#also 'darkwood why are you nervous? '

[darkwood-sleddog]

trying not to jinx it but we're going mushing tomorrow and the trails are 1.) groomed but 2.) not open to snowmobiles yet and 3.) it's gonna be cold af (means empty of all other users usually). so promising.

[g3nosarchive]

titled  ❝ good kisser ❞

✧ pairing leone abbacchio x gn reader 

✧ genre fluff

✧ warning wine, being a tiny bit drunk, mentions of sex but definitely not smut 

✧ extra close friends drink at 1 am and reader gets a lil bold .. abbacchip’s character took me a minute for this is way later then it’s meant to be, finally got a title before having to add it to my masterlist <3 feedback appreciated 

“leone.”

“what?” he doesn’t need to glance at your face to know it’s a question, staring up and out the window to the glimmering web of stars outside.

his almost empty glass of wine reflects the moonlight and you massage your temples.

“are you experienced?”

he takes a moment, a particularly long moment before you see him blink in your peripheral vision, his right eyebrow cocked up.

“experienced with what? sex?”

you laugh, much more naturally than he’d ever thought and shake your head. “not sex, i mean are you experienced?”

“with what,” he sighs, still stuck on the visage of the stars.

“with hmm.. matters of the heart. or love? pursuing? courting. that stuff.”

turning to you slowly, he gives you the most incredulous look you think you’ll ever see in your life. you smile sheepishly as his mouth drops open a tiny bit, and the words ‘mind boggling’ appear in your head.

“are you sure you’re alright in the head? you’re asking if i’m a romantic.”

you laugh into your elbows away from his gaze before looking up to meet him, still shocked and confused.

“yes i’m very aware. i asked my drunk and broody goth friend if he has a sappy romantic history.” he blinks and you laugh a little more, “yes, the one with the potty mouth and the potty tea pots and other clear issues. really nice lips, currently staring at me like i ate his tea pastries with a broken spoon and dipped it in rotting fish flavored gelato.”

he cocks his head slightly to the side, an innocent instinct, confusion and amusement twinkling between blinking lashes.

“you have a very unique way of talking and describing huh.”

“i think you mean.. a different kind of bullshit, but flavorful and easier to tolerate. everyone seems to say something like that after an average of three conversions.”

now he laughs, but not audibly - his shoulders rise with a rare animation and a smile hides beneath his hand, nothing but hushed breaths tumbling out. you lean forward, balancing on your elbow and your chin jutting into your palms, observing him in full, a much free-er abbacchio.

"hey. kiss me.”

his shoulders shudder this time while he chokes not-so-silently on the wine in the back of his throat. your eyes connect and at the sharp twitch of his left eye you laugh just a tiny bit - 

“what? why?”

somewhere in the back of your mind you think it’s cute how his whole body follows your every movement while you shift to rest against the headboard with a sigh of comfort. “you should be asking me how, but i’m a very magnanimous person, so you can choose.” he makes a grunt-ish sound and your eyelids start to droop on their own, closing down on your somewhat magnetizing eyes, and thankfully so he thinks.

maybe the wine’s finally got to you, maybe the darkening of the street lights made you feel a bit drowsier than normal, but now it’s his chance to study your face. your brows are relaxed, and the usual, as slight as it was sometimes, tension gone, the moonlight set upon your lips like a halo...

“kiss me, leone.” he wonders if this is your idea of a joke but it doesn’t matter, third time really was the charm. the harsh clink of a wine glass on the nightstand sets off something in your stomach; dormant butterflies decide that now’s the time to play hopscotch in your belly, delightful, but your heart was pounding like a festival drum, so equally nerve-wracking.

the heavy depression in the bed moves closer, the scent of something that sounds like it’d be named magenta darkwood dances to the tip of your nose and a body of heat settles beside you. the dozy pull on your eyelids go slack with the addition of a sliver of adrenaline, and you pop your eyes open to meet his cloudish blue irises, much closer than you’d expected.

he jumps back, both of you furiously blinking before a hand gingerly covers your eyes.

“i can’t do anything with you staring at me, so..”

the signal in your head to respond with a nod, a hum, or something comes way too late, his scent floats around your face and a calloused delicate pinch on your chin guides your lips to meet his. waves roar in the back of your mind as you sit there, mind promptly turned to mush.

the kiss felt generously sweet and much softer than anything you could manage to think of.

he pushes just a bit firmer, and the tingly buzz from his lips joins the firecrackers going off in your head, a dazzling spectacle if anyone could see, before pulling away and lightly removing his hand from over your eyes. you can’t bring yourself to look up - still processing the feeling of it all  - even as his gaze burns into your face.

a minute passes like this when he shifts to your side, to your surprise, also leaning against the headboard, eyes closed.

“what, now you’re nervous?”

no, that’s not it, you think, padding a finger over the lingering warmth on your lips. i just never expected to be such a soft kiss, especially from you.

“you were the one that had to cover my eyes to actually do it,” he hears you murmur, “but still, i never expected you to do it like that..”

“what do you mean ‘like that’? you didn’t like it or what,” he says, and normally he would be mad, or stony faced, but there’s a tiny curve to his mouth in the corner of your vision.

theres a pause and you blink, warmth pricking your cheeks like a dull needle. “i just never expected you to kiss so gently. that’s all. you look like the type to kiss roughly you know, ‘fierce’ written all over you - bite my lips off and all.”

he’s silent, just listening and very obviously staring and you share a glance for exactly two seconds. 

