wrong. Everything she had suppressed on her way here overflowed like a full keg and big tears fell on the floor. Even though the two were no longer together, it hurt to know that he lied to her without batting an eyelid. 

No matter how hard she fought against it, her heart ached. She loved someone new now, but their love was forbidden. She didn't love Angus anymore, but it still hurt her. 

She let her emotions control her and made a fatal mistake.

"Angus…" She whispered loud enough for everyone to hear it.

The man in question snapped his head at her, eyes wide and a flash of concern. He still loved her, his eyes gave him away. Angus' heart was beating fast and burning tears pooled in his eyes, but he blinked them away. Unfortunately, the boss noticed that his eyes were directed elsewhere. 

The boss turned and caught her eye. He saw her and she saw him. Angus was like a copy of him. The jet black hair, those piercing blue eyes and that damn sharp jaw. 

Without a doubt this man was Angus' father.

[author-morgan]

Hi there! So I have a request for Eivor if it hasn't already been requested yet and if you have the time. Since I've started to play the game I love the Cairn stone events. I would love it if you could possibly write something with Eivor teaching his young daughter about them and teaching her how to stack them.

man, i wish i loved the cairns as much as you. i've never wanted to throw my controller through the tv more, not to mention the one i spent almost 2 hours on. but gosh if this isn't super cute, so here you go, Eivor teaches his and your daughter how to stack stones. m!Eivor x fem!Reader

SVANDÍS PROTESTS WHEN you veer from the path leading down to the wharf, instead taking to one of the benches outside the longhouse. Sitting down with a long and heavy sigh, you wipe the sweat from your brow —it is only a spring morning with a cool breeze, but the aches and sniffles from the prior evening have taken hold. Valka will tell you it is a spring fever and that rest, and a good meal is the best remedy, but you have an antsy five-year-old on the verge of tears, tugging at your skirts. “But you promised!” She pouts.

“I know” —you stroke back her blond hair, already in disarray from chasing rabbits— “I know, little one, and I am sorry.” Svandís crosses her arms and looks up at you with those clear blue eyes that are impossible to resist, yet another reflection of her father. You sigh, wiping the dirt from her cheek. Breaking promises never feels good, especially ones made to your young daughter, even if it was to stack stones. “All I need is a few days of rest, and then we can go,” you assure her. Where are you, Eivor?

As though the gods have heard your silent prayers, two long horn blasts echo around Ravensthorpe and the surrounding forests. Shortly after, the longship docks —Eivor and his crew dispersing among the settlement. “Eivor!” You call, waving to him as he nears the longhouse —a smile blossoming on his travel-worn countenance when he sees you and his daughter. Little Svandís darts to her father quick as an arrow. He scoops her up into his arms, pressing short kisses across her cheeks and forehead, laughing as she does. Her arms wrap around his neck as he balances her on his arm.

Eivor places Svandís back on the ground, frowning as he sees the pallor tinting your complexion and the sheen of sweat on your brow. “Are you ill?” He asks, pressing the back of his hand against your forehead before you can give him an answer —your skin is hot to the touch, his frown deepens.

“Spring fever,” you tell him, swatting his hand away, “nothing rest will not solve.” He knows it to be true. A few days rest would see you right as rain, but for now, he’ll take his chances and kiss his wife. Eivor bends down, his lips wind-chapped from the sea and river, but his kiss is gentle and sweet, a way to say I love you without speaking. When he pulls away, he brushes the wisps of hair clinging to your forehead aside and lays a quick kiss there too, sitting next to you.

Svandís’s excitement has already worn away —the pout on her lips is back. If she can’t get her way with you, then she knows her father won’t be able to deny her. “And what is wrong with you, my little shieldmaiden?” Eivor asks, picking Svandís up and setting her on his knee. She crosses her arms, squinting at you —still crestfallen.

“Mama promised she was gonna teach me how to stack stones,” she tells him.

Eivor’s lips curl into a smile beneath his golden beard —longer and shaggier than you are used to seeing. “She was?” Svandís nods. “Well, do you want to know who taught her to stack stones?” He inquires, raising a brow, eyes flitting to you. She looks between you and Eivor, blue eyes wide and questioning. “I did,” he tells her, boastful, smile widening as her arms uncross, already seeing the next question popping into her racing mind. “And my mother taught me when I was just a boy,” Eivor explains.

He strokes back Svandís’s messy braids and looks to you with a wide smile, grateful to have the chance to be the one to teach his daughter the art of making cairns. Eivor reaches for your hand and cranes his head down, blond whiskers tickling your skin before his lips brush against your knuckles. “Let your mother rest, Svandís,” he says, letting your hand go as he stands, shifting Svandís up onto his shoulders, “I know just the spot.”

EIVOR PULLS BACK on the reins of his chestnut horse, bringing the beast to a halt next to a bend in the River Nene. He slides from the saddle, then lifts Svandís, setting her on the riverbank. “First,” he says, freeing a woven sack from his belt, “we must gather our stones.” Crouching down, he picks up a stone, smooth and flat —like a honey cake— and places it in his daughter’s hand, letting her feel the weight and rounded edges. “Look for ones that are smooth and flat,” Eivor explains, knowing those are the ones to make for easy stacking for a young novice. It does not take long for them to fill the small sack with river stones —setting back off for the hilltop.

Cresting the hill reveals a vista to the north, overlooking the river and green rolling hills of Mercia —a calm and quiet place, good for clearing the mind, easing the soul, and stacking stones. Eivor sets Svandís to the ground, lowering the sack of stones too before dismounting —breathing in the crisp spring air, lingering with the scent of wildflowers, honeysuckle, and rain. Eivor eyes the patch of wild daisies growing beneath the shade of an ash tree, thinking they’d make a sweet gift for you to keep bedside.

Turning out the stones, he sits, first watching as Svandís eagerly begins stacking the stones. The short piles fall to shambles with her careless haste, but this is part of the learning process. “Failure is part of it, Svandís,” Eivor consoles when she lets out a frustrated groan, her wobbling tower of stone finally crumbling. He sees his younger self reflected in his daughter’s disappointment, remembering the times when his cairns would teeter and fall. He swore never to bother with them again —his mother laughed, knowing her son wouldn’t be able to stand failing at anything in life. He leans forward, resting a hand on her small shoulder. “Think of it as a test of mind,” Eivor says, tapping her noggin before picking up and reordering the felled stones. “You need patience and perseverance.”

Taking the broadest stone from their collection, he smooths over the ground before them both, knocking away small pebbles and little twigs —creating a good base on which to build. Eivor takes the largest and flattest stone, placing it first. “See?” He says, recalling how his mother first explained it to him. “You want the flattest and largest stones near the bottom to build a strong foundation.” Looking over the scattered stones, he picks another one, setting it atop the first —twisting and flipping to find the best way to place it. He nods for Svandís to try again.

Svandís places another stone atop the two already there, echoing her father’s motion of twisting and turning to find the best place to set it. She looks over her shoulder, seeking assurance and approval, Eivor nods, and the cairn grows taller. Before she places some of the last stones, Eivor stills her hand, hovering over the stack. “Don’t let go until you are certain they will not fall,” he tells her in a low breath. She nods, carefully placing the last three stones. The stack is small —not even reaching the height of his father’s bearded axe— but it stable, unmoving in the wind or Svandís’s excited outburst.

“Just like with everything, it takes practice,” Eivor reminds her, wrapping an arm around her small waist. The first cairns he stacked with his mother and father as a boy were just as unimpressive, but he lived and learned and soon could stack them higher than he was tall. He grins with pride, seeing Svandís smile. “The more you stack, the taller they’ll grow,” he tells her, lifting his hand in the air, “and one day you just might make one tall enough to see the home of the gods.”

Eivor reaches into the small pouch at his hip, pulling out two small red-green apples. “Did Uncle Sigurd ever stack stones with you?” Svandís asks, settling next to Eivor, taking the slice of apple he holds out.

“No,” Eivor laughs, recalling the times Sigurd would bother him while trying to make cairns, “he stole my stones more often than naught and called me troll-toothed.” Svandís giggles. The commotion piques Sýnin’s curiosity from where he circles above on an updraft of wind. Sýnin swoops down, landing on Eivor’s shoulder —the raven’s head tilts this way and that as he observes the short stacks of stones, thinking one to be a good perch. The raven hops down, beats his wings once, and settles atop the last stack Svandís built —preening his blue-black feathers. “Look,” Eivor announces, merry with pride, “you’ve built a cairn sturdy enough for Sýnin to perch.” The raven croaks in agreement, bobbing his head up and down. Svandís leans forward, rubbing Sýnin’s head with one of her fingers, smiling when his croaks turn to soft gurgles.

Looking to the sky, Eivor sees the first dark clouds rolling in from a distance, shrouding part of the sun. It will rain later. “Come, little one,” he says, rising with a soft groan —a reminder he is not so young anymore— “I think it’s time we check on your mother.” He goes to the patch of daisies, taking a handful and severing them from the earth with the throwing axe at his back before whistling to his horse. It is an easy ride back to Ravensthorpe, through the forest, and across a shallow parting in the river.

Stabling the chestnut mare, Eivor kneels outside the fence where Svandís waits, bouncing on her toes. He hands her the small bouquet of daisies so that she may give them to you, though before he can stand, she leaps into his arms, squeezing tight. “Thank you for teaching me, father,” Svandís says, almost a whisper.

Eivor brushes back her hair, kissing his daughter’s forehead, eyes crinkled with his smile. “And I am thankful to have been able to teach you,” he answers, swallowing the lump of heavy emotion rising in his throat. “Now, let's tell your mother about our day,” he says, still smiling, scooping Svandís up when he rises. For a second, Eivor does not move, his gaze skyward to the setting sun, a silent prayer of gratitude on his lips, and a hope that he will live to have many more days like this with his little shieldmaiden.

[ taglist: @angstygunslinger @vanillabeanlattes @withered-poppies @ananriel @itseivwhore @maximalblaze @dynamicorbit @theelvenvalkyrie @xxdearlybeloved @elizabethroestone @elluvians @letsloveimagines @finick94 @wallsarecrumbling @kitkitvm @thedragonqueenfan @callmemythicalminx @edelae @darkravenqueen98 @rhienn-lavellan-rutherford @pat-talks ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Eivor taglist, just let me know!

[yandearest]

May The Odds Be Ever in Your Favor (Hoseok x Reader Hunger Games AU) Chapter 7: Natural Born Killers

Summary - Living in District 4 you never thought you would  have to worry about being selected for the Hunger Games. With a training  centre right near the dock of the houseboat you lived and fished from,  your district was known for volunteers who trained their whole lives for  a shot at glory and riches. But at age 18, your name is called and no  girls volunteer to take your place. Your devastation is answered when  Kim Namjoon volunteers for the males shortly after. Tall, muscular,  highly intelligent and charming, the years of diligent preparation have  bestowed Namjoon with the expectation of being the next District 4  champion after Finnick Odair last won 3 years ago.

Fishing for a  living has granted you skills with a knife but, as your mentor Finnick  is quick to describe, your beautiful face may well be your best asset.

Upon arrival in the Capitol you are quickly faced with the reality that  Namjoon may not even be the biggest danger inside the Arena. Especially  when you capture the obsessive attention of District 2′s own volunteer,  and killing machine, Jung Hoseok. Hope soon fades from ‘survival’ to  ‘the mercy of a painless death’ but Hoseok certainly has other plans.

Pairing - Hoseok x (fem)Reader

Genre - thriller, angst, yandere

Word Count 9.5K

Warning: This chapter is very heavy with multiple deaths described in detail.

PLEASE AVOID READING IF YOU CONSIDER THIS CONTENT UPSETTING

The following is a dark fic featuring a yandere character, violence, obsession, and coercion. By no means does  writing about this in a fictional setting condone any of those  behaviours, much like Stephen King writing horror doesn’t mean he  approves of psychotic killers in reality. Please avoid reading if any of  these warnings makes you uncomfortable.

Previous Chapter: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 , 6

Cross posted on A03 so people can subscribe for updates/notifications

You had remained with the girl’s body after her canon sounded. The momentary adrenaline rush from killing her attacker had faded and you were filled with despair at the sight of her lifeless eyes. It was strange how little guilt you were feeling, you had just killed someone – something you never thought you could actually do. Even though what he was about to do to the girl was disgusting, you were expecting to feel some sense of remorse over taking another life, but yet there was none. You remembered Hoseok’s vicious attack on seven from yesterday and shuddered, did you have more in common with him than you wanted to admit?

‘No.’ You shook your head, arguing with yourself. ‘He’s a monster, he took pleasure in his kill. I killed to protect someone else… But didn’t Hoseok kill to protect you?’

Disturbed by your conflicting emotions you hit your head against trunk of the tree, begging for the thoughts to leave your head. It was too much to try and process right now, especially with the girl’s body lying on the ground next to you. The impact on your skull and the rough bark grazing against your forehead provided a welcome distraction from your inner monologue.

For a moment, you thought that a whirring noise was coming from the ringing in your head, until you felt a blustering wind, along with surrounding leaves and twigs beginning to lift from the ground. Confused, you scrambled away from the girl and over to your bag. Shouldering the straps, you whipped your head around trying to see what the cause could possibly be, as the wind and whirring sound only grew stronger.

With nothing abnormal around you, you turned your gaze upwards to see an airship hovering just above the trees. A door along the bottom opened, and a large metal claw slowly began to lower through the leaves, knocking several branches out of the way. You stumbled backwards, not wanting to get in its way, and watched with sick fascination as the claw reached the boy. It hovered for a few seconds, getting its bearings, before the metallic arms began to retract. The gears whirred as they clasped around the body, some digging into the dirt below him, before they formed a tight grip with a sealed clunk. And then the claw was moving upwards, the thick cord retracting until it disappeared into the ship above.

It was such an odd sight, such an inhumane way to treat a dead child (‘the dead child you had just killed’). You just stood there staring, until the claw reappeared at the door, once again empty. You looked over to the girl’s body, regretfully knowing she would be taken next. But there was nothing you could do for her. You didn’t know if the airship could be giving away your location, or whether the other tributes would think to run in the opposite direction, but you didn’t want to stay and find out. Securing your bag, you turned your back and ran.

 *

 Two hours later it was difficult to see the sun through the leaves above, which made it hard to try and navigate. You were starting to run low on water and you had an idea to try and get to the edge of the pool behind the cornucopia, closer to the waterfall. Your idea was basically that people who wanted supplies would go to the cornucopia itself and those trying to run away would have gone in the opposite direction. If you could sneak along the edge of the forest, maybe you could reach the fall and stay hidden. Your plan had worked well, after finding where the edge of the forest neared the river, you had stayed hidden in the trees and made your way in the direction of the waterfall. When the cornucopia came into sight, you took a longer detour back inland through the trees, not wanting to risk coming into contact with any tributes who might be hiding so close to supplies.

You knew you were getting close when the sound of crashing water began to get louder, and more rocks started appearing in your path. A canon sounding very close by caused you to jump and momentarily forget your plan. Looking around you had to be at the cliff that would take you up towards the top of the fall. Remembering the careers from yesterday, you knew you definitely didn’t want to keep going in that direction. The noise of the canon seemed to have come from further inside the forest, close to where you had been walking through only moments ago. Climbing up the cliff wasn’t an option, and neither was staying in this part of the woods, so the waterfall remained your target. You let the noise of the water guide you and continued to made your way over – the surface becoming increasingly rockier the closer that you got.

The cornucopia came into view, in all of its temptation. It was across the other side of the rocks that you were traversing. It was less filled than yesterday; however, you could still spot an array of supplies scattered around. For the first time you felt your stomach rumble and you longed to run across and raid it for some of the fruit that you could see. But it was far too out in the open to be worth the risk. So, you continued towards the fall.

The closer you came, the more you were left in awe by the design of its structure. The rocks became harder to climb over, but you realized that they went behind the pounding curtain of water, into a cave. You were apprehensive. It was such a brilliant hiding spot, but being so close to the cornucopia you felt like another tribute had to have found it by now. However, someone could only have seen it if they had chosen to come closer to the fall, rather than the cornucopia, which wasn’t necessarily an expected move.

You didn’t want to take any chances, and pulled your knife out from your pocket, just to be extra careful. Doing your best to balance, and stay hidden between the large rocks, you slowly made your way closer to the water’s edge. Once there you crouched down, repeatedly checking behind your back to make sure no one was trying to sneak up on you, and filled up your container. Once full, you put the cap on and then began to try and scrub off the lingering traces of blood that were staining your hands.

It was as you were finishing up that you spotted a moving figure through a crack between the rocks, in the direction of the woods. You sprung to your feet and quickly hid behind the closest rock. Making sure to check behind your shoulder first (in case anyone was trying to sneak up on you whilst you were distracted), you peered out from behind the boulder to see your worst fear – Hoseok and Namjoon working together.

You spun back around, your back hitting the rock, as you pressed yourself against surface. They definitely hadn’t seen you yet as they were moving towards the cornucopia and neither of them had been looking over in your area. You recalled the canon from before and instantly knew it had to be their work. Your heart was racing and a tightness was beginning to seize across your chest making it harder to breathe. You wished you could somehow melt into the rock and hide inside until these games were over, but you knew it wasn’t a realistic option. Staying outside here would be far too risky with them so close by. The forest wasn’t safe as they would very likely see you if you tried to run back now. Your best option was the cave behind the fall, as it was surrounded with large rocks for cover, and neither of them seemed to know of its existence. The possibility of another tribute being inside no longer scared you when the two worst tributes in the arena were so close by.

Using the rocks as a shield, you scrambled the last remaining meters to the fall. Once safe behind the curtain of raging water you stood in awe of the size of the cave within. The boulders from outside seemed to morph into smoother steps that lead upwards and further inside the cliff structure. There was still no sign of any other life inside, but you kept a firm grip on your knife in case of any hidden attacks. The higher you climbed, the drier the rock below your boots became. With the waterfall keeping you hidden from the outside, you deliberately allowed your footsteps to echo throughout the cave in order to alert anyone inside. You weren’t here to fight.

When you reached the top of the rock steps you found a smooth plateau and the first sign of life. There was a makeshift camp of a few supplies – a sleeping bag, a pot, and flint – set up around the ashes of an extinguished fire. The coals still had a faint tinge of orange, so someone still had to be close by.

“Hello… Is anyone here?”

You called out, but were only met with the sound of your voice bouncing back off the walls.

The sleeping bag looked like it had some sort of shape underneath it, so you slowly walked over, wondering if anyone was still inside. You didn’t want to come off as threatening, but you also weren’t stupid enough to approach someone without a weapon, so you hid your knife behind your back.

“I’m [Y/N] from Four, I ran away from the careers. Two and Four are at the cornucopia now.”

The closer you moved towards the bag, the darker the cave became, but you could still faintly make out some sort of shape. You frowned, why wasn’t the person responding to you?

“Please, I’m just want to hide,” you lowered your voice as you reached the bag.

“I promise I don’t want to hurt you.”

You tapped at the bag with your foot but were met with a hard feeling beneath your toe.

Rocks?

 A trap

 Leaping away from the sleeping bag, you narrowly dodged the swing of a machete from a figure hiding in the shadows by less than an inch.

“But I want to hurt you”

The voice of your attacker was feminine, but you had no idea who the person is.

“Are you fucking crazy, I’m trying to offer you an alliance against the careers,” you swore as you shuffled backwards, trying to put some distance between yourself and your opponent.

“No thanks. I had one until your boyfriend killed him…” The girl continued to follow you, and as she steps further into the light, you recognize her from District 7

“…And I’d like to return the favor.”

She swung the machete again, and you narrowly ducked with a shriek, rolling towards the edge of the plateau. You just managed to catch yourself from rolling off the edge, but before you could get to your feet, Seven charged at you with another swing of her blade.

You brought your knife up to block it, which she clearly didn’t expect. She’s too stunned by the fact you stopped her attack to block your leg that kicked up and into her stomach. She hunched over and gasped, barely keeping her grip on her weapon after having the wind knocked out of her. You didn’t give her the opportunity to catch her breath. There was no time for guilt or doubt as you thrust your knife upwards. It sunk in between her ribs with a broken scream, causing her to finally release her grip on the machete. It clattered to the ground beside you as you pulled your knife out.

She was still alive, her hands pressing against the bleeding wound as she stood above you. The previous sight of your would-be-killer is gone, replaced by a scared girl who knows she’s going to die. You can’t exactly blame her for trying to kill you – after all your alliance tortured her district member – but there’s no point in feeling sorry for her now. The best you could do is give her a faster death than her partner. Getting to your feet, you stabbed her again, this time in the stomach. She made a strangled gurgle, coughing up blood as you ripped your knife back out. She moved to try and grab for the machete, but stumbled over her feet and instead slipped off the edge of the plateau.

You looked over the side with morbid curiosity, to see her body had landed amongst the rocky water at the bottom. The pool below is a violent mess of currents created from the waterfall and you watched as her body was quickly pulled under to the sound of a canon.

 *

 “I’m almost disappointed by how easy this has been,” Namjoon commented as he picked up a small sack of rice and tossed it into the water. Since disposing of Krystal, the duo hadn’t so much as seen a trace from another tribute on their way to the cornucopia. They had arrived with ease and quickly finished stocking both their backpacks with food items. It was when they discovered there would still be plenty left for other tributes that Hoseok had come up with the idea of throwing whatever they couldn’t take with them into the river.

“If only [Y/N] was that easy to find,” Hoseok muttered in response. Between tossing away any food he came across, he was also searching for more arrows.

“Nothing good is ever easy, she can’t hide forever.”

*boom* 

The noise of a canon stopped them both in their place, it had sounded very close by. Namjoon looked around in a circle to see if there was any sign of an airship, whilst Hoseok suspiciously eyed the waterfall. The canon had definitely come from that direction. It was too high to see their camp up the top, but in his mind the noise had sounded closer. For a few minutes there was an uneasy silence, until he spotted something in the water.

“Over there”

Hoseok tapped Namjoon on the arm and pointed towards a figure that was emerging from the raging waters. Forgetting about throwing away food, the two moved towards the edge of the cornucopia’s rock to try and see the body. The water near the fall was a violent mess of waves, before it smoothed out into an eerily placid pool by the cornucopia rock’s edge. They watched as the body was tossed around, pulled underneath the currents, until it eventually drifted further way from the fall and resurfaced closer in their direction.

“It’s a girl,” Namjoon commented as they watched the body float closer.

It was difficult to see any details, but they could both tell the body was too big to be one of the younger tributes. There were no male tributes with hair long enough to tie into a ponytail, which gave away the fact it was a girl. With Athena having short hair, Krystal being killed earlier, and four known female tributes having died yesterday, they both mentally ran through which older females were still left in the games.

“You don’t think it could be…”

“No.”

They were both thinking the same thing, but there was no way Hoseok would allow Namjoon to say your name out loud.

It wasn’t you; it couldn’t be you. There was no way that you could have been taken from Hoseok without him feeling it inside. You were tied together and the second you left this world he would be able to feel it like a tether had snapped, right? He had no idea what he would do if you died before he was able to reach you in these games. It was a given that he would kill whoever was responsible in the most excruciating manner possible, but afterwards? Probably a rage induced rampage until he was the only person left, before killing himself. If you weren’t together with him at the end, then no one could win.

Hoseok followed the body along the rock as it drifted, until it was close enough for him to be able to reach. He could hear the sound of an approaching airship, but he had to see who it was with his own eyes first. Leaning over, he grabbed the body by its jacket and pulled it close enough for him to flip over. His sigh of relief upon seeing some insignificant nobody was audible.

“Not her,” he called to Namjoon, who had followed behind him.

“Stab wounds…” Namjoon acknowledged, nodding at the two bleeding cuts in the body. A solid incision between the ribs and a deeper wound in the stomach.

“From someone who knows how to handle a knife…"

Hoseok’s words trailed off at the end as he recalled your training in the arena. Particularly, your skill with throwing knives. The boys looked at each other, both knowing what the other was thinking. You were very close by. Looking at the waterfall where the body had appeared, there was nothing to suggest that you were around. If it weren’t for the fact that you were trying to stay away from him, Hoseok would have been proud that his girl was so good at keeping herself hidden.

“Look over there”

Hoseok’s head snapped over to the direction Namjoon was pointing at, but couldn’t see anything.

“What am I looking for?”

“The rocks. I didn’t notice before, but look how they trail behind the waterfall. I think there’s something back there… more importantly, someone.”

In an instant Hoseok was at his feet, the body below him forgotten about entirely. His bow and quiver of arrows were already on his shoulder.

“Leave the supplies here, we can come back for them when we have YN,” Hoseok instructed as he walked over to pick up some rope from the cornucopia. He doesn’t want to have to restrain you, but given you ran away it’s not like you’ve left him much choice.

Eying the rope in Hoseok’s hands and the knife in his own, a dangerous smile flashed across Namjoon’s face.

“Let’s go get our girl.”

 *

 The guilt you were wondering why you didn’t feel earlier, seemed to crash down upon you all at once. With a horrified gasp you, were hyperventilating over the reality you had now killed two people in one day. You didn’t want to, you didn’t mean to, you knew that you had to otherwise it would have been you that was dead. But it didn’t make the reality any less awful. You wondered what your father would be thinking if he was watching. He had been the one to train you with a knife in case that your name was ever called, but could he handle the reality of actually seeing you kill other kids? What about your mother? She was already dead, what if she was waiting for you to join her in peace, but you were sending other children to her instead?

You felt sick, but there wasn’t any food in your system to throw up. Instead, all you could do was dry reach and cough as you backed away from the ledge of the plateau. Maybe you should throw yourself over into the rocks to drown. You didn’t deserve to live as a killer. But then wouldn’t that make those deaths meaningless? And as selfish as it sounded, you didn’t want to die a painful death. You were scared. Scared to die, scared to suffer, scared to survive and have to live with yourself if you made it.

You crawled backwards until you felt your hand touch something soft. You flinched in surprise, looking down to see the sleeping bag from seven’s camp. It felt wrong to even consider, but you couldn’t help but think it would be a nice spot to hide out for a while. There was shelter and more importantly, warmth. You weren't exactly in the mood to return to the woods again and have to climb another tree. You shrugged your backpack off your shoulders and tried to distract your racing thoughts with the task of pulling the rocks out of the sleeping bag that seven had stuffed inside.

As you worked, you could hear the sound of rocks crunching. At first you thought it was just the sounds of the ones inside the bag as you moved them, but then you paused, and you could still hear the noise. It was hard to hear anything over the sound of the waterfall, but you had a bad feeling. You fumbled for your backpack and began to slide further backwards into the darkness of the cave.

“[Y/N]”

You feel as if your blood has turned to ice at the sound of Hoseok calling your name. How the hell could he possibly know that you were here?

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…

You shuffled backwards until you hit a rock. You couldn’t see anything in the darkness around you, and you could only pray that darkness would keep you hidden from him. You curled your knees into your chest and tried to shrink yourself as small as possible, clutching onto your knife, which would be your only hope of escape if he found you up here.

“Son of a bitch!”

You flinched at the sound of Namjoon’s cursing, and felt yourself panicking. Hoseok on his own was bad enough but Namjoon with him was too much. You doubted you could take one of them in a fight, but you knew that both of them would be impossible. You didn’t know what Hoseok’s plans with you were, but you swore you would rather die on your own than find out. You might not be able to fight them both, but you still had your knife, maybe you could take yourself out on your own terms.

“What?” Hoseok barked, his voice getting closer as he began to climb the rock steps.

“Some little shit is stealing our bag.”

That caused him to pause. Whilst the careers did have some basic supplies back at their camp, because they had thrown away a lot of the other food at the cornucopia, they needed those bags.

“Go stop the prick then, I’ll meet you out there with [Y/N].”

Namjoon nodded with a pissed off frown, turning around and heading back out of the fall the same way that he came. He hated when his plans were interrupted and he was going to make whatever moron thought they could steal from him pay.

You had no idea what bags they were talking about, but felt a sliver a of relief over Namjoon leaving. At least you had a fighting chance now if Hoseok found you. You could hear the sound of Hoseok’s footsteps coming closer, as he continued to climb.

“[Y/N]~” Hoseok’s voice echoed throughout the cave as he sung out your name in a sickeningly sweet call.

“Why are you hiding from me, angel? You should know that I would never hurt you.”

His steps continued to get closer and you clasped one hand over your nose and mouth to try and muffle the sound of your breathing. You tried to breathe as slowly and quietly as humanly possible.

“If it’s over how I tortured that boy from seven, I only did that because he tried to hurt you. But if you want, I’ll make all my other kills quick and painless. I’d do anything for you.”

The sound of his footsteps reaching the plateau kept you paralyzed in fear. He was here, there was no escape anymore. You clenched your eyes shut and prayed that the darkness could keep you covered.

Hoseok’s brows furrowed as he reached the top level and saw the abandoned camp. There were visible signs of a struggle from the earlier fight, but he couldn’t see anything else. The sleeping bag was barely visible in the darkness, but he could vaguely tell there were rocks nearby and some still inside of the bag. So that dead girl had tried to set a trap, but you were too clever. Again, he felt a combination of pride and frustration. If only you weren’t so afraid of him, you would be unstoppable together.

If his vision was to go by, you weren’t here. There weren’t any rocks to hide behind and it was possible you could have run in the opposite direction than where Namjoon and himself had approached from. But why did you feel so close? He narrowed his eyes and tried to squint further into the darkness, how deep did that cave go? Could you possibly be hiding in plain sight?

He pursed his lips, preparing to walk closer before the sound of a canon stopped him in his tracks.

 *

 Yoongi was in a bad mood.

After his argument with Krystal, he had been left alone to fish up the stream, but he had a lingering sense of unease. Why didn’t she understand that he was only looking out for her best interest? He didn’t sign up for these games to protect her just to watch her get killed for some stranger. It’s not that he hated you, or wanted you to die. He felt sorry for you and the way that Hoseok had singled you out, but it was better you than Krystal.

His luck with fishing had been mediocre. He had been apprehensive to use their food supplies for bait in case there weren’t actually any fish in the river. On the plus side it turned out there were indeed fish, but on the negative, the ones he had managed to catch were tiny. He lost track of how long he had been fishing for, enjoying the feeling of the sun on his face after such a freezing night, when he was snapped out of his peace by the sound of a canon.

Something was wrong.

He couldn’t put his instincts into words, it didn’t make any logical sense, but he had a very, very bad feeling. It was like a part of him had collapsed inside of his chest.

‘Where’s Krystal?’

Surely, she would be back at camp, just like she was supposed to be?

He tried to shake off the feeling, canons were a normal part of the games, if Krystal was smart then she would still be with Athena. On her own Krystal was a formidable opponent, and Athena was a powerhouse. The only real threat that could take those two were the other careers, but they were all back down the cliff. She should be fine… so why didn’t it feel like she was?

With a huff, Yoongi wheeled in his wire and tossed the coil into the bucket. He would try fishing again later, using the smaller fish as bait. But first he had to go and find Krystal to put his mind at ease. He dipped the bucket into the river to fill it up with a little water, in order to keep the bait fresh in the meantime, then began his walk back to the campsite.

When he rounded the corner of the river that led to the waterfall, he felt his stomach drop upon seeing Athena alone at the campsite.

