#ic. the earth laughs in flowers; persephone

[ladymdc]

Chapters: 5/15 (~14,750 at present) Updated: 04/28/24 Rating: Explicit Relationships: Astarion/f!Tav Additional Tags: Inspired by Hades & Persephone, Vampire Ascendant Astarion, POV Astarion, Kidnapping, Possessive Behavior, Obsessive Behavior, Powerful Persephone, Spirit of Nature Halsin, Developing Relationship, One-sided Hate to Lovers, Falling In Love, Astarion is an asshole but he’s Trying™️, Vampire Turning, Blood Drinking, Protectiveness, Hurt/Comfort, Non-Consensual Voyeurism (once), Explicit Sexual Content, Unreliable Narrator, Manipulation, Minor/background Halsin/f!Tav (not the focus but it is there), Angst with a happy ending

Summary: The moment Astarion saw her, he knew. He could feel the fire in her. See it in her eyes. He decided to take her for himself. To give Asher more than just flowers and trees.

Astarion had always been drawn to the sun. He should have known then that he wouldn’t be able to live without her.

(Excerpt from CH1 under the cut)

CH1: The impatient, burning, dawn.

I asked Persephone, “How could you grow to love him? He took you from flowers to a kingdom where not a single living thing can grow.”

Persephone smiled, “My darling, every flower on your earth withers. What Hades gave me was a crown made for the immortal flowers in my bones.” 

— Nikita Gill

____________________________________________________

He had to have her. 

It was all Astarion could think when she turned to face him. Prior to materializing behind her, he had not decided what his course of action would be. Ask for recommendations on lodgings for the night or drain her dry for the energy and continue on to Baldur’s Gate, but now— 

Astarion wanted. 

She looked as exquisite as she smelled. Her features were delicate and refined, though her beauty was somewhat marred by the scar branching across her right cheek. Or it ought to be, but it only added a brutal sort of grace to her.

The setting sun picked out the strands of gold in her red hair, highlighting the freckles across the bridge of her nose and the crest of each cheek. She stared at him with incredible, dark golden eyes lined heavily with kohl that made them seem to glow in the dying light. 

“You seem lost,” she said. 

The wind picked up from behind him. The golden fields rippled and swayed, seeming to bow before her. 

“I feel like I am right where I’m supposed to be,” Astarion said. 

“In a wheat field just outside of Reithwin?” 

Astarion laughed softly at her wry tone, the sound shocking him. When was the last time he had laughed like that? Something not false and laced through with complete cynicism?

“No, in your presence, darling. It is a fine one.”

“Is that the only reason I’m still alive?” She said it tonelessly, like a casual observation. One surprisingly lacking in concern for someone able and willing to recognize the reality of their situation. 

Instinctively, curiously, Astarion reached out to gently press into her mind. For a moment, he had access to everything. 

Astarion saw a longbow, sunlight drifting through speckled glass into a room and illuminating countless motes around it, a trail of tiny purple flowers. He tasted her wishes, her regrets. Her name.

Her anger. 

“If you could not do that,” her voice was ice. “I would appreciate it.” 

“My apologies,” Astarion lied, inclining his head. “It’s a habit. Though, people do not usually detect I am there.” 

“It appears neither of us are what we seem.” 

Astarion grinned, excessively pleased with that fact, and provided a convenient glimpse of his canines. “Quite,” he said. “Which is why, as delectable as you would undoubtedly be, killing you for a few minutes of bliss would be a waste.” 

“I suppose I should thank you for that.” 

“It would be the polite thing to do,” Astarion agreed.

It was interesting how the very air around her seemed to thaw. 

“Thank you,” she said, that wry tone back again. 

“You’re welcome, my dear, and now that we’ve gotten the formalities out of the way, my name is Astarion.”

A glimmer of amusement lit in her eyes. “Well, Astarion, assuming standard fare will sate your appetites. The Last Light Inn has an excellent cellar, and the main suite should suffice. It’s not Upper City, but it’s better than most places outside the Gate.”

Astarion stepped closer, relishing the slight increase in her pulse. It was not fear, exactly. Nor desire. Anticipation of the unknown, perhaps, because she did not shy away. She just looked up at him as if facing down the prospect of death was nothing new. Astarion had seen enough of her mind to know these fields were not all she had ever known. 

Nor all she wanted to know. 

“Sating my appetites aside, you’re willing to set me loose here?” Astarion asked.

“I doubt you need my permission to go anywhere.”

“I don’t, but we both know that isn’t what I was asking,” Astarion admonished gently. 

Her eyebrows furrowed into a faint v. “There is no need to cause problems for you, no matter how minor,” she said. “You haven’t done anything.”

Astarion almost laughed again. “Oh, darling, I’ve done plenty.”

“As much as I don’t doubt that, I also don’t care as far as it relates to me.” 

“How…” he tilted his head to the side. “Pragmatic of you.” 

“Not everyone has a death wish,” she said simply. 

The wind picked up again, and his fingers itched to tuck a lock of hair that had fallen loose from her bun back behind her ear. 

“You should come with me to Baldur’s Gate, Asher Claill,” Astarion said, permitting her name to touch his tongue alongside the decision. “This place is too insignificant for someone like you.” 

“And die in a week when you get bored? No, thank you.” 

“I believe tiring of you would be impossible.” 

Asher did not say it, but Astarion felt it. How the comment touched on her pride. It was in her smile, slight as it was, and in the whisper of warmth in the air that hadn’t been there a second before.

“Goodbye, Astarion,” she said. Then Asher turned and walked away as if she did not comprehend that she had piqued his interest more than anyone had in his entire existence. 

Or what that meant. 

____________________________________________________

For the time being, the Last Light Inn would suit his appetites precisely as Asher had said. It did have an excellent cellar, and the main suite was, in fact, sufficient. Despite his lack of a retinue, his attire and chain of office marking Astarion as a magistrate opened both to his immediate disposal. Not that Astarion had suspected anything to the contrary. 

Asher had exhibited no telltale signs of deceit. No increase in respiration. No hesitation. However, Astarion dealt in lies and embellishment. Disappointment, it seemed, had somehow become his standard. That he was left feeling satisfied, for once, only added to the appeal. 

It was with thoughts of her filling his head that Astarion selected another grape from the cheese platter. 

“Are these grown here?” he asked the innkeeper. 

The power behind it was barely a push. It was a nudge more than anything. Hardly a compulsion when a charm could make someone believe Astarion’s thoughts were their own or be a force to turn someone’s body and mind against them. 

“They are, my lord,” the innkeeper said. 

Astarion allowed his fang to pierce through the skin and release a burst of flavor onto his tongue. He hummed, pleased. 

“Delicious,” he said, then selected a slice of bread to be the vessel for some goat cheese pressed with chopped almonds. “Cheese from the Dalelands is a pleasant find all the way out here.”

The absent comment struck a chord of unease. Astarion paused for a moment, considering its value. Then he finished smoothing the cheese over the crusty bread. Lesser vampires needed eye contact to maintain compulsions, but Astarion was not lesser. 

“Is its absence going to cause problems for you?” Astarion asked. 

“No, my lord.”

“Then what’s the issue?” 

“There isn’t one. I like to have it in stock for one of the residents, is all.” 

Her voice had been dark and fluid, accented like the honey touched by lavender that Astarion drizzled over his creation. 

“Who?” he asked, seeking confirmation. 

There it was again, that tension tightening as the man tried to tip toward breaking free to protect this individual. Astarion smothered it. Pressed into the innkeeper’s mind, digging into it like a spike. 

What little mental fortifications this half-elf possessed were immediately broken. The man’s life was laid out before Astarion in still frames and fragments of memory, but he only touched on what he was looking for and withdrew.

“The wood elf with red hair,” Astarion prompted. “Tell me about her.” 

“There’s not much to say, my lord. She keeps to herself for the most part.” 

Astarion didn’t speak for the space of two to three bites. “I’m sure she does, though that doesn’t help the rumors, does it?” he asked, at last. 

“It isn’t as bad as it used to be,” the innkeeper said. “Time and memory work in her favor, but it’s believed she’s responsible for the eternal spring here.”

Astarion swirled the wine in his glass, triple-checking his own memory, but no, he could not recall ever hearing the name Reithwin or of a place untouched by winter. Not that the information would necessarily reach him, and if it did, Astarion had centuries working against him. 

So much of the outside world still seemed new as time reshaped the land while his focus remained on the Gate. It was pure circumstance that Astarion’s errand had sent him farther south than planned, putting this pocket of color and warmth in an endless grey landscape directly in his return path to the city.

“Do you believe it?” Astarion wondered. 

“I do, my lord. It’s a rarity now, and it wasn’t always that way, but I remember a time when flowers used to bloom in her footsteps.” 

“Where does she live?” 

Astarion could feel the innkeeper trying to stop himself, but Astarion had control, and he pushed until the man was hemorrhaging secrets.

“I don’t want to harm her,” Astarion soothed, keeping his voice low and persuasive. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

(read the rest on Ao3!)

[vaultofqueenorion]

Take Me To Olympus #22

We're continuing on the journey. I've got a couple of more chapters written out and I am super excited to post them.

Things are heating up (and GOSH I can't wait until you see what I have in store for the future. Who do you think is coming next? ^-^) and the deities are cracking apart.

This is one of my favorite cracks ngl.

The First Chapter

Previous Chapter

Next chapter (coming soon)

//

Bones of the Earth and Shoreline Shimmers

Hades only joined Harley on her little shopping trip to give Persephone some time with Julia, and he found himself wandering the more seclusive corners of the malls. Most people seemed content to avoid him anyway, and that suited him fine.

The night before kept replaying in his mind, the chaotic power that resided in this world filling him as he worked the ritual. He’d been obsessed with getting Persephone back - it had almost consumed him. 

Hera had been right, after all.

He clenched his fist, feeling the bones and muscles ripple with barely contained chaotic power. Shadows seemed to coalesce at his fingertips before dripping onto the white marbled floor.

Perhaps he should have listened to the Oracle. 

Hades stared at the splotches. They writhed for a moment before they sunk into the white stone, dissonant whispers fading from his head as they did. 

And yet. 

Something about what Miranda had said to them lingered. He went further into the empty corridor to the side, smiling slightly at the flickering light above him. 

You will face the inevitable, and you, in all your glory of being the Gods of Old, will fall.

More shadows dripped from his fingers, running down his hands in thin streams as he felt darkness coalesce within him. A whiplash of pain surged through him, thorns digging into his insides, and when his smile turned into a grin, he knew his teeth were coated in darkness. 

Persephone had cracked. 

He could feel the dark he shared with her try to escape through every orifice, his skin turning black with the oily substance that ran in rivulets down his neck, arms, legs. 

A puddle formed beneath him.

With each drop, he focused on the heroes of the past. Of how they mustered when the odds seemed against them - of their courage in the face of deities much stronger than themselves.

Perfection kills Gods.

Then let him become mortal.

A croaking laugh made its way out his throat, and with each second he laughed, the shadows disappeared from his voice. As if he himself became the sun, the shadows withdrew from him. 

Searing pain filled his body, and he fell to the ground, his knees hitting the stone with a crack. His body heated until it felt like he was being burned alive, the ice in his veins turning liquid and escaping through his pores. 

Hades clutched at the ground, laughing through clenched teeth as the unimaginable pain coursed through him, each second longer than the next.

He had chosen this. 

This was what they had all chosen by making this their home.

Breathing hard through his nose, Hades opened his eyes. Only to immediately close them again as he was blinded. Shuffling onto his back, he cracked them open again, marveling at his hands.

His alabaster skin had cracked, revealing glistening golds and silvers on his hands. As he twisted his arms, the flickering light above created dancing reflections of the walls around him, bathing them in soft light.

He fought to get up, ignoring the ache that permeated his body. Then he lifted up his shirt, wonder lighting up his eyes at the way his skin split apart to reveal shimmering greens, blues, reds and purples - his skin had become living gemstones.

Wait until he showed this to Persephone. She would marvel at him, and perhaps she could even make a flower after the artpiece that his skin had become.

“Oh no,” he said, a hand coming up to wipe his grin off his face. He had forgotten about Persephone. And he’d felt her - had felt the crack in his darkness as she wilted away, and-

“Damn straight ‘oh no’,” came the unbidden response from the mouth of the corridor. “What are you even doing in here? And what are those - did you buy a disco ball?”

Harley stopped dead in her tracks when she neared him, her eyes becoming the size of saucers. But it didn’t last long.

“Holy shit what is this?” She said as she rushed forward, holding out a hand. Hades obliged and gave her his own colorful one, and her featherlight fingers ran up and down his newfound skin. “You too, huh?”

At that Hades cocked his head, his eyes roaming over Aphrodite. They were standing just within the shadows, and yet too far away from Hades to properly see. 

“I guess we are nothing more than gilded porcelain in the end,” he remarked, all the while drawing up his shirt for Harley to see his colorful stomach.

“And yet, when we break, our cracks are lined with gold,” Aphrodite said as they stepped forward, putting on display the thorns and white roses that had melded with their skin like intricate tattoos. They held their head high, and Hades gave them a small smile. 

A warmer smile than he’d ever managed before around anyone but Persephone.

Aphrodite returned it, their teeth glittering in the golden light of the topaz that reflected onto them. 

“You get yourselves into just as many messes as I do,” Harley said, taking a step back and looking from one cracked deity to the other. “Now, let’s find the last lost duckling and get home.”

Poseidon had been pacing through the mall for far too long, each round becoming more agitated as he glanced at the displays behind the windows. Televisions displayed news channels where prim people were discussing who would take the blame for the most recent oil spill, horrific images of the tonnes of black liquid that tainted the oceans. 

He looked away from the dead eyes of the fish that lay on their side. He had left so many brothers and sisters of the sea behind in the past. There was no doubt - he hadn’t been able to contact any of them since he had arrived here.

The nymphs and water sprites and other magnificent creatures had perished to the greed of the human race that had evolved as they were unchecked by the gods.

Clenching his hands, he closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, trying to force the images of death and decay and pure artificial wrongness out of his mind. The ocean as he knew it had perished - and whichever creatures remained were dying at an alarming rate, all thanks to people who would never feel the anger of the sea upon their own bodies, instead sending workers to do their dirty deeds. 

A frustrated sound managed to worm its way through his teeth, the sound akin to the magnificent conch he had left at his home beneath the sea.

“Well, you’re a cheery sight.” 

Poseidon didn’t bother turning around - the ever changing voice was enough to alert him to Hermes, not to mention the anticipation of gossip that seemed to hang in the air.

“Why would I be?” He didn’t bother unclenching his hands as he whirled, finding Hermes leaning against a nearby wall. “They have enough pleasure as they rejoice in the destruction of a miracle older than life itself.”

Hermes snorted, never moving from his position even as his eyes twinkled. “You were content to turn a blind eye to the struggles of Olympus for millennia. I can hardly imagine that this is much different.”

Fury boiled up within him like a raging sea, a frothing wild creature that threatened to spill from his every cell. “You dare compare the two? There is a difference between the ecosystem upon which the world hinges, and petty squabbles among people who should know better.”