“...i did like it, if you’re wondering. i don’t think i’ll ever uh, forget it, so don’t worry. plus, you’re a good kisser -”

a dull thump sounds out as he lightly tosses a pillow at your head, his eyes dark but his voice clearly amused. “you think i was worried about that? go to sleep. of course i’m a good kisser. it doesn’t even sound right to question it.”

“don’t pretend like your shoulders didn’t relax until i said it,” you smile, throwing the pillow back at his chest, “and you go to sleep too,” turning over on your side, “and don’t hog the blanket.”

the pillow ends up pushing at your back as he lies down as well, quick to snatch just enough of the comforter to get you to turn around. 

“what?”

“goodnight.”

for the at least 7th time that night you share a deep look before turning around, returning the same word and pulling a slight bit of the covers away from him. the lights are off and his breathing evens and the sleepy actually starts to encase you in it’s arms - until you’re actually encased with arms, giving a stunned side eye glance back. in his sleep it seemed his hand unknowingly wandered over to your waist, and you didn’t have the heart to move it so you let it be. (truthfully, it was comforting. and who were you to refuse comfort?)

mere seconds later he shifts closer, separated by the pillow but still close enough to feel his body warmth, wrapping his arm tighter around you. 

who was it that said he was asleep.. asleep my ass.. he’s clearly awake you conclude, the deep rumble of a laugh reverberating through the pillow separating you both a dead giveaway.

[dxrcymoore]

most attractive people in darkwood?

”Well, I suppose most people in this town are fairly attractive, in a conventional sort of way,” she said with a shrug. “It really depends on what you find attractive. George and Reggie are quite good looking, aren’t they?” Fuck. Why did she say it like a question? They clearly were attractive but- she was blanking. Ash was the most obvious answer in her mind, with Nina and Nat also making a rather intrusive appearance. 

”and - you know, August.. Eddie, Luca?” She was just saying names she knew at this point. There was not a moment in her life she’d ever thought of Luca. Not in the way she’d thought about his step-sister at least. -and August? No. He made her nervous. But, not nearly as nervous as Cyrelle made her. For much different reasons. “Oh and Penny is quite gorgeous isn’t she? Everyone says so.” Nice. Nobody will suspect anything odd because every man, woman and small child knew Penny was a sight for sore eyes. 

”Well, I don’t know everyone in Darkwood so, my sample size is lacking.”

@gxorgx @ashtoashes @nina-heilig @sanctuarics @fckaugust @eddietm @lucasolana @cyrellea @penelopecar @ohfawna​ 

[gothedistance-herc]

In the Darkest Hour ⚡ [Hercades]

In which Hercules and Hades embark on a quest to the Underworld...[takes place evening of July 6th to evening of July 9th]

@trip-downtheriverstyx

[tw -- monsters, near-drowning, death, creepy underworld stuff, talk of gross bodily fluids, uhh yeah just some nasty underworld stuff]

HERCULES: They left the cottage without much more conversation. The Fates had stayed behind with Belle as she said goodbye to them at the door. He was pretty sure he’d her tell them to leave, but he didn’t think much about it, because the next second the door snapped shut and he was standing in the half-dark with Hades. And Georgette.

Her body floated there morbidly, her hair falling back, her arms and legs hanging limply. Her face was still, eyes closed. The rain had washed away most of the blood on her face, but it still stained her torn clothes.

Hercules couldn’t look at her for long or he would feel like being sick. His heart was thrumming hard and fast in his chest.

He’d tried to talk--once or twice, trying to start a conversation. He was a nervous rambler on his best days. He’d tried to explain what had happened: it was an accident, a tree, and--I didn’t mean--but Hades had said: I don’t care. Which had promptly shut Hercules up. He’d tried again a little later as they’d stepped into the tree line by the river.

Hades lit his hand with fire and sent it towards the dark trees, which groaned as the fire snapped and cracked through them.

Soooo, how long have you known the Fates, then?

Hades had snapped at him something about concentration and Hercules had fallen silent again.

It was a long, quiet, eerie walk towards the Gates. Hercules had never traveled so deeply into the woods and he felt the hair rising on his arms as they trudged through. The bank of the river muddied his boots. The blue fire cast eerie shadows on either side of them. It hollowed out the curve of Georgette’s neck, her collarbone, the indents of her eyes. It made her look like a ghastly, cold thing. Hercules looked away.

He wanted to talk. The whole time, he wanted to babble--because he was terrified and confused and full of grief so heavy that he felt it physically in his shoulder blades. His body ached from carrying Georgette the short distance to the cottage.

And he was thinking, couldn’t stop thinking about what the Fates had said.

Can take the magic from the boy, but not the boy from the magic.

And the dragon’s voice still hissed in his ear:

Demigod. Son of Diana.

What did it mean? For months and months now, Hercules had both yearned for answers and been terrified. What if there wasn’t any reason for the way he was? What if he was given up because he’d hurt his mother when he’d been born? Or hurt his father? Or--someone else? What if he was given up because he was mistake? An abomination? Shouldn’t have been born. Or was born of incest or infidelity--

Demigod, the dragon had said.

No good fate had ever befallen a demigod. Not even the one he was named for. He’d gone insane, he’d killed his wife and children. Achilles had died. Perseus, Theseus. Bellerophon had been irrevocably crippled. Orpheus had lost his love--

Being a hero was not something Hercules wanted.