“Athena! Where’s Krystal” He yelled.

Her head jerked up from picking through a pile of different sticks, organizing them into different firewood. She seemed surprised, but Yoongi just thought that was from how loudly he had yelled at her.

“YOONGI, LOOK OUT!” Athena screamed back at him.

‘Look out for what? We need to look for Krystal?’

But his confused thought was interrupt by a searing pain running through his thigh. Gasping in agony, he was in so much pain he couldn’t even scream. Looking down he saw the long blade of a machete protruding out of his leg. Before Yoongi could even react, he was struck across the back of the head, whilst someone else landed a kick to his speared leg. Disorientated from the pain, the two attackers were easily able to manhandle him face down into the river.

Athena leapt up to help, but was met with a rope being wrapped around her neck from behind. The pressure instantly cut off her air, causing her to choke as she desperately clawed for the rope. But whoever had attacked her had miscalculated their strength. Once she was able to get a grip on the rope around her neck, Athena didn’t waste time trying to pull it away. Instead, she used her hold for leverage and rolled her body forward, causing the girl behind her to come flying over her shoulder.

Laying sprawled out on her back District 8 realized she had made a terrible mistake, but it was too late for her. Athena snatched a nearby spear from the weapons pile and drove it straight down into the girl’s stomach. After ripping the point out, Athena kicked her sharply in the side, sending her rolling into the rushing waters. Whether it was from the stab wound, drowning, or falling onto the rocks below, all Athena cared about was the sound of the canon that followed.

Spear in hand, she raced up the bank to save Yoongi.

One down, two to go.

 *

 Hoseok was quick to dismiss the sound of the canon as Namjoon taking care of the boy trying to steal from them, but his head turning towards the direction he thought the sound came from caused him to see a falling silhouette through the waterfall.

“What the fuck?”

He didn’t care for his allies atop the waterfall, but the odds for his plans in the games were better if they could stay alive until the outlier tributes were taken care of. He cast a quick scan around the cave for any sign that you were there, but seeing nothing he huffed and started climbing back down.

You couldn’t believe your luck.

After everything that had gone wrong so far in the arena, the moment you were seconds away from being found by your worst nightmare, something managed to distract him.

You should have felt guilty that the distraction came in the form of another person dying, but you were to high strung to properly register that. Listening to the sound of Hoseok’s footsteps, you waited until he was at the bottom of the steps before slowly moving forwards. Not wanting to risk being seen or heard, you slowly crawled your way to the edge to see Hoseok disappearing back out the side of the waterfall that he had come in from.

There was no way you were going to remain in the same place and risk being caught if he came back. Making sure your backpack was still secure, you climbed your way back down the same steps. But when you reached the bottom, you hurried along the rocks under the fall in the opposite direction that Hoseok had left.

 *

 Namjoon and the boy from 10 on the cornucopia had been trapped in a stalemate ever since Namjoon had returned from the waterfall. The boy had been distracted with filling up a bag as quickly as possible that he initially didn’t notice Namjoon sneaking up on him, but a movement in his peripheral version alerted him to the career’s presence. His head snapped up, as he saw him coming back to the cornucopia. Namjoon held the boy’s eyes with a dangerous stare that screamed one thing; ‘you’re dead, kid’.

There were barely any supplies left, the rock was sparse and the last remaining good items were now in the bag slung over his shoulder. Clearly Namjoon had to want what was in the bag if he was coming back for it.

“Don’t come any closer, or I’ll drop it!”

The break in his voice severely reduced the impact of his words, but the boy dangled the bag over the side of the water to show that he was serious.

Namjoon rolled his eyes, clearly not taking the threat seriously as he continued to walk, forwards, only to stop when the boy released the bag entirely. The boy caught the bag by the handle, but held it back up over the side of the edge once more.

‘So, he’s quick,’ Namjoon internally assessed as he held up his hands in a mock surrender.

“You have something of mine that I want back,” Namjoon nodded to the bag.

“If it was yours you would have taken it with you,” the kid snapped back.

“Everything in this arena is mine, including your life. Drop the bag on the rock and your death won’t be a painful one,” Namjoon threatened as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to showcase his muscular triceps that were probably three times the width of the scrawny teenage boy’s.

“Come any closer and your bag will be thrown to the bottom of your river”

Namjoon longed to rush the boy and slam his head against the rock to teach him some respect, but the bag of supplies kept him rooted to the spot. Meanwhile the boy was tossing up his options. The boy from 10 knew that he was fast, but the weight of the bag would slow him down, and it was possible Namjoon could catch him. But if he dropped the bag his odds of outrunning him into the forest were much higher. But the boy wanted the bag just as much as the careers did. He hadn’t eaten since the start of the games. He had scarfed down a protein bar whilst cramming supplies into the bag, but he didn’t think he was going to last long in the forest without anything.

And so, the two stood eyeing each other down, neither willing to cut the loss of the bag, not even a body flying over the edge of the waterfall to the sound of a canon could distract them. However, Namjoon could still see Hoseok resurfacing out the side of the fall.

Hoseok could be brash but he wasn’t an idiot. Seeing the boy holding the bag over the water and Namjoon with his hands up, he could tell that there was some sort of bargain happening. With the boy’s arm over the water, it wasn’t like he could just shoot him with an arrow, without the bag falling in. Being within Namjoon’s line of sight, and with the boy having his back to him, Hoseok sent Namjoon a signal to let him know he would approach quietly.

Keeping his hands raised, Namjoon began to walk around the boy. He maintained the same distance, moving clockwise around the rock with lazy steps.

“You’re not getting off this rock with that bag,” he taunted as he walked, deliberately keeping the boy’s attention away from Hoseok, who was moving closer towards their direction.

“As a matter of fact, you won’t be getting off this rock alive at all”

“Then there wouldn’t be much sense in me keeping a hold of this bag then,” ten sneered.

“The second you drop the bag, is the second you die and you know it,” Namjoon replied coolly as he continued to pace.

“Not unless I make a trade”

Namjoon barked out a laugh.

“For you to make a trade you would need to have something I want. The only thing I want is that bag.”

“Oh really?” Ten asked with a knowing grin starting to crawl across his face.

Namjoon rolled his eyes at the audacity of the kid to think he could possibly strike a bargain, but he had to admit it was somewhat amusing.

“And what else could you possibly have?”

“I saw you and two earlier, I know you’re looking for your district partner. I also saw where she went”

There was a hint of glee in ten’s voice, like he was aware of a hilarious inside joke and Namjoon didn’t like it one bit.

“Bullshit,” he called.

At this reaction, ten outright giggled.

“I know you were tracking her, and that you killed that other career. But I also saw where she was going, and you were both so close.”

“And what makes you think that I believe you?”

Whether Namjoon believed him or not, having the boy keep talking was an excellent way to stall for time as Hoseok continued to get closer. With Namjoon now on the other side of the rock, it was only a matter of time before they had the kid trapped between them.

“She’s a pretty thing, isn’t she?”

Namjoon let out an exasperated sigh.

“No shit, we’ve all seen her at training and the interviews. Hardly proves you saw her today.”

Ten fumbled the bag slightly, his arm starting to burn with lactic acid from holding it over the water for so long. Bringing it down to the ground, he placed a foot on top, easily able to kick it into the river if he wanted. It was in the process of doing this that he caught sight of Hoseok approaching from his peripheral vision.

“Tell him to stop right now, or I kick the bag,” he immediately threatened.

“Hoseok!” Namjoon yelled, before making a cutting gesture across his throat, to get him to pause.

Hoseok reluctantly listened, coming to a stop just slightly further away from the boy than where Namjoon was on the other side of the cornucopia.

“So now what? I drop the bag and I die, or I give you the bag and I die” Ten deadpanned as he looked between the careers on either side of him, not exactly liking his options.

“Sounds about right to me,” Hoseok grinned, sliding the bow off his shoulder and preparing to load an arrow from his quiver.

“If you shoot me now then I can’t tell you where your girl is.”

Hoseok paused his hand right as it touched upon an arrow.

“Where is she,” he demanded.

Namjoon mentally slammed his palm against his forehead, of course Hoseok would be too blinded by his obsession with you, and buy into this bargain.

“I’m not just going to tell you so you can kill me. Look I can see there’s no situation here where I leave alive with the bag, so I’ll drop it. Here,” Ten paused to toss the bag a few feet in front of himself.

“Walk towards me and let me walk past you” Ten gestured towards Hoseok “and I’ll tell you where she is.”

Hoseok nodded curtly whilst Namjoon just rolled his eyes. He thought Hoseok was a lovesick fool, but was satisfied with the fact they at least had the bag back again.

The walk across the rocks began, ten deliberately tried to walk in a path that would create a gap in width between his body and Hoseok’s when they met. Hoseok read this and navigated himself in a way to lessen that distance, in case Ten tried to run without giving him the information that he wanted.

Meanwhile Namjoon walked towards the direction of the bag to retrieve it, but spotted something from the corner of his eye. There was some sort of shape in the rocks near the waterfall. He knew he should probably be paying attention in case Ten thought it was a good idea to jump his teammate, but Hoseok was strong enough to take care of himself, and this weird shape was bothering him. It was hard to see over the mist that sprayed up from the crashing impact, and when he squinted his eyes to look, it was like it was never there at all. For a moment he dismissed it as a bird until it moved again. A blur ducking up and then disappearing behind the closest rock. And then suddenly it clicked – why Ten had been laughing when talking about how close they apparently were to you before. The boy had seen you…

“HOSEOK!” He bellowed right before the two boys were about to pass each other “SHE WAS INSIDE THE CAVE. SHE’S MAKING A BREAK OUT THE OTHER SIDE OF THE FALL”

 *

 Whatever luck you had acquired for Hoseok to leave inside the cave, seemed to have vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared. You couldn’t hear the words that Namjoon had yelled over the rumbling noise of water crashing nearby, but you could see him pointing in your direction.

For a split second you all froze. You were caught like a deer in headlights, Namjoon was pointing at you, Hoseok looked livid and the boy from ten was scared to death. There was barely any distance between Ten and Hoseok. They were less than six feet apart, with Hoseok blocking the way to the forest, and Ten had just lost his only bargaining chip seconds away from managing to escape. With no weapon on his body, and no way to get around the armed career in front of him, he made a split-second decision to turn back around. If he was going to die, then he wasn’t going to let those careers get that bag, He’d kick it into the river if it was the last thing he did.

Immediately, chaos erupted.

You took off into a sprint across the rocks. You no longer had to worry about remaining hidden and put all your focus on speed. There was no point in prioritizing your safety on the dangerous surface either – it was either get away, or die. You’d risk slipping and breaking your neck than winding up caught between Hoseok and Namjoon any day. Using every ounce of instinct built from years living on the coast, climbing your boat, and scaling rocks near the sea, you made a break for the forest.

Being the closest, Namjoon would have pursued you, if wasn’t for ten turning around. Reading his move for the bag Namjoon had to race him for it, which was in the opposite direction that you were running. Hoseok and ten were both the same speed, so it was down to him being closer to save their supplies.

“No! Get her! GET HER!” Hoseok yelled to Namjoon as he watched you slipping through his fingers, whilst you ran closer to the forest’s edge.

But Namjoon ignored the demand, leaping onto the bag just seconds before Ten’s foot could make contact with a kick. Instead, Namjoon took the hit to his side and rolled, causing ten to go flying over the top of him.

Ten landed with a sickening crunch. He had thrown his arms out to break the fall, only to break his wrist on impact with the rock. Despite the agony, he used the momentum to keep rolling and fell off the side, into the water below. Namjoon sat up with a grunt, with his water experience, swimming the boy down wouldn’t be a problem, except Hoseok was about to beat him to it.

With his bow loaded, Hoseok shot an arrow straight into the shoulder of ten. The boy let out a muffled scream as he fell underneath the surface, no longer able to swim. With ten no longer a threat, Hoseok looked up to try and find where you were, to see you were right at the border between the rocks and the forest edge.

You had made it to the trees and stopped to look behind to see if you were being chased, when you witnessed Hoseok shoot the boy from ten. You thought that would be it, that he would be left to drown now that he could no longer swim, or that Hoseok would fire a second arrow to be certain. Instead, you found yourself rooted to the spot as Namjoon reached into the water and pulled ten back up to the surface by the arrow stuck inside of his body. As Namjoon continued to drag a screaming ten out of the water, and back up onto the cornucopia rock, Hoseok stood at his side, pointedly staring at you.

Your eyes were locked onto his, trying to read what he was going to do next. You leaned against the closest tree as you tried to suck in deep breaths. Your lungs burned from sprinting over the rocks, but you had to be ready to run again into the forest at any moment. In return Hoseok was eerily still. He watched the rise and fall of your chest with every breath you took, studied the flush of red across your cheeks and beads of sweat trickling from your forehead, and thought of the ways in which he would love to elicit such a response from your body. He ached to run and take you into his arms so he could feel the warmth of your body pressed against his, but knew that you would disappear into the forest the second he tried to. So, instead he chose to drag those seconds out as long as possible, just watching you breathe from a distance to find comfort in knowing you were still alive.

  *

 The sound of the canon had distracted the two boys that were holding Yoongi under the water. Turning their heads over towards the sound they were hoping to see Athena dead and the other girl from eight returning to help them take care of the last person at camp, but were met with the sight of an enraged Athena running in their direction.

“Shit! What the fuck do we do?” The boy from district 8 hissed, as he maintained his pressure on Yoongi’s neck to keep him face down under the water.

“How the fuck should I know?” the boy from district 9 snapped back, “You’re the genius who said your partner could take care of her”

“I thought she could! How hard is it to sneak up and kill someone from behind?”

“Too hard apparently”

“WATCH OUT!”

The two boys’ bickering was cut short by eight shoving nine to the side and narrowly avoiding the spear that Athena had thrown.

“That was clos-”

Eight’s sigh of relief was cut short by a second spear landing in his throat.

Nine released a horrified scream at the gruesome vision. The canon hadn’t sounded yet as eight was barely clinging to life, choking out gargled breaths as blood spilled profusely down his neck and into the water below. Nine was so preoccupied by the sight that he didn’t even notice that Yoongi had surfaced from the water. With an agonized grunt, Yoongi pulled the blade of the machete out of his leg and swung it straight into the kid’s head.

Two canons sounded one after the other as the boys died simultaneously.

With the surge of adrenaline fading as quickly as it had appeared, Yoongi collapsed on the shore, vomiting up the water he had been forced to swallow whilst being held under. His injured leg was throbbing, he had a splitting headache and his chest felt like someone had been sitting on it. He was barely conscious when Athena caught up to him and dragged him further out of the water, to make sure he didn’t get caught in the stream and sent over the waterfall.

Pulling her button up shirt from her body (leaving just a tank top underneath), Athena set to work on creating a makeshift tourniquet by tying the sleeves tightly above the wound.

“You know, I could easily just kill you now,” Athena mused.

Yoongi’s response was a laugh in the form of a sharp huff. It was true, he was defenseless. The machete had been lodged into nine’s skull and taken away with his body. He now had no weapon and a major injury in his leg, whilst Athena was a skilled hand to hand combat fighter. She could also easily run back to the weapons at their camp before he could even struggle to his feet.

“So why don’t you?” he grunted, closing his eyes and letting his head fall onto the ground below.

Yoongi knew his shot at the games was practically over with such a severe injury. His bad feeling over Krystal was only made worse by the surprise attack from the three tributes. What if they had killed her when she went off to have a bathroom break earlier? She hadn’t been seen in hours and there were far too many canons that had sounded today. If Krystal was dead then there was no purpose for him to be here anymore, though he hoped to at least wait to see the tribute display in the evening and confirm Krystal was gone before entirely giving up.

“Hoseok and Namjoon,” Athena sighed in response.

Though his eyes were closed, Yoongi raised an eyebrow, indicating for her to elaborate.

“What do you think those two would think if they came back and saw you dead in camp and your sister missing too? They’d probably act like I did it and kill me on the spot for betraying the alliance.”

“That sucks,” Yoongi grumbled.

“Yeah, it does,” Athena laughed. Nothing about the situation was actually funny, but it was such a surreal experience it was all she could do.

“But you know what else sucks?” She continued, earning a questioning grunt from Yoongi.

“That this wouldn’t have even happened if Hoseok and Namjoon didn’t go off on their stupid search for YN. The weird obsession with her, it’s literally insane.”

“I don’t get it either,” Yoongi sighed.

“I’m sick of it. They left us here to die, maybe Krystal already has…”

Yoongi flinched.

“Sorry. But for what? A stupid crush they’re going to have to kill in the end anyway. I didn’t get my name pulled out of that bowl just so I could die as a side character in some weird love story.”

“So, what are you going to do about it? Jump them when they come back to camp?”

Athena scoffed at the suggestion.

“Tempting but I think we both know they’re stronger than I am. I might take down one of them with me but I couldn’t get both. And it’s not like you’d be much help there either.”

“I offer you my complete moral support” Yoongi deadpanned.

Athena barked out another laugh.

“I’ve got nothing,” she sighed. “Maybe we have that in common, and maybe we should at least watch each other’s backs.”

Yoongi opened his eyes and looked up to see Athena staring down at him.

The pain of potentially losing Krystal was still too raw for him to properly process, especially without any closure of knowing that it had really happened (though every instinct in his gut told him she was gone). But he had been so focused on his goal of protecting his sister he hadn’t given much thought to any of his other teammates.

Athena looked tough and intimidating, she scored high in trials and interviewed well. By all standards she was just another typical career, but the reality was she was also human. Yet another sacrifice to the capitol, just like his sister and just like himself. With Krystal, he had someone he loved with him, but Athena had no one. Her closest thing to a partner, in her district mate, had abandoned her for a prettier girl like a child distracted by a shinier new toy. If they were both doomed to die here, then the least he could do was make sure she wasn’t entirely alone.

“Yeah, I think we should”.

 *

 The sound of two back-to-back canons cut short whatever moment you were having with Hoseok. It was a slap across the face reminder that this was a game to kill until the last person standing, and the man standing across the rocks from you would ultimately have to try and kill you, no matter what sweet promises he made.

“YN wait, please!” you heard him beg as you broke eye contact, but you didn’t look back again as you turned and vanished into the forest.

“FUCK!” Hoseok screamed in frustration, launching a kick into the ten’s shoulder, the same one he had shot the arrow into. If he couldn’t have you now then he was going to make the little shit who ruined his plans pay.

Namjoon took a step back, and picked up the bag of supplies. He then walked over to a nearby rock and set the bag down in front of him, perfectly secured between his legs. Unzipping the top, he reached inside and dug out an apple, biting in as Hoseok ripped the arrow completely out of ten’s shoulder. Namjoon watched nonchalantly as Hoseok reloaded the arrow and shot it into ten’s other shoulder, the younger boy writhing in agony below.

The torture continued as Namjoon ate his snack. Hoseok would pull the arrow out of ten’s body by twisting it painfully, before reloading and shooting it again into another non-lethal area. His arms and legs were more like a bloody human pin cushion by the time Namjoon had finished a second apple and decided he was bored.

“We should get back to camp,” he declared, shouldering the bag.

Hoseok turned his attention to Namjoon with a raised brow.

“Those two canons earlier, and the one before that, we should check on Athena and Yoongi.”

Hoseok opened his mouth to argue before Namjoon cut him off.

“I don’t care about them either, however it would benefit us to know if they are still alive and who attacked them if they’re not. If there are other tributes working together, we need to take care of them before they go after YN next.”

Hoseok rolled his neck to stare up at the sky with an exhausted sigh. He knew Namjoon was right, and self-indulgent torture sessions weren’t going to get you back.

“Good,” Namjoon confirmed with a smile, before leaning down and snapping ten’s neck with his bare hands.

 Another canon.

 *

 It took slightly longer than an hour for Namjoon and Hoseok to climb the cliff and return to the campsite, where they were met with the sight of Athena wrapping a bandage around Yoongi’s thigh. The duo was informed the first aid kit was a gift from a sponsor and that the Yoongi and Athena were ambushed by three tributes, all now dead. When Yoongi asked if they had seen Krystal, Namjoon denied anything and asked if they heard any canons before they were attacked. Athena confirmed there had been, and Yoongi had broken down crying.

Hoseok left the other boy to grieve, knowing his sister was dead long before the nightly display confirmed it. Laying down in the tent, he longed to run into the forest and find you right at this second. However, he knew he needed to rest, and that tomorrow when he left camp, there was no way he would return without you. For now, he settled on mentally calculating how many people had to be left in the games. Krystal was gone leaving only himself, Namjoon, Athena and an injured Yoongi in the careers, and of course, there was still you. Eight tributes had died on opening day, two had died over the night, there were two earlier canons that morning, and with the short-lived alliance of three, the person you had killed, and the boy from ten, then that only left one other tribute who was still alive…

  *

 You sat high up in a tree, tied to a branch, as you heard the Panem music blast throughout the arena. Shivering under your blanket, you listened as the game maker praised the blood bath of the day, and commented that you were on track for the fastest games in history. When Krystal’s face appeared in the sky as the first tribute, you lost it. You bundled the top of the blanket into a ball and openly sobbed into the fabric, mourning the loss of the only person in the arena who you would have called a friend. You cried far longer than it took for the capitol to display all of the people who had died, and so you honestly had no idea who was left, or exactly how many people there even were now.

You knew Hoseok and Namjoon were still alive as only one more canon had sounded after you ran into the forest, and there was no doubt in your mind it was for the boy that had been shot with the arrow. You felt physically sick from crying; your sinuses were clogged and you had a nasty headache. You were also dizzy from not eating anything in hours and downright drained from how physically and emotionally taxing everything was. You had zero plan for survival in the arena, and no idea what you were going to do the next time Hoseok came close to finding you. In your exhausted state, you decided that would have to be a problem for tomorrow. Letting your head fall back against the trunk, you closed your eyes and quickly succumbed to your body’s need for rest.

Little did you know that someone very close by had been tracking you since earlier that afternoon, and was waiting for this exact moment.

  Note: Ten’s idea was to grab the bag and run, he didn’t stop to search what was inside, and obviously regretted the fact he didn’t check for a weapon when he had the chance

So close to 10K but I didn’t want to fill it with garbage for the sake of trying to boost the word count, so 9.5 it is.

[redgillan]

Under Pastel Skies - 2

Sugar daddy!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Modern!AU Bucky doesn’t need anyone, especially not a sugar baby. He isn’t that desperate… but she smiles so sweetly and she’s endearingly awkward, and he’s so lonely. She’s an artist, a painter, the type of person who always puts others before herself. Throwing caution to the wind Bucky offers her a place to live, a place where she can finally paint whatever her heart desires. He doesn’t need much in return; a friend, a muse.

Word Count: 2,024

Warnings: none

A/N: I’m just going to remind you that this sugar daddy fic isn’t about smut. I love smut but it’s not what I’m focusing on here. 

Bucky stood under the glass awning in front of the hotel, the neon green light illuminating the path to the automatic doors. He forced his eyes closed and listened to the sound of rain hitting the glass shelter.

It was just after 6:30 in the morning and he had been standing there for over ten minutes, trying to work up the courage to enter the building. He was sweating, trembling, breathing like he’d just run a marathon. Every sound around him seemed amplified; cars honking, people talking or listening to music. It was hell.

He desperately wanted to take a cab ride back to Brooklyn and hide in his apartment. Bucky had a strict routine -get up at six, eat, shave, shower, go for a walk, etc- and he needed it to keep his mind focused and his body healthy. Though lately, his therapist had encouraged him to stray from his routine if he felt like it. And he wanted to, but his body wasn’t cooperating.

Instead he just stood here, stuck between two choices that terrified him. He could go back home and hate himself for taking the ‘easy way out’, or he could take the plunge and enter the building. He had come here on a whim, but now that he was here he felt as if he really needed to see you. He didn’t even know if you were working.

He looked over his shoulder, he could almost see the metaphorical pack of wolves waiting for him. It would be easy to give in and let them take him. He could go back to his old life, his old habits, or he could jump off that metaphorical cliff and hope for the best.

Your chances are infinite. Anything can happen.

“Can I help you, sir?”

Bucky greeted the receptionist with a smile. He asked if he could have breakfast at the hotel restaurant and she agreed before leading him to the Bar Lounge.

The room was large, with row after row of square tables perfectly aligned. There were a few more private seats close to the bar and an oval buffet in the middle of the room. A woman in a dark grey suit scooped a small portion of scrambled eggs onto her plate next to two slices of toasted white bread. She raised her gaze to his and nodded in greeting.

The swing door that led to the kitchen burst open and Bucky turned his attention to the sound. You were carrying a large tank of orange juice to the buffet table, a pen tucked behind your ear and a piece of paper between your lips. There was a slight furrow between your brows as you set the tank on the table.

Your scuffed boots were gone, replaced by black ballet flats. Your pencil skirt rose up as you stretched to reach the highest part of the buffet. Bucky hastily looked away from your bare legs, not wanting to look like a total creep. Once you were done, you smoothed down your skirt and tucked your white shirt into your skirt.

Your hair was brushed away from your face and your lips were painted red, something dark and empowering, and it contrasted beautifully with your strict, uninspiring uniform, which only intended to erase any sense of individuality.

“Hi, how can I h- Hey, I know you,” you said, approaching him. “You’re Bucky.”

He bashfully looked at his shoes. “Yeah, hi.” He cleared his throat and raised his gaze to yours. “I was hoping to run into you. I, uh, I can’t stop thinking about our talk.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I was rude and brusque, and you were incredibly nice. I really feel like an ass.”

You chuckled. “It’s fine. Honestly, I was nervous, too. You should have seen me –I was a complete mess.”

“Could have fooled me,” he replied with a grin. “Though you did say that meeting me was like choosing between a pack of wolves or jumping off a cliff.”

“Gosh!” You facepalmed. “See? A complete mess!” You gestured to the table behind you. “Have you eaten yet? Sit down, it’s on me.” He opened his mouth to protest but you cut him off. “You paid for the taxi. It’s only fair.”

Amused, he shook his head and followed you to the buffet table. Everything looked and smelled delicious. He spotted several glass cereal dispensers filled with frosted flakes, Cap'n Crunch, Lucky Charms and good old Fruit Loops.

“We also have French toasts, pancakes, croissants, turnovers, omelettes, eggs, four different types of bread with margarine, butter, jam, Nutella, or marmalade,” you said without pausing for a breath, “freshly sliced fruits, a variety of yogurts, granola, oatmeal, orange juice, apple juice, Danish pastries, muffins and a great selection of teas.”

“And that’s it?” Bucky asked, his face breaking into a teasing smile. You liked the way his eyes crinkled at the corners right before he smiled.

You pouted your lips while you thought. “Actually no, we also have scrambled eggs –which, frankly, I don’t recommend. They come in a plastic bag and we have to heat them up in the microwave. It’s a little gross. You can try the sausage and bacon though, unless you don’t eat meat.”

“And coffee?” He found your flustered reaction to his teasing absolutely adorable.

“Yes, of course,” you said, biting your bottom lip. “Sorry, I get a little excited sometimes.”

“I understand,” he nodded. “That’s a pretty great buffet, though I’ll stay clear of the scrambled eggs.”

You took a few steps toward the kitchen and turned back to him, a little apologetic cringe on your face. “Um, how do you take your coffee? Expresso, Americano, latte, cappuccino, macchiato, mocha, ristretto-” you paused to take a breath “-or iced coffee?”

A laugh bubbled out of him. He couldn’t help it, you were just too endearing. “Black,” he said, grinning. “I know I’m boring.”

“Oh, no! You’re not boring,” you rushed to say, then realized what he was doing. “Ugh, you’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

“A little.” His nose scrunched up as he said it.

You went to the kitchen to make his cup of coffee and Bucky began to browse the length of the buffet table. Scooping food onto his plate with only one hand proved more challenging than he expected, and he was glad that the lounge was mostly empty.

He could feel the lady in the grey suit’s eyes on him as he moved around. He set his plate on the bar, removed the glass lid, scooped up two hefty pancakes and stacked them on his plate. They looked pretty fluffy, it wouldn’t be hard to cut them with the edge of a fork. Then he replaced the lid and moved his plate closer to the maple syrup bottle.

He glanced at the woman who hastily looked away as if she hadn’t been staring at him the whole time. Annoyed, he kept looking at her while he poured maple syrup over his pancakes. He hated when people stared at him as if he were a freak. He narrowed his eyes menacingly and grinned to himself when she started fidgeting in her seat.

“You must really love maple syrup.”

Bucky paused at the sound of your voice, his features immediately softened. He looked down at his plate and realised he had drowned his pancakes in a gooey river of maple syrup. He must have spaced out during his staring contest with the business woman.

He had a strange look in his eyes, his expression a mix of confusion and anguish. Finally his eyes found yours and you smiled warmly at him, making him fight back a blink. You pried the bottle out of his rigid hand, and he let you take it.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice weak.

You weren’t sure what he was apologizing for but it wasn’t something you were going to analyse right now. “There’s a cup of coffee waiting for you. Best cup in Manhattan.”

He laughed, the crinkles were back. “You’re an angel.”

Bucky returned to his table and loaded his coffee with three teaspoons of sugar before he took a sip. He had always preferred sweet to savoury, and coffee was way too bitter for him.

There wasn’t much to do in the lounge. The television was behind him, the sound kept to a minimum. The lady in the grey suit left soon after and Bucky watched you clean her table.

You moved back and forth between the main room and the kitchen, going about your work and occasionally shooting him a smile. The food was good, not spectacular, but still better than his usual breakfast –two slices of toasted white bread with butter and a cup of coffee.

“Do you need anything else?” you asked, standing next to his table.

“Company?” he said with a hopeful look. “Please.”

You offered him a pained grimace when he gestured at the seat across from him. “I’m not allowed to sit. Sorry.”

It was hard to resist his puppy dog eyes but you needed to keep your job if you wanted to be able to afford your own place.

“Do you like working here?”

“It’s okay,” you shrugged. “I’m glad I have a job.”

“Sam mentioned you’re an artist.”

You shyly looked around you, you were the only two people in the room now. “I haven’t painted since I got this job,” you revealed. “I’m pretty sure my artist membership card has been cancelled.”

“Nope, those are for life.”

You laughed. “I hope so.”

You looked at each other before he asked, “Do you have any pictures of your work?”

You were genuinely surprised that someone wanted to see your work. Usually people offered a half-hearted ‘oh, that nice. I paint, too, occasionally” and changed the subject. You patted your pockets, searching for your phone, and groaned when you remembered that it was in your locker.

“I don’t have my phone with me but wait-” You took a napkin from the table and started writing. “This is my Instagram. I do a bit of everything, mostly landscapes and portraits.”

Bucky took the piece of paper and, before he could comment, a family of four walked into the lounge area. You apologized to him and walked over to the family, greeting them with a smile and asking them if they had a good night’s sleep.

The children looked like walking zombies until they spotted the cereal bar, and then chaos ensued. More people went down to breakfast and you didn’t have time to chat with him anymore.

He stayed a little longer, watching you help the kids pour cereal and milk into their bowls. A man who didn’t speak English very well asked you a question and you froze, trying to make him understand since you didn’t speak his language. Bucky smiled when you mimed the answer. The man laughed and gave you a thumb’s up.