The light in Hermes’ eyes turned sharp, the colors upon his body shifting in sharper increments that had mortals around them scurrying a little faster away from their part of the mall, even if they seemed confused as to what was triggering their fear. 

“Do not act like you are above the rest of us. Do I need to mention Medusa? Minos? Demeter? The horrific things you put others through for your own amusement have put you far below the mortals you would readily call the scum of the Earth.” Hermes paused as if savoring the words before sending Poseidon a wicked smile that held no amusement. “You are in the mud along with the rest of us.”

If Poseidon had had the lightning bolt that Zeus was so fond of throwing around, he’d have obliterated Hermes immediately. Hell, if he had been at his full strength, he’d have flooded the mall with a tsunami that would tear Hermes apart.

As it was, however, he managed to step into Hermes' personal space, their noses almost touching as the nearby fountain flowed over, the water spilling onto the floor.

“Don’t presume to match my misdeeds to the rest of yours. Mine have been harmless pranks or targeted mortals, never with the intention of harming my family.” Poseidon’s snarl reverberated within his chest, nearly rattling his teeth as it passed through his lips.

Hermes scoffed. “Funny you should say that, because I seem to remember a rebellion against the big guy.” He pointed upwards, towards where Olympus would have been, would they have been home instead of this hellish nightmare. “And the atrocities you committed against the women you call family - and those who had been your loyal followers or even just the worshippers of other gods. Those women would call it the most atrocious behavior of all.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Poseidon said, his eyes flickering as he recalled the pain in their eyes.

“I know what they whisper to each other when darkness falls. It’s my job to know.” Hermes’ eyes were spinning in a kaleidoscope now, and Poseidon had to look away from the dizzying colors. “I know that it is a miracle that Julia and Harley are even tolerating being near most of us, and I know that you caused irreparable damage to the psyches of those poor women.” 

Hermes leaned further in, tilting his head to whisper in Poseidon’s ear. “The world will go on, the seas will restore themselves and the nymphs will return, stronger than ever before. But I wonder whether they refuse your call because they know that your power has diminished over them - because they know that you cannot harm them anymore.”

“I never wished to harm anyone,” Poseidon said, feeling the tips of Hermes’ fingers dig into his back. 

“Lies,” the God of Messages hissed and pain shot up through Poseidon from Hermes’ splayed fingers. “We have not been worthy of divinity for a long while - you have not been worthy. But it is time that you pay your victims the respect they deserve and then become better.

“And while you may not see it, people of this world are fighting for it - there are those who clean the lakes and beaches and the organizations scouring the seas for plastic.” Hermes dragged Poseidon back to the screens that rather than dead fish now showed people scrambling to remove the oil from the sea. “The sea is strong; it will endure. But humanity needs people who understand the deep dark abyss that covers this world - people who will willingly dedicate their lives to educate and improve upon their own lives and the lives of others as they clean up the ocean, piece after painstaking piece.”

Poseidon seemed to freeze for a moment, thoughts churning within his mind. Then he tentatively spoke, the words slow as they fell from his lips. “I have not been worthy of the title of protector. Do you think that it is too late for us to change?”

Hermes did not acknowledge the words that went unsaid.

Do you think it is too late for me?

Instead he forced his lips upwards in jagged smile that was more trickery than treatment, yet Poseidon felt something uncurl from within him at the breeze that carried the messenger God’s words. 

“You are as wild and wicked as the ever changing tide, never forget that. But you must learn to bring calm seas rather than storms to the people around you.”

As Poseidon blinked, the last light of Hermes disappeared in that gust of wind. The thing uncurling within him turned into a roiling sea, freezing and scalding his insides at the same time as he forced himself to relive the memories that he had attempted to banish to the back of his mind as ill-received pranks. 

Pain snapped at his bones and muscles, their strength eroding under the unrelenting onslaught as Poseidon fell to his knees clutching his sides. Water poured from his eyes as he allowed himself to feel the pain that they had felt, invisible hands leaving marks in all shades of ocean blue upon his body, staining his skin in the colors of the sea. 

The pain pulsed through him, wave after wave from the tips of his fingers and all the way through his neck as the tears sunk into his skin, leaving blue lines of brilliant blue. 

Poseidon stayed silent on the floor throughout it all, letting the pain wash over him. Crawling towards it rather than shying away from it, he allowed himself to become used to the ebb and flow of it, a reminder of the past that he had wanted to ignore for so long.

A past that he would work to fix and compensate for, in any way that he could.

Even if that meant he would never quite be done atoning for the things he’d done. 

“There’s the last one,” Harley said from somewhere behind him. It was as if he was listening through the roar of a raging ocean, her voice too far away to really reach him. “Come on home, little duckling, we’ve got a family to fix.”

A snort from Aphrodite, their voice hollow yet somehow infinitely lighter as they spoke. “You can’t fix what isn’t broken.”

“Reshape then,” Hades replied, baritone voice devoid of the crawling shadows that infested his every move. “We can make something new in its stead.”

It wasn’t until he was standing right in front of him that Poseidon felt the urge to raise his gaze. It wasn’t until that hand covered in the finest of marbling minerals was held outstretched towards him that he dared release the iron grip he held over the roiling sea that churned in his chest, threatening to spill out through his eyes. 

“None of us have been kind, brother.” Dark eyes met seafoam blue, and Poseidon reached out with shaking fingers and grasped Hades’ hand. “But it’s never too late to learn.” 

It was a warm and solid grip that Poseidon met in Hades, the unshakable, undiluted hope of the deity of the dead even as he cracked apart touched something deep within the chest of the god of the seas, and green tears sent crystalline traces down his cheeks as he allowed himself to hold on to his brother for long enough that the world around them fell away.

“A-hem,” came the too fake cough to even be considered an attempt at a fake cough from Aphrodite. 

Then there was the sound of a scuffle and an ‘ow’, and Poseidon allowed himself to smile, just a bit. 

To his surprise, Hades lips quirked upwards, his eyes glittering with the riches of the world. 

For the first time, Poseidon found himself not caring whether they returned to their own time or not.

[avengerscompound]

Small Gods: Spring Thaw - 2

Spring Thaw:  A Bucky Barnes Fanfic

Spring Thaw Masterlist | More Small Gods PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count:  2046

Warnings: nothing this chapter.

Synopsis: Bucky Barnes hates winter.  He always looks for the first signs of the ice thawing and new life growing.  When that desire for the end of winter brings to him the god of the spring thaw, he discovers a brand new reason to get through winter.

Chapter 2

Bucky arrived at the movies twenty minutes before he had arranged to meet you and then proceeded to mentally curse himself out the entire time because of how eager it made him look.  He was just considering leaving and coming back again so he could maybe come off as fashionably late when you appeared behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.

He jumped and spun around, instantly going into fight mode, and when he saw your slightly bemused expression, he instantly relaxed.  You were wearing another warm winter coat that looked impossibly spring-like.  This one was sky blue with daisies printed on it as if they were polka dots.  Your hat, scarf, and gloves were in a darker shade of blue, and on the side of your beanie was a crochet daisy that matched the ones on your coat.  “Hey, you’re early,” he said.

“So are you,” you said.

Bucky smiled sheepishly and ran his hand through the back of his hair.  “Yeah.  It’s been a while and I didn’t want to be late.”  He held out a bouquet of different colored tulips for you.  “I got you these.”

“Oh my,” you said, taking them and inhaling deeply.  “These are so out of season.  They must have cost a fortune.”

Bucky shrugged.  The bouquet did cost significantly more money than when he’d last bought a girl flowers, but as that was in 1943, he didn’t think it was fair to compare.  “It wasn’t so bad.  And I knew you’d like them.”

You leaned up and kissed his cheek.  Another first for this new life he had.  It felt like a static shock and he flinched a little, and then hoped to god you didn’t notice because he wanted there to be more of that.  He wanted that kind of physical affection that had been withheld for so long.  “I love them,” you said.  “Thank you.”

Bucky turned back toward the cinema and then debated what his next move should be.  He had the tickets.  Did he offer you his arm or just start walking?  There were so many new rules about dating and he realized he didn’t know any of them.  Did you hold doors and pull out chairs anymore?  Who paid for things?

While he was thinking, you slipped your hand into his and pulled him toward the cinema.  “Come on, slowpoke,” you said.

The warmth from your skin seemed to radiate out from you so that he could feel it through both his and your gloves.

“Do we need to buy tickets?”  You asked when you entered the building.

“I’ve got them,” he said.

You took off your gloves and shoved them in your coat and looked up at him.  “Then let me buy the candy.”

“Now that hardly seems fair,” Bucky said.  “The tickets were cheap.  You’ll have to mortgage your house for candy.”

You snorted.  It was an adorable sound but you quickly covered your face in embarrassment.  “Oh my god,” you mumbled.

Bucky laughed and rubbed your arm.  “That was cute, don’t worry.”

You shook your head.  “I can’t remember the last time I laughed like that,” you said.  “So now I’m gonna buy candy so I can pretend it never happened.”

He chuckled and followed you to the counter as you bought popcorn, jolly ranchers, and a couple of sodas before the two of you headed into the theater.  It was strange how familiar it felt to be on a movie date.  Like muscle memory.  He sat down in the assigned seat and you put your coat on your lap with the popcorn sitting in his.  There was the awkward start where you aren’t sure if you should be touching or not - not that there was much choice in such a confined space.  There was an accidental hand touch when both of you went for popcorn at the same time.  Then you snuggled into him during the sappy parts and even though having you pressed against him felt alien to him.  It felt familiar and comfortable and he put his arm around your shoulders and held you in a casual way he hadn’t done to anyone since before he was sent off to war.

It was dark when you both came out of the theater with your arm tucked in the crook of his.  “Do you want to get a bite to eat?”  He asked.

“I would love it.  Just something simple though,” you said.

He nodded and the two of you began walking down the street together.  “Thank you for this, Bucky,” you said as the two of you walked along.  “I never do this.”

“I’m pretty out of practice too,” Bucky admitted.

“Why is that?”  You asked.  “You seem like a natural.  Not to mention - you’re very handsome.”

Bucky looked at you, once again not sure if you were being completely honest with him or not.  Not just about not recognizing him, but about any of it really.  Questioning his reality had become second nature.  He was used to being lied to and used.  He was used to things being taken from him.  “You really don’t know who I am?”  He asked.

You stopped walking, a little startled, and looked him up and down.  “I don’t meet too many people, I know we haven’t met.”

“No,” Bucky said, shaking his head.  “I’m the winter soldier?”

“Winter…?”  You said, furrowing your brow.  “You control winter?”

Bucky laughed.  “No.  What?”

“Oh,” you said, relaxing a little.  “I don’t know what you're talking about.”

“Captain America’s friend?”  He asked, only to be met with the same look of confusion.  “The Avengers?”

“I’m so sorry,” you said.  “I don’t keep up with current popular culture.”

“You don’t know about the people disappearing and then the fight and them showing up five years later?”  Bucky asked.

“I mean… I know they all went away and came back, but I wasn’t…” you trailed off.

“Captain America?  Iron Man?  Thor?”

Finally, a glimmer of recognition reached your eyes and you smiled.  “You know Thor?”

“I mean, a little.  He’s a nice guy,” Bucky said.

“I know,” you said.  “He’s really funny.  Likes to fight a lot though.”

“Wait…” Bucky said.  “Do you know Thor?  Like you’ve met him?”

“Yes!  I’ve met him.  It was a long, long time ago,” you said, nodding enthusiastically.  “Are the gods… are we showing ourselves again?”

Bucky blinked at you.  “What do you mean ‘we’?”

You looked around and took his hand tugging him along.  “We should go somewhere to talk.”

He walked with you until you found a diner and the two of you ducked inside and slipped into a booth by the window.  You put your coat with your flowers beside you on the seat and neither of you said anything until the orders had been placed.

“It was easier back before,” you said as you began to play with the little tubs of half-and-half on the table.

“What was?”  Bucky asked.  “I don’t know what’s going on right now?”

“I’m a god, Bucky,” you said.

Bucky laughed.  He wasn’t even sure why because he knew a god.  He knew and had experienced far stranger things than gods.  But here, sitting in a diner with you, the thought just struck him as absurd.  “What?”

“Back before, when people were primitive and didn’t understand how things worked, we just walked with the mortals,” you said, answering a question he never asked as you looked out the window.  You turned your attention back to him and lay your palms flat on the table.  “I don’t know how to start the story.”

Bucky shook his head.  “The beginning?”

“That goes back to before I even was,” you said.  “And I don’t have all the story.  From what I understand, when the universe was born, the worlds were formed from a central point where all matter was one.  And then it exploded out in a mess of matter and energy.  Some of that energy you and I would call magic.  Some words, like Asgard and Olympus, were drenched in it…”

“Woah, hold up,” Bucky said.  “Olympus is real?”

“You’ve met Thor but you doubt the existence of the Greek Gods?”  You asked with your eyebrow raised.

“Right, okay,” Bucky said.  “Go on.”

“The magic on Earth is weaker and so the gods here are also weaker.  We came to be when people pray for us, even if that’s just a muttered hope, like “oh god let me pass this test,” you explained.

“So you’re telling me that there might be a god for the red light changing?”  Bucky asked.

You nodded.  “Oh yeah, they’re doing quite well for themselves.”

“That's…”  Bucky said and shook his head as he tried to absorb it.  “Not the weirdest thing I’ve ever heard,” he settled on.  “So what are you?”

“The spring thaw,” you said.

“What?  Like Persephone?”  Bucky asked.

“Well, no,” you said.  “For starters, she lives on Olympus and she’s way more powerful than I am.  And she covers all over Spring.  I’m just the part where the ice melts.  I was way stronger back before industrial farming.  People prayed to see the ice receding.  Now, it still happens but not with as much need.  Oh and also, when Persephone isn’t doing her thing, she has somewhere she goes.”

“What?  What does that mean?”  Bucky asked.  “Where do you go?”

You shrug. “I’m just not.”

“Not what?”

“Not anything,” you said.  “I’m here when people start wishing for the end of winter, and I’m gone when they stop.”

Bucky furrowed his brow and nodded.  “Would you believe me if I said I know how that feels?”

“Really?”  You asked.  “How?”

The waiter came over and placed their orders in front of them.  Bucky took a drink of his black coffee and wished it was something a little harder.  Not that alcohol would actually do anything.  “I guess I better start from the beginning too.”

As the two of you ate your meals, Bucky unloaded everything.  From when he was born, to going to war, to being captured by HYDRA and experimented on, not just once but twice.  About how they brainwashed him and had him commit unspeakable acts, and when they weren’t getting him to do these heinous things, they would freeze him, so that every time he woke he had no idea who he was or where he was or even what year it was.  How he’d broken out of it and had to adjust to life on the run 60 years after the last time he had control of his body.  How that had ended up going to shit and he’d opted to go on ice again because even that was better than living with what he had in his head.  How they managed to get HYDRA out and he was just settling into life again when Thanos happened and he’d just stopped existing.

