#'last time i was here i leapt to my Certain Death. but you spread your wings and You Saved Me' indeed

[raayllum]

In the pit, the human charged forward, sword aloft. And in the crowd behind him, a flash of red. A scarf.

[teawaffles]

Louis and the Aquaria: Chapter 3, Part 2

The next morning.

After yesterday’s incident, Moran was keen to know what Louis would do next — and so he headed to the hall with Fred, who presently had some time to spare. Perhaps it was because he’d been working late into the night, for Fred kept yawning as he rubbed his bleary eyes.

But the moment Moran pushed open the hall door, the startling sight before them banished all of Fred’s sleepiness in a flash.

“This is……”

“What the heck is this?” Moran exclaimed.

Dumbfounded, the two men stood where they were.

One corner of the hall—— had been turned into a dense jungle.

Numerous South American trees, planted in giant pots, were now surrounding the angelfish tank. At the same time, the two men were struck by the feeling that somehow, the room’s humidity had risen since yesterday.

Hearing Moran’s shout, Louis poked his head out from behind an ivy-wrapped tree.

“You’re being much too loud in the morning, Mr Moran. It’ll stress out the fish, so please refrain from shouting; but what on earth’s the matter?”

“That’s my line: what have you done here?!”

A flash of light gleamed off Louis’s spectacles.

“I was seeking a more conducive environment for my bro—…… no, the fish, so I have recreated a South American rainforest here. They were ordered a few days earlier, and arrived last night; I’ve just finished arranging them.”

Apparently, the luxurious water plants had just been the beginning for Louis. Even so, Moran had not expected this much progress in one night.

The situation raised so many questions that he had no idea where to begin. But for now, Moran refused to back down, and raised one of the problems at hand.

“First off, you were obviously going to say ‘my brothers’, but still: don’t talk about such grand feats as ‘recreating South America’ so lightly! No, I had a feeling about this. A normal person would reflect on what happened yesterday, and restrain themselves after that — but for you, you’re the type who ends up going amok instead. And yet, I didn’t think you’d do something as drastic as this!”

Moran had launched into a heated tirade, but Louis kept his cool as he replied.

“Thank you for taking the time to point out each and every one of those things. However, I believe I’m treating all of the fish equally; and in my view, it’s unfair to say that I’m favouring some of them just because some plants have been placed at specific areas.”

“What kinda nerve is that, to not even admit it after going this far…….. I mean, you are actually a little aware of it, aren’t you?”

“Also, it’s actually quite amazing that you’ve managed to remain calm all this while, Mr Louis……”

Even after weathering that torrent of questions, Louis was unmoved — and if anything, that had inspired a sense of awe within Fred.

“Well, it was us who said you were free to do as you liked. In any case, your love towards your brothers is certainly terrifying.”

To Moran, it seemed meaningless to continue arguing with the youngest son of the Moriartys, who stubbornly refused to acknowledge his biased rearing of the fish. He gave up trying to persuade Louis, and went on to watch the fish as he normally did.

“…………”

He tried to focus on the vibrant fish before him. And yet, Moran couldn’t help but notice the trees standing at the edge of his sight.

Tormented by that conflict, he finally succumbed to temptation. With sure steps, Moran made his way toward the vegetation, and Fred followed cautiously behind him.

“……Well, if they’re already here, we may as well enjoy them to the fullest.”

Mumbling to no one in particular, Moran walked up to the row of trees. Using one arm to push away the leaves in his path, he moved through the greenery; then, his gaze landed on an aquarium placed on a nearby table. Inside, were some animals with incredibly striking colourations.

“What’re these?”

“They’re indeed very colourful,” Fred remarked.

Within the tank were several tiny frogs. They were a deep blue, and mottled with red.

The two men were full of questions about the presence of these unfamiliar creatures. Nevertheless, out of sheer curiosity, they moved their faces near the tank and peered in.

Louis, who was feeding the other fish, called out to them in a loud voice.

“Please don’t open the tank lid: they may look beautiful, but they secrete a lethal poison so deadly that some indigenous tribes of South America use it to coat the tips of their blowdarts.”

In an instant, Moran and Fred leapt away from the tank. Due to their natural athleticism, the distance they’d retreated was further than that of the average person.

As it were, they had narrowly escaped the jaws of death. But even as the sudden appearance of these poisonous frogs gave them chills, Moran stilled his pounding heart, and shot Louis a look of anger.

“Why are such dangerous things here?! Even recreating a South American environment has its limits, doesn't it?!”

“My apologies. One of my motivations was indeed to recreate the fishes’ native habitat. But more than that, I wanted to prepare for a scenario where Stapleton expresses an interest in other creatures besides fish. Hence, I began rearing these frogs just in case.”

As he said that, Louis made his way beside the tank. Opening the lid just a crack, he tossed in some tiny insects: food for the frogs.

“…………”

Seeing his practiced hand, at this point, the other two men had nothing else to say. In this extraordinary space created within the mansion they lived in on a daily basis, their ability to process information had long since hit its limit.

After confirming that the frogs had eaten their fill, Louis proceeded on an efficient path around the room to check on the rest of the tanks.

Moran gazed into the distance.

“It sure is amazing, what people can do in such a short time……”

But excessive zeal, once taken in the wrong direction, can lead to outcomes no one would’ve expected.

Even as various points had deeply impressed upon them just how amazing Louis was, at the same time, Moran and Fred also grew conscious of a certain truth in life. Once again, they stepped through the row of trees.

The two men parted the curtain of leaves, some part of them nervously wondering if those dangerous frogs had escaped, and walked up to the aquarium they had in mind.

“Oh, there they are.”

Seeing that the tank itself hadn’t changed, Moran finally breathed a sense of relief, and went on to admire the three “Moriarty brothers” swimming within.

The one at the head of the group was ‘William’. Right behind him was ‘Albert’, then ‘Louis’. Within the jungle Louis had created, the three angelfish shone in a way that lived up to their angelic names.

However, in contrast to the joyful Moran, Fred’s expression was serious. He narrowed his eyes slightly.

“Don’t you think…… its movements are a bit awkward?”

“Ah?”

Moran stared at the focus of Fred’s attention. Immediately, he perceived a subtle change in that fish.

Although it seemed perfectly fine at first glance, if one were to observe all three of them carefully, it was clear that the one at the head of the group was swimming a little differently from the other two.

“Is there something wrong?”

Louis came over, sensing something was off. But even before Fred explained the situation, he noticed the abnormality with ‘William’.

He put his face close to the tank, observing the fish for a few moments; but gradually, his expression turned grave.

“Oi, Louis: what on earth’s going on? Could it be that he’s sick?” Moran asked.

Louis placed a hand under his chin, thought for a split second, then quickly made a decision.

“——First, let’s move it to a separate tank. There’s a smaller one near the hall entrance: Mr Moran, please bring it here. Fred: please read the measurements from the devices installed on this tank and report them.”

Hearing those instructions, the two men assumed their roles at once.

Meanwhile, Louis took a notepad from his breast pocket, and checked the emergency response measures he’d studied on his own. Though he had already memorised all of them, he wanted to avoid any potential for error.

Moran returned with a small tank.

“Oi, is this one alright?”

“Yes, thank you.”

First, Louis transferred some water from the angelfishes’ tank into the one Moran brought over, such that it was deep enough for one fish. Then, he set up some equipment to confirm the water temperature and quality once more, then added a bit of salt to the water.

Watching him, Moran cocked his head.

“Why’re you adding salt?”

“Saltwater is an effective treatment for diseases in fish. Though it certainly isn’t all-powerful.��� [1]

Saying that, Louis used a net to gently scoop up ‘William’ and move it to the tank they’d prepared. Although there were drawbacks to isolating sick fish, his priority was to stop the disease from spreading, as well as limit any damage that could be caused by the other fish.

As he worked, Louis listened to the measurements Fred read out, but his puzzlement only deepened.

“The water quality and temperature are both normal. As far as I can see, there isn’t any obvious debris or dirt in the tank, and the equipment doesn’t seem to be malfunctioning. In that case, perhaps some foreign substance had entered its food, or maybe it got stressed from its surroundings……”

“Maybe it got bullied by the other fish?” Moran asked.

Louis immediately dismissed that idea. “From what I’ve observed, there were no such quarrels between them. In that case, another possibility I can think of is the change in its environment.”

He cast a sideways glance at the trees surrounding them. And Fred picked up the implication behind that casual gesture.

“By ‘stress’, do you mean these trees? But it’s not like they came into contact with the water, so they probably didn’t impact the water quality, at least not directly. Also, weren’t they only added a while ago? To affect the fish so rapidly……”

“We can’t dismiss that possibility. Perhaps the changes to the view outside the tank had caused some visual stress…… Well, regardless of the reason, the blame for its ill health rests with me: the one in charge of its care.”

“…………”

After isolating the fish, the three of them remained standing where they were.

They gazed at the sick angelfish, swimming alone in its tank, with a sense of misery and frustration growing within them.

Footnotes:

[1] There is some truth to this: Practical Fishkeeping UK

[gingerpeachtae]

Concentric [23]

masterlist

Words: 25.4k 🤯💀

Genres: fantasy!AU, angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, eventual smut

Warnings: graphic depictions of violence and death

Summary: You had been ready for the end of the semester. You had been ready to spend time away from your best friend, Jimin, and finally move on from the feelings you harbored. Yet, after your friend was forced to reveal a secret, you found yourself in a new world that was chock full of magic, war, and wonder. So, here you were, basically thrown into your own fantasy novel, with your best friend on one side, and six male warriors on the other.

A/N: my braincell is ready for rest oof… PLS ENGOY YOUR EMOTIONAL ROLLERCOASTER EVERYONE 💙

Holding his arms up in front of his face, Jimin flinched as the thorny vines of the thicket scratched at his wrists while he continued sprinting forward. The stinging pain lasted for only a moment as the half-Saeni sucked more air into his lungs and forced his legs to propel his body faster through the rugged, dense forest. The six other Saeni were moving just as quickly and were still protectively surrounding him as they ran. Through the bird calls, bug chirps, and shaking leaves, every single one of them could hear the sound of large paws hitting the earth gradually coming closer. The sounds of deep growls becoming louder.

At the front of the group, Ipsa leapt over a large tree root which caused her golden hair to flash in the sunlight that was peeking through the treetops.

As Geodin followed and easily jumped over the same root, he let out a low groan before muttering in an irritated tone, “Why in Exia’s name are we being hunted by wolves?”

“Just keep moving!” Mingi sternly ordered to the short male without even looking back.

Jimin ran beneath the bright green leaves that caused his pupils to dilate and expand rapidly from the constant changes in light, and as he passed by a skinny maple tree Illai spoke in his mind to inform him that they needed to veer more to the right. After grunting lightly in acknowledgement and pushing his apricot hair out of his eyes, the half-Saeni voiced her direction to the group between his heavy breaths and the Saeni promptly adjusted.

The seven pressed on, leaves and thin branches whipping across their faces and mud splattering against their shins. Mingi effortlessly vaulted over a fallen tree trunk that was almost parallel to the ground but not quite fully collapsed. Jimin, on the other hand, slid beneath it, his head barely missing the rough bark, before popping up to his feet on the opposite side and resuming his fast pace. Dirt and dead leaves clung to his thigh and side but he didn’t bother swatting any of it off as sweat trailed down his face and his heart pounded in his chest. He could hear the wolves grow even closer. Could almost feel their presence on the group’s heels even though the canines had yet to show themselves.

The terrain abruptly began to decline, causing all the Saeni to slow down ever so slightly and turn their bodies to the side to prevent themselves from losing balance. As they descended quickly but cautiously, Jimin heard a stumble behind him and Koliifa cursed as a rock came loose under his weight and his footing faltered for a brief second.

“Careful,” his sister hissed and helped steady the male.

Then, out of his peripheral, Jimin saw Stem furrow his brow and look out to the left while he skirted around a sapling.

After a couple of seconds, the archer hummed and returned his gaze forward. “I think one of the wolves broke off to our left.”

“Leaving?” Mingi called back in question while tilting his head that way and narrowing his hazel eyes.

“No, it’s moving lateral to us now. I think it doesn’t want us going that way.”

Ipsa frowned at Stem’s comment, but didn’t say anything as the group finally reached the bottom of the hill. The degradation levelled out and the Saeni were deposited into a small, bubbling stream that was surrounded by a stretch of flat land with plentiful but spread out trees.

Flinching as the stream’s cold water sloshed onto his leg while he and the others crossed it, Jimin wanted to stop and marvel at how serene and calm the area was but he knew there wasn’t time for that. Maybe later, though… if he survived.

Squinting through a ray of sunlight, the golden-haired female whispered to herself then sharply inhaled and glanced at the Saeni behind her. “For Exia’s sake, they’re herding us.”

None of the Saeni’s movements wavered in wake of the comment but Koliifa murmured another curse and Geodin grumbled in aggravated disbelief while everyone else was stunned into silence.

But it made sense. Realistically, the wolves should have caught up to them by now but they hadn’t or, as it now appeared, purposefully wouldn’t. They were keeping their distance but still making their presence known. Making sure the group went in a certain direction. The seven hadn’t realized it until now since it was the same direction they were wanting to go in, but that made Jimin wonder…

“Are they random wolves or-?”

“Or are they somehow a draikensu’s pet?” Opikal finished the thought in a dry tone. “I was thinking the same thing. Honestly, the timing seems too convenient for it to not be connected.”

“But if they’re with the draikensu then herding us-”

“Means they’re most likely moving us toward a trap.”

The Saeni fell silent again, considering what to do. They continued to move forward; they didn’t have the luxury of stopping… but with every step they took the idea that they may be moving closer to an attack loomed over their heads. The possibility weighed heavily on the group, but they also knew there was nothing to be done besides steeling themselves and being ready.

However, after a few moments, the siblings bringing up the rear exchanged looks, communicating without words, and nodded to one another before slowing down.

“Go on ahead,” Opikal said as she and her brother came to a complete stop beside an old oak tree, “we’ll take care of the wolves.”

The rest of the group looked back in shock at the determined siblings who were standing underneath the oak’s swaying leaves. Opikal’s dark eyes were serious as she drew her sword from its sheath at her hip while Koliifa was unwinding his chain whip with a confident smile.

Ipsa ran backwards as she regarded them with uncertainty swimming in her eyes. “Are you sure?”

Koliifa shrugged indifferently. “Yeah. It’ll be fun, right sis?” Then he shifted his grin to his sister, who only rolled her ebony eyes.

After sighing at her cheerful brother, Opikal gestured for the group to move on. “Just hurry up and go. We’ll take care of it.”

Jimin gaped at the duo, not wanting to leave them behind but knowing there was no time to argue or come up with an alternative. The apricot head’s mind swam with conflict as he watched the siblings turn their backs on everyone and ready their weapons.

“Come on.” Mingi’s deep voice seemed to reverberate through the landscape with his command. “Let’s go.”

Stem placed a firm hand on Jimin’s shoulder and gave him a look of understanding but still lightly shoved the half-Saeni forward as they all began to run at full speed again, leaving the siblings behind.

Reluctantly, Jimin returned to his previous pace and Mingi told everyone to be on guard. Stem stayed behind Jimin, taking over the rear position in place of the siblings while Ipsa dropped back to cover Jimin’s left. After a minute or so, the Saeni could no longer hear the wolf paws but instead a series of loud growls, barks, and whines rose up behind them. Doing their best to ignore the noises and focus on what lay ahead of them, the group of five followed the small creek while being mindful of the wet rocks on the bank.

Do not follow the bend in the stream. You must continue straight. The sweet voice of the mother goddess seeped into Jimin’s mind again. You’re getting close. Very close. Keep moving. Hurry!

Jimin instantly relayed the information to the group and Geodin gave an affirmative grunt in response. They then crossed the creek once more and went back into the shade of the thick woods.

It wasn’t long before a chilling scream resounded into the air and echoed off the trees. It was the type of scream that ran a shiver down a person’s spine and raised the hair on their arms. Filled with pain and desperation. It didn’t last long, though, and within a couple of seconds the sound cut off.

Gritting his teeth and clenching his hands into tight fists, Jimin felt the urge to do something swell inside him. He just didn’t know what he could do. The apricot head went to peek over his shoulder, back to where they had left Opikal and Koliifa, but Stem moved into his line of sight and shook his head.

“Don’t look back,” the archer said in a grave tone then he blinked a few times and looked up at the sun shining through the trees before steadying his gaze on Jimin once more. “They made their choice. We can’t do anything for them now.”

Jimin opened his mouth but snapped it closed and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment before returning his attention to what was ahead of him knowing Stem was right.

The shade cast by the leaves suddenly felt too cold as the cruel reality of the situation settled over the half-Saeni. He had heard the scream, but had no way of knowing if Opikal and Koliifa were still alive or not. The suffocating realization tightened his throat because the same went for you and his brothers. The group had been able to hear the fighting for a while… what if one of those dying screams had been a member of his kiela? He knew how strong everyone was, including you, but… but what if…

All of the sudden, Jimin was yanked out of his upsetting thoughts when Mingi held up his fist. At the appearance of the signal, Jimin and the others slowed down and began to creep forward. Eyes scanning and ears alert. A slight rustle came from up ahead. A noise so minor and indiscrete yet so loud at the same time. The Saeni’s heads whipped in the direction of the sound while Mingi shifted to place himself fully in front of Jimin.

Then… the flash of sunlight glinting off metal… and a sickening thump.

Jimin blinked in horror as an arrow skewered itself through soft flesh of Geodin’s neck. The short male tried to gasp and stumbled while Mingi immediately turned to grab Jimin and tug him behind a large tree. The other Saeni followed suit and found cover as Geodin dropped to his knees, blood leaking out around the arrow and onto his chest. Deep crimson also trailed out of his mouth and stained his lips and chin. The world seemed to pause and hold its breath…

Then another arrow embedded itself into Geodin’s chest. The impact forcing the male to fall to his back. His chest shakily rose and fell… once… twice… and then he stopped moving altogether.

Your thighs and calves burned as you finally reached the peak of the steep incline. Slowing to a stop, you pushed your sweaty hair out of your face then waved your hand around to shoo away the bugs buzzing by your ear as you caught your breath. While gulping in air, you turned in a half-circle to try to see what was around you but all there was was an endless expanse of green and brown. You had no idea where you were or if you were even close to Jimin. It’s not like you had directions or landmarks to help you find your way. All you could really do was keep the battlefield either at your back or on your left shoulder as you ran through the forest in search of your best friend.

The basic plan was to go northwest toward the center of the enemy’s forces to where the rift supposedly was. Unfortunately, you didn’t have the privilege of mental GPS guidance like your dear best friend. Plus, you didn’t even know where the center of the draikensu’s forces were; you only had a generic idea so you were truly just winging it.

Doesn’t matter. I’m gonna find you Slim Jim. 

Swiveling back to face the direction you had been running in, you cracked your neck and back then inhaled deeply. Although you were a decent distance from the field by now, you swear you could still detect a hint of iron and death in the air. Maybe it was because you could still hear faint screams filtering through the trees, or maybe the smell clung to you, or maybe you were simply imagining the putrid scent because you were so on edge.

With how much adrenaline was pumping through your veins at the moment you wondered if you would ever be able to calm down again after this whole ordeal was over.

If you were even still breathing by then.

You were worried for yourself, for Jimin, for Jungkook and Tae and all the other members of the kiela who had become family to you. Mingi too. But you were also concerned about the draikensu. You knew majority of them were at the field but you didn’t know if all of them were and the last thing you needed was to run into a group of the fuckers. If what that one back at the cliff said was true – the key will die while you pathetically fight – then you probably didn’t have a lot of time to waste so you didn’t want to worry about your human ass sneaking around quietly or fighting any skirmishes on your way. Thankfully, you hadn’t seen anyone since you left the cliff but that didn’t mean you were about to let your guard up.

Doing a quick examine of the trees, you tried to ignore the distant screams as you focused your hearing…

Nothing.

No signs of draikensu… or Jimin.

You blew out a raspberry and let your eyes wander until they rested on a large rock that you started to approach coyly. “You wouldn’t happen to be a rock I can ride for miles like the pioneers used to… would you?”

No response, unsurprisingly.

With a bittersweet huff, you clutched your bow tighter and stepped up and over the rock before beginning to move onward once more. Lowering your head to avoid being whacked in the face by a large branch, you scampered over a collection of roots popping out of earth like lacework. Suddenly, a twig snapped and the shrubs rustled violently to your right and your eyes widened in alarm as you instinctively grabbed an arrow from your quiver while turning toward the sound. Your hear beat wildly as you drew back and squinted into the trees but all you saw was a small, russet-colored creature scuttling through the low greenery.

Just a damn animal. Your arms relaxed and you breathed a bit easier as you watched the creature disappear.

Returning the arrow to your quiver, you shook out your hand to relieve some leftover tension then got ready to start running again. Though as you shifted your weight to do so, a pained scream pierced your ears. Freezing, your breath caught in your throat but the shriek stopped just as quickly as it had come.

“The fuck…?” You murmured to yourself while looking around warily.

There’s no way that came from the field… it was way too loud to have come from the field.

While the birds resumed their singing, you drifted your gaze more west and narrowed your eyes. Of course, there was no way to be sure but you had a hunch the scream came from over there. Your insides yelled at you that it did and before you knew it your feet were moving on their own accord.

Rolling onto his back, Namjoon could almost feel the dew-and-blood-slicked grass soak into his armor and clothes. Ignoring the unpleasant sensation, the yellow-eyed male grit his teeth and used both hands to lift his heavy weapon over his face in order to block the serrated edge of the short sword being swung at him. The draikensu’s blade ricocheted off the hammer’s shaft with a shrill ring and a handful of sparks. Baring his teeth at the recoil that traveled up his arms from the attack, Namjoon shifted his weight to attempt to kick his opponent’s legs out from underneath him but a yelling figure with dark hair slammed into the draikensu without warning.

Jin threw his arms around the male going after his leader and tackled him to the ground with a defiant shout. The force of the surprise body slam caused the draikensu to involuntarily drop his sword and the eldest member of the kiela didn’t give the male any time to recover. Jin pulled his sword hand back then rammed the hilt of the weapon into the male’s jaw, making his head snap back against the earth. The draikensu growled and spat out a mouthful of crimson spit before grabbing onto Jin’s forearm and throwing his weight upward and to the side. As Jin was thrown aside, he clutched at the draikensu’s armor and pulled the male along with him.

The two males twisted and grappled in the torn-up grass. Their limbs tangled and grasped at one another while they tried to find an advantage and pin the other down, but the close proximity made Jin struggle. It restricted him from using the blade of his longsword. He simply didn’t have the space or time to use the gore-covered weapon.

While dodging the draikensu’s elbow, Jin tried to spot something he could impale the male on or if Namjoon was able to give him a helping hand… or better yet, a swing of his hammer. Seeing neither, the raven-haired Saeni could only think of one way to finish the fight. Jin released another powerful yell and brought his arm across the draikensu’s chest, gripping the male’s shoulder in his hand to anchor himself as he punched the male’s side with the hand tightly gripping his sword hilt. The draikensu gasped and Jin took that split-second to flip his opponent to his back so he could kneel over the male’s waist. After delivering another blow to the male’s torso to incapacitate his movements, the raven-haired Saeni adjusted the hold on his sword and sliced up from the draikensu’s belly in one fluid but deadly arc. Crimson spattered onto the grass and dripped off the tip of Jin’s sword as the draikensu swiftly began to bleed out while his eyes rolled back into his head.

With a pant, Jin went to stand but the air against the side of his face abruptly stirred and caused him to turn and raise his weapon. A sword screeched against the edge of his own blade. Jin’s fast reaction stopped the weapon from reaching his neck as was the draikensu’s intention, but the parry didn’t manage to leave him completely unscathed. The enemy’s sword shallowly slashed into his cheek and arm, leaving behind thin lines of red, and the attacked made the Saeni lose his balance. Jin stumbled and teetered to the side, falling onto his hip and forearm. He blinked up at the draikensu as he felt his warm blood well up from the cuts, and the sight of scarlet beginning to trail down his face made the draikensu’s eyes sparkle and lips twitch gleefully.

Jin heard a familiar voice call out to him desperately.

“Hyung!”

Looking past the male hovering over him, Jin saw Namjoon running over. His brown hair was matted, jaw clenched, and eyes narrowed menacingly. Not even a second later, when he was close enough, Namjoon reached out and firmly grabbed the draikensu’s collar before yanking the male backwards harshly. While the draikensu staggered and tumbled to the ground, Namjoon grunted and raised the bulky head of his weapon to the sky. Then he smashed it down onto the chest of the fallen draikensu.

Namjoon breathed heavily and lifted his hammer from the crater he had created in the male’s armor before wiping the back of his hand across his forehead then offering the hand out to his brother.

“You good?” The leader inquired while roaming his eyes over Jin’s body to check for injuries.

Taking Namjoon’s hand in his, Jin allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. “Yeah, I’m alright.”

After nodding, Namjoon shifted his gaze to take in the field and the mass of crumpled bodies that now littered it. With sad eyes, he observed the dead, the wounded and barely alive, and those still fighting through their exhaustion.

Shaking his head, he whispered, “How long will this go on…?”

Jin placed a gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder before saying they should try to regroup with the others. The elder tilted his chin toward a collection of flaring lights over by one of the trees scattered throughout the field and Namjoon could just make out the color of mint-blue from the mess.

The leader of the kiela went to agree but as he turned his head back to his brother, he saw movement in his peripherals. Eyes expanding in alarm as he registered two daggers rotating through the air toward them, Namjoon hastily pushed Jin out of the way.

Falling to his ass, the raven-haired Saeni looked up at the other male in confusion. “Joon? What th-OH MY GODDESS!”

Jin was gawking at Namjoon’s thigh and the yellow-eyed Saeni grimaced as he looked down and observed the blade now buried hilt deep in his flesh. Namjoon’s hand trembled as he reached down to lightly touch his fingertip against the hilt and he hissed sharply through his teeth at how the contact slightly disturbed the blade. Blood began to slowly course down Namjoon’s thigh and Jin forced himself to get over his shock and get back to his feet to scan the area.

“Where did it come from!?” Jin whispered frantically and darted his eyes around but when Namjoon only whimpered in response he swiveled his dark eyes to see that Namjoon now had his hand fully wrapped around the hilt. “DON’T TAKE IT OUT!”

“Aish, I know. It just fucking hurts.”

Jin snorted at his leader’s pouting response. “Well, no shit.”

Namjoon barked out a rough laugh but it was fast to fade into another pained moan. While he moved his hand to hold the muscle of his thigh right above the dagger, Jin felt a lump lodge in his throat as he took in his younger brother’s state.

“You… You really shouldn’t have pushed me. You should have gotten yourself out of the way.”

Setting the head of his hammer on the ground, Namjoon rested majority of his weight on the weapon while waving his now bloody hand dismissively and showcasing a tiny, dimpled smile.

“…Hey.” A stranger’s voice suddenly came from beside them both.

With a gasp, Jin pivoted and raised his sword but an array of emerald magic held his swing at bay. Underneath the glittering green was a muscular, emerald-haired female Saeni with both eyebrows raised at the eldest of the kiela. Seeing she wasn’t a threat, Jin eased up and apologized as the emerald light vanished. The magic user chuckled and just gave Jin another look then turned her gaze to the dagger sticking out of Namjoon’s thigh.

“Let me see that.” She crouched down so the damage was at eye level then glanced behind her shoulder at Jin. “You, keep any draikensu off us while I deal with this.”

Jin drew in a breath at her words, feeling the lump in his throat lessen knowing she was going to help his brother. Repositioning himself, he stood guard and protectively watched over them as the magic user put her strong hand around the dagger’s hilt, which made Namjoon curse in a deep voice.

The yellow-eyed male looked down at the female and lightly touched her wrist. “Don’t… save your energy. Don’t waste it on me.”

“Shut up and let me do this.”

Jin roared as a draikensu approached the trio and he took two steps to the side then powerfully slashed his sword across their chest before plunging it through their torso.

“I’m only doing enough to ensure you won’t die after I take out this little guy.” The female gestured to the dagger with her chin.

“Little?”

The magic user just stared up at Namjoon silently through her emerald hair until he swallowed nervously and nodded.

“A-Alright…”

“This is going to hurt,” she said while gripping the hilt more firmly. “On three. One… two… three!”

While bursts of magenta light came from several yards away as another Saeni magic user battled the draikensu with yellow magic, Yoongi crooked his fingers while diving to the side and narrowly avoided a crescent of amethyst magic surging toward him. Rolling to a stop near the base of a tree, his own magic shot out of the ground at his opponent’s feet. The mint-blue tendrils seized the female’s amethyst-glowing hands and began to crawl up her wrists and arms, preventing her from moving. At the same time, Hobi leapt toward the draikensu with a blade brandished in each hand. As he angled his daggers, the silvery-whiteness of his hair shimmered in the sun where it was still visible beneath the streaks of red and brown that painted his body. Aiming one blade just above the female’s collarbone and the other under her ribcage, the kiela’s spy closed in on his target but the female magic user contorted her face into a snarl and lifted one of her legs to plant her foot directly into Hobi’s sternum.

Yoongi felt his stomach drop as he watched Hobi land hard on his back while the female turned her attention to the mint-colored light curling around her arms. Claws of amethyst erupted out of her hands and pierced through Yoongi’s magic but the Saeni didn’t reinforce his bonds. He couldn’t bring himself to look away from his partner who had yet to get back up to his feet. The female draikensu began to violently strip off the mint-blue tendrils coiling up her limbs with her magic as Hobi braced himself on his elbows and let out a low moan of pain.

Petal pink eyes snapped wide open at the sound, and Yoongi thrust his hands forward to cocoon his magic around the spy before dragged him backwards until he too was underneath the tree. The mint-haired Saeni held out a hand and tried to keep the distress out of his voice as he asked if the other male was okay.

Hobi smiled gratefully while taking Yoongi’s hand, but as he was being helped up, the white-haired Saeni wrapped his free arm around his middle and grimaced. “Fucking Exia she can kick hard. I think she might’ve cracked a rib.”

Cursing under his breath, Yoongi immediately dropped his eyes to Hobi’s torso in concern but Hobi let out a breathy chuckle and placed his palm against the magic user’s cheek to gently tilt his face back up. “I’ll be fine hyung. You can fix me up and make me feel better later.”

The tips of the Yoongi’s ears began to burn as he stared into Hobi’s light brown eyes, the warmth of the male’s touch both scalding and soothing. Gaping slightly, the mint-haired Saeni felt as if the rest of the world blurred away as he gazed into those eyes. The sounds of fighting and pain and rage muted as if they were placed underwater and all he could hear instead was his frantic pulse and the echoes of Hobi’s voice. He felt as though he could live in that moment for the rest of eternity. A calming comfort in the middle of chaotic and deadly storm.

And then the moment was shattered as the female magic user screamed in impatience while ripping away the last of the mint tendrils from her arms. Both Hobi and Yoongi snapped their heads over to the angered female whose dark expression seemed to match the magic angrily writhing around her hands.

“Well,” Yoongi commented as he turned to face the draikensu with an annoyed quirk of his brow but he quickly replaced it with a lazy smirk, “someone took quite a while to get out of my magic. It wasn’t even that strong.”

“Goddess, sometimes I forget you’re just as bad as Kook with taunting people,” Hobi murmured and shook his head as the female’s gaze turned even more murderous.

Peering to the side and cracking his knuckles, Yoongi sent Hobi a sly grin. “Who do you think the sprout learned it all from?”

Before the kiela’s spy could come up with a retort, both males caught a glimmer of amethyst out of the corner of their eyes and they lunged in opposite directions as a harsh curve of magic flew at them. The magic hit the tree, gouging into the trunk and slicing into two of the thicker branches. The tree limbs creaked and groaned for a second before they fractured with a splitting crack and fell toward the earth, forcing Hobi to dive out of the way again as they hit the ground. Safely coming to his knees, Hobi reached behind his back to take out a medium-sized dagger while peeking at Yoongi who nodded and allowed his mint-blue magic to flare even brighter as he raised his hands. As the two males readied themselves to rush the female, an ear-splitting screech made both them and the draikensu halt their movements and look to the side.

The Saeni with magenta magic had the other draikensu magic user speared to the ground. The yellow magic enveloping the draikensu’s hands was growing dimmer and dimmer as she lay face down in the destroyed grass, a glittering magenta bolt piercing her body directly between her shoulder blades. The draikensu took a final, unsteady inhale then sagged limply while the last of her magic faded into nothing. Meanwhile, the Saeni magic user stumbled back a step but her legs gave out and she collapsed to her knees with a sobbing gasp. The magenta bolt vanished from the draikensu’s back, leaving an open, gaping hole, and the Saeni seemed to struggle to breath as she cradled her shaking hands close to her chest.

Yoongi and Hobi returned their gaze to the amethyst magic user and were alarmed as they saw her sneer and lift one of her glowing hands toward the weakened Saeni.

“Shit. Look out!” Yoongi yelled as Hobi desperately threw his dagger at the draikensu.

The Saeni looked up from her tremoring hands right as the draikensu spun out of the way of Hobi’s blade and simultaneously sent a sickle of magic from her hand. As the amethyst magic carved through the air, Yoongi flicked a line of his own magic out in a hasty attempt to latch onto the Saeni’s wrist and tug her out of the way… but it was too late. The female Saeni just quietly stared at the approaching wave of amethyst magic with hollow eyes until it cut through her neck and chest. Hobi swore, his voice holding regret and horror, and the two males watched as the Saeni’s now headless body slumped to the earth while her head rolled and came to a rest beside the body of the draikensu she had killed only moments earlier.

As you jumped down into a stream, cold water splashed against your ankles when the stone you landed on lurched to the side. After throwing your arms out to regain your balance, you crossed the water and saw you were now in a meadow-like area. Trees still dotted the earth but majority of the plants were grasses and ferns that ruffled in the breeze. It was beautiful and peaceful and allowed you to see your surroundings more easily… but you were also aware that it made you more visible and exposed. With that lovely thought in mind you kept moving beneath the sun and shade, although you couldn’t keep your eyes from flitting around more often to check your surroundings.

You still had no idea where you were, even more so now since the field was out of earshot. To put it simply, you were pretty much just going off instinct and gut feelings now. Right now, your gut was telling you to turn more to the east. There was no obvious reason as to why, maybe you felt as if you had gone too far west or perhaps it was some other subconscious sixth sense, but nonetheless you still listened to the feeling and adjusted your course. With aching legs and ragged breaths, you delved deeper into the meadow. Ferns gently grazed against your legs and the occasional bramble bush scraped your skin and clung to your clothes.

After a few minutes, the fresh, earthy scent of the meadow began to be overpowered by the distinct odor of blood and fresh death. Skidding to a top as the smell hit your nose, you looked around but saw and heard nothing out of the ordinary. But you knew that smell, as abhorrent as that realization was. Crinkling your nose, you took a tentative step forward… then another and another and another as you followed the disgusting smell to the source. You tried to control your breathing but you found yourself inhaling faster and faster as your anxiety grew along with the stench. Nervous of what you would find. Scared it would be a body with apricot hair.

Tiptoeing around a gnarly old oak tree, your breath hitched as you saw a lump of something laying in the ferns beside a log. Swallowing down your nerves as best you could, you grabbed an arrow and loosely notched it before slowly approaching the form. Tracing your index finger lightly over the arrow’s soft feather fletching for comfort, you neared and saw there was blood pooled on the earth beneath the thing. Blood also coated the stems and leaves of the plants beside it, the red contrasting so vividly to the bright green. The wind picked up and blew against your face, and you resisted the urge to cover your nose as you inched even closer. Then you paused as you saw patches of fur. Perplexed, you titled your head and stood still for a couple moments before moving around the vegetation so it was in full view.

Tail, large paws, and sharp teeth. It was a dead wolf. And it was covered in hundreds of gashes.

Taking short breaths, you squatted before the creature and looked over its maimed body. You had no idea what would create those kinds of wounds, and you didn’t want to stick around and find out. Furthermore, it wasn’t a Saeni or draikensu so there was no reason to hang around. It was time to get moving again. As you turned to leave, you glanced over to the log resting in the foliage a few yards away.

It’s shaped weirdly… must be pretty rotten and decomposed. You thought absentmindedly then gasped and did a double take as you felt your heart stop for a second.

What you had thought was a log wasn’t that at all… it was a person.

But they were no longer alive.

Biting your lip, you crept around the wolf and advanced toward the body. It was completely mutilated. Entrails spilled out from their stomach, deep gouges in their flesh, and torn out chunks of meat. The sight made you grimace and you had to look away for a moment.

After counting to three in your mind, you forced yourself to turn back to the body. Bringing your eyes to their head, some of the tension evaporated from your body and you squeezed your eyes in relief at how their hair was a baby-powder blue. You didn’t know them. You had no idea who they were or if they had been an ally or an enemy. Their body and armor were too shredded and torn apart to tell. Expelling a puff of air, you shifted your gaze to their red-stained hand that rested beside their head. In their palm was a metallic black rod that was connected to a series of smaller rods that were linked together by rings. The object was mostly piled in a heap but you could see the chain ended in a sharp dart.

Is that a whip?

You blinked at the weapon then looked back at the wolf.

Did they kill each other? Your brows furrowed. But why…?

Was this connected to Uzjuk or did you just happen to stumble upon a random, dead Saeni? You could have, but a normal Saeni wouldn’t be wearing armor or carrying around a weapon like that. Not unless they were BTS Saeni or a draikensu. The entire scene was utterly confusing and when you looked up from the wolf corpse your eyes widened yet again as you made out another lump up ahead in the ferns.

Brushing past some briars, you made your way over and noted it was another dead wolf draped over a dead female. A sword was buried deep into the stomach of the animal while its teeth rested against the female’s shoulder. Through the mess of fur, muscle, and sinew, you could see where its teeth had ripped her throat out.

Fucking hell… what happened here?

Scrunching your face at the sight, you peered at the female and wondered if some of her armor was intact beneath the wolf. If it was, you would be able to see if it matched the armor of the palace troops and thus know which side she, and likely the other Saeni, belonged to. Just as you went to kneel down, a series of loud and aggressive, but distant, barks resounded into the air which caused your head to whip up.

You had never heard a wolf’s bark before save what growls and howling were in movies, and although it sounded quite similar to a dog, you would bet your entire Spongebob Squarepants DVD collection that those had been wolf barks. They had to be.

As the sounds faded, you squinted through the trees then glanced up at the sun’s position. The barks had come from the north and a little bit to the east. You breathed in sharply through your nose at the realization, which you immediately regretted, then quickly dropped to the ground and set your bow aside before leaning over to pluck two big leaves off a nearby plant. Using them to cover your palms, you then pushed against the heavy body of the wolf. Once the canine had mostly slipped off the female’s body, you stared at her armor for a few seconds before snatching up your bow, standing up, and taking off in the direction of the barks with the image of the Saeni’s palace armor seared into your mind.

Dashing through the meadow, it wasn’t long before the stream popped back into view. It trickled and bubbled beside you as you ran alongside its bank. You didn’t know if those dead Saeni had been with Jimin but the female had the same armor as the palace troops so it was at least something for you to go off of. And your gut was telling you they had been with Jimin. Why else would they be this far from the field unless they had been heading to the rift?

I don’t know if Mingi and Jimin are alone or with others since I left before they probably finalized those plans, but wouldn’t it make more sense if they had brought a small group of Saeni with them?

You were pulled from your thoughts when another threatening bark followed by a whine echoed through the trees, the sudden sound startling you and making you trip over a rock. Cursing as your weight went forward, you stumbled a few steps but luckily didn’t fall. Continuing to move, you resented the damn wolf for almost causing you to eat dirt, but you were also glad it barked again because it confirmed you were still going in the right direction.

After a minute, the stream started to curve but since the bark had come from straight ahead you plunged into the cool water once more before reentering the dense forest. You ran and ran and ran, occasionally pounding your fist against your thighs to silently order them to keep working and moving. Your entire body hurt and ached but you weren’t going to stop.

I won’t stop trying to find you Slim Jim…

Gulping air into your burning lungs, you tried to maintain your breathing cadence but it was hastily slipping away from you. Knowing you needed to get it under control again if you wanted to keep pressing on, you reluctantly eased your pace a little to catch your breath. Your chest heaved but you slowly lost the feeling of being a fish out of water trying to get oxygen. Hitting your thigh with your fist again, you went to increase your speed when the wind let up and that too familiar scent of iron began to fill your nose once more. Gasping slightly at the smell, your shaking legs slowed down even more as you turned to follow it. Heart thumping crazily, you reached over your shoulder to retrieve an arrow while you crept as silently as you could.

You heard nothing beyond the usual buzzing and clicking of the forest, but the repulsive smell only grew stronger as you warily moved through the shrubs toward the source.

You ducked beneath a branch, hopped over an overturned tree, then, after squeezing through some bushes holding some kind of pink berry, you saw them.

The first body your eyes landed on was a male laying on the ground with one arrow in his chest and another through his neck. He had on palace armor. Your gaze then shifted onto two more bodies; one also impaled by arrows while the other had a bloody hole in their abdomen. Their armor was different. Darker and less intricate. Draikensu. Surveying the scene with shocked eyes, you counted a total of ten draikensu corpses. All dead. There was one more Saeni too, a female with golden hair pinned to a tree via a spear through her ribcage.

As you studied the carnage, a ragged, weak exhale came from behind you, causing you to whirl around instantly.

A male was sitting on the ground with his back against the base of a tree and one leg stretched out before him… but what really caught your attention was the arm drawing back a bow and the arrow levelled right at you. Astonished, you were fast to tug on your own bowstring and aimed back.

How did I not see him?

It was a standoff for one… two… three heartbeats then his arms began to shake and he seemed to involuntarily drop the bow with a self-deprecating laugh. The male let his arms fall to his sides and he tilted his head back against the tree bark.

Looking at you with hazy, hooded eyes, he murmured, “Just go ahead and… get on with it.”

Your eyes bugged out as you realized he was giving you full access to his chest for a kill shot. A split-second later you registered he was wearing bloodied palace armor, which meant he wasn’t your enemy… though with how unfocused his own eyes were, you considered he might think you were a draikensu.

“What? No, I’m…” You lowered your bow and stared at him. “I’m not draikensu. I’m not even a Saeni actually.”

Holding your hands up in peace while moving toward the male, you saw the leg he had stretched out was coated in deep red and there was a strip of blood-soaked cloth tightly knotted above a severe cut on his thigh that went down to the bone.

Lolling his head to squint at you, he took in your entire appearance from head to toe before resting on your face. “Your ears. You… You’re human. You’re his friend…”

“Wait!” You hastily crouched beside him, being careful not to touch him and disturb his leg. “Jimin, er, Chim!? You know him!?”

The male hummed in confirmation. “Five of us joined him and… and that guard, Mingi, on the mission to the… rift, but… we ran into trouble as you can... see…” He gestured to the bodies with heavy movements as you felt dread surge within you.

Taking a deep breath to try to stay calm, you asked him what happened.

“First… it was the wolves.”

The two Saeni from the meadow flashed behind your eyes and you stiffened but remained silent so he could continue.

“Then… Then they attacked us out of nowhere. We, the… the three of us, stayed behind so Mingi could get Jimin away and… to the rift.”

You covered your mouth with your hand.

“We knew that meant death for the three of us… but we also knew he needed to get to the rift or else… or else-fuck.” His voice choked up and you lightly placed your hand on his shoulder. “I guess you know what will happen if he doesn’t, yeah?”

Nodding, you whispered a tiny ‘yeah’ while you felt his body shiver underneath your hand. You glanced down at his thigh, noting how his femoral artery was most likely cut. If Saeni had those. You couldn’t imagine how much blood he’d lost.

“But just in case someone came… someone on our side… like you… I wanted… wanted to… stay awake to let you know they’re still out there. They got away. They went… that way.” He sluggishly pointed in the direction then shifted it slightly. “But we were heading that way.”

Turning your head to see, you had to admit that part of you wanted to immediately spring to your feet and take off looking for your best friend again. Especially now that you know he had to be close by. But… how could you just leave this male when he was hurt like this?

As if he could sense the conflict swarming inside your heart, the male turned his bleary eyes toward you and quietly said, “Go. Go help them.”

“But you-”

He shook his head slightly and moved his gaze to the treetops swaying high above him. “What’s your name?”

“Y-Y/N.”

“Can you do me a favor, Y/N?” His lips twitched in to a miniscule smile as he continued to look at the leaves and sky. “Can you un… undo the tourniquet and then go… help your friend for me?”

Taken back, you looked down at his thigh again and the scrap of fabric that was barely keeping him alive.

He would die in minutes if I did that.

“But-”

The breathy chuckle he released was so soft you weren’t sure if you had even heard it. “I know, I know. I’ve made peace with it.”

You swallowed hard and peered into his face that truly did seem to accept what would happen. “Okay… I-Okay.”

Logically, you could understand it was the best decision for him. He was in pain, his body slowly numbing as his life force leaked away. The tourniquet was only prolonging that pain and the inevitable. There were no magic users there that could heal him and it would take too long for one to get there.

You closed your eyes for a couple seconds then settled your gaze on his leg and reached for the knot.

He flinched as you touched the fabric. “I knew I was done for as soon as I… I got cut but… I didn’t want to give up… I still wanted to help. This was the… the only way I could think of.”

You nodded your acknowledgement then began untying the knot as gently as possible and blanched at how blood began to pour out of the wound. Sucking in a breath, you had to look away so you brought your gaze back to the male’s face.

As his breaths grew fainter with every passing second, you did your best to smile comfortingly even though he wasn’t looking at you. “I, um, I never asked what your name was…”

“…Stem… You can call me ‘Stem,’” he breathed out weakly.

His hand twitched at his side before jerking across the dirt and twigs as though he was blindly searching for something. You had an idea of what it is. Hoping it was what he was wanting, you silently reached over his lap to grab his bow from where he had dropped it, turned over his searching hand, and placed the weapon in his palm.

“It’s nice to meet you, Stem.” You tenderly took his other hand in both of yours and held on so he knew you were there.

“Th-Thank you… Y/N. Thank you.”

As he rapidly slipped away, you didn’t know what to do or say so you let the forest speak and sing for you. He probably found more comfort in it anyway.

A few moments later, Stem’s chin sank against his chest and you let out a long exhale while carefully removing your hands from his now limp grasp. After folding his hand over the other that held his weapon, you shakily rose to your feet, walked around to Stem’s other side, and took out some of the arrows in his quiver to transfer them to your own.

Stepping back, you gave him one last look and whispered goodbye, then took off running after Jimin and Mingi.

Sliding across the ground and tucking his head down, Tae narrowly avoided the spear being swung at him. Once he cleared the weapon, he then pushed himself up to a crouch.  As the draikensu whirled around and went to attack yet again, Tae reached over his shoulder but tensed as his fingers felt nothing but air. Empty quiver. The draikensu thrust forward with their spear and Tae was forced to somersault backwards to evade the deadly point. As he came to his knees, Tae did a hasty scan of his surroundings and saw a body a few yards away that was riddled with arrows which caused his eyes to light up. The draikensu lunged once more but the Saeni was already moving. The spear stabbed at empty space as Tae came to a stop on his knees beside the body. In the blink of an eye, he ripped out one of the arrows, flinging droplets of blood into the air and onto his already red-covered self. Then he twisted around and fired into the side of the draikensu. They fell to their knees with a hoarse scream, one hand grasping at the arrow shaft, and another Saeni turned at the sound and finished them off with a slash of their blade.

Meanwhile, Tae breathed heavily and turned back to the body next to him then removed the rest of the arrows, tucked them into his quiver, and rose to his feet before looking back over to where he had seen glimpses of Yoongi’s magic a few minutes ago. Sure enough, more flashes of mint-blue appeared near one of the large trees standing in the field. With his destination set, Tae rolled his shoulders then set out.