He just--wanted to save Georgette.

If he lost his own life, well, he supposed it would be just recompense, but it did not mean he wanted to die.

Lost in these thoughts, Hercules did not even realize they were at the Gates until the river lit up blue and the earth trembled beneath his feet.

The hole expanded and expanded into a dark nothingness, like a gaping wound. A chill rose up from it. It made the hair on Hercules’ arms stand up, but there was also something about it that made his blood sing in his veins, thrumming fast and sure.

He glanced at Hades, but the other man was already walking down the stone steps that had appeared at the mouth of the hole. Georgette’s body drifted behind him, as if she was being carried by an unseen current.

Hercules hesitated and then, he gathered his courage and stepped into the Underworld.

With each step downwards, he felt--lighter. Stronger. He let out a breath (which he had not realized he was holding) as his foot hit the bottom step. Everything was dark as shadows besides the light from Hades’ flame.

Hercules flexed his hand, spreading his fingers and then, he clenched his hand into a fist. His heart still beat strong in his chest, steadier now, slow and pulsating. And he knew, without anything at all really changing about him, that somehow--his magic had been restored.

Somehow, here in this place where things died, Hercules became powerful once more.

He reached forwards towards Hades and moved his hand slowly over the orb of flame that was hanging there. It was hot, but the kind of warmth that the sun’s rays on a bright summer’s day might feel like. He let out another breath and clenched his fist, like he could grab the flame and let his arm fall back down to his side.

“Do you--know what this means?” Hercules asked, looking at Hades.

Am I a demon of the Underworld? Am I a monster?

HADES: Yeah, Hades wasn’t in the mood for small talk. He’d been hoping for a quiet night in, after all. But here he was again: traipsing through Enchantra wood toward the Gates of Hell during a muggy, wet evening.

It was even worse than usual, the summer flora having taking over much of the paths. There was barely anywhere to put his feet and they could barely see through all the foliage. He had to burn his way through in short controlled bursts, which he drew back as quickly as he could. Hades took no pleasure in any of this. He knew that Enchantra was no regular forest and what little magic sense he had was on high alert as they moved deeper and deeper...the shadows behind them lengthening, Hades’ feeling eyes on the back of his neck.

But he had no other choice if he were to save the life of Georgette Midler. And if the forest was pissed, it didn’t retaliate, at least, not yet. They managed to arrive at the Gate in one piece: himself, Hercules, and Georgette still floating in the air, suspended like a leaf buoyed by the wind.

But there was no wind. In this, the darkwood, there was barely any noise. Even the misting rain could not get in through the thickened canopy. The light was dim, Hades’ fire casting everything in its glow. As the river lit, that glow spread, and shadows danced across the tree trunks, as if they were ghosts.

There were no ghosts though. Surprisingly, not a lot hung out around the Gates. But was that really so surprising, come to think-- no ghost wanted to see the Underworld, that was why they were ghosts. No, the Gates were here for the living.

For people like Hercules, who needed-- hope.

Down they went until at last they’d arrived where the paths split. Hades had no idea what paths Hercules saw (perhaps a plain, cold tiled one, leading him straight to Dis) but Hades saw all of them. He was about to twitch his hand and bring Georgette forth when--

Ah, good. Hercules was talking again.

Hades glanced back at Hercules, who was staring down at his own hands. So the bloke got his power back just as the old wives’ tale went. Hercules, born again. Hades raised his eyebrows. “Well-- legend is if you’re strong enough to be able to walk through the Gates, you’ll be-- born again, in a way. Diseases, curses, all that stuff will lift. But there are only a few kinds of people who can walk into the Gates and not die instead. Vampires, for one and--creatures of the Underworld for another. Like me.” He flashed a close-lipped, half-amused smile. “So that must be why the Fates weren’t concerned. They smelled it on you, eh, chap? You’re one of us.”

Hades turned back around then, and flicked his hand forward. Georgette’s body drifted...and kept drifting, and kept drifting, picking one of the paths where-- yes, her soul would be. Hades stopped her body in the air again.

“Follow me and stay close. If you so much as put a toe off a path, you’ll be lost, nothing I can do about it. Sides--” he smirked again. “I know a shortcut.”

Hades ventured forth, walking the path toward the swamps. The rest of the paths peeled away and then disappeared, because Hades didn’t need them and when he was here, the Underworld knew. He hadn’t been back since February-- since he thought he was going to stay here forever. Now, it was like no time had passed at all.

Which made sense. There was no time here. And since there was no time, it took no time for the path to pebble, then wash into sand, as they came to shore of the swamps, a boat waiting for them.

Hades floated Georgette’s body into the canoe, laying it down gently. He looked back at Hercules. “You know where we are? What to expect?”

HERCULES: The silence was oppressive. Hercules felt it pressing down on him from every angle, pressing against his eardrums. He could hear the blood rushing through his veins. Still alive, still invincible. He had not been afraid to enter the Gates—but it wasn’t because of what the Fates had said, wasn’t because he knew or even wanted his powers back, but because he wasn’t afraid to die.

If he traded his life for Georgette’s, if that’s what was meant, Hercules would do it in an instant.

Especially because he didn’t want to be what Hades said—one of us. One of them. A demon. Something unwholly and evil.

(Though, he knew Hades wasn’t evil. He wasn’t the nicest person, but he wasn’t evil. He knew not all things that came from the Underworld was evil, but it was still the Underworld. It was still a place of death. Hercules was something of death.)