There was something about you, something soft and caring, that made people at ease. Even when people started complaining that the platter of scrambled eggs was empty, you defused the situation so smoothly that they left with a smile on their face. It was the kind of person you were, kind-hearted and willing to help.

An angel.

When you looked in his direction again, Bucky was gone. You felt a pang of disappointment that he hadn’t said goodbye, but you had been so busy that even if he had been trying to get your attention, chances are you wouldn’t have noticed him.

Pouting exaggeratedly to yourself, you went to his table with your tray and a clean rag to collect the dirty dishes. You moved the unfolded napkin and what you saw underneath made you stop. You blinked, once, twice, three times, certain that you were hallucinating. You scooped up the bills and counted them.

$300

Your eyes were the size of saucers as you ran back to the lobby. You checked outside for Bucky but he was gone. You stood there, under the glass awning, with a bewildered look on your face, still clutching the bills.

Part 3

[ardett]

Courtings and Crossroads

Description: “Have you seen my daughter?” Demeter rasps.

Hecate debates lying. She owes nothing to Demeter. Her desperation has given Hecate more mortals than ever to bring to the Underworld. But Demeter is more than the Goddess of the Harvest. She is a mother. And in her eternal life, Hecate has seen enough mothers mourn.

“I know where she is,” Hecate answers. She summons her torch and holds it to the open flames, lighting it. “You’ve been looking in the wrong domain.”

-

in which Hecate is Persephone's guide and companion in the Underworld

written for the @greekmythszine !

You can also read this on Ao3!

Hecate feels a twist in her gut, a warping of the natural boundaries between the Underworld and the mortal realm. Someone is crossing between the worlds. As the Goddess of Crossroads, the Goddess of Boundaries, transitions are her dominion. 

She has guided many down paths of destruction and of triumph. Sailors and shepards alike burn food in her name, asking for safe passage. Sometimes she listens, letting the blaze of her torch light the way forward. Other times she does not.

Mothers and fathers pray to her when they lose a child too soon. She has led innocents peacefully into the Underworld when their bodies hadn’t undergone proper burial rites and Charon refused to ferry them.

She has never led anyone from the Underworld back to the surface.

Hecate concentrates on the feeling. She knows exactly where the line is going to be crossed.

She goes.

But when she arrives, nothing seems amiss.

The sun hangs high in an empty sky, guided by Helios’ chariot. The heat beats down on a girl in the valley. A goddess. 

Persephone wanders the field. In each footstep blooms narcissus flowers and mint. 

Hecate recognizes the sacred plants of Hades a moment before the ground distends and out of the gaping hole bursts the God of the Underworld. The field beneath his chariot withers and dies. The bones of his steads rattle louder than Persephone’s startled scream.

Hades snatches her from the ground. 

Hecate tenses. She feels the boundary straining. She could close it but she risks much. If she gains Hades' contempt, he could stop allowing her to guide the penniless dead to the Underworld. She imagines rows of ghostly children waiting at the shore of the River Styx without the coin to travel onward to eternal peace.

Besides, the Underworld has always welcomed her when the Olympians scorned her. Zeus allowed her to retain her power, the only titan to do so when her parents, Leto and Tartarus, had been defeated with Cronus, but the mistrust from the gods remained. Perhaps it was time for the Oympians to realize what it meant to lose.

Persephone is just another innocent traveling to the Underworld. Hecate can at least make her transition easier.

Hecate twitches a finger and Persephone falls asleep in Hades' arms. The ground seals shut behind them. The boundary settles. As Hecate leaves the scene, the narcissus flowers begin to wilt.

-

Ten long days pass. Ten rotations of the sun and sky. Ten days of Demeter scouring the Earth for her daughter.

Demeter ravages everything that stands in the way of her search. All the while, Hecate watches. Each path Demeter traces is like a brand upon her skin. She is acutely aware of where the goddess goes and she knows that while Demeter still hunts in the mortal realm, she will not find what she’s looking for. It’s hard to pity Demeter when all Hecate sees is the destruction she leaves in her wake.

But on the tenth day, Demeter makes an offering to Hecate. The smoky scent of burning grain lures Hecate forward to the fire. No Olympian has ever given her an offering before.

When she arrives, she sees Demeter face to face for the first time since Persephone’s abduction.

Demeter is devastated. Her cheeks are wet with tears. Her hair is tangled with branches and burrs. Her hand shakes around the burning stalks of grain she’s clutching. She looks older. The lines in her face look deeper.

“Have you seen my daughter?” Demeter rasps.

Hecate debates lying. She owes nothing to Demeter. Her desperation has given Hecate more mortals than ever to bring to the Underworld. But Demeter is more than the Goddess of the Harvest. She is a mother. And in her eternal life, Hecate has seen enough mothers mourn.

“I know where she is,” Hecate answers. She summons her torch and holds it to the open flames, lighting it. “You’ve been looking in the wrong domain.”

-

Hecate bears her torch and guides Demeter through the darkness. They wind through forests, over hills and valleys, until Hecate’s flicking light reflects off a narcissus flower on the ground. Hecate hears Demeter’s breath catch in her throat. A footstep ahead is another, and then another, and another. The scent of mint wafts through the air as sprigs are crushed beneath their feet.

Then suddenly, the footprints stop. Demeter looks wildly around for the next one before she sees the ring of dead grass. Her face hardens.

“Hades took her,” she intones. Hecate nods but offers no other response. Demeter demands, “You can take me to her.”

“I cannot.”

Demeter takes a step forward. “You can. Do not lie to me. No gate is closed to you. You will take me to my daughter.”

Hecate doesn’t flinch. The night presses in on them as the flame of her torch begins to dwindle. “We would not survive it. Hades would end us for trespassing in his territory long before we were anywhere close to your daughter. Then what home would she return to?”

This makes Demeter pause. In her eyes, Hecate can see the glisten of unshed tears. “I cannot leave her down there.”

“You cannot save her.” Hecate gentles her voice. “Hades wants to court her. He doesn’t seek to hurt her.”

Demeter sinks to the ground, knees turning ashy gray as she kneels in the circle Hades left. Her fingers dig into the dirt. “Then I will grieve until she is returned to me.”

Hecate feels Demeter make her choice and take a turn at her personal crossroad like the breaking of a rib. Blight spreads from Demeter’s body. As far as the eye can see, plants fade to brown and shrivel. Seeds stop spouting. Life stops growing. As Hecate looks to the sky, the first snowflakes begin to fall.

-

The severity of Demeter’s choice takes time to set in but soon enough it becomes clear that without the Goddess of the Harvest, all of Olympus suffers. Scores of humans freeze in the bitter cold. Those that do survive don’t have enough food to spare for offerings.

Hecate tries to visit the Underworld but Hades is on edge. Even she is unwelcome in his kingdom.

Finally, Zeus intervenes. He demands that Hades return Persephone to her mother. The resolution they come to is not without consequences.

Persephone ate the food of the dead, six ripe pomegranate seeds. For the six seeds, she must spend six months of the year in the Underworld.

Demeter accepts the compromise and though the snow doesn’t melt just yet, the winter storms lessen. Hecate is surprised to smell burning grain again. She hears Demeter’s prayer to her. She pleads with Hecate to protect her daughter.

This time when Hecate tries to enter the Underworld, she slips in easily. When she begins to approach Hades' home, he appears before her, stepping out of the shadows.

“You’re awfully far from the shores of the Styx,” he states, voice low.

“Demeter sent me.”

The shadows surrounding Hades deepen. The ground rumbles. “We agreed on six months. My time is not up.”

“I know. I’m not here to take her back,” Hecate placates. “I can help with her transition. Let me act as her minister, as her companion. She’ll need one if you want her to be content here.”

Hades considers her for a moment. Hecate holds his gaze. He waves a hand and a skeleton rises from the dread soil. “He will take you to her,” he declares.

Hecate follows the skeleton into Hades' personal palace. He leads her to a grand guest bedroom. The room is decorated with the Underworld’s finest, practically dripping in the gold and jewels of dead kings, but none of it fits the goddess who’s confined there. In all the hard edges, her organic form is lost.

Persephone turns when she hears the door open. “Who’s there?” she calls from where she sits on the bed. She tilts her head. The motion is like that of a bird. “Hecate? Is that you?”

“It is. Your mother asked me to watch over you.” Hecate walks inside. She hears the bones of the skeleton click against the stone as he leaves.

“I don’t suppose you’re here to take me back, are you?” Persephone asks. Her voice is almost petulant.

“No, not yet.” Hecate notices a pile of courting gifts at the foot of the bed. Mirrors, combs, jewelry. None of them have been touched. “How have you been adjusting to life in the Underworld?”

Persephone falls back onto the mattress, her forearm covering her eyes. “Oh, it’s terrible,” she groans. Hecate tuts in sympathy, thinking of the goddess’s abduction, but Persephone continues, “The Underworld is just so dreadfully boring. I’ve never been somewhere so dull and dreary.”

“Ah,” Hecate vocalizes. She asks carefully, “And what about Hades?”

Persephone peeks up at her. “What about him?” Hecate raises an eyebrow at her. Persephone rolls her eyes and sighs. “Oh. Well, yes, the kidnapping was in poor taste. He hasn’t exactly been blessed by Aphrodite. But I suppose I’m stuck here now.”

Hecate takes a seat on the silken bedsheets besides the other goddess. “Do you think you might grow to love him?”

Persephone’s nose wrinkles. “Perhaps. Better courting gifts would be a good place to start at the very least.” She kicks at the pile and something clangs to the ground. “All this metal. Everything here is dead.”

“Yes,” Hecate concedes. “But everything that was once living is here now.

Persephone frowns. “So?”

“Maybe I’ll get to show you another time.” Hecate stands, dusting herself off. Persephone sits up.

“Are you leaving?” Her eyes are wide and green. “Will you be back? You’re the only one who I’ve talked to since he took me down here. Hades doesn’t even speak to me. He just sends gifts with his skeletons,” Persephone huffs.

Hecate is suddenly struck by how young the goddess is. All the Olympians are so much younger than her. It seems like it’s not the imprisonment that bothers Persephone so much as the loneliness. Six months to an immortal being is merely a dip in the water, the passing of an ocean wave. However, this is surely the first time Persephone has ever been deprived of her mother and the earthy wonders that she is the goddess of.

“I’ll return,” Hecate promises.

She goes to find Hades.

-

“You’re back!” Persephone bounds up to Hecate when she knocks on the door. She holds up a vase of yellow flowers. “Look what the skeleton brought me this morning! These are extinct on Earth.” She sniffs at them, eyes bright. A soft smile graces her lips. “I’ve missed them.”

“What a thoughtful gift,” Hecate comments diplomatically.

“Yes, thoughtful.” Persephone places the vase back on the table, arranging the flowers just so. “And entirely Hades' idea, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure,” Hecate echos.

“You know, if Hades were to have any other ideas, perhaps he should think about visiting me himself instead of sending his silly skeletons.” Persephone twirls a flower between her fingertips. “After all, how am I supposed to get to know him if we never see each other?”

“I wouldn’t want to speak for Hades but I believe he might be, shall I say, apprehensive. The circumstances of your meeting weren’t the most amenable.” Hecate gives her a pointed look.

“Perhaps I could forgive him if I could speak to him,” Persephone suggests airily. Hecate only nods.

-

The next time Hecate visits, the room is covered in flowers. There are even garlands strung across the ceiling. Since they are the souls of flowers, they don’t need water or sunlight to survive.

“Certainly seems like you’re doing well for yourself,” Hecate notes.

Persephone admires her handiwork. “Yes, it looks much better doesn’t?” Then she glances over at Hecate and pouts. “I must say though, you’re not doing a very good job convincing Hades to visit me.”

“He’s very busy,” Hecate contends.

Persephone huffs. “Doing what? The dead aren’t going anywhere.”

“No, but you are.”

Persephone perks up. “Is he doing something for me? What’s he doing?” she asks.

“I suppose you’ll have to wait and see,” Hecate says evenly.

Persephone groans. “Fine, if I must. As if I’ve done anything but wait.”

“Well while you continue to wait, would you like to meet Hecuba?” Hecate sits cross legged on the ground. 

Persephone gives her a confused look. “Who’s Hecuba?”

“She used to be the Queen of Troy. Now she lives on as one of my familiars.” Hecate summons the black dog to her side. Persephone squeals and falls to her knees next to the animal. 

Hecate managed to negotiate with Hades for Persephone’s freedom within the palace. As they walk Hecuba through the halls, she notices Persephone peer out the windows a couple times but Hades is being careful to keep his latest project hidden.

-

Hecate isn’t there to see the first meeting of Persephone and Hades since the abduction. That was something Hades had to conquer on his own. It seems to have gone well though because she glimpses them walking in the garden Hades built for her.

The amount of time and care Hades spent on the garden is evident. He wanted to impress her and had waited to see her again until he was finished with it. It’s a stunning menagerie against the dark landscape of the Underworld, filled with flowers both living and extinct. The paths are tiled in jewels from Hades’ personal collection. It’s a beautiful union of their two domains.

As Hecate hears Persephone laugh bubble over the grounds, she hopes for the future.

-

When the six months is passed, Persephone leaves Hades with a smile and a kiss on the cheek. Hecate guides her back to the surface and witnesses a heartfelt reunion between mother and daughter. Olympus rejoices and revels. The Earth thrives.

-

Six more months pass. A couple days before she is to leave for the Underworld, Persephone calls Hecate to her side to ask for her advice. When she arrives at Hades’ palace, she comes bearing a gift.

Hades places Persephone’s flourishing pomegranate tree in the center of the garden where it can be admired during their many walks together.

A few months later, Hades crowns Persephone Queen of the Underworld. She accepts. All of Olympus comes to witness the ceremony.

-

Hades sees them off at the end of the six months. Before they leave, he says to Hecate, “I’m forever grateful for your help easing Persephone’s transition. I hope you know you will always have a home here in the Underworld.”

“You could even have my old bedroom,” Persephone winks.

“That’s very generous of you. It means more than you know.” Hecate tilts her head in a slight bow. Hades returns the gesture.

Hecate has been stuck at a crossroad for an eternity, pulled between the gods and the titans, the Underworld and Olympus. At last, she has a path to travel.

[howler518]

FAYE x KRATOS CH 14: THE ENDLESS

PREVIEW:

"Sto kalo, sto kalo...kala nea na me feris," Kratos murmured. Nevermind that he was praying, more he was thinking about the souls of the lost. Would they still hear him so very far from home?

"What's that you said?" There was the familiar bite of suspicion in Faye's tone. "Just now, to the ravens. What did you say?"

Kratos shifted to her, but not before looking back at the sky one last time. It was too late - the ravens had all flown away. He released a long breath and wondered if his beloved's still waited for him at the banks of the River Lethe before their final crossing into the afterlife. Before they forgot him completely.

"Fly and bring back good news," Kratos translated. Faye did not sheath her dagger.

"Why do you bid the ravens to bring you news?"

Kratos noticed her grip tighten on the weapon and she maintained her distance from him. He shook his head, not in the mood to entertain interrogations with the hunter.

FAYE

BEFORE

Salka informed the Jotuns of the entrances to the Undir that had been hidden across Midgard. Immense caverns that turned into narrow, submerged cave-systems and passageways that stretched for endless distances. Odin had designed the labyrinth for the worst of his enemies and the most heinous criminals so that they would spend eternities wandering the unknown.

That was until Rán birthed her daughters there in the ocean beneath the world. It changed them. Molded them into twisted, cursed shapes. When young giants come of age in Jotunnheim, they could choose which shape they may take - be they human or beast. These daughters had no choice in the shapes they took. The Undir decided for them while they were still in the womb. In their different bodies they were able to withstand its crushing pressures and swim through its rushing currents. With their changed eyes they were able to navigate their way through the impenetrable depths. And with the stolen knowledge they inherited from their mother, the daughters of Rán eventually freed themselves from their imprisonment and claimed dominion over the seas of Midgard.

Seafarers attributed many names to the monstrous creatures. The Drowned Exiles. The Nine Maidens. Wave Daughters. Keepers of Hidden Treasures. These were tales told to Jotun children to fill their imaginations with lost hoards of glittering riches or feed their nightmares with toothy creatures with snapping, hungry jaws. The naughtiest children were threatened with watery punishments, others learned to be wary of what lurked below.

Salka led the Jotuns to a steep mountainside, where a horrible gash had been made in the snowy crag. The wide mouth of the cave yawned open. Hana inspected the massive, monolith at the entrance. She ran her slender fingers along the weathered surface of the stone carvings. The details had been washed smooth by time and the elements. Her brow scrunched together as she made out the inscription.

"Well?" Yrsa stood close behind with her hands resting at the head of her warhammer, grey eye scanning the shadows inside. Frode had his back to the cave, poised against the forest behind them with his sword and shield drawn. Barren, crumbling earth shifted beneath the Jotun's steps. They could all sense it. The unnatural magic that created the Undir was hewn from raw, primordial chaos. Corrupted. It hung in the air with a low, unyielding thrum that set them all with unease. Like the beat of a ravenous, hateful heart.

Faye stood even further from her companions. She swayed slightly with the dizzying tumult of desecrated magic. Her teeth were clenched so hard it made her jaw ached. The others had barely spoken to her through their trek to the mountainside and they kept their distance. Faye's only company had been the Aesir. It was an acute irony that not even her own kind would have her.

Faye wrung the chain between her hands as she watched Hana translate the ancient words carved into the monolith's surface.

"Yfirgefðu vonina, þér sem hingað komið," Hana said and turned back to face the others. Her serene features were marred with dread.

Abandon hope, ye who enter here.

The utterance of such an execration sent a wave of apprehension over the Jotuns.

"Well," Yrsa said, hefting her warhammer over her shoulder, "This is the right place."

"No kidding," Frode muttered. Faye shifted, the feel of this place left a sour taste in her mouth and a nauseous grip in her stomach.

"Do you know what we will face once inside?" she asked Salka. Unlike the Jotuns, the Aesir stood in reverent awe of the structure. Faye could tell the archivist's ruined hands itched for charcoal and parchment to document this trove of knowledge. She shook her head.

"Only those cast to the depths truly know," Salka said, "We will be the first to tap its secrets."

Faye shot the Aesir a doubtful glance.

"Surely there have been others."

"Maybe so," Salka said grimly. Faye ground her teeth down with a heavy breath. If there were others, they never returned to speak of what they'd seen.

Faye turned away with a tight grimace and watched the sun dip lazily below the bleeding horizon. Time was already growing short and they couldn't spare any more of their efforts searching for another path.

The forest had grown so still with the heavy fall of snow. Animals retreated to their dens. The pines and birches were slumbering with their roots entwined with each other, holding on til the thaw of spring. Faye savored the last bits of fresh, clear mountain air. The gentle whir of the wind past her ears. The chill in her lungs with each breath. Closing her eyes, she imagined the tall peak of Jotunheim reaching up into golden skies.

"We will return," Faye said, more of a promise to herself than to the Aesir. They would retrieve Tyr and she would bring them back home. And at last, there would be hope for the dark days ahead.

I will not fail, Faye told herself. I cannot.

Faye gave the chains a gentle tug, leading them forward.

"Come," Faye urged the Aesir.

The others parted before her, offering Faye a wide berth as she made the first steps into the cave's mouth. Faye and Yrsa shared a look as they passed each other. Faye's stomach lurched, still sick with shame. She couldn't hold Yrsa's gaze for longer than a moment. She could not blame them for their coldness toward her. Not after Faye had been so willing to sacrifice them on the altar of her vengeance. How willing she'd been to pay any price for her cause. It was only right that she lead the charge.

The rest of the Jotuns filed behind Faye as they ventured inside. Their footsteps were careful and measured.

Mineral formations, like razor sharp teeth, stretched down from the ceiling and jutted up from the rocky floor. As if they were entering the belly of a great beast. Wind whipped past the entrance and elicited a low trembling moan from the throat of the cave. The Bifrost at Faye's hip provided a small glow of bluish light but it would not be enough to withstand the dark. Once inside, she fought against every natural impulse to flee. To cling to the light, to the day.

Though Salka seemed to admire the structure at first, there was a growing hesitancy as they moved in deeper and the light shrank at the imposing darkness. She slowed and looked over her shoulder, face paled in the last vestiges of light reaching into the cave's mouth.

"Shouldn't someone else lead?" she squeaked and gestured to Hana and Frode. Frode shoved her forward.

"Don't forget your place, Asgardian," he snarled. The chains rattled and their echo shattered down the cave's gullet. They all stopped and seemed to take a collective breath as they listened to the hollow, endless echo. There was a long bracing moment as echo faded into the dark.

"We ought to keep quiet," Yrsa said, "We wouldn't want to disturb our hosts."

When the light of day extinguished, Hana took Yrsa's satchel and pulled four torches from within. It was dwarven-made, making it larger on the inside than it appeared on the outside. Contained within were all of the field supplies they would need for their journey to the undersea. Including the Asgardian disguises they would use once they made landing in the realm of Odin's kin.

Hana laid four cuts of wood before her with flint stones in hand.

"Edlur." Hana said, cracking the stones together and the torches roared to life. Light filled the shadows around them and penetrated the heavy miasma of discordant energy. The air cleared somewhat, breath came a little easier to their lungs.

Yrsa strode over to Faye and passed her a torch. The warm glow of the fire danced over Yrsa's stony face. The wound that claimed her eye was healing well. A slice of red stretched out from under the cloth. It cut through her eyebrow, reaching her forehead and down her sharp cheekbone. Faye gave a curt nod of thanks. She didn't trust her spiteful tongue with speech. Yrsa placed a hand on Faye's shoulder, squeezing as she leaned into Faye's ear as the others gathered themselves. Faye's heart began to gallop in her chest at the closeness. Juniper spice washed over her senses and she found herself leaning into the warmth of Yrsa's hand.

"I will be right behind you," Yrsa murmured. The low gravel of her voice anchored the unsettled tides in Faye. She swallowed hard over the growling lump in her throat. She should say something. But what words would be enough to undo the damage she'd done? There would come a time for all the things she wanted to say and do, but it wasn't here and it wasn't now. Faye gave a stiff nod and continued forward.

The passage of time faded as they continued on. There was only the impenetrable dark beyond the light of their torches. Off the main road were several small, damp corridors and tunnels spreading out into the deepness. They walked what felt like eternities measured in the steps of their feet against the gravely stone and the mixture of their breaths in the dank air. The air was thicker with every step and moisture dripped from the stone. The steady drip drip drip bounced off the walls and swirled in their heads like a spell. The oppressive weight grew heavier on their chests as they went on.

"Hold." Yrsa stopped at a heap tucked in between two jagged stalagmites. She lowered her torch.

It was a skeleton with ancient armor still clinging to its form. She squatted down and inspected it, Frode coming beside her while Hana guarded their flank.

"Fuck's sake." Frode poked at the remains with his sword. "See those little marks? There, on the skull."

Yrsa's features twisted in a grimace.

"Teeth," Hana agreed from over her shoulder.

"There's more," Faye said, lowering her torch toward the floor. Strewn across the length of the corridor was enough remains for a company of soldiers. Faye tried to count their exact number but it was hard to tell. They lied in scattered, dismembered clumps. Faye ground down against the dread pulling in her guts.

"Perhaps they went mad with hunger and took to eating each other," Salka gulped. Faye shook her head, lowering to inspect a piece of rib. Clutching it between two fingers, she brought it to the firelight.

The tiny scrapes were too small for the teeth of men.

"Rats maybe?" Salka's eyes darted around the dark corridors leading beyond, shifting uneasily from side to side.

"I'd like to see the rat that can do this to grown warriors." Frode scanned the floor. They were tightening their ranks. The quiet around them became imposing, like the deep breath before the plunge.

"There are no battle wounds upon the bones," Hana said, "They were not killed by arrows or blades."

"Look at this," Frode pulled a chest piece up into the light. It was slashed across the front, the metal and leather shorn apart. Peppered with more of those tiny scrapes. The cut was too jagged for the slice of a blade. Faye took a knee and sampled the moist earth between her fingers. She sniffed then prodded her little finger with her tongue.

"Bears?" Salka kicked a piece of a skull away from her. Faye spat with a tight grimace. Certainly not bears. The scent in the air was a sour musk foreign to Faye's knowledge of the Midgardian creatures. Even the fouler sort like wulvers and tatzelwurms.

Faye hovered her palm over the stone and recoiled. There was the faintest bit of warmth.

She shot up and saw with renewed eyes with where exactly they were standing. They had stumbled into a den, the feeding ground, for whatever lived in these caves.

"You know as well as I," Yrsa said with a side-glance down to Faye. She had a white-knuckled grip on the warhammer.

They were being hunted.

"Are we even going the right way?" Frode snapped. "The Aesir could be leading us to our deaths!"

"Keep your voice down," Yrsa hissed.

With that, Faye tugged the Aesir toward her and undid the chains binding her wrists.

"What are you doing?" Salka shot a nervous glance at the other Jotunns.

"Too noisy," Faye said, eyes scanning the dark as she lowered the chains to the floor. "She will not stray far," she reassured the others.

"Oh? And why's that?" Frode said.

"We have the light," said Faye. Still, Frode was eyeing Salka the way a gyrfalcon sized up its prey. Ready to dive at any moment, sickle-like talons drawn to rip through flesh.

Yrsa began digging in her pouch for their rations and she stuffed them into a separate satchel. Frode gave a dissatisfied sigh, knowing what Yrsa was up to.

"There is still the hardtack and forage," Hana said but it did little to soothe his disappointment. It wouldn't be as appetizing or as filling but it would have to do. Yrsa drew their jerky and salted meats from the pouch and shoved it into the satchel. She passed some to the rest of them.

"Eat it quickly," she ordered. Faye tore off a chunk of her portion and fed it to Salka.

"Shame." Frode sighed and took one last greedy mouthful of jerky.

When their rations were secured in a separate pouch, Yrsa reached up and fixed it to a low-hanging stalactite with rope.

"Should keep them off our tail for now," she said.

"Do we know what 'them' is?" Hana asked, considering the swaying bag of meats hanging from the cave ceiling.

Faye prayed to the ancestors that they'd never find out. Faye turned back toward the main path, looking to Salka. Her wrists were red and irritated from the chains, bleeding in some places.

"How much farther?" Faye asked.

Salka paled further than Faye thought possible for the wisp of a woman.

"We need to move. Now," Yrsa urged.

They were all too eager to depart that wretched section of the path. But as they moved on, Faye couldn't shake the sensation of many eyes on her. She could feel them from the offshoot tunnels and passageways, the darkened corridors leading off into the unknown. Her only comfort was that she was not alone. Hana and Frode were following close, and Yrsa was just behind her as she promised to be. Her massive stature was a shield at Faye's back. Her entire presence was like a balm to Faye's uncertainty.

They knew they were traveling deeper as the incline of the stone beneath them intensified. Beyond, there was a hushed roaring reverberating up the cave walls toward them. Then came the petrichor scent of water upon stone like a spring rain. It felt like hours until the path took a sharp curve into a thin spiraling ledge downward that circled a gushing waterfall. It's rushing waters fell into an open chasm, pouring itself down into the nothingness.

"We rest here," Yrsa declared and began pulling out supplies from the pouch. There was no protest from the others and the noise of the waterfall would mask their presence from the creatures lurking in the tunnels. From the ache in her bones, Faye guessed they'd been walking for more than a day. Faye's muscles strained with every uneven step upon the stone floor. Her body went slack with exhaustion, as did the others. They would need to preserve their strength and keep their wits about them.

Hana and Frode got a fire going while Yrsa tossed out their sleeping pallets. Frode, face drawn with fatigue, was careful not to let his hands brush Hana's as he passed her wood and kindling from the pouch. Hana was equally as cautious to not let her eyes meet his.

Faye stood at the edge of the chasm, peering over into the deep. Once they'd rested, they would delve farther into the depths of the cave. She wondered how far under the surface of Midgard they would have to go to reach the Undir. Deep enough to for the Allfather to hide an entire ocean beneath the world.

"I have seen more spine on the floor of this gods-forsaken cave than in that one," Yrsa said as she stood beside Faye. She glanced back to see Salka sagged against the wall, head lolling as she fought exhaustion.

"Hm," Faye grunted in agreement. She hugged her arms around herself, finger tapping her bicep. Say something, her insides roared. The silence stretched between them but it didn't seem to perturb the giantess. Yrsa waited patiently for the words to form in Faye's hesitant mouth. But nothing Faye thought of sounded adequate to fully encompass the depth of her regret.

"I should not have said what I did," she spoke low, voice mixing in the gush of the waterfall, "They were words spoken in haste and anger."

It wasn't enough. She knew it.

Yrsa nodded as she considered the half-apology. Faye waited for what felt like an age. Heartbeat thundering in her throat.

"You speak of sacrifice but you do not know what they gave up to come here." Yrsa said, a storm cloud gathering in her eye. "What I gave up."

"What did you sacrifice?" she asked.

Yrsa shook her head.

"All that could have been is clouded now," she said, sagely. As if she already possessed the gift of foresight to see that this plan was doomed from the start. Faye gulped. She wasn't sure if that was an acceptance of her apology or not. She tried to convince herself that it didn't matter either way. They still had a job to do whether or not they all got along. Even so, Faye longed for the comfort of Yrsa's forgiveness. That boundless rage inside her rose up again.

"You think I gave nothing for this?" Faye ground out.

Yrsa settled her heavy gaze on Faye.

"What does this mission really mean to you?" she asked. "Speak freely. It is only us."

Faye dug her teeth to the inside of her cheek and glanced back at the others. Frode and Hana were crowded around the fire, palms braced behind them. Though they didn't look at each other, Faye saw that their little fingers were laid over on others. The tiniest bit of affection that they could spare each other.

"Why are you asking me this?" Faye's chest was tight as if she was bound with ropes. Like a spider caught in its own web. A fool tangled in a mess of their own making.

Faye used her honor and sense of duty as crutches to her doubts. When she needed purpose, he gave it. When she needed direction, he showed her the path. She realized too late that she had filled all the emptiness inside her with Tyr. And when he was gone - she had nothing. There was still so much work left unfinished. There was so much more she had left to learn from him. Faye didn't know how else to carry on without his guidance.

Yrsa drew in a tense breath.

"I ask because I need something of you, Laufey."

Anything, said a small voice inside Faye. It was against every instinct that told her to be wary of giving more of herself than she could spare, wary of making promises she knew she could not keep.

"What I am about to suggest is going to be unpleasant. But I have a solution to our problem," Yrsa continued.

Faye shrugged.

"As Frode said: We have no secrets between us," she said.

"Don't we?"

Faye let loose a dry laugh. Faye knew what Yrsa was suggesting, but she couldn't be serious. It was madness. All Jotuns had but one secret. One that hundreds of thousands fought and died for and the reason for all the chaos across the realms. The thought of betraying that secret sent a dizzying shock of repulsion through Faye.

"We are running out of time," Yrsa said, "I don't see another option for us."

Faye held her head, shaking it. They were desperate, but she didn't think they were so desperate as to give up something so sacred as that. To even consider it felt like blasphemy.

"There must be," Faye hissed.