As he rushed through the field, Tae deftly disposed of any draikensu he encountered with efficient, calculated strikes. His muscles were sore and his body was tired, but he couldn’t afford to let his fatigue affect his movements. Even the tiniest mishap, the smallest amount of laziness in his actions would result in his death. His feather earring was heavy and stiff as he ran, dodged, shot, and slashed. More blood splattered against him, covering the gore that was already dried on his skin and armor, and it wasn’t long before he was retrieving the last arrow from his quiver. Expertly notching it and sending it straight into a female’s chest, Tae quickly followed up the shot by surging forward and slicing the sharp edge of his bow against her exposed neck while she was distracted.

Another corpse to litter the field. Another body to water the earth.

Tae continued moving toward the tree, wanting to get to his brother as soon as possible, and he prayed his other brothers were doing the same as he snatched up stray arrows from the ground and the deceased as he went.

Then out of nowhere, as he was leaning down to pull an arrow out of a corpse’s back, a tingle traveled up Tae’s spine and the Saeni instinctively dove to the side right as an explosion of maroon magic hit where he had just been squatting. The force of the eruption rammed into Tae’s back, throwing him further than he had aimed for, and as the blue-eyed Saeni shook his head in shock and staggered to his feet, he saw a male grinning at him. A quick glance down showed he had maroon light encompassing his hands.

Wiggling his glowing fingers at Tae, the draikensu sneered, “My, my, you’re a fast one, but you still won’t last lo-”

The magic user cut off his own sentence when another Saeni screamed and ran at the draikensu with his single-handed axe raised high in the air and a shield held in front of his body.

“They always think a shield will protect them,” The magic user said in amusement as his grin shifted into something more wicked then he threw both his hands toward the Saeni. “It won’t, though it’s cute you tried.”

Magic formed together in a ball-like shape between his hands before shooting out like a cannon and detonating at the feet of the Saeni in a burst of maroon light… and when the light faded, there was a small crater in the grass and only the upper-half of the male’s body was left intact. Tae didn’t even have the chance to react to the gruesome sight because the draikensu turned to him with a bored sigh and shot another magical cannon ball right at him. The blue-eyed Saeni lunged to the side and grunted as he was caught in the explosion’s shockwave again.

“Ah, so it wasn’t a fluke before. You really are just fast.” The magic user rubbed his hands together. “This will be fun then.”

Then the draikensu released another cannon ball but Tae was already running. Knowing he was at a disadvantage since there was nothing to take cover behind, all Tae could do was not stop. Just keep moving and evading. Slowly work his way closer. The maroon cannon balls never let up, but between the blasts Tae could hear the draikensu growling in frustration as the he abruptly changed directions for the umpteenth time. Sweat trailed down Tae’s face and made his eyes sting but ignored it and his body’s exhaustion as he slid on the ground. A ball of magic sailed over his head while he yanked an arrow out of the ground. He came up to a crouch as he notched it then fired at the draikensu before taking off again. The ball that had been forming in the magic user’s hands vanished as the male had to jump to the side to avoid the projectile.

Breathing heavily, Tae kept going. Grabbing what arrows he could and shooting while constantly changing his speed and direction to avoid the magical attacks. Essentially, he was being an absolute pain in the ass to the draikensu. The magic user roared in annoyance and screamed at him to ‘just stay fucking still,’ making Tae lightly smirk as he gasped for air and disregarded the request.

The mistake Tae was waiting for would be coming soon.

Another thirty seconds passed of Tae circling and backtracking and gradually moving closer as the draikensu released magic nonstop and angrily shouted. The field around them was now filled with holes, and the other draikensu and Saeni fighting close by were giving them a wide berth. They didn’t want to get caught up in the magic user’s destruction.

Tae let loose another arrow that managed to nick the magic user’s arm, which caused the draikensu to scream, “DIE ALREADY!”

And then the male thrust his clawed hands forward and sent a barrage of cannon balls at the Saeni. The bombardment was so bright, the magic user had to shut his eyes and hold his arms over his face. When the light finally began to die down, the draikensu lowered his arms and opened his eyes to find the field right before him utterly destroyed… but there were no body parts scattered in the dirt and clumps of grass. The male’s eyes widened in disbelief right as the blue-eyed Saeni silently took his final step behind the unaware draikensu and swung his bow.

The hazel-eyed Saeni had Jimin’s bicep secured in his grasp as the duo ran through the trees. Closer and closer they neared the rift’s location… but Jimin kept looking over his shoulder.

“Stop looking back,” Mingi quietly but sternly ordered.

The apricot-haired Saeni stared at the guard with a startled expression. “But we just left them.”

Mingi kept his gaze forward, not saying anything in response, but his jaw visibly ticked and he tightened his grip on Jimin’s arm.

“No!” Jimin pulled himself free and came to a stop. “How could we just leave them!? We need to go ba-”

The other Saeni grabbed Jimin’s shoulders and slammed him into the nearest tree trunk, his hazel eyes filled with pain. “I hate it too! I hate it… so much… but they knew the risk when they agreed to this mission. They know what will happen if it doesn’t succeed.” Mingi hung his head and lowered his voice so it was a whisper that could barely be heard over the rustling leaves. “Don’t throw away their valor by going back and getting killed. Please.”

“Mingi…” Jimin blinked in shock at the rawness of the other male’s voice.

“Please.”

“Okay,” the half-Saeni agreed softly and Mingi released him then stepped back.

Running a hand through his sweaty apricot locks, Jimin murmured an apology in a small voice. The other Saeni nodded and said they should get moving again. The duo resumed their previous pace, hastily making their way under the shade and patches of sunlight. Eventually, the ground began to slope downwards and the two Saeni started to tread more carefully.

The rift will be at the bottom of this gully, just a short distance ahead. The mother goddess’ sweet voice filtered into Jimin’s mind, and her words made his breath quicken.

“Holy shit, Mingi, we’re almost there,” Jimin said in astonishment while deliberately sliding down a steep section on his side then bracing a foot against the base of a tree to stand back up. “It’s at the bottom of thi-”

Snap!

As the sharp, loud sound made Jimin stop mid-sentence, Mingi held up his fist, shifted his gaze to the side, and peered into the forest. The Saeni held their breath for one… two… three… four…

A dark blur erupted out of the foliage, teeth and claws bared.

Something slammed into Jimin, sending him head over heels backwards down the slope.

A growl and agonized cry joined the symphony of chirping insects and birds.

Tumbling all the way to the bottom of the gully, Jimin flopped onto his back and groaned while pressing his fingertips to his forehead. Hot liquid smeared across his skin and when he pulled his fingers away they were dabbled with blood. His eyebrows shot up, making him wince as the action agitated at the cut at his hairline, and he took a shaky inhale then looked up. Mingi was still standing on the incline, a hand braced against his side as he positioned himself between Jimin and the prowling wolf before him. Red poked out between the guard’s fingers but the male grit his teeth and stared down the snarling animal. The wolf’s hackles were raised and its ears erect as it showed its sharp incisors then let out a series of nasty barks. But Mingi didn’t even flinch, challenging the animal.

Jimin wobbled to his feet right as the wolf crouched backwards. And then it pounced.

Mingi unsheathed his sword as the canine attacked, grunting as the movement tugged at the claw wound on his side. The wolf mostly twisted out of the way but the edge of the blade still sliced into its body. The wolf let out a high-pitched whine that morphed into another growl as it landed on its paws. Without hesitation, the wolf leapt again and went for Mingi’s legs. There was no relent in the animal’s aggression. It kept surging forward again and again and again. Teeth sunk into the Saeni’s calf and the wolf yanked its head, causing the male to fall and lose hold of his sword. The blade clanged to the earth while Mingi’s head landed on a rock. Jimin gasped sharply. The wolf released the male’s leg and turned to look at apricot head, who had been watching the scene unfold with an overwhelming sense of helplessness. But as if gazing into those black, threatening eyes brought him to his senses, Jimin shuddered, sucked in a gulp of air, and reached over his shoulder. Noting his quiver was much emptier after his tumble down the slope, he closed his fingers around the fletching of an arrow and began to pull it out as the wolf growled and started stalking down the slope. With a curse, Mingi sluggishly rolled over, grabbed one of the wolf’s back legs, and hauled the animal back. Then the guard climbed on top of the canine, pinning it down regardless of how much it thrashed. How much it dug its claws into his body and tried to bite him with gnashing teeth.

“GO!” Mingi’s booming voice was clear but his hazel eyes were clouded with pain as they bore into Jimin. “Get to the rift! Go!”

The half-Saeni’s feet were frozen.

“Fucking Exia, GO!”

Jimin, you must go. I know it is hard but you must. The mother goddess urged him to leave as well.

His body jerked but his feet stayed glued in place. How could he leave Mingi? How could he just go? He had to do something!

Don’t throw away their valor…

Mingi’s words echoed in Jimin’s head along with Illai’s.

You must go…

So, he did. He turned and ran. Eyes glossy with tears and heart brimming with hurt.

The sound of bubbling water soon rushed to his ears and a creek came into view. It was shallow, wide, and rocky. Jimin ran alongside and through the water as the creek curved and weaved through the forest.

You are nearly there.

The half-Saeni splashed through the cold water.

Just up ahead! On your left!

He bounded up and over some rocks. The creek twisted away and he began to make his way uphill.

Then skidded to a halt.

To his left was a rugged, rocky incline leading to what appeared to be a cavern opening.

But in front on him was a male resting on top of a large rock with smoky darkness coiling in the air behind him.

The male smiled at Jimin but the expression was sinister and chilling.

“Well, well, well. I’ve been waiting for you.” The darkness pulsed and expanded as the male smirked. “Ready to have your heart carved out, key?”

Hobi flipped the knife in his hand as he dodged another sickle of amethyst magic, grimacing as the pain of his cracked his spiked again. The white-haired Saeni refused to let it slow him down though, so he spun on his heels and threw the blade. The weapon rotated through the air toward the draikensu but she deflected it with a quick shield comprised of her magic.

“Stop throwing shit!” Yoongi snapped at his partner while lassoing a line of his magic around the female’s ankle and yanking hard. “You’re going to run out of blades again!”

The female magic user toppled to the side but caught herself on her knee. Using the stumble to his advantage, Yoongi lifted both hands and wrapped his magic around the female’s torso and chest. Mint-blue magic bound her arms to her sides and began to squeeze, gradually crushing the draikensu.

“NOW!” Yoongi yelled as sweat trailed down his face and neck while he slowly closed his hands into fists.

The kiela’s spy brandished another blade and rushed the restrained magic user from the side. At the same time, the female hissed and focused her attention on the arm closest to the approaching Saeni. Yoongi saw her efforts, her attempts to rip through the constricting blue magic with her own, and was determined to not let her break through. It was time they finished this fight. It had gone on long enough. He fisted his hands even more, causing the draikensu to scream through her teeth. Hobi was about fifteen yards out when the female somehow managed to twist her arm underneath the magic so her glowing hand slipped out. The sight made Yoongi’s petal pink eyes widen in realization. And dread. He had been wrong. She hadn’t been trying to tear through his magic but rather rebuff it so she could free her hand. Before Yoongi was able to restrain the released appendage, the female flicked her wrist and sent out a small crescent of magic.

And Hobi didn’t have enough time to dodge it.

Yoongi could only watch in horror as the other male tried to leap out of the way but the edge of the magic still cut through his side.

Once the magic passed through, the white-haired Saeni slowed down and pressed a hand to his torso as if in a daze, flickered his eyes to Yoongi, dropped to his knees, then crumpled to the ground. He didn’t move after that.

Yoongi stared, his blood running cold and hands beginning to shake, as Hobi didn’t move. It felt like there was a sudden hole in his chest and it was becoming hard to breathe. 

This can’t be real. 

This can’t be real. 

This can’t be real. 

Then the sound of pleased laughter reached his ears, and he turned his gaze back to the draikensu who was now giggling manically. Yoongi’s eyes hardened and his body abruptly became hot with anger. He took a step toward the female as she began to cleave through the magic around her. Another step and Yoongi clenched his fists as hard as he could. The mint-blue magic obeyed his orders and multiple cracking noises came from the female’s bones, making her shriek. Another step and Yoongi moved his wrist so his magic vanished from the draikensu’s torso… but an instant later, blue tendrils shot out of the earth and curled around her ankles and calves. The female yelled and sent a wave of amethyst magic at him. With an expression so blank it was terrifying, Yoongi held his hands out in front of him and his own magic easily burned through the female’s. His chest heaved. From anger, from pain, from shock, from disbelief. From no longer conserving his energy and letting his magic run rampant. Flexing his fingers, his magic snapped the bones in the female’s legs too. She screamed and the sound transformed into a gasping wail as she awkwardly slumped on the ground. Another step. More tendrils of mint-blue light rose up and clutched at her biceps. Another step. The draikensu desperately threw another wave of magic. Yoongi cut through it. Another step. Her humerus bones shattered. Another step. Magic coiled around her forearms. Another step. More broken bones. Another step. The female had tears streaking down her face as she pleaded with him to stop. Blue light wound up her neck and covered her mouth. Another step. The amethyst light around her hands started to blink and disappear. Ropes of blue magic surrounded both her wrists. Crack. Another step. A slender tendril of blue light coiled around both her index fingers. Another step. Crack. Another step. The middle fingers. Crack.

By the time Yoongi was right before the female, every single one of her fingers were broken and misshapen. He could hear her muffled cries and saw the tears pouring down her face as he crouched down. Her eyes begged him to stop. He said nothing, just held her gaze while raising his right hand and hovering it over her heart. Magic shot out and entered her chest. Her restrained body flinched and her pupils expanded as the tendrils wrapped around her heart. Then Yoongi jerked his wrist back and his magic followed, tearing her heart out in the process. The female immediately went limp and he released all his magic encasing her so she collapsed in a broken, bruised, bloody heap.

After tossing her heart aside, Yoongi blinked at his red, tremoring hands while the rest of his body convulsed from overexertion and his pulse raced. Suddenly, he stiffened and choked on air before half-crawling, half-sprinting over to where he had last seen him. Stumbling over the corpses and discarded weapons on the field, Yoongi finally reached the white-haired Saeni. He was on the ground in a puddle of his own blood, and the only movement coming from his body was the slightest rise and fall of his chest as he peered up at the sky with lidded eyes.

The cold, blank expression on Yoongi’s face cracked and he whispered Hobi’s name as he heavily dropped to the ground beside the spy, which made blood splash around his legs. “No no no no no….” The magic user’s bottom lip began to quiver.

At his voice, Hobi’s eyelashes fluttered and his light brown eyes seemed to focus more before shifting and settling on the mint-haired Saeni.

The kiela’s spy weakly smiled and croaked out, “Hi… hyung.”

A sharp ache spread across Yoongi’s chest, his throat started to close up, and a clear droplet landed on Hobi’s torso. Then another. And another. The magic user was crying as he stared at the gushing wound on Hobi’s side. He murmured unintelligibly to himself while placing his unsteady hands over the deep gash, making the other male jerk at the contact. Then Yoongi’s hands began to glow faintly with what little energy he had left.

“Stop… hyung stop. You need to… protect yourself.”

“No, you stop!” Yoongi was scared at how feeble the other male sounded as his tears now dripped onto the back of his hands and rolled off to mix into crimson. “Stop talking I can-”

Hobi sluggishly lifted his hand to place it over Yoongi’s. “Save your magic… to protect yourself… Let me go.”

“Shut up! SHUT UP! You can’t… you can’t just…”

“Shh… it’s okay hyung.”

A sob ripped its way out of the magic user’s constricted throat while his mint-blue magic began to dim. “NO, IT’S NOT! You can’t go. You can’t just leave me. I need you, Hoseok. I need you to stay with me. I love you. You can’t go!”

Hobi’s eyes went wide and he drew in a tiny, sharp breath but in the next second his body slackened and his hand partially slipped off Yoongi’s.

“H-Hoseok…? Hoseok!?” The mint-haired Saeni’s voice was laced with fear.

There was no response.

Yoongi felt like he couldn’t bring any air into his lungs as he jostled the other male’s shoulders desperately. When there was still no reaction the magic user shook his head, refusing to accept it. With strained gasps he moved his hands back to the wound and closed his eyes to pour everything he had into his magic. His energy, his life, his entire being. Mint-blue light flared up around his hands once more and grew brighter and brighter and brighter as the Saeni roughly screamed from exertion. Beneath the blinding light, Hobi’s flesh began to stitch itself together and Yoongi grit his teeth and pushed his magic beyond its limits.

It lasted for a few moments longer but as he took a shuddering, slow inhale, the light rapidly depleted. Within mere seconds, the magic was completely gone. Yoongi swayed on his knees and was barely able to open his petal pink eyes to catch a glimpse of the thin line that had replaced the wide-open cut. He exhaled lightly and lips quirked into a small smile, then his eyes rolled back into his head and he fell to the side.

After he hit the ground with a gentle thud and the breeze whispered over both their bloodied skin, Hobi slowly breathed in and his light brown eyes blinked open. Pressing a hand against his side, his brows furrowed when he didn’t feel his cut-open flesh anymore. His skin was still wet with blood but only a thin incision remained where the large wound had been. The kiela’s spy was confused and raised his head to look at his torso, and in the process saw a familiar head of mint-blue hair resting on the grass beside him.

Worried, the white-haired Saeni pushed himself up with a wince, which also caused an influx of queasiness, and rolled the magic user to his back. “Hyung? Hyung!? Yoongi!!?”

The magic user was unresponsive, causing Hobi to look around helplessly. The other fights were starting to draw closer now that there weren’t any magic users battling to make them keep their distance. The spy cursed and glanced over his shoulder. He had to get Yoongi out of there. His gaze narrowed in on tree with the broken branches and saw there was an open space between them and the trunk. Plus, the branches were thick and full, meaning the leaves would provide a good bit of cover. Nodding to himself, Hobi pulled Yoongi’s limp form into his arms and stood up. Ignoring the sharp pain in his side as well as the overwhelming urge to keel over, the white-haired Saeni staggered over the grass and bodies to the tree.

When he finally ducked beneath the tree limbs, Hobi was gasping for air and his entire body was shaking. Once fully underneath the cover of the leaves and smaller branches, his legs gave out as the last of his strength left his body. Both he and Yoongi tumbled to the ground. Whimpering and clutching at his side, the kiela’s spy took a readying breath then shifted around until he was able to ensure they were both fully concealed. Then he maneuvered Yoongi onto his back and leaned over him.

“Hyung?”

Suddenly the words he’d heard right before the world had floated away into nothingness surged to the forefront of his thoughts.

I need you to stay with me. I love you. You can’t go!

Yoongi’s voice rang in his mind over and over like a bell.

I need you.

I love you.

I need you.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

“Hyung wake up!” Hobi cradled Yoongi’s face in his hands as tears welled up in his eyes. “You can’t just say you love me then die before I can say it back!”

A low groan came from the magic user’s lips, making Hobi cry out and hold the other male’s face even more tenderly.

“Oh my goddess…” Yoongi muttered in a gravelly voice. “I’m not dead, I just passed out for a sec-wait.” His petal pink eyes shot open and his mouth parted in surprise. “Did you just say-”

“I love you too.”

Yoongi gazed up in shock, his body frozen from both absolute exhaustion and the surge of emotions he felt. He couldn’t believe it. His heart pounded in his chest while overwhelming relief and happiness settled over him.

But Hobi misunderstood his silence, flinching back the slightest amount. “I-uh-sorry. I should’ve known you didn’t mean it… um, like that.”

The spy went to lean away but Yoongi grabbed a hold of Hobi’s wrist and tugged him back while rolling his pink eyes. “I did mean it like that. Idiot.”

Then Yoongi placed his other hand on the back of Hobi’s neck and drew him down to his lips.

The intense surge of mint-blue light in the distance suddenly died down, making both Namjoon and Jin glance at each other in concern while they continued to hack their way through the enemy. Jin was in the lead, taking care of most of the draikensu, while Namjoon covered the rear. The kiela’s leader was still limping as he hammered the occasional dark Saeni out of the way, but thanks to the magic user who had helped him he was able to walk and wasn’t in danger of bleeding out anymore. He did regret that he hadn’t been able to properly thank her afterwards though. She had disappeared into the fray the instant she was done. He hadn’t even gotten her name.

Maybe he could find her once this ordeal was over to express his gratitude. Granted, that could only happen if they both survived.

Luckily, the draikensu no longer seemed to be pouring out of the trees. There were still plenty to fight, but there was some extra room to breathe and it was simply relieving to see the enemy’s forces did indeed have a cap. Plus, less draikensu made it easier for the two Saeni to move through the field.

The duo was heading toward Yoongi’s magic, drawn to his bright blue light like moths to a flame. But now they were worried. About a minute ago, their brother’s magic had gotten more vivid and intense than they had ever seen before. It seemed like everything in the distance had been consumed in it. Like the air had been set ablaze in blue. Then it disappeared and no mint-blue magic had flared up since.

But the two males were still determined to get to the spot where they had seen it.

Jin tore his gaze away from Namjoon and sidestepped the swing of a mace then stepped in and thrust his sword deep in the belly of the draikensu before him. They fell to the side and the raven-haired Saeni continued forward with Namjoon close behind. The Saeni made it about twenty feet before a new opponent arrived. Arms throbbing as they lifted his blood-covered sword to pary the attack, Jin quickly pivoted and ran the edge of his blade along the draikensu’s thigh then across their chest.

While Jin disposed of the draikensu, Namjoon was peering around the field for any possible threats when a flash of burgundy caught his attention. The yellow-eyed male perked up and squinted. Same hair color… right height and build… and Namjoon swore there was a sword in each of their hands. There was no doubt. It had to be Jungkook… but something was wrong.

The male was slightly hunched over and wavering from side to side as he shuffled forward frantically. His footsteps were heavy, shoulders sagging, and every few seconds he would cover his ears and shake his head as he stumbled along. And while he still cut through whatever draikensu confronted him, it wasn’t with his usual speed and precision.

Shocked, Namjoon whispered his youngest brother’s name, making Jin’s head dart up and look for the male.

When he finally located his brother, the raven-haired male began to feel uneasy. “What in Illai’s name is he doing?”

Namjoon shook his head, not having an answer, before calling out to Jungkook. They were close enough the Jungkook should have heard, even though the sound was somewhat muted by the other screams coming from around the field, but the male just continued moving as if he could only focus on what was directly in front of him.

Jin swore under his breath and went after his brother, and despite the injury on his thigh, Namjoon was fast to follow. The two Saeni made their way toward Jungkook, taking down any draikensu that dared to get in their way all while still yelling out to their little brother. Meanwhile, the burgundy-haired Saeni wobbled on his feet as he blocked an incoming attack with his swords and both Namjoon and Jin saw how he grimaced and favored his right side. With a strained grunt, Jungkook forced the draikensu back and ducked below their next strike to lunge forward and bury a sword into their stomach. He dragged the blade to the side, completely gutting the draikensu then pulled the sword free. Reeling back a step as the dark Saeni toppled, Jungkook’s chest heaved and his sweaty hair fell into his eyes while he reached his right arm behind him. He appeared to brush his knuckles against a spot on his lower back that made his face contort in pain. His peridot eyes squeezed shut for only a few seconds, but it was long enough for a draikensu to spot the vulnerable male and rush at him.

“Shit-JUNGKOOK!” Jin shouted loudly, his voice booming across the field.

The youngest member of the kiela slowly opened his eyes and blinked a few times as he recognized the voice, but he still didn’t realize there was a draikensu coming at him. Seeing that his brother wasn’t moving, Jin decided to take matters into his own hands. Hefting his sword and pushing through the crowded field, he sprinted as fast as he could in order to intercept the draikensu while roaring to divert their attention from his brother. Their swords met with a shrill ring and Namjoon called out Jungkook’s name once more.

The panting burgundy-haired male raised his head with effort and looked for his brother’s voice. “H-Hyung?”

Seconds later, Namjoon broke through two draikensu blocking his way with a powerful swing of his hammer and ran up to his brother. As he approached, the worry budding inside Namjoon became a fully blossomed flower when he noticed Jungkook was painted in blood and that his entire body was shaking.

Coming to a stop beside the male, Namjoon let his hammer drop to the ground so he could reach out and pull his brother into a hug. “Kook, oh my goddess, what’s going on with you!?”

The younger Saeni trembled in Namjoon’s arms, but he suddenly stiffened and hissed when the elder shifted his arms lower on his back.

“What? What is it?” Namjoon peered over Jungkook’s shoulder and saw his hand was just shy of a particularly bloody area. “Are you hurt!?”

“It’s nothing,” Jungkook replied detachedly like he didn’t even care he had a stab wound on his back. “Hyung, I need to-”

“That’s not nothing!” The yellow-eyed male leaned back to go inspect the wound further but flinched when he noticed how hollow and empty the younger’s eyes looked.

“What’s not nothing?” Jin appeared behind Jungkook, having defeated the draikensu quickly, and raised his brows in question.

“Jin hyung!” Jungkook twisted in Namjoon’s arms and Jin was taken back at the wild desperation on the maknae’s face. “I need to know-”

“He thinks it’s nothing that he got stabbed!” Namjoon cut him off once more in a bewildered, stressed tone.

Regardless of the chaos around them, Jin felt his brain shut down for a moment and he blinked as it promptly rebooted… and then he shrieked, “WHAT!? WHERE!?”

Turning Jungkook by his shoulders, Namjoon pointed at the leaking wound and the raven-haired Saeni gasped. The two older males crouched down behind their protesting maknae and inspected his back. They prodded gently, although their touches still made Jungkook tense up and reach for the dagger that was no longer strapped to his side, while murmuring questions of ‘how did this happen?’ and ‘how much blood have you lost?’ and ‘how do we wrap this out here?’ and ignoring Jungkook’s pleas to listen to him.

“Hyungs.”

Namjoon looked down at his clothes and huffed in frustration. “I don’t have anything we can use.”

“Hyungs!”

“Fucking Exia, neither do I.”

“It looks like the-”

“Hyungs!”

“-blade went straight in and out but his organs could be damaged.”

“Our best bet is getting him to Yoongi.”

“FOR FUCKING EXIA’S SAKE, THAT’S WHERE I’M TRYING TO GO!” What little patience Jungkook had ran out and he screamed at his brothers while swiveling to face them. “SO, IF NEITHER OF YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO Y/N THEN LET ME GET TO YOONGI HYUNG!”

Namjoon gaped at his outburst. “Y/N? Wha-”

“She’s not on the cliff anymore.” The peridot-eyed Saeni went to touch his dagger again but remembered so he tightly gripped both his swords instead to ground himself even though it wasn’t the same. “She’s not there!”

Both Jin and Namjoon looked over at the cliff and searched for your familiar figure, but Jungkook was right. You weren’t there. Their eyes widened but they pushed down their alarm, controlled their expressions, and did their best to stay calm for the sake of their maknae, who was now pressing his fists and sword hilts hard against his ears while repeating what sounded like ‘shut up’ under his breath.

“Okay, Kook, just breathe.” Jin tried to place a hand on the younger’s arm but Jungkook stiffened then threw it off.

“No, hyung! I need to find her! She could be… could be…” An intense shudder ran through Jungkook’s body and the male grit his teeth while reaching his hand behind his back again and taking deep inhales before continuing. “So, if you haven’t seen her-”

“We haven’t,” Jin said regretfully while Namjoon looked down at his feet.

They both hated this. Seeing their youngest brother injured and nearly breaking down. Knowing you could be in trouble and not having a clue where you were. How could they have allowed this to happen to their family? How could they fail their family like this?

As the two Saeni were mentally beating themselves up, Jungkook’s legs buckled at the confirmation that neither of his hyungs knew what had happened to you, and he partially collapsed to his knee while burying his face in his arms. The angle made the pain in his back become searing and Jungkook released a groan that soon faded into a cry. Startled and feeling like their hearts were being violently squeezed, Namjoon and Jin immediately went to help their brother up. While they softly pulled the hyperventilating male to his feet, Jin noticed a draikensu coming at them and silently exchanged a look with his leader before letting go of Jungkook’s arm. The eldest member of the kiela stepped away, twirled his sword in his hand so the handle settled into his palm properly, then charged the enemy as Jungkook latched onto Namjoon. The burgundy head clutched at his brother in a way that was somehow both weak and ferocious, and tears finally spilled over his eyelashes and dripped off his chin to plop onto Namjoon’s shoulders.

The leader held him close and whispered what he hoped were soothing assurances. “It’ll be okay. She’ll be okay. She’s a scorja, remember? She’s strong.” He peeked over to check on Jin and saw the male was shoving his blade through the draikensu’s abdomen, then returned his focus on Jungkook who was blubbering against his shoulder.

“Y-Yoongi hyung can probably locate her through the kiela bond since w-we share-”

“Your connection.”

Jungkook sniffled, nodded, then slowly detached himself from the older male, being careful of the blades still in his hands.

“Come on,” Namjoon said softly while wiping away some of the stray tears on the maknae’s cheeks. “We’ll help you get to Yoongi hyung. Get you healed up and then find Y/N. Sound good? Yeah?”

Jungkook let out a shaky exhale as he nodded again and wiped at his face with his knuckles. The other Saeni faintly smiled then leaned down to pick up his hammer before wrapping Jungkook’s arm around his shoulders so he could carry some of the young one’s weight. Jungkook hissed and shut his eyes at the pain but took a deep breath and rasped out that he was fine. Namjoon whispered an apology. He really didn’t want to hurt Jungkook more by tugging on his wound, but he knew it was better than having Jungkook collapse on the way. Not to mention the pain would help him stay awake and alert.

As Jungkook reiterated that he was fine, albeit with a grimace on his face, Jin ran back to the two Saeni with a fresh cut on his forearm but was otherwise unhurt. Yet when he slowed to a stop and noticed Jungkook’s now red and puffy eyes, he had to press his lips together firmly and glance away momentarily to keep his emotions in check.

“Yoongi hyung,” Namjoon informed the older male and tilted his head in the proper direction.

The raven-haired Saeni hummed in acknowledgement, still not looking at his youngest brother out of fear of choking up, and shifted in front of them so they formed a squished a triangle. Then they all set out. They moved at a measured pace; fast but slow enough that Jungkook could keep up without needing Namjoon to drag him along.

It took the trio maybe five minutes to reach the area where they had last seen the distinct flashes of mint-blue magic. Somehow, they managed to have had only a few encounters with draikensu on the way, and Jin got had gotten rid of them quickly with efficient swings and thrusts of his sword. But as they searched through the crowd the magic user was nowhere to be found. All they could see was more fighting, no magic.

For a second, they thought they might be in the wrong place… but they couldn’t be. That large tree they had all seen in the distance beside the flares of mint-blue magic was right there.

“We can’t just run around looking for him.” Jin shook his head and peered over his shoulder at Jungkook, who was trying to hold in his groans, then at Namjoon. “Not with him like this and not with your leg.”

Jungkook tilted his head in confusion and asked, “Your leg? What happened to your leg?”

“I, uh, might have gotten stabbed too,” Namjoon replied sheepishly then cleared his throat and looked Jin in the eye. “Let’s make our way to the tree. It looks like there’s some downed branches Kook and I can shelter under while you look for hyung, and it’s a good marker for you to find us again too.”

“Alright, let’s go.” Jin once again began to lead the way, and the three Saeni weaved through bodies and weapons toward the tree.

At one point, while Jin was preoccupied with a female draikensu wielding a trident, another spotted how Namjoon was supporting Jungkook and bolted at them with a gleeful squeal. Both males cursed as the draikensu raised her lance. They knew they were in an awkward position to fight but before they could separate the female was driving her weapon toward Jungkook’s chest. The peridot-eyed male leaned almost all of his weight on Namjoon, who was fumbling with his hammer, and lifted his arm so the sharp point of the draikensu’s weapon bounced off the flat side of his sword. Jungkook set his jaw as the power behind her strike vibrated up his arm and into his body, which caused Namjoon to stagger slightly. Then, as Jin was slicing through his opponent’s armor and the female was bringing her lance around for another attack, Jungkook abruptly surged forward and kicked the draikensu’s legs out from underneath her. Her back hit the grass and in the next second Jin was plunging his sword through her body. The female craned her head upwards for a brief second, staring at the steel piercing her, then she went limp as blood trickled out of the corner of her mouth. Jin removed his sword while Jungkook gasped, clenched his teeth, and sagged against Namjoon in pain. The yellow-eyed male held him the as best he could and guided the youngest along when Jin went on the move again.

“Can you crawl?” The leader of the kiela asked as they quickly approached the tree. “Because I don’t think I can lug your heavy ass under there.”

Jungkook scoffed and rolled his peridot eyes while he tried not to drag his feet. “Why wouldn’t I be able to crawl?”

“Still difficult.” Jin sighed. “Even after being stabbed.”

A minute later, they finally reached the tree and skirted around the thick trunk until the broken branches were before them. As smoothly as he could manage, Namjoon bent his knees and eased Jungkook to the ground while Jin stood guard. After the burgundy head was gently plopped on the dirt and he rolled to his forearms with a wince, he peered into the dense leaves and stilled in astonishment.

“What?” Namjoon wondered aloud as he crouched beside the male and followed Jungkook’s line of sight. “Oh.”

Through the branches, their eyes settled on a stunned Hobi who was staring back at them. The male had one of his daggers in hand but his other arm was wrapped around the mint-haired Saeni that was laying in his lap. Yoongi’s eyes were closed but his chest was gently rising and falling as if he was in a deep sleep.

The plump leaves and branches had camouflaged them both from view until Jungkook and Namjoon had gotten right up to the foliage, but there was no mistaking it was their brothers.

“Uhhhh… Jin hyung?” Jungkook called up to the male who was still focused on watching out for draikensu.

“Yeah?” Jin replied loudly but he didn’t turn his back on the field. “Do you need help?”

“No, um, he’s here.” Jungkook blinked at Hobi who did the same at him. “Yoongi hyung. Hobi hyung too.”

“Huh?” The raven-haired Saeni whirled around with his jaw agape.

“Hi hyung,” Hobi’s voice faintly came from the leaves.

Namjoon couldn’t help but chuckle to himself as he let his head hang in relief. “Well, this makes things easier.”

But Jungkook got over his surprise, huffed, and began to move over the dirt and roots. “Is hyung seriously sleeping!? He needs to wake up! Now!” With every movement he made, the agony in his lower back soared, but he tried to disguise how much he was hurting by setting his jaw and continuing forward.

He needed to get to Yoongi.

Leaves grazed his head and twigs scratched his skin and he could hear rustling as Namjoon followed him under the branches.

“Kook’s hurt,” the yellow-eyed Saeni informed his brother.

“Oh, shit. Okay… O-Okay.” Hobi glanced at Jungkook and his gaze settled on the dark, wet spot on his back but he quickly averted his eyes to focus on lightly shaking the magic user in his lap. “I don’t know if he will wake up, though.”

“What? Why?” Jungkook glared while he pulled the rest of his body into the small open space his brothers were in.

Hobi gave them a tight-lipped smile and gestured to his side, which was covered in copious amounts of dried blood. “I, uh, almost died and hyung used all his energy to save me.”

Moving backwards so he could kneel closer to the group, Jin speculated that that must have been the cause of the intense flare up of magic they all had seen.

Namjoon shifted so he could check on Jungkook’s wound again while Hobi shrugged at Jin’s statement then leaned down so his lips were ghosting Yoongi’s ear. “Hyung, come on. You gotta wake up. Kookie needs your help.” The white-haired Saeni smoothed his thumb over Yoongi’s cheek and brushed some of his mint hair away from his forehead.

The other males saw the tender action and raised their brows at Hobi who started to blush and stammer.

“Oh, u-um, it’s, ah…”

“Later?” Namjoon offered with a small grin while helping Jungkook get more comfortable on his stomach.

“Y-Yeah. Thanks.”

Finally, the mint-haired Saeni stirred and deeply groaned but he only nuzzled into Hobi’s lap more, making the spy turn even more red and frantic with his shaking.

“Let me sleep, ‘m tired,” Yoongi huskily murmured.

Namjoon let out a long exhale and inched closer to the magic user. Then, using his “leader voice,” he ordered the other Saeni to wake up.

“Agh, why do you sound li-” Petal pink eyes cracked open. “Ah, no it actually is Joon. Great.” The male flitted his gaze around. “And Kook. You look like shit by the way. And I’m going to hope the creeper watching us through the leaves is Jin hyung.”

Hobi laughed nervously and Jin berated the magic user for calling him a creeper while Yoongi just snorted and looked back at Jungkook.

“Seriously, you look terrible… I haven’t seen you like this since I kicked your ass for the first time. Don’t tell me a draikensu gave you-”

“Shut up,” the burgundy head retorted weakly.

“-trouble and you ha-”

“He got stabbed and Y/N is missing,” Namjoon explained bluntly.

In a flash, Yoongi snapped his jaw shut and sat up in shock, but the fast movement made him hold his head as a wave of dizziness and nausea hit him.

While the magic user grumbled as his head spun and stomach lurched, the kiela’s spy let out a chirp-like squeak. “Hold up, Y/N is missing!?”

“Yes.” Jungkook felt his temper start to ignite again and he stabbed one of his swords into the ground. “So, can we please stop talking and do something?”

Namjoon placed a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder to try to calm him down but the burgundy head growled in impatience.

Hardened peridot eyes stared into Yoongi’s drowsy ones. “Can you track her through our connection and the kiela bond?”

“I… I don’t know. Maybe.” The magic user took a deep breath and flexed his fingers… but no magic sparked up. “I probably could but I’m so drained I can barely stay awake honestly.”

Yoongi looked down at his hands and clenched them into fists. Hobi rubbed his back, Namjoon was lost in thought trying to think of a solution, and Jungkook ground his blade further into the dirt while tears threatened to fall onto his cheeks again.

“That means you can’t heal Kook either?” Jin questioned, but he already knew the answer.

They all did.

Yoongi muttered a pitiful ‘right’ and the Saeni fell silent.

They only heard their ragged breathing, the leaves, and the screams and ringing metal coming from every direction.

Then Jungkook yanked his dagger out of the earth and began to shift around regardless of the pain screaming at him to stop. “I’m going to go find her.”

“No, you’re not.” Namjoon grabbed the younger male’s forearm.

“Let me go.”

“You can hardly move!”

“Bu-”

“He’s right, Kook.” Yoongi lifted his head, baring his remorsful face to the others. “You’re just going to get yourself killed.”

“I have to try!” Jungkook tried to pull his harm back yet again but Namjoon held firm, and his struggle caused a twinge to form in his brothers’ hearts.

Taking in the youngest’s wilted and wrecked appearance, Jin squeezed his sword handle tightly as he came to a decision and started to stand up. “I’ll go find her. Everyone else stay h-”

“HYUNG!”

A body slid to a stop beside a startled Jin and they looked up at him with a blood-stained face and big, boxy smile.

“Tae!?”

The younger Saeni gave him a little salute and let out a tired exhale before turning his head and widening his bright blue eyes in pleasant surprise. “Whoa, everyone’s here! You all saw Yoongi hyung’s crazy magic too, huh?” Tae then got on his knees and reached out to clasp a bewildered Jin’s forearm in greeting before clambering further beneath the two broken branches and saying hello to the other Saeni.

They all gaped at him for a few heartbeats, stuttering out quiet and somewhat stupefied ‘hellos’ in return, until Jungkook inhaled sharply and dropped his swords then pushed himself up with a deep, throaty groan. The blue-eyed Saeni went to ask why Jungkook was so pale and making such noises but before he could open his mouth, his younger brother was frantically grasping his arms and asking if he’d seen you.

“Little scorja?” Tae paused for a moment, the craziness of the situation making his mind go blank temporarily. The other Saeni waited anxiously… then his blue eyes lit up. “Oh yeah! She ran into the trees after fighting off a draikensu that got on top of the cliff.”

His words were like a remedy as the Saeni breathed out in relief, some of the tension and uncertainty lifting from their bodies and minds. Jungkook himself trembled and his hold on Tae’s arms loosened as he slumped to the ground while closing his eyes and turning his lips up into the tiniest of smiles.

But Yoongi looked confused. “She… ran? That doesn’t seem like her.”

Tae shrugged and intertwined one of his hands with Jungkook’s. “If I had to guess, she probably went after Chim for some reason.”

The burgundy-haired male whipped his head up and his eyes held hope as he whispered something about the rift.

“Fuck no.” Yoongi saw the glimmer in the male’s peridot eyes. “You’re not going anywhere while you’re hurt.”

“What!? Kookie, you’re hurt!?” The blue-eyed Saeni tightened his grip and rapidly scanned Jungkook’s body while the younger male mumbled out that it was his back. Tae peeked behind the male, frowned, and shook his head disapprovingly. “Little scorja is going to be pissed.”

As the blue-eyed Saeni forced Jungkook to lay down on his stomach again, Hobi glumly twirled his dagger in his fingers. “And hyung doesn’t have any energy left remember? He can’t do anything right now.”

Jin rested the point of his longsword in the dirt. “I can still-shit.” A draikensu had come too close to the fallen branches for the Jin’s liking so he cut off his own sentence and sprang to his feet.

The raven-haired male crept out from the leaves and swung at the unsuspecting draikensu. Jin’s longsword glinted brightly in the sunlight, and the flash caught the draikensu’s attention which allowed them to turn and block the attack at the last second. Undeterred, Jin attacked again.

“Well, can’t one of us give you some of our energy?” Tae tilted his head to the side, making his bloodied feather sway in the air.

“What?” Yoongi blinked hard to try to stay awake.

“I mean couldn’t you just siphon energy from one of us?”

Hobi widened his eyes and turned his head to the magic user resting against his him. “Could you do that?”

“I… I’ve never through of it before but… possibly? I’m not sure how it would work exactly though.”

“Hyung, please try,” Jungkook softly pleaded in a tiny voice.

“Here.” Tae stretched his arm out. “You can take mine.”

Namjoon placed his fingertips on Tae’s wrist and gently lowered it. “I’m injured as well so it’s better if he takes mine. That way there’s still someone who can go after Y/N with Kook.”

“But Jin hyung could go with-”

Tae was interrupted by a heavy breathing Jin disagreeing with him while crawling back between the tree trunk and the fallen branches. “Tae, you’re honestly the only one who could keep up with Kook right now. You go. I’ll stay here and watch over everyone.”

Adrenaline flooded your veins as you ran through the shrubs and underneath the tall trees. It made the painful aching in your body, especially your legs, bearable while you continued to move in the direction Stem had pointed in. The direction that should lead you to your best friend. You didn’t know how close or far he and Mingi were, but you were just going to keep running until you found them or your legs gave out. Whichever came from. And even if your legs refused to move, you still had functioning arms and hands. You would crawl. Hell, if Alex Høgh Andersen could do it as Ivar the Boneless in Vikings for seven years you could do it for one day for your best friend, dammit.

“But it won’t…come to that, Y/N,” you wheezed to yourself between breaths. “You’re fine. Totally fine… Keep moving. Just… keep… moving… Just keep… moving… Just keep moving… moving… moving… What do we… do…? We move… move.”

Airily chuckling to yourself while the wind blew past you, you tried to swallow but your dry throat made you choke and you started coughing. Gasping more air into your lungs that felt like they were on fire, your feet faltered and you grabbed onto a tree trunk to stop yourself so you could lean your hands on your knees and spit out the excess saliva in your mouth. Though as you straightened back up, the wind died down for a moment and your nose twitched as you smelled that smell again. Death. It was strong and coming from up ahead. You hadn’t caught the disgusting scent sooner since you were running upwind, and you weren’t sure if you should be thankful for that or not.

Heart hammering in your chest and leg muscles spasming, you nodded to yourself and murmured, “Alright, here we go,” and notched an arrow before lightly jogging forward.

A minute or so later, the ground began to tilt downward and the smell of blood and death grew even more pungent. You tapped your finger nervously against your bow while zig-zagging down the slope. Halfway down, a flash by your feet made you look down and you saw a deserted arrow partially hidden by the low foliage. Furrowing your brow, you moved on but a few steps later another arrowhead reflected in the light by your feet. And another and another and another. It was like someone had dumped out their quiver… or had taken a tumble down. You trailed your eyes along the arrows until your gaze reached the bottom of the slope.

In the shade there was another lump.

You crept down the slope while scrutinizing the shape.

It definitely wasn’t a log this time. Or a person. It was another wolf.

It lay crumpled between two rocks. It’s head awkwardly propped up, limp tongue hanging out, and throat slit. Blood coated its fur and stained the rocks and twigs and leaves beneath its body.

Was this the wolf I heard back at the meadow? You wondered as you finished descending into the gully and approached the dead animal.

Wrinkling your nose at the stench radiating from the body, you sighed and turned away to continue on your journey. Though as you moved around the wolf, you noticed there was more blood on the ground leading away from it.

In the same direction you were going.

On alert, you readied yourself to draw your bow while you tentatively followed the blood trail. Maybe you were just being paranoid. The blood could easily just be from the wolf… but it worried you that the red droplets were going in the same direction that Jimin and Mingi were supposed to be in.

Ducking below a thick tree branch, you started to hear bubbling water over the rustling leaves.

And then heavy splashing and groaning.

Biting your lip, you moved cautiously.

Quickly, you came upon the source of the sound of water. It was a shallow but wide creek filled with lots of rocks. It opened up the gully a bit, allowing for more sunlight and open space.

And thus, permit you to see the male that was stumbling through the creek further ahead.

He was moving fast but limping badly. One arm was dragging his sword behind him, the tip clanging over the rocks, while the other was pressed against his torso.

And as he staggered into a patch of sunlight, you reeled as you realized you knew him.

“Mingi?” You whispered in confused shock then hastily returned your arrow to your quiver before shouting after him. “Mingi!”

The male was exiting the creek when he paused at your voice and looked over his shoulder in surprise.

You sprinted toward him, not bothering to be quiet anymore. Your feet pounded against the ground, hands roughly shoved branches out of the way. When the creek curved before you, you plunged right in. Mingi was right on the other bank. You were almost to him. You were going so fast you lost your footing on a slick rock and fell forward. A yelp escaped past your lips as your hands and knees were thrust into the icy water and your palms scraped against the rocks. Some water even splashed up onto your chest, making you tense up from how cold it was.

“Y-Y/N?” Mingi stammered out in a strained, faint voice while you pushed yourself back up. “Are you okay? H-How are you here?”

You were dripping water as you safely crossed the remainder of the creek and launched yourself at the Saeni, wrapping your arms around his waist while murmuring his name in relief. But the male released a choking sound and stiffened as you hugged him tightly.

“What? What’s wrong?” You leaned back and took in the way the guard was breathing strenuously and his hazel eyes were darker than usual.

Suddenly it hit you that he was alone.

“Mingi…” You stepped back from the male. “Where’s Jimin?”

And it was then you realized Mingi’s entire front was red. Slashes covered his body and blood was spilling onto his arm and hand where he held it across his stomach. You gaped at the wounds and glanced down at yourself, seeing you were now blotted with red too. You hadn’t felt it seep into your clothes because of the creek water. As you looked down, you noticed his leg was also coated in blood and it was pooling on the dirt and sand beneath his foot.

The blood trail was coming from him.

Mingi adjusted his arm over his torso and let out a ragged exhale. “The wolf attacked… I sent him ahead while I dealt with it… rift should be very close.”

You grimaced at the amount of blood steadily leaking out of the male’s body then registered what he had said. “It’s close? So Jimin should be close too…”

I really don’t think Mingi should be moving around with those wounds… I don’t even know how he’s moving around with them right now.

“I’ll go after him. You stay here,” you told him.

You went to go around him and start running once more but he quickly grabbed your arm with his bloody hand before you could leave.

He shook his head, determination in his hazel eyes, while holding his sword hilt with more strength. “I’ll keep up. I have to… it’s my job to protect him.”

You eyed him, wanting to say no, but it was his choice to make. Besides, the longer you stayed here and bickered with him, the more time you would be wasting. So, in the end, you just gave him a nod. His bloody hand slipped off your arm and you took off running knowing he would be following.

And true to his word, he did keep up despite the obvious pain he was in. He just endured it with gritted teeth and the occasional low moan as blood continued to spill from his body.

After jumping over a small runoff, you looked back at Mingi and asked if he knew how far the rift was.