They walked in that awful, heavy silence. Everything was dark besides the path beneath their feet, which was plain and unassuming, but it made Hercules’ stomach churn anyway. They were standing in nothingness. It reminded him of the stories that his mum used to tell him. Of Nakara. Of Andhatamisra—the blind darkness. A darkness, cutting the tree at its roots, supposed to drive men insane.

It went on forever. Hercules’ stamina was back. It no longer cost him anything to walk and walk and walk, and he was partially glad for it, because that was what it felt like. Like they had been walking for hours. It also felt like they’d been walking for the blink of an eye.

Suddenly, there was the quiet sound of water lapping at a shore.

There was a boat.

Dark, still water stretched out before them.

Hercules thought of Puyoda, the water of pus, where men who slept with prostitutes lay, forced to eat all manner of awful things: urine, mucus, salvia. He thought of Georgette here, forced to do those things, forced to be among men who lived like dogs.

If anything, she should be in Ayahpana, forced to drink hot iron for her alcoholism.

Or, she could be here.

“The Vaitarni, o-or I mean, I-I guess you’d call it…the Styx? The—the Stygian marshes?” He cleared his throat a little.

“I—know the stories. Some of them but…should probably let me know what we’re in for…” He hit his fist against his thigh awkwardly and stepped closer to the boat where Georgette’s still body lay.

HADES: Hercules garbled off a few words that Hades had only seen in books. Growing up, he’d done his fair share of research into the worlds of the dead-- for obvious reasons. He had learned of Hindu myth just as he’d learned of the Greeks. Read plenty of Chinese, Japanese, Korean tales of ghouls and demons alongside the ones set in Great Britain and Ireland. Course, the ones that he knew best were the ones in his own backyard-- the ones that his mother adored, hence Hades’ own name.

But as Hercules spoke of the Vaitarni, he knew that the bloke wasn’t entirely off. Though-- no amount of storybook reading would prepare anyone for the real thing.

There were enough horrors in these dark waters, which in certain light, could gleam as dark as oil-- or blood. Here there be monsters-- lost, sinful souls all. What form they took usually reflected back on who the person was. So maybe Hercules would glimpse one of the Hindu’s flesh-eating birds or five-hundred toothed crocodiles.

Hopefully Georgette, soul still so young-- freshly dead, as it was-- wouldn’t have succumbed so quickly to the same fate.

“Right. Get in,” instructed Hades. He ushered Herc forward and clambered in after, talking as he did.

“So here’s the den of greed and gluttony, which-- the Fates mentioned. Some souls arrive here like we did, all able-bodied, or so they think. Usually that’s the greedy. They go treasure hunting,” explained Hades as he unwrapped the rope off the dock.

He flicked a hand and the boat pushed off, as if helped by an invisible oar. And there were oars in the boat; Hades simply didn’t need them.

“They spend their whole life trudgin’ through these waters, fishing for shiny stuff in the waters below. Sometimes they band together-- sometimes they attack other boats, try to steal their haul. So be on the lookout for other boats. They’ll most likely not be friendly.

“And y’know, sometimes-- sometimes they fall in. And that’s where the gluttonous lie. Most of the souls have transformed into monsters and demons by that point, but some look like people. They go looking for flesh or guard their treasure below. So...watch out from below too.” Hades settled down into the chair and tossed an oar to Hercules.

“Where do you think your bird will be, eh? Above? Or below?”

HERCULES: Hercules listened intently, once they’d settled in the boat.   

He tried not to look anywhere but at Hades’ face. The creepiness factor had jumped from a solid 10/10 to a 100/100. And Hercules, though invincible (now), was not above succumbing to fear and horror the likes of which this swamp could possibly offer him.

Though, he felt strangely calm as the boat rowed further and further into the unfurling darkness.

With every ripple of the water as the boat cut through it, Hercules knew they were closer to Georgette. Hercules was closer to fixing his mistake and getting Georgette back. He thought this, held this certainty in his heart, as he kept his eyes fixed on Hades’ blue ones, which were hauntingly clear and bright, even in the near darkness.

Something splashed, like a fish jumping in the water, a few yards away, but Hercules did not flinch. He looked at Hades and he sucked in a breath, hoping to avoid the dangers. If he could just reach Georgette, if he could just find her…

At Hades’ question, Hercules blinked grabbing the oar, catching it in his hand, his reflexes once again quick as lightning.

“Uh—” His heart twisted in his chest, and though he had done his best not to, he looked down at Georgette’s broken body laying in the boat between them. Her head was at his feet, her golden hair stained pink with blood. Besides that and the dirt and blood, she could almost be sleeping. If Hercules ignored the rest of her body, which lay unnaturally, even though Hades had set her down as gently as he could.

Hercules stared at her face.

Gluttony or greed?

It felt too intimate a question. Hercules had known Georgette for—almost a year (he had actually met her last March…April? But they hadn’t become friends until August.) But he’d only been…dating her a week—if it was even dating. They’d never defined anything. Which was fine, but he felt bad calling it that in his head and—

Gluttony or greed?

He stuck the oar absent-mindedly in the water, turning the boat slightly South. At least, he thought it was South. South was, after all, the end of all things.

South, perhaps, was all around them at this point.

“Gluttony,” he finally settled and cast his gaze into the dark waters.

He couldn’t see anything, not really. In the half-light, no brighter than moonlight in a darkened wood, there were gems and gold that sparkled beneath the water, but no monsters. Everything was still. Too quiet.