"This is what this mission has come to so remind me - what more are you willing to sacrifice to get him back?" Yrsa asked again in earnest. The storm in her eye swirled, a restrained tempest in her gaze.

"Our sacrifice will mean nothing if we trade Tyr for the pathway to Jotunheim. We'd be chopping off one hand to save the other!" She stole a glance back at the others to ensure no one would overhear Yrsa's insanity. Beyond complete insanity - it was reprehensible.

"We cannot weather this alone," Faye added.

"We are not alone." Yrsa said and Faye wanted so badly to believe her.

"Aren't we? Who will rally to our call when the Asgardians are baying at our doors?" Faye seethed and counted the ways they were well and truly fucked. "They have Mjolnir. Now the Valkyries and the forces of even Hel itself. We have no more allies, and none that are reachable now that the ways have been shut."

Yrsa was unphased by Faye's sharpness.

"We have each other. We have hope."

"Hope," Faye chuckled. She didn't think Yrsa was so naive.

It had to be these endless, winding tunnels getting the better of the woman's senses. Faye shook her head, feeling so unlike the person she used to be when she had been beside Tyr. It was this place. The heaviness of the air, the crippling dread weighing in her heart. Faye had never felt so far from hope than she did now.

Yrsa stepped closer, bearing down on Faye as she spoke.

"You forget yourself. You forget that you and I were chosen for a reason."

There were so many others more worthy of Groa's gift. Yrsa being first among them.

"It should be you," Faye said without thought.

Yrsa's brow drew together, face drawn in confusion. As if to think that this was not the Faye she knew, the one she had fought countless battles beside for more than a century. This was not the Faye that snuck past Aesir battlements to free their prisoners or tend to those she could not set loose. This was not the Faye that single-handedly slew dozens of frost trolls for the ingredients to her enchanted axe, whom she named Leviathan. Where went the fearless warrior? Where went her courage? Her unbendable will? Faye sensed Yrsa's thoughts lurking beyond her gloomy eye.

"It is not for us to decide," Yrsa said, and Faye sensed disappointment. The creeping shame peeled away Faye's defenses, leaving her bare to Yrsa's scrutiny. Faye knew it was wrong of her to say, but all the same she couldn't shake the feeling that the elders had made a grave error in naming her a candidate for Groa's gift.

"What do the others think of your plan?" Faye jerked her head to Hana and Frode. Hana was slumped against Frode's shoulder. They had fallen asleep like that, sitting beside the fire together.

"They will follow your lead."

Faye huffed a doubtful laugh.

"They still believe in you, Laufey," Yrsa said, then paused, "I believe in you."

Faye whirled on Yrsa, throat tight. How could she still have faith even after all Faye had confessed? Faye's chest throbbed with an overwhelming dread. She couldn't help but feel that their belief was terribly misplaced. She was an imposter, a cheap charlatan and their hopes were wasted on her.

"How can we ensure that the Exile won't betray this secret?" Faye demanded.

"We can't."

"And who's to say we aren't playing right into the Allfather's designs?"

"No one."

Faye scrubbed her face with her palm.

"You aren't making this plan sound very appealing."

A faint smile played on Yrsa's lips and Faye fought the desire to reel her in and capture that smile. To feel her. To taste her. Just this once.

Anything, anything, that voice inside Faye prodded.

"Let me think about it," she said.

Yrsa smirked and clapped Faye hard on the back.

"Good girl."

Yrsa left Faye to join the others by the fire. Faye stood watch while the other slept.

There was something wrong about the darkness. Faye wasn't sure if it was her own fatigue or the cursed magic of the place. Perhaps a combination of both.

It was deeper. Contorted. Shadows quivered in the firelight and shapes materialized from the jagged cave structure. They took the form of every nightmare that had ever haunted Faye's dreams.

Bloodsoaked battlefields. Limbs hacked from bodies. Companions turned to crow-fodder. Eyes plucked out by vicious beaks.

It was everything that would come to pass in the wake of her failure. In her dreams, Faye would scream in the infinite black. But now she was too numb, too tired, and too frightened to even shiver. She stood, paralyzed.

I cannot fail.

For their sake, I cannot fail.

FAYE

NOW

The rain had come in the night. Faye felt the icy drops pelt her cheek and a shiver rose from her chest as the rain slid down over her skin. She woke to darkness with nothing but the cold drip of the rain all around her. The pitter-patter sound seemed to echo, bouncing around Faye as it would off the walls of a cave.

For a moment Faye had forgotten where she was. When she was.

In a flash, the world turned white. Ear-splitting thunder boomed overhead. Faye shot up, her heart stuck to the downbeat.

"Yrsa!" she gasped as lightning cracked across the sky in a blue streak.

Night returned. The thunder rolled, deep and undulating like the growl of a hungry beast. Faye's heart galloped in her chest like stamping hoof beats against her ribs. She'd drawn the dagger and was holding it out against the darkness. Trembling, she watched for the shape of monsters in the shadows. For the sparking blue energy of Mjolnir.

But Faye was alone. The fire beside billowed with thick plumes of smoke as the growing onslaught of rain extinguished the flames. She lowered the dagger as the sounds of the forest pooled around her. The tap of the rain against the leaves. The musk of wet wood and moss.

Faye noticed that a wool blanket had been tossed on her while she slept.

"Farbauti?" she asked the shadows but there was no answer from among them. He would be off hunting or patrolling the camp's perimeter.

As Faye's raging pulse slowed, she was aware of the distant, croaking call of ravens.

KRATOS

Daybreak had come clouded and dismal. The rains had turned their path into a immpassible mire. With each step, the clansfolk sank into their heels and calves. The earth sucked at their boots with an iron grip, resisting any movement like it was trying to consume them whole. The wagons at the head of their formation became cemented in the mud, wheels sunk deep into the mud. The horses pulled and strained to carry their burden until they nearly collapsed with exhaustion. The caravan halted and it took almost all of the abled-bodied clansfolk pushing and pulling for Kratos to finally step in to reel it from the mud. The clansfolk both marveled and feared Kratos' incredible strength and the ease in which he hauled the wagon as if it weighed nothing more than a feather. There were whispered about him amongst clan. They wondered by what power of the gods he came to be blessed with the strength of twenty men. If they only knew.

Faye returned on horseback with the forward scouts.

"It's no use!" Faye called to him, "The road ahead is impossible."

Strands of soaked, rust-colored hair stuck to her mud-streaked face.

Kratos eased the wagon back to the mud where it began to sink in. Faye swung down from the horse, still wincing as it rattled her injuries. As her foot brushed the earth, she began barking orders to make ready a camp until the skies cleared and the road became traversible.

"Are you so certain there is no other path?" Kratos did not doubt her prowess and knowledge of the forest but he was eager for their continued journey.

"Not unless you are content to pull the entire clan on your shoulders," she said. He could. That wasn't the problem. He could not both pull their weight and defend them at the same time. Kratos relented. He didn't like the idea of extending the length of the trip but it was this or risk the safety of the clan.

Kratos tensed as thunder barrelled across the sky. The low flicker of lightning hid in the dark, swirling clouds. Kratos found himself waiting for the screech of an eagle. He steeled himself, amber eyes scanning the skies for the burst of white wings. But then he remembered. Even now he felt the oppressive weight of the sky above him as if he was Atlas holding it aloft. Even in death. Kratos still felt the echoes of his father bearing down on him.

A shift among the tree branches shook Kratos' focus from the sky. Shadows shifted among the leaves. Faye half-turned and bristled, a snarl on her lips. She snatched the dagger from her belt and hurled it. There was a high-pitch screech and a flock of ravens scattered out from their cover. They retreated into the sky and Faye spat a curse after them.

"Farðu!" she growled and approached the tree to retrieve her dagger. A small black thing flopped on the mossy forest floor. It was a raven pierced through the chest with Faye's dagger. The bird croaked a throaty death knell as blood leaked profusely from its wound. Faye she planted her boot into the wing and reclaimed the blade. She muttered something in her language and cleaned it on her forearm.

Kratos watched the ravens and was reminded of his mother, Callisto. He often wondered how she filled her days when he was taken to agoge to be shaped into a soldier and citizen of Sparta. She endured many weeks and months without word from her only remaining child. It was common for mothers and wives to ask the ravens to ferry their sweetened sentiments to their sons and husbands as they suffered for the glory of Sparta.

Sto kalo, kala nea na me feris, the beloveds would say. He imagined Callisto at the reedy bank of the Eurotas, watching and waiting for high reaching sails of a trireme to break the horizon and herald the return of her victorious son.

"Sto kalo, sto kalo...kala nea na me feris," Kratos murmured. Nevermind that he was praying, more he was thinking about the souls of the lost. Would they still hear him so very far from home?

"What's that you said?" There was the familiar bite of suspicion in Faye's tone. "Just now, to the ravens. What did you say?"

Kratos shifted to her, but not before looking back at the sky one last time. It was too late - the ravens had all flown away. He released a long breath and wondered if his beloved's still waited for him at the banks of the River Lethe before their final crossing into the afterlife. Before they forgot him completely.

"Fly and bring back good news," Kratos translated. Faye did not sheath her dagger.

"Why do you bid the ravens to bring you news?"

Kratos noticed her grip tighten on the weapon and she maintained her distance from him. He shook his head, not in the mood to entertain interrogations with the hunter.

"Stories from my homeland. Entertainment for fools and children," he said as if to scold himself. Faye softened slighty.

"Huh," she mused, seeming more relaxed. She flipped the dagger in her grip and sheathed it. "Didn't think you were one for superstitions, Farbauti."

"Hm," Kratos rumbled. He'd rather her call him by his name.

With the exhaustion and the pouring rain, it was a mighty effort for the clan to form up a camp for them to recooperate their strength. Fires were slow to start with nothing around for kindling but soaked wood. There would be no hot meals tonight. Only damp, unleavened bread and salted meats. Kratos and Faye helped where they could. Kratos hauled supplies from the sunken-in wagons while Faye secured the horses. She calmed them with gentle hushed words when thunder and lightning spooked them into a panic. But Kratos noticed the way she shook with every crack of lightning and growl of thunder.

The camp would be vulnerable to predators who were usually kept at bay with fires so Kratos went to secure the perimeter of the forming camp. Faye followed by his side, the deep blue of her eyes still watchful of the trees.

"Tell me about the ravens of your homeland. I have a fool's eager ears," she said.

"I am no storyteller."

She seemed anxious for distraction. He knew she had nightmares the same as he did. He knew the names of the ones she called out for when she woke shivering and sweating alone in the dark. Her nightmares were only getting worse the further they ventured from the homestead. Kratos held a low-hanging branch aloft for Faye to pass under as they circled the clan's camp.

"There are worse ways to pass the time than to fill the hours with stories," Faye said and passed under the branch.

" - and good company," she added with that wry grin.

It felt like a jab of sarcasm so he ignored it.

Lightning flashed overhead and shattered the forest with a burst of piercing light. Faye shuddered and her feet seemed to sink into the earth where she stood. Anchored her to the spot, she was pale and wide-eyed. He'd seen that kind of look before in the soldiers who'd seen too many blood-soaked battlefields. Thunder followed, low and rumbling. Kratos could tell by the long breath in between lightning and thunder that the storm was moving away.

"In the land of my people, ravens were messengers of the sun god," Kratos said.

There was a slight pause of surprise from Faye. It was information she didn't have to pry from him and she didn't seem to trust it at first. As if he'd tricked her somehow.

The earth's grip on her feet gave and she continued on by Kratos' side as he spoke.

"The ravens returned with news that the god's lover had taken another he scorched their feathers black. They learned to never return without good tidings."

Usually Kratos had no need for such expansive speech. To say more than a few words even felt verbose to him. But it was different when he spoke with Faye, he just didn't know why. As Kratos spoke, he could see Faye relax some. Her shoulders softened and he could hear the rate of her heart slow back to its normal rhythm.

"When war dragged on and my soldiers were feeling…" Kratos struggled for the translation. "Nostalgia - weary and longing for home. They would ask the ravens to bring news."

The troubled seas in her eyes grew calm at the mention of 'home' and he wondered what kind of distant life Faye longed for.

Kratos had learned enough about her to know that she was not meant for a lonely life in the wilderness. Her weathered armor, her innate battle-sense, and the axe of devastating power hitched to his shoulder. He could feel the axe's will at his back, yearning for the grip of its true master.

He sensed that Faye had been meant for something more but for whatever reason - she chose a different path. He wondered if she regretted that choice to live a simple life rather than take vengeance for her kin. He couldn't understand how someone could set all that hate and rage aside and embrace something else. If she could do it, then was there hope for him as well?

Even as Kratos imagined himself scraping out an existence in his own isolated cabin somewhere in the northlands, he knew that it was not a life meant for him. He was what the gods had made him to be - a weapon honed for a singular purpose.

Killer. Monster.

The dark tide inside him rose up again. He tried to swallow it back down but it only formed an aching lump in his chest.

"Where is home for you, Kratos?" The sound of his name in her mouth sent an unwelcome shiver through him.

"Far from here," he said, shifting his focus away from her and back to the task. Faye wasn't put off by his dismissiveness.

"What do you call your native tongue?" Faye asked but Kratos pressed on in silence. She was asking the same question with different words. They were all roads to the same destination. Who are you and why have you come to this land?

"I am skilled with languages. I could learn some if it would ease our conversations," she pressed.

Kratos slashed at a cluster of brambles blocking the way forward and considered. He supposed it would do little harm to at least tell her that. If stories of the Ghost of Sparta had reached this far north, she would have already had enough reason to put him down when they first met. And it would be a small comfort to speak to someone in his own tongue. It had been a long, long time since he'd last done that. He thought of the last words Athena had spoken to him as she drove the Blade of Olympus deeper into his abdomen.

"Me apogoitéveis, Spartiáti," she had said. You disappoint me, Spartan.

The pain had been all consuming. Kratos managed a defiant snarl in reply before Athena tore the Blade from his body. His vision went white as he fell back against the hard stone of the cliffside. He laughed, lying there with his blood pooling around him. At last, he would free from his torments. There was pain, but then... relief, as he breathed out his last, ragged breaths.

Kratos shook himself from the memory.

"It is called Hellenike," he said, "From the land of Hellada."

Kratos turned and waited for her to catch up. Faye narrowed her ocean blue eyes as if she was waiting for him to reveal some kind of ruse. Then a smirk broke the seriousness of her features.

"I would like to know more about your homeland, Hellene," Faye said with surety as she strode forward to meet him.

"Hm," he grunted. Of course she would. It was an answer that left a craving for the ever-curious hunter. For a while she seemed to be sufficiently distracted by the patrol. They walked side by side and ccasionally Faye would make mention of a predator's tracks or pause to listen to the whisper of the trees.

Then she prodded again.

"Will you tell me?"

"No," Kratos replied sharply.

He couldn't tell Faye about the snow-capped peaks of the Taygetus range or the lush olive groves without telling her how it all came to ruin. He couldn't tell her about his home, his family, without telling her how they'd died by his own blade. One question after another with Faye and she would know his past and know what he'd done. And though Kratos did not doubt Faye's wisdom, he knew she would not be able to reconcile his actions.

There was still the longing to tell her, speak to her in his own tongue, and release himself from the torment of his secrets. As if by telling her, that far away place was resurrected from the ashes. It was a fleeting, selfish, thought to foist the burden of his memories onto the hunter.

A look of disappointment crossed her face at his harsh refusal. For a moment he thought he felt her presence against his mind. Like the invisible tether he shared between her and the axe. Then her look darkened. Kratos was reminded that she was like the scorpion and he waited for her poisonous barb. The lash of her vicious tongue.

"The ravens in the Northlands are bad omens. Do not speak to them. Do you understand?" Faye said, all her mirth and wonderment gone. Replaced by that grim, viciousness of hers. It felt like punishment. Who was this woman to him anyway? He owed her no obligation to his secrets and she would not absolve him of his sins.

"I understand, kynigos," Kratos said. Faye cocked her head at the word, confused. But then her lip quirked with a hint of that smile.

"It means: hunter," he added and led the way back to the camp.

FAYE

The Hellene was always so careful with his words. He dolled them out like precious, limited resources. Other times, they were delivered like the precise, calculated strikes of a sword. Seeming to have spent his limit on speech, he was as quiet and gloomy as the darkened skies as they made their way back. It was tiring work to draw out more information about him. And the more her revealed, little by little Faye was forming a clearer image in her mind of who Kratos was.

At the same time, Faye felt like a hypocrite.

She understood his particular kind of lonliness but she could never reveal her secret. That fact alone kept her isolated.

Faye thought these past ninety winters were her first years truly spent alone. But with the wave of new memories, she realized she had been alone long before she came to Midgard. She had not meant to be so solitary, not at first. But when she was alone she wouldn't hurt anyone else. She alone would suffer the consequences of her actions.

There was so much she had forgotten and still her mind was like a shore wiped clean by the tide. Details emerged slowly, murky and strained. With Faye's own people gone, Farbauti was the only other being, besides her enemies, that understand the eternal echo of immortality. He knew the weight of watching all those he held dear extinguish long before he could join them. His wife. His daughter. Everyone, he'd said. Everyone. How did face down the length of time without them?

Faye always thought she'd have the time she wanted with Yrsa to live the life they never got to have. Faye had her time now, but without Yrsa, without anyone - it felt pointless. Faye didn't know what twist of fate had decided that she should live while everyone else she loved died. For a long time she thought she'd live all the years that they left behind. But Faye didn't know how to spend eternity in a way that truly mattered. What did it matter when everything else would be washed away in fifty years, a hundred, more? Mortals didn't waste their time, they had so little of it.

When they approached the camp, the clan members had gathered to sulk under their tents gnaw on leathery dried meats. The day had cost most of them their energy and they would need a good night's rest to make up the time they lost. Faye prepared a tent for her and Farbauti but he was already leaving to take the first night watch.

Watching Farbauti, she was reminded of words once spoken to her by the previous possessor of Groa's gift.

"Maðurinn sem gengur sinn eigin veg, gengur einn," Runar had told Faye, as it was told from every predecessor to their successor.

The one who walks their own path, walks alone.

Faye knew they each had their own path to walk, their own burden to carry through the endless years before them. Still, Faye felt a gnawing, desperate fear to cling to the only other being that understood that impossibly.

Better instincts took hold in Faye. Though she felt a kinship with Kratos, he was still dangerous. He was a survivor, and he had nothing to left to fear.

He was a god with nothing left to lose.

ELSEWHERE

The raven and his flock returned to their master with one less among their number. Svana held her arm aloft for her raven to perch. He held a strip of cloth in his beak and offered it to Svana with a low cooing sound. He dropped the strip of cloth in Svana's open, waiting hand. The moment it made contact with her skin, her lips curled into a wolfish smile.

God's blood.

The power of it tingled against her skin. She pressed the cloth to her nose and inhaled deeply with a growl rumbling in her throat. She pulled away, dizzied by the intoxicating scent.

The witch threw her head back and let loose a high-pitch howl. The hollow, somber sound echoed across the settlement. Reavers stilled and reared their heads where they stood while the prisoners shook in their cages, falling silent and clinging to each other.

A number of reavers strayed from where they stood, following the sound as if entranced. They were the chosen, the elite among White Wolf's tribe and they could not ignore the call of their alpha.

Svana's warriors gathered inside the hall and knelt before the straw-made icon at its center. Svana walked past each one of them, offering them the strip of cloth from her open palm. Their pupils expanded as they inhaled the scent. Bodies quivered with the excitement of a blood frenzy.

Svana stood before them and stretched out her hand.

"Ekki meira hefur þú mannslíkama. Verða úlfur."

As she spoke the incantation, the bodies of the warriors shifted.

They fell forward, convulsing. Claws sprang from their fingernails. Thick tufts of dark fur emerged from their skin. Bones cracked. Limbs lengthened and snapped into inhuman angles, tearing through their clothes.

They reared their heads back and screamed, their voices twisted in their changing throats. Screams became howls.

What stood before Svana was no longer human. They had become something else. Taller than any full grown Northman and covered with a black sheen of fur and eyes turned dark and beady with bloodlust. Their skulls had become canine with maws full of long ivory teeth that could snap a man's leg in two.

They'd become half-man, half-beast. The northernfolk called them wulvers.

Svana strode forward and reached up to caress the muzzle of her lieutenant.

"Bring him back alive," Svana commanded.

"Do not fail me."

[mariamermaid]

All the good girls go to hell

Caliban x fem Reader

Summary: Going after a witch, that follows dark blood bathing rituals, you met a certain prince of hell…

Does not really follow the plot of season 3!

Words: 2.8k

Warnings: drinking, mentions of death and blood

 Paris.

The unannounced city of love was filled with void. There was a dangerous witch on the loose and you were right on her track. Unlike many of your friends, who enjoyed the casual safety of a coven, you were an eclectic witch. You had your very own, individual approach at magick and yet, you were widely known beyond the horizons of the gods. And sometimes, they would seek your help in cases that blurred the borders of heaven and hell. Bridged Bishop left you a legacy, she was the first witch from the Salem trials and she was hung at the Gallows Hill in Salem Town. And like so often in the curses of history, there was something seething.

Her name was Serena Westwood and she had begun to perform several blood-bathing rituals in order to become more powerful herself. It was going against many witch rules and humans were starting to become warry as well. For now, she had killed six witches and eight humans, all of them very specifically chosen. You recognized the pattern, which was why you found yourself at a lingering club within the dusty streets of Paris.

 My Lucifer is lonely

Standing there, killing time

Can´t commit to anything but a crime

Your friend, Ambrose, had helped you with the research and he warned you about the recent events of hell. However, you hadn´t expect hell to bring up their own player to the game. But when you caught eye of the tall blonde leaning against a wall in the club, you immediately knew something was up. Turning away, so he wouldn´t be able to see your face right through the crowd, you pulled out your compass. The dark compass was a present, Lilith had given it to you in her earlier days and it was still of good use. The needle spun around a few times, until it landed on the red “H”  at the bottom, where usually the south corner laid. H like in hell. The compass showed you the path the witch of warlock was following and the closer it got to the extremes of heaven or hell, the more alerted you were. You decided to put the compass away and searched the crowd again, but the attractive blonde was gone.

“Looking for me?” He was leaning against the bar top, a few golden locks falling over his eyes. He had an angular face with deep, glistening eyes and a devilish smirk. “Do I know you?” You asked interested and sat down at the stool. He continued to grin, but shook his head. “No, not yet.”

“What can I get you to drink?” He asked instead and gave the bartender a wink. “Gin Tonic.” He nodded. “And a whisky”, he added for himself. “What is your name?”

“Scott.” You leaned closer to him, quickly and fluent, you knew the game all too well. “You´re lying, Scott.” He let out a rough laugh, the drinks came and he took a large sip. “What is your name?” You leaned back again and watched his eyes waiting.

“You´re not stupid, Scott. You already know my name.” Loud screams interrupted your conversation and you let the drink wait, instead running through the crowd. In the middle laid a man´s body, eyes wide open, his heart not beating anymore. His shirt was ripped open and several symbols were craved into his skin. You leaned down and your fingers brushed against the still fresh blood. The crowd had begun to circle the corpse, you looked up to find a door in the very back closing. Serena.

Hurrying after her in the dark streets, you found yourself close to the La Seine. She struggled trying to pull her body up the railing, seeming weakened after her bloody voodoo ritual; your chance. You ran after her. “Serena!” Your voice echoed in the dark alley leading to the river. She lurked back and threw a spell into your direction. You jumped in order to avoid getting hit. Only a few feet were left between her and you and with a big leap, you felt your hands grabbing her. She didn´t expect you and lost balance, making you both fall into the freezing water of the Seine. Surprised by the sudden fall, you both wrestled under water until she fired a spell at you. It was dark as night underwater; you barely could see anything but the light glistening from above. The fire spell she used enlightened the water, then you felt a burning sting at your shoulder. The fire had burned you and threw you back against some kind of wall or metal pillar, you lost orientation. Blinking heavily, you eyed the water around you, but Serena was gone. She had used a fire spell to distract you. You let out a scream, last supplies of air left your lunges and gasping for more, you swam back to the surface. It wasn´t necessary to mention how frustrated you were. Your shoulder continued to burn, which made it hard to even move with your entire left side. Luckily, your right hand was able to hold onto some kind of lug. Then two other strong hands grabbed your arm and pulled you out of the water.

You found yourself on the ground. “Y/n are you okay?” You almost flinched when you heard his low voice murder your name. “Nice for you to show up, Scott”, you gave back and rolled your eyes. He was knelled next to you, eyeing the wound, but after your failed hunt down, you weren´t specifically in the mood. “Let me help you” He added and softly touched your right arm, but you jerked away. “Help me? You could´ve helped me five minute ago, before I almost drowned.” His piercing blue eyes blinked, but he waited until you stood in front of him again. He wasn´t used to being treated like a mortal. You huffed when looking down at him, he avoided your glance and starred at the ground, knowing it was your right to be pissed.

“Caliban.” You stopped in the middle of the streets and slowly turned back to him. He was still kneeling, where you had sat seconds ago. “What?” It felt like a cold wind howling down your spine. “My name is Caliban-“ 

“Prince of Hell.” He looked up to find you already starring at him.

 Peter´s on vacation, an open invitation

Animals, evidence

Pearly Gates look more like a picket fence

Once you get inside´em

Got friends but can´t invite them

 You decided to go back to the hotel room you had booked. Money was never a problem for you; you had come from a rich family and being a powerful witch also helped. The room was big, with high ceilings and a stunning view over the nightly city. Baroque details lingered at the edges of wall and ceiling and long curtains moved within the wind from an open window. The large bed had beige covers and golden side lamps. The couch was red satin.

Caliban had followed you, arguably like a lost puppy. First you had guessed that he didn´t trust you enough to leave you alone. But as he watched you, you came to the realization, that he didn´t have a clue either. He was young to rule and didn´t have your experience. He wouldn´t admit it, but he needed your help. Your shoulder continued to burn and you hurried to the cabinet with expensive liquor. You poured yourself a glass of whisky and eyed Caliban, your eyes asking him. He nodded and you took out a second glass. You poured down the glass in one go, Caliban only sipped. After you had poured down a second one, you hazily walked into the bathroom, not bothering to close the door behind you. You took off the arrangement of dress you were wearing and in underwear, you examined the wound.  Then you heard Caliban steps, until he entered the bathroom as well. He eyed you and drowned his glass as well, just to put it down on the edge of the tub. In the rather cold light of the bathroom, he looked more human. He had taken off his jacket and only wore a loose shirt. The tension not to mention here. 

“Let me help you”, he explained and watched as you hesitated. “I´m good around fire.” Caliban added and stepped closer. You couldn´t help but let out a chuckle. You observed in the mirror how Caliban carefully brushed back last strands of your hair and eyed the wound. “Stay still”, he advised and then laid his hand onto the wound. You hissed but then a hot feeling spread. The wound slowly vanished and when his hand left your skin, it was feeling cold again. But you missed the feeling of his soft touch. You breathed out and turned towards him. “How…”

“I´m the prince of hell.”

You felt him leaning closer, but he was unsure. However, the second whisky was beginning to hit in and you pulled his collar down until your lips crashed together. His hands quickly grazed your hips until he lifted you off the ground. Your kiss deepened in the meantime and none of you seemed to be bothered by the fact, that Serena had gotten away anymore. He sat you down on the counter top of the sink and your fingers started fidgeting around the bottoms of his shirt.  But then his hands stopped you. Abruptly, you pulled back and starred at him. 

“Cal? Is something wrong?” You asked whispering, but his eyes remained close until he completely left your bodies touch. You didn´t know how his heart stopped when you called his nickname.

“I need to go back to hell”, he explained groaning. “Oh, sure”, you couldn´t help but sound a little disappointed. Caliban finally looked at you, his stunning eyes gazing at you. “Don´t worry, we´ll meet again.” His hand softly grabbed your neck and pulled you closer, giving you a last peck on the lips. You grinned.

“Sure, all the good girls go to hell.”

 Hills burn in California

My turn to ignore ya

Don’t say I didn´t warn ya

 You did meet again, however the circumstances had drastically changed. Serena had taken an entire coven hostage, after two more successful murders. It was a full moon light, obviously. You had to take her down before she could sacrifice them. Serena was hidden in a cave close to mountain where Walpurgis bonfires where often hosted. It wouldn´t be easy, but you had prepared several weeks, it was now or never.

The sun had begun to sink and it was time to leave. However, when you examined yourself in the mirror a last time, a certain wave of warmth was felt from behind. You caught a glimpse of flames hollering, when Caliban was suddenly stood in front of you. You let out a chuckle.

“Look at you, needing me.” He rolled his eyes, not admitting how right you were. Against the anticipation of hells most famous demons, he still had problems adjusting to his title. The easiest way for Caliban to find Serena, was to follow you. “How can I help you, my prince?”

He overheard the mocking tone of your voice, in which you hid your disappointment. After your meeting in Paris, you had hoped he would visit earlier.

“Thought you might want backup”, he paused. “You´ll want the devil on your team.”

You turned to him, stepping closer. Then, after eyeing him, checking if he meant it, you nodded. “All hail the king.” You whispered.

“You´d make a good queen.”

You ignored that comment and hoped that Caliban didn´t see you blush.

 All the good girls go to hell

´cause even God herself has enemies

And once the water starts to rise

And heaven´s out of sight

She´ll want the devil on her team

 Serena had found herself a cozy spot on the top of the mountain, a bonfire burning in the middle. The members of the coven were tied up around, high trees offering somewhat of protection. A high cliff at the back, where you could watch the moon rise. With Caliban following you, you eyed the circle and established a spot, where she couldn´t see you.

Serena had changed due to the blood rituals; her once human form was almost completely gone. Instead of her brown hair, black dreads framed her face and dark red veins covered her skin. Her eyes had a poisonous green and parts of her skin were ripped open, beneath lied a dark seething blood substance.

“What is she planning?” Caliban asked whispering. “Burn the witch”, you explained.

“It is to be said, if you burn a witch on a blood moon, you´ll receive her powers.” You added and watched how his eyes flickered. “How do we stop her?”

“She doesn´t know that we´re here, or that we work together. We have the surprise.”

“I´ll distract her”, Caliban started but you immediately denied. “No, I´m going to distract her. You free the coven.”

“But-“ “You´re reigning hell, you´re plan B. If I can´t stop her, you´ll do it.”

You wanted to sneak away in order to go closer to Serena, but Caliban held you back by grabbing your arm. “If you can´t stop her, she´ll kill you.”

You grinned and Caliban saw certainty in your eyes. “I´ll see you in hell then.”

 You snuck up on her, trying to lure her away from the hostages.

“Serena!” Your screamed, while your voice echoed across the glade. Glancing at the rising moon, you knew that the time was running. “Missed me?”

She sighed and turned towards you, letting the hostages in her blind angle. “I thought I had gotten rid of you”, she explained with despite in her voice. “I´m not easy to get rid of.”

She nodded agreeing, in her fingers playing strings of dark magick. “Unlike this wannabe prince of hell.” “You met him?” She nodded half-heartily.

“I wanted to see who sat on my throne.”

“You´re not capable of ruling hell.”

“Watch me!” You knew that each of your statements provoked her and it was finally enough to get her to attack. The first spells she threw at you were nothing, you either dodged or blocked them. “With that you want to rule?” You yelled laughing.