“No… but if we keep… going straight… we should hit it soon… at least I think.”

You grunted in acknowledgement and refocused on the terrain before you. It was quite rocky and uneven, so you really had to watch where you were going so you wouldn’t twist an ankle.

Not long after, the creek curved away and the ground before you started to rise into a minor incline. You hopped up and over the rocks and roots in your path as the sounds of running water began to fade away, though your ears perked up as your heard something that was definitely not the forest replace it. Deep chuckles, small gasps and groans, dull thuds.

Deep breath, stay calm. Deep breath, stay calm. Deep breath, stay calm. You chanted internally while vaulting over a fallen tree.

When your feet landed back on the dead leaves, dirt, and twigs, you retrieved an arrow and readied your bow. You glanced back at Mingi who raised his bloody hand to his ear then pointed ahead to signal he was hearing the noises too. Then he brought his red finger to his lips to indicate to be quiet before returning his arm to lay across his torso while hoisting his sword in the air with his other arm.

The two of you briskly tiptoed beside each other as the thudding sounds increased in volume… and seconds later you saw who you’d been searching so desperately for.

Except he was being beaten.

Amid the large rocks that cluttered the area, a male draikensu was holding a bloody and bruised Jimin by the throat while sending his fist into the half-Saeni’s torso. The draikensu was carrying a bow and quiver on his back and a knife at his side but was using neither as he smirked darkly and simply used his bare hands to overwhelm the half-Saeni… and there was a strange plume of black smoke swirling behind the male. The smoke seemed to expand and collapse, almost like it was… alive. That sight alone was disturbing, but what was worse was watching your best friend gasp for air while clawing at the draikensu’s hand, his face swollen and purpled. The draikensu scoffed at Jimin’s attempts to free himself, threw him to the ground, then crouched over him to deliver three successive punches to his face.

The apricot head moaned and turned his head to the side to spit out blood onto the dirt while trying to crawl backwards to his bow which lay wedged in the rocks several yards away. The draikensu tsked and held down one of Jimin’s arms while also pressing his face into the ground to pin him.

Coming to your senses, you cried out for your best friend and raised your bow at the male restraining him.

“Oh, we have company now?” The male spared you and Mingi a brief look then grinned as if he was pleased. “Good.”

Neither you nor Mingi rushed the draikensu. Not when he was essentially holding Jimin captive and could snap your best friend’s neck in an instant. You didn’t shoot either. You didn’t have a clean shot with the angle and the draikensu could easily lift Jimin’s body to use as a shield.

Jimin tried to crane his neck your way and mumbled your name. “Y/…Y/N?”

Right after your name came from Jimin’s lips, the draikensu returned his attention to the male under him. He released Jimin’s face but slammed his fist into the apricot head’s temple. Your best friend went limp as the punch forced him unconscious. The draikensu hummed and straightened slightly to reach for the blade strapped to his waist. The smoke behind him seemed to dance in eagerness.

OH, FUCK.

You widened then narrowed your eyes, seeing how the male had eased his hold on Jimin’s arm and wasn’t as close. Mingi whispered ‘Now!’ and you released your bowstring to send your arrow flying at the draikensu.

You and Mingi followed, darting forward.

The male dove to the side to avoid the projectile, which sped past him and vanished into the trees. When he came to a stop, the draikensu growled and swiftly grabbed his own bow and an arrow while you were reaching for your quiver mid-sprint.

He aimed… right at you. And shot.

Your eyes widened but suddenly you were being shoved to the side. Your bow flew from your grasp and you hit the ground hard. Twisting around, you looked back at what had rammed into you… or rather who. It had been Mingi… who was looking down at the arrow now protruding from his sternum.

He had pushed you out of the way but sacrificed his own body to do so.

Mingi!

You stared as more blood bloomed on his chest and blended into the other lines of crimson crossing his body. As you watched the red flow out, so many emotions battled for dominance in your heart to the point you were stunned motionless. Meanwhile, Mingi wrapped a hand around the arrow shaft, staggered back a step, gulped, and flashed his eyes your way.

But before you could get up or help him or even blink, another arrow thumped into his chest.

The impact made him fall down to the earth. And within a few seconds, the light in his beautiful hazel eyes disappeared.

It was gone.

Mingi was gone.

No… no, Mingi. Please, no…

You were trembling, not knowing what to do when a satisfied sigh made you tear your eyes away. You met the draikensu’s gaze and you saw he was taking out another arrow from his quiver as he stood over Jimin.

“Remember my name,” he spoke to you proudly, “Amarok. The one who killed the key.”

He breathed in deeply through his nose as if he was preparing himself, then he turned his eyes and bow on your best friend.

All at once, alarms blared in your head, bringing you out of your frozen horror. You scrambled to your feet. You didn’t even have a plan or really know what you were doing but you charged forward as fast as you could.

Fifteen yards.

Amarok notched the arrow.

Ten yards.

He began to draw back.

Five yards.

The male smirked.

The smoke hovered in anticipation.

You lowered your shoulder like seasoned football player and you slammed into the draikensu with a yell and all the strength you had in your human body. You tackled him away from your best friend, making his bow and arrow clatter against a nearby rock, and the sheer momentum of your attack made you sail over the draikensu after he hit the ground.

Tumbling over the earth, you dug your forearms and elbows into dirt and leaves and stopped yourself a few feet away from the male. You panted while you used your shaking muscles to get up and squinted as sweat dripped into your eyes. Meanwhile, Amarok roared in agitation, clambered to his feet, and turned to face you with a menacing glower.

His jaw ticked once then he rolled his shoulders and started moving toward you.

Okay okay okay. Remember what Jungkook’s taught you. Yoongi too.

You stood and got into your fighting stance, spreading your legs slightly and balancing your weight while positioning your hands in front of your face. Amarok rolled his eyes and reached out to grab your arm but you skirted to the side and dropped to one knee while spinning with your other leg extended. You figured getting him on the ground and into a hold would be the best way to approach the situation so you tried to knock the male off his feet but he was fast to back up out of the way. He hummed thoughtfully while you got back to your feet and surged forward, aiming your knee at his gut. Amarok blocked your attack and used your proximity to thrust his elbow into your side and shove you back then swung his arm at your face. After lifting your forearm to hinder the fist, you went to deliver a punch in return but Amarok sidestepped, grasped your arm, and used your energy to turn and flip you to your back. You were forcefully thrown to the ground, making you involuntarily let out a half-grunt, half-puff of air on impact. Blinking to clear your head and see through the sun glaring through the trees, you realized there was a flat rock by your left leg. As the crookedly grinning draikensu went to lean over you and capture your throat in his large hand, you braced one foot against the flat rock, pushed your hips up, and brought your other leg across his chest. Then you clenched your teeth and drove your leg, and therefore Amarok, down with a yell. Shifting, you kept your leg against his chest, and took one of his arms in your hands and pulled back while dropping the heel of your other leg as hard as you could into his abdomen. You managed to ram your heel into him twice before he caught your ankle in his free hand. Sucking in a breath, you immediately let go of his arm and crunched your torso to drop your elbow into his face but he raised his knee at the same time. Swiftly, you moved your arms so he hit your forearms instead of your cheek or nose. He let go of your ankle and you used the split second of freedom to roll backwards over your shoulder and back onto your feet. Amarok pushed himself up as well.

Your heart pounded and chest heaved. Alright, so… I’m obviously at a major strength disadvantage. But that’s no different than how I am with the boys when we train.

You and the male stepped around the rocks while you slowly circled each other and waited to see what the other would do.

I need to distract him. Make him start talking. See if there’s anything I can use to play with his emotions.

It typically would have been difficult to figure out how to start talking with someone in this situation, but something had been nagging you in the back of your head since before you’d started fighting so you mentally said fuck it and decided to go with that to start an utterly convenient conversation.

You sucked in a deep breath and tilted your head while keeping your eyes on the male. “Your name. I’ve heard it before. Who are you?”

“I’m my master’s loyal subject.” Amarok stopped moving and spread his arms wide. “His doorway and his tool. My purpose in life is to aid him in burning down the world.”

His doorway…? Is he the one Uzjuk latched on to? Your eyes expanded and darted over to the swirling black smoke which was floating over Jimin’s body. Holy fuckballs, is that raging vape cloud Uzjuk!?

But it was a mistake to look away. The moment your gaze shifted, Amarok ran forward and jumped off a rock toward you. He kicked at your side and you brought your unaware attention back to the male right as his leg made contact with your ribs. Stumbling back several steps, you winced and pressed a hand to your side but refocused to block his next kick. Dodging his quick follow-up punch, you rammed your fist just below his sternum, making him double over a bit, then swung your other fist at his cheekbone. While his head whipped sideways, you shifted your weight and did a double roundhouse kick at his shoulder than face. Both were deterred by his arm but you hastily planted that leg back on the ground and twisted so your other foot spun toward him. As Amarok leapt out of the way, you lunged forward for another punch but the male kicked your thigh and made you stagger back.

You caught your breath and placed your hand to your thigh before returning it in front of your face. “The world doesn’t deserve it.”

“Neither did my family,” Amarok angrily spat out while peering at you, “They didn’t deserve to suffer and die yet they still did. The world shall be no different.”

Then the male snarled and stepped forward to swing his fist toward you once more. You leaned back and blocked it with your elbow but as you were paying attention to his upper body, the male hooked his foot behind your ankle. Before you knew it, he was forcing your leg out from underneath you. With a yelp you fell yet again, this time landing on your side and banging your head against the hard earth. White spots danced in your vision while the draikensu went to stomp on you but you were able to roll back just in time. You only made it a few feet away but Amarok didn’t press after you. Instead he just watched as you dizzily came up to a crouch then returned to your fighting stance. Blowing some stray hair out of your eyes, you shook your hands out to rid some of the tension coursing through you and bounced on the balls of your feet a couple times.

I’m like tiny Steve Rogers. I can do this all day.

Chest rising and falling very quickly, you tried to slow your breathing down as you and the male considered each other.

Oh shit, right, distract him! He mentioned his family!

“Your family…? Your family wouldn’t want you going around killing people. They would want you to be good-”

“Good?” Amarok let out a ridiculing laugh. “There is no good in the world, girl. Just temporary illusions that eventually turn into ash and smoke.” The male stepped up onto rock and looked down at you. “Besides, it doesn’t matter what they want anymore. They’re dead. Nothing is bringing them back but I can make the world feel their pain. Feel my pain.”

You squeezed your hands into fists and looked up at the male in incredulity.

I can’t tell if it’s all him or Uzjuk’s influence but I think he’s insane. I get the whole retribution storyline but damn… the whole world?

Suddenly you heard a quiet groan off to the side, and out of the corner of your eyes you saw Jimin flop over onto his stomach, partially raise himself to his knees, and hold his head in his hands.

“My master showed me that the world needs to fall back to its true state of chaos.”  The draikensu inclined his head in Jimin’s direction and lazily hopped off the rock he was standing on. “And it starts with his death.”

Then he began to march toward Jimin.

Ah, shit.

Your feet moved without thinking and you ran up to Amarok. The male shoved an arm out to swat you aside but you dodged and moved in close so you could grab his shoulder for better leverage as you drove your knee into his torso again. He grunted and tried to seize you but in the next breath, you shifted your hands so you could pull the male’s upper body down as you jumped onto his back so his head was between your thighs. Then, with his shoulder and arm still in your grasp, you threw your weight down so you both fell to the ground.

You both sprawled out and, in your peripherals, you saw Jimin finally start to stand up, causing the black smoke to swell and shrink rapidly. Wobbling to his feet, he continued to hold his bleeding and bruised head as he fixed his brown eyes on you.

Hastily, you got to your feet before Amarok and moved so you were directly in the male’s path to your best friend. The draikensu lifted his head and when he realized Jimin was no longer on the ground, he released an irritated yell and pushed himself up.

He took one, two, three large strides forward but with a scratchy grunt, you powerfully planted your foot in the middle of male’s chest so he reeled back a few steps.

“Jimin, go! GO NOW!”

Hearing no response or footsteps running away, you risked a peek behind you while Amarok place his hand against his chest. To your disbelief you noticed Jimin was still standing there staring at you with a mix of confusion, uncertainty, and reluctance on his blotchy and swollen face.

A low noise came from before you so you tore you gaze away from your best friend to see Amarok coming at you with narrowed eyes.

“FUCKING GO ALREADY!” You shouted back at the half-Saeni and raised your foot to kick the draikensu once more but Amarok caught your leg and turned, tossing you aside.

While you skidded against the ground, your head narrowly missing a rock, Amarok calmly walked past you toward Jimin, who was looking back and forth between you and the draikensu in bewilderment and fear.

Fucking Exia, Jimin, you need to yeet out of here!

Clawing your fingernails into the dirt, you hoisted yourself up and sprinted at the draikensu’s back. Then you launched yourself at it. You slammed into him, your unexpected weight making the male teeter forward, and you went to hook your arm around his neck. Though before you could do so, Amarok snarled and reached up to secure his hands around your arm then tugged while bending over. You flipped through the air and onto your back yet again. All the air in your lungs was pushed out, making your body feel tingly and convulse a little. As you struggled for oxygen, Amarok stepped over you. Gasping, you forced your tremoring body to roll over and grabbed his foot.

It didn’t do much to slow the male down. It barely made him falter. He just kept going, getting closer and closer to Jimin as you held on with all you had.

While you tried to hinder the draikensu’s advance, you looked up and met your best friend’s torn expression. As you were dragged across the earth, you gave him a small nod and mouthed ‘go.’ Jimin opened his mouth like he wanted to say something but snapped it closed, then finally turned and ran for the mass of collapsed rock.

Relief numbed your pain as his apricot hair quickly disappeared from sight, blocked by the rocks and the way they inclined and curved away slightly.

Amarok, on the other hand, released a loud, frustrated yell and tried to run after Jimin but you pulled your body closer to his leg so both your arms enwrapped the appendage. He wouldn’t be going anywhere. Not while you were still breathing. You tightened your hold on the male’s leg as his yell faded into a growl while he leaned over to dig his nails into your wrists, making you cry out in pain. When you refused to let go, he cursed you then grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head up and to the side. You whimpered and your grip around his leg unwillingly slackened. Then he sent his fist into your jaw. Your head snapped back and blood began to flood your mouth as your vision went fuzzy, your arms dropped, and you collapsed to the ground. The disorientation only lasted a few moments but Amarok gave you no reprieve as he let out an infuriated noise then kicked you in your stomach.

You curled in on yourself for a second, a sob coming from your lips. Amarok went to turn away from you but you groaned, clenched your aching jaw, and used your trembling arms to push yourself up to your jelly-like legs before spitting out a mouthful of blood at the draikensu while swaying on your feet.

Much to Amarok’s dismay.

An agitated rumble came from the male’s throat while he glared at where Jimin had gone then at you. “I was going to let you live, girl. But now I see you’re just a pest that needs to be disposed of quickly.”

His hand went to his waist and he withdrew his long hunting knife.

You blinked, quirked your head to the side, and snorted, showcasing your bloody teeth. Oh… well, you’re not the only one with a knife, bitch.

Then you wrapped your own hand around the hilt of the ruby-hilted dagger strapped to your side.

Jimin’s head was throbbing and his body stiff as he hurriedly climbed over the mess of collapsed rock leading to the cave entrance. He could feel how swollen and puffy his face was without even touching it and every time he swallowed he could taste the blood coating his inner mouth.

You’re nearly there Jimin. Keep going. The mother goddess urged the half-Saeni gently. Straight into the cave. You can make it.

The sun beat down on his back while he planted his foot against the flat side of a rock and leapt to the next one several feet away. But as he jumped off his leg buckled, making him fall forward and land awkwardly. One of his palms slid against the rock’s jagged edge which sliced the skin open. His knee banged into the hard fragment and he felt his flesh tear open on through his pants. His feet settled on smaller stones while he hunched over the rock and breathed heavily. He didn’t even feel the pain really, too distracted and overwhelmed to register the new injury. It just felt warm. Probably from the blood. Steadying himself on the rock, he closed his hand into a fist, causing crimson to leak out around his fingers and make a small pool, then he leaned his forehead against the sun-warmed rock.

He could hear the thuds and grunts coming from your fight with the draikensu. He hated himself for placing you in danger. For leaving you. For running away.

But he knew he had to.

Don’t throw away their valor.

He had to trust you. You would hold off the draikensu so he could get to the rift and close it.

That was his job. His responsibility.

Get up Jimin. You can do it.

Jimin straightened and ran his hand through his apricot hair, staining some of the strands crimson. Then he looked up toward the entrance of the cave that was so close. Then he nodded to himself and hiked himself up onto the rock so he could press on.

Not even a minute later, he was crouching at the cavern’s entrance.  A constant plinking sound echoed all around him. His brown eyes glanced up at the water dripping off the ceiling that was causing the sounds as they hit the rock or puddles below. Shifting his gaze to peer into the darkness before him, he shivered at the cold draft blowing out from the cave.

Jimin took a single deep breath and lowered his body to the damp ground.

Then he began crawling inside.

While they ran through the forest, Tae looked sideways at his brother in concern. Jungkook’s peridot eyes were focused and his pace hadn’t wavered once, but what worried Tae was how ragged his breathing was.

As well as the blood still trickling out of the male’s back.

They had been running for about thirty minutes. A third of that time was just getting out of the field and into the forest with as few confrontations as possible. Luckily, though, they hadn’t encountered any draikensu since entering the trees. They had been able to just sprint directly toward their destination, which Yoongi had told them was to the northwest.

The mint-haired Saeni, being the talented magic user he was, had figured out how to siphon energy from Namjoon after a montage of curses and just a few failed attempts. As Yoongi’s hands had begun to glow brighter and brighter with magic, the leader of the kiela had gotten more and more tired until he passed out. It was then that Yoongi ceased extracting his energy as to not harm Namjoon. Then the magic user used most the energy to heal Jungkook’s wound. Not completely, but enough so any damage to internal organs was gone and it wasn’t as deep. Then Yoongi used the remainder of the taken energy to locate both Jimin and Y/N, and found they were close to each other. The magic user’s eyes had started to droop and he’d murmured they needed to go straight to the northwest. Yoongi had crawled out from the branches and pointed in the direction before exhaustion overtook him once more and he slumped to the ground.

Very shortly after, Tae and Jungkook had left.

Both Saeni knew it would still be hard to find you and their brother with only a cardinal direction to guide them but it was substantially better than searching completely blind. Not that Tae thought Jungkook wouldn’t have done that if he’d had too.

But honestly, Tae would have still been right beside Jungkook even if that had been the case.

He wanted to find Chim and his little scorja. He was extremely worried for them.

But he was also worried for his younger brother. He didn’t know how long Jungkook would be able to keep going like this.

After the duo leapt over a skinny fallen tree, Tae took in how Jungkook’s hands were trembling and suggested they take a quick break.

Jungkook firmly shook his head in refusal.

“Just so you can catch your breath.”

“I’m fine,” the burgundy head replied through his teeth.

“Kook-”

“I said I’m fine, hyung. We need to keep going.”

It was apparent nothing was going to stop Jungkook, not even the risk of collapsing from blood loss. So, Tae just reluctantly resigned to the fact and continued running.

You hastily backed up as Amarok slashed down toward your thigh then jabbed at your throat. You stopped the blade from entering your flesh both times by blocking his arm with your hand. The male was bleeding heavily under his arm from where you had managed to get inside his defense a minute ago and stab him but he still wasn’t letting up.

Analyzing his movements, you bent at the waist and the edge of his knife cut through the air where your head had just been. Immediately after, you had to duck to the side to avoid his fist. Then you deterred the next thrust of his blade and lunged forward yourself, but Amarok sidestepped, turned, and used his free hand to redirect your arm while slashing his knife across your forearm. Following the motion of his blade, the male went to move behind you and cut the back of your neck but you quickly dove forward to safety.

Instead of going after you, Amarok used your escape as a means to escape himself. He turned and began running toward the rocks where Jimin had gone. Popping back up to your feet, you swore and flipped the ruby-hilted dagger in your hand so the blade was in your palm.

I know I suck ass at throwing knives but please Exia let it work this one time.

Even though the blade wasn’t meant for throwing, you did your best to channel your inner Hobi as you raised your elbow and threw the dagger.

It rotated through the air… then the hilt bounced off Amarok’s back.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

But you had had an inkling it wouldn’t work so you had sprinted after the blade as soon as you had released it. It was a miracle it even made contact with the draikensu so although it had not harmed the male like you’d hoped, it did create a distraction that allowed you to catch up with him.

Coming up behind the male, you sent your red, bloody knuckles into his spine, and he twisted around to slash at you with his blade while releasing an angry growl. You leapt out of the way and he faced you yet again with an enraged expression. He stepped toward you and as he went to stab at your side, you saw a brief opening and took it. You kicked your leg up, straight into his groin. At the same time, you caught his forearm that held the knife and used his motion to tug it beside your opposite hip. Then you placed your other hand over his and forced his wrist down while pressing his arm back toward his body quickly. A sharp crack came from his wrist and he hissed as his hand dropped the knife. Then you pushed your hips forward and jumped up, throwing your right leg over his shoulder and the other around his torso under his arm while leaning your upper body back. Feeling your weight around his neck, Amarok instinctively tried to raise his body but it was too late. You kept your head lifted as you hit the ground to not crack your skull and used your left hand to force his arm across his body then to help pinch your leg that was over his shoulder to around the back of his neck. You shifted your other leg up so you could lock your right ankle underneath it to secure the triangle choke. You squeezed your thighs together, beginning to cut off the male’s oxygen and blood flow, while also wrapping an arm around his leg to bring yourself close and further restrict his movements. Breathing through your nose, you focused on maintaining the grapple as Amarok struggled for air and tried to lift you and slam you down but was unable to.

Suddenly, the sky darkened above you and you looked up to see the smoke was now surrounding you and Amarok.

“Master… please… help,” the male croaked out weakly.

Help? How can the vape cloud help? Just pass out already!

Then Amarok began convulsing and he opened his mouth in a silent scream.

What the fu-

And then you felt it too.

A hot and searing pain that felt like it was burrowing deep into your brain.

His armor and skin were soaked from the water that trailed down the earthen walls and collected in puddles on the cavern floor.  Jimin’s teeth clacked together while he continued moving his body through the cold, quiet darkness. Thanks to his draeva connection he was still able to see through what he believed was an abandoned wolf den and as he rounded a tight corner the half-Saeni saw that the small cave seemed to widen a bit up ahead.

Crawling forward, a glow began to peek out from the underground chamber but it wasn’t the sun or phosphorous on the rock. It was an odd, unusual light. Murky and dark. Only a shade or two brighter than the pitch-black darkness.

Pulling himself completely into the wider space, Jimin then gaped as the source of the light came into full view. It almost looked like a sinister, shifting portal of thick smoke. It reminded him of the cloud of swirling smoke that had been with the draikensu male. The center was the darkest part, so black it nearly blended in with the rest of the cave. The margins, however, were tinged in a mixture of ashen grey and deep red.

There it is, the wretched thing.

“That’s the rift?” Jimin maneuvered himself to his knees and tentatively approached it until he was just an arm’s length away.

The air around it seemed to be even more frigid and chilling.

Yes. You did well Jimin. The soft voice of Illai soothed him. I will take over now.

The half-Saeni’s posture went rigid and his eyes shifted, turning into an every-changing array of colors like a rippling rainbow.

Then Illai lifted Jimin’s hand and laid his fingertips against the ice-cold center of the rift, and seconds later a white light started to burn away at its grey and red edges.

You screamed.

It felt like your mind was being shredded apart with claws made of molten lava.

Letting go of Amarok’s leg, you clutched at your head. Your own legs were still wrapped around the male’s neck, but the hold was quickly loosening. You were in too much pain to keep squeezing your thighs. You couldn’t focus on it. Not when your brain felt like it was being squeezed and dug into. The smoke continued to whirl above you and the corners of your vision started to grow dark and fuzzy. Tightly shutting your eyes, hot tears started to leak past your eyelashes and trail down your cheeks as you writhed on the ground.

Amarok, who was still twitching and barely conscious, reached up over his head and weakly pushed and pulled at your legs. You couldn’t even fight him off. Your legs unwound from his neck and heavily fell to the side while a pained, groggy inhale came from the male as oxygen flooded into his lungs and he crumpled to his knees. He was basically right on top of you, his knee pressing into your thigh but he was still incapacitated as the burning agony pounded into both your minds.

Until it suddenly wasn’t.

It stopped.

Your body jerked once then you laid limply on the earth, no longer in pain but feeling sluggish and feeble and out of breath. A relieved sob escaped past your lips and you curled into a small ball at the abrupt disappearance of the pain while you slowly cracked your eyes open.

What was that… fucking ow it still hurts.

You watched Amarok struggle to his feet, somewhat amazed he could even move after that. “Thank you, master.”

The dark smoke overhead stopped moving.

“Master?”

The smoke seemed to shudder and it pulsed violently.

“Master!?”

The edges of the smoke turned grey and wisped away.

Still panting, you sniffled and rolled onto your back as the rest of the smoke became discolored.

Then it dispersed entirely.

Blinking, you stared up in confusion as Amarok shrieked for his master. But the smoke didn’t return. Uzjuk had vanished.

… Jimin…

You whipped your gaze over to where he’d gone. Steeling your mind and body, you forced yourself up as your heartbeat loudly thumped in your head and the urge to vomit surged.

You had just gotten back to your feet when Amarok pivoted and glared at you with pure hatred and anger etched over his face.

Wobbling slightly, you raised your chin and peered back at him as confidently as you could even though you wanted to keel over. “It’s… It’s over, Amarok. It’s done.”

A low rumble came from the heaving draikensu’s chest and he stepped forward, sending his fist into your face so hard you fell down with a cry. When you tried to stand, he picked you up slightly, turned, and threw you back to the ground. As you bounced and slid against the hard earth, you saw a flash of red in your peripherals. Tilting your aching head to the side, you saw Jungkook’s ruby-hilted dagger glinting in the sunlight only a couple feet away. Breathing deeply, you returned your eyes to the draikensu and saw he was looming over you with his fist raised. He was going to punch you again. Lunging to the side, you dodged his fist and wrapped your hand around the dagger’s hilt. Twisting back around, you swung the blade up in an arc. It missed Amarok though he had to rear back to avoid it. Staggering to your feet, you adjusted your hold on the weapon and lifted it in front of your face. Baring his teeth in a growl, he went for you again but you deflected his arm with your free hand and dragged the dagger across his belly.

Then, with a defiant yell, you plunged the blade deep into his neck.

Jin heavily parried the draikensu’s axe and stepped to the side to dodge their next swing. The raven-haired Saeni lifted his longsword but as he went to thrust forward the draikensu’s eyes widened and she took a couple steps back. Her axe dropped to the ground and she looked around like she wasn’t sure what was going on.

Furrowing his brows, Jin stayed on guard but the field seemed to suddenly grow quiet as most of the other draikensu also seemed to stop fighting.

A few seconds passed.

No more screams.

No more ringing metal.

No more chaos.

Blood sprayed in the air as you yanked the dagger out of Amarok’s neck. Crimson coated the blade and dripped off the tip as you stepped back and the male collapsed to his knees. He raised his hand over the wound but it was futile. Blood poured out past his fingers and drenched his chest. It gurgled out over his lips as he tried to breath.

You stood over him, eyes narrowed, while he bled out.

And less than a minute later, his body sagged over.

Fucking finally.

You braced your hands on your knees, taking in large gulps of air and closing your eyes as your head reeled and spun and your thighs spasmed.

Jimin… I need to find Jimin…

Tightly gripping the ruby-hilted dagger, you straightened and began making your way to the rocks.

It suddenly seemed too cold in the shade of the trees as you jogged, and your body trembled while you hoarsely cried out for your best friend. “JIMIN!”

“JI-JIMIN!”

You reached the rocks and started climbing up them.

Where is he? Why isn’t he answering?

A lump began to form in your throat and you tripped and fell down.

“Y/N!?”

Your head shot up and you saw him stumbling out from around the corner.

A sob ripped its way past your lips and you both rushed toward each other, clawing and stumbling over the rocks.

Slamming into your best friend so hard you both almost lost your footing; you hugged him and buried your face in his shoulder while he wrapped his arms around you. He was wet, cold, and shivering, but you were just as wrecked. Trembling in each other’s arms, your tears soaked into his already damp armor while his dripped onto your bare neck.

“I’m so sorry,” he blubbered against your skin while smoothing his hand over your hair. “I’m so sorry for leaving you.”

Shaking your head, you mumbled how it was okay, you were okay, he was okay, you were both okay.

Eventually, you and Jimin settled down. The tears had left tracks through the dirt on your faces and your bodies were barely holding up but you pulled away so you could take in your best friend’s face. It was battered, bloody, and swollen yet you smiled softly and placed your hand against his cheek lightly.

He leaned into your touch and sighed before reaching up and gently taking you hand in his. “Let’s get out of here.” Then he began to lead you down the rocks.

It was a slow process. The adrenaline in both your bodies was starting to ebb, allowing you to really feel how much you hurt. Which was a fucking lot. It was painful just standing but you had to keep moving. It was time to get back to the field. To get back to the rest of your family.

When you had almost reached the bottom, you were holding Jimin’s hand to keep yourself steady as you jumped to the next rock when the apricot head suddenly asked if you’d seen Mingi.

“Last I saw he was holding back a wolf so I could keep going.”

You tensed and looked away while you bit your lip, memories and emotions from the hazel-eyed Saeni’s death flooding back to you.

“What?”

Expelling a sad puff of air, you just told him to follow you. Limping past Amarok’s body and around the stray rocks, you led him to where Mingi had fallen.

“Oh,” Jimin said quietly as he gazed at the arrows sticking out from the guard’s chest.

The leaves swayed above you, a hint of blue sky and sunlight peeking through them as you approached the male. “He, um, he was really injured from the wolf. But he was still determined to come protect you, but… he… he ended up dying while saving me.” Dropping to your knees beside the Saeni, you had to press your lips together and take a deep breath.

Reaching over, you closed his eyelids; shutting those beautiful hazel eyes forever. Then, as you carefully removed the arrows from his body, Jimin spotted his sword on the ground and went to retrieve it. You both gently laid the sword over his body and folded his hands over the hilt.

A single tear trailed down your cheek while you thanked Mingi for his friendship and sacrifice in a choked-up voice. “I’ll miss you… please rest well.”

Jimin hung his head for a moment then stood up and rested his fingers on your shoulder. “Illai says he will only know peace from now on.”

You looked up at him in shock. “You can still hear her?”

He simply nodded while gazing down at Mingi, his face filled with guilt, before he helped you to your feet. You whispered one final goodbye to the Saeni and put your arm around Jimin to support his body as he also supported you.

Breathing heavily, you both started to shuffle through the trees and head back toward the field.

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HimiKiyo Week 2021: Day 1- Creeping Darkness

//HimiKiyo Week 2021 is finally here! Took a little bit tonight to finalize edits and come up with a title. Look forward to more each day for the next week~

I’m proud, this is one of my longest singlechapter  fics ever if not the longest

Links to other Platforms:

Amino: https://aminoapps.com/c/danganronpa/page/blog/himikiyo-week-2021-day-1/5B58_R2MsVulaQEnXkXVBzYlGjd3mXnP3Z

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/34119466

The seaside village Himiko moved out to was more out of the way  than the usual cities and suburbs. Apparently, her mentor couldn’t come. It was going to be a pain being out in that little house all alone. Who knows, maybe he’d sent another student of his the same kind of message?

To her disappointment there wasn’t anyone else, still not a single other apprentice known to her. She decided that after not doing anything yesterday but unpacking and eating and sleeping she would go over to the shrine marked on the local map. If nothing else she could pray for good luck before really getting down to working. 

The course of this assignment and her whole life changed the moment she saw that strange figure at the offerings box while nobody else was around. They wore a long green kimono with beautiful dark hair almost matching that outfit in length. They looked to be glowing ethereally, with pale white skin akin to a porcelain doll. 

Their hand was in the offerings box. At first she assumed they must be giving their own prayers and as such stayed back so as to not intrude. She noticed then that the figure was taking something *out* of the offerings box and that’s when she wondered if they were a thief. 

“Fret not, these offerings are for me, dear human.” a voice came to her, seeming at first separate from the figure still several feet ahead. Someone addressing a person as “human” and saying it was their offering… She’d never seen a kami before, but that was the sole explanation that made everything make sense about them.

“Then you’re a kami?” she asked, quirking her eyebrow. 

“That I am, I am called Shinguji. This family name refers to residing here, at the True Temple. My given name Korekiyo means just and pure”

“I-it’s a beautiful…” The mage was torn in half between the word ‘name’ and the word ‘place.’ The brook not far behind the pair was babbling audibly and birds were chirping. The water went past the trees and out to the river, which fed it almost directly into the ocean. 

Even if something wicked this way was coming there was nothing yet to taint the natural beauty. She wasn’t sure if it would even be able to with a keeper this pretty.

“A beautiful what?” The spirit gently prodded her with the question. They had noticed her biting her lip in uncertainty.

“Name, your name is pretty. Uhh, and I’m…” she was too flustered to easily find any of the necessary words. 

“You are Yumeno Himiko.”

“So you knew that already?” It was not that surprising in hindsight, but in that moment she was caught off guard, focusing on trying not to be so tense in their presence like she had been up to that point. She worried she was giving off the wrong message.

“I intuited it, but I don’t blame you for being surprised. Most humans think of us Kami as mythology, but I’ve known these old figures, and dealt with many creatures as my neighbors in my centuries of life.”

“In that case then are you able to intuit why I’m here?” The mage tried hard not to sound too much like a schoolgirl talking to her popular crush. 

“I could. It would be easier if you told me. Whatever it is, you seem particularly stressed out by it.” They tilted their head slightly, a very human gesture, and it was clear they were reading deeper. Either humans had gotten it from the ancient gods or vice-versa. One of those things nobody would ever be able to remember the origin of.

It was better to answer the question than get too off track wondering about that. 

“Well, my master who is a magician told me there was something that was going to go wrong here. He gave me the mission to stop it.”

It was Kiyo’s turn to be concerned. 

“Well, I have been given whispers that a nasty yokai is approaching this land. It comes from the far north and wishes to sap power for itself. Very few claiming to be survivors of this have shown up, and we’re all so isolated these days...”

That was a bad sign. 

“Is it because of us?” If her master had worried so much about it then there was no doubt in her mind that this thing would be going after humans if it hadn’t already started.

“Not all of you, but some who are greedy have broken many natural connections and scattered the so-called mythical creatures and spirits away. In a way it’s beautiful, the circle of life even. Although, it is believed perhaps negative energy has attracted this beast from its home and onto its rampaging path.”

A realization hit her. In her research she found that even things that you would not expect to have a soul or a consciousness did at least have the same kind of natural energy as things that did. So objects and anything/everything else with a soul would be susceptible to producing negative energy. 

“So it's a cycle of things feeding into it.”

“Yes. I fear if it gets to a certain point it’ll have enough momentum that there will be no stopping it. So you should think about what you will do to face the possibility.”

Something about those words felt familiar. Even though it was a serious topic, Himiko was comforted. 

“And you need someone like me to stand a chance?”

“The more the merrier, of course. There are things even I may have missed and for that you can be an extra set of eyes and ears. We’re going to train and prepare.”

The rest of that afternoon was spent, at first guided by Kiyo and by the end on her own, getting more used to the area and learning some specific landmarks. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Starting the following day, Himiko started up a routine to come back every day, which would last for several months. Each day she learned new things about the old times that had only ever been guessed about from artifacts. She learned that even Kami had a cutoff point in memory, even if it did happen to be thousands of years stronger than mortals. The only truly omnipotent beings were those that had created earth eons ago, who were as elusive as ever. 

She also trained. Oh, how wonderful it was to train again. And with a more formidable opponent than most people  she would ever encounter normally. After each session she was told more about the species of yokai, and which were more likely to be dangerous foes that needed preparation for.

They would pray and make wishes for having strength and safety at the lucky rock on the path along the brooks. Kiyo allowed Himiko to take and keep a bit of power from it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It happened when she thought it was going to be just another day of what they had been doing. It was not. 

There was something off in the air. And it wasn’t just the dead trees, those were normal for winter. What wasn’t normal was the small patches of rot in them already, the rot had even spread to the grass and other plants on the ground. There was a trail of it and it reeked of a nasty yokai. A being only interested in death and destruction. 

Even worse was that Kiyo was nowhere to be found. They had made a game plan about that, Himiko was to check somewhere inside the shrine in order to find clues. Inside the prayer chamber proper it was a mess just like it would be in the case of any other type of break in. The rot hadn't set in because the room was blessed and was better able to resist, but there was a distinct trail of slime that showed its movement and the room.

She could picture Kiyo weaving around it and dodging attacks to have a chance to hit back at it. The fight had torn up the screens and the ancient art it depicted, and even punctured holes in the inner walls and flooring. An extra band of beads like one Kiyo would often wear was left behind. The signal was received.

Something wasn’t right, however. A presence that was too strong to be explained by the evil residue. It seemed like what they were working against had minions left behind, for the exact reason that someone like her was in the area and had to be stopped. The question was how many were there?

Five of them came up from either the ground or one of the holes puncturing the walls, one right before her and four circling around, forming seemingly out of the shadows and the goo. They quickly solidified into dark shapes that were much like werewolves, though she recognized among them different animal traits expressed. One even had bunny-esque lop ears. 

Himiko took out her wand and started muttering some spells under her breath, making a broad sweeping motion to keep all at bay. The one closest was pushed back and stumbled in surprise. Trying to charge her led to an acrobatic maneuver: it leapt over onto its back and she whipped out a stage magician-like string of handkerchiefs and pulled it up to start choking the beast out.

They surprisingly weren’t as vicious as she’d imagined from how each of them had shown up. It couldn’t do any of its special moves. Unfortunately, its friends could, and they did. They rushed and she let go for a moment, tripping up one and using its momentum in a way it crashed into the first one before it could recover.  

Swinging off it allowed her to jump up and kick a third before lashing a whip of electricity from her wand, yanking the fourth and gaining momentum by bouncing off it with a drop kick right about where the lungs were.

Watching them struggle, she realized they had once been animal spirits for sure, only to have been corrupted. They weren’t just something conjured by their boss.

Hesitation for even one second almost cost her when one swiped claws, just barely missing her and taking her hat instead. The advantage of being shorter than the monsters was they’d miss like that. And much like the stage magic she pretended to use in daily life, the hat was spring-loaded with some friends for them to play with. A magic box that was shattered by the attack let out doves of magical energy that distracted each as well as a jack-in-the-box dummy that took her place as a target for just long enough to take one out.

Even though the trick had been figured out, she could tell from their expressions changing the exact instant of the realization there wasn’t much the poor things could do when the tide had been turned. The rest of them were dispatched with a quick volley of attack spells. She sprinted out, conjuring another hat loaded with a similar trick from her storage at home, just in case. It was more physically exhausting than mana draining so she borrowed from her reserve to recover breath and catch up sooner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She crossed her fingers that those things weren’t going to be much more of a problem on the way over. The trail grew cold on her about a dozen times already the past 4 days but each time she doubled back to a previous checkpoint, there was another sign she’d accidentally glossed over. Each time something was left in an obscure place: a back alley or a bush only to be dragged out by a cat, occasionally right to her. 

Whether it was an order from Kiyo or someone else, she wasn’t sure, but all the help was appreciated. 

It seemed to be that when it took someone, it had to complete a loop back home. It was much faster than she could follow on foot. So the mage took to various buses and trains when she needed to. 

Himiko hadn’t slept in nearly 24 hours by the 4th night, and all the past nights had been similarly lacking in rest. She’d set alarms to go off within a few hours of very scattered naps so she’d at least run decently when it finally came down to it.

She snuck out of an inn somewhere very rural and very cold in the northern reaches of Hokkaido. She could just feel the cave system nearby was definitely the origin point of the attacker. 

Before she could even begin the climb upwards, an upright, tall figure came barrelling down in her direction, diving from above off of a rock and gliding down gracefully, coughing and panting, falling to their knees after the taxing stunt. That fall easily could have killed a human, plus most people couldn’t fly without magical objects.

“We need to get back up there, hurry!”

“Kiyo!” 

However, before the first shape could speak further they were interrupted from behind Himiko. Just a few feet downhill a second Kiyo was standing. 

“Don’t Himiko! That thing can become other entities!”

The first Kiyo to arrive chuckled and shook their head. “Well, that’s true, clever of you to tell her first.” A deep sigh later,  they continued. “Shame I’ve heard of that little trick before and prepared something for this kind of thing.”

“A double cross is it?” the second Kiyo asked. “It’s quite a claim you have there, being the real me, having planned for your own deception.”

Whichever Kiyo was the real one, it was hard to tell at first. The two auras had been in close proximity so a mage in training would have a hard time pulling apart which was which. Then the first Kiyo cleared their throat again.

“Well then, I have a proposition.” they said, turning their attention back to Himiko. “Yumeno Himiko should be able to ask a question, then see how both of us answer, and she’ll know which of us is real.”

“Of course, after spending so long with me she’s bound to know the real one. I’d be crazy to decline,” the beast said.

Kiyo knew this thing would do anything to avoid being pegged as suspicious. It was a double bind for the beast. The only way this was ending was fighting it. This was part of that plan. Delaying it just a tad until the right time. 

Himiko cleared her throat, glancing between the two one more time before she closed her eyes. It was nerve wracking but as long as it wanted to not out itself, the yokai would never blindside attack her. 

“My question is very simple: What is it that I was training to do?” 

The creature nodded. “Understood. This one is easy. We were going to stop the one who’s taken all those others and stop them from taking enough power for its plan.” It turned to Kiyo, giving a taunting glare. “And before the monster tries any trickery, to be specific, we were practicing your magic and got you a mana boost. It’ll help the new technique not be so taxing on you.”

That was almost entirely correct. Kiyo knew then their suspicion was right and something in the area had been spying and relayed all its gathered information back to prepare this creature for any threats that may spring up. That’s what attacked first, the helpers that Himiko had to fend off to get here.   

“Alright. My turn.” Kiyo remained characteristically calm face to face. “We were training. So I don’t have to repeat what the other me said, I’ll agree. However, there was something missing from that answer.”

“Missing? What, pray tell, did I miss?”

“The mana boost served as a test to see if you were already there. And I felt something that may have been a minion performing recon.” Emphasis on the last word. That was something Kiyo had been anticipating. Before they had been taken, she was given a code word. They only mentioned it to her in a whisper on the day that they felt a presence leave to the north with no other context. ‘Recon’ was that word. 

Eye contact was made, Himiko gave a slight nod to show that she understood and it was off to the races. She went on ahead, up one path leaving the Kiyos behind. It was a signal to the real Korekiyo. And so, the two fought again, much like they had when the faker had invaded the temple and kidnapped them to try and complete the ritual.  

They weaved in and out, sometimes further to one side away from Himiko and her destination when Kiyo was having their way and closer, forcing her to duck and use repulsion spells to avoid being caught up in the scuffle. Kiyo’s attacks looked like needles when they flew at their enemy, so she even gave those attacks a boost. She heard the cries of anger and pain when one managed to hit just the right place.

The yokai was a resilient one though, it would just pluck them right out and fire back energy attacks of their own. One of them hit Kiyo and sent them tumbling back down the mountain some distance, dropping several dozen feet to a thud.

They got back up almost instantly, knowing how much danger the girl ahead was in, and pulled out a pair of scythe to quickly dig into the mountain’s side and climb up to a point where they could launch up and gain enough momentum to catch up right behind that yokai.

Faster than ever, Himiko ran. It seemed being tired was starting to slow both down the further up the mountain the climb went. She dove and rolled right into the cave and the faker caught up, confirming even further that it was the yokai when it dove to try and stop her from entering, the disguise melting away grotesquely. She didn’t even have time to be offended at it ruining and distorting those beautiful features because of how fast it barrelled back into the base.

All she could do was point her wand directly in its face and say the words. Like a bullet, red light with a pointed tip struck right through an already gaping hole that showed the black flame-like matter that was its heart. The evil and corrupt soul was pierced.

It could barely re-shape itself anymore with its wounds. It stared at her with half its true features and half rippling nothingness as the face it wore sloughed off and dissipated like a puddle under sunlight. Even the animal-like maw began falling off, fangs first. 

Then Kiyo wrestled it from behind and wrapped it in chains of light. It was likely already dying. But part of its corrupt nature would linger in this spot if it was not sealed and purified.

“What no! Nooooo”. It started shrieking when the shock of being blindsided had finally worn off and it found itself in chains, being dragged away towards the cave’s inner chamber. It was powerless to do anything but watch these interlopers ruin everything.

“Unfair, unfair, unfaaiiiiir.” Most of the thrashing came in the form of weak kicks. It was truly pitiful for something that had beaten kami before. . 

“What a childish temper tantrum.” Kiyo scoffed at it, only briefly turning a shoulder to pay it any mind as they continued towards the end of the mission. It was so mad, and nipped away trying to bite its captor in spite of there being no chance of succeeding now. . 

Himiko came to a strange spot on the back wall and Kiyo lifted the beast over their shoulders and used its paw to unlock a big room full of artifacts, a bunch of seals on them to keep its victims contained. Many tomes of black magic and scribbles showcased a plot to steal power from all the shrine deities to build a “Domain of Darkness”. In which it plotted to prevent the sun from ever rising above Japan, and the whole planet after long enough, ever again. This would remove power from any being who got magic from natural resources and would kill billions of mortals. 

Himiko looked at the plans and laughed nervously, sweating a bit. 

“So um… you don’t think that this would have worked?” she asked, desperately wanting this to just be the pipe dream of an arrogant monstrosity.

“Absolutely not. I’m by no means the strongest of my kind, and you’re still training. It took prisoners, yes, but this is delusional. We won in part because we were underestimated. That kind of fatal mistake would have doomed this plan eventually.”

A sad whimpering came from it, laying on the ground in defeat.

Himiko was tasked to watch over it while Kiyo performed the unsealing rituals. Each one she spared glances at, admiring them from her spot in the center of the room. She could almost feel a tinge of jealousy among the defeat and anger emanating from their felled foe. It was way more interesting watching Kiyo work and chat with each spirit that was freed. Each time they agreed instantly to help get the rest out, which hastened the process. 

Each one helped before some left to make sure their shrines were fine. The remainder, led by Kiyo, thanked Himiko. Their hands warm around hers. Kiyo felt every little soft spot on her hands and even some slight callusing, presumably from the fighting. Even those bits were lovely. 

“You can go home now. It’s getting late but we need to stay for now. I will return to you with the important news.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Himiko got home first, since that was decided as the meeting place. It was far enough from the shrine that it wouldn’t be immediately obvious if that entity came back for another round. She got on her knees in front of her bed, elbows firmly leaning into the mattress so she could clasp and pray. She was exhausted. 

“Please let it be gone once and for all.” She trusted Kiyo could do that much.

Then she was awoken by footsteps and sat upright to who was joining her. Her door had opened and glowing in the moonlight, Kiyo came in, closing the door behind them. 

“I have seen to it that this chapter is done.” The spirit held a hand to her cheek and gently brushed a long finger across part of her face. “Thank you, your journey has only truly just begun but you can relax for now.”

Himiko was flushed a bright red. 

“I was struck by your beauty from the moment that I walked to your shrine.” Her heart raced. They’d touched a couple times by now but this was the most breathtaking and close. The most intimate. She raised a hand of her own and touched Kiyo’s arm gently.

A soft smile spread on the spirit’s lips. “Oh, I could tell. I could also tell that there was a pull here. Some call I needed to answer for you and it's only become more clear that there was more to it than that.”

Time felt like it slowed down to a stop as the two maintained soft eye contact.

Then they kissed her. A warmth emanated from them, pulsing like a heartbeat. 

“More to it?” she asked, even though the kiss gave her a very good idea of what they were going to tell her next. 

“I love you. And so… I want it to actually be *our* journey.” They heavily emphasized the word indicating that the adventure would be shared. It already was, it had been since the day she came to this place.