The food was gone by the time he was done with the story and he was on his third cup of coffee.  He’d worry about staying up, but the caffeine would pass out of his system soon enough and besides, he didn’t sleep that great anyway.

You had listened intently, never interrupting, but the expression on your face told him how horrified and sad the story made you.  “... and then the Avengers stopped being a thing and I tried to cancel out some of my bad with a friend and then I moved here.”

You reached over and took his hand.  “I’m so sorry all that happened to you,” you said earnestly.  “And I can see why we were drawn to each other.”

“Why is that?”  Bucky asked.

“I bet you aren’t a big fan of the cold, huh?”  You asked.

He smiled and shook his head.  “No, you could say that.”

“Were you hoping for some sign of the thaw?”  You asked.  He smiled and nodded.  “And there I was.  I probably felt it too.”

“I’m glad you did,” he said.

“I’d like to see you again,” you said.  “Would that be alright?”

“How will that work if you’re only going to be here for such a short time?”  Bucky asked.

“Well,” you said thoughtfully. “I guess we’ll have to enjoy the brief time we have?”

// NEXT

[greaterspawnislands]

the shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn | of the seed and the sickle

their first meeting

(or, hades and persephone, i suppose that’s one way to look at it)

links in the notes/reblogs :) 

In the center of a valley, past evergreen trees that border a rushing, bubbling river, past tall, spindly aspen trees with leaves that are just starting to turn sunset shades of orange and yellow, is a small farmhouse. Bordered by fields with crops ready for harvest and the forest beyond, the idyllic house crafted of spruce and stone sits alone. The dwelling is still and silent, save for one restless being, who stands at the kitchen window and stares at the stars.

Phil exhales lightly from the counter, fingers tapping alone the smooth-cut stone. The house is quiet. Tommy is fast asleep, the nine-year-old tired out from another day of running through fields and forests on another adventure. Wilbur, not much older at thirteen, is just as tuckered out from keeping up with the younger blond, though whether he's actually asleep or using the moonlight to read books by is hardly Phil's concern.

Humans exist to fail by trial and error, after all, by consequence or natural progression. In the end it doesn't matter in the slightest, as mortal lifespans pass in the blink of an eye. Little changes from one life to the next, absolutely unchanging when it comes to books read by moonlight and heavy eyes refusing to sleep.

Children learn, and change, and learn, and change, and die.

Phil sighs again, wings fluttering behind him with a never-ending restlessness. His mind is a cycle of endless, meaningless thoughts that swirl like the clouds in the sky above him, parting briefly to reveal unconnected constellations that span across the dark sky.

The kitchen is barely big enough to fit his wingspan but Phil extends his extra limbs anyways, wings trembling as they brush against cabinet doors and pass the open doorway to touch upon the main room. Some of the moonlight catches on his feathers, glossy cream feathers dappled with the floral hues of light green, pink, and blue, the colors of a clear spring sky over a field of campions.

He wants nothing more than to take flight, now, soar until he finds a field exactly like that, but there will be no flowers blooming this late in the year, not without his coaxing. It is the time for deciduous trees to change the colors of their leaves from a summer green to a display of fire without the heat. A burning, brilliant showcase of shades before winter winds sweep in to douse the flames and bring bare branches and bright white snow to cover the ground completely.

Spring can not come early, nor disrupt the flow of the seasons that mortals so desperately rely upon to track the course of their lives until they no longer make it to the next turn of temperature. The Winter-Bringer flies the skies now, with his wings made of dark, opaque ice and endlessly calm disposition, for fall and winter move slowly, relentless yet patient in their arrival. Phil, in great contrast, is scattered and hasty, ready to melt snowdrifts with a flap of his wings at any second to watch bright flowers bloom under his gaze.

He has lived far too many centuries now to try and disrupt this cycle that he and Bad have fallen into, not willing to push his luck with The Balance any more than he does already.

Phil folds his wings and steps outside, pausing carefully to listen for either of his human sons' movements in the dead of night. There is silence, and so he steps outside, shivering as a cool autumn breeze rushes at him from the forest beyond. Hours left until they wake and he can fill another day with the love and care he has set aside for them, but now is no longer that time.

Outside, standing on the porch and looking out over his fields that he coaxed from the earth with careful hands, his fingers twitch. The knife sits in its sheath against his side, and he knows how trivially easy it would be to call upon Technoblade. Centuries ago, now, he could have flown into battle over Techno's head, landing his own blow as the Blood God took what was within his name to do.

Phil held his tongue to keep from cursing out The Balance aloud. It wouldn't give him anything except a visit that would fucking terrify his kids, which is the last thing he wanted. Now, he knows, that when he calls upon Technoblade that all he'll receive is a sorrowful look hidden behind the gentle smile given to the two mortal children who crowd his legs and beg for stories of grandeur and glory.

His wings catch the breeze a little as he steps out into the fields, barefoot, and he flaps them once, twice, watching the grain ripple out like the waves of the ocean. It shimmers, briefly, before settling, and Phil casts his eyes to the skies, wishing for something he can do nothing about except wait for.

Waiting, that's all a god's existence is, these days. Waiting for the moment of allowance when what was within a domain could be used or brought upon the world. Order, it was called. Balance, it was decreed. Chaos, dosed out in controlled segments, punished for being overused on a whim.

Bullshit, Phil sometimes privately thinks, when selfish thoughts crowd his mind.

He reaches the edge of the forest, casting a backwards glance at the house before departing into the treeline, forced to bend his wings to accommodate the interspersed tree trunks and bushes that crowded the forest floor. His fingers snatched leaves from the sky and scooped them up along the forest floor, feeling the cool plant matter against his fingers before he released it back to the rest of the rotting leaves along the floor. A trail of freshly green leaves followed him, from his footsteps and fingertips, turning in wandering circles until he is entirely surrounded by trees that are slowly blossoming to life again underneath his touch. They are the same leaves that thread throughout his hair, an array of flora blossoming along his scalp, intertwining with his blond locks. His coat, too, is made of those same spring-green leaves, shifting in dappled sunlight, sadly stagnant so late at night.

Around him, the animals that haven't already found shelter for slumber scamper across the forest floor, looking for a place undisturbed by a deity and his widespread wings. Crickets chirp in the undergrowth, and a few curious birds flutter along the treetops, wings beating among the leaves as they settle on branches to peer down at him from their perches above.

Soon, Phil stops underneath the stars, a spot where the trees have pulled back from each other just far enough that when he tips his head back, he can see the clouds clearing to display the stars, and when he looks around again, he can see no fields just beyond.

"Oh, shit," Phil mutters aloud, slowly realizing how far into the forest he's walked. "Where the fuck have I wandered to?"

He isn't answered so much as heard by a single crow, hopping down a few branches to perch upon a limb just a few feet taller than him. Phil meets the bird's gaze, and the two winged beings look curiously at each other for a moment, searching for more than what might meet the eye.

The crow takes flight in a blur, brushing right past Phil's cheek in a brush of wing that makes him yelp in surprise, turning his head to follow the crow's movements. "Hey!"

A few paces away, the bird waits on another perch in a different tree, still staring dead in his eyes, head tilted in clear expectancy.

Two more crows join the first, hopping on branches and the knots that jut out from various trunks of aspen trees. Phil continues to follow the first crow even further into the forest, a sense of uneasiness curling within him as more and more birds populate the trees around him, all staring down at him with the exact same inquisitive eyes, staring, watching, waiting.

It would be easy to turn around, or to fly out of here in an instant, back to the safety and stillness of the farmhouse and the two safe children that sleep within it. It would be easy to shake off the curiosity and excitement that mingles with this nervous feeling, to return to a routine of simplicity and ease.

But there is not much that Phil would consider to be beyond his knowing, these days. Now, hundreds of crows stare down at him from the trees that stretch high in the sky, nearly blocking out the orange leaves entirely as their round black bodies press together and their wings fluff out, all identical and yet Phil is certain he knows exactly which crow is the first one to appear to him, the one continuing to hop between branches as he follows, nearly dashing across the forest floor. Even more crows flutter around him as he moves, wings brushing against his own and landing on top of his striped hat or resting on his arm for a moment before taking flight again.

It's overwhelming, it's overbearing, and it's exciting. A wide, wild grin stretches across Phil's face as he spreads his arms, turning and laughing as the crows fly around him in a blur, hiding even the trunks of the trees from him now as he spins with them.

And then they're gone, off in a mass of beating wings and flurrying feathers, and Phil stands at the mouth of a large, dark cave, watching as the murder descends down into the darkness that lies below.

"Wait!" he calls, but the crows do not answer. They move as if they had never pressed their wings close to his cheeks, they move as if direct by something else entirely, they move as one.

Phil analyzes the structure of the cave, the width and angle of descent in a few quick glances. The cave is wide, and he cannot remember if he had been able to see the walls of it before, but when he looks at it again the slope is more than wide enough to accommodate his wingspan, walls consumed with shadow. The calls of the crows are growing fainter, and Phil does not spare a glance back to the forest and what rests outside of it.

His wings snap out, pastel coloring swallowed by dark shadow, and he flies, wings carrying him down in a quick descent as he takes off after the murder of crows who had led him here.

A breathless laugh leaves him as he flies again, wings maneuvering through the wide tunnels and closing to dart between smaller spaces held up by pillars of dirt and stone. He can barely see, and yet instinct takes over, following the distant cries of the crows through turns and tunnels and pausing, once, in a wide open space where a pool of water opens over a great cavern. Phil stays aloft there for a moment, marveling at the dark water he cannot see the bottom of and the ceiling he cannot reach, before taking off after the crows he can still hear, though deep inside him he knows they should be so much farther now, and he knows that they are waiting for him.

The tunnels narrow the more he flies, and soon Phil is struggling to keep his wings from brushing harshly against the sides of the tunnels, wincing as he dives through narrow gaps and struggles to keep aloft. He can no longer hear the crows, but he continues to fly anyways, pushing himself through the ever-narrowing tunnels until he can no longer flap his wings. Phil tumbles to the ground, pulling his wings against his back before standing again, staring at tunnel that waits ahead for him, barely taller than he is, and just as dark as everything before him.

Phil frowns, the sense of adventure draining from him as the mobility of his wings is restricted again. He scoffs lightly, listens out for the crows and hears nothing, and turns to find his way back out again.

The tunnel shakes, and rocks begin to fall around him.

[wilde-is-the-wind]

Oh bless the light of day when Persephone walks on the blooming Earth and laughs the flowers alive

For I bless my daily food, thy lips, and prepare for breakfast

When Apollo takes his carriage and rides across the clearest sky

we cherish this fleeting moment and seek for the pleasures of the sun

Let Eros take my mind and sweet Agape bless my soul

For thy god i pray; ravish me like a treacherous crusade

How amourous is this splendid season

when the night sky sends its stars to breed on Earth and build nests of shimmering gold to clothe its mortal creatures

Oh my sweet summer child for how I dread for winter

when the sun has run out of her kisses and golden threads of silk don't keep you warm no more

When the breathing earth stands still, quiet as the creeping ice and the light of the day is stolen by rapacious night

Will thy love still keep me warm when the grief of Demeter has fallen over the fields where we used to chase each others lips under the gaze of playfull Artemis

Naked as the nymphs who dance in the aestival moonlight

For now we gaze upon the splendid sea, the breath of Notos in our hair as we ride upon the waves by the bridge of Venus unknowing of the darkness below

I sigh most ardently and mournfully let the seasons flow

[agentrouka-blog]

The Waters in the godswood, death and life.

I’ve been looking at some the relationship between Catelyn and the Winterfell godswood and I realized there’s a fascinating connection between the bodies of water and Sansa and Arya.

She put her hand on his cheek, and held it there while he felt how warm she was. "That is how life should feel," she told him. "Only death is cold."  (ASOS, Jon XI)

Cold and hot water. Two girls half-fish.

AGOT, Catelyn I opens with a description of the godswood, a contrast between the life-affirming one at home, and the gloomy one in Winterfell. 

Opening line:

Catelyn had never liked this godswood.

She had been born a Tully, at Riverrun far to the south, on the Red Fork of the Trident. The godswood there was a garden, bright and airy, where tall redwoods spread dappled shadows across tinkling streams, birds sang from hidden nests, and the air was spicy with the scent of flowers.

The gods of Winterfell kept a different sort of wood. It was a dark, primal place, three acres of old forest untouched for ten thousand years as the gloomy castle rose around it. It smelled of moist earth and decay. No redwoods grew here. This was a wood of stubborn sentinel trees armored in grey-green needles, of mighty oaks, of ironwoods as old as the realm itself. Here thick black trunks crowded close together while twisted branches wove a dense canopy overhead and misshapen roots wrestled beneath the soil. This was a place of deep silence and brooding shadows, and the gods who lived here had no names.

Among the images invoking night (dark, shadows), unease (gloomy crowded, twisted, misshapen) and death (decay, silence) we have some Arya references: stubborn, needles, no names. 

It goes on:

For her sake, Ned had built a small sept where she might sing to the seven faces of god, but the blood of the First Men still flowed in the veins of the Starks, and his own gods were the old ones, the nameless, faceless gods of the greenwood they shared with the vanished children of the forest.

At the center of the grove an ancient weirwood brooded over a small pool where the waters were black and cold. “The heart tree,” Ned called it. The weirwood’s bark was white as bone, its leaves dark red, like a thousand bloodstained hands. A face had been carved in the trunk of the great tree, its features long and melancholy, the deep-cut eyes red with dried sap and strangely watchful.

The black, cold pool with its death imagery and the terms “faceless” and “vanished children”, the “long face” recall two things:

1) Arya, a vanished child, and the dark pool in the House of Black and White:

In the center of the temple she found the water she had heard; a pool ten feet across, black as ink and lit by dim red candles. (AFFC, Arya I)

and 

The dead were never hard to find. They came to the House of Black and White, prayed for an hour or a day or a year, drank sweet dark water from the pool, and stretched out on a stone bed behind one god or another. (AFFC, Arya II)

and 

Poisons. She understood then. Every evening after prayer the waif emptied a stone flagon into the waters of the black pool. (AFFC, Arya II)

2) Jon and Ygritte in the cave of Gendel’s children.

Ygritte stumbled into the pool and screeched at the cold of the water. When Jon laughed, she pulled him in too. They wrestled and splashed in the dark, and then she was in his arms again, and it turned out they were not finished after all.

“Jon Snow,” she told him, when he’d spent his seed inside her, “don’t move now, sweet. I like the feel of you in there, I do. Let’s not go back t’ Styr and Jarl. Let’s go down inside, and join up with Gendel’s children. I don’t ever want t’ leave this cave, Jon Snow. Not ever.” (ASOS, Jon IV)

The cave of flesh-eating lost children. With the dark, cold water. What a prospect. The cave and its memory are always connected to death.

So, we have this association of the Winterfell godswood with darkness, death, cold black water - and Arya. 

**

AGOT, Catelyn II, meanwhile, concerns itself with the hotsprings. 