“How am I supposed to find her?” he asked, after what felt like hours, what felt like just a moment.

How long had it been? How long?

“How—we could be at this for eternity.”

HADES: Gluttony. Hades’ mouth twitched, though whether he was going to smile or frown, Hercules’ wouldn’t have been able to tell, and the expression was gone the next moment. Hades leaned back and gazed out at the waters, smooth as glass for now. Gluttony-- where the hungry and the thirsty made their bed. Hades was not privy to know his own fate, but he knew with certainty that these were not the waters where he would lay.

This wasn’t about Hades though. This was about Hercules and Georgette and whatever sins the both of them had dragged down to these abysmal tides. He wondered why Georgette, gluttonous as she was, deserved to get saved anyway. What were those silly Fates thinking?

(Though why had Belle been saved? Hades’ own hubris? That was in a much different part of the Underworld.)

He glanced up from his own reverie as Hercules’ talked again. Hades barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes at the question. “The soul and the body are still connected-- barely,” he said. “That connection grows the closer we get to it. Think of it like a…gold detector, sort of, eh? We’re following where the body is tugging us. Or-- I am. I dunno what you can feel, Wonder Boy.”

And as he spoke that he wiggled his finger in the air and the boat turned just a little. “Don’t worry, just row. You’ll be the manpower, I’ll navigate. We’ll find your girlfriend.” He cracked a smile.

Around them, ripples moved from the boat. The mist thickened, the dock far away now, and only the water ahead and the monsters lurking below.

Eventually, Hades held up his hand and the boat came to a stop like he’d dropped an anchor. That feeling was back in his chest, the one that told him something was not quite right. It was the loudest it had ever been. It was steady and consistent-- like a heartbeat.

“Hear that?” Hades said, tilting his head. “X marks the spot.”

HERCULES: Hercules’ eyebrows furrowed.

What could he feel?

There was a tickle under his skin, but he was doing his best to ignore it. It was just the creep-factor of this dark and solemn place. Hades voice echoed eerily, though from what Hercules could tell there was no end—no walls or ceiling for his voice to echo off of. Just the water. Just the darkness. And Hercules rowing, telling himself he felt nothing but his own fear, his own determination.

He pulled a face at Hades’ words.

She isn’t my girlfriend, he almost grumbled, but then he knew the rest would pour out—how they had never had time to establish anything. How it had only been a week. How she was just his friend, really, someone he cared about. Hercules would do the same for anyone he loved.

For anyone he had hurt.

This is my fault, he would say.

But he knew Hades didn’t want to hear any of it. That he didn’t care. That Hercules was walking on thin ice. Or, well, rowing, technically.

He wondered if the water was cold and he swallowed, hating to think of Georgette laying down below, dark, silent, cold.

The boat lurched to a stop, as if it had hit a bank of sand. Hercules knew it hadn’t. His oar still stretched down deep into the water. Everything was still quiet. There was no tell-tale lap of waves on a shore. Only the sound of other boats, rowing in the distance.

“Right,” Hercules said, as he glanced over the side of the boat for the first time.

There was no good spot to look in a place like this. He’d kept his eyes firmly on Hades’ until now. Not that he was scared. He had nothing to fear and nothing to lose. Not really. Everyone back in Swynlake hated him. He was probably going to have to skip town again. If he died—only Pegasus would care. He’d burned all his other bridges, just like he always did.

It didn’t matter. Only thing that mattered was Georgette got another chance.

“So, uh, I guess I’ll see you in a few minutes.” However long that was in a place like this.

He set the oar down next to Georgette’s body gently, trying not to knock the wood against her. While he was still bent over her, he stroked a hand over her matted, knotted hair, caked with blood and debris. It didn’t feel at all as soft as it usually did.

Straightening, he hesitated for a few moments before leaning over and untying his boots. Then, he pulled his shirt off over his head. He didn’t need to have anything something could grab, or drag him down with. Just in his trousers then, he stood up, the boat rocking unsteadily, sending ripples out along the water, but Hercules stayed steady.

He looked over at Hades. “Wish me luck.” But, before Hades could (and Hercules didn’t really expect him to), Hercules took a deep breath and jumped, diving into the dark water.

It clawed at him like a thousand knives, the water colder than anything he’d ever felt in his life. It squeezed his lungs, and he had to battle everything in him to keep from letting out the precious air he had stored there. The feeling disoriented him.

After a few moments, his limbs stiff from the cold, he opened his eyes to a soft, gentle, golden glow.

The amulet around his neck had lit up like a beacon.

He didn’t have time to wonder at it (it barely surprised him at this point.) Hercules merely jerked backwards, a face right in front of him. It was a body, with its eyes open, floating. He realized that they were everywhere. As if the very water was made of them. He swam through them, all ghostly pale, nothing more than essence, than mist. It made his heart clench, made his flesh crawl. They watched him go, he made eye contact with many of them, but they just went back to searching to. It felt like being on an eternal subway, always waiting for your stop. Never finding it.

But, there was nothing for it. Just to push on. He kept the memory of Georgette’s face, her warm, rosy cheeks and long eyelashes; reminding him that this was finite. He just had to find her and he would be out of this nightmare.

Angling his body downwards, he began to dive down deeper. The souls did not bother him. They went straight through him. Something moved off to his left, but he ignored it resolutely. Searching every face for one he recognized.