“Would it really be okay? For you to leave your shrine I mean. When it comes time for that.” 

“No worries about that, I can find someone for that when that’s necessary.”

[prettywordsyouleft]

Forsaken | Part 1

Summary: As one of the Forsaken, Jinyoung had no right to covet anything as his own. When he stumbles across you standing in the middle of the village he had plundered, the memories of old make him risk it all, clutching at the past in hopes for a better future.

Pairing: Park Jinyoung x reader

Genre: warrior au / star crossed lovers / angst / romance

Warnings: death, kidnapping, cursing, a myriad of emotions - this is a really sad love story.

Index: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

It was a mistake to let his emotions take hold of him. In the face of danger, Jinyoung had been taught to follow orders and leave nothing to chance. He had men he had to account for despite the many lives he left to their ill-fate. It was a crooked way of thinking, though he often tried not to do such a thing when carrying out a task for the Rebellion. The more he thought, the harder it was to walk away from the sins he committed.

It had started with petty crimes, taking money from those in power. He had been able to cope with such requests, anything to keep his head above water.

Or better yet, still upon his shoulders.

For a man who had no home or family to call his own, Jinyoung was far too selfish to survive. So pulling off stunts as he had meant he steadily rose in the ranks to the front line.

He remembered his first proper test as a commander for the Rebellion as if it were yesterday. The screams of those who lost their homes, their deaths haunting him in his slumber for weeks after. It didn’t grow easier with each plunder, though he had grown colder.

He was able to sleep some nights.

Yet when he saw you standing there in the face of danger, stricken by fear and uncertainty, Jinyoung had moved faster than he should have. You were a variable he hadn’t ever expected to cross over in these parts of the country, believing you were still nestled in the township he had left you behind in.

It was him who was meant to be but a ghost to you and yet here you were, fractured images rushing to his mind as he strode through the fires, through the travesty towards you.

Your voice calling his name in his mind urged him to move faster, almost running to your side, barricading you within his arms when a part of a porch began to fall around you. The shock seemed to put you in a stupor, long enough for Jinyoung to tie his mask around your eyes, shielding you from seeing anything more.

You were from a world of light. The idea that you had seen the darkness thus far made him desperate to remove you. He hoisted you up, surprised that you didn’t fight him any. You weren’t limp in his arms, rather, your hands clung to the collar of his shirt, making Jinyoung clamp his eyes shut, trying to avoid the memories that flashed through his mind.

Did you know it was him already? You were too complacent and he was shaking as he carried you to safety. What was he even doing? You believed him to be dead, like he was meant to be all along.

Those of the Forsaken were just like that. Someone who had nothing surely shouldn’t have you.

His hands tightened around you with this thought, coveting you, keeping you for himself. The selfish need to have something more as his own, someone he craved regardless of the consequences meant he placed you down on the cart alongside some of the trinkets that had been taken from the homes before they were set alight. Jinyoung almost laughed at how ridiculous this was.

Still, you were worth more than anything that they had found here.

“Boss, we don’t take prisoners.”

Glancing at his subordinate, Jinyoung glared. “She’s no prisoner.”

“But-”

“BamBam’s new, he doesn’t get it,” another mentioned, his eyes dark, regarding Jinyoung as if he could read all of his thoughts this way. Jackson then smiled grimly. “Shall we set off? There’s nothing left but ruins now.”

Jinyoung looked down at you, cowering and coughing as you shook. He took off his coat and threw it over you, covering you completely. With you out of sight, he took the first controlled breath since he had arrived at this damned place. Nodding to his second in command, Jinyoung moved to the horse tethered to the tree beside him. “We can return to base now. Our mission here is complete.”

“Don’t you wonder what life will be like ahead of us?”

Looking at you, Jinyoung shook his head, a smile spreading out his lips. “No, why should we?”

“Well, they say we’ll live for a lot of years, if we stay healthy that is. I want to live a good life.”

“Aren’t you now?” he wondered and you grinned at him. “I thought you said you couldn’t be happier now if you tried.”

“Since meeting you, life sure has been different,” you agreed, leaning in closer, your hand reaching for the collar of his shirt, anchoring yourself in preparation for the heady experience of kissing him. Jinyoung licked along the bottom of his lip with bated breath for the same moment to come crashing upon him. You inched closer. “Saving you was the best thing I’ve ever done.”

Jinyoung shook his head, dislodging the memory from going any further than that. Looking to the cart where you had remained hidden, he wondered why you had to reappear in front of him now in this part of his life. He had never thought of the future, knowing from his upbringing, having one was impossible to hope for.

Still, he hadn’t wished for this kind of life for either of you. Or for you to cross paths again.

“Will you speak of her to me?” Jackson asked as he rode alongside Jinyoung, casting the man a hard look. “She’s that girl, isn’t she?”

“That girl is long dead to me.”

“Yet you take someone hostage like this? You know the risks you just took with us all,” Jackson continued, tilting his head to the side. “You wouldn’t-”

“Will you tell of my deceit?” Jinyoung pressed and was relieved to see the man shake his head immediately. He then grew annoyed. Jinyoung didn’t want to be in a situation where he should feel relieved after what they had done earlier in the day.

“Still, you owe me-”

“Owe you?” Jinyoung asked, smirking even. “The term of owing you-”

“Fine, fine! I won’t even ask!” Jackson cut in hastily, throwing one of his hands up in the air. “I’ll never speak of my debt in life to you again!”

Jinyoung chuckled. “If you keep my secret, I will see us as even.”

“What will you do with her?”

That, Jinyoung didn’t quite know how to answer. He had acted on impulse, the youthful version of himself mustering up more strength in that moment than the man he had become. Now you were a weight he would have to carry for the rest of his or your existence.

However long that may be.

As he searched for any signs of regret, he didn’t find them. Swallowing, Jinyoung shrugged in response. “What should I do with her?”

“It depends on her worth. We could trade her,” Jackson offered and Jinyoung laughed.

“She has no assets that we could use to our advantage in a trade.”

“Can she cook?”

Jinyoung smiled as another memory came to mind. “Some.”

“Then she can feed our men! Surely you can admit that Youngjae is no good at feeding us.”

“I normally step in to help salvage what he brews,” Jinyoung agreed, chuckling with his friend. His humour eased off, his eyes flickering back to your hidden form. Would your future be secure at the camp? He sighed.

Whatever it would be, Jinyoung knew he would carry you without complaint. You had wanted a good life, and whilst he knew that would be far from the cards now, you would still have a life.

And he hoped being alive would be enough for you. For now, at least.

The rest of the journey was spent singing along with his comrades or talking up ahead with Jackson. Jinyoung knew you had grown alert to those around you, despite making no attempt to move. It intrigued him, he had not once shackled you to the cart, and yet you acted as if you were tied down, unable to escape even if you tried.

However, he didn’t trust himself around you just yet, moving away so he couldn’t even look over his shoulder to check on you. He was in the company of men who thought highly of him as their leader. The last thing he needed to do was show a vulnerability that could lead to an uprising within his own battalion.

By the time the camp came into view, Jinyoung was exhausted. He threw his leg over the neck of his horse and leapt down from its back, landing with more of a thud than usual. It was early morning and most of those who were stationed here would be still asleep. It was the perfect time for Jinyoung to grab you and take you into his home, away from prying eyes and unnecessary questions.

He was more than certain you would have many of your own once you came to your senses.

The mere thought of you recognising him sent a surge through him, ending the squabbling over what to do with you between Yugyeom and BamBam, his order silencing that of his team. Jackson patted him on the shoulder before tasking his comrades with collecting the booty they had come away with.

Jinyoung moved you swiftly towards his home. His heart pounded with every step, your body slumping into his side effortlessly. Keeping his gaze forward and his grip tight around you, he soon had you out of the light and deep within his home. No one else would enter such a place without his command to do so, and yet he was still frazzled, laying you down and then dashing around the room for supplies, for some sense of order.

It was when he realised that you had succumbed to your exhaustion that he too sunk down to the ground, sitting in the middle of his room and staring over at you.

“Why did you spare me?”

“Spare you?”

He nodded. “I stole your compass, did I not?”

“Should I cut your hand off then?”

“Perhaps,” he offered, hesitant of your complacency. He watched as you tilted your head to the side, a smile soon growing upon your lips.

“Everyone needs saving in life. Don’t you?”

“I shouldn’t. I’m not meant to be saved.”

“Really? Why not?”

He rubbed at his neck awkwardly, not knowing why he was telling you, a complete stranger and one that he had just stolen from none the less, about himself. It was a rule he had long kept ever since he had been labelled a Forsaken. “No one cares for me.”

You blinked a couple of times before reaching out to hold his hand. “Well let’s change that, shall we? I’ll care about you.”

“Who are you to show me that?”

“Me? Why I’m Y/N. And who are you?”

“I don’t have a name.”

“That’s so absurd, why wouldn’t you have a name?!” you exclaimed, your brows knitting together when you realised of his situation. You smiled instantly. “Ah, I see. Well, why don’t I give you a name?”

“You-you would?”

“Of course! Everyone should have a name.”

“Why?”

“How else am I meant to call for you?” you answered with a giggle and he smiled for the first time. You mirrored his gesture and then placed a finger to your mouth in thought. “Hm, how about Jinyoung? After all, I found you here at the Jinru Bridge.”

“Where do you get the young part from?”

“Because we are young, silly! And I hope you can feel the freedom of being young forever, Jinyoung.”

“Are you sure that’s a good name for me?”

“I like it,” you said with a pout, offended that he seemed unimpressed with your choice. He shook his hands dismissively before smiling at you again. “I’m Jinyoung?”

“Why don’t you go stand over by that tree,” you offered and he frowned. You laughed and ushered him off. Jarringly, he obeyed your request and jogged over to the tree. Before he could do anything else, he heard you call out his new name, instinctively making him turn to look at you.

You grinned as you called out his name repeatedly, his heart now jumping around in his chest as he laughed in response.

It was then that he realised he had finally met someone who might actually care for him for the first time in his entire existence. He felt warm, and as you continued to smile at him, he knew he would do anything to remain at your side.

_________________

Part 2

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[mhamiltonwrites]

Chasing a Song: A Witcher’s Tale

The first time had been an accident.

Jaskier had come to the hilltop seeking inspiration. His muse had taken to hiding, squirreling itself away in some forgotten recess of his spirit, and the usual methods of coaxing it out, wine, lovers, old songs, had all failed one after the other. So a different approach; a stroll to the hilltop overlooking the town, that the sight of such grandeur spread out below might just move his hands to pluck similar beauty from his lute.

If he’d known about the griffin, he would have just tried the wine and lovers option again.

The winged terror had not been best pleased to find the foppish interloper reclining upon its hillside, lesser so still when said interloper had attempted to serenade it to peace. The tattered remains of his jerkin now discarded on the slopes spoke to the narrowness of Jaskier’s escape. He had tumbled out the way, lute clutched to his chest, the things talons leaving a crimson line raked across his shoulders that would undoubtedly scar, and in his tumbling had ended up falling into a gully in the sloping meadow. It was too narrow for the creature to reach him, but similarly too smoothed by centuries of rain for him to climb out of. The griffin did not seem in any way discouraged by the difficulties; indeed, in its impotent rage it had begun scraping up great clods of earth and sod, beak snapping, claws reaching, furiously trying to pluck him from his fragile refuge.

All of a sudden there came the tinkling sound of glass breaking and heat as fire flared above him, flames scorching a path across the griffin’s back. It shrieked in pain, its anger now turning to whosever had dared to interfere in its hunt. It had barely turned when a pale figure leapt upon it, cat-like, one leather-gloved hand gripping a fistful of feathers, the other slashing a sword into its neck. Silver flashed, caught in both the light of the summer sun and the orange glow of the fire. Jaskier watched as the battle raged above him. He heard the shrieks of the griffin grow more fraught until at last it gave out a final mewling cry and fell silent. A single smouldering feather drifted down towards him. Jaskier snatched it out of the air and ran it between the strings of his lute. It sat caught there like a garland from some courtly competition. The light above him dimmed once more as his saviour came into view. White hair hung down, thoroughly ruffled in the fight. Jaskier’s eyes widened. “Geralt!?”

“Jaskier.” The leather-gloved hand gripped his shoulder, pulling him and the lute bodily out of the crack in the earth.

“How- What- Why in the world are you here?”

Geralt looked at him flatly. “There was a monster to kill.”

Jaskier stared back, mouth still opening and closing as he dumbly reached for the words. How long had it been since Geralt had told him to leave his side? Six months? Eight? He’d stopped counting after the first few weeks, losing himself to the self-indulgent consumption of misery before resigning himself to a life without his stoic companion. And yet now, seemingly out of the bloody ether, Geralt was before him once more as if he’d never left, behind him the bloody remains of the vast avian terror that had so recently been trying to rip him to pieces. “R-right. Okay then. Right.” Gods damn it all, why did his words have to fly from him now of all times?? “You, um. You look…”

The witcher raised an eyebrow. “I look like shit, Jaskier. So do you. What you get for tangling with a griffin I suppose.”

“Well, yes. Quite. Yes.” The bard looked Geralt up and down. There he was, just as he ever was. The leather a little ragged from the fight, certainly, but that and the mud somehow only added to his rugged perfection. “You wear battle damage just as well as you ever did, for what that’s worth.”

Geralt grunted in response. As if deciding the bard was safe and therefore no longer a concern, he turned away, cleaning feathers and gore from his blade. “You should go, bard. The wilds are no place for a soft-skinned fool.” He glanced back over his shoulder “What?”

“Nothing!” Startled and blushing, Jaskier snatched his gaze up and away from the witcher’s taut buttocks caught in the stretched leather of his britches. “Nothing at all. You’re right. Of course. No place for a fool indeed.”

“A lesson I thought you’d learned back when…” Geralt trailed off, voice fading into uncharacteristic uncertainty. What was that, Jaskier wondered. Could it possibly be regret that traced at the corners of his erstwhile-companion’s eyes? Impossible; Jaskier pushed the thought away. Geralt was many things but the kind of person likely to be given over to regret was definitely not one of them. And yet, those lines remained on the witcher’s hardened face.

Jaskier did his best to smile, pushing away the memories of Geralt’s harsh words the day he’d left. The day he’d been sent away. “Oh, you know me. Never one to learn a lessen so well it stuck!” He was trying for jovial, though it came out more manic. He rested his hands on his hips, willing his heart to stop beating so fast beneath the tattered remains of his shirt. “So, um. You planning on sticking around long?”

“No.”

“I see.” He was powerless to keep the note of disappointment from tainting his words. “In and out, the witcher way and all that, I suppose!”

“Yep.”

That was Geralt. Monosyllabic to a fault. Jaskier stared at the back of his head, watching the way his mouth hardened into a line as he worked on his gear, how his shoulders rose and fell with his breathing; how, even now, he could see the muscles shift under his skin in a fashion that brought the colour surging to his cheeks. “Geralt,” he started, but he had no idea how to continue. How could he begin to put it into words, how much leaving had hurt, how much seeing the witcher again meant? Could mere words even begin to capture it? And would Geralt even hear them?

“I’m not here to talk, Jaskier,” said Geralt, his voice icy. Silently he cursed his rotten luck and the vague cruelties of fate that had forced the bard back into his path once more. How many times would he have to save the poor idiot’s hide before he got the message and stayed in some comfortable college where he belonged? This was no place for the overdressed clown. Time he went back home and the witcher could get back to the busy work of forgetting. Jaskier, Yen, all of it. A witcher, alone. Suited him just fine. “Time to go.”

It was good to see you, Jaskier. The words came to him, unbidden. Seven words, that was all. He could say them, as a kindness. It wasn’t as if they would mean anything. They would, the little voice in his head whispered. They would mean something to him.

Damn it. Geralt took a sharp intake of breath, calling on old instincts to slow his heart and quiet the buried feelings trying to surface. A witcher didn’t have feelings. Feelings made you weak. Reckless. Feelings got you killed. Besides, it wasn’t anything worthwhile. Not really. Mayhaps for a time there he’d allowed himself to think of Jaskier as more than a travelling companion. A friend, even. A friend with soft hands. Soft hands on your back, rubbing away the knots and stresses of a hard fight. He returned the sword to its scabbard. Enough. He had business elsewhere. Anywhere, so long as Jaskier was far behind.

Jaskier felt the harsh words cut into him, sharper than any griffin’s talons. “Right. Yes. Okay then.” He ran his hands down his shirt to keep himself from reaching out, biting back his own response. “I’ll be on my way then.” Gritting his teeth, he turned from Geralt once more. It wasn’t any easier this time either.

Geralt watched him go a little while. Not once did the bard glance back behind. Somehow, that stung him. Why? He wanted him gone. Needed him gone. So why this ache as he watched him leave?

Folly; he dismissed the ache as soon as it had arrived. There was no time for sentimentality in this job. And the work would not be done until he’d found the nest and made certain there would be no mates or offspring coming to look for their fallen feathered comrade.

But a little while later and Jaskier found himself once more engaged in the time-honoured traditions of a soul scorned, drinking himself into a stupor in an all-but-deserted tavern and doing his best to ignore the slow, sad thumping of his heart. Even oblivion had to be better than this. He forlornly plucked at the strings of his lute, its bowl scratched and marked from its tumble down a hillside. The crisp, sweet notes filled the air, cutting through his wine-drenched misery with their unexpected grace. He let his hands move of their own accord, trusting musical instinct to guide them. Notes gathered and strung themselves together into a simple, soulful melody, not a song, not yet, but the start of something… Beautiful.

He stared down at his lute. Where in the hell had that come from? It seemed nothing sharpened the bardic spirit like imminent death.

And seeing Geralt. That helped. He didn’t want to admit it but it was the truth nonetheless. The missing piece of the puzzle, the inspiration he had been craving all these months, it was all thanks to him. It made sense; his times on the road with the witcher, for all the near-constant threat of danger and lack of comfort had been invigorating. Fun, even. He’d found parts of himself on those desolate roads and in those forbidding forests that he’d never known were there. Seeing Geralt in action once again had clearly revived those instincts. But not enough.

The song hung incomplete, its beauty dying as the notes faded away. Jaskier plucked again, repeating the pattern but it was becoming hollow, emptier with every reprise. Shit!!

In a surge of anger, the bard raised the lute as if to smash it upon the flagstone floor, but before he could bring it down a voice cut through his rage. “A terror, so they say. Some monster or summit. Over near Lindenvale.” Jaskier’s ears pricked. It was like the song, buried instincts starting to rise to the surface. “Looks like a man, but cast in clay. Killed a girl.”

Without thinking Jaskier was on his feet and hurrying to the speaker. “Which town?”

The speaker, a stocky man in a stained jerkin, turned, surprised. “What’d you say?”

“Which town,” Jaskier repeated, his voice shaking. An idea had started to form, a plan, crazy and half-baked, but a plan nonetheless. “Which town did you say you saw this clay man?”

The man looked him up and down, concern touching his eyes even as Jaskier’s wine-drenched breath forced him to recoil. “Lindenvale. Why, you know someone from round them parts?”

“No,” said Jaskier, mouth stretching into a manic smile, “but I’m sure I know someone who’ll be heading there soon.”

And suddenly the plan that had been creeping up, inch by inch, was there, fully-formed (or as close to fully-formed as any of Jaskier’s plans ever were); where there was danger, where there were monsters, there would be his inspiration. He’d seek out the risks that he’d encountered by chance before, and in those frenzied flights for his life he’d find the rest of that song that had so nearly been birthed just minutes before.

And maybe, just maybe, Geralt would be there. The thought sat in his mind, unbidden and unmoving. It was born of broken hope and just a touch of masochism and it was not going away. Yes, thought Jaskier to himself. Maybe Geralt would be there. That would be… Nice. Definitely not his goal. Certainly not. Hadn’t crossed his mind once that a dangerous clay man wreaking havoc in the countryside might just draw the attention of a certain professional monster hunter.

***

Jaskier had arrived in Lindenvale in time for a funeral; a girl, no more than sixteen, was to be laid to rest beneath the roots of a cherry tree that grew in her family’s garden. Asking around it seemed this was the girl the man in the inn had mentioned, beaten to death by a golem loosed upon the townsfolk as some wizard’s misplaced retribution. Jaskier solemnly struck a few minor chords from his lute as he watched the veiled procession pass, a thin drizzle wetting the shoulders of the fresh jerkin he’d managed to procure in a handy game of cards. A golem was always trouble. But Geralt was good at what he did. That girl’s family would have justice soon.

The journey may have only been three days’ travel but it still took a week before Jaskier even heard word of Geralt’s arrival. From the talk of the townsfolk they’d driven the monster into the woods around the town but feared it could return at any moment if it were not slain soon. And so coin had been gathered and word sent calling for a monster slayer. Jaskier did his best to steady his heartbeat as he listened to the town bailiff announce that the witcher Geralt himself would be arriving in the morning. He spent that night fitfully tossing and turning, countless improbable scenarios playing across his mind as to how he would go about talking to him, doubt beginning to creep in. This plan was folly, anyone could see that. Geralt had made it clear twice now that he wanted nothing to do with the bard. What kind of man was he to defy him on purpose this time?

The kind who knows he needs to hear it one more time, Jaskier thought. Geralt had been a constant in his life for the best part of twenty years and now he was expected to simply let him disappear? Friends didn’t do that. Sure. Friends.

He woke with a start to the sounds of a commotion outside, sunlight streaming in through his rented room’s window and the sheets tangled about him like a poorly-worn cape. Cursing under his breath he stumbled to the window, the bedsheets almost tripping him. There in the street below was Geralt. His white hair tumbled about his shoulders, rippling in the wind. His orange eyes seemed to glow in the cold morning sun as he took in the gathered townsfolk and dilapidated buildings. He glanced upwards, as if sensing the bard’s gaze upon him. Jaskier threw himself to the floor, his knees colliding hard with the wooden boards. He yelped in pain and rolled away, grabbing his coat and boots. Staying out of sight was going to be essential; the plan would never work if Geralt knew he was in town.

He dressed and ate breakfast hurriedly before bolting out of the inn and into the street. From what he’d been able to get out of the townsfolk, the last place the golem had been spotted was out of town a ways into the dense forest. There was a cavern there, blasted into the side of a quarry by miners long ago, and it was there that it was thought the monster had made its home.

The plan, from there, was even simpler. He’d sit outside that cave, playing his lute, until Geralt showed up in pursuit of the monster. What could go wrong?

***

Jaskier flung himself to the ground out of the path of the clay fist that rushed towards him. Dirt exploded upwards as stone met recently-vacated earth. Jaskier yelped in fear as the terrible thing moved to him once more, impossibly quick. Golems were usually slow, lumbering things, lumpy masses of whatever loose clay the maker had to hand, but this one was different. It was faster, and definitely angrier.

Not an hour after Jaskier had found the cave the thing had come running from the treeline as if pursued by some unseen assailant. It was only the bard’s frequently practised survival instincts taking over and dragging him up onto his feet and out of its path that had saved him from being little more than a smear on the road. Not that the golem seemed ready to let him go that easily.

Jaskier scrambled for the treeline, lute smacking painfully against his ribs, swinging as he ran. The golem started towards him, giving out a monstrous shout, but before it could reach him a figure appeared at the treeline. Sunlight shined off dark leather, glinting silver and all too familiar white hair. Geralt. The witcher paused at the treeline, taking in the scene; Jaskier, his back now pressed against a broad elm; the golem, glaring at him as if unsure whether to finish off the idiot or make a run for it; and the cave where it clearly called home.

Geralt heard his trainer’s voice whisper in his head. First job of a witcher is kill the monster. Saving the civilians comes second. Especially when the civilian in question was clearly just here to torment him once again, Geralt thought to himself, jaw clenching. He darted forward, bringing his sword back to swing. The golem moved impossibly quickly, moving almost in a blur as it pulled away from Jaskier and ran for the cave. Unusual; he’d expected it to stand and fight. Still, the townsfolk had already told him there was no back exit from that cavern, so he had the beast cornered at least.

“Perfect timing once again, Geralt,” Jaskier called cheerfully from the treeline.

Geralt spun towards him, eyes narrowing. “Jaskier. I’m busy. Get out of here.”

“Aren’t you at least surprised to see me? I would risk happy but even I’m not happy to take those odds.”

“I wasn’t surprised. I knew you were here.” The witcher tapped his nose. “Practically followed your scent.”

“Remind me to change cologne.”

“Hm,” Geralt snorted, softly. Jaskier blinked. Was that the ghost of a smile teasing the corners of his erstwhile companion’s mouth? The smile was gone in a moment, fading like a snuffed candle. Geralt’s eyes darkened. “Damn it, Jaskier,” he said, voice softer than the bard had expected. “How many times do I have to pull your arse out of the fire before you understand? This is no place for you.”

“Oh come on, Geralt, have a little faith! I’m a grown man who’s survived more than his fair share of scrapes along the way.”

“Because I was there to fix your problems,” Geralt sneered. “I mean it, Jaskier. No more games. If I smell you around any job I’m called to in future, I will just ride on. There are other witchers. Let them deal with you.”

The words stung as sharply as they ever did, but they sounded to Jaskier just a little hollow. Or perhaps that was just his heart, desperately listening for softness that wasn’t there. “I’m sorry my possible death proved so inconvenient for you,” he replied, his voice cracking at the edges.

“You say that like you didn’t come just to get in my way.”

“Alright, yes. I came, hoping that you would also be here. Truth be told I’ve been somewhat lacking in inspiration since we… Went our separate ways, and I was hoping that the chance to see you in action again might get the old creative juices flowing once again.” And the fact he’d be able to spend some time talking to the witcher, even just to bicker, even just to fight, played no part in it.

Geralt sighed internally. I don’t want to see you get hurt. Why was it so hard to say? Why did he always have to wrap it in cruelty? Geralt looked at Jaskier. The bard stared back, half angry, half hopeful. Because he wouldn’t hear the warning, only the kindness. And that would get him killed.

Telling himself that it was Jaskier’s own good had become a reflex at this point, one almost as finely honed as any in the witcher’s arsenal. His mind would wield it like a log from a pyre, burning away his doubts and unbidden wishes until the coldness, the apathy, the untrue voice that said “you are a fist, not a heart” was all that could be heard. Steeling himself he spoke at last. “I’m not your easel, bard. You don’t get to prop your work up on me.”

Jaskier shivered a little at the icy tone. It wasn’t surprising to hear yet it still stabbed at his heart as keenly as the silvered dagger on the witcher’s belt. “I suppose you’ll be off then,” he replied, fighting to keep his voice airy. “Monsters to slay, coin to collect and all that.”

The witcher nodded curtly, turning towards the waiting cavern.

“And an audience would not be appreciated?”

“What do you think?”

I think you’re being a stubborn ox, Jaskier thought to himself bitterly. I think you might just miss me as much as I miss you and you’re too wrapped up in all your anger to admit it. But the words caught in his throat like gnarled roots too twisted to loosen. “I’ll leave you to it then. Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened. Gratitude? That was new. The witcher hadn’t turned back towards him but he hadn’t move either, seemingly locked in place by a different battle than the one that lay ahead.

Geralt fought the urge to turn and offer the bard his hand to shake. Somehow he knew that even just that one touch would be enough for his resolve to weaken and ask Jaskier to stay, at least to watch the mouth of the cave. And then you’d be right back where you started. It was true; he’d hurt him enough the first time he’d sent him away and besides, being around Geralt always seemed to land Jaskier in deadly peril. It was better it stayed how it was. Still, a few words wouldn’t hurt, would they?

To hell with it; even if they did, his body was already outlined in constantly criss-crossing scars. What was one more? He looked back over his shoulder, his sharp features caught in profile against the gaping black of the cavern’s mouth. “Take care, Jaskier. The world would be a poorer place without you in it.”

Jaskier caught the gasp of surprise before it could escape his lips but he couldn’t keep his eyes from staring wildly or the spreading smile from his face. “Yeah. You too, Geralt. You too.”

Without another word, the witcher stepped into the cavern. For a moment, Jaskier considered staying and waiting for his return. Perhaps there would be more of this new softer Geralt to see? It was certainly tempting… But no. He’d pushed his luck already. And it wasn’t as if Geralt hadn’t told him in no uncertain terms that he was not looking for another traveling companion. Reluctantly, he started back towards the town and his lonely room.

As he walked his hands fell once more to his lute and, almost without a thought, began to pluck that self-same melody as had been following him since the griffin attack days ago. His hands quickened as he began to hum along, fragments of lyrics beginning to form. The stumbling block of the chorus began to creep up upon him just as it had before but this time as he reached it his fingers moved as if of their own devices, striking a series of crisp, clear chords that closed off the sequence beautifully. He stopped and stared down at the lute. It had worked! Somehow, getting back into the dangerous work was exactly what his muse had needed of him, just as he’d suspected.

Seeing Geralt helped. The thought was burning and undeniable in its constancy. Could it be true? Could it have been not the monster trying to kill him but the witcher coming to save him that had returned his inspiration? It was certainly true that Geralt’s presence was… Comforting, but was that the same as inspiring?

He’s always been there. At the times when you need him most, he shows up. Even when he doesn’t want to. Even when he’d rather stay away. Even when he says he hates you. He still shows up. That was right, wasn’t it? He’d been able to write because of the sight of Geralt and the jolt that always gave him. But then if that were true what did it mean for the two of them? Jaskier, for all his romantic notions, was not one to be so quick to hope that Geralt had a similar need for his presence in his life.

And yet, there were those words he had said before he left. “The world would be a poorer place without you in it.” What was that if not a confession that the witcher was glad to see him alive? Perhaps, even, missed him? Certainly Geralt scolded him for his recklessness, and sent him away as soon as look at him, but what as that if not spoken concern? Spoken a little harshly admittedly, but that was the white wolf’s way.

Alright, so he was concerned; so what, Jaskier thought heavily. It wasn’t as if the witcher would ever admit it. Dappled sunlight streamed down through the canopy of leaves, scattering as birds took flight, startled at his passing. He morosely strummed his way through the melody once again, mood darkening as quickly as the elation had risen. That was the problem, wasn’t it? Even if his muse truly was Geralt, even if Geralt truly missed him, the witcher would never say so, nor would he be willing to stand and hear Jaskier out.

Unless he thought there was cause to.

Jaskier’s eyes narrowed as he glanced back over his shoulder, the faint path back to the cavern stretching away through the trees. Geralt went where there was word of a monster. So if he wanted Geralt to come to a specific spot all he’d have to do is make sure he got word of one.

Jaskier snorted. That had worked once, it wouldn’t work again. Even if concerned, Geralt could be so bloody stubborn there was every chance he’d make good on his threat to simply not show up if he got wind that Jaskier was there, even with a rampaging beast on the loose.

Well. Unless the threat seemed dire enough. If he’d been warned of something terrible, something that he simply could not entrust to anyone save himself. If that were the case Geralt would have to come, Jaskier be damned. Jaskier lost himself in thought. It might even be better coming from him. After all, he could sound apologetic, that he did not want to interfere but he knew that Geralt would trust his word. It wouldn’t be the first time Jaskier had brought such a mission to him. He could do it, couldn’t he? After all, a bard had to be a writer too, and to write a notice worthy of the white wolf’s undivided attention would be a challenge worthy of ballads.

Do you really want to lie to him? The thought whispered across his mind, cutting sharply through the fevered reverie that had started to overtake him. He’s upset already, the thought said, chiding Jaskier sternly. How would upsetting him with some wild goose-chase win you any favour?

But it was that or simply wait for fate to intervene as it had before and drop the witcher back into his life like a glove dropped on a ballroom floor. And how long might that take? He didn’t have Geralt’s long life to wait for him to decide he was ready to talk. A little deception then, to get the stubborn oaf to the table. Then they could at last have it out. Whatever “it” was.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe the sense of something… More between them that Jaskier had started to feel was nothing more than his own head and heart joining forces against his reason. But if it proved so, at least he could go forth knowing that he had at least said everything. It was better, the bard thought, his hands repeating the perfect little melody once again, to try and to fail and to know than to live forever with the pain of the possible, the biting torment of the could-have-been.

***

It had been simple enough to arrange. He still had some coin saved up from performances on the road, enough to book a private room for as long as he’d need it and to send a trustworthy courier out after Geralt. He’d stayed in Lindenvale; his scent would already be all over it after all, so there was at least a chance the witcher wouldn’t immediately suspect something to be wrong. In his message he had claimed that it seemed the golem Geralt had dealt with had been but one of a pair, and now the second came hunting for those who had slain its fellow. The town, short on coin and fearing retribution if the witcher returned, had decided to try and keep the matter secret; Jaskier was only sending word to Geralt out of concern and hope that he might find it in his heart to lend a hand. After all, when you thought about it, it was really finishing off the job he’d already been paid for.

It was a good lie. Not his best, but good enough to fool Geralt. And if not, at least enough that he might just return to town simply to castigate him for pestering him further. Whatever the cause, Jaskier was certain it would get him back and that was truly all that mattered.

It was just over a day that the courier sent word of his message being received. If everything kept to plan, Geralt would be back here that very night. Jaskier felt his heartbeat quicken just at the thought of it. He had gotten to work immediately, setting the table in his private quarters for two, fetching candles and ordering wine and a dinner of roasted chicken and vegetables from the inn-keeper. The stage was set; now all that was needed were the players.

It was dark out before he heard the tell-tale crunch of hooves upon the gravel path outside, the gentle murmur of “Easy, Roach,” drift up through the window. He was here. Geralt was here. Finally. Jaskier checked himself in the mirror once again for what must have been the twelfth time that hour alone. His hair was a problem, as neat as he could make it but part of him wanted it ruffled, at ease, as if the witcher had just roused him from a bedroll by a campsite fire. Remind him of the good old days, he thought to himself. “It’ll do,” he said aloud, smoothing his shirt and shifting his hips just a little. The britches were perhaps a little on the tight side but they’d always done the trick when it came to seducing various baronesses and stable-hands across the realm.

He turned away from gazing at himself as a different sound reached him. Voices in the bar, low and questioning. Mutters of a brief conversation. A door opening. The sound of feet upon the stairs. Heavy. Purposeful. Geralt’s.

Jaskier watched the handle of the door to his prepared sanctuary twist slowly, the oaken door swinging slowly open on squeaking hinges. There the witcher stood, caught in candlelight, leather and silver and the promise of deadly violence wrapped up in a man Jaskier knew in his heart to be kinder than he would ever let show. That was until tonight. Jaskier took a deep breath before finally speaking. “Geralt. You’re here. Good.”

“I got your note, bard.”

“That’s good! I’m glad. Yes.”

Geralt’s brows were knotted as if he was wrapped in some complex puzzle. “You mentioned another golem. Funny. I asked the barkeep about it just now. He doesn’t seem to know anything about it.”

“Ah.” Jaskier felt that a stirring in his stomach, the nerves at what he had done, at what he was about to do, starting to truly strike at him. “That’s the thing, I suppose. Time to come clean. Actually…” He paused. Could he do it? Yes. For Geralt? For this? Anything. He steeled himself one final time and let the words flow from him. “I made it up. The whole thing. There is no second golem. I just… I just needed you to come back here.”

“You did what?”

“I made it up. Every word. Complete fakery on my part, I’m afraid.”

“Hmph.” At first, Geralt’s face was unreadable save for the ice-cold anger that seemed to set it in place. Then, after a moment’s breath, the witcher’s eyes narrowed, his gaze taking in the dressed table set for two, the fire gently burning in the hearth, candlelight glinting off silver cutlery and china plates. “Expecting other company, bard?”

Jaskier fought to keep his voice steady. “Actually it’s for you. All for you, Geralt.”

“What are you talking about? What is this?”

“The greatest horror I’m sure you’ve ever had to face. An honest conversation.”

“Hmph,” Geralt snorted again. “You’ve wasted my time once too many. I ought to run you through where you stand.”

Jaskier felt his heart pounding but fought against it, willing himself calm. “Of course,” he said, focusing all his energy on keeping his tone as level as the cold witcher’s. “Because I’m the worst thing that ever happened to you and it’s all my fault that your default reaction to anything being the slightest bit difficult is to turn and run.”

Despite himself, Geralt looked at the bard a little incredulously. “Jaskier, I fight monsters for a living. I don’t run from anything.”

“All you do is run!!” Jaskier couldn’t help his voice from raising to a shout, anger and frustration overtaking forced calm. “Fighting monsters is easy for you, its being a person that’s hard! The second you start to feel something, anything, you get up on that damned horse of yours and disappear over the nearest horizon!” Unbidden tears threatened to overwhelm his eyes’ resolve, but he carried on, the hurt and pain rolling out like a dammed river bursting. “I can see you’re annoyed, of course you’re annoyed, but that’s not from me. You look at me and you get annoyed because deep down you know what you said to me on that goddamn clifftop was… Was fucking unfair, Geralt!!”

The bard’s words hung in the silence between them, months of frustration and distance suddenly spanned by Jaskier’s bridge of accusation. Finally, Geralt spoke, his voice little more than a whisper. “You tagged along when you were not welcome. You dragged me into messes of your own making. You used my work to further your career. And you wish to talk about fairness? Damn you and your fucking lute.”

The words were like daggers in Jaskier’s chest. Was it so hard for him to apologize? For just once to admit that perhaps he had been too harsh on him?

Inside Geralt could feel two voices battling. Right now the louder of the two was his iced fury, ready to reach out and tear the fool’s head from his shoulders for wasting his time like this with such a wild goose chase. But the second voice was becoming almost as hard to ignore. It spoke without thought, without words, instead a simple, silent crescendo of longing and loneliness, its unheard yet unstoppable whispers running across the surface of his anger like red-hot rivers melting his frosty countenance. From the depths of the witcher’s heart he could sense a simple truth emerging; Jaskier was right. It had been unfair. He had yelled out in anger, in the shocking pain of losing Yennefer yet again, pain that needed a lightning rod to draw itself to, and there was Jaskier.

There was Jaskier. The bard stood staring back at him, his own eyes wild in a way that Geralt had never seen. Gone was the buffoon who talked too much and got himself into scrapes so often that it was a wonder he hadn’t yet been killed by a monster or cuckolded husband, and in his place stood a man as strong as any the witcher had faced in battle. Geralt blinked, surprised at the intensity of Jaskier’s gaze back at him. “I tried to move on, Geralt,” the bard said, voice shaking at last. “I really honestly did. But I can’t. Not while there’s so much… So much that I still need to say. So please.” Jaskier’s hands twitched, as if he were fighting the urge to clasp them together in supplication. “Please, all I ask is that you sit and you listen. And if you don’t want to hear it or you still wish to be alone at the end of it, you have my truest word I will let you be.”

Geralt blinked again. Against all instinct he could sense something in him, willing him to stay. “…Alright. I’ll hear you out.”

Jaskier felt his shoulders sag with relief, gratitude surging over the mountains of misery that had sprung up within him. “You will? You will. Thank you. Thank you, Geralt!”

“Hold your thanks, bard. I said I’d listen, that’s all.” The witcher stood where he had entered, hand still on the lintel, though it seemed to Jaskier’s eyes that had tarried over Geralt enough to know the signs, that an undeniable uncertainty had made a crack in the stoic armour of his erstwhile companion.

He gestured to the table. “Come on, if you’re going to stay at least sit down.”

Geralt stood frozen a moment longer, then, with a grunt, complied, settling himself on the opposite side of the humble table. He glanced across the setting once again, as if coldly amused by the effort on display. “So what was your plan here, that we would somehow settle our differences over supper?”

“Something like that,” Jaskier replied, taking the seat opposite. “Can I pour you some wine?”

“Sure.”

With shaking hands Jaskier poured a generous amount of cheap red into the two polished goblets. He gripped the bottle a little tighter, fighting the trembling in his fingers that threatened to send crimson liquid staining across the tablecloth. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Geralt sniffed the wine. His sharpened senses could pick out the bitter notes where the unfinished wood of the cask had seeped into fruit. Not that it mattered. In his experience the only difference between the wine on a lord’s table and the stuff in his goblet was how much bull you were willing to listen to about it.

Jaskier finally sat down opposite the witcher, hands folding in front of him. For a moment there was nothing but silence between them, the awkwardness growing with each passing second. He watched as Geralt took a long sip of wine, his gaze fixed firmly to a section of wall several meters to the bard’s left.

Another moment passed. Another sip of wine. Internally Jaskier berated himself. He’d gotten so worked up so quickly, and all his planning had been so focused on just getting Geralt in the damn room, that now he was actually here and complying his momentum had just run out on him. He’d taken the leap, and quite to his surprise it had turned out there was deep water at the bottom and he was going to have to swim.

The silence was becoming excruciating. Finally Geralt cocked an eyebrow. “Well? Are you going to say your piece or not?”

“Yes! Yes. Sorry. Just… Gathering my thoughts.” Jaskier took a deep, steadying breath. He’d started this whole evening’s performance. He could see it through. “I suppose it all started there on the cliffside. Where you…”

“Where I told you to leave.”

“Yes.” Another moment of silent recollection passed between them, as if despite the warmth of the small room they were both back on that wind-blasted hilltop, without even a final goodbye to ease the passing of their time together. “Like I said just now, it hurt, but I’ve endured your harsher side plenty of times over the years. But this time… I think… This time I think I realised that I never properly told you what our journeys meant to me.”

Geralt snorted, his face as impassive as ever. “They certainly helped line your pockets. If everyone’s tossing coins to their witcher, the bard next to him can always scrape a few off the ground.”

“You needed that song more than you know,” Jaskier bristled. “You might hate it but without that and your still just the Butcher of Blaviken!”

He was right of course. Geralt knew that, in his heart. It had done wonders for his success, to have his reputation restored in the fashion the bard had provided. He’d gone from a reaper-like menace, a mere thug with a specialty, to some kind of rugged folk hero. He was practically beloved in some corners, or at the very least begrudgingly renowned. All thanks to Jaskier. It wouldn’t hurt him to say so. A small kindness. He was worthy of that, at least. “…Fine. I admit it. I got plenty of work out of it too. But you can hardly compare what I do to your ceaseless strumming.”

“You protect, I inspire. It’s a complimentary arrangement. Was a complimentary arrangement. I’m sorry.”

Geralt studied the bard from across the table. A complimentary arrangement, huh? That was one way of putting it. He raised an eyebrow again, almost as if to tease him.

“Anyway,” Jaskier continued, stumbling to get back to his point. What was it about Geralt that could leave him so bereft of words? Nothing else had had this effect on him. “Like I said, I never got to tell you what it all meant to me. And now… The thought I wouldn’t be able to… That was just horrid, Geralt.”

“I’m here now, bard. Tell me what it all meant.” Geralt’s voice was cool and level, without a hint of emotion.

Jaskier paused for a moment, trying to find the right words. He’d tried before, in songs and stories, by flickering fires and in crowded inns, but they’d never come out right. But now, with Geralt here, actually here in front of him once more, they crystalized in beautiful simplicity. “Well… Those days… For all the ups and the downs and the danger… Those days spent travelling with you were the best days of my life.”

Geralt blinked. Honesty radiated off of Jaskier, the bard staring at him almost pleadingly as he waited for his response. It wasn’t as if it had been unpleasant, came that voice inside him once again. It wasn’t like you hated having him around. No; the opposite, really, though he was loath to admit it. And for all his faults Jaskier did seem to understand what he’d done this time was wrong, there was no doubt about that. But there was also no changing just what he had done; it was foolish and preyed on the witcher’s nature in a manner that sat wrong for Geralt. The thought threatened to harden him once again, but before it could a second thought chased it away, twice as potent in its simple truth: Just like you preyed on Jaskier’s nature to send him away.

That was it, wasn’t it? Even speaking in anger he’d known at the time that the words were perfect in their cruelty. They attacked the deepest insecurities he knew the bard carried, like arrows flying straight to the centre of the target that was Jaskier. In his anger and pain, he had allowed himself the bitter indulgence of turning it all on his most loyal companion. Jaskier was right; that was unfair of him.

He’d been running from that fact for so long, convincing himself that his self-righteous anger was justified, that he was better off on his own, that now stopping and facing it head-on was as comforting as staring down a rampaging striga. He coughed, mouth suddenly dry. “…I’m sorry too, Jaskier.”

It was Jaskier’s turn to blink in surprise. “Sorry? For what?”

“For what I said. You’re right. It was wrong. I was wrong. And for what it’s worth…” He paused, considering his next words carefully. But pausing did not make the words on his tongue any less true. What was the harm in finally saying them aloud? “For what it’s worth, I had a good time too. I miss… I miss those days too.”

Jaskier blinked again, eyes widening in surprise. The words had reached him but were still barely making sense. Geralt missed those days? Missed travelling with him? It was more of an admission than he’d dared to consider in even his wildest imaginings and yet here Geralt was, saying it aloud as if it were nothing more than a casual line. As if it the possibility it promised was nowhere to be heard.

He steadied himself as he considered his next words. This was a new side of Geralt, and he knew the witcher well enough to know that if he pushed too hard, too fast into something new he was likely to up and bolt as swiftly as he had come. “I’m… Glad to hear that,” he began, fighting to keep his voice gentle. “I wouldn’t want every memory you had to be of me tormenting you.”

His eyes fell to the table. Geralt had sat as if posing for a portrait, placing his palms flat on the cloth as he listened. It was still, poised— exactly as he’d come to expect from the witcher. Moving seemingly of its own accord his own hand moved across the table, fingers lightly drumming a nervous rhythm as if to betray the pounding of his heart. “And I am more than willing to admit that I took advantage of your loyalty,” he continued, words as carefully chosen as before. “That was wrong of me, I know. But I felt like I had no choice.” Jaskier felt his hand move just a little across the tablecloth, the lace catching at his palm just a little as it closed the gap between his and the witcher’s own resting fingers. “I was dishonest, I betrayed your trust, and I hurt your feelings. I am truly, truly sorry, Geralt.”

“Spare me the hysterics, Jaskier. I’ve told you before, Witchers don’t have feelings.” Somehow the words sounded hollow even to Geralt.

“Bullshit. You feel everything. You feel it more, even.”

“Don’t talk like you know me, bard.”

Jaskier moved his hand a little more, his fingers brushing just the edge of Geralt’s, frozen still upon the wood of the table. “But I do know you,” he said, his voice little more than a pleading whisper. “Better than most, I might add. I’ve seen the good and the bad in you, Geralt. In fact, I’ve seen some of the worst. Perhaps,” he added, with a wry smile, “due in no small part to my own annoyances.”

The witcher’s lip curled just a little. The moment seemed to stretch out between them, a quiet spell cast upon contact, the distance of months finally bridged.

Geralt opened his mouth to speak but before he could utter a word there was a sturdy knock at the door. It burst open to reveal the innkeeper, red-faced and sweating under his generous moustache, arms laden with a tray of steaming meat and vegetables. “Now sirs, I mean no ‘arm interuptin’ ye, jus’ thought you’d be wantin’ yer supper so.”

Jaskier’s hand flew from Geralt’s, the magic spell broken in an instant. He jumped back to his feet, hurrying to the innkeeper’s side. “Yes, yes, thank you. Perfect timing.” He cursed internally but helped the man, taking the tray from him and moving it towards the table, doing his best to ignore the way the skin of his fingers seemed still to burn from where they had grazed Geralt’s. “Do you mind?” Geralt grunted, shifting plates and candles aside to make room for the high-piled tray. Jaskier sat it down, the table groaning slightly under the new weight. “Thanks.”

“Will ye be wanting more wine, sirs,” the innkeeper called across to Jaskier.

The bard shook his head. “No, no thanks, we’re all fine here.” Get out, he thought, get out and leave us alone for Gods’ sake.

As if sensing the bard’s anxiety at his presence the innkeeper huffed once and turned on his heel. “As you say, sir, as you say.” He disappeared, the door swinging back shut as he stomped his way back down the stairs to the hubbub of the taproom below.

Jaskier looked over the tray of food to Geralt. His companion’s face was impassive as he took in the feast set before them. “It’s…

“A lot of food,” Geralt finished, his voice tinged, if Jaskier wasn’t imagining, with just a hint of amusement.

“Rather more than I’d planned, yes.”