She grew angry, you knew it. Getting closer to her, you noticed that with each spell, a small spark of silver ran under her skin. Her body couldn´t handle the amount of power. You threw her on her back with a powerful spell and she groaned in pain. But then she teleported and appeared behind you again, a dagger suddenly in her hands. You felt the sharp pain in your side, yet you were able to changed into fight mode. A series of knife attacks followed, until you were able to kick the dagger away with your foot. The dagger slid across the ground and ended up closely to the bonfire. Sadly, it made Serena aware of what was happening behind her back. She saw multiple witches and warlocks already freed and screamed in agony. “YOU!” Her long claws pointed towards Caliban, who wore his usual grin. It was your turn to attack again, with her back turned to you, Serena didn´t even see it coming. Her skin continued to break and she stumbled dangerously closely to the fire. It was the final throw, where she fell over a stone on the floor and her body landed in the fire. Infernal screams followed as she experienced the burning pain.

However, the final act wasn´t over yet. It was a millisecond, where your eyes traveled towards Caliban. A second of not paying attention was all it took. Serena gathered all the power she had left and mixed it with her pain. You didn´t feel pain, all you did was hear Caliban´s screaming. But it was too late. You were thrown back and before even realizing how your body had left the ground, you felt weightlessness. The cliff was high, and when Caliban stumbled to the edge, you were already gone…

 There´s nothing left to save now

My god is gonna owe me

There´s nothing left to save now

 He barely remembered coming back to hell, sitting on his throne and watching as the demons pulled Serena away. The eternal punishment was sentenced. But all Caliban wanted to do is rip her up with his own hands. He was making sure, that her time in hell would be the worst possible. Afterall she had killed you and he felt the numbness. And now you were gone.

The guilt didn´t help him and the crown on his head felt heavier than ever.

“My king, the newcomer has requested an alliance with the king”, the demon butler interrupted his thoughts. Caliban stood at the window in the study room in his palace, looking down on hell.

“Serena can rot in the darkest holes of hell.”

“I sure hope so.”

Caliban spun around to find you in his room. A dark red dress with golden details on your body.

“Why are you here? You don´t belong here!” He said, his voice first a whisper, then almost an angry exclaim. But you felt his voice shaking. You stepped even closer, until you could lay your hand on his cheek. He grabbed it, making sure you were actually real. And you were.

“All the good girls go to hell.”

Caliban couldn´t help but let a soft laughter as he leaned down and kissed. His hands cupped your face and you smiled.

“I also remember you saying something about me being a queen…”

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

Nixiel and Talvas Go to The Reach

Nixiel: Why is it that whenever he sends us to Skyrim, it's to The Reach?

Nixiel turns Forsworn to ash

Nixiel freaks out when she can't find Talvas on the road

Nixiel scopes out Karthwasten

Enmon: What's she doing?

Talvas: We're looking for a, uh, a crater?

Enmon: A crater?

Nixiel: It's called Dragontooth Crater, you fetcher! Talvas, get over here and help me climb up this cliff!

Nixiel does climb the cliff and Talvas freaks out

Talvas won't eat the juniper berries Nixiel picked for him (he thinks they're poisonous)

Nixiel suggests that she buy a house in Markarth, an idea which Talvas is against

Nixiel dubs Talvas to be a party pooper

Nixiel runs in head first and ganks the Hagraven, only to be chased out by a Forsworn

The Forsworn gets stuck on a pole with a goat head and Nixiel then ganks him

Only for her to get shot at by an archer

Talvas finally catches up and torches the archer

Nixiel then goes into the decrepit tower and finds a human heart

Talvas: Nixiel, what is that?

Nixiel: I'm going to keep it.

Talvas: That's a heart . . .

Nixiel: Yep!

Talvas: Put it back!

Nixiel: Nope!

Nixiel puts the heart in her bag, much to Talvas's disgust

Nixiel then goes up stairs, sees the chest, and insists on jumping over to get it

Talvas is on pins over this

Nixiel makes it — clumsily — and tries the chest; it's locked; she brings out a big pouch of lockpicks

Talvas: What . . . why do you have so many lockpicks?

Nixiel: Hush.

Nixiel then curses in the name of the Tribunal and several Daedra before finally getting the lock

Nixiel: Why in Azura's name do they have the lockpicks inside the chest with the lock?

Talvas: Is that a potion of water breathing?

Nixiel: WHY IN AZURA'S NAME . . .

They finally go get the book

Nixiel: Hey look! A dead guy!

Talvas: Why is there a bloody skeleton on this table?

Nixiel: That's an alter, Talvas. They're sacrificing their children to the Divines.

Talvas: I don't think that that's how the Imperial cult works . . .

Nixiel: Yes it is.

Talvas: I don't think these people are even apart of the Imperial cult!

Nixiel: Yes they are.

Nixiel finds the book and a pouch of septims

Nixiel: Look! We can buy dinner when we get back to Markarth!

Talvas: Joy.

Nixiel and Talvas run into an aspiring mage at the base of the mountain

As he waxes on about his woes, Nixiel zones out

Aspiring Mage: . . . my grandfather was a wizard . . . dead things . . .

Talvas: You're grandfather was a necromancer.

Nixiel is brought out of her stupor, insults the guy, and Talvas has to drag her away before she gets into a fight

Further on still they run into a Breton mage who randomly attacks them

Nixiel: YOU DARE ATTACK A MEMBER OF HOUSE TELVANNI?!

Nixiel quickly turns the aggressive mage to ash

Talvas gapes in the background

Talvas: You're a part of House Redoran . . .

Nixiel: Shut up, fetcher.

Talvas: As aggressive as the rest of them, too.

Nixiel turns around and sees a hulking fortress nearby

Nixiel: Is that . . . a Dwemer ruin?

Talvas: It . . . it is!

Nixiel looks 'eh' and Talvas bounces excitedly

Talvas: Let's go—

Nixiel: Nah.

Talvas: C'mon!

Nixiel: Nah.

Talvas: Nixie!

Nixiel: I'm hungry. Let's go.

Talvas hopes that Master Neloth will send them to a Dwemer ruin next

Nixiel: Talvas, we're lost.

Talvas: I'm sure the path is around here somewhere . . .

Nixiel: Is that a bridge?

Talvas: Yes! And it's Dwemer!

Nixiel: Good for you.

They cross the bridge and approach the weird stone steps nearby. Nixiel picks up a glowing shard from a pedestal

Talvas: What is it?

Nixiel: No idea.

Talvas: Do you think Master Neloth would know?

Nixiel: The old coot has to be good for something.

Nixiel puts the shard in her bag

Nixiel: It'll go nicely next to the heart!

Talvas: That's gross.

Nixiel and Talvas wander around, lost, and retrace their steps to the pile of ash that was the Breton

Out of nowhere, a bear pops up, Nixiel screams and shoots lightning at it, and suddenly Torvar and Athis of the Companions appear

Nixiel screams and shocks Torvar, and they start chasing her down the mountain

Nixiel runs head first into a skeleton, only for it to be decapitated by a Vigilant of Stendarr

Nixiel: AHH!

Vigilant of Stendarr: Well that takes care of that.

The vigilant is chill until he sees the Companions running after Nixiel, and then he runs away screaming

Nixiel loses the vigilant and Athis chases her to the riverbank where she manages to hide from him, but must torch a mudcrab

Talvas finally joins her there as she's hiding

Talvas: There you are!

Nixiel: Tal! Shh!

The two sneak along the riverbank below the cliffs aways

At last they reach a point where they can safely climb up; Nixiel finds an arch and . . .

Talvas: Oh look! Stairs! Stairs have to lead somewhere!

Nixiel: Thank the Three!

They go on (Talvas still won't eat the juniper berries) and find the road; they go down it a bit until they find a sign

Nixiel: Ah, Markarth's that way!

Talvas: And Karthwasten is in the other direction. Isn't that where we were earlier?

Nixiel: No idea! You should know, you were the one talking to the outlanders.

Talvas: Technically we're the outlanders here.

Nixiel: Semantics!

Finally all seems peaceful as they're walking on the road that goes next to the river when out of nowhere a Dark Brotherhood assassin shows up and attacks them

Nixiel: AHHH!

Talvas: By the Three!

They kill the Argonian

Nixiel: Filthy lizard.

Talvas: For once, I concur. She tried to kill us!

Nixiel scrounges through the assassin's bags

Nixiel: Gold, weapon, blah, blah, oh! Lockpicks! I need those!

Talvas: What's that?

Nixiel: Her grocery list?

Talvas: Nixiel! It's a writ of execution for you!

Nixiel: Oh.

Talvas: How'd she know where we were? We don't even know where we are!

Nixiel: You know, I always thought that if someone sent an assassin after me, it'd be from the Morag Tong.

Talvas: Wait a minute, who would want you dead?

Nixiel: Who wouldn't?

Talvas: Point noted.

They go on; Nixiel keeps stopping to pick flowers, much to Talvas' consternation

Nixiel: Hey look! There's that creepy cave entrance we passed this morning!

Talvas: That was this morning?

The road ascends a cliff where they encounter more mudcrabs

Nixiel: AHH! HOW DID THEY GET UP HERE?!

Talvas: STOP SCREAMING!

Nixiel continues to pick juniper berries up until they finally reach Markarth

Talvas is worried that the guards might arrest them

Nixiel: Why are you so nervous? We didn't do anything!

Talvas: You assaulted a Companion!

Nixiel: So . . . ?

Talvas: Well, they could arrest us for disturbing the peace . . .

Nixiel: Out in the middle of nowhere?

Talvas: Yes.

Nixiel: Shut up.

Nixiel and Talvas finally managed to get dinner at the Silver-blood Inn

Nixiel and Talvas argue about staying in Markarth for the night versus going on ahead to Whiterun; at last Talvas agrees to talk to the guys at the stables while she gets supplies together

Talvas gets caught up talking to Cedron at the stables about the Forsworn while Nixiel gathers supplies

Talvas: He said the Forsworn consort with the Daedra, not the Aedra!

Nixiel: Eh, they used to be the same thing, didn't they?

Talvas: To Oblivion if I know.

Nixiel and Talvas manage to get to Windhelm and on to the Northern Maiden in one piece

They arrive in Raven Rock during the earlier hours of the morning and Talvas immediately sets off for the Retching Netch because he needs sujamma

Nixiel: You're going to get smashed? Really? And we still have to go through the ashlands!

Talvas: You just drug me through Oblivion. I need alcohol.

Nixiel: Your pain.

Later that afternoon, Nixiel and a hungover Talvas make it to Tel Mithryn

Nixiel gives the book, Wind and Sand, to Neloth, and Talvas raises an eyebrow at her, wondering if she's going to show him the strange shard

Nixiel winks at him and shakes her head, mouthing, 'later.'

[chartedrights]

black friday,,,,, gold rush au,,,,,,,,,,

Oh my god okay first of all? Your mind

Second of all- worth mentioning on this post-independence day that the California Gold Rush was in fact the impetus for the California Genocide and the displacement of the indigenous Californian population. They didn’t teach us that in fourth grade, but I figured I’d tell you. California has a long and terrible history regarding its treatment of the indigenous people who lived here before us, and I’d recommend googling California Genocide or the Spanish Mission System if you want some increased awareness there.

Frank Pricely stole so much fucking land. He probably started out owning about half of the area and has slowly been selling off plots to people looking for gold. He knows it’s a lost cause looking for gold himself, but who is he to deny people their wishes? He gets their money either way. Doesn’t matter what happens to them afterwards. He scams so many people out of their money by telling them that their patch of land is the best, the finest, the one with the most gold.

Lex and Hannah and Ethan came out from Hatchetfield, running away from home in hopes of striking it rich in the gold fields. The story begins with them making it to California, after a long journey from the other side of the country

Think Trail to Oregon but much less fun

They truly are CaliforMIA this time

Lex has been scoping out Frank’s land for a few days now, secretly, playing the system by checking until she finds a particular patch of land with gold in the water… and buys it from Frank immediately, doing her best not to give away why she wants it.

Linda came out from New York with her husband and her four beautiful blonde boys several years ago, back when it wasn’t even US territory, because Gerald’s debts were hounding them. Linda runs a boarding house for those looking for gold while Gerald searches, fruitlessly, for gold himself. Though their debtors lost track of them somewhere around the Sierras, he’s still afraid. Linda’s just glad he’s not near her all the time.

And then Frank Pricely strikes gold under his own house, on the one plot of land he won’t sell, and everyone starts to wonder. He won’t tell, but people whisper that a man in denim left his house the night before, walked out into the dark and disappeared.

Every man in denim is hounded, begged, for their luck, for their blessing, please sir, please, I have a family, I have debts, I have a girl back home-

But it was no ordinary man Frank made a deal with.

Wiley is a thing that looks like a man until the lantern light hits him just right and his eyes shine like a deer’s, until the moonlight hits his profile just right and his face looks *too* perfect to be human, until he smiles and his teeth are just a little too sharp and a little too shiny. But he’ll grant your wish, alright. He’ll make your dreams come true. You’ll have years aplenty to enjoy your good fortune, your riches and your health and your family. But he’ll be back, when your time is up, and he’ll be smiling then, too, with sharp and shining teeth.

Wiley comes to people and whispers secrets in their ears, invites them to makes deals with him, meets people lingering at the crossroads and leads them down a dark and winding path. He is not a man, and he is not a spirit, and he is not kind.

Linda makes a deal with him, and in return he organizes circumstances so that the 49ers begin to worship her- everyone who does right by her has better luck, does better at cards, eats better, sleeps better, has better luck with the ladies- people notice. It’s a joke, just casually at first, cracks about her being their patron saint, about her being unrealistically beautiful, about how god blessed Miss Linda Monroe (and it’s always Miss, never Misses), and then more and more and more until the whole town seems to be in her grip.

Tom came out to California a year ago, just after Jane died. Tim is back in Hatchetfield with Emma, (who is doing her best to keep him alive as the Apotheosis occurs), and Tom has been looking for gold and catharsis out in the hills. He hasn’t found much, but maybe one day, he tells himself. Maybe one day. Soon. And then Tim can come out to be with him.

Becky has just come West, hoping to help keep the diseases in miners’ camps and towns like these to a minimum, helping anyone she can. Anyone who’ll let her, which sadly isn’t very many people. She’s running, from her husband or his ghost, who can say, but she is most certainly running.

Becky is the first person in three years to challenge Linda’s cult-like rule, and it stirs tensions. Eventually everything comes to a head, and riots begin to break out- some people blame Frank for their misfortune and the lack of gold on their land. He flees the town, leaving Linda the sole “authority” figure.

John makes his way into town like any other ‘49er, and the only reason he and Lex even meet is because she’s come to get her first gold harvest authenticated in town. He admits that he’s come out looking for the man who killed his mentor, that he knows he’s out in the hills somewhere.

Lex wishes him luck, and he hands her a scrap of paper with his name and PEIP’s address. She doesn’t think much of it.

The gold is real, of course, and word soon spreads that somebody is getting all the good luck, that somebody is cheating everyone else of the gold, that somebody is stealing it-

That night, at something which resembles a cult meeting but which is billed as a “party”, Linda points out Lex and Ethan specifically as the people in possession of the lucky land, and later that same night Ethan is murdered by some cultists in pursuit of the deed- for themselves, for Linda, as if the distinction matters.

Hannah has it, though, not Ethan, and she runs deep into the sparse woods, hoping to find Lex.

Tom and Becky take shelter in a half-finished theater, long-deserted. They watch the stars and listen to the screams, the breaking glass, the destruction raging outside. They find solace in each other, something they’d thought they would never have again.

Becky resolves to go out and take care of the wounded, and Tom agrees to help her.

Wilbur finds John first, though. John is notably shaken by the revelation that Wiley didn’t just take Wilbur’s soul, he didn’t just take his life- he stole his face as well. “A handsome face, isn’t it?” Wiley says, admiring it in the reflection off John’s revolver. “Immensely pleasing to the eye.” He catches John’s gaze, and it becomes clear that whatever John was, whoever he is, Wiley is stronger.

John dies. It is horrible. It is loud. Hannah hears it from miles away.

Lex is found by Sherman, who overpowers her. He forces her to call for Hannah, to help him look for her on the plot of land belonging to her and Ethan, but Lex tries to break free.

Wiley is the first person Tom and Becky find, and when they roll his (apparently) broken body onto its back, he grins up at Tom, who freezes. He simply stops, and even as Becky is knocked out and dragged away, Tom is mesmerized. He can’t look away. He can’t even think.

Caught by a few cultists who hadn’t attended the meeting, Hannah is walked into town, deed in hand, and brought to Linda.

There is another struggle, on the banks of the only river where gold has been found. Sherman holds Lex’s head underwater. Her eyes are so wide, open in the stream, and she’s screaming and screaming under the water but nobody hears and she can taste the gold, the dirt, the blood-

And then she can see John, just standing there looking up at her, as if the river was so much deeper, offering his revolver to her. She reaches and reaches and her bloody fingers just brush against it and it’s dry in her hand when she pulls it from the water and levels it at Sherman. She breathes cold air and pulls the trigger.

Tom is about to make a deal with Wiley when she finds him, arm outstretched to shake on it. She begs him not to, tells him that Wiley can’t be trusted, that he’s evil- but Tom just looks at her with glazed-over eyes and says “He can give me my Jane back.”

“She wouldn’t be your Jane,” Lex says, pleading, as Wiley just grins and grins and grins. “She’d be his Jane, and he could take her away again. She’s dead, Mr. Houston. Your wife is dead, and I’m sorry, but this isn’t the way to fix that. You have a son,” she begs. “Please- please, don’t abandon him.”

And Tom looks at the outstretched hand, offering gold and ghosts, and he turns away.

Tom picks up a rifle from one of the fallen cultists and Lex tucks away her revolver, and they fight their way to the Monroe hostel, where Linda is holding court with her cult. Becky is still unconscious, Hannah is in near-hysterics at the loss of the thing her sister and Ethan entrusted her with.

Lex steals back the deed to the land they bought from Frank, and holds it up, strikes a match off the railing and holds it up to the deed. “This is just a piece of fucking paper,” she yells. “It’s just fucking metal! It doesn’t matter!” Linda screams, making a mad rush for Lex just as the match touches the deed. She and Lex struggle for a moment, and the deed flutters, flaming, to the ground.

Awake now, Becky stumbles to her feet, watches people flee the building, sees the discarded rifle where it was knocked from Tom’s hands.

Becky takes the rifle, one shot loaded and no second chances, and she aims it with keen eyes at Linda, where Lex has her pinned to a stalemate. She thinks of the Hippocratic oath, thinks of the words “do no harm,” thinks of all the people who have died today. She shoots.

Linda falls, bleeding, from the balcony, and Wiley disappears into the wind as the camp burns, as the Monroe hostel burns, as the rivers shine with blood and golden fire.

The fire spreads. Lex and Hannah meet Tom and Becky downstairs, make their way outside. California weeps smoke, and the other campers refuse to leave their plots, die standing charred-black skeletons that grin out at the world from their useless, greedy posts.

Becky leans on Tom’s shoulder, his arm around her waist as they stumble home with the girls.

The rest of it can wait until the morning.

[essexcttour]

The area of Essex called Essex Village was originally named Potapoug Point, or Big Point, by the Nahantic tribe. It was laid out as a part of the original Saybrook colony in 1648. It bordered the Connecticut River with two large coves on either side. There were three original families: the Pratts, the Hides, and the Lays. The Lays took the northern parts, the Pratts the middle acres, and the Hides the southern acres. In 1722 the settlers were given the right to form a Congregation Church, which was located in Center-Brooke, the original “social center” of what is now the Town of Essex. Main Street on the "point" was not laid out until 1748, and up to that time only a few people resided here.

By the middle of the 18th century, however, the focus was already moving to Potapoug Point, or Essex Village as we now know it, where shipbuilding was beginning to offer an alternate occupation to farming. The building of the ship “Oliver Cromwell” in 1775/76 by Captain Uriah Hayden could be considered the pivotal change in the local economy. The Oliver Cromwell was the first ship commissioned and financed by the Colony of Connecticut and the largest one launched in the river valley up to that time. The Town of Essex itself was split from Old Saybrook, and was incorporated in 1854, and in 1859, the villages of Centerbrook and Ivoryton were added. Shipbuilding remained a main economic force until the 1870s.

1. The Essex Town Green was originally the site of three homes. The Town Green borders Middle Cove and looks out onto Thatchbed Island.

2. The Gamaliel Conklin House, a center chimney, colonial style home with a steeply pitched roof, was built in 1800. Conklin, along with Jesse Murray, was a supplier of masts, blocks, and gear for the shipbuilding industry. 20 Main Street.

3. Next door is the Jesse Murray house, built in 1805, is in the Federal Style. 22 Main Street.

4. Uriah Hayden House. 24 Main Street. Uriah was the man most responsible for establishing a formal shipbuilding industry in Essex. Meigs Lane was once a pentway. This house was modeled after the new Baptist church, built by Jeremiah Gladding, in the “Egyptian style.” Additions have been added since.

5. 26 Main Street. Cape house on water. 1803.

6. The Noah Pratt house, 28 Main Street. Built in 1805 on land original known as Cornfield point. The house was sold to Uriah Hayden in 1817 and remained in the Hayden family until 1977. It now houses Commercial offices.

7. 30 Main Street, at the corner of Parker Lane, was erected in 1840 for Judge William Phelps. It was later owned by Dr. Charles H. Hubbard (1836-1908), who practiced in Essex for nearly forty-eight years. He also held various town offices and was the executor for the estate of Capt. Isaiah Pratt (1814-1879), who had left money for a new high school. Dr. Hubbard successfully challenged a stipulation in the will that would have limited enrollment to the children of parents who were members of the First Congregational Church. He continued as a trustee and leader of the new school for many years. Hubbard Field in Essex is named for him. The barn in back is newly constructed. Considered Greek Revival.

8. 32 Main Street. 1799. Grover L’Hommedieu (1741-1841) was one of the patriot militiamen who became refugees from Long Island to Connecticut after the Battle of Long Island in 1776 during the Revolutionary War. He settled in Norwich and in 1797 leased land from Samuel Lay in Essex. There he erected the town’s first ropewalk. Around that time he also erected the house at 32 Main Street in Essex. It was later occupied by his son Ezra L’Hommedieu (1772-1860), a ship-carver who invented the double-podded center screw auger, which he patented in 1809. Grover’s daughter Sarah (Sally) married Ebenezer Hayden II, the town’s leading merchant. In 1802, Grover L’Hommedieu sold the ropewalk to his partner, Ebenezer’s son, Jared. In 1815, the L’Hommedieu House was purchased by another member of the Hayden family, John G. Hayden.

9. The L’ Hommedieu Ropewalk. Essex had two ropewalks, in different locations, at different times. L'Hommideau had "lately erected" a frame that was 15' wide by 60 rods (1000') long that ran on the north side of Main Street. This meant it ran from the west side of the current "Glass Basket" building to where Essex Square is today. There was a 20' wide "store" at the west end of this ropewalk, and the land rent was 4 pounds per year. Main Street followed a different path at that time, being located roughly halfway between current Main and Pratt Streets, and there was no Essex Square or North Main Street then. Grover was allowed to have a "copper"(large tar kettle) and a capstan for winding rope on the north side of this structure, although these were on Lay property. This "frame" was said to be "open," indicating it probably had a roof, but no sidewalls. Consequently, it was probably operated on a seasonal basis. It was torn down in 1814.

10. The Griswold Inn, oldest continuously operating Inn in America is at at 36 Main Street. The Griswold Inn is the most famous landmark building in Essex. A sign at the Inn states that the Griswold House was built by Sala Griswold in 1776. It originally stood near the shipyard and was moved to its current location on Main Street to become part of the house constructed by Richard Hayden in 1801. Hayden’s house was the first three-story building in the lower Connecticut River Valley. Around the same time, Richard’s two brothers, John G. and Amasa Hayden, built houses on either side (they are now part of the Griswold Inn complex, the Amasa Hayden House being the Inn’s annex). Hayden sold his house to Ethan Bushnell in 1806, moving to a new brick house nearby. Ethan Bushnell turned his home into a tavern. A former schoolhouse on the property, built in 1738, was attached to the house, possibly to serve as a kitchen (it is now the taproom). After the Burning of the ships in 1812, it notoriously served and housed British soldiers. The Tavern was inherited by Bushnell’s children in 1849 and passed through a variety of owners over the years, probably acquiring the name Griswold House during the period it was owned by Emory Morse of Wallingford in the 1870s and 1880.

The Griswold Inn starred in Halmark’s “Christmas at Pemberley Manor” movie. And had a role in the 70’s Dark Shadows series as the Collinsport Inn. Owned by only six families. Currently owned by Geoff Paul, who lives in Champlin Square.

12. Richard Hayden house/ Hayden rectory. 1806. Richard Hayden, an Essex shipbuilder and merchant, built the first brick house in town in 1806. He had earlier lived in the house which is now the Griswold Inn. Hayden was head of the Hayden Shipyard and he built a ship’s chandlery in 1813, which was later moved across Main Street. During the War of 1812, he built a privateer schooner, the Black Prince, which he advertised in New York. This was one of the causes of the British Raid on Essex in 1814, which led to serious financial losses for Hayden, who died two years later. His widow and children remained in the Federal-style house until 1833, when Richard Hayden’s cousin, Samuel Hayden, bought the house. In 1894, Samuel’s daughter, Mary Tucker, left the house and furniture to St. John’s Episcopal Parish and was the church’s rectory until 2013.

13. Noah Tooker house. 1728. At corner of Novelty Lane. May have faced the river, then turned when the rectory was built. Several other houses in Essex were built to face the river and remain so sited today.

14. The Ebenezer Hayden II (the first Ebenezer Hayden was a brother who was born earlier but had died) probably built his Georgian and Federal style house, located on Main Street in Essex, in stages in the late 1790s. The doorway, featuring a semi-circular fanlight window, may have been added around 1800. The Hayden House was the first home in the lower Connecticut River Valley to have a hipped roof, which may have been constructed by the noted builder Thomas Hayden of Windsor and shipped down the river in sections to be placed on the building. The Ebenezer Hayden House is the third home up from the river and one of many homes built by members of the Hayden family in the vicinity of the Hayden Shipyard. Ebenezer II married Sarah, the daughter of Grover L’Hommideau, who had created the town’s first ropewalk.

15. Foot of Main, the Hayden-Starkey Store, at 48 Main Street in Essex, was only the second brick building in town when it was built in 1809. A warehouse and ships store, or chandlery, it was constructed by Samuel and Ebenezer Hayden, sons of Capt. Uriah Hayden, and was situated between their two residences. Their cousin, Richard Hayden, had recently built his house, Essex’s first brick building, nearby. Timothy Starkey, Jr., the Hayden brothers’ brother-in-law, became their partner in 1810. It is said that the British destroyed ropewalk and took merchandise from this store during their raid on Essex in 1814. Remaining in the Hayden family for many years, the building became a residence in 1856.

16. Uriah and Ann’s Inn. Now the Dauntless Boat Club. Built in 1776, this important structure was the homestead and tavern of shipbuilder Uriah and Ann Hayden. The Oliver Cromwell ship was built in his shipyard to the south of the house in 1776. The front yard has been filled in. To the southeast on Middle cove shore, where the Essex Corinthian Yacht club, Essex Yacht club, and Novelty Lane now stand, was the location of the Old Shoddy Mill, a wood turning factory which burned down in 1900. It was once owned by Thomas Dickinson, who went on to found the Witch Hazel factory.

17. Dickinson Boathouse, built by E.E. Dickinson of Witch hazel factory fame in the 1920’s. It replaced a West Indies warehouse that was built in 1753 and torn down in 1918. The building is now in privately owned.

18. Burning of the ships. The embargo that President Thomas Jefferson passed, followed by the British blockade of the Connecticut River during the War of 1812, impacted the shipbuilding industry of the town. The leading boat builders were converting their merchant ships into privateers in the hope of bringing home some of the spoils of war, but this act backfired. On the morning of April 8, 1814, 137 British marines and sailors, under the command of Captain Richard Coote, raided Potapoug Point and destroyed 28 ships with a value of $200,000. Of which, $60,000 was lost by the Haydens. The disaster, one of the few invasions and occupation of US. soil by a foreign power, is celebrated almost every year in Essex with a parade. It was, after all, the greatest financial loss suffered by the American side during the War of 1812.  Why was there no real resistance by the Potapaug Militia, either during the initial attack, or during the British retreat?  The head of this force lived in a home on the lefthand side of Main Street, close to the shore. There is strong suspicion that he agreed not to oppose the raiding force, in return for their promise not to harm homes or residents. Recently uncovered minutes of the local Masonic Lodge add greatly to this speculation for George Jewett, the Militia commander, was also Master of the Lodge.  Captain Richard Coote, the person in command of the British, who had apparently spared the ships of one Judea Pratt of New City Street, due to Masonic influence, could undoubtedly have "cut a similar deal" with fellow Freemason Jewett.

One immediate result of the raid was the demise of the old 1797 ropewalk, and a new larger one built 200 feet to the north. This change set for current street layout and appearance of Essex. Up until then, most commercial activity in Essex Village had centered in Champlin Square, with the Pratt Smithy and Ebenezar Hayden Store.

[lastpic21]

Monk as Midwife

We are going on a walk with one of the monks and his monastery shepherd, a daily, routine occurrence here that now has special significance. It is the fifty-ninth day of Anka’s pregnancy. On this crystal clear March afternoon, the sun lights up the ordinarily dark woods surrounding the monastery. Anka has been restless all day. Taking her into the woods for a brief walk provides a promise of marvels to come, the first link in an intricate chain of events leading up to her labor. Now nature conspires to display signs hinting that gestation is nearing full term. It is important for the monk to notice these, for although the average span of gestation is sixty-three days, it is not unusual for a shepherd to begin labor as early as the fifty-eighth day after her first breeding. Throughout this time, Anka’s body has been talking to her in new and different ways, and on this walk, its natural eloquence becomes an open invitation for us to witness the first promptings of new life.

As she runs along the trail, her swollen abdomen gently sways from side to side, and her wagging tail allows us a glimpse of an overly enlarged vulva. From a few feet ahead of us on the path, she repeatedly looks back as if for reassurance, carefully avoiding the remnant patches of snow that have not yet thawed. The woods are as restless as Anka. The wind sweeps through the trees, gently ushering her back and forth along the trail. Her quick, clipped panting is absorbed in the quiet commotion. Even the trees sense something is up.

Usually on such walks Anka is beside herself with curiosity. From the time she leaves with her monk-guardian, she immerses herself in a feast of scents, darting from moss-covered tree stumps to low-lying wild junipers to old stone hedgerows, through which heaven knows how many animals of the woods have passed. She stops frequently to listen, then quietly moves forward and glides over the leaves that cover the path, occasionally startling a group of pheasants or wild turkeys, which then take to the air in a blaze of chaos. With intense delight she pursues, leaping in short bursts of energy.

Nevertheless, at the voice of her guardian, she quickly gives up the chase. This comes from plenty of training and a quality of bonding thatoverrides her prey instinct. A simple utterance of her name draws her back to the trail, and she is soon preoccupied with wrestling a stick from a dead tree, eagerly providing herself with something to play with for the remainder of the walk.