He must have looked at a hundred faces. That was what it felt like. A hundred dead faces. And each one—he would see for months and months after this. He would wonder who they were. When they had died. If they knew that they were here.

Finally, there she was. She looked right at him—but there was not an ounce of recognition on her features. Hercules swam to her, through the souls of the dead, reaching for her hand. When he grabbed onto her, she felt solid, but paper thin, like the page of a book. He was afraid if he tugged too hard she would tear into a million pieces.

The sound of his heart rushed in his ears. The only sound in this dark, empty void.

She did not react when he kicked his feet downwards, looking up through the bodies. There was no sun to beckon him to the surface. There was nothing at all to indicate which direction was which.

He was lost.

And his lungs were beginning to burn.

He kept his hand clenched around Georgette’s and he swam. He swam and swam, each stroke growing more desperate.

Then, there was a tug.

Something on his foot.

Hercules looked down and there was the head of a creature, it’s teeth on the surface of his skin. It looked like a crocodile. No, a snake. No—a tiger. Each time he blinked it changed and shifted.

It jerked and his mouth opened involuntarily, letting out bubbles of precious air. He kicked his foot out and the head just moved back and forth. Another one appeared from the depths, moving silently. There was no tide to push against it.

Hercules felt light-headed, his lungs screaming for oxygen.

His fist formed without thought and he waited until it was close, its mouth opening, like it was going to swallow him whole. He punched it in the roof of its mouth, shattering through the surface of it, its blood thick and wet and warm and black as it bloomed like a cloud into the water. The creature made a sound like a wail and its other head released Hercules’ foot from its massive maw.

With a desperate kick, Hercules rose to the surface with a gasp, drawing the still, dead air into his lungs. It felt as pure and sweet as a spring breeze. He spit out water—it tasted like blood and bile.

The boat was right in front of him. He grabbed the edge of it and looked over. Georgette’s soul was floating just above the water, her ghostly hair moving as if it was still below the water. It reminded him of the last time he’d seen her properly alive, looking up at the stars, a storm rolling in, her hair moving in the wind.

Something splashed a few feet away, jerking Hercules from his reverie, and with another cough he hauled himself into the boat with one hand, rolling in, knocking against Georgette’s cold body. Her sweater started to soak against the water pooling on Hercules’ skin. He shivered and sat up, still holding onto to Georgette’s soul. (Was definitely not thinking too much about that.)

It moved through the boat as if it was nothing.

Hercules gathered it in his arms, turned it, and laid it parallel with Georgette.

It floated into her prone body, its bluish-greyish-greenish glow disappearing as it sank down.

He waited.

A second.

Two.

Three.

“Why isn’t it working?” he said desperately, his voice rasping from the water, the taste of bile and iron in the back of his throat. He glanced up at Hades, his gaze desperate, red-rimmed; tears gathering against his bottom eyelids.

HADES: Hades, in case you were wondering, did not wish Hercules good luck. The boy went in with a splash and then was swallowed by the water, Hades rocking in the boat until it finally steadied. But Hades had been alone on these waters before. Hades had been alone many places in the Underworld. Though, if you were to ask him, he would tell you-- that in the Underworld, he never felt truly alone.

There was a hum in the air, you see. A hum, which he felt in his own veins. If he focused in, that distant hum would become voices and he could pick out just one and listen to someone’s story. That’s what the Underworld was for Hades, just a tangle of stories, some sad and some wistful, but all of them finished.

He sat on that boat as the air hummed and hummed, and off in the distance, there was the sound of splashing. Hades did not feel the need to investigate, no, he’d let any other boats pass by and they’d do the same for him, as if they heard a humming too-- only it was more like a rattle, a warning, to stay away from the slight, pale, living boy, who knew how to walk every path.

For Hades then, there was only the wait.

So y’know, he got out his phone to text Belle. What? He literally had nothing else to do.

Hercules just dived under water 2 get girl’s soul lol.

What time is it there? How much time I miss?

Hey remember to put yams on the list for O’Hare’s.

Then he went through some pictures he’d taken and did some light photo editing so he could upload one to Instagram. Had to keep his followers happy, y’know, dead bodies or no dead bodies.

Then there were a few bubbles on the surface. Hades cocked an eyebrow and swiftly pocketed his phone, just as Hercules’ head emerged, gasping for air. Georgette’s soul emerged yet, though it made no sound and did not disturb the water. Instead it just materialized, floating there. Hades’ raised his eyebrows at the sight; for all his months trekking through this place, he’d never seen something quite like that.

“Oi, you need help?” he called to Herc, but he didn’t think Hercules heard him over his own waterlog. The boy trawled through the water and collapsed over the side of the boat the next moment, Georgette’s soul floating above.

She floated. She floated. And then, she sank, her soul moving eerily as if it were still in the water. When at last she disappeared, Hades, too, expected the body on the boat to stir with fresh, new life. But he felt nothing pass through the body. There was no heartbeat, no flicker of anything. Death clung.

Hades glanced at the dripping Hercules, and his brow twitched at his panic. He held up a hand. “Oi. The Fates had other instructions, didn’t they? We have to take the River-- shit, what was the name?” He glanced around. There were no bloody signs of course, why would they be? “Shit, it was the river that wrapped around the-- Oceanus!” he remembered.

And as soon as he spoke its name, the boat groaned and lurched, suddenly carving a new path through the waters, through the mist-- and away from here.