“Do you mean to fill me like a goose? Make a pate of me to spread on your morning toast?”

Jaskier blinked. Geralt was joking with him. Genuinely, openly joking. “I’m not sure the flavour would be all that pleasant,” he replied quickly, not wanting the sudden change in tone to stop. “I don’t want to imagine just how you’ve marinated under those leathers all these years.”

“Hmph. Sure you’ve picked up plenty of stench from your own escapades, bard.”

“Perhaps my fair share.” A moment’s silence fell between them as each considered the other. How long had it been since that quiet corner in that no-name bar? Enough that Jaskier had lost count of grey hairs plucked and new lines on his forehead. He’d kept young as best he could but Geralt may as well have been cast in granite for all that they had seen. Time had run off of him like water off of rock, leaving as much impression as a dream forgotten on waking.

Geralt could sense his heart stirring just a little as he looked back at Jaskier. Damn it. Even now, despite himself the bard knew how to make him smile. He shifted his shoulders under his armour. It was a little warm with it on in here, and it wasn’t like there was any immediate dangers…

With a final decisive exhalation of breath, the witcher stood and began to unbuckle the straps holding the sheets of leather and chainmail to his body. Jaskier’s eyes widened. “What… what are you doing?”

“It’s not like I need armour if all we’re doing is talking. Besides,” Geralt said, another slight smile teasing the corner of his lips despite himself, “if you do decide to make an attempt at my life with the cutlery I think I can take you either way.”

Jaskier watched as the leather fell away revealing the simple cotton jerkin and taut britches beneath. Dark marks where the witcher had sweated into the fabric only served to accentuate the physicality of the man, the potential of those muscles that moved so pleasingly as he watched. Even the overwhelming scent of rosemary and thyme wafting off the food was not enough to stop Jaskier from catching the old familiar smell of Geralt’s skin. Musk and woodsmoke, salt and soil, as deep with mystery as a lost grove at the heart of a darkened forest. Just a breath of it and he was back on the road again, the pair of them camped out under distant twinkling stars. Alone with each other. He hadn’t had comfortable beds or sweet wines, but he had Geralt. And that had been all he’d wanted. All he would ever want.

Geralt glanced back over his shoulder at the bard watching him, mouth slightly open. “You’ll catch flies like that, bard.” In two more movements his gloves were pulled off, the pale skin of his rugged calloused hands seeming to glow in the candlelight.

Jaskier caught himself, snapping his lips shut before he could start to drool. “Sorry,” he mumbled, still dazed from the sight before him. “You, uh, caught me off-guard.”

“That makes two of us,” Geralt replied, finally returning to his seat. His golden eyes, still as startling to Jaskier as the first time they had stared back into his, watched him levelly from across their supper. The witcher studied him as if appraising him like a jeweller with a rare stone. Or a wolf with a choice piece of meat. The though caught Jaskier just as unaware as Geralt’s scent had, crashing through his already-shaken mind like an out-of-control haycart.

Jaskier blinked and shook his head slightly, forcing himself back into the present moment. In need of distraction he turned his attention to the feast before them, grabbing a carving knife that the innkeeper had kindly though to leave beside the roasted bird. “Um. Shall I carve?”

“Sure.”

The knife’s edge was imperfect, dulled in places so that it made ragged work of each slice, not helped of course by Jaskier’s shaking hands. After what felt like agonizing minutes, he finally had two plates of meat and vegetables assembled, the juices from the roast making a thin sauce. He handed a plate to Geralt, smiling apologetically. “Sorry about that. Not exactly the suave demonstration I was hoping for.”

Geralt half-smiled back at him, sharp eyes softened in the gentle light. “I was tempted to get my sword. Seemed like quite a beast to wrestle with.”

“I’ll be sure to compose a ballad to its slaying.”

“Maybe leave out the part where it was already dead.”

“Of course, how else could you come riding gallantly in to save me once again?”

Geralt caught the chuckle in his throat before it tumbled free, burying it in a brief cough and a mouthful of sour wine. What was this? How was it possible that the months had fallen away so quickly? It was as if they were living once more in the past, already joking, and teasing back and forth. The roadside bonfire had been replaced by candlesticks and the hunted game by the inn’s offerings but the spark, the flare of something different that made the bard bearable was the same as it had ever been.

No; not bearable. A joy. Geralt furrowed his brow at the thought, feeling it creep through him. It was just so, wasn’t it? Jaskier was a joy. And it wasn’t in spite of the scrapes he inevitably had to pulled from; it wasn’t in spite of the way he refused to take his warnings seriously; it wasn’t even in spite of the way he could so easily get a rise out of him like only Yennefer on her worst days could. They were all part of it. There was separating him down into his component parts, you either loved all of it or none of it. And for Geralt it was all of it.

He froze at the realization. Love. That was a new word, one that had never crossed his mind when thinking of Jaskier before. But then, Jaskier had always been there. He’d never had to think about what he felt. He was just there, a comforting presence, as much a part of his day to day life as his leather armour or the weight of his swords on his back. Geralt glowered down at the plate of food in front of him as if some answer to this new troublesome thought could be divined from the swirls in the meat juices, but any secrets the sauce may have held evaporated like so much steam off a good meal.

Jaskier caught the look on the frowning witcher’s face. “Oh, something wrong with the meal?” His voice was teasing again, still riding the high of discovering this new, softer Geralt. “I know it wasn’t the most elegant of cut-jobs but it should still be edible, right?”

“Jaskier.” Geralt had changed again, his shoulders seeming to freeze while his eyes remained locked on the plate of food. “All these… Feelings of yours. It sounds like…” He drifted off, seemingly unsure of what to say. This was strange, even for Geralt. Jaskier didn’t think he’d ever seen the witcher at a loss for words before. His voice was strange, all at once back to its sharp, cutting tones, and yet, just like carving knife, seemed dull in places, as likely to catch on the shape of what he wished to say as to slice yet another gulley through the bard’s heart.

“Sounds like what, Geralt?”

Once again, silence fell between them. Even the noises around them seemed to quieten in the moment stretching agonizingly between them, the crackle of the fire, the voices from the bar bellow, the crunch of gravel and shouts of night-birds, all fading away so that all remained was the unbroken stillness, a hundred thousand unspoken words silently whispered in their hearts.

Slowly, moving in inches, Geralt raised his head to meet the bard’s pleading gaze. His features were a mix of confusion and something Jaskier hadn’t truly seen before; simply, undeniable fear. Geralt was afraid. “Geralt…” Hardly daring to breathe, Jaskier stood, getting up from the table.

With a tinkle of cutlery the witcher followed suit, quickly rising as if readying to run. “This was a mistake, Jaskier. I should go.”

“Don’t you dare!” Jaskier moved closer to Geralt, putting himself between the witcher and the door. “It wasn’t a mistake. You needed to hear this and I think you needed to say your piece too. I know there’s more you want to say, so say it. While I’m here to hear it.”

Geralt glowered back at him then lowered his eyes, as if looking at Jaskier would stop the words in his mouth. “Just that… The road wasn’t the same without you walking it beside me.”

Jaskier could hear the words between that Geralt could not say. The shaking threatened to return but he quelled it, willing his voice to remain steady as he replied. “I would gladly walk it with you again. If you would have me.” He took a step closer, his body seemingly dwarfed by the witcher’s broad frame. “Where you would go, I’d gladly go also. Your loyal companion to the end.”

His words filled Geralt’s heart, threatening to undo him. “And what if there is more to say, further along the road? What do we do then?”

Jaskier half-smiled. Letting himself be bold, he pressed a hand to the witcher’s chest. The powerful thud of Geralt’s heart thundered ponderously against his flat palm. “Then… We’ll just do what we have always done best. Say it all. Fight, talk, laugh.” He stared wide-eyed into Geralt’s face. “And in the end we’ll figure it out together.”

Geralt gazed back down at the bard, so close now that he could taste his sweetened breath, his perfume filling Geralt’s senses. “…Alright.” His voice was little more than a murmur. “I can do that.” A lock of Jaskier’s hair had sprung out of the carefully lain arrangement he’d clearly combed it into. Moving slowly he reached up and gentle moved it back, tucking it back behind the bard’s ear. His hand felt heavy, as if it had been transformed to lead by some alchemist’s trickery. He held it there, palm close to Jaskier’s cheek, the bard eye’s half-closed, lips open just a little as if to speak. But there was nothing more to say.

The inches between them now felt like canyons. Did he dare to cross them?

For just a moment longer he paused. It would change everything. It could all go wrong again. He could be a cruel, callous fool, speak in anger and ruin it all once more. But Jaskier’s lips, so soft in the candlelight and so close now, seemed to call out to him, an undeniable force. In his heart the witcher knew that to resist would be one fight he had already lost. Would always lose. He closed his eyes and leaned forward, the distance between them shrinking until at last…

Their lips met, gentle, unsure. Then Jaskier sighed and leaned into the kiss, his body pressing against Geralt’s as the witcher wrapped his powerful arms about him. They both gasped at the rising intensity, hands gripping each other’s clothes as if wishing to tear it away, freeing their bodies to be even closer. At last, after what felt like minutes, they broke apart, eyes closed panting, foreheads still resting against one another. “Geralt…”

“Jaskier.”

But there was no more need for words. They kissed again, more certain this time, passion overwhelming them both as they explored each other, the world outside, the bar downstairs and even the room in which they stood melting away in the heat of the moment.

***

The cold, gold-tinged light of morning crept through the blinds of the private room. Illuminated in a shaft of dawn, Jaskier sat on the edge of the table, the lute strung across his bare chest. His hands rested for a moment on the strings as he took in the gentle rousing of the day. A cockerel crowing on a distant farm. The crunch of gravel under the horseshoes of dawn riders. Low voices of those perhaps only just making it home now. And there in the room with him the low bass rumbles of a witcher’s snores.

He’d forgotten the strange comfort that came with those rumbles. It was somehow a promise of safety; if Geralt was ready to sleep so deeply and soundly surely there could be no threat nearby.

Gently so as not to wake him, Jaskier moved his hands along the strings of the lute, the faint whine of the gut under his skin pricking the edge of the peaceful air. Then, just as gently, he began to play. His fingers as if without command began to pluck out that same strange new melody he’d been chasing for so long now, at first unsteady and unsure but quickening with each strum. The chorus came towards him, the chords that had surprised him before now singing out with perfect clarity, like they’d always been there. But this time he played on. The chords moved, progressed, until the melody returned in a beautiful refrain, the same pattern repeated but subtly changed, as if the story told had moved forward just a little. On and on he played, the song filling his heart and mind like no melody had in years, until at last with a final repeat of that perfect chorus it came to a sweet,

Jaskier blinked. There was water on his cheeks. He was crying. He hadn’t even noticed. Quickly he grabbed a cloth from the table, rubbing his eyes and face clear of tears. As the music drifted away he realised his companion’s snores had ceased. He turned to see Geralt stirring, murmuring from the bed. “Hmm. Don’t think I’ve heard that one.”

Jaskier smiled. “It’s something I’ve been working on for a while. It was touch and go for a while there, but now…” He turned back towards Geralt, letting his eyes linger across the tangled sheets caught around the witcher’s muscular form. He smiled again, heart lighter than it had been in months. “Now I think it might just be something.”

[asktheghosthost]

Yo lemmie get uhh... Taddy x Hosty? Please... Feel free to send a drabble request for anything back as payback

1969...

The ballroom was in a more mellow mode that night. It'd been a long day of practicing for the tours. Only a couple of couples were still dancing, simply for the love of it, but their pace had greatly slowed. Every once in a while, they'd stop as a sour note rant out from the organ.

"No," the organist grumbled. With a shake of his head, he lifted his stiff fingers and got back to work. Maybe a little bit of Bach, instead. Thaddeus never needed an excuse for a Bach break.

So far, so good for the first few bars, but then he felt it happen again. His long fingers tensed, locking in place as his hands painfully cramped. Letting out a yelp, he shoved down on the keys in frustration. "Blast it, Morgan," he scolded himself under his breath. Up above him, the tiny pipe banshees chittered to one another worriedly in their high, indecipherable voices.

He looked up at them and let out a heavy sigh. "No, I'm fine, really. It just... happens occasionally. Especially around my death day."

Before he could get back to work, he felt the presence of someone standing over him, and he turned to see his fellow organist, Victor Geist. Victor was smiling in his kind, apologetic way. Thaddeus couldn't decide whether he liked Victor for his sweet, charming personality, or if he loathed him for the fact he had to share the instrument with him. Why couldn't the others just have faith that he could do this on his own?

"Yes, Victor?"

"Hallo!" Victor waggled his fingers in greeting. "Guten abend, Herr Morgan. I was wondering..." He glanced back at the dancers, who were watching him expectingly. One gave him the "go on!" motion with his hand. "If you would like to switch off... er, take a break for the night? You've been at this all day, ja? You've earned some rest."

Thaddeus scowled. "But I-- I'm not..." Looking over his shoulder, he could see the dancers watching him imploringly. With a huff of defeat, he got up from his bench. "Yes, yes, I suppose I will retire for the evening. Thank you, Mr. Geist."

Victor tipped his tophat to him. Thaddeus brushed past, too frustrated with himself to acknowledge him.

Gripping his cloak tightly around him, he walked down the main hall, not really heading to any particular place. He just needed to be away from the dancers and Victor. It wasn't fair! His whole life, he had shuffled from gig to gig, paid in table scraps and the occasional cot. His skill was never truly appreciated, serving as a novelty, background noise for a party, a decoration to be pointed at by some over-painted fop in a bad wig. Things were supposed to be different here. (Granted, he had to admit the mainly Victorian souls of the Mansion were a welcome bit of prudishness compared to the Rococo clientele he'd catered to in life. He'd rather be background noise to simple dancing than... certain other activities that intoxicated groups were known to partake in.)

It wasn't until he let his mind clear for a moment that he realized he was following the sound of clanging piano keys. Music always guided him. Even rhythmic pounding rain and booming thunder-- nature's perfect orchestra, if you asked him-- had lured him to the Mansion. That was back when he'd been reduced to nothing more than a faint wisp, a wandering spirit who had forgotten himself. Then he found the organ, and it was like he'd been reborn...

Well, that wasn't quite true. At least, not entirely.

If he was being honest, it wasn't just the organ. There had been a lot of pampering and therapy in-between by the ghost who'd found him. Thaddeus felt his cheeks burning at the memory of that deep, soothing voice. Murmurs of comfort had washed around and through him like a gentle wave, the tone understood before the words were.

Blasted noose-neck, convincing him to stay...

Feet moving of their own accord, he rounded a corner and found himself in a room he'd never seen before.

Across the back was a large window. Thin branches blocked most of the view, but he could tell it faced part of the side yard that wasn't dotted with graves. In front of the left side of the window was a cushioned chair with a violin nestled in it. A stand with sheet music stood in front. On the far right side was a cello. In between the two was the piano he'd been hearing. An oddly familiar shadow was cast on the bench and floor. The arms raised up, then shakily lowered, and fingers pressed into the keys. Thaddeus listened for a moment, until the tune became more defined.

Ah, the "Screaming Song," or "Grim, Grinning Ghosts," the same song he'd been playing all day. He had to admit, he rather liked it. Dirges were fun.

After listening to a few unsteady tries, he found himself taking pity on the pianist. "Hold on... Here, let me help you... Where's your hand?" He reached out. "Place your fingers like this..." He placed the invisible, but no less solid to him, hands on the keys. "Don't be afraid to make noise. Be firm about it. The piano won't bite."

"Are we so sure?" A deep voice joked. "I mean, in this house..."

Thaddeus leapt back. "Beauregard!" he sputtered. "What have you been doing there this whole time?!"

"Practicing." The Ghost Host appeared before him on the bench. He grinned at Thaddeus, his green eye sparkling with mischief. "I do thank you for the helpful pointers. I never learned how to play when I was alive, you know."

Thaddeus stood there, not exactly sure what emotion was going through him. Not really anger, because he really didn't have anything to be angry about. Maybe just surprise at who was there. Annoyed surprise.

Beau ignored any frustration Thaddeus was exuding. "When you wrap yourself in your cloak like that, you look like an upright bat. It's adorable."

Thaddeus only pulled his cloak tighter around himself and scowled. "Were you plotting your little surprise this entire time?"

Beauregard's smile dipped and he shook his head. "No. It was simply frightfully good timing, although I do apologize for the scare. I shouldn't have. I know how hard you've been working, and it must be stressful, trying to perfect your routine." He swiveled back around, not playing, but noiselessly laying his fingertips on the keys. "All I have is a short script to memorize, but you have to be visible all day, playing perfectly hour after hour. I can't even get through a third of this song without a mistake. I admire your skill... Daresay, I'm jealous of it. It's a gift. I really can't stress enough how much I appreciate you sharing it with us."

Thaddeus' grip on his cloak loosened, and his shoulders dropped. Why had he been so tense? Beauregard never meant any harm... ever! "Oh... It's... It's alright, really. You took me by surprise, that's all." He stepped forward to get a look at Beau's hands. "Spread your fingers just a little bit... That's it. You don't want to keep them too close, or you risk pressing between the keys and hitting both."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. And thank you for the compliments." Thaddeus sat down next to Beau. "They're not really all that deserved, though. I kept messing up earlier, and Victor had to take over."

"It's been a long day." Beau went back to actually playing the piano, keeping the advice in mind. "You're allowed some rest, you know. That's why there's two of you. Remaining visible while manipulating physical objects all day is difficult for the sturdiest of spirits. It's one of the reasons I stay invisible."

Thaddeus wondered what the other reasons could be, but before he could ask, a sharp pain took over his hands and he doubled over to clasp them to his stomach. He couldn't stop his yelp, but held back further cries by wincing through his teeth.

"Taddy!"

"My hands keep cramping. I thought--I thought this sort of thing wasn't supposed to happen after you're dead."

"You'd be surprised." Beau tugged one of Thaddeus' hands free. "Here... Let me have it a moment..." Gently, he began massaging the organist's stiff palm. Once it opened fully, he started working on pressure points, and from there, individual fingers. "I'm so sorry, Taddy. If I had known, I could have gotten you out of the ballroom sooner."

"I didn't want to leave. I shouldn't have to give up my seat! All my life I worked towards having a real audience, an audience who would appreciate my talents! And once again, I'm brushed aside. I'm background noise to a bunch of spoiled brats!"

The hand got away from Beau as Thaddeus gesticulated wildly in his ranting. He reached up, grabbing the organist's wrists and bringing them back down. "Taddy... Taddy... It's almost your death day. Your mind isn't in a good place. Shh... Calm yourself, man. Shh..."

Thaddeus' blue eyes were pale and wild, but he found his grounding as he stared at the Host's scarred, thin face. He let out a strangled sob. "I'm sorry. It hurts so much, Beau!"

"I know... I know. I've got you," Beau soothed. "You've got me. You've always got me." He began working on the other hand now. As he massaged Thaddeus' palm, he started to hum a low, soft tune.

After a minute of this, the organist felt as if he were drifting away, floating into a violet ether with the beautiful tone. Every once in a while, a push at a pressure point would bring him back half way so he wouldn't get lost. Could one have an out of body experience without a body? He giggled at the notion.

Beau paused. "Did I tickle you?"

"No, no, just a silly thought."

Beau finished with the last finger, then curled them back into a fist, and held it between his hands for a moment. Then, slowly, with a flicker of hesitation, he raised it to his lips, and kissed the index knuckle. Still not letting go, he clasped Thaddeus' hand to his chest, over his heart. "Promise you won't leave."

Thaddeus stared at his hand, and then at Beau. "I promise." A beat. "Could you... Could you play for me?"

Beau declined his head. "Your wish is my command, maestro." He finally let go and swiveled around once more. Thaddeus laid his head on Beau's shoulder as he played, never hesitating to point out what he was doing wrong.

[jaskierswolf]

You Set My Heart Ablaze Pt.12/25

TW: Fire!! (Only took 12 chapters to get there), and Geralt has a panic attack in the shower.

Previous

_____________

Half-term was chaotic.

Geralt would have preferred to have gotten the time off work so he could spend the week with Ciri but unfortunately the shift rota just didn’t work out this time. This meant he was already grumpy before his shifts even started. He hated leaving Ciri behind. Coën was thankfully grateful for the extra money that the hours round Geralt’s house gave him. Geralt had managed to at least get two days off during the week and he’d promised to take Ciri ice skating. He hadn’t tried ice skating since he was a child but he hoped that it was like riding a bicycle. She’d pouted at him with her big shining green eyes and he’d been helpless to say no.

He just had to make it through the day first. His stomach rumbled as he watched his leftovers spin round and round in the microwave. He’d made pasta bake with Ciri on Sunday evening and the leftovers were his lunch until his next day off, which was, thankfully, tomorrow.

Lambert had been called out to assist the police at a road traffic accident whilst Geralt and Renfri had just gotten back from house call in Lower Posada and it was already long past his usual lunchtime. The call hadn’t really needed both of them in attendance but the owner of the house hadn’t been confident to put out their small kitchen fire by themselves so had rung the fire service. Eskel had had a few false calls, which was really just a waste of everyone’s time. The on-call team, the griffins this week, had been called in to help the wolves on their various missions. They’d just been too spread out the last couple of days and Geralt was exhausted.

“Ger-Bear!” Renfri called as the alarms began to ring in the fire station. “We’re up! Stop slacking.”

He cursed and stopped the microwave. It looked like he was skipping lunch today, again.

He grabbed his jacket and they all jumped into gear. They were down the pole and in the fire engine in record time. Geralt turned the keys in the ignition as Eskel slipped into the seat beside him. They keyed in the postcode into the GPS and Geralt hit the siren and the lights.

“What have we got?” Geralt asked Renfri as he navigated the traffic of Upper Posada.

Renfri looked through the notes on her phone. “House fire in a block of flats. Cause of the fire is currently unknown but it managed to spread to the corridor before it was noticed by one of the residents returning home.”

“Fuck.” Geralt cursed. “What happened to the fire alarms?”

“Believed to be faulty. The alarms only went off when the fire reached outside of the flat.” Renfri continued. “Owner of the the flat where we think the fire started was also out at the time, he returned whilst the reporting resident was on the phone. However, we aren’t sure how many residents are still in the building. Vesemir has called Lambert so he’ll be joining us as soon as he’s finished with the RTC in Gulet.”

“Shit.” Geralt groaned. Fires in apartment buildings could be devastating if they weren’t caught early. The potential number of casualties were a lot higher than your average household. “Eskel, can you contact the landlord, get a list of everyone in the building?”

“On it.” Eskel grunted and started to flick through their list of contacts until he found the right number.

Whilst he was on the phone the fire engine’s radio crackled to life.

“Shrike.” Vesemir called.

“Here.” Renfri nodded as they turned into the right road. Geralt grimaced as he saw the plumes of smoke rising from the building.

“Call me once you’re at the scene. I have information for you.” Vesemir ordered.

“Will do, boss.”

Geralt parked the truck in the road and turned the sirens off, leaving the lights on to alert passing traffic. The police was already at scene trying to control the crowd, they must have had a patrol in the area. They leapt into action the moment the engine had pulled to a stop. The smoke was already heavy in the air and the smell of burning plastic hit the back of his throat. Geralt grimaced as he quickly assessed the situation. Judging by the smoke billowing from the window, the fire was on the third floor and hadn’t spread yet to the other floors, but it was only a matter of time and they had to act fast.

“Geralt!” Renfri called, the urgency in her voice startled him. “Vesemir. He didn’t want me to tell you this but… He had another call.”

“Spit it out, Renfri!” Geralt growled as she hesitated.

“Geralt… Jaskier’s up there!”

Geralt felt his knees almost buckle underneath and he had to grab onto the fire engine to keep himself standing.

Jaskier.

“Why didn’t he evacuate with the others?!” Geralt yelled at Renfri.

“I don’t know!!” Renfri yelled back. “We’re wasting time!”

Geralt snarled and pulled on the rest of his protective gear so that he could go into the building. Renfri tried to protest, saying he was emotionally compromised but he ignored her. Jaskier was somewhere in that growing cloud of smoke.

He had to save him.

Whatever the cost.

“Focus on the fire. I’m getting him out, and call any griffins that aren’t on other jobs. There may be others.” He growled. “Did Vesemir say what floor?”

“Fifth. Flat 5D.”

“Thanks.”

He took a deep breath before heading into the blaze, ignoring Renfri’s protests behind him. He ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time. He almost ran straight past the third floor in his rush to get to Jaskier. He skidded to a halt and cursed before turning back.

The third floor was the priority. He had to check for residents nearest the fire first. If he didn’t and there were casualties then it would be on him. Their deaths would be his responsibility.

“Fuck!” He yelled into the ever growing heat. Every step he spent on the third floor was torture. His soul was pulling him to the fifth floor but he couldn’t lose his cool. He needed to remain professional. Renfri was right. He was compromised. “Damn it, Jaskier.” He snarled.

He located the cause of the fire in one of the flats as he navigated the flames. The structure of the building growing more unstable by the second. The oven was completely charred and there was no saving the rest of the flat but thankfully it was empty, just like the reports had said. He quickly radioed Eskel to confirm the cause of the fire before moving to safer ground. He yelled out as he check the rest of the floor as quickly as he could. Once he was certain it was clear he sprinted up the final sets of stairs.

“Jaskier!!” He called loudly. The sound of burning was quieter on the fifth floor but he could still feel the heat from the floor below. He squinted through the smoke at the numbers on the doors until he found 5D.

He kicked through the door. He winced as he felt the shock of the impact shudder up his leg. “JASKIER!” He called again.

“Geralt?” Jaskier’s voice was uncharacteristically weak. “I’m in here!”

Geralt snarled. ‘In here’ was not a useful description but he tried his best to locate the teacher. The living room was full of instrument cases and there was a small grand piano tucked into the corner of the lounge. Geralt swallowed. He really hoped they could tame the blaze before the fire tore apart Jaskier’s home. He’d be devastated if he lost his instruments but there was no way Geralt could get them out in time. He shook his head and moved into the bathroom. “Jaskier?” He found him…

In the bath…

Naked.

“Jaskier!” He fell to his knees in front of the tub. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

“My ankle. The alarm went off and I slipped. I couldn’t move, Geralt.” Jaskier was visibly shaken and pale in the bright lights of the bathroom. Geralt tried not to look where he really shouldn’t but he needed to make sure his friend wasn’t badly hurt. There were no obvious burns which was good and so far there wasn’t much smoke in this part of the building. Hopefully it was just his ankle.

“I couldn’t move.” Jaskier repeated more quietly.

Geralt looked around. Ideally he didn’t want to pick Jaskier up with nothing to cover him but clothes were not a priority. He was hoping Jaskier had a dressing gown or something nearby that he could grab. If not a towel would have to do.

“Luckily I had my phone next to the bath. You can’t hear the music over the sound of water if it’s too far away so I had my phone on the laundry basket. I should probably invest in some speakers but then it did save my life so maybe I won’t.” Jaskier was speaking at a hundred miles an hour now Geralt had arrived. “I did try and call you first but then you didn’t pick up and I realised you must be at work so I called the emergency number instead. Weirdly not my most embarrassing phone call. ‘Hello I’m stuck in my bathtub and the building is on fire. Oh and I’m naked as a new born baby.’”

“Jaskier!” Geralt snapped, breaking off the man’s train of thought and desperately trying not to look as Jaskier drew his attention, once again, to his nakedness. “Do you have a dressing gown or anything?” Geralt asked, the mask muffled his voice but Jaskier managed to hear him clear enough.

Jaskier, the fool, laughed. “On my bedroom floor. This was a lot sexier in my dreams.” He whined.

“You’re delirious.” Geralt grumbled as he moved into the bedroom. “Must be smoke inhalation.”

“No really. You’d fly through the window like in the movies and carry me down the ladder.” Jaskier sighed wistfully. “It’s fucking terrifying in real life. More of a nightmare.”

Geralt found the robe and threw it into the bathroom. “Put that on and I’ll help you out.”

“You were wearing less clothes in my dreams.” Jaskier continued to ramble and Geralt realised it was probably the nerves blocking his usual filter. Whilst Geralt wasn’t a stranger to Jaskier’s flirting, the teacher usually took more care to keep their interactions on the other side of the professional line, a more light flirting that could easily be dismissed as banter between friends should someone, such as the headmaster, care to examine their growing relationship more closely. “Strangely I normally start with more clothes.”

“Hmm.” Geralt sighed and looked around the small flat impatiently.

“Of course… by the end of the dream…” Jaskier trailed off.

“Are you done?” Geralt pushed the door back open.

Jaskier was leaning against the wall, hopping unstably on his good ankle. The dressing gown was fluffy and covered in yellow flowers, and Geralt just wanted to wrap the man up in his arms.

He paused.

Jaskier couldn’t walk.

Geralt was allowed to wrap him up in his arms.

He grinned, thankful that he delight was hidden behind his helmet and mask, and scooped Jaskier up into his arms and over his shoulder.

Jaskier squeaked indignantly but didn’t resist.

“At least buy me a drink first!” He protested.

Geralt rolled his eyes. “I’ll buy you one after once we get out of here.”

Jaskier laughed. “Is that a promise, dearest?”

Geralt needed to get them out of here, and quickly. The fire was no longer the most dangerous thing in the building. If Jaskier didn’t shut up soon, Geralt’s heart was going to burst from his chest.

“If we survive.” He grumbled mostly to himself.

Geralt carried Jaskier to the window, flinging it open with only a little difficulty. He managed to radio Eskel to confirm that he’d found the teacher. Eskel radioed back to confirm receipt of the message and the ladder on top of the fire truck was already moving towards them.

Really Geralt should have entered the building through the window to start with but he would be the first to admit that he hadn’t exactly been thinking clearly. He wondered if that was how Vesemir had felt all those years ago when Geralt had been trapped in his bedroom by the burning embers of his house. Jaskier was still wittering away over his shoulder but he didn’t put the man down. The weight on his shoulder was a comforting one. He’d managed to rescue Jaskier. That was all the mattered.

Eskel’s voice crackled in his ear to confirm the rest of the residents had thankfully managed to evacuate without a problem.

Of course it would be Jaskier that was the problem.

By the time the reached the street both Lambert and the griffins had arrived on the scene. Lambert, Renfri and a handful of the on call fighters were spraying gallons of water into the smoking windows to douse the flames. Eskel was supervising the operation, since Geralt had dived straight into flames, and liaising with the other emergency services that now crowded outside the burning building.

Geralt dumped Jaskier into the waiting ambulance and pulled off his helmet. He looked down at his friend, searching his face for any obvious injuries or signs of trauma.

“Jaskier.” He voice cracked now the adrenaline of walking through fire had begun to crash out of his system. “Fuck.” He closed his eyes.

He opened them when he felt Jaskier’s hand on his cheek. “I’m ok, Geralt.”

Geralt wanted to say so many things.

Like how fucking worried he was.

Like how he had wanted to tear the building apart just to find him.

Like how he’d felt like his heart was shattering when he pictured Jaskier’s dead body trapped under burning debris.

He couldn’t say any of that. The words just stuck in his throat as he was shooed away by the paramedics. He growled at them and headed back over to join Eskel.

The blond fireman was seething.

“What the fuck were you thinking, Geralt?” Eskel shoved a clipboard into his chest.

Geralt groaned and turned away.

“Years of training. Over a decade of experience, and you almost throw it all away in a heartbeat!” Eskel continued. “You’re lucky Vesemir isn’t here.”

“Oh really!” Geralt spun back around and snapped at his friend. “Because you are doing a damned good impression of him.”

“You just charged headfirst into a burning building without following any of our standard safety procedures!” Eskel yelled back.

“He was in danger!”

Eskel rubbed his face and groaned. “That’s our job, Geralt. Every single day!”

“I know!” Geralt sighed. “I know.” He repeated more quietly.

“Why?”

“Because I—”

Geralt cut himself off with a snarl.

“He’s my friend.”

“Go home, Geralt.” Eskel sighed. “You can’t work like this. You’ll put us all at risk. Go home and come back Friday with your head screwed on right.”

Geralt shook his head. “Vesemir.”

“I’ll cover for you. Go.”

Geralt glanced back over to Jaskier but the paramedics were still fussing over him. He sighed and decided it would be best to give him some space. Maybe he could text him after dinner just to make sure he was alright. He had just had a traumatic experience after all.

“Fine.” He grumbled and sauntered over to the fire engine to get his stuff.

They were too far out from his flat and he’d have to call a taxi. He groaned when he realised he would have to explain to Ciri why he was home early. She’d go ballistic when she heard about Jaskier. He was sure that they news would get back to the school eventually. That place was like a cesspit of rumours. Nothing happened in Posada without all the teachers knowing and more often of not the kids found out too.

He glanced down at his clothes. He was still wearing his uniform and he stank like smoke but his normal clothes were still back at the station. He really didn’t want to go back to the station. He couldn’t face Vesemir’s disappointment.

“Ah fuck!”

The taxi ride was an uncomfortable affair but there was the promise of a hot shower on the other side so he kept quiet and endured.

Coën was surprised to see him when he slunk into the kitchen. Coën and Ciri been sparring in the small living room with long tube balloons, and Ciri had what looked like blood red lipstick streaked across her cheeks as warpaint.

She screamed excitably when she saw him and ran to give him a hug. He picked her up easily and buried his face in her long hair.

“Ewww!” She squealed. “Dad you stink!”

He hummed in agreement. He really did need a shower, the smell of smoke was driving him mad.

“Everything alright, Mr Rivia?” Coën asked, looking concerned.

He nodded. “Yeah. Rough day. Can you watch her whilst I have a shower?”

“Sure thing.”

“I still need to save the princess from the evil sorcerer!” Ciri grinned.

Geralt forced a laugh for his daughter. “Is that what this is for?” He smudged the lipstick on her cheek.

“Dad!” She whined. “Yes! It’s to help me get through the wards.”

Geralt furrowed his brow. “The wards?”

“That the sorcerer put up to keep the princess prisoner!” Ciri rolled her eyes as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Geralt raised his eyebrows at Coën who just shrugged. “Where did you get the… paint?”

Ciri grinned. “Coën!”

“Ummm. Yeah. That’s mine.” Coën shuffled awkwardly.

Geralt was a little surprised but just nodded. “Nice colour. I’ll be right back, little lion cub.”

The water burned against his skin as he rested his forehead against the cool tiles in the bathroom. He mind was still reeling from the day. How did it all go wrong so fast? He closed his eyes and he was back in the building. The scent of burning hung thick in the air. The flames flickered at the debris and bits of glass cracked under his feet. He couldn’t breathe.

There was too much smoke.

And his chest was on fire.

His knees buckled underneath him and only just managed to catch himself from falling in the bath.

He cursed and spun the tap towards cold.

The jet thundering down on the top of head turned to ice and his muscles shuddered at the sudden change of temperature.

He finished off quickly under the icy water and got dressed. Coën and Ciri were still dancing around the living room playing their make believe game. He watched them from the doorway for a few minutes with a soft smile before she noticed him and leapt forward to attack with her wooden sword that had now replaced the balloon. He noticed her green balloon was lying in tatters on the sofa.

His stomach rumbled and Ciri laughed. “You have a monster in your stomach!”

“How about a takeaway?” He asked sheepishly.

“Pizza?”

He nodded. “Is there any other kind?”

Ciri ordered a pepperoni pizza and Geralt went for a meat feast. They had invited Coën to stay for dinner but the teenager declined the offer. Geralt didn’t blame him. Coën had spent most of his half term around their house to look after Ciri. He was probably desperate to go and meet his own friends.

There were cuddled up together on the sofa munching on pizza and watching one of Ciri’s favourite cartoons when Geralt’s phone rang.

He scowled as he pulled the device from his pocket, assuming it was going to be Vesemir yelling at him for leaving half way through his shift or blatantly ignoring all their training in order to save Jaskier.

But it wasn’t Vesemir.

It was Jaskier.

He hit the accept call button and shuffled off Ciri to go to the kitchen.

“Oh hello!” Jaskier stammered on the other end of the line. “Wasn’t sure whether you would pick up.”

He hummed, unsure on how to reply. They didn’t talk very often on the phone, preferring to communicate via email or the odd text. It stopped the friendship from seeming like… more. He rang Jaskier if he was struggling to find the right words or occasionally Jaskier would ring him if he was busy cooking dinner or composing something new on one of his many instruments.

“I hoped you would.” Jaskier continued. “I… I wanted to say thank you.”

“It’s my job.” He frowned. He always felt uncomfortable when people thanked him for doing his job. What was he supposed to do? Not do his job and let them die?

“True. That’s true.” Jaskier admitted. “Well, you should thank me more often then. Quite frankly I do a remarkable job in teaching Ciri’s class.”

Geralt laughed. “And you’re so modest about it too.”

Jaskier’s melodic laughter joined his on the other end of the line. “Naturally! Did you know I go to sign language classes every weekend on top of what we learn during the week?”

Geralt tilted his head. “No. You never mentioned that.”

“It’s important and really I’m disappointed in myself for not learning sooner.” Jaskier sighed.

“You can’t please everyone, Jask.” He growled.

Jaskier audibly gasped. “You take that back! I can! It’s my party trick.”

Geralt shook his head with a smile and rolled his eyes at his friend. “How’s your ankle?”

“Fucking sore!” The teacher whined. “Not broken though, just sprained. The real casualty was my dignity.”

Geralt snorted.

“Is there any chance we can just forget everything I said in my flat?” Jaskier asked.

“Hmm…” Geralt paused, pretending to think about it. “Not everything.”

“Bollocks!” Jaskier groaned. “Come on, Geralt, please!”

“Nope.”

“Who do I have to kill to make it go away?” Jaskier moaned.

Geralt smirked. “No killing.”

“Awww” Jaskier whined and Geralt could picture his pout easily. “But Geralt!”

“How are you a teacher?”

“Charm, good looks and a dash of smouldering personality.” Jaskier laughed.

Ciri started yelling at him about his food going cold and he sighed.

“Ciri?” Jaskier asked sadly.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll leave you to it.”

They was few seconds of silence between them as they were both reluctant to say goodbye.

“Jask?”

“Yes, dear?” Jaskier asked, hope brightening up his voice and Geralt’s heart skipped a beat at the term of endearment.

“About that drink?”

Jaskier groaned. “Freya help me.” He breathed quietly on the other end of the line. “Geralt, darling. I told you to forget what I said!”

“Friends have drinks.” Geralt added quickly.

There was a beat of silence. “Friends do have drinks.” Jaskier considered.

“Dad!!” Ciri tugged at his arm. She had tomato sauce smeared around her face from her pizza. “Who are you talking to? You’re missing the show!”

“I’m missing the show.” He repeated to Jaskier before calling back to Ciri. “I’m coming, princess.”

“What show?” Jaskier giggled.

Geralt peered back at the television and groaned as he saw Twilight bloody Sparkle dancing around on the box.

“Nothing important.” He grumbled.

“Oh ho ho!” Jaskier cackled. “Now you have to tell me!”

Geralt considered his options. He was running out of time to talk to Jaskier without Ciri working out he was on the phone to her teacher. He didn’t have an excuse this time now they’d sorted out the band nonsense. Ciri would start to worry that Geralt was talking to Jaskier behind her back and something was wrong at school. He could easily just hang up and save himself the embarrassment.

Only, he knew Jaskier enough to know that it wasn’t going to go away simply by hanging up the phone.

Once Jaskier had his claws in something he never let go, unless he got distracted along the way.

“Dad! Come on!” Ciri pouted, a pout that could rival Jaskier’s.

“One minute.” Geralt reassured her before speaking back into the phone. “I’ll tell you over that drink.”

Jaskier stammered incoherently over the phone for a few seconds, making Geralt laugh. “Geralt! You cannot say things like that without warning me first!”

“Your poor bisexual heart?” Geralt rolled his eyes.

“Oh you think you’re so funny don’t you!” Jaskier huffed.

“I’m hilarious.”

“Fuck off.” Jaskier grumbled. “But fine. Over drinks, stubborn ass.”

The line went dead saving either of them from having to say goodbye.

He huffed a laugh and went back to sit with Ciri.

He curled back into his side as he finished off his pizza, and if he got a little too invested in the Ponies’ latest adventure then no one else needed to know. He had thought Ciri had fallen asleep by the time he switched the tv off but she whined and shuffled around next to him, looking up at him with those big green eyes, Pavetta’s eyes.

“Dad?”

“Yes, princess?”

She rubbed sleep from her eyes and scrunched up her nose. “What’s bisexual?”

He frowned as he tried to work out the best way to explain it without getting too complicated.

“You know how your grandmother and grandfather loved each other?” He started.

“Yeah.”

“And your mum and dad did too?”

Ciri scowled. “Grandma said they did. I don’t really remember.”

Fuck.

“Sorry, Princess.” He pulled her into a hug and stroked her head. “Well, that was both mums and dads loving each other right?”

“Yeah, but Kayleigh has two dads!” She added.

“Right.” Geralt nodded. “Well, sometimes a person falls in love with another person regardless of gender.” A simplified version, not entirely accurate. For some people it wasn’t about love at all. “Like me.” He added.

“You’re bisexual?” Ciri asked.

Geralt nodded, he didn’t really label his sexuality but he guess it would fit if it helped her understand for now. It was better than outing Jaskier without his consent. If Ciri didn’t already know the term that meant her teacher was uncharacteristically secretive about his sexuality around his class. “You know I used to date your Auntie Yen?” Ciri nodded. “Well one day I might decide to date a guy.”

“Would you date Mr Jaskier?” Ciri asked innocently.

Geralt ignored the ache in his chest and shook his head. “I can’t date your teacher, Cub.”

“What if he wasn’t my teacher?”

“Time for bed.” Geralt grumbled.

“Just because I’m asking questions you don’t like!” Ciri yelled.

Geralt sighed. “It’s just… it’s complicated, Ciri. I can’t answer that one just yet. Can you trust me on that?”

Ciri put her hands on her hips and frowned. “Fine.”

“Thanks.” Geralt ruffled her hair and picked her up to carry her upstairs. “I’ll read you the next chapter of your book if you want?”

“Ok.” She agreed. “But I’m still mad at you.”

“I know.” He sighed.

He wondered when she had become so perceptive. She was growing up fast and he’d not even been her father for a year yet. He’d never expected that watching her growing up would be so terrifying. One day soon he wouldn’t be able to pick her up like this anymore. She buried her face in his neck as he held her tighter.

______

Next

[bcdrawsandwrites]

Fandom: Coco

Rating: K+

Genre: Drama, Angst

Characters: Héctor, Ernesto

Warnings: [Spoilers??? But nothing we don’t see in the movie...]

Description: Twenty one years after his death, Héctor finds that his photo has finally been placed on an ofrenda. Ecstatic, he hurries across the marigold bridge... and finds himself in a hauntingly familiar city that is not Santa Cecilia, in a place that is not a home.

Something strange is going on.

Beta Readers: @jaywings, @tomato-bitch, and @uncuentofriki

Notes: Here’s a fic I started like... two years ago, and finally brushed the dust off of and finished. Hope you guys enjoy!

—

It was going to work this time. It hadn’t worked last year, when he’d worn a skirt, or the year before, when he’d worn a blouse, but it would work this year—he was certain. This year, he wore a wig, and a dress, and had Tía Yolanda help him out with some makeup.

He had to look like somebody.

Surely.

But as Héctor got closer and closer to the check-in gate, he felt a nervous fluttering where his stomach used to be. He’d waited all year for this. What if it didn’t work, again? What if he had to go another year without seeing his Imelda? His Coco? She was an adult now, older than he’d been when he’d married Imelda. Was she married now? Engaged? He didn’t know—he had no way of knowing.

It had been twenty-one years since he’d died.

Twenty-one years since he’d last seen his family.

He couldn’t bear going another year without catching so much as a glimpse of them.

“Next!”

Héctor gave a start, then shook himself bodily. Basta, that was enough of that. As Ernesto would say, it was showtime.

Putting on a calm expression, Héctor strode up to the counter and smoothed out his dress. “¡Hola, señor!” he said, using the same falsetto voice he’d learned to fake in previous years. “You don’t have to worry about my photo. My family always—”

“Er, wait—Héctor? Héctor Rivera?”

Immediately his non-existent stomach gave a jolt. The border agent, who had been shuffling through a massive stack of files containing names, copies of photos, and who-knows-what-else, was now adjusting his glasses as he stared at him.

“You are Señor Rivera, sí?” the agent repeated.

Quickly feigning outrage, Héctor put a hand to his chest and reared back. “Ex-cuse-me, señor! I am the very honorable Señorita—ah—” And immediately he faltered, blanking on the false name he’d chosen earlier.

But the agent only waved him off. “You can drop the act now, Señor Rivera. Listen—”

“No, you are mistaken!” Héctor cried, hoping the way his voice shook passed for outrage rather than desperation. “My name is not—”

“Señor, please, we have people waiting—”

No, no, he’d waited too long for this, he wasn’t going to back down now! “So why won’t you let me—”

“SEÑOR! You have a photo at another gate!”

Héctor opened his mouth to reply, only to freeze as the words sank in. “...¿Qué?” he managed to squeak.

The agent, while clearly relieved he’d gotten through to Héctor, still looked annoyed. “You’re lucky I’m used to dealing with you, or you may have been thrown out of line.” He shook his head, rubbing his face. “But I’ve been informed that you have a photo on an ofrenda in another city. So, por favor, take that disguise off and get to the gate!”

Héctor could barely hear him. “Another… city? My photo?” he murmured, dropping the fake voice. “I-I had wondered if they’d moved, or lost my photo, but I’d never thought—!”

“There will be more information when you get there. We have an alebrije ready to take you to the proper destination. Now por favor, Héctor, get going!”

While Héctor was still in a dazed fog, something blunt struck him from behind, and he found himself falling onto the back of a bat-winged, purple-and-red goat alebrije. It bleated as it carried him away from the gate, and flew him off the nearby ledge.

“Feliz Dia de los Muertos, Héctor!” the agent called after him, and it finally sunk in.

Whipping off his dress and swapping his wigs in record speed, Héctor sat up as straight as he could, throwing his arms out and belting out the loudest, most triumphant grito he’d called out in years.

The alebrije, to Héctor’s delight, took him to the very front of the line at an enormous gate with an equally enormous bridge—even bigger than the one to Santa Cecilia. At first the people in line were quite angry to see him cutting in front of them, but the crossing agent was quick to let them know that this was supposed to happen.

Wiping away the remains of his makeup, Héctor stepped off the alebrije, which trotted up to a blanket off to the side of the counter and curled up. “Gracias,” he said to it, adjusting his goatee and faded neckcloth as he stepped up to the counter. “I-I believe you were expecting me?”

For the briefest of moments his breath caught in his chest—what if this had just been a fluke? What if this was just a big mistake, and Imelda or Coco hadn’t really found his photo? What if this was just another rotten twist of fate, like that rotten chorizo—

“Héctor Rivera, yes?” the agent said, glancing quickly between him and the folder in front of her. She then did a double-take, her tired eyes widening in shock as she stared at something in the file that Héctor could not see. Terror rattled in his ribs before the agent breathed out, “Oh, wow.”

“Is—is there a problem?” he asked, tugging at the tattered pink sleeve of his charro suit.

“No, señor, I just had no idea you had a connection with—” She shook her head, clearing her throat. “Well, you’re clear to go. Your photo is on your… friend’s ofrenda.”

Héctor’s stomach dropped. Not “your wife’s ofrenda” or “your daughter’s ofrenda.”

“Wait, wait, wait, my friend’s—?”

“Sí,” the agent affirmed, stacking the papers together and setting the folder onto a teetering stack to her right. “The ofrenda of Señor Ernesto de la Cruz.”

Immediately the people behind him began to murmur: “Ernesto?” “That singer?” “The famous songwriter? But how?” “This guy’s clothes are so ragged, it can’t be—”

Before Héctor could respond, the agent ushered him forward, and he stumbled out to the platform before the bridge.

This was a lot to take in.

Not Imelda, not Coco. Ernesto had put him on his ofrenda. Why now, though? Why in a totally different place from Santa Cecilia? Was he traveling still? Did he move? Why was Ernesto putting his photo on an ofrenda before his family did?