Opening line:

Of all the rooms in Winterfell’s Great Keep, Catelyn’s bedchambers were the hottest. She seldom had to light a fire. The castle had been built over natural hot springs, and the scalding waters rushed through its walls and chambers like blood through a man’s body, driving the chill from the stone halls, filling the glass gardens with a moist warmth, keeping the earth from freezing. Open pools smoked day and night in a dozen small courtyards. That was a little thing, in summer; in winter, it was the difference between life and death.

Catelyn’s bath was always hot and steaming, and her walls warm to the touch. The warmth reminded her of Riverrun, of days in the sun with Lysa and Edmure, but Ned could never abide the heat. The Starks were made for the cold, he would tell her, and she would laugh and tell him in that case they had certainly built their castle in the wrong place.

Again the comparison to Riverrun, this time positive. The hot springs are a contradiction, “un-Stark-like” although they are life-giving and healing. Nonetheless, they are part of the godswood.

Across the godswood, beneath the windows of the Guest House, an underground hot spring fed three small ponds. Steam rose from the water day and night, and the wall that loomed above was thick with moss. Hodor hated cold water, and would fight like a treed wildcat when threatened with soap, but he would happily immerse himself in the hottest pool and sit for hours, giving a loud burp to echo the spring whenever a bubble rose from the murky green depths to break upon the surface. (AGOT, Bran VI)

Hot bath water (unlike scalding hot water) is associated with healing and comfort. 

A pair of yellow eyes looked into his own, shining like the sun. The window was open and it was cold in the room, but the warmth that came off the wolf enfolded him like a hot bath. (AGOT, Bran III)

It connects Sansa to Winterfell, especially:

The hot water made her think of Winterfell, and she took strength from that. She had not washed since the day her father died, and she was startled at how filthy the water became. Her maids sluiced the blood off her face, scrubbed the dirt from her back, washed her hair and brushed it out until it sprang back in thick auburn curls. (AGOT, Sansa VI)

Or accompanies her castle building. 

She heard the door open as her maids brought the hot water for her bath. They were both new to her service; Tyrion said the women who'd tended to her previously had all been Cersei's spies, just as Sansa had always suspected. "Come see," she told them. "There's a castle in the sky." (ASOS, Sansa IV) 

Or downright echoes Cat:

"I used to dream of it, in those years after Cat went north with Eddard Stark. In my dreams it was ever a dark place, and cold."

"No. It was always warm, even when it snowed. Water from the hot springs is piped through the walls to warm them, and inside the glass gardens it was always like the hottest day of summer." 

(ASOS, Sansa VII)

And Jon prefers the hot water, too:

The day before last, Jon had made the mistake of wishing he had hot water for a bath. "Cold is better," she had said at once, "if you've got someone to warm you up after. The river's only part ice yet, go on." 

Jon laughed. "You'd freeze me to death." (ASOS, Jon II)

And is equally reminded of Winterfell and the godswood:

The warmth took some of the ache from his muscles and made him think of Winterfell's muddy pools, steaming and bubbling in the godswood. Winterfell, he thought. Theon left it burned and broken, but I could restore it. Surely his father would have wanted that, and Robb as well. They would never have wanted the castle left in ruins. (ASOS, Jon XII)

The hot water conjures images of rebuilding, of castles and gardens, rather than death.

**

So we have the cold waters and the hot waters both in the same godswood. Tully and Stark, life and death. 

Of course, it is Catelyn herself, who has now turned away from life-giving to death. 

Lady Stoneheart lowered her hood and unwound the grey wool scarf from her face. Her hair was dry and brittle, white as bone. Her brow was mottled green and grey, spotted with the brown blooms of decay. The flesh of her face clung in ragged strips from her eyes down to her jaw. Some of the rips were crusted with dried blood, but others gaped open to reveal the skull beneath. (AFFC, Brienne VIII)

Which unsubtly mirrors this - but with an interesting twist:

The priest lowered his cowl. Beneath he had no face; only a yellowed skull with a few scraps of skin still clinging to the cheeks, and a white worm wriggling from one empty eye socket. "Kiss me, child," he croaked, in a voice as dry and husky as a death rattle.

Does he think to scare me? Arya kissed him where his nose should be and plucked the grave worm from his eye to eat it, but it melted like a shadow in her hand.

The yellow skull was melting too, and the kindliest old man that she had ever seen was smiling down at her. (AFFC, Arya I)

Which has me hoping...

"Stupid little bitch." Fires glinted off the snout of his helm, and made the steel teeth shine. "You go in there, you won't come out. Maybe Frey will let you kiss your mother's corpse."

"Maybe we can save her . . ." (ASOS, Arya XI)

… will have a pay-off, when “Mercy” returns to “Mother Merciless”. 

Baby Persephone returns to Mother, and the images of decay and death from the godswood may stop clinging to Arya, and she might return to something a little more associated with happiness: 

The godswood there was a garden, bright and airy, where tall redwoods spread dappled shadows across tinkling streams, birds sang from hidden nests, and the air was spicy with the scent of flowers. (AGOT, Catelyn I)

Like...

She had Ned's long face, and brown hair that always looked as though a bird had been nesting in it. (ACOK, Catelyn VII)

And 

One day she came back grinning her horsey grin, her hair all tangled and her clothes covered in mud, clutching a raggedy bunch of purple and green flowers for Father. Sansa kept hoping he would tell Arya to behave herself and act like the highborn lady she was supposed to be, but he never did, he only hugged her and thanked her for the flowers. 

 (AGOT, Sansa I)

Arya in a godswood that celebrates life, rather than death. 

**

Meanwhile the Sansa building Winterfell from snow “in the wrong place” will pay off in having her return to the original hot springs and rebuild there from the ruins, like Jon imagined. Like the original Starks.

Persephone joining Hades, Winterfell rising around her again, like the original did around the godswood. Only this time with a laughing tree.

Brandon Stark built Winterfell around the time of the first Long Night, and its return suggests that whatever happened then was not a cure but a temporary solution. The memory is only preserved in song and legend, the Wall is a divisive penal colony, the dead are marching once more. 

The Starks will have to face the conflict that marked the birth of their House. They will need to do it over, and do it right this time.

Winterfell is in ruins, and perhaps it needed to be, in order to be reborn for a time where “Winter is coming” is no longer a necessary warning.

This:

The green and yellow panes of the glass gardens were all in shards, the trees and fruits and flowers torn up or left exposed to die. Of the stables, made of wood and thatch, nothing remained but ashes, embers, and dead horses. Bran thought of his Dancer, and wanted to weep. There was a shallow steaming lake beneath the Library Tower, and hot water gushing from a crack in its side. (ACOK, Bran VII)

and this...

Of Winterfell burned and tumbled, its people scattered and slain. The glass gardens were smashed, and hot water gushed from the cracked walls to steam beneath the sun. (ASOS, Bran I)

and this...

The thatch and timber had been consumed by fire, in whole or in part, and under the shattered panes of the Glass Garden the fruits and vegetables that would have fed the castle during the winter were dead and black and frozen. (ADWD, The Prince of Winterfell)

Will turn to this:

If I could show her Winterfell . . . give her a flower from the glass gardens, feast her in the Great Hall, and show her the stone kings on their thrones. We could bathe in the hot pools, and love beneath the heart tree while the old gods watched over us.  (ASOS, Jon V)

And they will remember this:

In fact, three acres alone are given over to an ancient godswood, where legend tells us Brandon the Builder once prayed to his gods. Whether this is true or not, the antiquity of the grove cannot be contested. And the godswood no doubt benefits from the hot springs that are contained within it, protecting the trees from the worst of the winter's chill.

Indeed, the presence of the hot springs—which pepper the land around Winterfell—may be the chief reason why the First Men initially settled there. One can easily imagine the value that a ready source of water—and hot water, at that—would have had in the depths of a Northern winter. In recent centuries, the Starks have raised structures that have made direct use of these springs for the purpose of heating their dwellings.

(A World of Ice and Fire - The North: Winterfell)

You know nothing, Ned Stark. Cat was right. The hot water is the point of Winterfell. Blood of Winterfell. Key to the North.

Or, you knew one thing:

"Let me tell you something about wolves, child. When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Summer is the time for squabbles. In winter, we must protect one another, keep each other warm, share our strengths. So if you must hate, Arya, hate those who would truly do us harm. Septa Mordane is a good woman, and Sansa … Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you … and I need both of you, gods help me."  (AGOT, Arya II)

Persephone bringing life and spring, both of them. 

[shadowywerewolfqueen]

You Are Mine

Dean had decided today was one of the rare days to leave the Underworld and tour the mortal world above. It had been years since he had seen sunshine and walked among the humans. He was curious to see what changes they had made. He strolled through the halls, the groans and screams of the dead music to his ears. As he neared the gates, his vision was filled with a giant black canine with three heads.

Cerberus growled at the sound of Dean’s footsteps until he realized who it was. At seeing his master, the dog lowered his jowls and slumped to the ground once more. For millennia, Cerberus had guarded the gates of the Underworld, ensuring the living didn’t trespass and the dead didn’t escape. Dean rubbed a gentle hand against the large forehead as he passed the dog and walked through the large wrought iron gates.

In an instant, Dean was standing in a large field full of wildflowers. He lifted his face to the sky and spread his arms wide as the heat from the sun warmed his body. The Underworld was cold and barren, not a speck of life able to reside there except for Dean and Cerberus. While Dean typically preferred his frigid Underworld, even he enjoyed a day in the sun every once in a while.

Dean snapped his eyes open as a melodic voice floated through the air. The voice was deep but delicate and bright. Dean had never heard such tone and wanted to see who the owner of such a voice was. He followed the notes until he came upon the voice’s owner.

Sitting in front of him, weaving wildflowers into a crown, sat the most gorgeous man Dean had ever laid eyes upon. He had thick black hair that Dean itched to sink his fingers into. He had a strong jaw, high cheekbones, and light pink lips that Dean wanted to spend days kissing. The man turned his face and Dean fell into twin pools of ocean blue. Dean knew in that instant that the person in front of him would be his. For the first time in ages, Dean felt his heart beat for another besides his brother.

He observed the man, who was dressed in a light blue toga, finish his crown and place it upon his head. Dean was king of the Underworld and this man would be his queen. He spent hours gathering flowers and Dean was helpless to do anything but watch. Eventually the man gathered all the flowers that would fit into his basket. He then started walking through the field towards the large forest that loomed in the distance. Dean followed him, making sure the man was unaware of the God following him. As soon as the man reached the line of trees, he disappeared. Dean searched for him, but it was useless, the man had vanished.

Dean was frantic, desperately needing to know where his love had disappeared to. There was only one person he trusted to help him secure the man as his own. Dean looked at his wrist and pressed the lightning bolt that was etched into the skin. It burned and glowed golden for a second and suddenly a tall man was standing in front of Dean.

“Hello Hades,” the man said with a smirk.

Dean rolled his eyes. “The humans may call me Hades and you Zeus, but we will always be Dean and Sam.” Dean strode forward and pulled his brother into a tight hug.

Sam looked at his brother, a large smile on his face. “It’s good to see you Dean. It’s been a while since you stepped foot on my side of the world. How is your Underworld doing?”

“You know, as dark and gloomy as ever. And how is Mount Olympus doing? Still full of clouds and packed with too many Gods I presume?” Dean let his arms drop and took a step back. “You look good Sam. I guess that wife of yours is doing her job.”

Sam blushed. “It’s actually two wives now and they are both doing well.”

Dean flashed a sly smile at his brother. “Sammy, you dog! You’ll have to tell me that story one day.”

“So, what did you call me here for if it wasn’t to regale you with tales of my love life?” Sam asked with a chuckle.

“I found the love of my life, but he’s disappeared. I need you to help me find him,” Dean explained.

“Who is the person who has thawed my brother’s heart?” Sam asked, surprise obvious on his face. Dean described the man collecting flowers. Sam nodded his head. “I know who you speak of. His name is Castiel, but the humans call him Persephone. He is the daughter of Demeter and she will not let him go easily, especially to your realm. He is the God of nature; it might not even be possible for him to live in your realm full of darkness and ice.”

“I don’t care,” Dean replied angrily. “I must have him! Please brother, I implore you to help me.”

Sam sighed but said, “You’re not going to let this drop, are you?”

“I can’t. Ever since I became ruler of the Underworld, my heart has been frozen. Until now. I need Castiel,” Dean begged.

“How do you plan on stealing him away?” Sam asked.

“You’re the brains of the two of us,” Dean answered with a grin.

A few days later, Dean once more watched Castiel gather flowers. He was surrounded by meadow nymphs who were braiding flowers into each other’s hair. He was even more beautiful than Dean remembered.

Dean jumped as a hand landed on his shoulder. “Are you sure about this brother?” Dean gave a single nod. “Well then, be prepared to grab him,” Sam warned as he knelt to the ground and buried his hands deep into the earth. Instantly the ground started shaking.

Dean watched as cracks started appearing in the soil where Sam’s hands where. They spread outwards, getting larger the closer they got to Castiel. By the time they reached the man, the cracks were wide enough for him to fall through. Dean heard the nymphs’ screams but paid them no mind. He watched as the ground split beneath Cas’ feet and he fell into the hole with a shout.

Dean waited for Cas to fall deep enough into the bowels of the earth before grabbing him and dragging him to the Underworld. Castiel screamed and fought, but his powers were weak now that he was no longer surrounded by nature. In contrast, Dean was more powerful than ever now that he was in the realm he presided over.

Dean landed in his throne room and dropped the squirming man with a thud. Castiel scrambled to his feet and glared at Dean, fire burning in his eyes. “Who are you? Why did you kidnap me?” His voice was full of rage.

Dean smiled cockily at the nature God. “I am Dean or as the humans call me, Hades.”

Cas’ mouth dropped open and his eyes went wide at the declaration. “What do you want with me? I have done nothing to you!”

“Oh, little one, but you have,” Dean replied as he reached out to cup Cas’ jaw. “With just your looks alone, you have ensnared me. You are mine now.”

Castiel shoved Dean’s hand off him and growled, “I do not belong to you! Now release me!”

“No,” Dean snapped with a shake of his head. “You will marry me and become my queen of the Underworld. Together we shall rule this place for all eternity.”

Terror spread across Cas’ face. “No, you can’t! This is not my home. This place, it weakens me. I can’t stay here forever; I don’t love you.”

Dean laughed, “Oh little one, you don’t love me now, but you will with time.” Dean walked away, leaving Cas alone in the throne room. He wasn’t worried about Cas escaping; Cerberus had never failed in his job. It took many years, lots of groveling, and dozens of compromises but eventually Dean’s prediction came true. He and Cas became a happy couple who loved one another with a passion brighter than a thousand suns.

Their story became the thing of myth and legend, passed down by the humans from generation to generation.

Tagging: @lonewolf34500 @notwithd @starrynightdeancas @flowersforcas @cockleslovesdestiel

[shelbyshoe]

Meeting the Goddess

NaLu Hades and Persephone retelling.