HERCULES: Hercules had forgotten all about the Fates. Had forgotten all about what had started them on this quest. All he had inside of him was grief--pouring out like a river itself, like a river long and wide enough to wrap itself all around the world.

He had his grief, which took many forms--panic and pain being the main ones. They stabbed at him, one after another, in equal turns, as he propped himself on his elbow and looked into Georgette’s still, lifeless face. It was covered in blood, black and red and pink. All he could think about was that fact. Not any promises by the Fates.

It wasn’t until the boat jerked that Hercules remembered any of it.

He scrambled back to sit in the boat properly.

“Where is--” but, he trailed off, because he was pretty sure that Hades didn’t know the answer.

They sliced through the water as if there was a motor tied to the boat, no longer slow and sluggish, drifting more than anything else. Water splashed up the side, ice cold on Hercules’ skin. Once again, they fell into silence, darkness all around them. Though, the water was clearer as they went. Hercules couldn’t tell what direction they were going. For all he knew they could be upside down. That was how dark it was. He felt as if he was in zero gravity, floating through nothingness.

The boat churned on, like it was being reeled in, pulled by some invisible fishing rod.

And then, as quickly as it started, it had stopped. (Or had it taken a long time? Time felt like some kind of accordion here beneath the earth.)

But, the front of the boat pulled onto sand. The river flowed in either direction behind them. Hercules couldn’t tell where they’d come from. Only that they were probably supposed to get out here. He hopped out of the boat with little hesitation. At this point, he was not questioning anything. He just wanted this over. He just wanted to see Georgette breathe again.

Leaning back over the boat, he looked at Hades. “I’ve got her.” Gently, he lifted Georgette into his arms. Her body was cold, but not stiff as her head lolled against his bicep. Her hair tickled. She felt like little more than a sack of flour. Though, the weight in his heart hadn’t lifted. But, as he sloshed through the ankle deep water, his legs didn’t shake.

He walked forwards with his head up.

The sand was dark brown, a deep, tarnished gold color. There was only one way to go, grey rock walls appearing on either side as they walked forwards. It funneled into one passageway, a light beckoning them towards it.

Hercules glanced at Hades, but kept going.

The light was sun. Even Hercules could tell that it was warming his skin in the way only the sun could. He could smell fresh air, feel a breeze. His steps quickened, ready to be out of this hell.

He stumbled into the light, squinting as his vision adjusted.

He heard a clatter of what sounded like sticks, and the scuffle of feet. Then, something sharp pressed against his skin. Even though he was invincible again, the force stopped him in his tracks. His eyes blinked a few more times before looking down the shaft of what seemed to be a spear to a woman with her dark hair braided down her back.

“Who are--”

Another of the women stepped forwards behind the first as Hades appeared at the mouth of the cave they had come from. As he did, it disappeared behind him, into a thick tangle of trees and solid stone, a stream flowing into what seemed like nothing but rock.

“Ambassador,” the older woman said and her head bowed slightly. “We were expecting you.”

“Lykopis, what about him?” The woman holding the spear to Hercules’ throat had not removed it.

“I-I’m with him,” Hercules said, pointing to Hades sheepishly.

The older woman, Lykopis, leaned forwards and whispered in the younger woman’s ear. Hercules didn’t catch what she said, but the girl’s eyes went wide and she dropped the spear down to her side at once.

“We’ll take you to where you need to go,” she said, “this way.”

[basementadvco-blog]

The Mystery of Darkwood Down Part 2: Show me your Boot!

When we last left our heroes, they had discovered the Ancient Tome that can control the Seal of Magic…had been stolen, replaced by a harmless Frog anatomy book.

A few details to note, the book has the same symbol embossed on its front that was glowing on the Wolves outside. Knowing who those Wolves work for could give us some desperately needed context.

The character of Roseni seems like she’s getting pushed aside and not allowed to do anything. While yes, in context our characters wouldn’t want a 10-year-old poking around a dangerous room, the player isn’t sitting in time out…she’s a warlock, and I often see her passing notes to the DM as she reads people’s minds and communicates with her patron, so there’s still plenty going on.

We begin by giving the book a solid look over, as it’s the biggest clue we have. It’s a new book, but there’s no exact publish date, so no telling exactly when this book was bought. Still, we ultimately conclude that if we find the bookstores (the University in town sells textbooks like these, so that’s our most likely option) that sell this book, we can find out who purchased it recently, which could narrow our search.

There is a bit of dispute over how much we report to the mayor. Novem doesn’t see any logical reason why he would be trying to deceive us, but, he did send us on this highly important mission with basically no intel, so he’s yet to be a “trustworthy” source, so we agree to test him on what he knows. We do a quick survey of the barrow and find no other footprints. Meaning the book was stolen a while ago, it wasn’t stolen and this book IS the real thing, just disguised, or, our enemies have some nasty teleportation and/or levitation magic.

We make our way back to Darkwood Down, not encountering any disorientation magic or wolves or any obstacles on the way. Its daybreak by the time we get to the Mayor’s home. Gates lets us in and leads us to the Mayor’s office where he was working through the night. We knock…no answer…knock again…no answer…We call out to him…no answer…Roseni reaches out telepathically…and finds no mind to speak to.

The door is locked and Roseni’s mage hand can’t unlock it from the inside. Novem considers picking the locked door, and Luther decides to break through the door itself.

Inside we see the Mayor, dead, numerous wounds to the chest, and his head nearly shredded open. His face is so mangled he’s little more than lasagna.