Another skeleton nearly bumped into him, and he placed a hand to his head, idly letting his legs carry himself forward as he tried to piece this together.

Had something… happened to Imelda and Coco? No—no, that couldn't be right. He would know if that was the case—he’d be alerted right away. Had they moved? He supposed that was possible—it was strange to imagine Imelda going anywhere else, but perhaps she had moved the zapateria she’d mentioned in her letters to another town. A larger city, with better business. She did have to take care of the family on her own, so… yes, that made sense.

But still, why was Ernesto the one putting up the photo? Sure, he was his friend—his hermano, even—but…

Wait, what if Imelda and Coco had moved in with Ernesto? Wait, wait, no, that was ridiculous. While Imelda never hated Ernesto, the two hadn’t exactly gotten along perfectly. So perhaps Ernesto was visiting Imelda and Coco? Maybe he’d somehow found the photo he’d thought he’d lost, and brought it over to their house, and set up an ofrenda?

Héctor’s non-existent heart leapt at the thought. Yes, yes! That had to be it! He’d find his way to Imelda’s house, and finally get to see her, and Coco, and Ernesto!

But then the murmurs he’d heard behind him came back to him.

Ernesto… he’d been singing Héctor’s songs for all these years—become a household name by this point. All the newly-dead were talking about him, and his music had spread like wildfire across the Land of the Dead. It hurt to hear those songs played everywhere, especially that one, but… Imelda had to know, didn’t she? Ernesto had to have told her that he’d died—she’d let him play his songs, for some reason…

Ay, it was too much to take in. He’d have to sort through it when he got there.

Speaking of—where was he now?

Shaking his head to bring himself back to the present, Héctor glanced around, and gave a start at seeing himself standing atop a floor of cempasúchil petals, with an enormous drop off to his right side. With a yelp he jumped to his left, bumping into a young woman. “¡Lo siento!” he cried, holding up his hands defensively and glancing warily back at the edge of the bridge. Right, watch where you’re going.

As he continued to move forward, he looked down at his bare feet (he’d lost his left shoe back in February, and there was no point in wearing just one), amazed to see the petals easily supporting them. He looked up at the people around him, and back down at the bridge, and at the border in the distance behind him, and—

Dios, he was crossing the bridge!

The joy of it hit him even harder than the initial excitement had, and he didn’t realize until his vision began to swim that he was crying. Frantically he wiped at his eye sockets, scrubbing at them with a frayed sleeve, trying in vain to steady his breathing. He was aware that people were probably staring at him, but he still gave a stuttering gasp when someone placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You okay, amigo?” one man asked, looking at him in concern.

For a moment Héctor couldn’t quite remember how to talk, but even if he could, the joy seemed to be drowning him. After taking a few deep breaths, he finally managed to gasp out: “I—I’m going to see my wife.”

Immediately the man smiled in understanding. “Aaaah. First time crossing, eh?”

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak again.

“It’s always a hard wait, but you’ll get to see her now, and every year from now on.” Giving his shoulder a friendly shake, the man stepped away. “Have a good time!”

Swallowing, he nodded again and scrubbed at his eye sockets. Briefly he thought that he should be careful to look nice for Imelda and Coco, but they probably wouldn’t be able to see him, would they? No, of course not, idiota. You didn’t see the dead come to life every Dia de Muertos, did you?

The thought made him laugh, which made him nearly start crying again. Ay, he was a mess. A very, very happy mess.

As he reached the highest point of the bridge, he could see an enormous graveyard stretched out before him, and a huge city beyond that. It seemed vaguely familiar, but then, he’d traveled so much before he died, every place felt familiar to him. Every place felt the same.

He felt a pang in his chest as he realized he wouldn’t get to see Santa Cecilia, but then, that was a small sacrifice to make to get to see his family again.

Looking out over the graveyard, which was bathed in a welcoming orange light, he had to wonder what city he’d been led to. The crossing agent had neglected to say—he probably should have, but maybe Héctor had thrown him off with his antics. (He supposed he probably deserved that one.) Regardless, he was going to have a time finding Imelda, Coco, and Ernesto in a place like this.

...How was he supposed to find them?

It struck him with a burst of anxiety and fear. How on earth was he supposed to find his family in a city this huge?

All around him, people were confidently walking one way or another as they reached the end of the bridge—had they lived here? Was he going to have to ask around?

Looking around him frantically, he scrubbed his face of the remaining tears and tried to focus. “D-disculpe, anyone, I—h-how do I—how am I supposed to—”

A man turned back toward him, and he recognized him as the man who had been friendly to him a few minutes ago. “How are you supposed to find your family?” he asked, and Héctor responded with a nod and a hopeful smile. “Easy, amigo, just follow the petals.”

“Petals?” Héctor looked down at the petals beneath his feet, but the man shook his head.

“No, no, at the end of the bridge.” He pointed to where the bridge met the ground. “Do you see a trail of petals?”

Sure enough, there was a narrow trail of petals starting at the foot of the bridge and leading through the graveyard. “Sí, I do, but—”

“You can only see the petals that lead you home. Follow them, and you’ll be fine.”

Héctor heaved a sigh of relief. “Gracias. I was worried for a moment there.”

“It’s all right, amigo. Everyone’s new to death at some point.” With that, the man hurried ahead before Héctor could correct him.

It bothered him for a moment, but he shook himself. What did it matter if he’d been dead for twenty years or a hundred? He was going home!

As he approached the foot of the bridge, he stopped when he saw what appeared to be a barrier of some sort. Yet other skeletons were walking right on through as though it hadn’t been there at all. Watching in curiosity, he found that as people stepped off the bridge, they became vaguely translucent and tinted an orange shade—the same shade as the cempasúchil petals he’d been walking on.

Héctor looked back at the barrier, feeling a familiar twist in his gut. Even though he’d passed the border, even though he’d crossed the bridge, a part of him still wondered if there had still been some mistake—if he wouldn’t be able to pass through this barrier. But, taking a deep and completely unnecessary breath, he stepped through it, blinking as an orange glow enveloped him.

He’d… he’d made it!

Letting out a wild cheer that startled several people around him, he bolted down the narrow marigold path as fast as his feet would allow. Unfortunately the graveyard was exceedingly crowded, and he had to force himself to slow down before he bumped into anyone or anything.

All around him were families, both living and dead, gathering around graves, talking, laughing, and carrying offerings. Not long ago, Héctor would listen to the Remembered with barely-concealed envy as they talked about how wonderful it was to catch up with their families. But now things were different—tomorrow, he’d be right there with them, sharing new stories about his daughter and his wife, for once.

But he had to focus on the petals. Keeping his eyes to the ground, he continued following the narrow trail as it finally took him out of the cramped graveyard and into the city.

The city was big. He’d seen it from a distance, but now that he was actually walking down its streets, it felt even more enormous.

And familiar.

He'd traveled to many cities during his last fateful tour with Ernesto, though. Perhaps this was just one of them, and he couldn’t fully recognize it because it had been two decades. A lot could change in that amount of time. But not too much. He knew this place. He knew it—!

As he continued following the petals down the street, he barely noticed the sound of something loud and rumbling until some massive vehicle was barreling toward him. With a frantic yell, Héctor dove out of the street, breathing heavily as he watched the thing swerve down the road and turn a corner. Right, cars. Hadn’t seen one of those in a while.

If he’d still had a heart, it would have been hammering in his chest, but any residual fear was quickly washed out by annoyance at the sound of laughter. A few skeletons stood nearby, giggling at him, and he gave them a frown as he stood up and brushed himself off. “I’m fine, I know what I’m doing,” he muttered, and looked back for the petal trail, which was, fortunately, unaffected by the passing vehicle.

“Newly dead?” one woman said with a laugh, and he looked away from her. “You know those things can’t hurt you, right?”

“They go right through you!” the other woman called out.

Well… that would’ve been good to know before. Héctor gave a tight nod. “Gracias,” he said, only to pause, turning to face them fully. They were both dressed in fancy clothing, carrying baskets full of bottles and pan dulce. “Perdoname, señoras—could you tell me what city this is?”

That only caused them to break out into another fit of giggles, and briefly he wondered how much of the contents of those bottles they’d already consumed. “This is Mexico City!”

The name hit him like a bolt of lightning.

But the women took no notice, stumbling down the street in the opposite direction, and leaving Héctor standing there in horror.

It took him a moment to realize he was reaching for something in an inner coat pocket—one of the two things he’d had on him when he died, and that he fought to protect from the elements at all times. One was his photo.

The other was a train ticket out of Mexico City.

Forcing himself to draw his hand back to his side, he shook himself bodily. No, he didn’t need to look at that again. He knew where he was. He knew the ticket was still in his pocket. He knew the train station was somewhere in this hellishly massive city with too many people and fondas that sold rotten food—

Basta—STOP IT!

Héctor ignored the phantom pains that were building in his nonexistent abdomen, swallowing as he forced his legs to move forward, continuing to follow the petals.

Of course, Ernesto would wind up moving here. He’d always talked about how much he loved this city. Héctor just… wished it hadn’t been the city that he’d wound up… where he…

Drawing in as deep a breath as he could, he held it until his ribs hurt, then breathed out slowly. You’ll have to get used to it, then, amigo, he thought, focusing on the petals again. If you want to see Imelda and Coco and Ernesto again, you’ll have to get used to coming here.

Or hope they move elsewhere.

It didn’t matter, anyway—he was already dead. Wishing he’d died elsewhere, or that his familia had moved elsewhere, wouldn’t change anything. What mattered was that he’d be seeing them again. That was all that mattered.

Even so, he wished these awful petals would lead him out of these terrible streets soon.

—-~~~—-

“There, Héctor, do you see it?!”

“No, Ernesto, I can’t see the building we’re standing directly in front of.” The comment earned him a playful shove, and he grinned. “Is that where we’ll be performing?”

“Of course! ...Eventually.”

“Eventually?”

“Sí. Tonight we’re performing at the cantina next to our hotel on the other side of town.”

Héctor sputtered, resting his guitar and suitcase on the street. “Wh—?! Then—then what was the point of dragging our stuff out here?!”

Ernesto smiled, wrapping an arm around Héctor’s shoulders. “Because one day, hermanito—one day we’ll be so famous this theater will be begging—begging!—for us to play there! Can’t you see it? Ernesto y Héctor, performing for one night only—”

“Okay, okay, hermano.” Héctor returned the gesture, wrapping his arm around Ernesto’s shoulders with a half-smile. “But let’s save the daydreaming for after we’ve dropped our luggage off at the hotel.”

“These are not daydreams, Héctor.” And Ernesto gave him a look—one Héctor could never forget. It was a look of such determination, it was vaguely frightening. “Soon, very soon now, they will be reality.”

“...Sí, Ernesto. I’m sure they will be.”

Héctor absently rubbed his shoulder as he stared up at the theater, then down at the thin trail of cempasúchil leading up to its doors.

“You were right, hermano,” he breathed. “It wasn’t all daydreams… You did it.”

With my music, a bitter part of him added, but he swallowed it down.

It really shouldn’t have come as such a surprise, given how he’d heard of Ernesto’s success even in the Land of the Dead. But standing where he’d stood all those years ago and looking up at the theater they’d only dreamed of performing in—that Ernesto was now actually performing in—was something else entirely. It left him with a pang of nostalgia in his chest, not to mention no small amount of confusion.

The petals were supposed to lead him home. These led to the theater.

A strange place for an ofrenda.

Perhaps Ernesto was celebrating the holiday in private here with Imelda and Coco, in some back room. Knowing Ernesto, his schedule was probably packed, and he’d be performing even on the holiday, so this was probably the only place where he was able to celebrate without being late for a performance.

So long as Imelda and Coco were there as well, Héctor didn’t care.

Ignoring the oddity of the situation, ignoring the increasingly likely idea that his family may not actually be here, ignoring the feeling in his gut that told him that something was very strange about setting up an ofrenda in a theater, he stepped through the doors.

Quite literally—his translucent body phased through them as though they weren’t there at all, leaving him with an oddly cold feeling in his bones.

The theater was massive, luxurious, and already crowded; there were people everywhere in the foyer, excitedly chattering about Ernesto de la Cruz and his special Dia de los Muertos concert. So that much was true—he had a performance today, and was probably having a quiet celebration to himself in a private room in the back beforehand.

Part of him wanted to stay in the foyer for a moment, to look to see if Imelda and Coco were there (what did Coco look like? How tall had she gotten? Would there be a man by her side, now?), but something within him told him that he needed to follow the petal trail, and quickly.

The petals led around the foyer and through a door marked no entry. On the other side of the door was a long, curved hallway, built to wrap around the main part of the theater. The trail led him further and further down, past frantic stagehands that were shouting to each other about last minute adjustments to the set. Héctor paid them no mind, barely noticing when he phased through a performer that suddenly stepped out of a nearby door. His eyes were on the trail of petals, his mind already at the end of it and trying to picture what he would find.

Just as he was starting to wonder if the hallway was endless, the trail of petals curved to the left, and under a door emblazoned with a star, and a sign reading “de la Cruz.”

Well, this was it.

Drawing in a deep breath, Héctor stepped through the door.

To his confusion, there was no ofrenda immediately in sight. Instead, he was greeted with a large vanity, a mirror that did not show his reflection, a rack of flashy, beautiful outfits that would have probably cost him several months’ wages each, a table covered in letters and gifts, a guitar case, and, finally, a curtain that blocked off a corner of the room.

Had there been a mistake? Could this really have been some cruel joke the universe was playing on him, letting him through security, across the bridge, back into the Land of the Living, and all across a far-too-large city, only to lead him to an empty dressing room?

Looking back toward the door, he gave a start—no, the petals were still leading further inside… and behind the curtain.

Héctor crept forward, holding in his breath as he stepped through the curtain to find…

...a pitifully small table, upon which sat a bottle of tequila, two shot glasses, a single candle, half a dozen orange petals, and, in the center, a simple photo lying flat on the table.

The breath held in his chest cavity burst out of him in the form of unexpected laughter. All of that agony waiting in line, fearing he’d have to go another year without seeing his family, worrying that the fact that he’d gotten through was a mistake, following an endless petal trail halfway across an enormous city, and this was what he got?

Ernesto was famous—the most famous singer in all of Mexico, and had more wealth than Héctor had ever known in his life and death—and all he had to give Héctor was this pitiful excuse of an ofrenda, set up two decades after his death? To top it off, Ernesto wasn’t even here.

And neither were Imelda and Coco.

It wasn’t until the makeshift ofrenda in front of him began to blur that he realized his laughter had turned to tears.

Dios, what kind of cruel joke was this? Was this his punishment for not trying to return home sooner—for leaving home at all? For dying away from his family? For trying to run off on Ernesto? To finally give him a scrap of hope that maybe something—something would go right for once in his miserable, lonely afterlife, and then—?!

Basta, ungrateful cabrón, he thought, scrubbing his face with his sleeve. This is better than what you’ve gotten every other year. Your tíos and primos don’t even get to have this. At least you can bring something to share with them.

But… ay, he would trade the finest wine, the sweetest pan dulce, the most extravagant offering just for a glimpse of his family again. Or even if Ernesto would just—

The door swung open.

Abruptly Héctor stopped crying, spinning around as a familiar voice snarled at someone in the hallway: “I don’t care! I don’t care, señor, so long as it’s set up before I walk out on stage! And don’t you dare step foot into this room again unless it’s a real emergency!”

SLAM.

“...Neto?” Héctor breathed, shakily stepping past the curtain.

The charro suit was such a clean, bright, glittery blue it nearly blinded him. Ernesto’s head dipped as he ran his hand over his hair and heaved a sigh. “Sorry, old friend,” he said, and turned around to face him. “I hope you’ll forgive that rude interruption.”

Héctor staggered backward, clutching at his chest in shock. Could Ernesto actually—?!

And Ernesto immediately stepped through Héctor and up to his vanity.

Héctor shuddered at the feeling of wrongness that rushed through his bones at the—well, not touch, but the sensation of being passed through. Well, that answered that question.

Given he was intangible, he had to wonder what it was, then, that made Ernesto pause and look over his shoulder. Whatever it was seemed to pass, however, and Ernesto plucked up a comb.

Taking a few steps closer to Ernesto, Héctor watched as he fixed himself up. He’d lost the more youthful look Héctor had known when they were still alive, but was still very much in his prime. If his face bore any wrinkles or blemishes, they were likely covered with some of the makeup that was scattered about the vanity. He did, however, have gray hairs gracing his sideburns.

Héctor ran a skeletal hand through his own youthful wig.

“Now that that’s taken care of…”

Ernesto stepped behind the curtain, stood before the little ofrenda, and stared at the photo.

Curious and mildly numb, Héctor watched as Ernesto then picked up the bottle of tequila, stared at it for a long moment, then filled the two shot glasses sitting on the table. When Ernesto picked up one glass, Héctor reached out to pick up the other, finding it solid beneath his phalanges. When he lifted it off the table, the original glass did not move, but a spirit copy of it appeared in his hand, and he stared at it, turning it this way and that. Huh. He'd always wondered how that worked.

It was a moment before he realized Ernesto was completely silent, staring down at Héctor's photo on the table. He took the time to examine it: a faded photograph of... himself, of course, as well as Ernesto, the two of them side-by-side and posing with their guitars. In a flash the memory returned of when they'd had the photo taken—it had been done so they could use it for promotional posters in the future, for when they became famous.

Heh. When they became famous.

"We... would have made such a team, hermanito," Ernesto said, and Héctor gave a start, facing him again. Ernesto reached down to pick up the photo, and only now did it strike Héctor that he was being mourned, even as he stood beside his friend.

It was a bizarre disconnect, unlike anything he'd ever felt before.

"You could have been here beside me, you know, on that stage."

The pang of nostalgia hit his chest, and he swallowed. While he missed his Imelda and Coco most of all, a smaller part of him did miss performing alongside his best friend... albeit, more in the days when they still played in Santa Cecilia, not the tour. Compared to everything else, the tour felt like a long, repetitive haze.

"If you only hadn't..." Ernesto trailed off, his voice choked.

"...hadn't eaten that rotten chorizo," Héctor finished, and barely resisted the urge to knock back his shot. He would wait, though; he may as well, until Ernesto offered the toast.

As he watched Ernesto, waiting for him to continue, he couldn't help but wonder what was going through his friend's mind. He was standing rigidly still, and if Héctor hadn't known better, he would have thought he was just nervous about the upcoming performance. But Ernesto had never feared those... no, he was still staring into that photo, and... his face was growing pale, his hands shaking.

Taking a step back, Héctor glanced around the room again—they were standing in a corner, blocked off from the rest of the room by a curtain. He could understand the need for a private moment, but...

The thick curtain, the hastily-assembled ofrenda, the look on Ernesto's face...

Something was wrong.

Ernesto wasn't choked up out of grief, Héctor realized, a strange emotion welling up within his chest.

He was working up the will to confess something.

Knock knock knock.

Both Héctor and Ernesto jumped, nearly dropping their respective glasses as the door creaked open. "Señor?" a voice called urgently. "You have five minutes until showtime." The speaker then ducked back out of the room, and the door closed again.

All at once Ernesto seemed to regain his composure, even as Héctor felt his phantom heart still pounding, and for a moment he worried that Ernesto would step out without saying... whatever he'd meant to say. The man set the photo down and sighed, smoothing a hand through his hair, banishing all traces of his anxiety from before.

"Well, you heard the man," he said, holding up the glass. "I suppose I'll make it quick."

Ernesto faced to the side, and it almost seemed as though he could see Héctor standing before him. Yet Héctor could see that his friend's gaze was unfocused—he was clearly imagining Héctor being there, not truly aware of his presence.

Sighing, Héctor copied Ernesto and held out his glass. No harm in pretending as well, though he couldn't hide his disappointment that this meeting with his friend was already being cut short.

"To our friendship," Ernesto murmured. "I truly would have moved heaven and earth for you, mi amigo. Salud."

They moved their glasses forward in time, though there was no satisfying clink. Instead, the spirit copy briefly clipped through the physical glass before they both knocked back their shots.

Héctor was taken aback by the strength of the flavor, like nothing the Land of the Dead had to offer him. His eyes watered, and he coughed, choking down the tequila and striking his sternum. The last time he'd tasted something this strong was when he'd been alive, and he'd had that final toast with that awful, bitter tequila Ernesto had offered him. He was so distracted by the taste and burn of the alcohol that he nearly missed what Ernesto said next.

"Heh. Not to worry, there's... no poison this time, my friend."

Rolling his eyes, Héctor wiped at his mouth. It may as well have been poison, for how...

He ran through the words in his mind again, suddenly feeling strangely hollow.

What did he mean, this time?

Héctor looked up, hoping to see a familiar smile creasing Ernesto's face—the same he would get whenever he told a really terrible or offensive joke—but instead he was staring down at the glass seriously, intensely, his chest heaving, hands trembling.

The shot glass slipped out of Héctor's hand, shattering against the floor, but all he could hear was the argument they'd had that night—one of many, when the homesickness gripped him so strongly that he couldn't stand it, but Ernesto's grip on "their" dream had been stronger. Except that night, Héctor's will had finally won over, and Ernesto had been so angry... until he wasn't.

He'd been angry before. Even violent, once. Yet it had never struck Héctor as strange that suddenly Ernesto was neither—suddenly perfectly happy to let him leave, to end with a toast (with terrible, bitter tequila, so much more bitter than normal), to walk him to the train station. He'd been too happy that their friendship had not ended to notice.

Too happy, until his stomach wrenched in agony, the blood filled his throat, the darkness engulfed him.

A sharp shatter of glass cut through his numb shock, and he was back in the dressing room, Ernesto glaring down at the glass he'd smashed against the floor, his teeth bared, eyes wide.

"You brought it on yourself," he snarled, and stepped through the curtain. There he drew in a deep breath, let it out, lifted up the guitar case, and walked calmly out the door as though nothing had happened.

As though he hadn't just admitted to...

Héctor's mind spun, trying to reconcile it, but suddenly it made sense, it all made sense, why Ernesto had sung his songs, why he'd never given him credit, why Imelda and Coco never put up his photo, why he'd never gotten to see his wife or his daughter because of course Ernesto would never tell them that he'd... that he'd...!

He found a glowing bottle of tequila in his hand, and smashed it against the table with a wild yell.

Yet even the sight of the shattered glass, the dripping alcohol drenching the spirit copy of the photo, couldn't calm the agonized rage that engulfed his soul, that filled him from the inside out, overflowing in the form of a blazing heat and agonized tears.

Before he realized it he was charging through the curtain, the door, and down the curved hallway that Ernesto was calmly walking down, not a trace of shame in his posture. Without another thought, Héctor let loose a wild snarl and lunged at him, his hands aiming for his throat and grasping nothing, phasing through Ernesto's pristine collar as Héctor crashed to the ground. Every vile curse he could think of came spilling out of his mouth, his voice both shrill and hoarse with anger as he tried desperately to grasp at some part of him, only clawing at the carpet and punching the floor.

"YOU POISONED ME!" he shrieked, praying with all he had that his voice would carry through to the living world. "I TRUSTED YOU! YOU WERE MY FRIEND!"

While his hands never reached Ernesto, while the living could not hear the dead... Ernesto stopped in the hallway, suddenly looking back, his eyes wide. Yet his fearful gaze never met Héctor's narrowed, reddened one, and he resumed walking ahead, toward the backstage. But the confidence had gone from his posture, instead replaced with a prickling paranoia.

If that's how it would be, Héctor would take what he could get.

Scrambling back up to his feet, he bolted in front of Ernesto, walking backwards to keep ahead of him, reaching out as though to clutch his friend's collar. "How could you do this to me?! I just wanted to go home! I just wanted to see my family! I would have written you all the songs in the world! All of them, Ernesto, hermano—" His voice cracked, and Ernesto pushed ahead, ducking through the doors as he was surrounded by people, one man handing him a hat, one woman making a last-minute adjustment to his outfit, another asking him if he was feeling well.

Héctor could have charged after him, continued to haunt him throughout that wretched performance as he sang that warped version of Coco's song, but instead the weight of it all finally dragged him down to his knees. He tugged at his hair, as though he could tear it out. He felt like he could scream, but he didn't, for fear he would never stop. Some distant part of him recalled how he felt when he'd walked down that marigold bridge, which couldn't have been more than an hour earlier, but it felt like a lifetime ago. His world had seemed so much happier, so much brighter then, and now...

He wished he'd never crossed the bridge. He should have kept trying to cross over into Santa Cecilia, never gotten on that alebrije, should have turned right around the second he realized he was in this wretched city, he should have never gone on the tour—

Thunderous applause erupted from the theater, music blared, and Héctor clamped his hands over his head.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't stay here. But he couldn't cross the bridge—he couldn't face anyone else, not yet. He was afraid of what he would do if he did. The thought of seeing other souls milling about the graveyard, laughing, collecting gifts, watching their families, while he had been saddled with the revelation that his best friend, his brother, had become the reason he hadn't seen his family in twenty years—

It crashed over him all over again, and he couldn't hold back the scream this time, only covering his mouth to muffle it. If there was another soul in the theater, they never heard him over the music and applause.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, but it was long enough for his voice to give out, for any spirit left in him to evaporate. The emptiness in him was neither gnawing nor numbing—it was simply nothing, like he truly was a ghost drifting aimlessly in the mortal plane.

Not knowing what else he could possibly do at this point and not finding it in him to care either way, he rose to his feet, and phased through the wall, stepping into the theater. Whether he did it for a last glance at his friend, or a last chance at haunting him, he didn't know. He never got the chance to find it out.

Before he could take in the spectacle of the theater, before he could register just how truly grand the stage was, or just what song Ernesto was singing (mangling, bastardizing), there were two sounds in short succession:

Snap.

CRASH.

The theater, so thunderously loud moments before, was utterly silent save for the faint ringing from the giant bell that had crashed on the top of the stage. This silence lasted until the curtain fell, and the theater exploded into chaos.

In the cacophony of screams, shouts, and hurried conversations that followed, Héctor found himself breathing, his legs moving, carrying him up to the stage and past the dense curtain. Women in elaborate dresses were hurrying away from the wreckage while the stage crew were trying to lift the bell. Several were screaming out a name.

"Ernesto?" Héctor breathed, scrambling up the stage as the efforts of the stage crew grew more frantic. On the opposite side of the bell, some of them managed to pry part of it upward, while another man peered underneath and shone a light. Only seconds later, he cried out, his face growing pale, the flashlight clattering to the ground.

Héctor bolted up towards the bell, tempted to phase through it to see for himself, but stopped himself; if the stagehand's reaction was anything to go by, he probably shouldn't take a glance. But then... was it really...?

"Señor!" someone cried in despair. "Señor de la Cruz...!"

"He's dead, isn't he," another murmured, voice wavering. "El Señor de la Cruz is dead."

"N-no, he can't... we have to get him out—!"

Unlike the others who were losing themselves from the shocking turn of events, Héctor found himself regaining his senses. Distantly, his heart ached at the thought of what had happened—at the thought that something this horrific could happen to Ernesto—but before the grief could fully register, another thought struck him.

If Ernesto had been killed... if he was truly dead... then...

Héctor looked back toward the closed stage curtain, out in the direction of the graveyard he'd come from, then looked back to look at the bell.

Ernesto was no longer there, but Héctor knew exactly where he would be.

Before he had time to question himself, he was already bolting past the curtain, off the stage, and out of the theater, charging back down the path of petals from whence he'd come. He was no longer sure what emotion he was feeling, but one thing he knew for certain:

Ernesto had some answers to give him.

[raayllum]

RAYLLUM S4 MEME:  parallels or callbacks [3/3] 1x04, 2x07, 3x08, 3x09 → 4x05

It's so strange. The last time I was here, I leapt to my certain death. But then you spread your wings, and you saved me... So much has happened since then. Callum - are you okay? Not really. Do you want to... talk, about it?

[dcbbw]

Hi, I'm here to request Riam Riley demanding that Liam make Forbidden Falls more accessible for her and the babies per our convo 😂😂😂😂

Hi, @burnsoslow! Thank you for the ask, #mykarev. So, this definitely did not go the way we discussed but hopefully you like it anyway!

Riley’s body swayed as she held an 8-month-old Fric in her arms; the sand was warm and gritty beneath her feet. In front of her, Liam smiled as one arm snaked around her waist, his hand coming to settle on her hip. In his other arm, he held Frac.

The royal family and their friends were at the private beach where the social season’s beach party had been held. Governance was hard work, and everyone had been stepping up the past few months to keep Cordonia prosperous and at peace. Liam wanted to do something to show his appreciation, and Riley suggested a day at the beach.

There was food, a volleyball net, and music; currently Bob Marley’s Jamming was playing. Riley laughed as she held her son in front of her, gently bouncing him to the song. The babies were slathered in sunscreen, wore wide brimmed hats on top of their thick curls, and tiny sunglasses over their eyes.

Fric giggled before squirming, indicating he wanted to get down. Rileypulled him close to her body, before plopping on the beach blanket. She sat the baby on it, laying her head on Liam’s shoulder as he settled next to her. The twins picked up their plastic sand shovels, beating them against the soft fabric. They babbled softly to themselves, occasionally stopping to observe what the other was doing.

“This was a great idea,” Riley said as her eyes scanned the beach.

Maxwell, Drake, Rashad, and Ezekiel were playing a game of volleyball. Kiara, Penelope, and Madeleine were tanning. Olivia, Hana, and Leo were at the buffet, perusing food options. Crystal blue water lapped at the shore, it’s sounds muted by the music, which was still blaring.

“We should dip the babies’ toes in the water,” Liam suggested.

“AAACK!” Riley hollered as Frac took off his sunglasses, trying to pull them apart.

Liam chuckled as he pried the glasses from the toddler’s chubby hands and placed them gently back on his face. “Master Frac, I need you to keep these on.”

Frac waved his arms as he chattered in gibberish to Liam, as if explaining why he needed to take them off. Liam said “Oopa” as he lifted his son, planting a kiss on the chubby cheek.

Riley looked at Liam curiously. “You always say that when you pick them up. What does it mean?”

“It’s a version of …” Liam thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “Upsa-daisy! My father used to say it when I was younger.”

Riley was silent. She had forgiven Constantine before his death, but she had never made peace with the man or his actions. But she wouldn’t deny Liam the good memories he had of his father.

“We haven’t been here since social season,” Riley observed.

“We sneaked away to the Forgotten Falls.” Liam smiled at the memory. “Where I first confessed my love for you.”

Riley scoffed as she straightened Fric’s hat. “You chickened out!”

“I jumped, didn’t I?” Liam demanded.

Riley smirked as her finger traced a lazy line up Liam’s thigh. “I had to drag you!”

“You are exaggerating, my love,” Liam said as he nuzzled Riley’s neck.

“I wish we could go back.”

Liam arched his brow. “We can!” He spread his arm out towards the rest of the beach. “We have babysitters at our disposal. We can sneak away and be back before the twins’ feeding in an hour.”

Just then, Drake and Hana walked over, both sweaty from the sun. “What’s happening over here, other than wedded bliss?” Drake asked as he pinched Fric’s cheek.

“Hey, Drake,” Riley purred.

Drake looked at the Queen suspiciously. “What do you want, Brooks?”

“A babysitter. For about a half hour,” Liam replied.

“Forty-five minutes!” Riley corrected.

Hana laughed as she tickled Frac’s belly. “I’m happy to babysit. Do they need to be changed or fed?”

“We’ll be back before feeding, but just in case, bottles and jars of baby food are in the cooler, and the diaper genie is here.” Riley gestured to the diaper pail sitting on a corner of the blanket. “Diapers and wipes are in the bag.”

“You guys go on. Hana and I got this.”

Riley and Liam kissed their sons before standing and sliding their feet into flip flops.

“Make sure they keep their hats and glasses on. And don’t sit them on the sand, they’ll eat it.” Liam cautioned.

“We got you! Now, go!” Drake ordered.

Grinning, the royal couple clasped hands, and headed for the trail that would take them to the falls.

Hana and Drake exchanged knowing looks, not seeing the twins watch their parents walk away. The boys began to cry, and Drake and Hana busied themselves soothing the babies.

At the falls, Riley and Liam sat on the banks of the plunge pool, staring at the majestic waterfall as endless volumes of water poured over craggy black rocks. The rushing water and surrounding lush greenery muted the sounds of the beach party. Riley kicked her feet in the water, causing it to splash and ripple.

“I miss this place,” Riley murmured.

“Me too,” Liam agreed.

Riley turned to look at Liam, a question in her eyes.

“What?” Liam asked.

“Am I the only person you’ve brought here?”

“I told you then, this is a special place. I don’t share it with just anyone!” Liam argued.

Riley continued to stare at her husband, an expectant look on her face.

Liam furrowed his brow. “Does it make it a difference?”

Riley stared at him a moment longer, then nodded her head. “Who, Liam?”

“Riley …”

She pushed his arm; it was a little too forceful to be considered playful.

Wincing as he rubbed his arm, Liam answered her question. “I bought one other woman here. Girl actually, as we were both teenagers at the time. She wouldn’t jump with me.”

Riley looked down at the ground, plucking blades of grass. “Mary Prescott?”

Liam nodded. “Yes,” he said softly.

Riley exhaled a long, loud sigh. “I cannot stand that woman.”

Liam looked at Riley. “Why? It was a long time ago. And I found the woman who was meant for the falls, for the briefcase, … who was meant for me.”

“Because she hurt you, Liam! Unnecessarily! I don’t want you to ever hurt!”

Liam chuckled lightly. “My protector! Are you going to stop kissing Yu and dancing with Annabelle Parsons?”

Riley frowned. “Don’t be silly! They’re the glue holding our marriage together.”

Liam laughed out loud. He placed his hand over his heart, a wounded expression on his face. “But it hurts me deeply, love.”

This time, Riley did push him playfully. Liam pulled Riley closer to him. “Don’t hate Mary Prescott, Riley. She … she was raised to not believe in love, and to seek her happiness in other ways. I found you and say prayers of thanksgiving every day that you never left. That you saw me.”

Silence while Liam’s fingers combed through Riley’s hair. She kissed his neck. He tasted of sun and slightly of sweat.

“I’d like to try for another baby,” he said quietly.

Riley stiffened. “I don’t know if I can give you that, Liam. It took us so long to get the boys. And we lost Little One before them. Honestly, I’m scared.”

Liam kissed her hair. “I’m not saying right away. And I’m not talking about ovulation charts and sex at specific times on certain days. I want it to happen naturally. We’ll talk to Dr. Felger. If she gives us the go ahead, I ask you keep an open mind.”

Riley burrowed herself in Liam’s side. “Can’t we just have sex?”

“Of course, love. All the time if you want.”

“We have twin boys under the age of one, and no nanny.”

Liam raised his eyebrow suggestively as he grinned down at Riley. “But we have babysitters right now.”

“I have sand in my butt crack.”

Riley’s eyes looked to the top of the waterfall. “I want to jump off with the boys one day.”

“The legend says only lovers get the blessing.”

“I think the Lady of the Waterfall would make an exception.”

Liam’s eyes searched Riley’s before capturing her lips in a deep kiss. When they separated, his hand cupped her cheek. “You’re my honey: warm, sensuous, sweet. I’m so in love with you, Riley Brooks.”

Riley wrapped her arms around his neck. A smile curved her lips. “I recall the last time we were here, you said I was ‘tart’,” she reminded him.

Liam rubbed his nose against hers. “I stand by that statement.” He pulled away to look over at the falls. “We should jump before we head back.”

Riley looked at him dubiously. “Is there an elevator or something to get up there? Because the last time I climbed up there was twenty pounds ago. And you had to help me then!”

“I like touching your skin!”

“Yeah, well, now there’s more of it and not willing to risk injury so much anymore. Install an elevator, and I’ll go with you.”

Liam smirked as he lifted himself from the ground. His arm reached out, and Riley latched onto his hand, pulling herself up. “Where are we going?” She asked suspiciously.

“The waterfall has a secret.”

The couple walked in silence around the left side of the waterfall, batting and swatting at low hanging branches. They reached a clearing; carved into the side of the waterfall were stairs that led to the top of the cascade. Riley looked at Liam with accusing eyes.

“How long has this been here?”

Liam began to climb. “Are you coming, love?”

“It’s been here the entire time, hasn’t it?”

“Don’t dawdle! We have children to feed!”

Riley grumbled under her breath the entire trip up. When the reached the ledge, she drew in a breath at the view. Until she looked down.

“I’m still scared of heights.”

“It’s still best not to think about that.” Liam grabbed her hand. “Can we make this a tradition? Every year, on our anniversary, we come here to renew the blessing?”

Riley brought his hands to her lips, kissing his knuckles. “Until we can’t climb anymore.”

The couple looked at each other with wide grins. “Ready?” Liam asked.

Riley nodded, and the pair leapt from the top of the falls.

Again.

Their shrieks of fear and excitement drowned out the whispered blessing from the Lady of the Waterfalls.

Again.

Tagging: @sirbeepsalot @wannabemc2 @jared2612 @katedrakeohd @hopefulmoonobject @custaroonie @jovialyouthmusic @thequeenofcronuts @amomentofsinclairity @bobasheebaby @ao719 @sashatrr @marietrinmimi @ladyangel70 @gardeningourmet @umccall71 @angi15h @romanticatheart-posts @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @blznbaby @tabithacarlisle @bbrandy2002 @ab1901 @janezillow @debramcg1106 @radlovedreamer @lodberg @thecordoniandiaries @ramseyandrys @caroldxnvxrs @princess-geek @burnsoslow @annekebbphotography @merridithsmiscellany-blog @queenjilian @emichelle @indiacater @loveellamae @forthebrokenheartedthings @kingliam2019 @texaskitten30 @glaimtruelovealways @zaffrenotes @bebepac @liyanin @dibberdipper @choiceslife @ac27dj @the-soot-sprite @gnatbrain @seriouslybadchoices @sanchita012 @anotherbeingsworld @atha68 @aworldoffandoms @hopelessromanticmonie @amandablink

[marshmallow-phd]

Midnight Hours

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Sehun x Reader

Summary: For you, being a good witch was easier said than done. Something dark was lurking inside of you and the others knew it. When you’re forced to tag along with Soomi and help a local wolfpack face a coming evil, you’re sent on a path that breaks into a crossroads. While you struggle with your inner demons, could the wolf Sehun be the key to your ultimate fate?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I 15 I 16 I 17 I Final

**

Things had calmed down significantly over the course of the next couple of weeks. You found yourself settling in nicely in your spot next to Sehun. No longer did the two of you sit on opposite sides of the room, trying everything in your power to avoid eye contact. Now you sat side by side, his hand on your thigh or your head against his shoulder. You never thought that you could be this happy with another person. Long ago, you’d resigned yourself to always being the outcast, the one left on the sidelines. But that was never your place. And the pack was almost over compensating in making you feel welcome and a part of them after how they’d reacted to the fire incident. 

“(y/n), show Mei the trick you did yesterday!” Chanyeol exclaimed as he flopped down on the floor next to you. The one-year-old was standing at the coffee table, wearing a too-big t-shirt that you were sure was Kris’ at some point, painting on copy paper with child-proof water colors. Evie was on the couch, only partially reading the book in her hand as she kept one eye on Mei in case of any accidents. 

“I don’t think I’m supposed to,” you muttered. Kris was still cautious of you around Mei. He’d let up a bit after learning that you’d easily accepted Sehun as your wolf, but overprotective seemed like an understatement when it came to his daughter. 

“It’s just water,” Jongin encouraged, even flashing you that blinding smile. You’d never tell Sehun, but you were certain that Jongin’s was the most dazzling in the pack. “She’ll enjoy it.”

Too many eyes were on you, waiting eagerly like you were the party’s magician about to make the rabbit reappear. It was a new kind of feeling. Most of them had let go of the fact that you accidentally set the floor on fire once in your sleep. They’d moved on to fascination, constantly asking you to show them something else. Soomi’s disapproving stares could be felt from wherever she stood, but you obliged, for two reasons, mostly. The first was that it made you feel accepted amongst the wolves – a chunk of them anyway. Jongdae kept his distance, then there was Kris, of course. Minseok and Yixing didn’t seem as interested in you or your powers, staying off to the side and rarely joining in on the commotion. Which was fine; you didn’t let it bother you… too much. 

The second reason was why you really gave into their requests. This was the most practice of your powers you’d ever had in your life. Virtual free reign to concentrate and manipulate at least two of the elements to the point where it was almost effortless. Earth still gave you trouble and you refused to play with fire – literally. You were afraid of losing control again. And, even if you refused to admit it to anyone, the last vision still terrified you. 

Nothing else had come to you since that night and you wondered if that was a sign. You worried over it, to the point that Sehun noticed and tried to sooth you through it, saying that maybe it was a good thing and that the course of time was changing. But you didn’t believe it. You couldn’t. The blood moon was inching closer and along with it, the threat that remained in the shadows. 

Taking a deep breath, you focused on the present, smiling at the young girl as you scooted on your knees closer to the coffee table. You said nothing to Mei, simply lifting your hand and concentrating on the liquid in the plastic cup. 

At first, she didn’t notice the swirling, murky orb of paint-tainted water lifting from the cup, too focused in on her masterpiece to care.

“Mei,” Jongin whispered next to her ear. He pointed to the orb in an effort to grab her attention. A few seconds went by before she finally looked up. Then she gasped. 

You couldn’t help but smile at the wonder in her eyes. She followed the ball as you moved it across the room, stumbling and tripping over the dress-like shirt that kept her clean. With a tiny hand, she reached out. You concentrated on keeping the form together as she poked at the surface. A loud squealing giggle erupted from Mei as soon as her tiny finger met the water. She leapt back and clapped her hands. A broad smile of your own spread wide across your lips at her excitement. Several droplets fell from the orb down to the rug as your focus slipped, but you were able to save the rest when you realized what you were about to do. 

“Mo’! Mo’!” Mei cheered after you put the water back in the cup. 

“Actually, I think it’s time for lunch,” Evie said as she put down the book and stood from the couch. 

Apparently not a fan of this new suggestion, Mei stumbled her way over to you, falling into your lap and burying her face in your stomach. 

“Nice try,” Evie said in her practiced mom voice. She walked over, bent down, and plucked her right up. Mei squirmed and pouted in her mother’s arms. The child certainly didn’t want to leave, even sending you a pleading look to save her. But there was nothing you could do. Mother trumped witch every time. 

“You’re going to be her new best friend,” Chanyeol laughed once they were in the kitchen. 

“Until she finds something else more exciting,” you said with a chuckle. Your eyes moved across the room, secretly hoping that Sehun had returned from town. He’d gone with Kris to the auto shop, needing to pick up a few parts for his car. Knowing you’d be bored to death and being very against the idea of sitting in a confined space with Kris for almost an hour both ways, you’d decided to stay behind. You didn’t need to be by Sehun’s side twenty-four-seven, but he certainly did make you feel more comfortable. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like he was back quite yet. 

Your eyes, however, did land on Harper, who stood near the entrance to the front parlor, arms folded over her chest and her eyes planted on the floor near her feet. A sad smile pulled on her lips as she was lost in thought, making you wonder what was going on her head. Before you could come to any conclusion of your own, her smile disappeared, her expression twisting to one of pain before she turned and ran out of the room. Concerned for your friend, you jumped to your feet and followed her. 

Harper had ran outside and made it to just beyond the edge of the trees before you saw her bend over. The sounds that reached your ears told you that she was throwing up. You approached cautiously. “Harper?”

She froze. She didn’t shift to look at you. Her gaze stayed down on the dirt, hands resting on her knees to keep her stable. 

“You know, most people run to the bathroom when they’re going to be sick,” you joked. That actually got a laugh out of her. 

Straightening up, Harper wiped the corner of her mouth with her sleeve. “There’s less ears out here.”

“Less ears?” you echoed. Luhan was gone on a run with the older wolves and you didn’t think anyone else – except for a few of the mates – would be all over her if she simply got sick. While Harper was always the more “suffer in silence” type that you could identify with, this seemed a little out there even for her. “What’s going on?”

A burdened sigh blew through her lips. She pushed a lock of her short hair behind her ear. Almost subconsciously, a hand drifted down to her stomach. 

Oh. Oh. 

 You chewed on your bottom lip. “How long?”

Harper shrugged. “A few weeks at most. I took the test at Hae In’s a few days ago when I started to suspect, although she doesn’t know. She was at work when I did it.”

“Does Luhan know?” Harper shook her head. Well, this was quite the predicament you found yourself in. If you were to list out all the couples in the house and put them in order of who was most likely to get pregnant next, these two would have been near the bottom of the list. “Are you going to tell him?”

Again, she shook her head. “Not until after the blood moon and all this other chaos has settled down. I don’t need him worrying about me when his head needs to be focused on the pack. Once that threat is handled, I’ll tell him.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Do you think you’ll be able to hide this from him for long?”

“I have my ways,” she said. “Besides, he’s not as observant as he likes to think he is.”

“None of them are,” you agreed with a laugh. 

Harper laughed along with you until it slowly faded out. “Look, (y/n)-”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you promised. “Even from Sehun. When it’s not mine to tell, it never leaves my lips.” As someone who lived with a constant secret as well, you knew the importance of trust. And you knew you couldn’t tell Sehun. Whether you swore him to secrecy or not, eventually he’d let it slip to Luhan. That was neither his place, nor yours. 

“Thank you,” Harper sniffed. For the first time since you’d met her, you saw a vulnerability in her eyes. A glassy sheen took over them and she sniffed again. “Is it bad if I admit I’m a little scared?”

You stepped closer to her, taking her hand in yours. “Why would that be bad?”

“I’m not like Evie,” she admitted in a quivering voice. “I’m not- I just don’t know if… if I’m capable of something like that. I’m not… I’m not soft. I was raised to hunt.”

“And to protect, if I remember correctly,” you pointed out. Giving out a sigh of your own, you tried another approach. “There’s all different kinds of mothers,” you said. “Not all are good, but most are. And even the good ones differ. You don’t have to be just like Evie. You can be your own kind of mother. I’m sure no matter what, that that kid is going to be one hell of a strong person.”

Finally, a tiny smile. “You think so?”

You nodded. “I’m certain of it. Besides, who wouldn’t want to have a mom who can teach them to fight? And use a bow? That sounds like some great bonding time to me.”

That really made her beam. Pulling you into a tight hug, she whispered, “Thank you.”

“I know you’re not going to magically feel better, but I’m here whenever you need a cheerleader, okay?” You leaned back, adding, “But you really should tell Luhan.”

“I will,” Harper scoffed as she let you go. “I’m going to regret you knowing, aren’t I?”

“Of course not,” you argued. You shrugged, taunting, “Someone’s going to need to be on your side when the rest find out.” Harper’s expression scrunched. She knew you were telling the truth. “Especially once Hae In finds out that you kept it from her.”

“Okay, okay.” She flung an arm around your shoulders. “Lets keep it down. And we should probably head back inside before someone actually notices.”

You nodded in agreement and then turned to head back inside. Then you flinched. Sehun was standing on the porch, arms folded and a curious frown pinching his brow together. 

“About time you came back,” you teased in an effort to distract him. A smirk was his only response. Harper patted you on the back, giving you the go ahead. But you didn’t take off and run to your wolf. Instead, you kept pace with Harper, staying by her side as you walked towards the porch. The confidence in Sehun’s expression wayned. 

“Hey.” Sehun caught your arm before you could head inside. “Is everything okay?”

Your eyes flickered to Harper, who gave you a smile before stepping through the front door. Plastering on your own smile, you replied, “Yeah, of course. Just some girl time. No big deal.”

Sehun visibly grinded down on his teeth. “You would tell me if something was wrong, right?”

“Yeah, if something was wrong with me, I’d tell you.” It wasn’t a lie - mostly. If something concerning you was going on, you’d tell him. He was always easy to talk to, more so than anyone you’d ever met before. But nothing was wrong with you, outside of your normal worries. Outside of the one thing you couldn’t voice even to the wind or the trees. Outside of the thing that scared you most. 