Just a little something I’ve been fiddling with while I work on chapter 5 of FAD. I’d love to explore this a bit more once I’ve finished this current au.

707 words

An ethereal glow wrapped lovingly around her pale body cloaked in soft fabric, so translucent she may as well have worn nothing but the warmth of the sun. Her long golden hair trailed behind her as she strode across the fields of flora that appeared to kneel at her delicate bare feet. Who was this woman to hold much power over the earth, yet he had never seen her before? Natsu knelt quietly in the shadows of the dense tree line. The newcomer squinted up at the shocking rays of Helios’s great beams. Her body stilled and she held her hand to her face to shield her from the light that bathed her. With the tilt of her head, her eyes locked on his own.

“A mortal?” Her voice inquisitive against her impassive expression. Did she mean him? He glanced around the sleeping forest at his back. No other sheltered beneath the trees. No other stood among the gilded flowers dancing around her slender features in the brilliant spring day. Something within pulled at his chest. Was this her doing? Or his desperate need to see her fully? Natsu stepped from the trees. With each stride, flowers bloomed at his feet. Some grazed affectionate strokes against his ankles. Gaia blessing him with bountiful life. The woman’s eyes were amber swirling in her widened gaze.

“Who are you?” he asked. A breeze brushed between them like his whirling enthusiasm for her reply. Her gaze slid over him, and he stood taller. Her inspection a recognition of his status. Not a mortal.

“You don’t know who I am?” Was that relief that cast over her?

“No.” He tilted his head. Golden chrysanthemum tumbled down from his blossom hair. Natsu brushed away the petals that rested against his shoulder. With a closer look, her body was a trembling ghost of the power he’d seen at first inspection, more like a girl robed in stern stature—melting under his watchful eye. A thin dark crown topped her head. He lifted his hands slowly to mimic a crown on his own. “Are you a queen?”

“A goddess,” she said, “Goddess of the world beneath your feet.” Natsu peered down at his toes tousled in rich soil. An entire world he had yet to see.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“Lucy Heartfilia.” She raised her chin peering down her nose for a moment. A wariness to her stance as  she positioned away from him. Did she believe he’d harm her?

“I won’t hurt you,” he said. Lucy laughed with her eyes lit in crystal splendor. How lovely she looked. He wished to see that expression again. Natsu felt his own lips curling up to reflect her own.

“I know you won’t. You can’t.” She eyed him again in interest anew. “What is a nymph doing creeping around a goddess?” If Lucy thought him a nymph, and stopped to speak with him anyway, her need to satiate her curiosity outweighed whatever errand she ran.

“I am no nymph.” As if to punctuate his words, the golden flowers bloomed at his crown.

“Pray, what is your name?”

“Natsu Dragneel.”

“A funny surname for a god whose name means summer.”

“A funny name for a dark goddess whose name means light,” Natsu retorted. Lucy sauntered through the field toward him. His heartbeat rapped at his ribs like wings of mourning doves. She stood before him and reached out. From where she stood, he smelled the richness of earth. Her fingers curled around a blossom and plucked it from his hair. She pulled it away and brushed her wrist against his cheek. Her skin was the ice in winter. A shudder ran up his spine, but he felt sure it was not from the cold. The bright yellow stood out against her skin. He concentrated on it and allowed it to open further, like a joyful offering of spring to the goddess. If he didn’t know better, he swore he saw a smile brush her lips.

“You’re right.” She closed her palm lightly and drew the bloom closer to her heart. “I am dark.” Like a dream she was gone. Her absence leaving nothing for Natsu, but a hunger for more of the world beneath his feet.

[halfbreedhawkins]

⏰ 17

The slow drip of blood onto the snow was entrancing, it fell like soft beads before soaking into the ice, the blood spread like ivy tendrils and the blonde watched in fascination as it grew darker until it became a small pool.

“Get up,” the crowing voice above her snarled, “thought you learned magic at your fancy school,” there was a crowd now, but Penny couldn’t bring herself to stand, too far gone staring at the droplets of blood wondering if it was going to pool up, swallow her whole. Drowned in waves of violent red.

“Charli stop--” that was Faron, she could see the flop of his dark hair and worried eyes, voice breaking while Charlie snarled at him.

“Why should I?” Penny knew something was pressing into the back of her neck, it felt hard and heavy, the heel of a boot perhaps. But she couldn’t even push it off, hypnotized by the continued gathering of her blood on the snow. “C’mon Persephone get up. Are you a wolf or not.”

Penny wasn’t blessed, wasn’t she blessed enough to be normal, wasn’t blessed enough to really be worth anything here at the Meets. Voice drowned by howls she couldn’t make. Charli could never stand her, ever since they were kids, Penny had landed under her boot or falling from one of her punches anytime they scraped. She just wasn’t built to fight.  Maybe it was also a bit of jealousy Penny decided, because Charli has had her eyes on Joey since they were kids, and somehow got it into her head that the Hawkins stole her. 

Penny maybe was a bit too smug when she told Charli  that Joey slipped into her bed first.

Joey was the one who followed her around from bonfire to bonfire. Brought her drinks and gave Penny her cloak. She was the one who rubbed her cheek along her jaw, and pressed kisses to her mouth. Joey was the one to bring her flowers and hold her things while Penny joined her cousins in a scrap. Joey sent her letters to school and waited at Kings Cross this winter to pick her up, all sharp smiles and dark hair, making her peers raise their brows cause this was who Penny was dating? And Penny was all smiles and waves as Joey apparated her out, and they landed in a heap in her bed, far away in Ireland to spend the weekend until Jay and Damon came to drag her back to Edale and the pack. 

So really Charli was playing a game Penny already won, and maybe she was used to watching Penny lose, that when Penny won something. Well, maybe she didn’t like that either. 

But really all this was paling to the fact that she was woozy, her eyes blinking slow and vision growing hazy. 

What had she hit her with?

It was a blast right? Some kind of curse.

Penny would have to make a curse-blocker.

The crowd got closer, growing until it was filled with terrified yelps and cries. Charli’s crowing faded into faint wheezing as Penny tilted her head to find Atalanta holding the girl by the throat, the teenager scrambling at the pressure, turning faintly red. Red like the blood, was sticky now under her cheek, freezing to her skin as Faron was leaning over holding up six fingers.

When did he get six fingers? Has it always been that way? Penny felt her body wiggle, her body felt heavy and floppy. She turned onto her back, her chest frozen half through with melted ice and blood, the sky was turning gold and purple, sun sinking below the horizon. The treetops were spinning, ebbing out like the tide, everyone was yelling the dull roar was similar to a seashell. Far and away. Then a face appeared above her, finely made and brows tensed together.

“Jo-ee,” faint fog fell from her mouth.

“Hey sweetling, can you get up for me?” Penny blinked and tried to roll up, but her tummy hurt, and her head flopped back. There was a hand on her chest, big, covered in faint scars. “Hey okay, listen lie back for me.”

“’s cold,” Penny hummed, warmth radiated from Joey’s hand, her hand came up, uncoordinated and heavy, almost separate from her body before it fell heavily onto the miniature sun on her chest, “warm.” The other girl laughed, tight and nervous. 

“Yes I’m warm, stay still for me.” Penny hummed, her stiff fingers tangling with Joey’s but she whined when they were pulled away. Then she was surrounded by warmth, nose buried into her the base of her throat, shivering harder than a nervous pup under the Full Moon. “Good girl, you’re doing a good job, you gotta stay awake for me,” Penny closed her eyes as Joey moved, the dull roar had turned into a cacophony of sound. Dacha’s versus Hawkins, all of them brawling over the freshly fallen snow, several adults presided, dragging the wounded from the melee. It was never a good idea to stop any kind of fight this close to the Full Moon, Penny blinked where she could see Charli unconscious with Atalanta looking particularly smug wiping blood off her cheek. Helle was pouncing on yet another Dacha relation with hellish glee and Jay was duking it out in a full boxing match with some Loughty-Dacha relation. Then she closed her eyes, and tucked close to Joey. The older woman’s concerned whispers lulling her to sleep.

When she woke back up again she was warm, and it was blissfully quiet. Blinking into the soft low light she could hear the rumblings of a bonfire, the cabin was made sturdily, trunk in the far right corner, a table pushed against the far wall with vials of potions and bloodied clothes sitting under the sun. No-- it was dark out already, the near Full Moon high up in the skies as snow flurries hit the ground with soft whispers, the yellow was just the fire outside.

“Welcome back to earth Seph,” Penny turned her head, so that was why she was warm. Joey was coiled around her, as the blur of sleep sharpened she realized she had been pressed against her chest.

“Joey... what happened?”

“Charli got you when you went for a little hike. She said it was a proper challenge, settling the score.”

Penny blinked, “I don’t remember that.”

Joey frowned, “Like at all?”

“I remember the blood, and you, the Dachas were fighting my cousins--”

“A proper scrap. The Elders finally stopped them, everyone got a proper dressing down.”

“Atalanta knocked Charli out?”

“Actually I hit her first, but Attie finished the job.” Joey looked particularly smug as she flexed her arms, Penny hummed appreciably and turned over into her arms, burying her nose back into her chest with a grateful hum. Joey pressed kisses to her hair, washed and cleaned of blood, scented with lavender, her jewelry was on the bedside table, her wand as well. Penny fidgeted and looked down at her clothes and raised an eyebrow.

“Is this your shirt?” It was at least two sizes too big, Joey was tall, all corded muscle and height to Penny’s softer curves and shorter stature.  But Joey liked the rolls on her tummy and how her thighs filled out a skirt, just as much as Penny liked the ripple of her arms or the sharp edge of her jaw.

“Well you bled over all your outfit, and I didn’t wanna leave you to go try and find any. Jay healed you up though.”

“Thank god--”

“Hey I’m a fine healer!”

“If getting someone sicker was a job you’re do amazing at it love,” Penny wiggled up to brush a kiss to the underside of her jaw, nipping gentle, Joey’s hands went to her waist, tightening and pulling her close with a rough growl deep in her chest.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“My hero, don’t you want a reward?” Joey could do little more than moan as Penny tugged up her shirt, letting her fingers drag across the expanse of skin. Joey’s hand stopped her, breathing growing fast and ragged. 

“Hey,” Joey looked down at her, dark eyes flashing, “we don’t have to. Just cause we’re--” fuck buddies? Girlfriends? The lack of a label was nice, but Penny was feeling cagey now; graduation was a semester away and they’d been fucking for a year. A courtship would be a nice summer announcement, make it a long one if they felt they were too young. Joey cleared her throat, looking nervous, a rare form for the usually peerless werewolf. “Today was bad, and I know your boggart-- I mean. I just don’t want you to be doing this because you aren’t feeling in control.”

Penny felt her chest deflate, before leaning forward to bury her head into her chest, her hand now frozen as she let out a sharp wheeze. Was she using Joey? Because she didn’t want to think of what Charli had said? 

Didn’t want to think of how it felt when her head collided with the tree.

Didn’t want to think of the last time she saw blood on the snow, heard muddled shouts above her.

Penny didn’t even realize she was crying until Joey gathered her up, holding her close as Penny sobbed into her chest, clenching into her shoulders, head buried into the hollow of her neck as if it was the last safe place in the world. 

“Hey... no more tears my girl,” Joey pulled her into a soft kiss, salty and sweet, “how about we go back to sleep, we’ll go dance by the bonfire later?”

“Promise?”

Joey hummed and pulled Penny’s head back to her chest where the Ravenclaw snuggled closer, trying not to think of Charli’s pulsing words: “She’s ashamed of you.” blaring into her ear. Everyone knew Penny was Joey’s girl, all the clans, all the elders, all the wolves and their relations. Everyone knew. With the snow falling, and here in this bed, Penny knew Charli was just the jealous liar she’d always been, and Joey with here with her not with that Dacha whelp. 

So Charli fuckin’ Dacha could go suck on it, Penny has what she wants right here, and if that Dacha whelp comes anywhere near her for the rest of the Meet she’ll show her why Penny didn’t need a Shift to kick her ass.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Charlotte ‘Charli’ Dacha:

Josephine ‘Joey’ O’Hmall: 

[whyralltheusernamestaken]

She panicked

Part 4 of “I feel safe with you”

Bakugou x fem!reader

Warning : No swearing

Words : 1187

Series Masterlist

A/N : Lowkey kinda changed her personality but oh well, just think of her being in her 'professional' mode lmao

Overpowered quirk cliche, r y'all ready for this cringe  

Hope you enjoy! 

"Pro hero number 49, Persephone."