Today, however, is different.

Anka seems to be lost in herself in a very unusual way. Today, she lacks any of the casual playfulness so naturally present on ordinary walks. She displays impatience, constant circular pacing, rounded eyes, and a nervous, panting tongue. She stops only to mark, a frequent need now that there is constant uterine pressure on her bladder. As she reaches a spring-fed pond, she pauses momentarily to drink and then is off again, glancing quickly at the small shrubs that line the path.

Suddenly bolting ahead, she disappears around a group of pines. As we near the trees, we hear frantic pawing beneath a large, low-hanging evergreen. The branches move slightly, and dead leaves, pine needles, and dirt come flying out from beneath the tree, where Anka is improvising a nest. In her instinctively maternal way, she is preparing a natural den, a kind of cave. What makes this behavior remarkable is that none of it has been taught. Anka is a maiden bitch, only two years of age the week before. She is simply responding to a deep, instinctual knowing.

Were this den in the wild, it would have been more carefully planned. In studies of wolves, researchers have often found excavated dens in elevated areas such as cut banks or vacated caves—sites that provide a clear frontal view of the surrounding area. In fact, it is not uncommon for wolves to remodel vacant fox dens or even abandoned beaver lodges. The preferred soil is dry and sandy. Most dens are located near rivers, lakes, springs, or other sources of water, owing to the mother’s constant need for hydration. Usually the entrance hole is one to two feet in diameter and linked to an inner chamber by an upwardly sloping tunnel, up to ten feet in length. Often the female wolf will stay close to the site a full three weeks before she is due.

All of this is evoked by Anka’s digging.

As we pause to observe her for some time, she finally settles comfortably on her side inwhat is now a smooth, slightly depressed circle. Barely visible from where we stand, she peeks out from beneath the branches. Her look, alert and expectant, indicates that she is rather pleased with herself. It is clear, however, that all of this is merely preliminary, for there have been no uterine contractions, no intense licking of the vaginal folds, no rapid lowering of her body temperature—the sure signs of the onset of labor. Nonetheless, it is obvious that the process is moving irrevocably toward the final stages of gestation and birth. Just before the walk, her temperature had fallen to 100.5°F, a sign that labor is still a little while away. At the beginning of labor, her body temperature will drop at least another full degree, to between 98 and 99.5, though the temperature can fluctuate up and down several days prior to the actual birth. Still, paying attention to Anka’s state of mind gives us solid clues that labor is near. We can see that she is aware of the mystery that is occurring within her. Responding to all sorts of natural cues, Anka is consenting to it, allowing it to culminate in its own time. Now she is ready to go back to the puppy kennel.

Here at New Skete, we have reserved a separate building for the whelping and raising of litters. There are six individual whelping rooms—this helps us to maintain a controlled environment that is clean, dry, and protected. Over the past week, Anka has been left for short periods each day in her ten-foot-square whelping room, allowing her to become familiar and relaxed within it. It is important that she feel at ease and secure in the room, enabling her to focus entirely on the whelping. At New Skete, we use a plastic wading pool for the nest because it is durable and easy to clean, and has high sides that keep the pups safely confined.

Returning from the walk, Anka drinks more water and then climbs into the whelping nest and relaxes atop several layers of newspaper. Panting heavily and stretching out so that her abdomen is exposed, she manages to rest for a time. Then we offer her a bowl of food.

Ordinarily, from twelve to twenty-four hours prior to whelping, dogs are not inclined to eat. Anka, however, has never been known to spurn a meal, even early on in pregnancy when this would have been expected. She still has a voracious appetite and gulps down the food without hesitation.

[fadingcoast]

Death Of The Lie  ||  Chapter 27: Jotunheim

AUTHORS: @fandom-and-feminism & @fadingcoast

Summary: Odin and his daughter Hela are the perfect conquerors of the universe. The nine realms fall one after the other into their clutch. After Odin takes a second wife and has a son with her, he doesn’t need Hela anymore. Hela abandons her father and ends up marrying Laufey, a sworn enemy of the Aesir people. Not long after, she becomes pregnant with Laufey’s child. Odin cannot let that son be born, but against all odds, the boy survives. Odin is forced to bring him back to Asgard to be raised as his own until he could make further use of him. The half-Jotun-half-Aesir boy grows up to look and act a lot like his mother, which disturbs Odin, and makes him treat the boy horribly. Odin’s lies are deep and complex, but one day the boy will find out the truth about everything he is.

PAIRING: Multi RATING: Teen

MASTERLIST

Feedback is always appreciated and reblogs are encouraged!!

.-

Chapter 27: Jotunheim

With the first light of dawn came a renewed sense of purpose for Loki. He hadn’t slept a wink but he found himself buzzing with energy, and when he ventured out to the lush castle grounds he saw Hela gazing up at the sunrise. He wondered if she, too, had stayed up all night thinking about their next move.

A slight breeze brushed Hela’s hair across her gaunt shoulders, carrying the scent of honeysuckle and the nearby river, and when she turned her head toward Loki she was smiling. After a moment her smile faded, however, and a somber mood settled over the garden. It was then that Loki sensed her restless energy, and he could tell she was itching to do something, and whatever it was wasn’t going to be easy.

“You must know as well as I do that Asgard isn’t going to just hand me the throne,” Hela said, rubbing her hands together as she began to pace. “Mages or not, the Alfar are outnumbered. I will not lead them into slaughter.”

Loki had had the same thought the night before. As grateful as he was to have Sigyn and Freyr’s support, their army was no match in numbers to Asgard’s. “I’m glad you agree,” he confessed.  “I take it you have another plan?”

Conflicted thoughts warred in Hela’s dark eyes. Determined as she was, something was still holding her back, fear or apprehension or perhaps regret. Slowly she nodded her head. “I do.”

“Am I allowed to know this plan, or am I to follow blindly?” Loki didn’t intend to come across so harshly, but every second passed meant another opportunity wasted, and it wouldn’t be long before the King and Princess would wake. 

Hela looked toward the sky once more, the sun’s rays casting her pale face in a warm light that almost seemed to turn her cheeks pink. For a moment Loki regretted his words; after all he had been through his tongue was often sharp enough to hurt others when he wasn’t careful, and though he barely knew her, she was his mother.

Almost if he hadn’t spoken at all, Hela continued. “We must return to Asgard. Odin’s Vault. There’s an army beneath its floors, long buried, waiting for someone to give them life. With them I - we - can secure the palace. But we can’t just walk in and do what we like. My power is somewhat weakened outside of Asgard, and you can teleport. What is the closest you can get us to the Vault?”

“My- my chambers,” Loki said, slightly stunned. Doubt crept in his mind but there was no time to give in to it. “They have been sealed with a spell since-” The memory choked him, so he moved on. “It will be safe to teleport there.”

“This is the only way,” Hela assured him. “The only way to right all the wrongs, to make up for the sins of the Allfather. You can stop running. We can stop running.”

Loki turned to look at the castle that had once been his home. Yet again he had to leave, to fight that part of him that longed to stay. And now he had reason to doubt that, once all was said and done, he would even be welcomed back. When he turned toward her again Hela had her long arm outstretched to him, waiting for his hand. With a final nod he placed his hand in hers, and in a flash of green, they left Alfheim behind.

.-

Loki had spent so much of his life traveling these halls without being seen that he could venture through them now with little effort, even with Hela in tow. It wasn’t an easy feat, as they could barely fit through some of his hiding places, but it took them straight to the vaults unnoticed by the several Einherjar that patrolled the corridors. As soon as they were inside the Vault, Loki sealed the room with a spell.

Hela looked around and couldn’t help but smirk dryly at the garish displays of brute force, left largely untouched over the centuries. War trophies from Odin’s reign - some from even before she was born - sat proudly on pedestals all over the room like they were altars to a past that should be revered. Imagining the lies he must have sold to the people about how he won these stolen goods felt like someone had spat in her face.

Loki stood to the side of the center pathway, watching his mother closely as she examined some of the newer items she hadn’t seen before, such as the Warlock’s Eye which had been acquired by Thor and his lackeys many years ago. He wondered what was going through her head, the complicated rush of emotions she was doubtlessly experiencing seeing the fruits of her father’s tyranny again as if no time had passed. A knot formed in his stomach as he remembered that he was one of them. 

Hela walked resolutely to the end of the corridor and knelt to the floor, pressing her fingertips to a decorative stone circle just before the gate where the Destroyer used to be kept. She murmured a brief spell and the stones fell away, revealing a massive dark cavern beneath the floor. Loki swore in surprise and ran closer as Hela stood back up and went over to the pedestal that held the Eternal Flame. With no hesitation she placed her hand in the fire and pulled it back out unharmed, with a small piece of the Flame flickering in her palm. 

The bright flame lit up the crypt below just enough for Loki to see. The floor at the bottom was covered with hundreds of rows of long-dead soldiers in their place of honor, skeletons still in their armor, all with their heads facing the empty space in the middle where the King’s insignia was carved into the floor.

A battalion waiting for their King’s command.

Once again Hela knelt, gently placing her palm - and the Flame - to the edge of the circle at their feet.

“Ennösta.”

The entire crypt lit up, glowing dark orange, as the flames spread through the cracks. Loki was unsure what to expect, so he took a few steps away from the circle. Hela rose to her feet and waited patiently, the sound of voices growing louder by the second. At last, one ghoul rose from the crypt and stood tall and proud in front of Hela, silently waiting for her command.

Loki didn’t dare move as he observed the creature.

The ghost was surrounded by a green eerie light, the same that glowed brightly in his eyes. His body seemed transparent, but not quite. As it moved, sometimes you could see flesh, and in other places bones showed through. Loki could recognize what he was wearing as Asgardian armor, but not the one he remembered seeing his whole life. The winged helmet reminded him of Odin’s, but the knots and swirls and symbols that covered the rest of the armor were entirely unfamiliar.

This was old. Likely older than Odin himself. Did Odin even know this was here?

Hela crossed her wrists in an ancient Aesir greeting. “You know my blood, Hersir. I am your Queen. Asgard is threatened. Take your men and secure the castle. Kill none that are unarmed.”

The ghoul nodded once and marched toward the Vault door. Hundreds of soldiers rose from the crypt and followed him in a perfect line, their feet making no sound as they went. Loki didn’t even have to lift his spell on the door - they simply went through it. Hela watched proudly as each one passed and sighed with relief.

Loki tore his eyes away from the risen army and he saw the Casket Of Ancient Winters. Guilt swelled in his chest. He killed their king, he tried to destroy their planet. If he could only do one thing to repair the damage…

“I have to take it back.”

Hela followed Loki’s gaze and frowned. “How, exactly, are we going to do that? I believe your teleportation won’t work all the way to Jotunheim.”

Loki was surprised at noticing Hela’s choice of words. But he didn’t have time to ask. A plan formulated in his head, and a smile spread across his face.

“We’re going to steal a ship.”

.-

With the castle secured by the army of the dead, Loki and Hela had little trouble sneaking to the hangar and stealing one of the skiffs. Loki had discovered several ways in and out of Asgard when he was a teenager, and remembered with shame and regret the first time he used the one leading to Jotunheim, not even imagining how his life would be completely torn to pieces by his actions.

It was a stupid joke!

They rode the small ship through a path in the forests around the castle to a portal in the side of a mountain, and with a flash of white, they landed on Jotunheim. It was nearing dusk, in the middle of a fierce snow storm, but Loki tried not to draw attention to the fact that he didn’t need to bundle up like Hela did.

Hela sighed deeply and clutched her cloak to her chest. “It’s worse than I thought,” she muttered.

Loki said nothing. He remembered Hela telling him Jotunheim was dying, and had been dying for over a millenia already. It was hard to imagine how the planet could ever have been any different to the frozen wasteland that laid before them.

Looking around, Hela tried to recognize the landscape, searching for a glimpse of anything familiar. It was difficult to see through the blinding winds, but she looked up at the sky and told Loki they would need to head in the direction of the setting sun. Not wanting to alert anyone of their presence, they decided to abandon the skiff and go on foot.

“Princess Sigyn, then,” Hela said out of the blue only a few minutes later, with a smirk Loki didn’t see.

Loki couldn’t help but blush all the way down his neck. Small talk, we are doing small talk. He took a moment to decide how to answer her. None of the options he thought of was a short way to explain.

“My inherited powers were out of control when I was a kid,” Loki began. “Frigga thought it was best for me to learn Seidr, and control it. She said--” He sighed. “She said so many things…” He decided to leave out the bullying, the years of self harm and wanting to end it all, just to make the pain stop. It didn’t exactly make for pleasant conversation. “They sent me to the sanctum in Alfheim, to train and learn how to harness the power of my magic. I stayed with King Freyr and the Princess, and I suppose we became rather close.”

Loki couldn’t exactly pinpoint why it was so easy to tell Hela everything, even things he hadn’t shared with anyone else. The more he said, the more he wanted to keep talking. He told her about Erik, and Gwyn, and how Sigyn became more to him than just a friend. Freyr’s offer to let Sigyn marry him. The pain he experienced having to come back to Asgard indefinitely, forced to fall into his royal duties and once again become second best to Thor. He confessed his original plan to thwart and postpone Thor’s coronation, and how it led to the discovery of his true identity, or at least part of it.

Hela listened to him in silence, somehow enjoying Loki’s recounts, and hurt for having missed it. Every day during her pregnancy she had imagined what his life would have been like, dreamed of watching him grow into a strong Jotun prince, away from the corrupt influence of Odin’s tyranny and his endless obsession with becoming the fiercest Allfather the nine realms had ever seen. Instead Loki was raised as an unwanted son, learned to hate himself from a young age because he was different. Though she had been the one to take Odin’s last breath, it still would never make up for what he did to her son.

The crumbling ruins of the Jotnar Temple were clearer and closer now. The blizzard had slowed down, and the fresh snow piled up against the walls. Loki and Hela looked around, trying to catch any signs of movement, but there was none. No soldiers, no guards. The temple was empty and void of life.

Hela’s footsteps made no sound on the fallen snow as she entered the foyer. She looked up, noticing the massive hole in the ceiling and the crumbling columns that barely still held up the whole structure. She realized the only reason the temple was still standing was the rock being frozen solid to the ground.

Loki moved as quietly as possible as he followed Hela. The tiniest flutter of recognition hovered at the far reaches of his mind, but he couldn’t place it yet. Hela walked solemnly to the middle of the temple, where the altar stood. She knelt behind it and pushed on the huge flagstone. The concealed door opened to a small dark space.

“This is where I sent you, after you were born, when Odin came for me. I had hoped you would be safe, protected by the Casket.” She paused, taking a deep breath. “I was wrong.”

At her words, a flashback of a dream, or a dream within a dream, came over Loki. An image of a dark room and a bright blue light. He never knew what it meant, or why it was so ingrained in his brain. Now, it made sense.

Without a word, he summoned the Casket in his hands. As the cold spread his skin turned blue, with distinct markings on his hands and forearms.

Hela replaced the flagstone altar, and Loki lowered the casket and placed it inside, locking it to the rectangular space where it belonged. The casket emitted a brighter, bluer light that seemed to spread through the frozen foundations of the temple. Somehow, it knew it had come home. Hela let out a sigh of relief and stood up, smiling at Loki as she took in his blue skin and red eyes.

“There you are,” she said quietly, folding her hands together. “That’s how you looked the last time I saw you. You take after your father.”

A small measure of heat rising in his cheeks, Loki looked away, back at the Casket. He had so many questions about that night, but he wasn’t sure where to begin, and the emotional weight of letting someone see him like this was too much at once. “So,” he changed the subject, “what happened after that?”

Hela’s expression darkened. “I would realize too late that Odin would come here to steal the Casket. Once he found it, he found you.”

“Why didn’t he kill me?” Loki muttered, staring at his hands as they came back to their regular color.

“The old fool could never.” Hela half smiled. “Just as he didn’t kill me, he wasn’t going to murder his own lineage. He was too proud to spill a drop of his blood. It doesn’t matter if you were-”

“-A mistake.”

“You were not a mistake.” Hela turned and gave Loki a hard glare. “Listen to me, you were not a mistake. Never. You were conceived by love, and loved from the very moment we knew you existed.”

Loki felt a tightness in his throat. Love. The one and only thing that he craved to get from his family. But instead he got lies and rejection. He clenched his fists. Yet another thing that was stolen from me.

Hela sighed deeply. “I spent a thousand years going over everything,” she explained. “Trying to figure out how to escape. What I could have done differently to make it work. I regret many things that I did and many more that I didn’t. The one thing I never regretted was you.”

Loki stared blankly, not quite sure how to process that. Hela shook her head and looked down.

“I know I’m asking for something seemingly impossible,” she continued. “If it were up to me I would erase everything Odin ever told you, everything he ever did to you. But I can’t.” As much as Hela tried to hide it, Loki could see how much it pained her. “All I can give you is the truth. I have no reasons to lie to you.”

That’s so much more than anything anyone in my family ever did for me.

A distant rumble distracted them, and the ground began to shake.

“The Jotuns have noticed us,” Hela said, and ran to the archway. “They will be here soon. We must go.”

Loki took her hand and they fled the temple to a safe distance, where the magic from the Casket didn’t interfere with his own. Before the Frost Giants could find them, he teleported them together back to his chambers in the palace.

.-

<< Chapter 26  –  Chapter 28 >>

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[charlettebffxiv]

Prompt #9: Lush

There’s a series of great murals inside the village library, set on a wall furthest from the entrance to the tall, stone building. Charlette had spent countless days when she was little more than twelve winters into her life staring at them, sitting between tall piles of books she had pulled from the rows that filled the building. It helped her imagine the places she was reading about, letting her dream-up the parts of Eorzea from where the legends she would lose herself in took place, parts she had never seen. Each painting was massive, taking up the entire length of one of the three walls that made the observatory which protruded from the rear-end of the library, creating a neat little alcove for readers. Thanalan on the western wall, La Noscea on the eastern and The Black Shroud between them toward the south.

Each one depicted their nation's landscapes in the most dramatic fashion. Thanalan was mostly barren with sparse, dry looking trees dotting a landscape of red sand and stone. Tall rock formations stood like pillars across the horizon, cut by wind and rain and layered with the history of those that had walked their surfaces ages past. The dried skull of a chocobo sat atop a rock, cacti standing tall around it. And far in the distance you could make out the tall towers and great walls of Ul’dah, shining in the swirls of dust. Just looking at it made her want to lick her lips, dry as they would be, and reach for a glass of water she wouldn’t dare have near so many books. It was the perfect setting for the stories she had collected of the roving merchants traveling long distances and fighting off bandits and beastmen alike to reach the vast, rich city that sat at the center of it all. Sometimes the stories were told from the perspective of said bandits, each one almost as heroic as they were cunning, despite their criminal occupation. Sometimes it spoke of the grand palace and the intrigue within between royalty, wealthy merchants and cunning syndicates. Stories of Paladins heroically protecting their charge or brilliant princesses outwitting their devious and greedy competitors within the gilded halls of Ul’dah’s elite were Charlette’s favourite. She had dreamed of herself one day gracing those halls, of wearing fine silken dresses and fencing with words and wit among the best the city had to offer. Or of donning the armour of a Paladin and finding her match in one of those cunning bandits, sometimes even entertaining a romance between sworn enemies who equaled each other in more ways than martial prowess.

La Noscea’s mural was a grand view of the ocean from the white cliffs it was famous for. The soft greenery that lay atop it swaying in a gust of what must be salty ocean wind. The ocean itself stretched onward to the horizon, the great pirate city of Limsa Lominsa stark against the blue sky, far away enough to seem tiny but still standing tall on the bluffs that rose from the water itself. All manner of boats sailed across the infinite blue from great galleons to small fishing boats and even rafts a few too many people aboard them. All of them making their way to or from the nautical center of the sea. Flocks of seagulls fluttered, dark against the bright sun, and a looming shadow pierced the surface of the water with a spiked fin, some manner of leviathan that lurked below the waters. Each tale from these lands concerned itself with life on or near the sea. Of daring pirates conducting raids on the open ocean, the terrors of the high-seas, and the brave captains that dueled with them for the right to pass toward riches in lands far away. Of coastal villages that weathered great storms, pirate raids and hunted the terrifying beasts beneath the waves. And of course legends that spoke of these hunters and fisherman that vowed to best the most horrifying monstrosities that made sport of swimmer and galleon alike. Charlette had dreamed of seeing the ocean for the first time, of what it might smell like, look like and all the sensations of being immersed in more water than she had ever seen. She imagined the apprehension of being surrounded by pirates in a city run by literal criminals. A naive Gridanian wandering among the cutthroat and hardened people of the sea. Would she captain a ship? Be captured by pirates? Or find herself shipwrecked and forced to integrate into an isolated island community with their own unique and fascinating way of life? The romance and adventure of life on the water felt endless to her then. Finally, The Black Shroud, home of Gridania, Willow’s Heart and her; Charlette Bellamy. Tall oaks filled the frame from one end to the other, the closest towering as tall as the bluffs of Thanalan, and the furthest forming a green sea that stretched as far as La Noscea’s ocean. The forest floor was teeming with life, a mother boar and several of her piglets grazed in a corner, unaware of the coeurl that stalked them from atop a fallen tree, it’s own cubs watching their mother hunt. Opo-opo lounged in the branches of a tree, one pulling the tail of another that had its mouth open in a shriek, several birds fluttering from the canopy above having been spooked by the beastkins mischief. A morbol sat in a pond, only it’s massive mouth and its many rows of teeth visible above the water, a gigantoad lounging beside it. Beastkin, seedkin, wavekin and others were represented in small ways across the mural and in the center, as if a tunnel had been made by the trees, you could see wooden houses. Built in among the trunks and trees, over the rivers and around the moss-covered boulders was Gridania. Unlike the other two cities, this one did not cut a stark contrast against the landscape around it, but more it looked to be a piece of the lush forest itself. The only people that could be seen were a Woodwailer, a Botanist and an Archer walking down the path leading to the city itself, all of them distinguishable by the spear, ax and bow on their backs. Although, if someone were to look closer at the edges of the forest and between the trees, they would see a black-skinned keeper with silver hair watching the walkers to the east from her perch upon a branch. Charlette had no need to imagine herself here in any heroic capacity, as this was home and her reality in this place was all too clear. This is where she was herself, the hopeful student of the Archives and maybe one day an adventurer that would see the rest of the world. There was no need for adventure, for her to be a powerful noble or join one of the roving bands of her people in the forest. In truth the only thing Charlette had wished for was to be shed of her Duskwight lineage’s past, that she might feel just a little more confident in her chances with the Order of the Twin Adder or the adventurer’s guild. Now, however, she stood by these murals as a grown woman, one that had seen all of these places and even further beyond. And her wonder was embittered. Each of the murals missed something true about all these places. Something she had encountered in spades and was wholly unprepared for. The cruelty that built each one, the desperation that they all wrought in their own people. How noble begets bandit, pirate begets Warlord, Woodwailer begets brigand. She understood a little better now, just how much horror was needed for a legend to be born, and she no longer wished to be worthy of that. Now she wished to cure the need for it, and she would start here at home. Gods-willing, she would find a way.

[poor-wifi-uwu]

Veil ch4

Worlds apart. Days apart. Inches apart. They finally meet.

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22680382/chapters/54916576

The night was quiet, filled with only the gentle rustling of the trees and soothing sound of running water as he walked along a river in a mockery of a relaxing stroll.

3 hours.

It took 3 fucking hours to get out of Yunmeng’s capital. With a horse and properly cleared street it should have only taken him what, 20 minutes at full speed? He should’ve reached the next large town by now!

Instead, here he is, walking along a river next to the road hoping to catch a glimpse of even a small village in the distance.

It was common knowledge not to travel alone at night in the wilderness, but he has literally no other option. It won’t take long for his family to learn of his escape and they’ll send their fastest riders after him as soon as they realize. Running so close to the main road is not the best way to avoid notice, but no matter what, his highest priority was to put as much distance between himself and Lotus Pier as possible.

The fastest way to Gusu is using the main road built in the past for easy trade between their nations. The road had been built for speed with a smooth road to protect delicate cargo on along the journey, and being so profitable both nations had gone out of their way to construct through natural obstacles. Yunmeng is known for its many rivers and lakes, and as a pretty much straight line the road has many bridges built to avoid unnecessary detours. One of the lakes is so huge that it would require a boat or add days to a journey to get around. He’ll have to cross that bridge.

For ease of travel, the road was built along a major river running through Yunmeng, only breaking off to keep its straight trajectory when faced with a bend in the river. The river bank was fairly hidden and free of obstacles that stumble one’s footing, especially for a Lotus Pier child, so it was a good way for Wei Wuxian to avoid a lot of eyes.

Thankfully, with his speed and endurance Wei Wuxian was able to reach quite a distance by the time dawn broke. His body could keep going if it really had to, but after running all night it wouldn’t do him any good to strain himself now and leave him vulnerable later on. Although he’d finally passed a couple of villages along the way, they were either small and difficult to hide in or were trading posts littered with guards. It was best to just get as far as he could and find some hidden alcove to rest.

God, it’s like he’s a fugitive in his own country.

It wasn’t that difficult to find a spot to sleep in. The thing about using unconventional tactics when you are vastly outnumbered is you gain a very deep understanding of terrain. He’s had to hide entire battalions within shouting distance while close enough to see the enemy camp. This was a cake walk.

Wei Wuxian had a very fitful sleep. Despite his confidence in his camouflage skill, the best riders Yunmeng has to offer were all trained by him, so he knew their ability to hunt. Every snapping twig, gust of wind, footstep on the road snapped him to attention. He couldn’t count the time he actually spent asleep, and he didn’t want to. At least Wei Wuxian got to rest his body after that little marathon last night. 

He continued to rest until evening when most sentries would begin returning to their posts with the dimming light. He would’ve gone earlier but with the declaration of winter coming so early many unaware people were still rushing to complete their business before the weather would no longer permit it, leaving the road packed with possible witnesses.

Wei Wuxian hadn’t seen any royal troops yet, likely thanks to his circle’s stalling. He doesn’t know how long they can keep it up, but he’s grateful for whatever buffer they can buy him. In a way, the Jiangs’ total lockdown of the city actually bought him time since Wen Qing has a pretty good justification for why there’s no way he left the palace. The compasses he left with Suibian must also be throwing his siblings off. One of the ways they would always check if he snuck out to goof off is by walking around the outer edge of Lotud Pier. If the red tip kept pointing at Lotus Pier, then he was home since he never went anywhere without his compass set. He suspected that Madam Yu would be the one to figure it out, and it’s not like his siblings would defend that he must be on Lotus Pier considering their reactions to his decision.

Wei Wuxian checked that the compasses faced the proper directions before setting off on another marathon run.

The marathon run was a bad idea.

While yes, he did need to make that distance, and yes, he is trained to get the most out of his legs, it doesn’t negate the fact that running for 8 hours straight two nights in a row without proper sleep would lead to a bone-deep exhaustion that had Wei Wuxian’s eyes slipping closed. He’ll have to take it easy from now on.

Finding a good hiding spot, Wei Wuxian flopped down with a stifled groan. God his legs were really starting to feel that burn. Wei Wuxian ruffled through his pack for his medicine bag, before remembering he didn’t pack one. There was no way Wen Qing would let him go anywhere without one, but Wei Wuxian also didn’t remember seeing anyone else place it in. He kept rummaging, his curiosity overpowering the searing pain running through his thighs. When he finally found it with a small cheer, Wei Wuxian froze before slumping against the tree trunk with a wobbly smile.

Wen Qing takes her medicine seriously. Very, very, very seriously. Although she was a special breed of hardass, her family took no less pride in their work. Each member of Wen Qing’s branch clan would receive a special embroidered sachet to carry their medicine within. It was unique to their family and each person only got one. Wei Wuxian held the bag against his heart.

This one had his name on it.

Wei Wuxian looked up at the rising sun. It’s golden radiance shined brilliantly over the forest, revealing the canopy of trees as if laying a blanket of light. The pouch seemed to radiate heat as it warmed his heart where they touched. Wei Wuxian took a deep breath as his shoulders relaxing, willing himself to stay awake through his newfound comfort.

A raindrop hit his nose.

Wei Wuxian looked up again and saw clouds quickly overrunning the sun, the once bright morning overcast beneath heavy clouds. He looked dully where the sun used to shine for a few more moments before calmly crawling inside the tree trunk.

He had medicine to put on.

Lan Wangji looked outside his window as a harsh gust of wind rocked the shutters of his hotel room. The white skies of a Gusu autumn have begun growing dark with the promise of a coming storm. 

The emperor hoped the pavilion’s foundation would be finished in time.

It had been a new feeling, speeding through the nation with his face on full display with no one recognizing him. Although still dressed with the regal travel robes of the Cloud Recesses, his presence did not bring the populace to their knees in silent awe as his headdress would have. It felt strange to be somewhat invisible, like he was seeing a new side of the world that would normally be on its best behavior before him. 

In some ways it was… liberating.

The emperor hoped he could lower Wei Ying’s guard the same way.

Lan Wangji had ridden almost nonstop from the moment he left the Cloud Recesses until it grew too dark to continue safely. He had reached quite a distance, though not far enough to be satisfied. Having calculated the quickest path to Gusu on horseback before he left, Lan Wangji’s fingers drummed a tune on the table as he drank his tea. Although Wei Ying must be a day ahead already, the main bridge connecting Gusu and Yunmeng across the natural river barrier was closer to the Cloud Recesses than it was Lotus Pier. At full speed, he should reach the bridge the same time as Wei Ying.

Lan Wangji wanted nothing more than to hold Wei Ying’s hand as he guided him to his new home.

Knowing his empress was still days away left the emperor restless, fidgeting with his luggage and checking on his horse frequently. In the end he could only practice a few songs on his guqin to calm down. With his hands over the sachet causing a warmth to grow in his chest, Lan Wangji finally got some rest.

He woke to the sound of droplets thundering against his window like a barrage of arrows. Lan Wangji cracked open the shutters only for a burst of hail to rain through into his bedroom, the wind attempting to force the shutters all the way open. He checked with the nightstaff only to learn the storm had started only recently and does not seem to be stopping anytime soon.

It would be foolish to travel in this weather.

Lan Wangji grit his teeth as he ignored the breakfast before him. Given the circumstances, Wei Ying would have to take the river bridge to cross over into Gusu. No matter how wide it was made to accommodate the trading caravans, it is still a narrow straight line with no blind spots. It is the only point at which he is guaranteed to meet Wei Ying without missing each other. But that is only if he gets there before Wei Ying does.

Lan Wangji rubbed the sachet in his sleeve in silence for several minutes. Biting his lip, Lan Wangji narrowed his eyes. 

Wei Ying would keep riding.

Lan Wangji grabbed his bags.

The only thing worse than riding in the rain was running in the rain. 

At least when Wei Wuxian rode his horse through the rain it wasn’t his legs that kept sinking into the mud. He could look past the splotches staining his robes and the dirty water seeping into his shoes, but to lose his already poor footing is asking too much. 