His office is mostly untouched, save for a bookshelf that’s been broken and rifled through. Novem tells Gates to send for the police immediately, and enters the room to make sure no other assassins are hiding inside and that it’s safe to enter.

Phillip and Yukiko immediately enter the room to start examining the crime scene, and Luther trails behind only long enough to tell Roseni to stay outside and…don’t look into the room.

We spend a while in this room, searching for clues and hints. Among the many things we are able to determine the following.

The window was intact, but unlatched, a set of footprints in the snow walk directly underneath the balcony but did not seem to stop, and headed toward the work shed. The wounds on the body were too numerous and too rough to determine the kind of murder weapon, or even if that murder weapon was a blade, or a shadow demon wolf. A small, broken off piece of sharp metal was found in the Mayor’s nose, shaped like an exacto-knife or something similar. A trap door, unlocked by a switch in the desk, was between the desk and the window. It was undisturbed and unopened. Inside was a small box with a key inside. The key has the number “128” on it. The papers on the desks were rifled through, but any important documents are absent. The bookshelf was heavily disturbed. Short, dark hairs were scattered on one of the shelves, the same symbol on the book and wolves was scratched into the wall, and a single bootprint, stained into the floor with a hint of mud, was left behind.

We do our best not to disturb too much so that when the police arrive, the scene is still in a state where they can learn from it. The Frog book ends up being handed to Novem, while Philip grabs a history book from the shelf, because reasons, don’t worry about it.

Novem and Luther head outside and follow the footprints to the shed. Inside isn’t much, but there is a hedge clipper with some flecks of blood on it…although the blood is old, and not nearly enough to be the murder weapon, so we consider it a red herring. Following the footsteps to the balcony to see if a grappling hook might have been used, Novem asks Luther about his divine magic, how he can heal despite being an undead. Luther’s god of Justice, Tyr, apparently still grants him his power. Novem is grateful, and asks Luther to pass on that appreciation to Tyr.

At this point, the gardener shows up, thinking we’re suspicious looking and shouldn’t be here…can’t…blame him. If you saw the Terminator, and a knight with a plain, featureless helmet 1 size too small standing in the front yard…yeah, I’d call that suspicious. Novem explains the situation: the mayor was killed and they’re finding anything relevant while the police are on their way. The Gardener is…very nervous about us…since we’re not cops yet we’re poking around the crime scene. Again, can’t blame the guy. He runs off, clearly afraid of the kill-bot and the faceless knight who is starting to smell a little bit like dead person.

The police arrive, escorted by Gates and Not Gates (running gag, Phillip loves confusing people.) Officer White, and Officer Strunk show up to find out what happened. Yukiko and Phillip come up to meet them, while Roseni hides…under a bench…in an empty hallway. Such stealth.

Phillip talks circles around the police officers, demanding to see their boots, saying Gates is not gates, and they’re untrustworthy…Officer White isn’t having it and has Officer Strunk take our crew’s statements and send us on our way. That includes the tiny child hiding under the bench…

Novem and Luther arrive, and try to calm down the police before Phillip ends up in handcuffs (they tried to muzzle him with rope with surprising success), and we all go downstairs to give our statements.

Thankfully, we all give the same story, with different details exaggerated. Independently we all tell him what we honestly found in the room, while leaving out the trap door, and the book. We did say we were hired by the mayor to find the book, but we leave it out as to not distract the police from the murder investigation…obviously the two are connected, but this is a secret magic book hidden by a secret order so…they probably wouldn’t buy that story anyway.

Phillip has the bright idea to make a big deal about this history book, pretending THAT is the book we were sent to get. He gives it to the police when they ask, but wants it back, pretending like its super important. The police look through it, and see that it’s just some rare, well-made book on the history of the town.

We end our little interrogation with seemingly no suspicion from the police…if we need their help again, we’re going to have to dance around not sharing what we knew before, but let’s face it, we’re adventurers, if we need help from the local law enforcement, we are in deep anyway.

Novem wants to ask if Gates knows about the symbol we’ve been seeing. Phillip follows.

This is going to go well.

We find one of the Gates’ in front of the crime scene (the other is being questioned by Strunk). Novem asks and Gates says no, he doesn’t, and seems to be honest. Phillip starts to be Phillip, messing with people and Officer White angrily steps out of the office…to which Phillip demands to see her boot!

Oh boy.

She tries to grab his wrist to handcuff him. Misses. Tries again, misses. Throws a punch at him. Hits. Phillip still only has 3 HP after being healed from last night when Roseni knocked him out.

Novem explains there’s a footprint in the room and Phillip is eager to help, trying to find people whose shoes match the bootprint. Officer White is so done with this bird and sends them away. Novem scoops up the wizard and follows after the others, who are going to take Roseni to breakfast, before returning home.

Some roleplaying happens, and Roseni talks about Iggy, her “caretaker” who is the only one who can give her parents their “medicine” since all the other doctors who come by also get “sick” even though she doesn’t know what kind of healer he is.

Luther, being a paladin, offers to help heal her parents when they return to her home.

Oooh, this is going to be good.

Novem walks up with an unconscious crow wizard. Luther is annoyed. Novem explains that the police were more annoyed. Luther gives our wizard an irritated Lay on Hands

We left off there. Our DM is providing a big list of all the stores and shops and landmarks we can visit in the city, and it’s up to us to figure out how to investigate it. He didn’t have it printed off this time, but next time we’ll jump right in and get this investigation into full swing.