Hearing her name, she lifted her head and slowly titled her head to the side, giving a small smile before asking, "Yes?" "You have been recommended into U.A. Academy by 3 different pro heroes." Her smile faltered slightly but she made sure to keep her tone polite. "And why is that sir? Surely if you have enough space for a extra student, you could provide that opportunity to another candidate." "Yes, but we are offering an outstanding candidate the opportunity to hone her skills further. This is not an extra space, as you have called it, but we can surely make things work." "I must be honest with you sir, I don't see the point." Taking a deep breath, she sat up straight before continuing. "Are you sure this is not simply because the other heroes who were on the mission with me feel guilty? Surely they have done enough with paying for the compensation fees for the window I broke during my unmannerly fall." Letting out a soft sigh, she fumbled with her fingernails, thumb pressing down sharply on the soft flesh of her palm. "The compensation was ought to be paid in due time, nothing to do with guilt, simply matters of rules. However you should think about this opportunity L/N, as you already know, the League of Villain's activity has been at it's prime and    by attending U.A. you will train and discover the potential of your quirk." "But sir, I'm a pro hero and I don't want to miss the chance of helping civilians during missions simply because I'm at school." "That is understandable, we've already spoken to your agency and they are free to give you missions during the school week." "Think about this L/N, you won't need to taken an entrance exam and on top of that, accommodation will be provided by the school." If she wasn't already convinced, the last point had certainly been the icing on the cake. "I suppose this is very beneficial for me. I guess I'll agree." she said, and with a curt nod she stood up. "I think it's best if you go to recovery girl and check on your quirk. Bakugou will show you the way" "Of course sir, thank you for your time." Stepping out of the office, Bakugou raised his eyebrow and she simply shrugged in response. "I guess I'm joining your school." "What? Which class?" he asked, recovering from a burst of shock. "Probably 1-a, I'm not sure though." she replied, tousling her hair. "Can you take me to Recovery girl, need to check up on some things." "Yeah sure." he grumbled, unsure about how to feel about her joining his class. ~~~ "Persephone dear, it's nice to see you." "Recovery girl. It's a pleasure to see you too." she greeted with a bow. "No need to be so formal dear." the older woman laughed. "So how have you been?" "Honestly, not too well." she sighed, sitting down and rubbing her forehead. "The recent villain attack took quite a toll." "Do you want me to contact Dr Takahashi?" She opened her mouth to reply before closing it, how on earth did the older know about her therapist? "It's alright." she replied, after taking a few moments to keep her composure. "I'll call her later." "Of course dear, so how is your quirk?" she asked, returning to why she assumed the girl had visited her office. "It's working like normal." the girl nodded, letting a small flower bloom in the palm of her hand. With a few clicks on Recovery girl's keyboard, the older woman looked up with a smile. "Well that's good. I'll get someone to bring you the school uniform, you'll most likely start tomorrow." "Thank you." With a smile and a small bow, she exited the room. "Where to next?" she asked the blonde, who looked up from his phone. "Back to dorms probably." he grumbled, sticking his hands in his pockets before walking in the direction of the dorms. She followed without a word, eyes flickering all around the school hallway, taking note of all of the lockers and classroom. It had at least been a good few months since she last went to a school for studying purposes. He stopped walking, causing her to crash into his back. "Why did you stop?" she asked, voice quiet compared to the surrounding noise of traffic. "Is this you?" he snapped. She looked down to look at his phone. 'Prodigy hero Persephone is said to be attending U.A.? Inside sources have provided that the young pro hero Persephone will be attending U.A. Academy as of next week. From previous interviews, the hero has expressed that she has no desire to attend any sort of hero school so why is it that suddenly she's enrolled in Japan's most famous hero school? Could it be to do with the unexplained periods of time in which she completely disappears from the public? We'll have to wait and find out!' Looking up, she pursed her lips. "They weren't supposed to find out so soon." she muttered, furrowing her brows. With a turn of her heel, she speed walked down the hallway, ignoring his shouts for her and returned back to the nurse's office. Standing in front of the door, she took several deep breaths before raising her fist and loudly pounding the wooden door. "Oh hello dear, something wrong?" Recovery girl greeted as the young hero stepped into the office. "Could you call Dr Takahashi?" she asked, wiping her sweaty palms against the long t-shirt she wore. "Of course dear, you can take a seat if you want." She complied, her mind racing to her fear of the public, of how they crowded excitedly at every opportunity possible. The negative thoughts pooled into her mind, drowning out the sounds of the nurses speaking to her therapist. Being a hero was a dream for many, whether it was for the recognition, the thrill of it or the money, it certainly was very rewarding. Yet what many in society were unable to comprehend was the utter lack of privacy the job had. Sure she had already considered these factors before she chose to become a hero, let alone a pro hero, however the following events that occurred near the start of her career debut had scarred her mentally. The thought of people recognising her had once thrilled her, her childhood dream had been to be a famous hero. She had sparkled at the idea of being in magazines and news articles, giggling joyfully at the concept of being a celebrity. Yet here her she was, a meagre article sending her into a state of panic. She squeezed her eyes shut, counting to ten slowly as she cursed at herself for her brittle mentality. It wasn't something she could control easily, she understood that, but what type of hero was she if she couldn't even stand a few whispers from the media. And there she sat, utterly powerless as her emotions flooded her. And so she sat there and 

she panicked.

[prev] [next] 

Taglist : @lostnliterature

[savannahawthorne]

LIA HAVELOCK | THE DAY OF THE VICTORY TOUR

Back before the modern days, there lived a time even before the ‘once upon a times’ present in our lore. It was a time of glory, wisdom, and a time of much adventure. It was a time when the peril was real as well as the ethereal glory of the celestial crown upon the Earth’s head. This was the time that the maiden, one who was as fair as the morning dew and as lovely as the springtime blooms, dwelled and lived…

Slowly, the sky overhead lit with the fiery red paint strokes of the dying day gave to the subtle tones of purple and inkinesss that would accompany the darkness of a moonless night. After all, District Four was a dark place when the moon did not shine and these days, the pale ribbon of moonlight was long sought after as the moon ventured on it’s trip away from the Earth. Still, there was a steady scratch of the pen long into the darkness with only the small lit orb of the flashlight (a haunting gift from a gleaming Capitol City) to accompany it.

For this maiden was a wondrous sight to behold; her golden hair was made of the purest sunbeams for it gave off the warming glow in which the blooms sprang into being. In her eyes, eyes that were so cerulean even the sky was jealous, you might have expected to see puffs of cumulus clouds frolick. So special was this maiden, when she pranced around flowers bloomed in her wake as a humble offering from the Earth in celebration of her glory and virtuous nature inherited from her mother; Mother Earth.

One fair day, forest breeze flowing through her hair tangling it gentle knots and the sweet aroma of petals kissing the air, that Persephone wandered lost as a gentle fawn guided her way. A fawn whose spots had begun to fade in favor of the tiny velvet horns erupting from it’s head as the creature made its way into adulthood.

How Persephone favored this creature as she followed it blindly, because it knew the way. The creature was her own sun and guiding star separate from the ones her father had created in the starry heavens above, to guide the mortals trapped in the mortal realm.

“Oh!” Persephone called out as the ground gave way below her feet. What was this horror that had come to encompass her world of flowers, greenery, and frolicking? This new world was dark, jagged marble that glittered in the darkness, fed by the River Styx which flowed through it.

Still she was not afraid, for her fawn had leaped down the hole in the Earth as a newly appointed soldier at her side. Looking at the creature, now stalwart and calm, Persephone christened it Virgil, a pure soul destined to guide her journey.

Lia stopped for a moment, tears now wetting the pages in her hands as the tide lapped at her toes buried in the cool sand. Over her shoulder her constant companions, pale and transparent, watched silently as they urged her to continue her tale.

Somewhere in the darkness of this grand city, the City of the Underworld, her imprisoner waited with bated breath. For it was his darkest ambition for the fairest maiden to arrive in his city and be his own treasure to claim. It did not matter that her father, the mightest of the Gods, had denied his request. He was the mightiest of all, for Hades, ruled the land in which none could escape. After all, he was the light that cared for the souls of the land providing them with nourishment and a place to rest their immortal souls once the short flesh of mortality had been shed. No, it was Hades that should be worshiped above all.

Seeing the path behind them was blocked by stone as immovable as the past bricks molded by the sands of times, Persephone knew the way forward was their only option. “Come Virgil, we shall go forth and join this panem et circeneses.” Surely if they were victorious they would be allowed to return home to the forest of their youth and free to rejoice in the sun once more.

Pausing, Lia chewed her lip, her hand weary from a day’s work, but she knew the time was running out as the stars shifted across the sky. In the morning the time would come, a time when the light would be forced to rise until it surrendered to the darkness. It was with urgency that she went back to the task at hand and Persephone’s siren call.

Back on earth, the sun had slowly dipped in the sky and Mother Earth, Demeter, called her only child back from the forest. “Come my child, come and be well for we will dine on the harvest feast as we always do.” Only the sun slowly vanished behind the horizon and Demeter’s table remained empty. There would be no feast tonight or for many fortnight’s to come.

With lamenting tears, Demeter called out to her husband, the King of the Gods. ‘Oh where has our child gone? Our maiden of the springtime and the flowers?” She asked as she surveyed the area around them. Already the flowers had begun to wilt and give into the heat of the sun, baking the Earth in the glorious worth of summer.

Without the reassurances of her husband, who hadn’t a clue, Demeter called out again to the all-knowing God of the Sun, Helios. “Oh! My wisest friend, tell me where my daughter has perished because my heart aches with incurable sadness.”

Slowly, Helios paused his chariot in the sky hearing the desperate pleas of Mother Earth, causing an endless stream of sunbeams to shine down on the Earth. For this was not part of his journey, but he could not leave Demeter in such anguish.

“Sister Demeter, your child is not lost.” His voice called down laden with sorrow and regret. “She has been claimed by Hades, God of the Underworld, and shall not return to this land ever again as pentenace for your Husband’s wilful denial of his request for her hand in marriage.”

Demeter cried out in desperation for the words of the Sun God could not be true. Her child would one day return to her as it is a mother’s will to be with their children. Her daughter, Persephone, was far too fair and good to be damned to the pits of Hell. She would see to it that all should be set right again in the world…

Heavily, Lia sighed as she looked up, her blue eyes finding the first light of the day breaking on the horizon. In another time, this would have been her most cherished moment of the day. The moments in which a new beginning was born into life and when it was as if the world took a breath and began again, but the world had died months ago.

Yet, Persephone persisted in the dark despair of that grand city below having made her way to the gleaming City of the Damned. There her and her fawn, Virgil, who had now grown, were imprisoned in a palace that would even shame her father’s. Daily she was showered in expectations, but also gifts Hades believed her heart would desire.

With persistent tears, Persephone continued to bath the Underworld with her misery no gifts could cure. Gifts could not quell her longing to return to her mother and the green earth above, for she was not meant to be of this world. The glamour and glitz held no appeal to her as did her would-be-lover's pleas. Trials and tribulations were not her way, though, if she must, she swore up and down she would do as needed. For surely successful completion meant returning to the warmth of Demeter’s embrace.

Hastily, Lia finished the last pages of her writing and slammed the book shut with a resounding thud. The call of obligation rang out with the incoming tide and she knew she could not resist it’s call any longer. Life was like the tides after all, they came and went, and you were powerless to fight them. A lesson she had learned all too well in the days that had passed since the ‘fated’ one that hung still above her head like a guillotine.

Even as she stepped foot on the train, Persephone’s tale remained with her. A whisper under the blankets kind of tale that you could not help but pass along, even to a now phantom chaperone.

Back on Earth, Demeter mourned her child and swore there would be no warmth until all was set right. So, the Earth fell into a fitful slumber. Gone were the warm winds and sunbeams of the glory days. Her fits of rage had long banished Helios from the sky and a white blanket of snow, ice, and silence enveloped all the lands. It was then the cries of Zesus’ beloved mortals joined in the chorus of Mother Earth begging for Zeus to bring them relief.

Try as he might, Zeus could not convince Demeter to permit Helios to continue his journey across the sky. For what did it matter? The Earth would not bloom again in greenery and flowers until the Maiden of the Springtime returned, or was he so callous he had forgotten his daughter already?

“Hades!” Zeus called out in a fit of anger summoning his brother to his side. “I order you to return back what you have stolen.”

Haughty and with a laugh full of zeal, the God of the Underworld laughed at the request bequeathed to him. “Now brother, you have thrice denied my request for the hand of the fairest maiden, and now she is mine. All is as it should be.” Hades reasoned.

“This is my wish!” Zeus cried out in anger as he stomped his foot and pointed a thunderbolt at the God of the Underworld.

“No, this is the wish of your wife.” Hades pointed out. It had been longed known that Zeus, God of the Gods, long favored his daughter Athena above all others. “I have promised to bath Persephone in the finest riches of the Earth and care for her all the days of eternity.” He continued despite the anger resonating from his brother. “I can make her a queen, now that she has passed my trials and tribulations, and the souls of the Underworld will worship her as their own. Tell me, how is this not desirable?”

Frustration furrowed Zeus’ brow as he listened to the words of his brother. “You shall return the maiden to her mother before fortnight’s end.” He demanded as he settled into his lofty Olympus throne knowing the mortals would perish if Demeter’s anguish was not abated. “In return, I shall promise her to you for six months of the year as to permit you both what your hearts desire. I rule this as her father and as the Gods of All Gods on Olympus. This is final.”

The words swirled in Lia’s head as she embarked, tired and frazzled from her own fortnight’s journey. Ahead of her laid the gleaming city of marble and stone, but would forever be cloaked in darkness and misery. Here the wail of the Lost was the strongest and frequented her without relenting. Here the call of what might have been and could have been blurred until she could no longer untangle the ball of string they had become and set the world right.

If she turned her head to the right, Lia could almost hear the whispers of the fawn now grown in the wind urging her to keep going. The next part of the story playing on repeat was his favorite. His voice was soft and eager, much like it had been when they were children hushed by the silence of the night and the fear of being overheard and whisked back to bed without the story’s ending.

Eyes choked with tears, Lia had no other option than to allow the movie in her head to come to fruition. 

And so it was deemed that Perseophone should be returned to her mother Detemer. With a fit of joy and happiness, the maiden burst forth from the ground. In her wake, the flowers bloomed and the verdant grasses sprung up in a happy celebration of the return of the Springtime Maiden, easing away the cold light of winter.

Overjoyed, Demeter called out permission to Helios to continue his chariot ride across the sky and return the sun to the Earth. In all the days that followed, warmth and joy filled the earth and blossomed in their fields. Once again there was peace and prosperity until the fateful day Persephone would return to the under dwellings of the Earth and Demeter’s sadness would again envelope the Earth robbing it of its riches.

“Do not fear mother,” Persephone assured her mother as she gently wiped her tears from her cheeks with her thumb. “For I will be back before you know it. Until then, I shall do my best to comfort the souls of the departed. To brighten their world with the mercy you have shown me, your daughter. I shall bring forth the flowers and the bounty your love has bestowed upon me and bestow it upon them. I can be a wondrous Queen because I was created in your image and have grown in your love.” Persephone quietly told her mother hoping to alleviate her worries.

“Rest easy and take solace in the fact that we will meet again soon,” Persephone assured seeing the tears of Demeter had not slowed. “For the circle has no end and comes around again and again. As we are blood we are of one circle we cannot be truly parted, only temporarily parted and rejoined again and again.”

Knowing the final sand grain of her time had come close to slipping through the hourglass, Persephone slipped a golden halo of olive leaves onto her mother’s head. “May this continuous crown of golden leaves remind you of our circle and of my never ending love for you, my mother, my blood. Soon we will meet again and bask in the glory of our love for each other.”

Nodding, Demeter wiped the tears from her eyes and smiled softly. “And as my tribute to you, my only daughter, forsaken by her father, I shall weave golden circle crowns for all the Gods and they will wear them for all eternity as a symbol of your glory and sacrifice. When one thinks of golden crowns, they will know not only the strength needed to wear such a token but of the sacrifice it demands as you have demonstrated so grandly.”

With that proclamation, Demeter gifted morals the golden crown to wear upon the heads of those deemed worthy or to the children that frolic in the meadows or by the seaside dreaming the wild unkempt dreams of childhood.

With a snap Lia closed the book, the one embossed with the fallen golden crown resting upon a duo of silver coins, and slid it upon the shelf made of the finest mahogany. Staring back at her was the fine golden print adorning the side of the spine that simply said, “The Forgotten Lore of District Four” penned by Lia Havelock.

And while her book would no doubt be an unprecedented success, Lia knew the words were just that, words. Tales that were meant to be shared in times of joy, strength to draw from in times of hardship, and most importantly, to be acted out on the beach by children envisioning a future of bliss and growth.

Lia would also tell you there were no words more important than those simply stated on the first page of her book:

For Fenn and Atalanta, Our circle is not broken.

[fairiesherefairiesthere]

Lover’s desire

Ships : Aizawa Shouta/ Yamada Hizashi ; Kayama Nemuri/ Takeyama Yuu

Synopsis: It’s a hadestown au, but you don’t need to know anything about the musical though. A little knowledge about Greek mythology (Hades and Persephone) might help, but I also don’t think that’s necessary. It’s just soft and Aizawa adopts 1A, but what else is new? 

Word count : 12 836

Fic starts under the cut :

There's a stumble in his step, probably because of an old wound that never healed quite right, but Shouta would rather die than delay his eventual arrival in the city any longer. The exhaustion that has formed itself as dark bags underneath his eyes is tugging at him from all directions, daring him to rest for just a bit. When he staggers past a comfortable enough looking hollow tree, he considers it briefly. It wouldn't really hurt, right?