Feeling that lump rising up in your throat that always did when you thought about it, you pushed yourself into Sehun’s embrace. His heart was right against your ear, beating fast from your closeness. He let go of your arm and wrapped his arms around you. 

“I missed you,” he said softly. 

You scoffed. “You were only gone a few hours. How could you miss me?”

“I guess I’m just a sap.”

Rolling your eyes, you leaned back to retort. But you played right into his hands. 

Before you could let out a single word, he pressed his lips to yours, lifting you up and placing you on the porch railing. 

“You are ridiculous,” you murmured against his lips. 

“I know,” he murmured back. “But you love me for it.”

You stilled. That word….

With his thumb, he caressed your cheek. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

“Of course,” you urged, trying to stay peppy for him. But that stupid word kept bouncing around your head. Sliding down from the railing, you took his hand. “Come on. I’m hungry.”

“But (y/n)-”

“I can hear your stomach growling. Let’s go wolf boy.”

He wanted to argue, but he snapped his mouth shut. Thankfully, he’d save that argument for another day.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Romeo and Cinderella

i can’t believe i’ve never written about Joan’s affair with Henry before-- time to change that!

Word count: 4918

TW: Past statutory rape

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

The physical pain Joan’s body wielded could not compare to her mental pain. In retaliation to her attempt to silence the voices that had been whispering in her ears all night long, they began toiling over in her skull, laying a permanent fog over her thought process and making so many simple things--

Joan lurched over on the spot as she nearly tumbled straight down the staircase.

--like walking, for example, a dangerous act in and of itself.

She was so tired, physically and emotionally. It’s not like sleep ever came easy for her due to her frequent insomnia, but all these thoughts inside of her head just made it ten times worse. Everything seemed to be yelling loud enough for the damned to hear. Joan’s misty mind was filled to the brim with it, and the girl could swear she heard it echoing off the theater walls around her. A long, bloodcurdling scream that never ended.

All because of something she did out of desperation.

None of the others knew why she was acting like this. For all they knew, she was just being dreary from her lack of caffeine. Yes, that was it. Lucky little trauma-free, doesn’t-know-what-it’s-like-to-suffer Joan just didn’t have enough coffee in her system. What else could be going on? She didn’t have anything bad happen to her. Hell, she couldn’t even remember most of her memories, which was said to be a blessing by several of the queens, while they were all cursed. She should be thankful.

But she wasn’t.

Because she did remember the worst parts of her life. And, at first, she thought it was the horrific deaths of her queens, but then something else surfaced from her mind and she hasn’t stopped feeling ill ever since.

She was not a good person.

Joan staggered up the last step on the Stairs of Doom, but tried to make her momentary loss of balance look as natural as possible. She leaned against the wall for a moment, letting her eyes flutter shut. For once, reaching hands and grotesque naked bodies did not flash behind her eyelids. She panted like a tired dog and went to walk to her dressing room, but could not find the energy to move. The world was starting to blur together, sound and feeling becoming one.

Would it hurt to rest for just a minute? Just for a minute…

  “Joan?”

That sound, a sound so beautifully sharp.

  “Are you alright, Joan?”

A commanding tone, a beautifully sharp commanding tone.

A new feeling formed on the top of her head, one that gave the girl an ungodly burst of strength. In a split second she was upright, still trembling despite the warm temperature in the theater, and looked up at Aragon with what could only be known as relief.

  “I assure you the chairs and couch are much more comfortable than the wall.” The Spanish queen said. She peered at Joan closely. “Are you okay?”

Joan said nothing in response; she didn’t even react to the woman’s presence. Her eyes were glassy, making her almost look blind.

Aragon sensed something was wrong. She bent down to Joan’s height, angling her chin to look up at her.

  “Look at me, dear.”

Thoughts were trying to push their way through the fog. Thoughts that, if Aragon were able to read minds, she would certainly have smacked Joan for them.

Although it would not be unwelcome…

  “Joan!”

Joan snapped her attention back to the Spanish queen, using her wobbly legs to make a small distance between them. The thoughts were still whirling in her mind.

Aragon is frowning in worry and confusion. She set a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

  “What has happened to you? You are usually more attentive than this…”

A simple thought was fighting its way through the fog.

Gut

Oh how Joan wished Aragon would just GUT her, if only so that these disgusting memories could repeat no longer.

  “Why don’t you lay down?” Aragon suggested, guiding Joan into her own dressing room and over to the sofa, making sure not to accidentally tug on her obviously fragile body. Luckily, she’s able to get the young lady in waiting to lie down and rest until the others get back, but the peaceful reverie doesn’t last long.

Joan flinched hard and her eyes shot open. Everything was dark. She couldn’t remember where she was and she couldn’t see anything at all to even begin to piece it together. Two hands were on her shoulders, pinning her down and her heart leapt into her mouth. Where was she? Who was on her? What were they going to do to her?

Joan grabbed the wrists holding her down and twisted them sharply.

There was a cry above her and Joan used the brief lack of pressure on her shoulders to shove the hands away and push herself up. She didn’t know where the person was; her eyes hadn’t adapted to the darkness enough--it was so dark. why was it dark? wasn’t it morning? is she in their house? is she trapped? she’s so scared--to make them out, but they had made the mistake of sitting beside her and not on her to keep her pinned down, and Joan took her chance to escape. She dove left, hopefully out of reach of anyone in the room but she didn’t know where she was going and very quickly found herself on the cold, hard ground. She spasmed and strong hands pulled her up.

  “Joan? Joan, darling, it’s okay.”

For a moment, Joan faltered. She had been expecting a man’s voice. This wasn’t that. She didn’t know what to do with this.

Joan blinked hard in the darkness, trying to force her eyes to adjust to it. Her heart was thumping in her chest and her whole body was tense, ready to make another blind run for it if she got a chance. Her ears strained for any sound of movement; any footsteps or a rustle of clothing that would tell her someone was trying to get closer. Hell, she didn’t even know how many people were in this room or how many could see her. She couldn’t hear anything over her own uneven breaths and the blood roaring in her ears.

  “Joan, can you hear me?” The voice asked gently. “It’s me. It’s Catalina. You’re safe here, we’re at the theater. I’m sorry if I startled you. You looked so tired so I shut the lights off and closed the curtains to let you rest.”

Joan felt shivers cascade down her arms and over her thighs. No, it couldn’t be. She was taken.

  “Joan, you’re safe here. It’s Catalina. We’re in my dressing room, remember? I brought you in here five minutes ago. You’re safe, darling, nobody’s coming for you. I’m going to turn on one of the lights now so you can see for yourself, okay?”

Joan winced as a lamp flickered to life and lit up the room. She expected to open her eyes to a king standing above her with a lust-filled smirk. Instead what she saw was a regular dressing room with makeup tables and vanities and chairs. And, there right beside her, was Catherine of Aragon, eyes warm and watching Joan with a soft smile, hands held low and in front of her, palms down, like she was trying to soothe a cornered animal. Everything about this was wrong.

  “Catalina?” Joan croaked, surprised at how raspy her voice sounded. She hadn’t noticed how dry her throat was until her voice caught in the back of it and the name barely left her lips.

Still, Aragon’s smile widened but her eyes were still sad and Joan’s heart seized.

  “It’s me, Joan. I’m here.”

  “He’s here,” Was Joan’s immediate response. Something about this was wrong.

  “No, sweetie,” Aragon’s voice was soft and calm and Joan’s heart was making a cacophony in her chest, harmonizing with her ragged breathing and her blood rushing through her veins and the hundred of awful thoughts shrieking inside of her head. “Nobody is here to hurt you. You’re safe.”

  “No, I’m- I’m- I’m-″ Joan didn’t know how she meant to finish that sentence. 

  “Joan, honey, where do you think you are?” Aragon’s voice was still so gentle, so careful. Tiny movements, soft and delicate, like she was handling spun glass.

  “Castle.” Joan was certain of it.

  “You’re not in the castle anymore, Joan. You aren’t. You‘re free. You’re in London, at the theater we both work at with the other queens and Ladies.”

Joan looked back at Aragon. The woman hadn’t moved from her spot and her hands were still held out in front of her, low and palms towards the floor.

  “Can you try again?” Aragon asked, keeping her eyes trained on Joan as she fought through the whirlwind of thoughts battering around inside her skull. “Where do you think we are?”

Joan looked around the room again and tightened her hands into fists at her sides. Her fingernails dug into her palms, leaving a trail of red crescents etched into her skin. She shivered, soaked in cold sweat, although it felt more like hot, sticky--

  “I’m not…I’m not in the castle?” Joan tried but it was still a question. It wasn’t something tangible and real that she could cling onto and the words sat funny in the back of her throat and she felt like she needed to swallow them down again.

�� “You’re not in the castle, that’s right.”

  “I’m not in the castle,” Joan repeated and it felt better this time. More solid. More like it could be true.

  “You’re in London, at the theater, in my dressing room.” Aragon told her again.

  “Dressing room,” Joan echoed softly.

  “It’s okay, Joan. You’re safe. You’re in London and no one is going to hurt you anymore,” Aragon continued gently. “You’re having a panic attack, sweetie.”

No wonder why Joan couldn’t breathe. Her chest was tight and her ears were ringing and she felt like there was a target painted onto her back. She pressed her palms flat against the wall behind her, feeling just a touch safer knowing that no one could sneak up behind her when she was like this.

  “Can you try breathing with me? Nice and slow, in through your nose and then out through your mouth.”

Joan forced her eyes to stay on Aragon as she shuffled slowly towards her, closing the gap between them. She held out a hand to Joan, but she couldn’t move to take it. Instead, she nodded stiffly to let Aragon know she had heard her and clenched her hands against the plaster. Her knuckles were stiff as she spread her weight from her palms onto her fingers, and Joan pressed more of her weight backwards until a dull pain blossomed in the joints. It gave her something she could trust to focus on. The pain was real, even if the rest was questionable.

She took a shaky breath in with Aragon and tried to hold it but her lungs were too shallow to match what Aragon was doing. Her chest burned as she tried to hold the air in place and Joan choked on the breath and gasped, forcing more air into her already full lungs. It felt like drowning, and Joan made a pained whimper as flashes of black spots clouded her vision. She was helpless, lost in the force of the ocean waves. She couldn’t tell which way was up or down or where the shore was and then suddenly, someone had laced their fingers around hers and Joan squeezed tightly onto her lifeline.

  “-hear me? Joan? It’s okay, I promise it’s okay, nothing’s happening, you’re not in danger. You’re safe here. Can you even hear me? What do I do if you can’t hear me? Joan, I’m right here, it’s Catalina, I’m here and I’ve got you, okay? I’m not leaving you.”

  “Catalina?” Joan rasped, and she felt the fingers intertwined with hers give a tiny reassuring squeeze.

  “Yes, that’s right. It’s me, I’m still here. It’s just you and me, darling, nobody else. Can you open your eyes for me? Please?” Aragon’s voice was much closer to her ear now and slightly more frantic than it had been a minute ago. Joan could hear it tinged into her assurances.

She hadn’t even realized her eyes were closed until Aragon asked her to open them again. She blinked them open slowly, squinting in the light. She was still hunched against the wall but Aragon was next to her now, holding her hand. Joan was looking down at her own chest which was heaving with her efforts to breathe.

Aragon smiled at her effort and reached her other hand up to brush some of the strands back from Joan’s sweaty forehead. Joan closed her eyes and exhaled quietly, leaning into the gentle touch as Aragon fingertips dragged across her temple and sent shivers down her arms.

  “Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Aragon soothed her, brushing her fingers through Joan’s hair and over the shell of her ear. Joan fell silent, listening to Aragon’s breathing and tried to match her own to it. It was easier standing together like this, when Joan could know Aragon was really there.

And then, the door swung open.

  “WE GOT DONUTS!!”

Joan dug her fingernails deep into Aragon’s knuckles when Kitty suddenly yelled while making her entrance. When the other queens noticed what was happening, Cleves lunged forward to cover her friend’s mouth before she could start babbling again. Aragon doesn’t even acknowledge their existence; she was too focused on calming the poor girl before her.

  “Joan,” She called out softly.

Joan’s wide eyes were staring at the other queens in terror. She only looked away because Aragon gently redirects her chin to meet her gaze.

  “Focus on me, honey. You were doing so well. Keep breathing.” Aragon says.

Joan tried, but her eyes kept wandering. She saw the faces of the queens and ladies in waiting through a blizzard of white and black--Aragon. Jane. Anne. Cleves. Parr. Maria. Maggie. Bessie. Aragon. Jane. Anne. Cleves. Parr. Aragon. Jane. Anne. Cleves. Parr. Maria. Maggie. Bessie. Henry--

Henry?

A sharp pain lanced in between Joan’s rib bones and her spine arched a little. White light blazed across her vision and she gasped, clutching desperately onto Aragon’s sleeves like she was a drowning woman in the middle of the ocean. All the while she’s sputtering out apologies, which makes the patient queen frown.

  “Don’t apologize, darling,” Aragon said, gently brushing her fingers over the girl’s tear-stained cheeks. “You aren’t doing anything wrong.”

Her hand moves to rest on the side of Joan’s torso, just below her breasts, which she makes sure not to touch (it’s out of common decency, but little does she know that the slightest brush of contact would send the poor girl spiraling).

  “Breathe in. Ready?”

Joan tried to follow, but it’s incredibly difficult because of the pain, which she realized must be from oxygen starvation. She wasn’t getting enough air and her body was punishing her for it. She winced when her chest contracted and she nearly doubled over.

  “Hurts...!”

Aragon lifted the pianist’s chin so they’re making eye contact and she frowned at how glazed over the ice blue eyes were. She moved her other hand to support the back of Joan’s skull, ready to catch or even cradle her if needed.

  “I know, honey, I know,” She murmured sadly, “Can you try again? Breathe in,” A hopeful smile cracks on her lips when she hears Joan take in a ragged breath, “That’s very good, darling.”

The praise seemed to help because, slowly but surely, Joan was starting to breathe normally. She ended up curled up in Aragon’s arms, who held her gently, but protectively like a mother bird guarding her chicks. 

Eventually, Joan was completely calm, but she’s clearly very exhausted. It’s been three days without proper sleep, and it’s really taking a toll on her. And, even though she’s scared of what her dreams may have in store for her, she closed her eyes and drifted off into an abyss of guilty horrors.

------

  “They’re never going to forgive you, you know. Not after they hear the full story.”

  “...”

  “You were seventeen.”

  “...”

  “So tight…”

  “...”

  “You liked it. I know you did. Nobody else was ever that noisy and aroused when I got with them.”

  “...”

  “You did it for money, you needy little slut.”

  “...”

  “You’re a whore. An actual whore. Not any of my wives, not even Bessie. You. You are a dirty whore.”

  “...I know.”

------

Joan had no idea how much time passed when she woke up, but she felt even more lethargic than before when she hauled herself off of the dressing room couch. When she staggered out into the hallway, she found that the entire theater seemed to be eerily silent. And empty.

Aside from the massive figure at the end of the hallway.

Joan screamed--she couldn’t help it. She ran, but He was there when she turned around to flee. His hands were as big and rough as she remembered. She clawed at them when they groped and pinched her, scratching like there were fire ants crawling all over her body.

  “Get off of me!!” She screeched.

  “Joan?”

Suddenly, Cathy was there in front of her.

  “Woah, Joan. Hey, breathe. You’re having a panic attack.”

  “No….no!” Joan cried, finally finding her voice. She thrashed her head around violently. “Henry! Henry is here!!”

Cathy’s concern probably increased by ten when she heard that. She frowned and gently felt Joan’s forehead.

  “You’re a little warm… Here, sit down and following my breath--”

Joan went to scream again when she, too, stopped herself. There was blood on one of her hands. Too much blood. Sure, she had been trying to stop Henry from getting into her, but there shouldn’t be this much.

  “Oh, Joan…”

  “He hurt me,” Joan whimpered. Her knees buckled and she collapsed into Cathy's arms. “Hurts…!”

Cathy knelt to the floor slowly, then began to inspect Joan’s arms and stomach, which were marred with angry red scratches. Joan whimpered in distress and pawed for one of Cathy’s arms so she could hold onto her, but Cathy kept her leaned back away from her during the examination. 

  “Cathy-- Hold me--” Joan sobbed.

Cathy hesitated and Joan whimpered, thinking she was going to be denied, but then she’s being tucked against the queen’s chest. She instantly nuzzled into Cathy’s warmth, clinging onto her for dear life.

  “Breathe, Joan. Breathe. Follow me.” Cathy lifted Joan’s head so it was properly resting on her chest and she could feel the rise and fall from her own breaths.

Cathy was unsure how she was going to stop the bleeding and get Joan to breathe normally when Cleves suddenly shouted down the hallway. She called her over urgently.

  “Anna! Joan’s hurt!”

Even Cleves looked a little pale when she saw the scratches. She didn’t stick around long, running off to get some supplies and the other queens.

  “Hallway,” She had said to Aragon and Jane, who were idly conversing (though more to Aragon), “Go the hallway outside the dressing rooms. Joan’s bleeding.”

That was enough to send Aragon to the location as quickly as possible, Jane on her tail. Anne and Kitty caught sight of them and followed.

  “Oh my god,” Aragon muttered, gently taking Joan from Cathy. “Joan, baby, what did you do?” She looked at Cathy, “What happened?”

  “I don’t know.” Cathy admitted. “I found her scratching herself.”

  “No,” Joan shook her head, “It was Henry. Henry hurt me. Please--please find him. He’s here.”

The queens exchanged very worried looks. Kitty tottered back into Jane’s arms, suddenly looking very frightened. Cleves came barreling back down the hallway with a stagehand in tow and supplies in hand.

  “Honey, Henry is dead.” Aragon said gently, making Cleves perk up a little in interest, since she hadn’t been there for Joan’s outburst.

  “He--he was reincarnated. Like us. That’s why I was scratching myself! Here’s here!” Joan’s voice became weaker as she choked on the tears and pain, “He-he was touching me. Here’s going to get us.”

  “That makes more sense,” Anne said, then actually scoffed, “But why would he want you?”

  “Why would you say something like that?” Kitty added, a slight growl in her voice.

  “N-no, I--”

  “Joan, honey, there’s no one here. Henry is dead.” Aragon told her, but she just shook her head.

  “He is here.” It came out weaker, fainter as lack of oxygen intake started to have an effect on her.

Gentle hands cupped her cheeks and she looked up at Aragon, who had a worried, but fiercely protective look on her face.

  “Eyes on me, darling,” Aragon said, “Follow my breathing. Like we’ve been practicing. In,” She took an exaggerated breath, “And out.” She exhaled.

Joan followed for a moment before her eyes darted behind Aragon, like she thought someone may be standing there. She looked back when fingers brushed her cheeks.

  “Ah, ah, eyes on me.” Aragon chided gently, stroking some of the young pianist’s hair back. “Can you take another breath for me?”

Joan went to at least try, but instead she yelped sharply when something wet pressed against her right arm. She swung her hand around and nailed the stagehand in the jaw, causing him to reel backwards.

Usually, she would be apologizing immediately, but this was a guy touching her. Terrified fury blazes in her glassy eyes.

  “Don’t touch me!” She snarled.

  “Joan, sweetie, calm down. Nobody is going to hurt you.” Aragon murmured and the anger snuffed out almost instantly upon hearing the velvety voice.

With the anger, goes the numbness and Joan’s skin burned intensely in pain. She whimpered and pressed her face against Aragon’s shoulder. For a moment, she thought she heard Anne and Kitty scoff.

Aragon began to wipe the scratches adorning her body, and the rag felt like it had dozens of tiny teeth sewn onto it, grinding deep into Joan’s flesh when the blood was cleaned off. At least it was better than the antiseptic, which had made the pianist hiss in pain from the sharp sting that flared through her skin.

By then, she was easing into that dissociative state that usually came after panic attacks. Everything was numb and felt so lucid, but her chest continued to burn with the pain of holding back tears and her much-needed anxiety attack after that traumatic experience. She desperately wanted to cry, to let out all the emotions that came from Henry surely attacking her, but no one would believe her. It would be silly to bother other queens with something that they didn’t even think really happened.

  “Are you okay?” Aragon asked softly, but Joan still jumped.

  “I…I think I am now.” Joan mumbled, “I’m really sorry. I don’t know what came over me..”

It was Henry. He came over her--literally.

  “It’s alright, sweetheart,” Aragon tucked a loose strand of hair behind the girl’s ear, “Just come find me if you’re having that bad of a flare up, alright? You shouldn’t hurt yourself.”

  “I-I didn’t mean to!” Joan yelped, her ears burning red. “I just…panicked…”

  “Remember that we’re always here for you, love.” Aragon kissed the top of the girl’s head.

Joan nodded and was helped to her feet by Aragon. Everything spun around a few times before clearing up, but she still had to grasp onto the queen’s shoulder for balance. 

  “I don’t think you should go on,” Aragon decided.

  “I can still perform!” Joan replied quickly, “I’m fine, really. Just give me a moment…or two…”

She wobbled and Aragon quickly grabbed her, grounding her. At this point, it’s not even the pain that’s making Joan feel like there’s cotton in her head, it’s the sight of Henry’s, whose face keeps flickering behind her eyelids.

  “Joan, I really don’t think--”

  “Please? I swear I’m fine. Besides, my dep isn’t here to take my place.” Joan said.

Aragon gave in, despite her nagging maternal worry for the young girl.

  “Okay, can we now discuss what the fuck Joan said?” Anne said loudly. “What’s up with that? Bringing up our abusive husband. Are you trying to make US have panic attacks, too?”

  “What? N-no!” Joan stammered. “I’m sorry, I-I don’t know what came over me… I shouldn’t have said that…”

  “Yeah, she shouldn’t have,” Anne growled, “But you still did. Asshole.”

  “Watch your tongue.” Aragon warned lowly.

  “Cut her some slack, Anne,” Cathy said. “She was freaking out.” 

  “She’s always freaking out!” Anne cried. “Seriously! And for over what? Some MD work?” She glared at Joan. “She doesn’t know what it’s like to suffer under Henry.”

But Joan did.

------

Joan was soaked in sweat by the end of the performance and her costume felt like it was glued to her clammy skin. It was strange, really. She didn’t even dance or sing or move around like the queens, she certainly shouldn't be out of energy, and yet here she was, damp, wet, and feeling leaky all over. The minute bows ended, she was off of that stage and making a beeline for the dressing room.

Joan struggled with her sweat-saturated costume for a few agonizingly long seconds. She wanted to change before Aragon came to check on her, seeing the queen made the guilt unbearable, but her process was halted when she felt a hand press against her back.

The intense fear came rushing back. It’s Henry’s hand. He’s here and he’s going to defile her again. He’s going to make her feel like an even worse person by making her enjoy it like last time. An unbidden whimper escapes the girl’s lips.

  “Joan?”

Whose voice was that? It didn’t sound like a man.

  “Joan.”

It was so soothing.

  “Joan, honey, it’s Jane.”

Jane? That seemed less believable than Henry being there… 

Joan snapped out of her daze, and that sent her reeling from a headrush. She probably would have collapsed if it weren’t for Jane looping an arm around her back and holding her upright. She pushed against the queen a little, but ultimately gave up.

Jane frowned deeply down at Joan and brushed some hair out of Joan’s face. Her eyes widened when she cupped one of Joan’s cheeks.

  “Oh dear. Sweetheart, you’re burning up.”

Joan blearily stared up at her for a moment, barely reacting. Then, she moved her head so it would rest on Jane’s soft chest. Shivers start to rack through her achy body, despite still feeling hot and sweaty.

  “You need to get home. Come on, let me help you out of that costume.”

Joan really didn’t want Jane to see her in her undergarments, she still didn’t even know why Jane was doing then when she was sure the queen hated her, but there wasn’t much she could do to resist. So she had no other choice but to let the woman undress her. She couldn’t stop herself from trembling, though.

  “Shh, shh,” Jane soothed when she heard the poor girl whimper again, “Deep breaths, honey. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m almost done.”

Jane couldn’t help but examine Joan once she got the damp costume off. Not in a sexual, needy way at all, but more in the way of a worried mother checking her child for injuries. 

Strange. She wondered what these scratches down her back were from.

  “C-can you turn around? Please?” Joan asked so softly Jane almost missed it.

  “Of course, love.”

Jane did as she was asked, giving the frightened girl some privacy to pull her regular clothes back on. She would have left the room completely if it wasn’t for the nagging feeling that she shouldn’t leave Joan alone.

The doorknob suddenly wiggled, and Jane didn’t react fast enough to stop some of the others from bursting inside. Anne was chiming loudly, which just about caused Joan to jump out of her skin.

  “Hsst!” Jane hissed, glaring at them and then nodding towards Joan, who was trembling even harder now.

  “Oh, woah! Shut your eyes, you guys! Don’t look at little Joey while she’s naked!” Anne yelled, smirking devilishly, which didn’t make the situation any better. By that point, though, Joan was gone.

  “Will you shut it?” Jane snapped, “You’re so loud. I’m sure the people left out in the auditorium can still hear you.”

  “I was just saying.” Anne fired back.

  “We weren’t going to gawk at her.” Cathy spoke up.

  “I definitely wouldn’t.” Kitty agreed. “Like there’s anything good to look at.” She and Anne giggled.

  “Joan?”

Jane was turned away from the queens and now knelt down in front of Joan, who had managed to wrestle on her clothing (although her shirt was definitely inside out). The girl’s eyes were glazed over and she doesn’t even seem to acknowledge anyone anymore. She was lost in a trance of terror.

  “Joan?” Jane tried again, this time louder.

Nothing. Joan continued to just tremble and heave her breaths. Jane picked up one of her hands and placed it against her chest, something she usually only did for Kitty. Kitty noticed this and sneered in envy.

  “Joan, can you feel that? That’s my heartbeat. Try to use it to ground yourself, honey.” Jane murmured, rubbing her thumbs over the girl’s knuckles. “You are here. You’re safe, I promise.”

But she wasn’t.

  “Joan?”

Joan wheezed, and then her eyes fluttered shut.

  “Joan!”

The young pianist fell unconscious into Jane’s arms.

[aboveallarescuer]

How prophecies, dreams and magical intuition drive Dany’s story

As I was rereading ASOIAF, I made it my goal to compile all* the book passages demonstrating either certain key attributes of Daenerys Targaryen (e.g. that she's compassionate and smart) or aspects of hers that are usually overstated (e.g. that she's ambitious and prophecy-driven).  Doing such a task may seem exaggerated, but I'd argue it's not, for many, many misconceptions about Dany have become widespread in light of the show's final season's events (and even before).

It must be acknowledged that it can be tricky to reference, say, ADWD passages to counter-argument how she was depicted in season eight (which allegedly follows ADOS events). Dany will have had plenty of character development in the span of two books. However, whatever happens to Dany in the next two books, I would argue that there is more than enough material to conclude that her show counterpart was made to fall for flaws that she (for the most part) never had and actions that she (for the most part) would never take. (and that's not even considering the double standards and the contradictions with what had been shown from show!Dany up until then, but that's obviously out of the scope of these lists)

Another objection to the purpose of these lists is that Game of Thrones is different from A Song of Ice and Fire and should be analyzed on its own, which is a fair point. However, the show is also an adaptation of these books, which begs the questions: why did they change Dany's character? Why did they overfocus on negative traits of hers or depicted them as negative when they weren't supposed to be or gave her negative traits that were never hers to begin with? Another fact that undermines the show=/=books argument is that most people think that the show's ending will be the books', albeit only in broad strokes and in different circumstances. As a result, people's perception of Dany is inevitably influenced by the show, which is a shame.

I hope these lists can be useful for whoever wants to find book passages to defend (or even simply explore different facets of) Dany's character in metas or conversations.

*Well, at least all the passages that I could find in her chapters, which is no guarantee that the effort was perfectly executed, but I did my best.

Also, people could interpret certain passages differently and then come up with a different collection of passages if they ever attempted to make one, so I'm not saying that this list is completely objective (nor that there could ever be one).

Also, some passages have been cut short according to whether they were, IMO, relevant to the specific topic of the list they're in, so the context surrounding them may not always be clear (always read the books and use asearchoficeandfire). Many of them appear in different lists, sometimes fully referenced, sometimes not.

I listed the passages back to front because I felt doing so highlighted Dany's evolution better.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To justify the existence of this list, let's see examples of widespread opinions that I feel misrepresent Daenerys Targaryen:

The more absolute power she consolidated, the more she was lauded as a selfless hero. [...] Being hailed as a savior for so long has made her fall for that narrative more than anyone. She’s come to believe she is a goddess among men. So when she slides into doing the wrong thing, it becomes easy for her to justify why -- if she did it -- it must be right. [...] It’s almost impossible to imagine walking through fire and experiencing the intense worship she’s known without coming to think you have superhuman rights to decide the future of the world. (The Take)

~

The gods flipped a coin for Dany that can — and does — fall either way. But it tends to come up good when the people love her, and bad when the people don’t. She’s repeatedly saying I have a destiny. I will park my ass on the Iron Throne. Here’s how it’s going to work: You’re going to bend the knee, or you’re going to die. I’d prefer if you loved me. I’ll accept that you fear me. A bent knee or your death. (x)

~

She can and does dehumanize those who stand between her and her (perceived) destiny. (x)

I would argue these claims certainly cannot be made after reading the books (some can't even after watching the show's first 71 episodes, but the show can be all over the place and ... I digress), so take a look at these passages.

NOTE: I didn't include anything from ACOK Dany IV because she's receiving the prophecies rather than reacting to or acting based on them. I preferred to focus on how they influence her characterization and felt that that chapter wouldn't serve for that purpose. The dragon dreams on AGOT, however, are often interwoven with her reactions and the strength and confidence she usually derives from them, so I added them.

A Dance with Dragons

ADWD Daenerys X

“To go north, you must journey south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward, you must go back. To touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow.”

“Quaithe?” Dany called. “Where are you, Quaithe?”

Then she saw. Her mask is made of starlight. “Remember who you are, Daenerys,” the stars whispered in a woman’s voice. “The dragons know. Do you?”

~

Bells, Dany thought, smiling, remembering Khal Drogo, her sun-and-stars, and the bells he braided into his hair. When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east, when the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves, when my womb quickens again and I bear a living child, Khal Drogo will return to me.

~

She called until her voice was hoarse ... and Drogon came, snorting plumes of smoke. The grass bowed down before him. Dany leapt onto his back. She stank of blood and sweat and fear, but none of that mattered. “To go forward I must go back,” she said. Her bare legs tightened around the dragon’s neck. She kicked him, and Drogon threw himself into the sky. Her whip was gone, so she used her hands and feet and turned him north by east, the way the scout had gone.

ADWD Daenerys IX

“Khrazz believes the hearts of brave men make him stronger,” said Hizdahr. Jhiqui murmured her approval. Dany had once eaten a stallion’s heart to give strength to her unborn son … but that had not saved Rhaego when the maegi murdered him in her womb. Three treasons shall you know. She was the first, Jorah was the second, Brown Ben Plumm the third. Was she done with betrayals?

ADWD Daenerys VIII

“The Yunkai’i grow weaker as well. The bloody flux has taken hold amongst the Tolosi, it is said, and spread across the river to the third Ghiscari legion.”

The pale mare. Daenerys sighed. Quaithe warned me of the pale mare’s coming. She told me of the Dornish prince as well, the sun’s son. She told me much and more, but all in riddles. “I cannot rely on plague to save me from my enemies.[”]

~

Every child knows its mother, Dany thought. When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves … “They call to me. Come.”

~

Dany slid her arms around him and let him have his way. Drunk as he was, she knew he would not be inside her long.

Nor was he. Afterward he nuzzled at her ear and whispered, “Gods grant that we have made a son tonight.”

The words of Mirri Maz Duur rang in her head. When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before. The meaning was plain enough; Khal Drogo was as like to return from the dead as she was to bear a living child. But there are some secrets she could not bring herself to share, even with a husband, so she let Hizdahr zo Loraq keep his hopes.

ADWD Daenerys VII

She found herself remembering her nightmare. Sometimes there is truth in dreams. Could Hizdahr zo Loraq be working for the warlocks, was that what the dream had meant? Could the dream have been a sending? Were the gods telling her to put Hizdahr aside and wed this Dornish prince instead? Something tickled at her memory. “Ser Barristan, what are the arms of House Martell?”

“A sun in splendor, transfixed by a spear.”

The sun’s son. A shiver went through her. “Shadows and whispers.” What else had Quaithe said? The pale mare and the sun’s son. There was a lion in it too, and a dragon. Or am I the dragon? “Beware the perfumed seneschal.” That she remembered. “Dreams and prophecies. Why must they always be in riddles? I hate this. Oh, leave me, ser. Tomorrow is my wedding day.”

ADWD Daenerys VI

“Captain, you made mention of four free companies. We know of only three. The Windblown, the Long Lances, and the Company of the Cat.”

“Ser Grandfather knows how to count. The Second Sons have gone over to the Yunkai’i.” Daario turned his head and spat. “That’s for Brown Ben Plumm. When next I see his ugly face I will open him from throat to groin and rip out his black heart.”

Dany tried to speak and found no words. She remembered Ben’s face the last time she had seen it. It was a warm face, a face I trusted. Dark skin and white hair, the broken nose, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. Even the dragons had been fond of old Brown Ben, who liked to boast that he had a drop of dragon blood himself. Three treasons will you know. Once for gold and once for blood and once for love. Was Plumm the third treason, or the second? And what did that make Ser Jorah, her gruff old bear? Would she never have a friend that she could trust? What good are prophecies if you cannot make sense of them? If I marry Hizdahr before the sun comes up, will all these armies melt away like morning dew and let me rule in peace?

~

“I thought you would be the one to betray me. Once for blood and once for gold and once for love, the warlocks said. I thought … I never thought Brown Ben. Even my dragons seemed to trust him.” She clutched her captain by the shoulders. “Promise me that you will never turn against me. I could not bear that. Promise me.”

ADWD Daenerys V

His bitterness dismayed her, so much so that Dany found herself wondering if the grizzled Pentoshi could be one of her three betrayers. No, he is only an old man, far from home and sick at heart.

~

“We must pray,” said the Green Grace. “The gods sent this man to us. He comes as a harbinger. He comes as a sign.”

“A sign of what?” asked Dany.

“A sign of wroth and ruin.”

She did not want to believe that. “He was one man. One sick man with an arrow in his leg. A horse brought him here, not a god.” A pale mare. Dany rose abruptly. “I thank you for your counsel and for all that you did for this poor man.”

~

“Your Worship, I beg you, take the noble Hizdahr for your king at once. He can speak with the Wise Masters, make a peace for us.”

“On what terms?” Beware the perfumed seneschal, Quaithe had said. The masked woman had foretold the coming of the pale mare, was she right about the noble Reznak too?

ADWD Daenerys IV

“...In him the prophecies shall be fulfilled, and your enemies will melt away like snow.”

He shall be the stallion that mounts the world. Dany knew how it went with prophecies. They were made of words, and words were wind. There would be no son for Loraq, no heir to unite dragon and harpy. When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east, when the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. Only then would her womb quicken once again …

~

Dany folded her hands together. “Words are wind, even words like love and peace. I put more trust in deeds. In my Seven Kingdoms, knights go on quests to prove themselves worthy of the maiden that they love. They seek for magic swords, for chests of gold, for crowns stolen from a dragon’s hoard.”

~

Beware the perfumed seneschal. Has Reznak made common cause with Hizdahr and the Green Grace and set some trap to snare me?

ADWD Daenerys II

“...Hear me, Daenerys Targaryen. The glass candles are burning. Soon comes the pale mare, and after her the others. Kraken and dark flame, lion and griffin, the sun’s son and the mummer’s dragon. Trust none of them. Remember the Undying. Beware the perfumed seneschal.”

“Reznak? Why should I fear him?” Dany rose from the pool. Water trickled down her legs, and gooseflesh covered her arms in the cool night air. “If you have some warning for me, speak plainly. What do you want of me, Quaithe?”

[...] “To show you the way.”

“I remember the way. I go north to go south, east to go west, back to go forward. And to touch the light I have to pass beneath the shadow.” She squeezed the water from her silvery hair. “I am half-sick of riddling. In Qarth I was a beggar, but here I am a queen. I command you—”

“Daenerys. Remember the Undying. Remember who you are.”

“The blood of the dragon.” But my dragons are roaring in the darkness. “I remember the Undying. Child of three, they called me. Three mounts they promised me, three fires, and three treasons. One for blood and one for gold and one for …”

~

When Reznak and Skahaz appeared, she found herself looking at them askance, mindful of the three treasons. Beware the perfumed seneschal. She sniffed suspiciously at Reznak mo Reznak. I could command the Shavepate to arrest him and put him to the question. Would that forestall the prophecy? Or would some other betrayer take his place? Prophecies are treacherous, she reminded herself, and Reznak may be no more than he appears.

ADWD Daenerys I

There were times when Dany wondered if that razor might not be better saved for Reznak’s throat. He was a useful man, but she liked him little and trusted him less. The Undying of Qarth had told her she would be thrice betrayed. Mirri Maz Duur had been the first, Ser Jorah the second. Would Reznak be the third? The Shavepate? Daario? Or will it be someone I would never suspect, Ser Barristan or Grey Worm or Missandei?

A Storm of Swords

ASOS Daenerys VI

Across the room, Grey Worm wore the plain uniform of the Unsullied, his spiked bronze cap beneath one arm. These at least she could rely on, or so she hoped ... and Brown Ben Plumm as well, solid Ben with his grey-white hair and weathered face, so beloved of her dragons. And Daario beside him, glittering in gold. Daario and Ben Plumm, Grey Worm, Irri, Jhiqui, Missandei ... as she looked at them Dany found herself wondering which of them would betray her next.

The dragon has three heads. There are two men in the world who I can trust, if I can find them. I will not be alone then. We will be three against the world, like Aegon and his sisters.

~

“Daenerys,” he said, “I have loved you.”

And there it was. Three treasons will you know. Once for blood and once for gold and once for love.

~

She was Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt, khaleesi and queen, Mother of Dragons, slayer of warlocks, breaker of chains, and there was no one in the world that she could trust.

ASOS Daenerys V

“If you were grown,” she told Drogon, scratching him between the horns, “I’d fly you over the walls and melt that harpy down to slag.” But it would be years before her dragons were large enough to ride. And when they are, who shall ride them? The dragon has three heads, but I have only one.

~

Could I love Daario? What would it mean, if I took him into my bed? Would that make him one of the heads of the dragon? Ser Jorah would be angry, she knew, but he was the one who’d said she had to take two husbands. Perhaps I should marry them both and be done with it.

~

“Khaleesi, it was only at the start, before I came to know you ... before I came to love ...”

“Do not say that word!” She backed away from him. “How could you? What did the Usurper promise you? Gold, was it gold?” The Undying had said she would be betrayed twice more, once for gold and once for love. “Tell me what you were promised?”

“Varys said ... I might go home.” He bowed his head.

I was going to take you home! [...] Was there no one she could trust, no one to keep her safe?

ASOS Daenerys IV

Dany found herself wondering whether he was right about Daario. She felt very lonely all of a sudden. Mirri Maz Duur had promised that she would never bear a living child. House Targaryen will end with me. That made her sad. “You must be my children,” she told the dragons, “my three fierce children. Arstan says dragons live longer than men, so you will go on after I am dead.”

~

Ser Jorah urged her to go, but Dany remembered a dream she had dreamed in the House of the Undying. “They will not hurt me,” she told him. “They are my children, Jorah.” She laughed, put her heels into her horse, and rode to them, the bells in her hair ringing sweet victory. She trotted, then cantered, then broke into a gallop, her braid streaming behind. The freed slaves parted before her. “Mother,” they called from a hundred throats, a thousand, ten thousand. “Mother,” they sang, their fingers brushing her legs as she flew by. “Mother, Mother, Mother!”

ASOS Daenerys III

That night she dreamt that she was Rhaegar, riding to the Trident. But she was mounted on a dragon, not a horse. When she saw the Usurper’s rebel host across the river they were armored all in ice, but she bathed them in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent. Some small part of her knew that she was dreaming, but another part exulted. This is how it was meant to be. The other was a nightmare, and I have only now awakened.

She woke suddenly in the darkness of her cabin, still flush with triumph. Balerion seemed to wake with her, and she heard the faint creak of wood, water lapping against the hull, a footfall on the deck above her head. And something else.

Someone was in the cabin with her.

“Irri? Jhiqui? Where are you?” Her handmaids did not respond. It was too black to see, but she could hear them breathing. “Jorah, is that you?”

“They sleep,” a woman said. “They all sleep.” The voice was very close. “Even dragons must sleep.”

She is standing over me. “Who’s there?” Dany peered into the darkness. She thought she could see a shadow, the faintest outline of a shape. “What do you want of me?”

“Remember. To go north, you must journey south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward you must go back, and to touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow.”

“Quaithe?” Dany sprung from the bed and threw open the door. Pale yellow lantern light flooded the cabin, and Irri and Jhiqui sat up sleepily. “Khaleesi?” murmured Jhiqui, rubbing her eyes. Viserion woke and opened his jaws, and a puff of flame brightened even the darkest corners. There was no sign of a woman in a red lacquer mask. “Khaleesi, are you unwell?” asked Jhiqui.

“A dream.” Dany shook her head. “I dreamed a dream, no more. Go back to sleep. All of us, go back to sleep.” Yet try as she might, sleep would not come again.

ASOS Daenerys I

They are my children, she told herself, and if the maegi spoke truly, they are the only children I am ever like to have.

~

“Sit, good ser, and tell me what is troubling you.”

“Three things.” Ser Jorah sat. “Strong Belwas. This Arstan Whitebeard. And Illyrio Mopatis, who sent them.”

Again? Dany pulled the coverlet higher and tugged one end over her shoulder. “And why is that?”

“The warlocks in Qarth told you that you would be betrayed three times,” the exile knight reminded her, as Viserion and Rhaegal began to snap and claw at each other.

“Once for blood and once for gold and once for love.” Dany was not like to forget. “Mirri Maz Duur was the first.”

“Which means two traitors yet remain ... and now these two appear. I find that troubling, yes. Never forget, Robert offered a lordship to the man who slays you.”

~

“My queen,” he said, “and the bravest, sweetest, and most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Daenerys—”

“Your Grace!”

“Your Grace,” he conceded, “the dragon has three heads, remember? You have wondered at that, ever since you heard it from the warlocks in the House of Dust. Well, here’s your meaning: Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar, ridden by Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya. The three-headed dragon of House Targaryen—three dragons, and three riders.”

“Yes,” said Dany, “but my brothers are dead.”

“Rhaenys and Visenya were Aegon’s wives as well as his sisters. You have no brothers, but you can take husbands. And I tell you truly, Daenerys, there is no man in all the world who will ever be half so true to you as me.”

A Clash of Kings

ACOK Daenerys V

Dany found her thoughts returning to the Palace of Dust once more, as the tongue returns to a space left by a missing tooth. Child of three, they had called her, daughter of death, slayer of lies, bride of fire. So many threes. Three fires, three mounts to ride, three treasons. “The dragon has three heads,” she sighed. “Do you know what that means, Jorah?”

“Your Grace? The sigil of House Targaryen is a three-headed dragon, red on black.”

“I know that. But there are no three-headed dragons.”

“The three heads were Aegon and his sisters.”

“Visenya and Rhaenys,” she recalled. “I am descended from Aegon and Rhaenys through their son Aenys and their grandson Jaehaerys.”

“Blue lips speak only lies, isn’t that what Xaro told you? Why do you care what the warlocks whispered? All they wanted was to suck the life from you, you know that now.”

“Perhaps,” she said reluctantly. “Yet the things I saw ...”
“A dead man in the prow of a ship, a blue rose, a banquet of blood ... what does any of it mean, Khaleesi? A mummer’s dragon, you said. What is a mummer’s dragon, pray?”
“A cloth dragon on poles,” Dany explained. “Mummers use them in their follies, to give the heroes something to fight.”

Ser Jorah frowned.

Dany could not let it go. “His is the song of ice and fire, my brother said. I’m certain it was my brother. Not Viserys, Rhaegar. He had a harp with silver strings.”

Ser Jorah’s frown deepened until his eyebrows came together. “Prince Rhaegar played such a harp,” he conceded. “You saw him?”

She nodded. “There was a woman in a bed with a babe at her breast. My brother said the babe was the prince that was promised and told her to name him Aegon.”

“Prince Aegon was Rhaegar’s heir by Elia of Dorne,” Ser Jorah said. “But if he was this prince that was promised, the promise was broken along with his skull when the Lannisters dashed his head against a wall.”

“I remember,” Dany said sadly. “They murdered Rhaegar’s daughter as well, the little princess. Rhaenys, she was named, like Aegon’s sister. There was no Visenya, but he said the dragon has three heads. What is the song of ice and fire?”

“It’s no song I’ve ever heard.”

“I went to the warlocks hoping for answers, but instead they’ve left me with a hundred new questions.”

~

“The great cog Saduleon is berthed at the end of the quay, and the galleys Summer Sun and Joso’s Prank are anchored beyond the breakwater.”

Three heads has the dragon, Dany thought, wondering. “I shall tell my people to make ready to depart at once. But the ships that bring me home must bear different names.”

“As you wish,” said Arstan. “What names would you prefer?”

“Vhagar,” Daenerys told him. “Meraxes. And Balerion. Paint the names on their hulls in golden letters three feet high, Arstan. I want every man who sees them to know the dragons are returned.”

ACOK Daenerys III

“No trick,” a woman said in the Common Tongue.

Dany had not noticed Quaithe in the crowd, yet there she stood, eyes wet and shiny behind the implacable red lacquer mask. “What mean you, my lady?”

“Half a year gone, that man could scarcely wake fire from dragonglass. He had some small skill with powders and wildfire, sufficient to entrance a crowd while his cutpurses did their work. He could walk across hot coals and make burning roses bloom in the air, but he could no more aspire to climb the fiery ladder than a common fisherman could hope to catch a kraken in his nets.”

[...] “And now?”

“And now his powers grow, Khaleesi. And you are the cause of it.”

“Me?” She laughed. “How could that be?”

The woman stepped closer and lay two fingers on Dany’s wrist. “You are the Mother of Dragons, are you not?”

~

“You must leave this city soon, Daenerys Targaryen, or you will never be permitted to leave it at all.”

Dany’s wrist still tingled where Quaithe had touched her. “Where would you have me go?” she asked.

“To go north, you must journey south. To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward you must go back, and to touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow.”

Asshai, Dany thought. She would have me go to Asshai. “Will the Asshai’i give me an army?” she demanded. “Will there be gold for me in Asshai? Will there be ships? What is there in Asshai that I will not find in Qarth?”

“Truth,” said the woman in the mask. And bowing, she faded back into the crowd.

~

The comet led me to Qarth for a reason. I had hoped to find my army here, but it seems that will not be. What else remains, I ask myself?” I am afraid, she realized, but I must be brave. “Come the morrow, you must go to Pyat Pree.”

ACOK Daenerys II

Last of the three seekers to depart was Quaithe the shadowbinder. From her Dany received only a warning. “Beware,” the woman in the red lacquer mask said.

“Of whom?”

“Of all. They shall come day and night to see the wonder that has been born again into the world, and when they see they shall lust. For dragons are fire made flesh, and fire is power.”

When Quaithe too was gone, Ser Jorah said, “She speaks truly, my queen ... though I like her no more than the others.”

“I do not understand her.” Pyat and Xaro had showered Dany with promises from the moment they first glimpsed her dragons, declaring themselves her loyal servants in all things, but from Quaithe she had gotten only the rare cryptic word. And it disturbed her that she had never seen the woman’s face. Remember Mirri Maz Duur, she told herself. Remember treachery.

~

As the handmaids toweled her dry and wrapped her in a sandsilk robe, Dany’s thoughts went to the three who had sought her out in the City of Bones. The Bleeding Star led me to Qarth for a purpose. Here I will find what I need, if I have the strength to take what is offered, and the wisdom to avoid the traps and snares. If the gods mean for me to conquer, they will provide, they will send me a sign, and if not ... if not ...