Wei Wuxian had only rested for a few hours before setting off again. Although it was only the afternoon, no reasonable sentry would be out in this downpour and even the unreasonable ones wouldn’t be able to see anything. It’s a good chance to make some headway.

Qing-jie’s medicine worked wonders as always, Wei Wuxian toasted his water-logged bag to the doc. His legs had gone from a searing pain to an aching throb that is no less uncomfortable but much more manageable. Of course, she would kill him for straining his still-healing body, but in Wei Wuxian’s defense she would beat him up much harder if she saw his current state should he get caught. 

When he thought about it that way, running through the mud in the middle of a storm didn’t seem so bad anymore. Well, his clothes are ruined but he can always say he was locked in a vicious battle with mud-slinging cobras. It’s technically true, though the bureaucrats of Lotus Pier might take offence.

Wei Wuxian just hoped the emperor wouldn’t be too put off should he not reach an inn in time to clean up.

Wei Wuxian slowed to a walk to catch his breath. It was pointless to keep running. With his footing so unstable and the rain weighing his clothes down, no matter how much Wei Wuxian pushed forward he wouldn’t make that much of a difference running than walking. It was fine in the beginning, but with the rain growing into one of the infamous pre-winter storms of Yunmeng it became a pointless endeavor.

Yunmeng’s storms can easily last over a week, so there’s no chance Wei Ying would try to wait it out even without the warrant that is surely out for his capture. He’ll just have to get used to it.

At least the tree canopy helped block some of the downpour.

The Nie were truly exceptional when it came to animals.

Lan Wangji gave his horse some carrots as he dried off its mane. Despite the uncomfortable and difficult weather conditions his steed had faithfully ran the full day at top speed without complaint.

A gift from the Nie king, this horse was specially bred to match Wei Wuxian’s infamous steed, but lacking the difficult temperament of that manic beast. It was the only horse able to match Wei Wuxian’s wild stallion on the battlefield. Although large and dressed with the most regal gear, without its armour it looks like any other Gusu white stallion.

Patting the horse’s side, Lan Wangji’s ears turned red.

In one of the famous love stories of the Gusu Empire, the first emperor Lan An had broken courtesy to ride his horse into the wedding hall with his bride in his arms. Despite the disapproval against their union, Lan An refused to wait even a second longer and rammed past all the defenses to do the three bows with his beloved. 

Although his uncle had told the story as an example of the Lan clan’s susceptibility to irrational emotions, it had always been one of Lan Wangji’s favorite stories.

The horse shook its head, bumping into Lan Wangji. Blinking at it, the horse looked at his ears and snorted at him.

Ah, right, brother helped train this horse.

Lan Wangji quickly refilled the carrots and speed-walked back to his room, the horse’s whinny following after him.

Although Lan Wangji was soaked through, he put off changing his clothes until after he could assess any possible damage to his luggage. The emperor had carefully packed all of his betrothal gifts to account for different weather, even choosing fabric coated with wax to wrap the articles. Carefully laying each one on the ground, Lan Wangji was relieved to find no issues. Even the scroll he had packed was safe within its bamboo tube.

Lan Wangji gently stroked a platinum hair crown. With the phoenix's nine tail feathers forming a lotus in full bloom and studded with brilliant red and blue gemstones, the small headpiece was the picture of refined elegance that would inspire awe in the wearer’s status from whoever glanced at them. It had been difficult to make it worthy of Wei Ying while keeping it practical for his empress’s daily antics, but there would be no point in giving him something he can’t wear. Lan Wangji’s finger lingered on a red gem.

He hoped Wei Ying would like it.

You see, there’s a reason you shouldn’t walk in the rain for hours on end.

Sometimes you feel like shit afterwards.

Wei Wuxian blinked through the blurriness in his vision. The cold had seeped into his very bones, every step growing heavier as he makes his way to the closest village. There’s no point in hiding out in the forest if he’s just going to die and the engagement falls through.

With his legs numb, the throbbing ache had moved to pound behind his eyes as Wei Wuxian clutched his head. He could feel his throat growing itchy as his nose stuffed up. If he doesn’t get somewhere warm soon then he might get sick for real. Not the most attractive thing to sneeze into the bride and groom’s shared wine cup.

After what felt like ages Wei Wuxian finally reached the village entrance. Though small, it thankfully served as a pit stop for travellers and therefore had some inns available. Wei Wuxian picked a small but cozy building, not so cheap as to be shady but also below what the guards would assume he would stay in. It was a family-run establishment with the husband handling the business while the wife catered to the guests. They were kind people who didn’t judge Wei Wuxian’s ability to pay by his frankly homeless appearance. The husband had laughed that they had seen many of their competitors lose business by kicking ragged men and women out of their rooms to make space for high-end clients, only to learn they were actually some rich or important person who got caught up in the war or got attacked by bandits. 

Wei Wuxian laughed as well, shaking his head at those people who would never learn. When the wife left to fetch some bathwater, Wei Wuxian’s smile dropped. If that many ‘important’ people got caught on the road, how many regular people’s suffering went unnoticed?

He thanked the wife for the hot water and prepared to finally get a hot soak, his cloak dropping with a chime.

Wei Wuxian paused.

He rubbed his forehead as if trying to remember something as he walked to his bag. Stopping down to rummage through it, Wei Wuxian grabbed the bag and lept out the window, the sound of shocked gasps behind him as a number of footsteps scrambled to follow after him.

Wei Wuxian never kept his charity bell on his cloak.

Shouts of ‘General!’ sounded out behind him as the royal guard begged him to stop and return to Lotus Pier. Wei Wuxian drowned them out as he assessed his situation. There were only five of them even after all this shouting. Wei Wuxian flinched when they sent out the signal flare, but even minutes later no one came. They must have divided amongst the villages along the main road in hopes of catching sight of him. The villages might be quite the distance by foot, but that distance is nothing by horse.

They’ll be here sooner than later.

Wei Wuxian cursed as he ran through his options before a smirk crawled onto his face. Whipping out Suibian’s compass, Wei Wuxian calculated the direction of Lotus Pier and ran the guards around in circles, dodging any ambush when he noticed less than five people chasing after him. With their attention locked on him, they never realized Wei Wuxian kept inching closer to the horses tied near the end of the village.

With a burst of speed once he grew near, Wei Wuxian slashed at the ropes tying the horse to the post, smirking as the guards’ eyes widened and faces paled as they realized what they had unintentionally done. Laughing, Wei Wuxian sped past before they could recover and disappeared down the road.

One of the most unintuitive vices in combat is the idea of being overcautious. Everyone in Yunmeng knows not to underestimate Wei Wuxian. Every time someone has, they have lost if not died, so it is no surprise that the guards would take every precaution to ensure Wei Wuxian doesn’t notice them surrounding him. But when people get so caught up in one aspect of a plan they forget about other details, such as where to leave their horses. In this case, they were afraid he would get spooked by the sound of horses and therefore left them where they entered the village to search for him on foot. While good in theory, this also leaves those horses in a predictable position. That is, in the direction of Lotus Pier.

This also proves they’re not one of his men, who know better not only through Wei Wuxian’s rigorous training but also his habits. And judging by the lack of hoofs behind him, they’re not as well-trained for the weather either.

Wei Wuxian laughed as he patted the horse through his throbbing headache. 

Fucking finally.

The wind stabbed a chill deep into his bones yet he felt hot.

Lan Wangji tried to convince himself the pounding of his heart was due to his intense journey and not the distance slowly closing between him and Wei Ying. 

One day.

He was just one day’s journey from the bridge. 

A few more hours and he would make it in time to catch Wei Ying before he journeyed across alone.

Lan Wangji bit his lip as he shook his head, eyes focusing on the road ahead. It was dangerous to get distracted in such weather. Although the hail had reverted to rain this far south, the weather was no less terrible. The canopy of tree tops covering the path couldn’t prevent all the rain from passing through and the wind was not helping.

The last thing he wanted was to lose it all when he was so close.

The road was easy to navigate. No matter how far he went the road remained empty, the more sensible people having opted to stay inside. No caravans or adventurers, not even a patrol. Nothing but the sounds of the hoofs beneath him, the rain around him, and the thumping within him. 

It was a bit lonely. As if he was the only one in the world.

It never felt like this when he was alone with Wei Ying. Silent but for their quiet breaths, still but for the slight glance or small fidget. Even their stake-outs against one another had felt more intimate than empty.

He wondered if Wei Ying was just as lonely on his own journey right now.

Lan Wangji rode silently for the rest of the journey.

Sliding off his horse, Lan Wangji could almost feel his legs trembling as the guard confirmed that General Wei Wuxian had not been sighted on the bridge yet. He made it in time.

As the adrenaline faded, Lan Wangji could feel the slosh of his boots, the weight of his cloak, the drops sliding down his face. The emperor tensed imperceptibly, fishing out a small mirror to be faced with a frankly unacceptable appearance. Hair clinging to his face from where it escaped his topknot, robes clinging to his skin, specks of mud splattered across the bottom hem of his robes, face both flushed and pale.

The emperor had never looked less than pristine even in the throes of battle. He can’t let Wei Ying see him in such a state.

Giving orders to the guard to contact him at any sighting, Lan Wangji sped off to a hotel to clean up, ignoring his horse’s mocking whinny.

It was already evening by the time Lan Wangji arrived at the bridge, yet he could not help but stand under the roof of the entrance to be the first to see Wei Ying. He smoothed his robes for the fourth time within the hour. In a new set of clothes and with his previous ones washed, dried, and packed within his luggage, Lan Wangji looked as if he had just stepped out of the Cloud Recesses.

He wondered what Wei Ying looked like.

Wei Ying had always dressed casually when he could, but this was a special occasion that he took very seriously. And with his flair for dramatics, Wei Ying might have even travelled in wedding robes the entire time. 

Lan Wangji’s ears burned as he imagined it.

Well, Wei Ying always dressed in black and red with a gold-ornamented sword, so technically… Though Lan Wangji would never make him settle for wedding robes of that caliber. Not that Wei Ying’s clothes are low quality, of course. Wei Ying always looks nice. His clothes have a certain wordly charm to them. Not that they are not charming over all of course—.

He might need to practice speaking before they meet.

A call from the guard has the emperor’s head snapping up to the bridge, only to slump in disappointment.

White and blue. The Gusu royal guard.

When the leader caught sight of him, he shouted out orders behind him before charging ahead to reach Lan Wangji. Jumping off his horse, the captain bowed in salute, “Master.”

Lan Wangji’s eyes softened as he waved his hand to rise, “Bichen.”

Bichen got up from his bow to tilt his head at Lan Wangji, confusion clear on his face before morphing into worry. Lan Wangji never leaves the palace alone, especially without the proper dress of his status. Something must have happened.

Lan Wangji’s ears burned as he gave a small but rigid shake of his head. As Bichen’s confusion grew, Lan Wangji’s ears only burned more red. With no one else around, Lan Wangji looked down, “I came to escort Wei Ying.”

Bichen’s face exploded with a blush. For the emperor to come personally…

Then he blinked, coughing to cover his slip-up, “He accepted then?”

Lan Wangji gave a small sharp nod.

Bichen kept a composed face as he congratulated his master, but he could feel happiness bubbling in his chest. His master wanted this for so long…

“Did you speak to him?”

Bichen snapped to attention, “I delivered the letter, but nothing more.”

Lan Wangji looked at him for a moment, “Not Wei Ying.”

Bichen’s eyes widened in realization as he fidgeted with his fingers inside his clasped sleeves, “...No. He was not in the room with General Wei so I handed the letter over to Wen Qionglin before leaving. Though he and Doctor Wen ran in the direction of the meeting room, so I do not know if they forgot about it.”

Lan Wangji looked at him, “Wei Ying’s people are never negligent. The letter reached him.”

Bichen blinked and smiled.

“Why not speak to him?”

Bichen’s smile froze. He fidgeted in place, looking this way and that, “We’re still enemies at war, I did not wish to overstay my welcome. And I did not know what he was doing, so there’s no reason to interrupt him, especially if he’s still injured. What if I woke him up?” Bichen’s cheeks puffed out as he muttered, “Hmph, he would probably be sleeping even if he wasn’t injured.”

Lan Wangji looked on with raised eyebrows, understanding his brother a bit more, “I can make a formal appointment.”

Bichen choked as he began frantically denying it, horrified that his small little wish could blow up into an international incident. Lan Wangji looked on amused as Bichen gave every excuse he could come up with about why he shouldn’t speak with Suibian after all. Finally Bichen huffed as he crossed his arms and looked away, “And who needs to talk to a guy like that? Only nonsense would come out of his mouth anyway!”

Lan Wangji just nodded in acquiescence as the light flush across Bichen’s cheeks darkened. Deciding to let Bichen save some face, Lan Wangji had him explain the rest of his journey.

As Bichen gave his report, Lan Wangji felt something was off.

Although Bichen did leave earlier than Wei Ying, the General’s horse was faster even at a jogging pace. There would be no reason for Wei Ying to hide from the royal guard either, so if they didn’t come together it could only mean Wei Ying passed them and went ahead. 

So why has no one seen him yet?

On top of that, Yunmeng had suddenly declared Winter. Even Gusu had just barely declared Winter all the way up north. It was even more strange that Lotus Pier went as far as to spread the news with the royal courier falcons instead of riders. Yunmeng had always taken full advantage of their southern position to extend the travel seasons, so why the sudden rush?

The butterflies in his stomach seemed to drop as a cold heaviness settled in his chest. Bichen seemed to notice, stopping his report to await the emperor’s orders. 

Lan Wangji took a deep breath. Wei Ying’s strange letter suddenly made sense. It was not the Jiang family who accepted the letter, it was Wei Ying himself against their wishes. They must be trying to stop him for some reason.

Bichen was shocked as Lan Wangji explained. The Gusu royal guard had not faced any trouble along their journey in either direction despite their gear being fairly obvious about where they are from. They were riding through some of Wei Wuxian’s ‘territory’ but surely such a serious reaction would have affected them.

Lan Wangji placed his hands in his sleeves, shoulders back in the regal pose of the emperor bestowing orders, “Return to the Cloud Recesses. Brother must know the situation. Tell no one else. I will go ahead.”

Bichen’s jaw dropped dumbfounded. The emperor, charging into hostile territory and leaving his Sentinel behind? It was Bichen’s job to go with him, always!

Lan Wangji wouldn’t budge and gave his orders a second time, making Bichen salute in shocked acceptance. The emperor makes a point not to repeat orders. He’s serious.

Lan Wangji was going to explain, but stopped as he squinted his eyes into the distance. He felt his fingers numb.

It was a purple lotus signal flare.

Whatever it was, Lan Wangji had to hurry.

In any other situation, reaching the eye of the storm so quickly would be a blessing.

Wei Wuxian cursed as he willed his horse to stay quiet when the rush of hooves flew past. Of all the times he could have used the natural camouflage of rain, it had to let up when he was surrounded. Any way he tries to break through now, he’ll inevitably be seen and chased. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem, but his vision had already been blurring with exhaustion the day before and he had ridden through the night without any sleep. Wei Wuxian even had to leave his cloak behind, so he had spent the coldest hours of night with barely any protection from the storm.

He can already feel a fever forming.

Wei Wuxian shook his head to stop the forest from spinning and placed all his focus into his surroundings. They had been in this stalemate for a few hours now, knowing Wei Wuxian is here but the general maneuvering just so to stay hidden. Each side waiting for the other to leave an opening.

If only he could see who the riders were, he could exploit their weaknesses.

Wei Wuxian flinched as the riders suddenly doubled, his heart rate skyrocketing before he took some deep breaths and pinched himself. His blurred vision slowly returned to focus. His horse gave a small whinny at the movement and it was as if the world froze as everything went silent.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened as he sprung into action, charging through the closest gap he could find. He could distantly hear a flare being sent up. 

Shit.

That black stallion of his may be a giant pain in the ass sometimes, but at least he knew when to handle himself. 

Wei Wuxian never thought he’d feel so helpless because of a fucking horse.

Arrows flew past his arms as the group of Yunmeng troops charged after him.

Arrows, really?! And they keep missing too, do these bastards want to triple their regimen to show him such a disgrace?!

Wei Wuxian bit his tongue from shouting out advice as he wove through the barrage on his horse. This is not a time where he should want their archery to improve.

A stray arrow finally nicked his arm and an instant numbing sensation followed. Wei Wuxian cursed. Paralyzing arrows?! He knew Wen Qing would not make them a new batch of paralyzer to coat them so where did these bastards get them?!

Wei Wuxian narrowed his eyes. Don’t tell me… Did some fucker secretly keep a batch of arrows and claim they ran out. Wei Wuxian barked a sardonic laugh. With all the factions he wouldn’t doubt it.

Well, at least their aim makes a tiny bit more sense now. They don’t want to actually hit him, just nick him enough times to catch him. Though falling off a horse at full speed isn’t exactly the safest option.

With one arm quickly losing function, Wei Wuxian had to think fast. He took a sudden dive into the forest. Wen Qing packed him all sorts of medicine, so if Wei Wuxian could just lose them for an hour he should be able to get his arm back.

Lan Wangji followed the direction of the signal flare, gritting his teeth at their slow advance despite going faster than they had through the entire journey.

Nothing good can come out of a Lotus Flare in this situation. Most flares across the continent were mainly used to either signal a location or call for help. Either way, they must have found Wei Ying.

Lan Wangji’s hands tightened around the reins until his knuckles had turned completely white. He saw that first signal flare hours ago. They could be in a completely different direction by now but all the emperor could do was charge blindly forward like a buffoon.

Why didn’t he think more carefully about the proposal and the acceptance letter? Why did he wait an entire day to set off, and another day at the bridge?

Lan Wangji was so caught up in his childish euphoria that he forgot how Lotus Pier tends to disagree with Wei Ying almost on principle.

He was such a coward.

Had he not feared being rejected and scheduled a formal meeting with the royal family, they could have resolved all of this directly. Instead he just sent a letter, a small part of himself resembling a young Lan Wangji fearing the truth and ready to wave the rejection off as coming from the Jiangs instead of Wei Ying.

Lan Wangji bit his lip as he glared forward.

He was so close.

A boom off in the distance made him flinch as Lan Wangji looked up to see a much closer Lotus Flare. Memorizing the location, Lan Wangji charged forward.

They were persistent.

Wei Wuxian had been weaving through the forest and back onto the main road repeatedly, trying to lose the guards in the prison of the forest. But no matter which direction he went or how dark it got, they dogged after him. It was incredibly difficult to navigate a forest on horseback, the wide array of possible obstacles ready to shred the horse and its rider without the most careful maneuvering. A couple of the guards were lost on the way, but the majority were frustratingly competent. 

The entire time they had been calling for him to stop and return home. That more than anything was wearing him down.

Didn’t they understand that he wanted to go home?!

Wei Wuxian grit his teeth as he reached a clearing with a hill. If he could break their eye contact on his back for just a second, he could disappear. Gritting his teeth, Wei Wuxian tightened his grip on the reins as he heard his horse whinny.

Suddenly he felt himself falling.

Wei Wuxian’s horse tumbled forward in a heap with Wei Wuxian being thrown forward out of the harness. By reflex he angled his body in such a way to roughly roll forward without breaking anything, the final smack of his back against the hard ground gouging the air from his lungs. Wei Wuxian coughed as black spots entered his vision. Head lolling, he could barely make out through his fluctuating vision the glare of an arrow sticking out of his horse’s chest.

Wei Wuxian struggled to get up before he even registered what he was doing.

The Yunmeng troops were all behind him and none of them would shoot the horse during friendly fire. Someone else was here.

Pain shot through Wei Wuxian’s leg as he tried to get up, his forgotten numb arm slipping and sending Wei Wuxian’s face into the mud.

He can barely move.

He’s been in worse situations before.

With the desperate burst of energy that is found only in the face of death, Wei Wuxian crawled to the nearest tree trunk for cover. His body screamed with every movement, Wei Wuxian biting the fabric of his numb hand to keep from screaming out. No matter how good their night vision is, with Wei Wuxian’s dirt-crusted black clothes he’s practically invisible in the night. His horse, not so much.

Wei Wuxian closed his eyes as it let out a final whimper before going silent.

In the sudden quiet, Wei Wuxian realized the Yunmeng troops should have caught up to him by now.

In the eye of the storm, the moonlight peaked through the clouds to illuminate the clearing. Wei Wuxian felt his eyes dull.

The arrow had purple feathers.

They wouldn’t.

Wei Wuxian didn’t even realize he, too, had been revealed by the light. His dull gaze struggled to raise with the sound of light footsteps coming closer. Seeing the purple uniform, Wei Wuxian felt himself go numb.

The masked assailant leapt forward, sword stretched out towards Wei Wuxian’s chest as he threw his body to the side. The sword impaled itself into the tree trunk, buying Wei Ying a precious few seconds to jam his searing arm into his bag to grab a bomb, a knife, a shoe, ANYTHING!

The shadow of a blade over him had Wei Wuxian turning around with the bag held out ready to catch the blow, only to hear a grunt as two bodies hit the ground. Looking over, Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened as another Yunmeng guard had pinned the first and with a slice at his neck with an arrow knocked the guy out.

Wei Wuxian panted as the new Yunmeng troop took off his mask and Wei Wuxian felt his lips tremble into a smile, “...Third Shidi…!”

The guard sent him a V for victory with his hand as he finished tying the assailant up and ran over, “General!”

Wei Wuxian struggled to sit up on his elbow, “How did you—” Wei Wuxian noticed the quiver of Paralyzing arrows and his jaw dropped indignantly, “That was you?!”

Third Shidi scratched the back of his head sheepishly. Wei Wuxian felt his blood boil a bit, “To think you’d shoot your own commander! And you couldn’t even shoot properly, what was that crap?! You want a triple training regimen? Quadruple?!”

The color quickly draining from Third Shidi’s face satisfied his bloodlust a little. The stockier man held his hands up in surrender, “Yes, our training has fallen completely off the rails since General’s disappearance! Our aim has become downright horrible!” He sent Wei Wuxian a wink.

Wei Wuxian huffed a breath in understanding. So his loyals had snuck into the sentries to let him escape should they catch him. But then…

Wei Wuxian’s face fell as he looked at the tied up Yunmeng troop. Third Shidi followed and his once warm and friendly gaze hardened into ice, “Don’t know what the fuck was up with that. Motherfuckers had the nerve…!”

Wei Wuxian’s eyes narrowed sharply, “There were more?”

Third Shidi nodded, “They ambushed us with a gas bomb when General ran for the clearing. The normal troops were knocked out but the enemy didn’t factor the Wei faction’s training into the strength of it. The others stayed behind to fight off the rest of the group while I ran ahead since I was the only one not locked in a battle.”

Wei Wuxian sighed in relief. His men could handle the best of them on the worst of days. They’ll be fine. Wei Wuxian grunted as Third Shidi helped him stand up, “How likely that they’re imposters?”

Third Shidi steadied him against the tree trunk, “Most of the factions aren’t this stupid. Some are. It’s hard to say, but I checked and that’s a genuine Yunmeng uniform so if they are imposters then that raises a lot of questions.”

Wei Wuxian groaned, freezing at the echo. His eyes darted left and right. Third Shidi tensed imperceptibly as he noticed. Holding his hands out as if continuing to steady Wei Wuxian he raised his eyebrow in question. Wei Wuxian pursed his lips and drummed his fingers on Third Shidi’s arm in code.

It’s too quiet.

Third Shidi’s eyes widened as he noticed the unsettling silence. The fight had ended and there was no hostility between them, yet the forest was as silent as the dead.

Third Shidi inched his hand toward his sword as Wei Wuxian clutched his bag.

Wei Wuxian swept Third Shidi’s feet with a kick that sent them both down as an arrow thumped into the trunk where their heads had been. With a fluid turn, Third Shidi smoothly unsheathed his sword intime to deflect another arrow as Wei Wuxian crashed to the ground. Third Shidi spun to check on him, leaving his back open for the split second necessary for the enemy to jump out of the shadows and lunge forward as one. 

Wei Wuxian grabbed the first thing in his bag and yelled, “Flash!”

They both closed their eyes as Wei Wuxian threw out the flash bomb, blinding the enemy into crashing into one another. Third Shidi used those few seconds to knock three of them unconscious with a shocked horror on his face. Wei Wuxian must have looked the same. There’s no way it would be taking this long for his men to beat a group that small, and if anything there's even more enemies than before.

Wei Wuxian quickly glared as he barked at Third Shidi, “You can’t get information if you’re dead, at this point their lives are forfeit!”

Third Shidi lunged with a roar, “YES SIR!”

Wei Wuxian noticed some attackers sneaking up behind Third Shidi and threw a chili bomb at their heads, the screams of agony as they scratched at their eyes making Third Shidi spin around to quickly end the group in three fatal strikes before returning to his previous opponents. Wei Wuxian wobbled onto his feet through pure adrenaline as he barked out locations and orders. 

The numbers just seemed to keep growing until some finally made it past Third Shidi and charged at Wei Wuxian. He ducked under the first blow, striking his palm upwards in a sudden smack that cracked the bastard’s neck and threw him back onto his little buddy, Wei Wuxian biting back a scream as lightning shot up his injured arm. He sent out a kick to send the two bodies crashing backwards, knocking their heads together with a crack.

Wei Wuxian crashed to the side at a flash of moonlight, the sword shaving off a few strands of his hair as the enemy continued in a relentless assault that had Wei Wuxian dodging and kicking on the ground with no break to scramble up. He swiped a bomb out of his bag and the enemy shut his eyes in preparation, Wei Wuxian smirking as he dropped the bomb to cover his ears with one hand and his shoulder, “BANSHEE!!!”

Third Shidi smacked his hands against his ears without even dropping his sword just as a horrifyingly piercing screech thundered through the forest, sending whatever birds were left scrambling to escape. Wei Wuxian laughed as the bastards around him dropped unconscious with blood dripping out of their ears, his own still ringing from being at ground zero.

Without a second to waste, Wei Wuxian pulled himself up with the tree trunk and reached for his sword as one of the recovered assailants charged at him blindly, cutting through his chest like paper then using his momentum to turn and drive his sword into another guy and using his body for leverage as he roundhouse kicked a third behind him. Wei Wuxian pulled out his sword swiftly and jumped to back up Third Shidi, slicing clean through one guy at his back and two at his side when he felt himself flying through the air, a stabbing pain shooting through his good arm.

Wei Wuxian crashed to the ground, arrow sticking out just below his shoulder joint glinting purple and red light in a mockery of Wei Wuxian’s own troop colors. He willed his numb arm to move, kicking another bastard’s knees as he tried stabbing down and then kicking his face for good measure. A shadow behind him had Wei Wuxian flipping around in time to block, cursing as his legs were angled in the wrong direction and twisting his neck to dodge the blow when as arrow struck the bastard right in the fucking head.

More thumps sounded behind him as Wei Wuxian twisted around to find four bodies hitting the floor at the same time, bullseye on each one. 

A whinny roared through the battlefield as a horse charged through people like roadkill, a silver flash of moonlight severing head from bodies with the swiftness of a war god.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes widened as he saw the man haloed by the moon flicking blood off his sword as if he were too pure for such filthy things. He lashed out his sword with the ruthlessness of a demon, eyes glowing the molten starlight of divine fury as he swept Wei Wuxian’s limp body into his hold.

The arrows were white.

[autisticshadowthehedgehog]

WORST FEARS - Sonic the Hedgehog (2020) - Ao3

2.2k Words | Angst | Speculation | Pre-Canon

SONIC

Sonic was five and he was drowning.

Longclaw had always told him to look before he ran, but she wasn’t here now. Nobody was. He was alone, he was alone, he was all alone and nobody was there and nobody was going to help him and he had to get out himself.

He was still on the first of the planets she’d laid out for him on her map. He didn’t want to rush things, maybe this planet could be nice, maybe he could find a friend, maybe Longclaw would be okay and come looking for him here and take him back and they’d never have to split up again.

But he’d gotten spotted by the local population, and someone was chasing him- he didn’t get a good look who, he just saw someone yelling and rushing towards him and then he was running. Running like he always did, like he was always going to do. He’d slowed at one point, glancing back to see if he was being followed. But he glanced back at the wrong time, because he tripped over a sharp rock, and fell into a body of water. He didn’t get a good look at how big it was, if he was in a river or a lake or a stupid ocean. He just knew that he fell, and that he couldn’t get up.

The current was pushing him down, and slammed him against something- a wall, a rock? He felt the sharp pain in his back, but even when he managed to blink open his eyes he saw nothing but the dark, churning water, pushing against his eyes and stinging, it really stung! He tried to push himself forward, but he was never good in water, he’d never had a reason to go swimming when he could run and spin on land just fine. He just felt himself slammed against rocks, pelted with more stinging water, and falling deeper. He wanted to scream but if he opened his mouth, he’d lose whatever breath he had left.

He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe.

He just needed to move up, to get out of the water, to get to air. But he couldn’t move, he was just being tossed around, pushed by the whims of the merciless, rushing current. He tried to move his arms only for them to start to ache with the pressure. His legs, his power, were useless. He was useless.

He wanted Longclaw. He wanted Longclaw to come get him, to swoop in and save him like she would when he ran off too steep a cliff, when he was falling from a tree trying to get a cool-looking leaf, when they were attacked by angry echidnas who wanted his power and were going to hurt him and Longclaw and they hurt Longclaw and it was his fault because he didn’t stay hidden like she told him to and now she was gone and couldn’t save him now and he was alone in the water and he was going to drown.

He was slammed into something again, and his mouth flew open in an involuntary cry. If he had any breath left, it was gone, as water poured into his mouth, warm and stingy and choking him. Another slam as he felt more water spring around his eyes- tears or more of the horrible stream? What was even happening? He didn’t know what he was doing anymore. He was spinning but not in a good way, in a horrible, out-of-control way, and he had water in his throat and mouth and lungs and he was going to die.

He was going to drown. He was going to die and Longclaw couldn’t help him. She wouldn’t even know. Nobody would know he was dying and dead and gone because he had to stay hidden forever and if he didn’t they would hurt him and that didn’t even matter because he was going to die here and alone and forgotten and trying to breathe. He couldn’t breathe.

And then he felt his feet land against a rock. Thinking instinctively, he pushed with his legs, pushing himself upwards. And within an instant, cold air slammed against his face. His open mouth finally found air, and he coughed and spat the water and tried to breathe.

He went under twice more, but he was close enough to the surface that now the current inevitably pushed his head to the surface. He wanted to cry, but all he could do was gasp for air until the water pushed him to the left, and he threw out his arms and grasped onto a rocky surface. He gripped on, struggling to keep a hold while the river kept trying to take him away, take him down the stream and to whatever doom it had planned for him. He managed to edge himself up, slide onto the moist dirt and stones. When his legs were finally free, he curled up, ignoring the water that would lap and splash at his knees, just hugging himself and gasping and burying his head in his own fur.

He was… alive?

It took him several minutes to calm down, and when he did, he opened his eyes to see the edge of the river. Panic filled his chest again, and he screamed and backed up, kicking his legs fast enough that showers of stones splashed into the water, hitting against him. Every drop that hit him felt like another blast from the river, another push against his face and lungs and chest and ears and eyes and…

When he finally scrambled far enough away that the water couldn’t hit him anymore, he started to cry, screaming and sobbing and grabbing onto the earth and trying to keep himself steady. And when he failed, he just fell to the ground and cried again.