But as he crouches down intending to take a quick nap, the wind picks up again. The bothersome, ice cold nipping at his skin quickly evaporates his will to stay there. With a bone-deep sigh he picks himself and his few belongings up again. As he walks as fast as his legs will allow him, he hopes that he'll reach the city before the storm swallows him whole.

Eventually, he arrives. Not unlike the slew of towns he visited before this particular one, the streets are empty and barren. Howling, the wind runs through the streets, warning the people that a storm is inevitable. Vaguely, Shouta wonders if this town will be erased from the maps as well.

Shaking his head, he gathers himself again. It isn't logical to worry about questions he has no answer to (though it doesn't hurt to be prepared for bad situations). Just like the wailing of the wind, his sole footsteps sound eerily loud in this abandoned town and for a long time, those two are the only sounds he hears. That is, until the sound of someone singing rings clearly through the air, drowning out the wind and drawing Shouta in.

Before he's aware of what he's doing, he's already moving in the direction of the voice. Only a fool would still find a reason to sing in times like these and if anything, Shouta would at least get some form of entertainment out of this whole thing. That's the sole reason that he's nearly running towards the joyous sound, he tells himself. It's got nothing to do with the way the song sounds oh so whimsical, but steady at its core. With the way the wordless melody nestles itself in Shouta's heart with promises of warmth, of a home.

His feet halt before an unassuming wooden door. When he looks up, he can see a sign with the word "tavern" on it, letters nearly faded out. With a jolt, he breaks out of his musings when he notices the song has stopped and he considers walking away. The reason he came here in the first place has just disappeared into thin air, so why should he enter? But then the singing starts again and this time it sounds even more inviting than the first time. Judging by the stomping of feet inside the tavern, the other listeners seem to think so as well. Shouta has never been one for parties, but the melody is simply to alluring to resist.

From the moment the newcomer walks in, Hizashi has his eyes on him. He can't pinpoint exactly what it is that draws him to the ragged looking traveller (or local homeless man. He isn't really sure). But his fingers slow down until they aren't plucking at his guitar strings and anymore and the silence when he stops singing is a bit overwhelming. The people that had dared to dance stopped too and the eyes of everyone in the room are directed at the man with his shoddy hair...with his shoddy everything.

Recognising the way the man tenses up, Hizashi shoots him a quick wink before resuming his song. Immediately, the crowd sweeps into action again as tension bleeds out of the room. Unlike all the other patrons, the man doesn't dance. Instead he lays his head down on a table and Hizashi, thinking that the other has decided to take a nap while he's giving a performance, feels a bit vexed.

Inwardly pouting like a petulant child, he continues his gig. The petulance disappears however, when he catches the tired eyes of that peculiar man looking at him on more than one occasion. Each time their eyes meet, Hizashi winks cheekily and after the seventh or eighth time, the man turns his head after Hizashi winks with both his eyes, like the proper dumbass he is. For a moment he thinks he's lost his chances with him, until he notices the red flush on the other man's cheeks. Apparently his dim-witted attempts at across-the-room-flirting are more charming than he thought.

As the night dwindles to an end and everyone except himself and the singer has gone off to find a sleeping place, Shouta moves to do the same. He is tired and he isn't going to force the blond singer to stay up the entire night either. "Oh", he hears the other man breathe as he turns to leave the tavern. With a raised brow, he turns around again. "Is there something you want?" he asks, perhaps a bit too brusquely. He knows full well that he's being rude, but it's better to stomp out this little spark in his heart with his own foot. He wanders from town to town and he knows that everything he has is temporary. There's no use in bothering this handsome stranger with fleeting feelings.

His words, brief and ill-mannered, do not have the intended effect as the man nearly trips over himself to introduce himself. "Hizashi", he splutters out and Shouta wonders what he's supposed to do with that one word. "Me. You can call me Hizashi. I mean, my name's Yamada Hizashi. With the former being the last name and the latter one being the first. Ya know."

Shouta does in fact, not know. But it's hard to ignore the man- Hizashi's hand after he nearly smacks Shouta with it in all his eager enthusiasm. With a bone-deep sigh, he drags his own hand out of his pocket and reluctantly shakes Hizashi's hand. "Aizawa Shouta. Call me Aizawa."

Completely ignoring Shouta's request, Hizashi calls him by his given name as he tries to make idle conversation. "So Shouta", he starts and Shouta doesn't even attempt to hide his eyeroll. "What brings you here?"

"Basic human needs", he flatly replies and Hizashi's eyes widen. "Love?" he whispers in a conspiratory voice, eyes dreamy and far away. With a snort, Shouta pushes the man's face away. "Food and shelter. The storm laid waste to the last town I stopped in, so here I am now."

"Here you are", Hizashi echoes before his expression turns thoughtful and then hopeful, cheeky even. "Come home with me", he says with all the courage of a naive, hope-filled fool. The question or should he call it a declaration startles Shouta and a little laugh travels past his lips.

The sound escapes neither his nor Hizashi's attention and Shouta ducks in his scarf to hide his reddening face. "Lover", he drawls and hopes Hizashi will catch the obvious sarcasm in his voice. Judging by the starstruck expression on the man's face, it's clear he doesn't. "You have a home? Some man you must be. Most people these would be lucky to possess a house and yet you, a simple singer speaks of having a home."

"We'll make one together", Hizashi breathes as he tucks a stray strand of hair behind Shouta's ear. "We'll build a home where you can lay your head and worries down and where we'll be sheltered from the wind. We'll built a place of love."

The innocence behind those words tell Shouta that Hizashi hasn't experienced a storm yet. That he hasn't seen houses and families been torn apart by invisible forces of nature. Still, he's endearing. Shouta wonders just how long he'll be able to keep up that sunny optimism of his. "Well then lover, how will you feed me?" Before Hizashi can answer, Shouta takes his right hand and places a kiss on his ring finger (being bold isn't an issue if he's gonna leave the next day), "lover", he mumbles and doesn't Hizashi turn a delectable shade of red? "With what gold will you put a ring on my finger?"

For a moment, Hizashi is completely and utterly silent. When Shouta lets go of his hand, he shoots back into action. "I'll do it with my song", he declares, face still red but the expression on it is more determined than Shouta has ever seen on a man. "I'll sing a song so beautiful, that the trees will bend down and grant us their fruits, one that will make the earth bare her treasures for us, so the finger you kissed and the one I will kiss right now will match each other with a golden gleam." Immediately putting his words into action, Hizashi lifts Shouta's right ring finger to his lips and places a feather-light kiss on it. Contrary to his fingers, roughened by playing the strings, his lips are soft.

Now, Shouta is the one who is stunned as Hizashi gazes at him through his eyelashes with too bright green eyes. He snaps out of it and quickly pulls his hand back. Feelings weren't supposed to become a part of this. Still, he's curious about Hizashi and his lofty promises. "Sing it then." He coughs roughly. "Your song, I mean. Show me the song that's gonna change the world."

For the first time that night, Shouta detects uncertainty in the man standing in front of him. "It isn't finished yet", Hizashi admits and Shouta can't even muster up the energy to sigh at that. Of course. Of course Hizashi is just another sweet distraction without substance that life has thrown his way. "Forget it", he grunts and moves towards the door, fully planning on leaving.

"No wait!" He hears Hizashi stumble over some chairs and then he hears him plucking at his strings. Whatever. Before Shouta can reach the door, the wind throws them open and the icy cold gusts bite at his skin. Bracing himself, he prepares to throw himself into it, in search for another place to stay.

That is, until Hizashi's lovely voice sings a soothing melody and the wind changes from icy nails scratching at his skin to gentle hands that spin him around and carefully put him in the chair across Hizashi. The dead flowers in the vase behind him start to bloom and he temporarily halts his guitar playing to place a now gorgeous red carnation in Shouta's hair. "The song isn't finished yet, but trust me. When we'll marry, all the flowers will be blooming and they'll liven up that lovely face of yours."

"Oh", Shouta brings out, stunned before he manages to gather his words again. "If this is what your unfinished song can do, then it'd be a crime to leave before I heard it in all its glory." He grins and shakes his head. "I can't believe I'm saying this", he sighs and Hizashi's pretty green eyes gleam with hope. Shouta offers him his hand. "C'mon lover (he still adds a bit of sarcasm, just to uphold his image for a bit). Take me home with you."

Shouta comes to love Hizashi (or maybe he's loved him all along). The world hasn't changed, the cold winter has come and food is still hard to find. But in a certain sense, Shouta's world has changed. Cold and small as it may be, Shouta has a home now. One he shares with a beautiful man who serenades him with words and a voice sweeter than honey.

But for all he's loving (and that's one thing Shouta would never be able to complain about. Hizashi loves him, that's a fact), Hizashi also has periods where he's absent. His body remains there, seated on their bare wooden floor as he absent-mindedly plucks at his strings, trying to complete the melody that has the capacity of changing the world, but his mind is too far away for Shouta to reach.

There's another thing that's bothering him. If he looks carefully, he can easily count Hizashi's ribs and on some days, he can't hear Hizashi over the growling of his own stomach. The temperature has also been dropping lately. They're in love, sure, but they're also hungry and cold and it's as though Hizashi's so concentrated on finishing his song that he doesn't even notice it. But all would be okay, he just had to trust Hizashi and his song.

Weeks pass by and Shouta has to travel further and further to find some scraps of food. Lately, Hizashi hasn't been joining him any more. He's singing till his sore throat shuts him up and snaps him out of his daze and all that's left is a heap of weak artistic bones with a worn-out but still sincere smile.

"Shouta!" he hears the man in question call his name. "Wait for me!" he calls out and of course Shouta does so. Almost slipping, Hizashi arrives in front of Shouta and he steadies him by grabbing his elbow. "Thank you for being my tower of strength, where would I be without you?" Hizashi smiles and Shouta can't help but agree quietly with him. Hizashi is a songbird, but birds that don't get fed die.

All afternoon, they comb through the woods and left-behind houses in search of food and blankets, but find only a handful of berries next to a train station. "It's okay", Hizashi says softly. "We're gonna be okay, trust me."

The loud whistling of a train mercifully interrupts them, so Shouta doesn't have to answer. He isn't sure how he would've answered either. He loves Hizashi, but he isn't sure for how long he can keep trusting a man that doesn't notice he's hungry until his shaky arms drop his guitar on the floor.

"Look", Hizashi whispers as a dark haired lady steps of the train, clad in...barely anything. "I bet she knows how to live", Hizashi jokes but Shouta's looking past her at the other lady behind her. She has long blond hair tumbling down her back and a stern icy face. A thick, black coat is draped across her shoulders. It looks warm.

"Well then Yuu dearest", the dark haired one says, all smiles without warmth. "I can't wait to reunite with you next winter!" Her joy remains insincere until she turns around and shouts: "Hey Tensei, we've entered the realm of the living again! Let's liven it up on top!" Without looking behind back, she jumps off the train. Following right behind her is a man wearing glasses, whose clears up as soon as he sees Hizashi. "Hizashi, my friend, play us a tune! Spring has returned!"

With Kayama Nemuri, the flowers and birds returns. It doesn't need to be said, because Shouta can recognise the goddess Persephone without her having to outright state it. Iida Tensei had been a trickier one, until he winked at Shouta and told him he was a 'messenger of sorts'. Apparently the messenger of the gods, Hermes, likes to call himself Tensei.

Winter disappears, but there's no spring to speak of, only a scorching hot summer. No one seems to care, but as people dance and drink the wine Nemuri (what's with these people and insisting he uses their given names?) so gracefully offers them, Shouta doesn't lose track of the way he's dizzy because of the heat and still hungry because of the dying crops. He brings it up to Nemuri once, but she waves him off and offers him some more wine instead. He isn't like her, he can't drink his hunger away.

Hizashi and Tensei, they talk about it too, but not when Shouta's around. Tensei likes to drop cryptic hints when Hizashi is working on that one particular song, steering him in a certain direction. Maybe the future result would be magnificent, but Shouta can't help but notice the already meagre hours of sleep his lover get diminishing and he worries. Hizashi may be the key to solving this situation, but a broken key still would not be able to open a lock.

Six months pass and the lady in the black coat arrives again on the train, looking bored as before. Taking the vibrant Nemuri with her, Takeyama Yuu or as Nemuri told them, Lady Hades, plunges the world back into the bitter darkness of winter.

It's on a fateful day, when Shouta is out to gather food, that it happens. A storm catches him off-guard and as the hungry claws of ice also known as the wind claw his jacket off his back and tear his scarf away, he shouts for Hizashi. Shouts for the man who can turn these icy gusts to a gentle breeze with just the sound of his voice. Logically he knows that there's no way the man will hear him, but he's disappointed when he doesn't show up anyway.

He doesn't know how long the storm rages around him, but when it finally calms down he's left with just his shirt and pants as he lays on a blanket of snow. It's cold. Where is Hizashi now? Where's the man who promised him a shelter and food? Who promised him love? Where is the love in letting your significant other go out in this weather? Bitterly, Shouta covers his eyes with his arm to hide the tears that are gathering there. He should've known better really. Time to gather himself and go, he doesn't need anyone else.

"You look cold", a detached voice says and Shouta removes his arm from his face and squints at the woman above him. "Take this", she says nonchalantly and drops a heavy jacket on his body. Embarrassingly fast, Shouta scrambles to put it on. After he's wrapped in the cosy, sturdy material, he looks up to the lady, who Nemuri referred to as Takeyama Yuu or Hades. She gives him a once over and nods. "You look like someone who knows how to work."

"Maybe I do", he says and squints at her. "It depends on what they're offering me in return though."

With a seemingly heedless movement, she brushes her hair behind her ear. The action pulls up her sleeve, highlighting her warm gloves and revealing the sparkly jewelry on her ear. She's obviously wealthy. "I offer you what you're looking for. A place to sleep and a meal every day. All I want in return is for you to be mine. Work for me in Hadestown." She stretches out her hand to him and he takes the time to think the offer over.

It's not as though he's leaving something life-saving behind. There is nothing here for him, he reminds himself and ignores the voice that whispers Hizashi's name. He doesn't need anything beside a sleeping place and something to eat, it's only logical to go with her. Mind made up, he clasps her hand. "Okay", he simply says.

Within moments of arriving at Hadestown, Shouta notices that several things are severely wrong. First of all, there are only children working there, digging in the ground and carrying stones almost bigger than themselves. The second thing is the vacancy in their eyes and their stiff movements. "What is going on?" he mumbles and the woman next to him shakes her head. "They all wanted something and they got it. In return they are working for me. It's only fair. Now off you go."

"Shouta! Where are you ?!" Hizashi had always thought of himself as a loud person, but he's apparently not loud enough, because his lover can't hear him. Trotting down another road that he knows Shouta often takes, he slips and meets the ground face-first. Fuck. "Shouta!" he calls out again and this time he gets a response, though it's not from the man himself.