ACOK Daenerys I

The Dothraki named the comet shierak qiya, the Bleeding Star. The old men muttered that it omened ill, but Daenerys Targaryen had seen it first on the night she had burned Khal Drogo, the night her dragons had awakened. It is the herald of my coming, she told herself as she gazed up into the night sky with wonder in her heart. The gods have sent it to show me the way.

Yet when she put the thought into words, her handmaid Doreah quailed. “That way lies the red lands, Khaleesi. A grim place and terrible, the riders say.���

“The way the comet points is the way we must go,” Dany insisted ... though in truth, it was the only way open to her.

~

Dany looked at the horizon with despair. They had lost a third of their number, and still the waste stretched before them, bleak and red and endless. The comet mocks my hopes, she thought, lifting her eyes to where it scored the sky. Have I crossed half the world and seen the birth of dragons only to die with them in this hard hot desert? She would not believe it.

~

“Ghosts,” Irri muttered. “Terrible ghosts. We must not stay here, Khaleesi, this is their place.”

“I fear no ghosts. Dragons are more powerful than ghosts.” And figs are more important. “Go with Jhiqui and find me some clean sand for a bath, and trouble me no more with silly talk.”

~

Khal Drogo had been her sun-and-stars, her first, and perhaps he must be her last. The maegi Mirri Maz Duur had sworn she should never bear a living child, and what man would want a barren wife? And what man could hope to rival Drogo, who had died with his hair uncut and rode now through the night lands, the stars his khalasar?

A Game of Thrones

AGOT Daenerys X

Bound hand and foot, Mirri Maz Duur watched from the dust with disquiet in her black eyes. “It is not enough to kill a horse,” she told Dany. “By itself, the blood is nothing. You do not have the words to make a spell, nor the wisdom to find them. Do you think bloodmagic is a game for children? You call me maegi as if it were a curse, but all it means is wise. You are a child, with a child’s ignorance. Whatever you mean to do, it will not work. Loose me from these bonds and I will help you.”

“I am tired of the maegi’s braying,” Dany told Jhogo. He took his whip to her, and after that the godswife kept silent.

~

[“]Please, Khaleesi. I know what you intend. Do not. Do not.”

“I must,” Dany told him. She touched his face, fondly, sadly. “You do not understand.”

“I understand that you loved him,” Ser Jorah said in a voice thick with despair. “I loved my lady wife once, yet I did not die with her. You are my queen, my sword is yours, but do not ask me to stand aside as you climb on Drogo’s pyre. I will not watch you burn.”

“Is that what you fear?” Dany kissed him lightly on his broad forehead. “I am not such a child as that, sweet ser.”

“You do not mean to die with him? You swear it, my queen?”

“I swear it,” she said in the Common Tongue of the Seven Kingdoms that by rights were hers.

~

The Dothraki were muttering and giving her strange sideways looks from the corners of their dark almond eyes. They thought her mad, Dany realized. Perhaps she was. She would know soon enough. If I look back I am lost.

~

“Bring my eggs,” Dany commanded her handmaids. Something in her voice made them run.

Ser Jorah took her arm. “My queen, Drogo will have no use for dragon’s eggs in the night lands. Better to sell them in Asshai. Sell one and we can buy a ship to take us back to the Free Cities. Sell all three and you will be a wealthy woman all your days.”

“They were not given to me to sell,” Dany told him.

She climbed the pyre herself to place the eggs around her sun-and-stars. The black beside his heart, under his arm. The green beside his head, his braid coiled around it. The cream-and-gold down between his legs.

~

As she climbed down off the pyre, she noticed Mirri Maz Duur watching her. “You are mad,” the godswife said hoarsely.

“Is it so far from madness to wisdom?” Dany asked. “Ser Jorah, take this maegi and bind her to the pyre.”

~

“I thank you, Mirri Maz Duur,” she said, “for the lessons you have taught me.”

“You will not hear me scream,” Mirri responded as the oil dripped from her hair and soaked her clothing.

“I will,” Dany said, “but it is not your screams I want, only your life. I remember what you told me. Only death can pay for life.” Mirri Maz Duur opened her mouth, but made no reply. As she stepped away, Dany saw that the contempt was gone from the maegi’s flat black eyes; in its place was something that might have been fear.

~

Then there was nothing to be done but watch the sun and look for the first star.

When a horselord dies, his horse is slain with him, so he might ride proud into the night lands. The bodies are burned beneath the open sky, and the khal rises on his fiery steed to take his place among the stars. The more fiercely the man burned in life, the brighter his star will shine in the darkness.

Jhogo spied it first. “There,” he said in a hushed voice. Dany looked and saw it, low in the east. The first star was a comet, burning red. Bloodred; fire red; the dragon’s tail. She could not have asked for a stronger sign.

Dany took the torch from Aggo’s hand and thrust it between the logs. The oil took the fire at once, the brush and dried grass a heartbeat later. Tiny flames went darting up the wood like swift red mice, skating over the oil and leaping from bark to branch to leaf. A rising heat puffed at her face, soft and sudden as a lover’s breath, but in seconds it had grown too hot to bear. Dany stepped backward. The wood crackled, louder and louder.

[...] She could smell the odor of burning flesh, no different than horseflesh roasting in a firepit. The pyre roared in the deepening dusk like some great beast, drowning out the fainter sound of Mirri Maz Duur’s screaming and sending up long tongues of flame to lick at the belly of the night. As the smoke grew thicker, the Dothraki backed away, coughing. Huge orange gouts of fire unfurled their banners in that hellish wind, the logs hissing and cracking, glowing cinders rising on the smoke to float away into the dark like so many newborn fireflies. The heat beat at the air with great red wings, driving the Dothraki back, driving off even Mormont, but Dany stood her ground. She was the blood of the dragon, and the fire was in her.

She had sensed the truth of it long ago, Dany thought as she took a step closer to the conflagration, but the brazier had not been hot enough. The flames writhed before her like the women who had danced at her wedding, whirling and singing and spinning their yellow and orange and crimson veils, fearsome to behold, yet lovely, so lovely, alive with heat. Dany opened her arms to them, her skin flushed and glowing. This is a wedding, too, she thought. Mirri Maz Duur had fallen silent. The godswife thought her a child, but children grow, and children learn.

Another step, and Dany could feel the heat of the sand on the soles of her feet, even through her sandals. Sweat ran down her thighs and between her breasts and in rivulets over her cheeks, where tears had once run. Ser Jorah was shouting behind her, but he did not matter anymore, only the fire mattered. The flames were so beautiful, the loveliest things she had ever seen, each one a sorcerer robed in yellow and orange and scarlet, swirling long smoky cloaks. She saw crimson firelions and great yellow serpents and unicorns made of pale blue flame; she saw fish and foxes and monsters, wolves and bright birds and flowering trees, each more beautiful than the last. She saw a horse, a great grey stallion limned in smoke, its flowing mane a nimbus of blue flame. Yes, my love, my sun-and-stars, yes, mount now, ride now.

Her vest had begun to smolder, so Dany shrugged it off and let it fall to the ground. The painted leather burst into sudden flame as she skipped closer to the fire, her breasts bare to the blaze, streams of milk flowing from her red and swollen nipples. Now, she thought, now, and for an instant she glimpsed Khal Drogo before her, mounted on his smoky stallion, a flaming lash in his hand. He smiled, and the whip snaked down at the pyre, hissing.

She heard a crack, the sound of shattering stone. The platform of wood and brush and grass began to shift and collapse in upon itself. Bits of burning wood slid down at her, and Dany was showered with ash and cinders. And something else came crashing down, bouncing and rolling, to land at her feet; a chunk of curved rock, pale and veined with gold, broken and smoking. The roaring filled the world, yet dimly through the firefall Dany heard women shriek and children cry out in wonder.

Only death can pay for life.

And there came a second crack, loud and sharp as thunder, and the smoke stirred and whirled around her and the pyre shifted, the logs exploding as the fire touched their secret hearts. She heard the screams of frightened horses, and the voices of the Dothraki raised in shouts of fear and terror, and Ser Jorah calling her name and cursing. No, she wanted to shout to him, no, my good knight, do not fear for me. The fire is mine. I am Daenerys Stormborn, daughter of dragons, bride of dragons, mother of dragons, don’t you see? Don’t you SEE? With a belch of flame and smoke that reached thirty feet into the sky, the pyre collapsed and came down around her. Unafraid, Dany stepped forward into the firestorm, calling to her children.

The third crack was as loud and sharp as the breaking of the world.

When the fire died at last and the ground became cool enough to walk upon, Ser Jorah Mormont found her amidst the ashes, surrounded by blackened logs and bits of glowing ember and the burnt bones of man and woman and stallion. She was naked, covered with soot, her clothes turned to ash, her beautiful hair all crisped away ... yet she was unhurt.

The cream-and-gold dragon was suckling at her left breast, the green-and-bronze at the right. Her arms cradled them close. The black-and-scarlet beast was draped across her shoulders, its long sinuous neck coiled under her chin. When it saw Jorah, it raised its head and looked at him with eyes as red as coals.

Wordless, the knight fell to his knees. The men of her khas came up behind him. Jhogo was the first to lay his arakh at her feet. “Blood of my blood,” he murmured, pushing his face to the smoking earth. “Blood of my blood,” she heard Aggo echo. “Blood of my blood,” Rakharo shouted.

And after them came her handmaids, and then the others, all the Dothraki, men and women and children, and Dany had only to look at their eyes to know that they were hers now, today and tomorrow and forever, hers as they had never been Drogo’s.

As Daenerys Targaryen rose to her feet, her black hissed, pale smoke venting from its mouth and nostrils. The other two pulled away from her breasts and added their voices to the call, translucent wings unfolding and stirring the air, and for the first time in hundreds of years, the night came alive with the music of dragons.

AGOT Daenerys IX

Wings shadowed her fever dreams.


“You don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?”

She was walking down a long hall beneath high stone arches. She could not look behind her, must not look behind her. There was a door ahead of her, tiny with distance, but even from afar, she saw that it was painted red. She walked faster, and her bare feet left bloody footprints on the stone.

“You don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?”

She saw sunlight on the Dothraki sea, the living plain, rich with the smells of earth and death. Wind stirred the grasses, and they rippled like water. Drogo held her in strong arms, and his hand stroked her sex and opened her and woke that sweet wetness that was his alone, and the stars smiled down on them, stars in a daylight sky. “Home,” she whispered as he entered her and filled her with his seed, but suddenly the stars were gone, and across the blue sky swept the great wings, and the world took flame.

“... don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?”

Ser Jorah’s face was drawn and sorrowful. “Rhaegar was the last dragon,” he told her. He warmed translucent hands over a glowing brazier where stone eggs smouldered red as coals. One moment he was there and the next he was fading, his flesh colorless, less substantial than the wind. “The last dragon,” he whispered, thin as a wisp, and was gone. She felt the dark behind her, and the red door seemed farther away than ever.

“... don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?”

Viserys stood before her, screaming. “The dragon does not beg, slut. You do not command the dragon. I am the dragon, and I will be crowned.” The molten gold trickled down his face like wax, burning deep channels in his flesh. “I am the dragon and I will be crowned!” he shrieked, and his fingers snapped like snakes, biting at her nipples, pinching, twisting, even as his eyes burst and ran like jelly down seared and blackened cheeks.

“... don’t want to wake the dragon ... ”

The red door was so far ahead of her, and she could feel the icy breath behind, sweeping up on her. If it caught her she would die a death that was more than death, howling forever alone in the darkness. She began to run.

“... don’t want to wake the dragon ...”

She could feel the heat inside her, a terrible burning in her womb. Her son was tall and proud, with Drogo’s copper skin and her own silver-gold hair, violet eyes shaped like almonds. And he smiled for her and began to lift his hand toward hers, but when he opened his mouth the fire poured out. She saw his heart burning through his chest, and in an instant he was gone, consumed like a moth by a candle, turned to ash. She wept for her child, the promise of a sweet mouth on her breast, but her tears turned to steam as they touched her skin.

“... want to wake the dragon ...”

Ghosts lined the hallway, dressed in the faded raiment of kings. In their hands were swords of pale fire. They had hair of silver and hair of gold and hair of platinum white, and their eyes were opal and amethyst, tourmaline and jade. “Faster,” they cried, “faster, faster.” She raced, her feet melting the stone wherever they touched. “Faster!” the ghosts cried as one, and she screamed and threw herself forward. A great knife of pain ripped down her back, and she felt her skin tear open and smelled the stench of burning blood and saw the shadow of wings. And Daenerys Targaryen flew.

“... wake the dragon ...”

The door loomed before her, the red door, so close, so close, the hall was a blur around her, the cold receding behind. And now the stone was gone and she flew across the Dothraki sea, high and higher, the green rippling beneath, and all that lived and breathed fled in terror from the shadow of her wings. She could smell home, she could see it, there, just beyond that door, green fields and great stone houses and arms to keep her warm, there. She threw open the door.

“... the dragon ...”

And saw her brother Rhaegar, mounted on a stallion as black as his armor. Fire glimmered red through the narrow eye slit of his helm. “The last dragon,” Ser Jorah’s voice whispered faintly. “The last, the last.” Dany lifted his polished black visor. The face within was her own.

~

Flakes of ash drifted upward from a brazier, and Dany followed them with her eyes through the smoke hole above. Flying, she thought. I had wings, I was flying. But it was only a dream. “Help me,” she whispered, struggling to rise. “Bring me ...” Her voice was raw as a wound, and she could not think what she wanted. Why did she hurt so much? It was as if her body had been torn to pieces and remade from the scraps. “I want ...”

“Yes, Khaleesi.” Quick as that Jhiqui was gone, bolting from the tent, shouting. Dany needed ... something ... someone ... what? It was important, she knew. It was the only thing in the world that mattered. She rolled onto her side and got an elbow under her, fighting the blanket tangled about her legs. It was so hard to move. The world swam dizzily. I have to ...

They found her on the carpet, crawling toward her dragon eggs. [...]

“I must,” she tried to tell them, “I have to ...”

“ ... sleep, Princess,” Ser Jorah said.

“No,” Dany said. “Please. Please.”

~

“Bring ... I want to hold ...”

“Yes?” the maegi asked. “What is it you wish, Khaleesi?”


“Bring me ... egg ... dragon’s egg ... please ... ” Her lashes turned to lead, and she was too weary to hold them up.

When she woke the third time, a shaft of golden sunlight was pouring through the smoke hole of the tent, and her arms were wrapped around a dragon’s egg. It was the pale one, its scales the color of butter cream, veined with whorls of gold and bronze, and Dany could feel the heat of it. Beneath her bedsilks, a fine sheen of perspiration covered her bare skin. Dragondew, she thought. Her fingers trailed lightly across the surface of the shell, tracing the wisps of gold, and deep in the stone she felt something twist and stretch in response. It did not frighten her. All her fear was gone, burned away.

~

My son is dead, she thought as Jhiqui left the tent. She had known somehow. She had known since she woke the first time to Jhiqui’s tears. No, she had known before she woke. Her dream came back to her, sudden and vivid, and she remembered the tall man with the copper skin and long silver-gold braid, bursting into flame.

She should weep, she knew, yet her eyes were dry as ash. She had wept in her dream, and the tears had turned to steam on her cheeks. All the grief has been burned out of me, she told herself. She felt sad, and yet ... she could feel Rhaego receding from her, as if he had never been.

~

Ser Jorah and Mirri Maz Duur entered a few moments later, and found Dany standing over the other dragon’s eggs, the two still in their chest. It seemed to her that they felt as hot as the one she had slept with, which was passing strange. “Ser Jorah, come here,” she said. She took his hand and placed it on the black egg with the scarlet swirls. “What do you feel?”

“Shell, hard as rock.” The knight was wary. “Scales.”

“Heat?”

“No. Cold stone.”

~

“When will he be as he was?” Dany demanded.

“When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east,” said Mirri Maz Duur. “When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before.”

~

“When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east,” she said sadly. “When the seas go dry and mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When my womb quickens again, and I bear a living child. Then you will return, my sun-and-stars, and not before.”

Never, the darkness cried, never never never.

AGOT Daenerys VIII

The Dothraki were shouting, Mirri Maz Duur wailing inside the tent like nothing human, Quaro pleading for water as he died. Dany cried out for help, but no one heard. Rakharo was fighting Haggo, arakh dancing with arakh until Jhogo’s whip cracked, loud as thunder, the lash coiling around Haggo’s throat. A yank, and the bloodrider stumbled backward, losing his feet and his sword. Rakharo sprang forward, howling, swinging his arakh down with both hands through the top of Haggo’s head. The point caught between his eyes, red and quivering. Someone threw a stone, and when Dany looked, her shoulder was torn and bloody. “No,” she wept, “no, please, stop it, it’s too high, the price is too high.” More stones came flying. She tried to crawl toward the tent, but Cohollo caught her. Fingers in her hair, he pulled her head back and she felt the cold touch of his knife at her throat. “My baby,” she screamed, and perhaps the gods heard, for as quick as that, Cohollo was dead. Aggo’s arrow took him under the arm, to pierce his lungs and heart.

[...] The breath went out of her; it was all she could do to gasp. The sound of Mirri Maz Duur’s voice was like a funeral dirge. Inside the tent, the shadows whirled.

~

“Take her to the maegi.”

No, Dany wanted to say, no, not that, you mustn’t, but when she opened her mouth, a long wail of pain escaped, and the sweat broke over her skin. What was wrong with them, couldn’t they see? Inside the tent the shapes were dancing, circling the brazier and the bloody bath, dark against the sandsilk, and some did not look human. She glimpsed the shadow of a great wolf, and another like a man wreathed in flames.

[...] No, she shouted, or perhaps she only thought it, for no whisper of sound escaped her lips. She was being carried. Her eyes opened to gaze up at a flat dead sky, black and bleak and starless. Please, no. The sound of Mirri Maz Duur’s voice grew louder, until it filled the world. The shapes! she screamed. The dancers!

Ser Jorah carried her inside the tent.

AGOT Daenerys VI

She would not shiver with fear. The Usurper has woken the dragon now, she told herself ... and her eyes went to the dragon’s eggs resting in their nest of dark velvet. The shifting lamplight limned their stony scales, and shimmering motes of jade and scarlet and gold swam in the air around them, like courtiers around a king.

Was it madness that seized her then, born of fear? Or some strange wisdom buried in her blood? Dany could not have said. She heard her own voice saying, “Ser Jorah, light the brazier.” “Khaleesi?” The knight looked at her strangely. “It is so hot. Are you certain?” She had never been so certain. “Yes. I ... I have a chill. Light the brazier.”

He bowed. “As you command.”

When the coals were afire, Dany sent Ser Jorah from her. She had to be alone to do what she must do. This is madness, she told herself as she lifted the black-and-scarlet egg from the velvet. It will only crack and burn, and it’s so beautiful, Ser Jorah will call me a fool if I ruin it, and yet, and yet ...

Cradling the egg with both hands, she carried it to the fire and pushed it down amongst the burning coals. The black scales seemed to glow as they drank the heat. Flames licked against the stone with small red tongues. Dany placed the other two eggs beside the black one in the fire. As she stepped back from the brazier, the breath trembled in her throat.

She watched until the coals had turned to ashes. Drifting sparks floated up and out of the smokehole. Heat shimmered in waves around the dragon’s eggs. And that was all.

Your brother Rhaegar was the last dragon, Ser Jorah had said. Dany gazed at her eggs sadly. What had she expected? A thousand thousand years ago they had been alive, but now they were only pretty rocks. They could not make a dragon. A dragon was air and fire. Living flesh, not dead stone.

AGOT Daenerys V

“What does it mean?” she asked. “What is this stallion? Everyone was shouting it at me, but I don’t understand.”

“The stallion is the khal of khals promised in ancient prophecy, child. He will unite the Dothraki into a single khalasar and ride to the ends of the earth, or so it was promised. All the people of the world will be his herd.”

“Oh,” Dany said in a small voice.

AGOT Daenerys III

Yet when she slept that night, she dreamt the dragon dream again. Viserys was not in it this time. There was only her and the dragon. Its scales were black as night, wet and slick with blood. Her blood, Dany sensed. Its eyes were pools of molten magma, and when it opened its mouth, the flame came roaring out in a hot jet. She could hear it singing to her, She opened her arms to the fire, embraced it, let it swallow her whole, let it cleanse her and temper her and scour her clean. She could feel her flesh sear and blacken and slough away, could feel her blood boil and turn to steam, and yet there was no pain. She felt strong and new and fierce.

And the next day, strangely, she did not seem to hurt quite so much. It was as if the gods had heard her and taken pity. Even her handmaids noticed the change. “Khaleesi,” Jhiqui said, “what is wrong? Are you sick?”

“I was,” she answered, standing over the dragon’s eggs that Illyrio had given her when she wed. She touched one, the largest of the three, running her hand lightly over the shelf. Black-and-scarlet, she thought, like the dragon in my dream. The stone felt strangely warm beneath her fingers ... or was she still dreaming? She pulled her hand back nervously.

From that hour onward, each day was easier than the one before it. Her legs grew stronger; her blisters burst and her hands grew callused; her soft thighs toughened, supple as leather.

~

As she let the door flap close behind her, Dany saw a finger of dusty red light reach out to touch her dragon’s eggs across the tent. For an instant a thousand droplets of scarlet flame swam before her eyes. She blinked, and they were gone.

Stone, she told herself. They are only stone, even Illyrio said so, the dragons are all dead. She put her palm against the black egg, fingers spread gently across the curve of the shell. The stone was warm. Almost hot. “The sun,” Dany whispered. “The sun warmed them as they rode.” [...] “Have you ever seen a dragon?” she asked as Irri scrubbed her back and Jhiqui sluiced sand from her hair. She had heard that the first dragons had come from the east, from the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai and the islands of the Jade Sea. Perhaps some were still living there, in realms strange and wild.

AGOT Daenerys II

There are no more dragons, Dany thought, staring at her brother, though she did not dare say it aloud.

Yet that night she dreamt of one. Viserys was hitting her, hurting her. She was naked, clumsy with fear. She ran from him, but her body seemed thick and ungainly. He struck her again. She stumbled and fell. “You woke the dragon,” he screamed as he kicked her. “You woke the dragon, you woke the dragon.” Her thighs were slick with blood. She closed her eyes and whimpered. As if in answer, there was a hideous ripping sound and the crackling of some great fire. When she looked again, Viserys was gone, great columns of flame rose all around, and in the midst of them was the dragon. It turned its great head slowly. When its molten eyes found hers, she woke, shaking and covered with a fine sheen of sweat. She had never been so afraid ...

... until the day of her wedding came at last.

[wordsfromthesol]

A Better Reality

Author: @wordsfromthesol Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader Summary:  You just began a new job at Arkham Asylum and your newfound talent allows you to help a certain masked vigilante. Warnings: Language…I think that’s it? Word Count: 2.8k Taglist: @ghost-brocolli  (You seemed real excited for it, so I tagged you  😉 ) A/N: So, this so isn’t where I was expecting this story to go…but oh well. Here it is! Also there’s a song...so recording is how I envision it sounding, but like you obvi don’t need to listen to grasp the story.

Everyone said you were crazy to move to Gotham, and you totally understood but you couldn’t help feeling like you were meant to be here. It seemed like everything went wrong in your life all at once, and everything else was pushing you towards Gotham. A psychologist position opened up at Arkham Asylum, just as your old job let you go. Granted, a position opened up at Arkham every few months, but you chose to overlook that fact. You had an unusually high tolerance for psychopaths and thought you may actually be able to help some of these people.

You started work just days after you moved in and quickly realized you had a knack for helping those affected by Scarecrow’s fear toxin. An earlier formula had caused several people to go insane and unshockingly they all ended up in Arkham. After a few months, you even started treating Jonathan Crane himself. Though, you only got in three sessions before the villain broke out of the prison.

It had been a long day, everyone at the prison was frantic given the escaped convict, and all you wanted to do was curl up on the couch with hot chocolate and a good book. The universe had other plans, on your way home you saw people running from the metro station. No. Not already. You immediately got out of your car and tried to calm those far enough away from the station – after all you saw first hand what the gas was capable of and you did not need that toxin in your brain.

“Okay, miss…miss can you hear me?” The woman nodded as you approached her, careful to maintain your distance. “I need you to listen, find a sound and focus only on that. It can be the sound of the cars going by or the buzzing of the streetlights. Can you do that for me? Focus only –” your voice cut off as you noticed a figure standing on the ledge of the nearby apartment building. No no no, not on my watch buddy. You ran towards the building and leapt up to the fire escape. I think this is the most I’ve exercised in years. Finally, you reached the top of the building and slowed your pace. You didn’t know how the toxin was affecting this person and you definitely didn’t want to be attacked tonight.

“What a beautiful night, you come up here often?” The masked figure briefly turned their head in your direction before resuming their gaze over Gotham. Okay, well at least they won’t attack me. You get a little closer and sit on the ledge of the building before you look up and realize that the figure is the infamous Red Hood. You could only imagine what the gas was projecting into his mind. “Listen to those police sirens. I wonder how long their sirens will be on. The noise of the sirens must be distracting so many people.” Giving him time to reflect on your words, and hopefully focus on the police sirens, you watch the panic spreading below. When he didn’t step back from the ledge you started again. “Hey, can you do me a favor? I’ve been working on this song and it would be great to have someone else’s opinion.” You noticed the slight nod he gave, at least I think that was directed at me. “I need you to really listen though, focus on the lyrics and the sound of my voice. Only my voice.” With that you began to show part of yourself that no one had ever seen.

“I’ve lost my grip on reality

Can’t seem to trust my reality

Don’t know who to turn to

I don’t know where to go

No one hears me crying

As I’m fighting back the pain

I’ve lost it all

And I don’t know where to find it

 How do you start a search

When you don’t know what you’re looking for

But it’s echoing through you like a ghost

Oh it chills me to the bone

How do I not know

I’m choking back the tears

As the world is shattering

How do I not know

 I’ve lost my grip on reality

Can’t seem to trust my reality

Don’t know who to turn to and

I don’t know where to go

No one hears me crying

As I’m fighting back the pain

I’ve lost it all

And I don’t know where to find it

 Can it be I’ve disappeared

Or gotten lost along the way

Oh I’ve risked it all

And now the darkness is calling my name

Where’s the strength to push it back

Oh how do I not know

I’ve just…

 I’ve lost my grip on reality

Can’t seem to trust my reality

Don’t know who to turn to and

I don’t know where to go

No one hears me crying

As I’m fighting back the pain

I’ve lost it all

And I don’t know where to find it

 How do I begin to find it

Where do I find it…”

The masked vigilante, at some point during your outburst, sat beside you and was now staring directly at you. He placed a hand on your knee before letting himself fall off the building.

“NO!” You screamed before you saw him land on a nearby rooftop. Has to be fucking dramatic doesn’t he. You got up from the edge of the building and slowly made your way back to your car.

As soon as you got home your head hit the pillow and you were out like a light. Waking up the next morning was brutal, you kept replaying the rooftop moment in your head. The toxin didn’t seem to affect him the way it did others, he only seemed to want to hurt himself. He didn’t abandon all his morals or start hallucinating (at least you think). What could possibly be in his head, that his greatest fear is himself?

Work was surprisingly dull, but you were grateful that it was Friday. You could go home and try to forget about last nights events. Or so you thought. Knee deep in a new book, you heard a knock at the fire escape. Red Hood? What the hell. You motioned for him to come in.

“You know, this is Gotham. You should probably lock that.”

“Oh look, he does speak when his mind hasn’t been infected with fear gas. Good to know.”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m here. I guess I wanted to thank you.”

“Of course, it’s kind of my job so.”

“But I’m not one of your Arkham patients.”

Of course, he already knew who you were. “Not yet anyways” you arched your eyebrow and gave him a sly smirk. Without another word, he seemed to make himself right at home. Walking into the kitchen, he opened all the cabinets in search of a mug and poured it full of the hot chocolate sitting on the stove before joining you on the couch.

“So is that like your go-to song when people tweak out on fear gas?”

“Heh, I don’t usually break into song during my sessions.” You lean in closer to him, “Despite what you’ve heard, life isn’t a musical.”

“Damn, well if I had your voice I would make mine a musical. Think of all the fantastic numbers I could do while punching people in the face. So much material to work with.”

“I don’t even think you would need to punch them if you broke into song. They would just collapse on the floor out of shear surprise.”

“Hey, whatever works doll…I just asked because. Those lyrics.”

“Yeah, I thought they may be applicable, that’s why I picked it.”

“You have more?! I gotta hear them now.”

“Psh, in your dreams maybe Red. I don’t even know you.”

“Do you want to?”

“Well,” you chuckled to yourself, “you’re in luck. I just moved here and don’t know a soul. You seem like a good person to start with.”

You must have talked the whole night with the vigilante before falling asleep on the couch, at least you don’t remember ever making your way to the bedroom. Yet here you were, waking up Saturday morning in your own bed, with the smell of French toast and coffee coming from the kitchen. What the fuck, is he still here? You pull back the covers and make your way to the kitchen to find someone cooking breakfast. Though that someone was no longer in his Red Hood get up, but you caught a glimpse of a mask.

“You’re in my apartment.”

“Yeah, I made a ‘thank you’ breakfast.” He turned from the stove and did a half bow. “You’re welcome, you’re welcome.”

Rolling your eyes, you walked over and grabbed coffee before gesturing at his outfit. “Did you even sleep? Or was the outfit change more important?”

“Well I didn’t want to hide this jawline from your view. That would just be cruel and unusual punishment.”

“And we wouldn’t want that after I saved your life.”

“Exactly. Now sit and prepare to be amazed.”

 ***

“Wow, okay, I’m amazed.” You mumbled out while shoveling more of the delicious food into your mouth.

“Slow down there, you aren’t on death row.”

You glared up at him but were too enveloped in the food to formulate a response.

“So, did you ever figure out how to find it?”

Can’t he just let me eat in peace. “Find what?”

“Your reality?”

“Oh man, are we going there?” Red Hood just shrugged if off, though he was actually curious. “Alright, Red. The truth is, not always. Some days things seem to be going well and the next day it feels like my entire life has exploded in my face.”

“Heh, I thought you were supposed to be the sane one.”

“Everyone is fighting their own battles.” You watched the vigilante stand up and walk over to the window, as he crawled out, he looked back at you.

“I like you, Y/N/N.”

Welcome to the life of a vigilante’s therapist, you thought as you cleaned up the mess from breakfast.

 ***

It had been nearly a week before you heard from the masked man again. This time there was no breakfast, only blood.

“What the hell, Red?”

“You’re a doctor, thought you could help.”

“I guess, technically, but not that kind! Why don’t you go to a real doctor?”

“Eh, it’s just a flesh wound. Come on, Y/N/N, you can manage.” You rolled your eyes as you walked to get your first aid kit.

“If this is going to be a regular thing, you are going to need to bring me actual medical supplies because I am so not funding your stupidity.”

“Deal.”

You sat next to him and got to work, “So, why come here? Don’t you have someone who patches you up.”

“Didn’t really think about that, just wanted to talk to – someone outside the life.”

“And what ever would you want to talk about Red.”

“Hmm…what did you do today?”

You couldn’t hold back you laugh as you finished bandaging his arm. “Seriously?” A small grin spread across his face. “Alright, I woke up at a solid 10:00am and made breakfast. Then played video games until about two hours ago, when I started writing some songs.”

“Oh, I wanna hear!”

“No.”

“Buzzkill…”

“Yeah, well. You’ve already heard more than anyone and I don’t even know your name.”

You continued to talk the rest of the night, until you put on a movie and fell asleep on the couch. Though you awoke the next morning, yet again, in your own bed, this time to the smell of eggs and bacon.

“This just going to be a weekend routine then?”

“If you’re lucky.”

 ***

You started getting visits, on either Friday or Saturday nights, every week. The same old story, he wanted to talk about random every day nonsense while you patched up his latest scrapes. You would wake up to the smell of breakfast and he would leave shortly after. It had been a few months now, and it was nearing 3 am Sunday morning, yet your new vigilante friend hadn’t shown up. You began pacing in your living room.

“What if he’s dead somewhere? How would I even know? I don’t even have a damn name. Of course, I had to go make friends with a damn vigilante. I mean, I’ve never even seen his eyes. Just the red and white of that domino mask he insists on wearing…because heaven forbid I see the color of his damn eyes.” Your rant is cut short by a faint laugh coming from your window. You ran over and slapped him in the shoulder. “YOU CAN’T FUCKING DO THAT I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD.”

“Aw, you care.”

“OF COURSE I FUCKING CARE YOU IDIOT. GET IN HERE NOW.”

“Alright mom, calm down. I was put on stakeout duty as punishment.”

You glared at him, “Punishment for what? Wait…punishment from who?!”

“Uh…Batman. I may or may not have taken the Batmobile on a joyride Thursday night.”

You stifled a laugh, “You really like to piss him off don’t you.”

“What can I say, it’s a gift.”

“One he probably would like to return.”

“Yeah.” Red Hood hung his head and walked over to the kitchen, in search of hot chocolate.

“Wow, alright. Struck a chord there. Wanna tell me what’s up Red?”

“I don’t need you to be my therapist, Y/N.”

“Okay, not trying to be. I know it’s probably strange for you…but generally when people care about someone, they do like to know what’s going on in their life. Including the shitty parts. Oh, and the hot chocolate ran out about two hours ago.”

He huffed and began stalking back towards the window when you grabbed his wrist. “Uh huh, buddy. One, it is 3 in the morning, I don’t care if you are the Red freaking Hood, you aren’t going home this late. Two, you DEFINITELY aren’t going home at 3 in the morning when you are this upset.”

“I’ve left your apartment later than 3 before.”

“Yeah, well I wasn’t awake to stop you so…now I am. Sit your ass down.”

“I could easily get passed you and leave you know.” He mumbled as he stumbled over to the couch.

“Yeah yeah, big tough masked man here.” You followed him to the couch, “What color even ARE your eyes?”

“Really, Y/N/N, really?”

“Well if you won’t tell me your damn name and I have to try and describe you to the police one night when you vanish off the face of the earth…it would be nice to have accurate information.”

“Jason.” He took off the red helmet, “Jason Todd,” and then the domino mask. You couldn’t form any words, you just sat there staring at him, mouth agape. Not because you knew who this person was, after all you were not native to the city and the rest of the world tended to sleep on the craziness that was Gotham City, but because after all this time he so nonchalantly revealed his identity. You figured he would have to be dead or on his dead bed. By the time you got over the shock of the reveal you got lost in his eyes. They were the most intense steel blue eyes you had ever seen. Impossibly blue. Could this man look more perfect, what the actual fuck.

“Uhm, Y/N/N? You good.”

You shook yourself out of your own mind, “Your eyes are like impossibly blue. You had to show off the jawline, but not those? Red, you are focused on the wrong attribute.” With that Jason’s mouth turned upwards as he doubled over laughing. You rose from your spot on the couch and waved your hand as you made your way to the bedroom. “I don’t lie and I better wake up to an amazing breakfast after the heart attack you gave me tonight.”

You did and Jason spent the entire day at your apartment, he said it was to make up for the time he lost on stakeout, but you didn’t really care about the reason.

“Alright, I’m going to let you get some sleep so you can deal with the crazy people tomorrow.” He finally said while getting off the couch.

“They aren’t crazy.”

“Sure Y/N/N. Normal people go to an asylum.”

You shrugged, “But what is normal?”

“No fun, that’s for sure.” Jason made his way to the window.

“You know, you can use the door…like a normal person.”

“If people saw the Red Hood walking out of your front door, what ever would they say?”

“One, like I care what they say. Two, I guess you’ll just have to keep some boring old civilian clothes here then.”

“Only if I can bring along a toothbrush too.”

“Deal.” You got off the couch and headed towards your bedroom, when you felt his hand grab your wrist and spin you towards him.

“Good, because I finally found a reality that I don’t ever want to lose.” Jason mumbled just before his lips crashed into yours.

[imaginesmai]

Thor-Hercules AU

I saw this gift and it just gave me Hercules vibe. And I thought, why not? Might be the first part of a Disney’s AU I’m going to do, since I’m working on college on a project for kids about Disney and WELL I CAN’T HELP MYSELF.

Plot:  you didn’t believe in heroes. Those strong, brave men that always wanted to save the day, only to cower away when the real problems began. You didn’t like heroes, who wanted to save the damsel in distress; you could save yourself, thank you very much. You didn’t fall in love with heroes, until a certain blonde one stumbled into your life.

Heroes, you had come to learn, were entirely more trouble than what they were worth.

They went and ran into danger without a moment’s notice, determinated to be noble and brave and never give cleverness a second thought. They did stupid things, always trying to outdo each other. And, in the end, they died.

You should have known, the moment that horrendous big beast roared, someone would come running. Some wanna-be-brave, and trying-to-be-handsome guy. Greece seemed to be absolutely overrun with heroes; if you lifted a rock, there could be at least two. Girls your age drooled over them, and you had met a few that had faked a dangerous situation just so they could see one. You had heard too plenty of stories about how they saved a damsel in distress and let her become the queen of their dreams.  Still, you didn’t like them.

“It’s alright” you assured the creature, hands spread wide and steps careful and slow. The beast roared again, tossing it’s massive – paws? In the air and moving his head around, as if it didn’t really know where you were. It was so wide that it seemed to block out the sky. “It’s okay, I’m not going to-“

“Milady!”

Your words got cut off by the scream, and you froze, eyes wide. The beast sensed the intruder as well, its huge, golden eyes narrowing as its wings folded in, tail whipping against the ground.

“Are you alright, milady?” the voice asked again, footfalls accompanying it.

You turned, coming face to face with a man about your age, clad in armour and holding a long bronze sword. Well, not much armour; his sculpted abs were bared, only his shoulders and one arm covered in laughably impractical armour. He had long, blonde hair and deep blue eyes, boring into yours as if you were the only woman he had ever seen. He was tall, taller than any man you had met, and his shoulders were broad.

Regardless of how handsome he might had been, you still had no interest in getting killed.

“Stay back, you idiot” you hissed, and the blonde man froze, his brow furrowing.

“I… you don’t want help?” he asked, to which you shook your head vigorously. “But – aren’t you a damsel in distress?”

You almost wanted to laugh. There was the hero; tall, handsome, strong and with not a single braincell that told him that you didn’t need help. It was as if every one of them had a sixth sense to know when a woman was in distress. Distress meaning anything that wasn’t sleeping or trying new dresses.

Rolling your eyes, you couldn’t resist the urge to perch a hand on your hop, fixing him with a withering scowl. You didn’t miss the way his eyes roamed up your entire figure, and suddenly the destiny of ending up between those enormous claws didn’t seem so bad.

“I’m a damsel. I’m in distress. I can handle it” you said, before turning back to the creature, giving it your full attention once more. It roared, wings spread wide once again and faring its razor fangs. If only, the presence of the man made it more nervous and aggressive, and you sighed in annoyance.

Your newfound hero didn’t seem to heed your words, as before you could blink, he was running past you, sword raised. The dress that was then stained and ripped flew past him and you let your mouth hang open, surprised at how stupid a man could be.

The beast roared, taking a step forward and coating the man and you with its disgusting drool. You closed your eyes and scrunched your nose, hearing the metallic clang of his sword against the animal’s side. It echoed through the clearing, only making the creature more agitated, hissing at the man.

“What are you doing?” you demanded, but he continued to fight, to no avail. You wanted to explain that you were the one stepping in the beast territory, and that it could be fixed with a little sweet talk. Your breath caught as he seemed to find a chink in the beast’s skin, the creature roaring in pain. “Hey!”

All thoughts of your own safety thrown to the wind as you rushed over the man, shoving him back from the animal before he could deliver the kill shot. He seemed so stunned by your actions that he stumbled back, sword falling to your side; although, probably, your shove had been like a soft breezed against a stone’s building, looking at his broad torso.

Your hands flew to the beasts neck, who was breathing heavily. It felt warm under your palms.

“It’s alright” you whispered, shushing it. The creature calmed and you swore it almost sighed in relief, the soft touch making it relax. You repeated the words a few times, until it stopped buffing. It’s head lowered and large, golden eyes blinked at her. “You’re safe now, he’s not going to hurt you”

A rumbling noise sounded in its throat, and his eyes slid shut as you tentatively stroked the top of its head, a whistling purr echoing from his nostrils. Once more, the beast’s eyes opened head rising as it spread its wings and leapt into the sky.

You stepped back to allow the creature room to take off, only remembering the ‘hero’ was still there when he spoke again.

“How did you do that, milady?”

“It was just frightened. Didn’t want to hurt anyone, not until you went rushing at him with a sword.”

The man looked down at the sword he had picked a few seconds before, afternoon sunlight gleaming off the bronze blade. The pommel was shaped to look like the handle of a hammer, you realized, rubies glinting on the sides. It looked expensive, and well made. Not something just anyone would happen to acquire. Not that the man was anything normal either; its beauty couldn’t be from Earth.

“Not everything that looks like a monster is one”

You raised your eyebrow at the man, sneaking a glance at his toned chest. He stood there dumbly, blinking at you and sword in hand. As the great winged beast grew smaller and smaller in the sky. Not everything that is a monster looks like one, either.

“I didn’t realize” he said finally. “I’m sorry, eh, milady. Do you – uh, have a name?”

“Y/N” you supplied.

“Y/N, your name calls the beauty in your” he answered, and you tried not to laugh at the poor attempt of a complement. Still, you wondered if you would be lucky enough to hear your name leaving his lips ever again. “I didn’t mean to interfere in something you had under control. Only wanted to help”

“It’s alright” you said with a shrug. “You should head into the city, though, if you’re looking for monsters to fight. Much more plentiful than out here”

He seemed to glow at your words, showing you a bright smile. He changed his weight from one feet to another, and you realised that you didn’t know the name of the handsome stranger that had made a fool of himself. Your smirked, and he took that as an invitation to talk again.

“I was on my way there” he admitted. “I’m Thor”

The name wanted to ring a bell in your head, but you couldn’t remember where you had heard it before. You blinked, trying to remember why it brought a sense of comfort over you, but he didn’t make any intention of explaining himself further.

“Well, I wish a good fortune. I hope you find the fame al glory all you heroes seem to be chasing” you said, with a little wave of farewell. “Thor.”

“I don’t want fame and glory” he replied, a bit of a frown on his face. Surprisingly, the conviction in his voice had you actually believing him. It seemed like he felt insulted for assuming that. “I just want to help people”

“Well, then I hope you can manage to do that. Try not to get yourself killed” you said. Finally, a teasing smile broke into your lips, a real one. Thor seemed to notice, as he laughed; and it was so loud, that your heart jumped from it. It was a beautiful sound, you decided.

“I’ll do my best, Lady Y/N” he said winking at you, before he turned, and he was gone. Leaving with you with blushing cheeks and small smile.

You exhaled, leaning up against a tree, heart still pounding with leftover adrenaline- whether from the beast, from Thor, you weren’t sure.

The calm after the storm didn’t last long, though. Mere moments after Thor disappeared, you could feel the chill creep into the wood, see the sky darken and the air grow heavy. You squeezed your eyes closed, whishing that you didn’t have to do that. Not after the sweet feeling Thor had left in you, and certain not after the happy smile you had on your face.

“Y/N, darling.”

A voice echoed from the trees, its owner emerging from the darkness like a shadow creeping closer. You could see the annoyance on his pallid face, long fingers pressed together as he stepped closer. You wrapped your arms around your chest, past from the point of being scared but still not comfortable with his presence.

“Hades” you said, trying to keep the bitterness out of your voice. It was not good to go and displease the god of the death, especially when he was already in a sour mood.

“What are you exactly doing here?” he asked, fake sweet smile on your face. “You’re supposed to be working. Convincing minor duties over to my side. Remember? Or is that dumb head of yours empty again?”

In a second, his pale face was in front of you. You had never met such a disgusting eyes over the years; dull, filled with darkness and pain, and slightly red at the end because of the constant hate he felt. Towards everything. His rancid breath hit your face and you tried to stay in place.

“Well?”

How could you forget, if it was everything he ever talked about. His grand plan to unseat the universe the gods by freeing the Titans when the planets aligned, giving him control of the universe. It sounded awful to you, and too much work to be worth it. World domination seemed better in theoreticals, you were sure. But you didn’t exactly have a choice. Whatever the god wanted from you, you had to do.

“I’m sorry, my lord” you said, smiling. Hoping Hades couldn’t noticed how different it was from the one you had a moment ago. “I was going to convince the river guardian to join your fight. I ran into the beast the way there”

“Our fight, darling” Hades corrected you. His hand, suspiciously wet and cold, caressed your face for a bit, until he gripped the back of your hair and pulled your closer. From that distance, he spat on your face when he talked. “As long as your soul belongs to me, my cause is yours too. You’re mine”

You squeezed your eyes closed again, letting the silence between you hang heavy. As if you needed any reminders of everything you gave up for a man who walked away from you the moment it was convenient. Hades kept his grip a little while longer, and finally let your hair go. Then, he wiped his hands on his thighs; as if humans were the most disgusting thing he had ever met.

You mumbled a quick apology, and looked to your feet. Stupid bloody heroes. Always chasing the next best thing, and leaving everything else behind them in dust and ruins.

“That’s more like it!” Hades said, his sickening smile too pleased. He remembered something and frowned, scary attitude back. “Back to the reason I was here. I was – you know, chilling between the eternal flames of death. And couldn’t help but noticing you were talking to, a man, was it? Didn’t remember giving you permission to do so.”

“I don’t know” you shrugged, a bit of annoyed that the conversation was focused on him. “Some here who came barging in, like the always do. Almost killed the poor creature”

“Oh, poor thing, um?” Hades blinked at you and put his folded hands under his chin, as if he was really sorry. “I wonder how long will that beast be alive for. Lucky I wasn’t here, or the dogs would have dinner for tonight”

You prickled at the way he called them beasts. You had always thought those creatures were fascinating in their own way. While they could be fierce, they could also be gentle. Some of them, hydras or chimeras, wanted to hurt you, sure; but most of them were just trying to survive.

Sometimes, you thought of yourself like them. You may had been a minion of Hades, been forced to do terrible things, but sometimes you could still believe there was something good left in you.

“It’s still alive, luckily” you spat back, narrowing your eyes at the god of death. “Even if this Thor almost ran him through”

You expected Hades to quip back. Ignore the anecdote and go straight to what he wanted from you. Maybe punish you from the unnecessary interaction with the man, or make you kill the creature for fun.

He didn’t. Instead, the god’s pale face grew more pallid, eyes going wide and mouth falling open. Hades demanded you to repeat yourself, stepping a little bit closer and making you press yourself further into the bark of the tree. His voice held something you had never heard; rage, surprise, hate. Fright. The stench of death and raw meat he always carried only made room to an even more disgusting one, and you scrunched your nose.

“The hero” you said carefully. “He almost ran the creature through.”

“I got that part!” Hades roared, and the temperature increased. He was fuming. “You said Thor”

“Thor” you repeated, unsure. “I did. Why? Who is he?”

There was no answer on his part, just a big bomb of smoke and he was out of sight. The beautiful landscape you had managed to get lost in the first place came back, birds singing and animals running around. You blinked confused, and took a step forward to finally relieve your back from the rough tree. Looking around, you tried to find the God.

You knew he wasn’t gone; Hades did that a lot. Whenever he remembered something or had business to do, he disappeared and came back a few seconds later. For him, it would had been some days of torturing something.

Your suspicious turned out to be right when he appeared on your right once more. That time, he was cleaning his hands with an old rag. It didn’t take a genius to understand what he had been doing; blood coated his left cheek and there were stains on his clothes. He had a murderous look on his eyes, but he was far more calm. And had a smirk that you didn’t like one bit.

You remined silent, not sure what to say not to anger him further. Thor had seemed strong, sure and a bit dumb although brave, but nothing worthy of being the worry of a god; let alone Hades. You had seen bigger and better man.

“I have a new plan” he said, brushing back his silver hair. “I need him dead, for real this time. And I know just the thing”

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