When the morning came, he’d get up, legs aching and arms heavy, and make his way to his hideout, where he’d dig out his rings and find another planet. He couldn’t stay on this one. It’d been too long. Longclaw wasn’t coming for him. Nobody was. Nobody knew him or loved him anymore, And nobody was going to get him. He just needed to get away, to get somewhere away from that river, from the drowning.

But until then, he just huddled on the ground and cried himself to sleep.

TAILS

Tails was five and he was falling.

He just wanted to find him. He thought he saw weird lightning in the distance, different than the storm’s. He thought it was blue, but now that he thought of it, that might’ve been a trick of the light, of his eyes getting too tired to process everything in a scientific manner. And he recalled his theory that Sonic moving at a certain speed could increase the electricity in his power, cause an outburst of power that could seem like artificial lightning. So when he saw lightning he thought was blue, he thought he should go look. Maybe Sonic came back. Maybe he could find Sonic!

He didn’t really think, which he normally did a lot of, but he was overcome with the idea of being the one to find Sonic, and the idea of actually meeting Sonic, so he took off into the sky. He’d finally gotten the hang of flying, though he’d never done so in a storm before. It probably wasn’t that hard, he’d floated a bit during the last drizzle and it had been easy to recalibrate winds during that rain. So harder rain shouldn’t be a problem, right? Just a little more tilt than before, a little more push and faster spinning tails.

He did not account for the thunder.

He’d heard thunder before of course, but from the safety of his home, with thick stone making it only a distant rumble. And, well, he was five, he hadn’t really processed storms very well before now. And he was a bit stressed when the first peal sounded. Because, well, it turned out that storm-rain was different than drizzle-rain, in that it was a lot harder to see, and his fur was all wet and he hated wet fur but it was okay because he was going to see Sonic, it would be fine, they could dry off together. Maybe Sonic could speed up around them and use wind pressure to dry them all off. And, hey, yeah he was getting blown off course a little, but he still had his eyes on his goal, he knew where he was going.

Then there was the thunder.

And it turned out thunder was so much louder outside.

He kept shivering, occasionally throwing off his path, whenever he heard a boom, which seemed to be getting louder the farther he traveled from the cave. And whenever lightning flashed, he was momentarily blinded, his eyes shifting to wherever the light came from, and then he’d start trembling again, terrified while knowing that the thunder was going to come soon- thunder always came after lightning, and he recalled that the  amount of seconds between the thunder and lightning divided by five equalled how many miles away it was. But he didn’t have time to count now, even as the space between the crashes got narrower and narrower, he just had to focus on pushing through the wind, he couldn’t turn back now, not when-

There was a flash, all too close to him, so close he thought he might be able to feel the heat. And as he felt himself recoil back, the thought of being struck startling him, the thunder clapped and it felt like it was pushing against his ears, surrounding him, trapping him. His ears felt like they’d just exploded, and for a few moments he couldn’t hear anything, and so he didn’t realize he screamed until much later, hen he was already halfway down the sky.

When he next opened his eyes, it was because he felt the wind and rain rushing against him, and pushing, and forcing him down. Down, down, down… so far down, and when he realized, he started spinning his tails, trying to fly higher, but they felt like lead, they were turning too slow while he was falling too fast, and he was still shaking and his ears felt numb and heavy and he didn’t want to feel the rain or wind or heat anymore he just wanted everything to stop…

He felt the claws snag around him very lightly, much more lightly than he was probably grabbed. He was too busy trying to shut out the world to pay attention to how roughly he was grabbed, how fast he was ripped from his path downwards and dragged along behind someone with more control over storm flight. But by the time he realized he hadn’t hit the ground and broken every bone in his body, by the time he noticed he wasn’t dead or dying at the moment, and he realized what was happening, he just started to bawl.

He was still crying when they landed by the cave, and Longclaw rolled him into the dry stone and asked, “What were you thinking?”

Tails wanted to respond immediately, but instead he found himself curled up, tails wrapped around his legs as he sunk into the stone, trying to blot out the sound of the storm outside. He flipped his ears down, shuddering and keeping his eyes shut tight. They felt hot, and he wasn’t sure why- tears being held back? A leftover effect of the lightning getting so close? Maybe he was getting sick. Maybe he should just curl up and sleep for a week. Maybe he should just crawl into the back of the cave and never come out again.

The first thing he noticed outside the realm of his terrified mind was Longclaw’s wings wrapped around him, squeezing him enough that he felt safe, enough that she could shelter him from the storm. Every time a peal of thunder sounded, he sunk more into her feathers, desperately trying to keep the sounds away.

When he finally calmed down enough to speak, he muttered, “I’m sorry-”

“Miles.” her voice was much lower, more careful than before.

“You shouldn’t- shouldn’t have come after me- you can’t fly good anymore-”

“Miles, shh. I wasn’t going to leave you in that storm.” She pulled away slightly, and Tails flinched as wind pushed against him. He looked up with teary eyes, trying to stop his trembles. “But what were you doing out there? You could’ve gotten hurt. Or someone could have seen you, and then we’d have to move on to another-”

“I- I was looking for Sonic.” Tails admitted, and then he couldn’t stop the tears at all. “So you wouldn’t be sad anymore.”

He didn’t look up at Longclaw to see her reaction, because he ducked down to cry into his tails again. But she swept him up into another embrace, and he stayed inside the cave for the rest of the storm.

[askbittyerror]

Wedding RP part 7

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "I can manage that." Bells leads the way to the wall, pressing against a slight indentation... a door slips open, though they pause, glance at Flare again, and seem to tug sonething only half glimpsed. The door opens more, to accommodate for his size, and they lead the three through.

The stairwell on the other side is a plain, very solid stone with wide steps, as Bells readies to close the door once theyre through, before leading them upward, and away from the party. @Askbittyerror

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 They follow, Umbra continuing to tug. The trio seem to have relaxed some, although Flare is still on alert and Mo's smile has at least faded to gentle bliss.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 Once the door is closed again, they head up, away from the crowds. The stairwell is large, though Flare probably shouldn't... hop, or anything. "You're almost bigger than Kudzu," they muse, as they continue up, "but, lamia. So most of his length is tail." The wedding party grows further distant... "it's not much further, promise."

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 "It's fine." Umbra pants, struggling to wiggle his way up and squeaking when Mo hoists him, cradling the smaller man carefully in his arms and smiling like he just got a highfive from god.(edited)

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 They give Mo a grateful look, not that they suppose it will matter to him, then press the door they've arrived at open. ...it's a water garden, with beautiful mosaics half hidden on the far walls, overgrowth of plants and pretty things all but overflowing the room, as pools of water tumble musically into each other all little falls. Much of the furthest part of the room is 'open' to the 'sky,' though in this case the sky is a deep utter blackness, filled with distant shifting lights that gleam and burn like stars, and a river of fragmented white light that travels across it's distance. ...it's, actually fully enclosed, with strong magic shields. But it's pretty. "...is this okay? I've got other rooms, but, Flare will have to size down to seven feet for most of them."

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 "Pretty." Mo notes, sitting in the grass and nuzzling his confused nootdoot. Flare stands behind, watching them.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "..." they take a moment, seeing thet look better, before looking back at Flare. "-oh yeah. you're the reason I came to talk in the first place, huh?"

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 Flare continues to watch.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 Quiet, then a sigh, as they find a spot by one of the pools of water to sit. "I wanted to thank you for the wedding present. But mostly, wanted to apologize for my daughter attempting to tackle you across the whole room like that. There was already a lot of tension in the air, and I know that didn't help." ...they gaze at the flowing water, offering quietly, "she's very protective of her da. even if she doesn't remember it, having been so young, he once dusted under her hands as she reached out to try holding onto him. Crumbling under her touch." "-even if we got him back, there's a part of her that's terrified of losing him again."(edited)

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "she's a soul of bravery with the magic of two very powerful guardians within her, as well as the heart of a warrior... and the self preservation instincts of a very young, very traumatized child."(edited)

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 Flare doesn't move. “Um,” Umbra pushes Mo away from where the Dream nuzzles against his cheek, wiggling out of his lap. “Dad is, uh, he’s- there’s not much in there, right now.” All expression fades from Mo at his absence and he just sits, hands in his lap, weedle tucked under one arm, staring straight ahead.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 A nod, and they look back at the water. "Guess I'll say it later, then." "...Stars, I wish my mates and their mates would stop doing that stuff to each other. I guess I should be grateful I wasn't the one to have to break it up this time, at least."

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 "Is..." Umbra looks away, biting his lip. "What- what happened?"

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 they blink, looking back at him. "...what happened when? with my mates attempting to murder each other on multiple occasions, or with-" "..." [6:27 PM] "Right."

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 "...with Dad." He looks at his hands, tentacles twitching to wrap his wings around him. "What set him off?"

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "..." they look at Flare, then Umbra. "-that, would be what I was talking about. Um. Well, Erebus at one time attempted to flat out murder Greylu... and well?" A grimace, rubbing the back of their neck, "Greylu tends to get stabby around Dragon. Who your father is, uh-" "...Not that they haven't managed the traumatize the hell out if him more than once in return. Turned full dragon in his throneroom and chased after him with fire in their breath talking about what he'd taste like..." "But. First I'm guessing Dragon brought up the stabbiness, considering the reaction from Huitzi and Flare, then Greylu reacted all growly, then my daughter started snarling and aura flaring and setting off all her siblings to do the same... and, then Huitzi tried to restrain him, and-" "Well. I'm guessing all of that, mostly."(edited)

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 Umbra winces and nods. "...yeah. Okay. Thank you."

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "..." they look back at the water. "-the only one of my lovers that hasn't severely maimed the others is Sci." "But we're all a bit of a volatile group. I got a nasty bit of burn from Dragon on my arm, when we first became 'introduced,' that I only lost when I... lost the arm." They lift their hand, which looks mostly fine, other than a large dark scar on the back of it, considering at ruefully. "dragonfire lingers. but that was... before. that whole body's gone now."(edited) [6:43 PM] "..." "Are you okay? You brought him back, right?"(edited)

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 Umbra stares at the ground for a moment too long. He shrugs.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "..." "..." "Was bad, huh?" [6:46 PM] "..." They gaze 'skyward.' Not pressing further.

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 Umbra nods and shifts. On his side, hidden under his left wing, a dark, purply splotch stains his shirt. It looks to be spreading. He winces.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 They look back as he shifts... ...and stop. "...are you bleeding?"

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 Umbra doesn't say anything. He looks a touch too pale. Mo looks up, his brows furrowing.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "..." They offer a hand, and simply, "heals? I don't mind... and there's not many places where my magic is stronger."

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 "Please." He whispers. Mo looks up at Flare and starts to growl. Umbra spins around to glare at him, "No, stop-" Then he sways and crumples to the ground.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 Their breath catches, and they quickly move to scoop him, gently, into their arms, healing magic already flowing from their touch- at the same time, they look up at Mo, evenly. "don't." they caution, not order, but warning, "it'll only stress him more. the two of you can talk about it after I've healed him."(edited)

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 Mo looks at them and approaches. "He can't really heal." He kneels, a foot away. "I can't either."(edited)

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "no?" They frown, drawing their hand back, and shifting him a little to look at the wound. "void take it, I even healed the tall red lunk there when he was dripping gold all over the sidewalk..."(edited) [7:13 PM] "...or wait, do you mean he doesn't have healing magic?"

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 Against Umbra’s side, in the center of the dark bruise covering the entire left half of his body, is a long, deep gash, its edges jagged and torn. The Nightmare looks to have haphazardly stitched it shut, then tore it back open when he escaped Mo’s lap. “Both, mostly second but still some first.” Mo looks at them. “Our magic is broken. Nothing works likes it should.”(edited)

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "...huh." they inspect it carefully, not touching, then tilt their head, thinking. "-don't suppose you two count as undead? that definitely takes its own sort of healing, healing food can't do anything but replace lost magic for me."

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 Mo stares down at his brother. He squeezes his plush. Something starts rising from his back and Mo shuts his eyes, hissing something under his breath. Whatever it is melds back into him with a quivering grumble. “…I don’t know.”

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "...ease." they breathe softly, lifting their gaze to Mo. "I'll do all I can for him. but what I need you to do is remain calm. if you lose control, I won't be able to do anything for him." this said, they reach out, and pluck something glistening from midair, a slender, gleaming thread no more than wisp or thought... or magic. "now, wish me luck. but keep in mind for future reference... if this works? this is magic I can very literally only use here, in the entire omniverse. this whole tower? Is an extension of my magic... breathe, slow breaths." "I'm not starting until you're sure you can hold control. Because i can't be interrupted once i start."(edited)

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 Mo nods sharply, breathing deep, his plush cuddled tight to his chest. “H- I’ll be calm.”

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 a nod, their gaze gentle, before turning back to Umbra. "...so. let's see what's been done to your magic-" they murmur softly. from the touch of their free hand, faint lines of light appear to trace the path of his own damaged magic, the paths and courses that wind through him, looking specifically for the lines that had been severed by the damage left by the wound. A tracing outline to show the way, no more...(edited) [8:01 PM] ...but hopefully this part was something that could still work...(edited)

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 The magic crossing him is faint, hard to detect, vanishing almost entirely around the wound and anywhere the bruises touch. It spirals from there to where his soul should be, up in a line to what looks like a branch- then stops. Mo’s breath hitches and he shudders, holding his Weedle closer. Flare twitches.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "...I see." Softly. They led the lines fade, save near the wound itself, and using the glimmering bit of thread to stitch healing, with slow care, to cross the damaged area, one fragmented line to another. a single stitch of faint, gleaming, concentrated healing magic- -a single stitch, no more, as they wait to see if this will help. not willing to go further until they know.

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 It… actually seems to be. The repaired magic shines just a little bit brighter.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "...okay then." one stitch at a time, working on stopping the blood loss first. after four more stitches they stop, and wait again, watching.

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 The wound is sealing shut. Mo looks up. He… may be about to cry.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 they don't see these tears, too focused on the next stitch, and the next. slowly, one by one, until the place where the damage had cut, is now fully spanned by the gently gleaming magic threads. ...and the last stitch is done. they loosen their grip on the greater magic of the tower, relaxing slightly.(edited) [8:38 PM] the threads vanish from their hand... but the repairs remain.

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 The gash is sealed. Umbra breathes a little easier. Mo is definitely crying. Just softly, and into his plush.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 they wipe the hair back from their brow- and pause, seeing Mo crying. "are you okay?"

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 Mo's shoulders shake. He doesn't speak.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "..." they're not sure how to help, so they just lift adjust Umbra back into a more comfortable position in their lap, and wait for either him or Flare to 'wake.'

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 “S-sorry.” Mo mutters, wiping at his eyes. “It’s just- um.” He exhales, smiling weakly. “Is he okay?”

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "you don't have to be sorry," they deny, "it's okay. and yes, I think so." they brush Umbra's hair back just enough to get a look at his face. "...I've healed a lot of different beings. the first time is always the hardest- enough practice and, it gets easier." [9:15 PM] "...but, this was a bit different." They admit softly, after a moment more.

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 Umbra looks calm. Soft. Like a child. “Did you-” Mo whimpers. “…see, what was wrong?”

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "...um. sort of. it's hard to put to words- mostly I just saw the damage. essentially, magic as I've learned it has these lines... leylines. Threads. Both worlds, and people, have them." "Umbra's... looked like they'd been severed, repeatedly. And never quite reattached right. And, left damaged, and so thin in places they almost weren't there." "...do you know why?"

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 “He, um, Nouveau, I mean.” Mo shifts, plush tucked under his chin. “He- he severed us, somehow, I think. We’re supposed to be connected, at least I’m pretty sure we are.” He laughs weakly. “I… guess separating us, was what did us in.”

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "..." they consider him, then look at Umbra. "My husband was separated from his brother too. Rather, forcefully. Dragon was able to repair the damage, but-" "-i, don't know if it was done the same way. the person who severed my husband from my brother in law knew what he was doing. it was a clean break, as much as that kind of thing can be. "it, looks like Nouveau just... uh. used trial and error. a lot."

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 Mo rubs his chest, wincing. “Yeah…” “I don’t… think we can be reattached…” He looks at his brother, something like envy in his eyes. “I’m pretty sure Flare has that handled...”

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "...admittedly I'm not sure what you mean about Flare, but I'm not sure I want to ask, either." They're not sure when they started stroking Umbra's hair, and watching him in soft worry, but oh well. more quietly, they add, "and... I'm sorry, that was done to you."

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 Mo grumbles and glares up at Flare staring off into the distance, then is immediately by Umbra’s side as he starts to wake.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 Their hand may yank back like it was burned, not realizing they'd essentially been petting him as he rested, and looking embarrassed. "... hey." they greet softly.

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 A tentacle grabs their hand and plaps it back on his head. “What happened?” Umbra looks up, groggy and confused.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "..." they continue petting. "your uh, stitches came open. you passed out. but, you have me permission to heal you first? so I did." simplified, sure, but pretty much accurate. "how do you feel? any soreness?"

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 Umbra blinks, registers, sits up, spins around, and grabs their hands, eyes frantic, arms shaking from the exertion. “Please don’t be upset with Dad.” He begs, Mo shutting his eyes and looking like he’s somewhere between homicidal and sucking on a lemon.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "..." they blink, looking surprised by this- then squeezes his hands gently. "I'm not upset with him, Umbra. If I got upset with him, I'd have to start a list of people to be upset with, for getting caught up in an LV driven frenzy. I'm a little annoyed he lost his cool in the first place, but-" "but being told his datemate had been attacked, and all the other stuff that followed-" "I can't say I'm really surprised, either."

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 “Okay…” Umbra exhales, letting them go. “Okay.” He squeaks as his tentacles swing him back around, plop him back on Bells lap and put their hand back on his head. “Wh- you- stop that!” He slaps at his tentacles, trying to push himself back up and then just giving up when they drag Mo down too, doing happy victory wiggles as Mo immediately makes happy noises and snuggles him.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 a soft snort, smiling, as they resume stroking his hair. "your tenntacles have a mind of their own." they reflect, a near silent purr rumbling in their chest. "you didn't answer my question though... are you still sore? Mo did say you don't generally heal easily."

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 Umbra huffs and glares at his traitorous appendages. “I’m-” He shifts, grunting, Mo nuzzling him and making a concerned noise. “…fine. How did you even heal me?”(edited)

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "...sort of... sewed the lines of your magic back together, where they'd been severed across your wound. used threads of healing magic, boosted by my tower." "This place is, pretty much woven into every part of me. I pulled it back together when the timeline shattered. just, sort of did the same for you, on a smaller scale."

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 "...can you teach me how to do that?" Umbra asks.

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "I can try? my ability to do stuff like that only extends as far as here. this place is my legacy, it echoes to my magic-" "Its uh, my inheritance. from my sire." something about the way they say 'sire' sounds similar to the way someone might say 'fucking abuse piece of shit,' only less bluntly. "...I'm willing to try though. your power level might be enough on your own, without the added boost."(edited)

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 "My uh, my magic level is like just, notnexistant." Umbra winces, squeaking at Mo's insistent neck nuzzles. "I can use my tentacles and that's about it." He glares at his wibblers, one giving Bells sympathetic headpats of it's own accord. "And they dont even listen half the time!"

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 a faint smile at the tentacle, before turning their attention back to Umbra, and considering him. "-i imagine your power level is probably just fine. your 'threads' are just so shredded that you cant access it." "...like a generator, with faulty connectors leading to the stuff that needs powering.:

Askbittyerror09/27/2020 "If you say so?" Umbra shrugs. "...why is my magic broken? I thought it just... was that way?" Mo drops his weedle on Umbra's face and emphatically shakes his head at Bells. Umbra sputters and picks up the plush. "Where did you even get this?" "It appeared in my room." Mo nuzzles him, smiling at the resulting squeak. "Its soft. I like it."

with-bells-upon09/27/2020 "...i dont know your life well enough to say." Theyll let Mo decide whether to tell, at least gor now. Its not their place. "I just saw the damage done to the threads your magic should follow." "...theyre, very much not... as intact as they should be." September 28, 2020

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 Umbra frowns thoughtfully. Maybe he wasn’t as weak as he thought after all… And is then abruptly brought out of his musings by Mo licking his cheek. “Ooookay!” Umbra shrieks, shoving him away and rolling into a kneeling position. “That is enough! What is even with you today?! You’re not normally-” His tentacles wiggle in displeasure and he slaps at them, Mo looking at him with big sad eyes, confused and a little hurt. Umbra grits his teeth, starting to growl, and sighs, his hands in his lap. “Just- whatever, I don’t care.” He lets his tentacles drag him back into place and pull Mo to his side. “Just keep your fucking tongue in your mouth.”

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 The look they give Mo is puzzled. Not wanting to delve into Nouveau abuse they understand, but if this a distraction for just, not learning that isn't powerless... "..." "I can show you, if you like."

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 Mo has returned to ecstatic nuzzling. "Please?" Umbra looks up.

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 "...okay. but dont get worried, okay? this will seem a bit strange, but it wont hurt. And i'll stop if you ask me."

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 "Okay." Umbra nods.

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 Bells reaches out to lay ahand against his arm... and as before, they draw on the magic in themself and in the tower, and begin outlining the threads of his magic, letting him see himself the places theyre... broken. "...these threads are meant to allow your magic to move properly through your body.." they explain, "but-" [12:22 AM] "...um. they cant, really."

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 "Oh." Umbra frowns, looking over himself. He points at his chest. "...is that my soul? I've... never actually seen it."

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 "..." they consider the place he's pointing.

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 “Yup.” Mo says, tucked under Umbra’s chin, breath tickling his neck. “Ours look pretty similar. They’re nothing interesting. You aren’t missing much.” “If you say so…” Umbra stares down at his chest, shivering.

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 Bells looking at Mo, and again, considers Umbra's... soul?(edited) [12:33 AM] "..." Thats not right. Yeah. [12:33 AM] Bells draws their hand back,  letting the sight of the threads vanish. [12:34 AM] "..." Two trees of the same rootstock, like theirs downstairs... or in this case, two branches of the same tree. [12:36 AM] ...severed at their joining.

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 The outline of his soul is the expected apple, but it’s… withered almost, and much, much smaller than it should be. “…what are you doing.” “Dad!” Umbra sits up, smiling. “You’re back!” “Yes.” Flare nods, eyes on Bells. “What is happening?”

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 "...he was injured. I healed him. He woke after, and wanted to know how i did it." "...i showed him why healing is hard for him, and told him how i did it." They figure they should probably keep this simple.

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 "...I can heal him." A golden tentacle extends and taps him and Umbra gasps sharply, any remaining injuries repairing in a instant. Mo holds his Nightmare as he coughs and wheezes, trying to get his breath back. Flare stares at him. "...get off my child."(edited)

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 "...he carried Umbra here." they point out, quietly. "like I said. he was injured- and, stairs can be rough to traverse with a tail." they didn't openly challenge his right to be protective, but that seemed like a point worth offering, just the same.

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 “Get. Off.” Flare snarls, ignoring Bells completely. “Fuck. You.” Mo growls right back, hugging his Nightmare tighter. “Would you two please stop-” Umbra freezes, paling as a tentacle reaches up and slaps Flare right in the face.

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 "...for fuck's sake." Bells whispers, closing their hand around Umbra's. they will teleport all three of them out of there if they need to. not sure to where, but-

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 Flare blinks. He grabs the tentacle. “Please keep yourself under control.” He says evenly. “R-right.” Umbra pulls the angrily wiggling tentacle back, holding onto it tightly. “…sorry.”

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 A soft exhale, and they loosen their grip, at least. "...I can't imagine controlling any part of his magic comes easily," are they talking to Flare? maybe, "magically speaking, his wiring is fried."

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 "It is?" Flare frowns, kneeling by his child, pausing to shoot a look at Mo and being answered by a glare in turn.

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 "-that's what I was saying before, yeah." okay. relaxing. tenatively. "You know how leylines work in world's, I'm guessing? Veins and mapworks of magic, So on?"

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 "Yes."

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 "...well, people have them too. and Umbra's... are faded, broken, and tangled... basically all of them."

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 "...how did that happen?" Flare quietly asks.

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 "..." "..." "I can outline the lines again, with his permission. I, don't feel right offering more than that right now."

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 "Do it." Flare says, Umbra nodding and Mo looking like he's considering biting the bit of Flare's arm near his face.

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 They try to catch Mo's eye, but a moment later just nod, resting their hand against Umbra's arm again. The broken mapwork of threads begin outlining his own, all the way to his soul, and... to the bit, rather like what looks to them like a forked branch, broken at the joint. though of course they could be wrong...

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 Flare frowns. Another line to Umbra’s soul lights up, a second branch in a vivid red-gold, wound around the first and trailing off beyond his body, briefly illuminating. Flare smiles and relaxes, Umbra looks confused, and Mo is seconds from whipping out his borrowed knife and stabbing Flare right in his stupid face when a tentacle grabs him and slams his face into Umbra’s neck, completely plastering him against his Nightmare’s side. Mo immediately slumps, making a soft happy noise, Umbra squeaks and Flare scowls.

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 "...that. is my guess." they answer, very quietly. [2:10 PM] "-or rather, the broken bit." [2:10 PM] They are looking at Flare a bit strangely, admittedly.

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 “Something happened when he was young, maybe thirteen.” Flare says, growling lowly, glaring at Mo. “He had been unwell for several weeks when he suddenly collapsed, screaming. I cared for him the best I could, but he was still unconscious for several months.” “I don’t remember that…” Umbra mutters, Mo whimpering and nuzzling him. “You were a child.” Flare says softly. “It was traumatic.”

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 "...Flare." their voice was very quiet, meeting Flare's eyelights evenly. "Mo. Didn't do anything. Keep in mind... he was a child too." "May i... speak to you?"(edited)

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 "Certainly." Flare says.

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 Bells gets to their feet, and moves away from Umbra, intending to have a moment privately with Flare.

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 Flare follows with only a passing warning glare back at Mo and a scowl when Mo simply continues nuzzling Umbra.

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 Once theyre... sufficiently out of earshot, Bells sits on the edge of one of the stone walls that shapes the pools of water, looking up at Flare. "...you know what that severed line was, correct?"

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 He kneels. "No."

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 "...there tends to be a bond, between guardians. generally, a fate bond of one kind or another. it's an intimate connection, allows one to always find the other, always feel the other, and forms a connection... soul deep. sometimes, if one dies, both will die." "Its, never supposed to be broken." "...it looks like someone hacked clumsily at the link between your son and Mo, with a dull knife, until it finally gave way from Mo's end." "-whatever your son suffered, indirectly? Mo suffered, extremely directly. Its not his fault. And very likely, his magic is every bit as fucked, if not more."(edited)

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 “I suppose that is why I have never seen Mo use magic as his own self…” Flare muses. “And why Umbra is always so sickly.”

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 "...and likely why Mo is drawn so very strongly to Umbra." they agree, quietly. "that bond, is never meant to be broken. and while Umbra himself pushes Mo away? His tentacles grab, and hold him close, given the chance." [3:52 PM] "That. Speaks of something."

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 “…I see.” Flare looks away, troubled.

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 "..." "I was able to repair a few of the threads, by the wound. it's how I was able to heal it. But I have no way to know if the repairs will last."

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 Flare nods.

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 "..." there's not much more they can add to that. so- "I'd also like to talk to you about what happened downstairs. If you think you can without getting upset."

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 "I can."

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 "...I know you're aware that Greylu has attacked Dragon. they've also attacked him. literally chased him around his throne room in full dragon form, fire licking at their teeth. they, tend to antagonize each other." a... less than pleased note to this. "one stabs, the other bites off a tentacle- "More recently, they've been trying to make peace. Mostly for Hood's sake, I think. So that's... somewhat settled." "Im... sorry you were pulled into it."

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 "If he does it again," Flare says softly. "I will feed him his arms."

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 "...they'll grow back. they always do." they sound, tired.(edited)

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 "Noted."

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 "..." "My daughter is very protective of him." They're not, quite looking at him now. "She's had him crumble to dust under her hands, while she tried to hold on. She was too young to remember it clearly? But it left an impression." "...especially... when her own bondmate had been left dust as well. she has both back now... but part of her soul remembers. try not to hold her protectiveness against her."

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 "Okay."

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 "..." they're not sure what to say now.

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 Flare is just staring off into the distance. He grunts and rubs his chest.

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 "..." now they're watching him. "-g for your thoughts?"(edited)

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 "...I think I may have bonded to Umbra."

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 "..." a soft sound, not easy to read. "yeah. I know." They admit quietly, "so does Mo. you two were the only ones who didn't." "It. Has to hurt, so much. Him knowing that his bondmate is not only taken from him... but tied to another."

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 Flare nods. “…you said the bondmates die without each other. I assume I inadvertently saved Umbra.” He looks at them. “But what about Mo?”

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 "...I said sometimes they do." They correct quietly, "generally even then, it's if one dies." "..." "My husband, was separated from his bondmate, for almost half a year. Dragon isn't the only enemy he's made... but Dragon was the one to repair the damage. That's, also part of what's helped make peace." "...if Mo does have another bondmate, it's not something I'd be able to tell just by looking at him. but then, I have no idea what that phantasmal creature was, that rose out of him before."(edited)

Askbittyerror09/28/2020 Flare gazes at Mo, still cuddled up to his son, for a long moment. He stands and walks over, yanking the pair apart and dangling the Dream in the air by the throat. “Dad!” Umbra exclaims from the ground, trying to push himself up and whimpering when a golden wing thumps onto his chest, pinning him down. Mo thrashes and tries to kick his chest, wheezing as Flare’s grip tightens. The once-Paladin holds his hand over Mo’s chest, grips, and yanks- and what comes out… really isn’t a soul. A quivering mass of blue, red and cyan pulsate wildly, cut through with spasming black striations and glitches. It’s bigger Mo’s entire chest and the colors spiral around a withered golden apple, its surface faintly shimmering with an oily rainbow sheen. “What is-” Flare brushes his fingers against the mass and for a moment, time freezes- Then reality shudders and Flare is blasted back, skidding on the grass and letting out a pained grunt. The not-soul spreads across Mo’s body, covering him completely, and rises until it’s bigger than Flare, hunched back brushing the ceiling, hundreds of disjointed limbs tearing deep gouges into the dirt, thousands of hollow eyes glaring daggers, dozens of mouths slathering tar-like sludge that boils and bursts into knotted blue thread when it hits the ground.(edited)

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 When Flare steps back to the others, they start to ask what hes doing- -when they see what he's doing they get to their feet. "Hey! Flare, just because you can-" aaand then there's that. "...holy fuck." they whisper, staring. "..." "..." "FLARE! JUST BECAUSE YOU HAVE THE ABILITY TO DO SOMETHING DOESNT MEAN YOU SHOULD JUST GO AHEAD AND DO IT!!!" Maybe forgive the yelling, the lich is in full panic mode, and doing very badly at hiding it. Their children are here-!!!(edited)

with-bells-upon09/28/2020 What do do? Open the ceiling and shove them out? fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck- Instead Bells grabs their phone, and sends out a mass text. 'GET THE KIDS OUT OF HERE!'