"He's gone Hizashi", Tensei's voice says from behind him and Hizashi whirls around. "What do you mean gone?" (He tries not to think of his mom, who left him behind. Tries not to think of how much of a handful he is.) "Let me ask you a question first. How for would you go for him?"

Oh, that's an easy one. "I'd go everywhere, until the end of time if I must", he answers honestly and Tensei allows himself a little laugh. "You're so spontaneous, it's what makes you humans so charming. I know where your Shouta is and I also know that you won't be able to get there."

"Why not?"

"Because your arms would snap in two if you'd try to lift a boulder."

"That's fair."

"Anyway", Tensei continues, "Have you heard of Hadestown? The town where the lady of the underground rules over her workers with an iron grip? I've heard you can reach it by crossing a certain river, but you know, it's just rumors. Who knows if it's true."

The look Tensei is giving him implies that he knows that Hizashi will be able to get there by using this way and Hizashi is gifted enough to read between the lines. If Tensei can't tell him more, so be it. "Guess I'll have to check it out then."

"Wait." Interrupting Hizashi's stride by grasping his arm, Tensei sighs. "There's a big chance he won't be coming back with you. People go there voluntarily, Takeyama Yuu can't force them to. Keep that in mind."

"I will", Hizashi promises before he sets off to find Shouta. He most definitely will.

Shouta works hard, until his fingers are littered with blisters and the darkness of the mines isn't foreign anymore. Every day is the same down here. Starting early, all the workers get up and dig out precious jewels from the ground. The more gifted ones reform them to whatever materials the lady of the mines desires. They work without a break till nearly midnight, where they get served a meal and then are sent off to bed. Sleeping happens in a communal room, though woman and men are separated.

Jarringly enough, none of the kids talk. Even long after the guards have dispersed, they still won't utter any whispers among themselves. It's deadly wrong, but Shouta doesn't have the people skills to start any conversations. He tries though, but it's like talking to little human-shaped walls.

As days go on, Shouta feels himself becoming part of this human wall. Memories flee from his mind faster than he would like and the emptiness he sees in these kids becomes apparent in him as well. He isn't sure why he came here, but it doesn't matter. He was someone before he was a worker. It doesn't matter. There was someone who...there was...does it really matter?

The worker loses track of everything. His name. His age. Where he came from. Every experience that has made him the man he is today. There's nothing left that's specifically his. Wracking his mind, he tries to come up with anything that could assign some sort of meaning to himself. Who is he?

The storm in his mind is laid to rest when a gentle melody enters his head and weaves itself between his thoughts. Significantly calmer, he continues his work while humming the song that sounds oh so gentle and familiar. Something about it pierces through the foggy atmosphere in the mines and for the first time in a while, he rears his head and thinks clearly.

It's as though he sees the kids for the first time, though he knows that this isn't the case. This time, he carefully examines each and every one of their faces and when one set of eyes quickly looks away when he meets them, he knows he's found another fully conscious person.

The young man in question has sleepy purple eyes that try their hardest to hide of vitality in them and when the worker moves to talk to him, the younger one opens his mouth first. "People who don't even know their name shouldn't talk at all."

"What-" "Go back to work. Don't ask questions." The worker grabs his shovel again. It's time to dig.

The spell wears off eventually and the worker is more determined than ever to get through these kids, starting with the purple one. "Don't", he starts before the young man can say anything. "Why not?" he innocently asks and the worker grunts. "Because it's not gonna help anyone in the long run."

"I don't care. It's helping me right now. Go back to work."

The third time, his strange melody helps him out again. As soon as the worker had been released from whatever that damn mind control exactly was, he had started singing the song. His voice is by no means something to write home about, but it does the job of comforting him pretty well. When he looks around, he notices that the song has other effects as well.

Eyes no longer vacant, the kids are staring at him. "Hey dead-eyes", one particularly mouthy kid addresses him. "Where'd ya learn that song?"

"I wish I knew", he answers truthfully. "But the truth is that I don't know anything. I don't even know my own name." Little by little, the kids seem to be becoming aware of their own lack of knowledge and of course, they're freaking out about it. "Sit down", he sighs tiredly and miraculously, the children actually listen to him. "Good", he mutters and joins the circle. "Let's go over the things that we do know. You, mouthy brat, start."

Affronted, the blond looks at him and hisses something along the lines of: "You wanna go, old man?" Gaining no reaction, the blond huffs and spits out: "The purple fucker did something. I suggest we murder him."

Well then. Scanning the circle, the worker does note that the 'purple fucker' is missing. Luckily for him, he's been blessed with fast reflexes and a piece of rope, conveniently laid by his feet. Catching the kid, who had tried to escape in vain, he yanks the rope back. He also keeps the child close enough to him so the explosive blond won't get to him first. "Fess up. What's happening here?"

"It's just the town man, I've got nothing to do with your shitty memories!" Struggling to get free, the kid scowls. "All I do is tell you to get back to work. That's it. If you manage to stay awake and I mean really awake, not wandering around in a zombie-like state, you'll regain your memories eventually."

"Prove it", a dark-haired girl with vague frog-like features says in a matter of fact kinda way. "Tell us your name."

Obviously uncomfortable, the child shifts in the ropes. Noticing that they aren't going to let him go before he tells them, he rolls his eyes. "Shinsou Hitoshi. Now let me go."

"How do we know you're speaking the truth? Based on the fact that you are the only person in this group who still retained any memories of his time before Hadestown, we can conclude that you must have some sort of advantage over the rest of us. We don't have any reason to trust you and your shifty demeanour isn't helping you either. Furthermore-"

The green-haired child's muttering gets interrupted by Shinsou flatly saying: "You think I'd realistically choose this name? It sounds stupid as all hell."

"He's got a point", explodo-kill (it seems appropriate for the child) grins and a spiky, redhaired kid elbows him. "Dude, be nice. It costs nothing."

"It costs me effort."

A headache is coming up and Aizawa can't believe that there was actually a period in his life where he wanted to be a teacher. Children are a pain in the ass. Aizawa? Aizawa! The epiphany he's just had must've shown on his face, because the curious green-haired child gives him a peculiar look. "Did you notice something?" The child asks and Aizawa shakes his head. "No, I remembered something instead. I'm Aizawa." He pauses for a second. "Or at least I think so."

A blond kid laughs obnoxiously at that. "Oh my god, I don't even think at all and I know my name's Kaminari Denki." Abruptly he stops laughing and looks at Aizawa in a state of mild shock. "Oh. I didn't knew I knew that. Or know I guess, because I still have that knowledge. Verb tenses." He fingerguns awkwardly and somewhere in his soul, Aizawa relates to that, though the kid doesn't need to know that.

"Anyone else magically remember something?" Their collective headshaking confirms their lack of new knowledge. "So now what?" A young girl with cheeks reminiscent of apples asks and gives him a look of anticipation. Honestly, Aizawa could go for a nap right now. All he has is his last name and a song, there's no way he can help these kids with just that. Luckily enough for him, another kid starts rattling while making a lot of unnecessary hand gestures.

"I suggest we give each other some sort of names! It is hard to organise without being able to differentiate between our forces!"

"Good idea", the explosive kid says with a grin that just spells trouble. "You there, blondie! You're glittershit (excusez-moi?!) from now on. You there with the raccoon eyes, take a big fucking guess what we're gonna name you (I wanna be alien queen!). Next, frogface, glasses, round face, tail and dunce face."

Damn. This kid is really going for it huh. Aizawa decides to let him finish, because let's be honest, the nicknames are very to the point. It's impossible to not immediately know who he's talking about.

"Furthermore we have shitty hair (it's not shitty, it's manly!), fucking rock(...), sugarlips, octopus, jacking girl (please don't), plain one (I can't believe I'm actually disappointed), edgelord supreme (I thrive in the darkness), icyhot, ponytail and fucking Deku too."

Before Aizawa can ask where the nickname 'Deku' comes from, someone huffs right beside the boy assigning the names. "I don't like your names, but you completely ignored me, man. That's so not cool!"

"Invisibitch."

"Nevermind, feel free to just ignore me again", she pouts. "Kacchan, look at what you do to people", Deku sighs and pats the invisible girl on the shoulder. He has to pat the air for a bit first before he finds her, but Aizawa thinks she appreciates it nonetheless. "You want to fight, shitty nerd?" Kacchan bristles and Aizawa raises his hand. "Okay, that's enough of that."

Both of them look surprised as he steps in between them, as though they're not used to people breaking up their fights. Right now, Aizawa is ninety percent sure that these two have some history together and based on the things he's seen, it isn't a pretty one.

The sound of unsteady footsteps echoes through the cave they're all huddled in and their conversation falls still. "It's the drunk lady", the one dubbed icyhot says in a monotone manner. "I'd recognise those drunken footsteps anywhere", he adds and then she appears.

Waving wildly with a bottle of wine at the children, she laughs loudly. "Hello children, did ya miss me?"

"No", Kacchan spits out vehemently and the other children tense up. "Why the fuck don't we know shit you hag? Let us go!"

"I'm merely the bosses beloved wife", she remarks and it's obvious from the way she states it, that she doesn't feel that beloved. "Six months a year I stay here, do you really think I've got any say in all of this? All I can offer you is some souvenirs." Giving the bottle of wine a shake and shooting the kid a meaningful look, Aizawa decides to step in again.

"These are underaged kids, you can't give them alcohol. Nemuri wasn't it? Show some responsibility, please." Carefully, her gaze travels over him and she gives him a joyless smile. "Love truly doesn't last huh?" She remarks, catching him off guard. Then, she turns her back to him and winks at the children. "Anyway, let's hold a little party, I'm sure Yuu won't mind. After all, it's not that often that I'm in this sorry excuse of a town!"

Something about the way she behaves is intoxicating and exciting. Nemuri, for all that she's faulty brings life to the mines and with her permission, the children drop the stones and materials they were gathering and enjoy the festivities she's throwing. Meanwhile, she also gives them the souvenirs she had been speaking of. They're all various objects that seem to spread vitality that is unknown to Hadestown. Flowers, fruits and even a bunny for the quiet kid that resembles a stone.

Late in the evening, when Aizawa is pretty sure that all the children are asleep, she sits herself down next to him. "Here, something for you", she announces and presses a little bundle into his hands. His first instinct is to reject it, because there's no way that he trusts this lady. But the tired, genuine light that shines in her eyes convinces him otherwise and with a little bit of curiousity, he opens the packet.

Inside, he finds two objects. The first one, is a bird's feather and the second one is a red flower. Spotting the confusion on his face, Nemuri laughs softly. "You like songbirds", she whispers and for some reason he thinks that he isn't supposed to take that sentence literally. "As for this one", she continues and picks the flower up. "It simply suits you." With flourish, she puts it in his hair and he grunts at her. "If you think so."

Following that, she gives him a thoughtful look that lasts too long for him to feel comfortable with it. "What", he says perhaps a bit too aggressively. "Nothing", she quickly responds and stands again, brushing the dirt of her skirt. "Just thinking that it's time to go. By morning, you will all be thoughtless zombies again and it's no fun to stay and see that happen. My wife isn't much livelier, but at least I know her."

"Why did you marry her? You don't seem to like her very much. I've also heard rumours that she calls you frivolous and faithless."

When the atmosphere darkens sufficiently, Aizawa is suddenly reminded that he's talking to a goddess. She has the power to smite him into oblivion if she wishes to and he sincerely hopes she doesn't. "Of all people, it's you who asks me that", she breathes and he wonders what information he's missing. "Tell me, would you fall in love with someone who's full of life? And should you do, would you stay?"

Because he doesn't answer (he doesn't know how to), she shakes her head. "I'll answer for you. You wouldn't. You'd like them for a while, because they're fun and exciting. Then, your logical side would rear its ugly head and you'll drop them without a warning, because there's no use in this relation you've got. If you're merciful, you'll leave and they can move on and heal. If you're ruthless like my Yuu is, you'll string them on and won't even give them a shred of love. I know she doesn't love me, even if she says she does. Her words are as cold as this town she leads. And because I'm stupid, I can't let her go."

After her surprisingly emotional outburst she takes a deep breath. "I'm chained to this town and my wife with pretty looking necklaces, silver bracelets and memories that haunt me. I'm just as free as you are." With a brusque movement, she turns around. "The only reason why I'm telling you this, is because you workers eventually forget everything. Goodnight."

Before she exits, she stops at Shinsou's sleeping body and before she can shake him awake, the boy bolts upright. Big chance that that one wasn't asleep yet and listened in on their conversation. Watching carefully, he can see that the boy's tired expression changes to angry and then resigned before he lays down on the floor again. He'll have to ask what that was about the next day.

Waking up, Aizawa immediately notices that there's something not right. The children have regained their blank stares and he bites at his lip in frustration. Yesterday they made a lot of process and now he has to restart all over again. Is every day going to be like this? If so, Aizawa isn't sure how long he can go on with this.

Traipsing through the dark mine, he nearly stumbles over Shinsou, who's sprawled on the floor. Unlike all the others, the kid has a near feverish, attentiveness in his gaze. Sweat is running down his forehead and there's both fresh and dried blood under his nose and on his lips. Opening his blue lips, Shinsou asks : Hey Aizawa, what is going on here?"

His first instinct is to reply to the kid, but he knows that there is more to Shinsou Hitoshi than his skinny arms and bloodshot eyes. Obviously, the kid possesses some form of magic and Aizawa isn't about to fall victim to it. However, he also isn't going to turn a blind eye to someone who needs help.

Wordlessly, he helps the kid to his feet and tunes out the fervid stream of questions that leaves the boy's mouth. It's then that it clicks, that he knows what the condition is that Shinsou has to meet before he can gain control over someone else. He wants to ask the boy why he is doing this, what he hopes to gain. Before he can do that, Shinsou's eyes roll up into his head and he goes slack in Aizawa's arms. Around them, shovels clatter to the ground.

"Piece of shit!" Kacchan yells and Aizawa stops him before he can maim Shinsou. "Knock it off, he's clearly out of it."

"Here", the girl with particularly rosy cheeks says and offers him a handkerchief. "To wipe away the blood", she clarifies. The girl with froggish features hands him a pitcher with water too. "This might make it a bit easier."

"So why are we helping him?" Kacchan demands to know and Kaminari rolls his eyes. "Because he looks like he's dying, Angerbomb. Simmer down, won't ya?" At this obvious display of a lack of selfpreservation, multiple people watch in amusement as Kacchan moves faster than humanly possible. The only thing saving Kaminari is the guy with wings on his feet, who's way faster and hooks his arms under Kaminari's armpits, effectively dragging him out of Kacchan's path.

"I suggest we all stay calm!" he yells and uses his weird hand-chopping motions again. "Let us go back to working as though not attract the attention of the guards!" It's by no means pleasant, but it's sound thinking. Aizawa stays behind with Shinsou and the two helpful girls stay behind too.

As he gives them a questioning glance, the rosy-cheeked girl nervously shuffles on the floor. With a gentle gesture, the other girl pats her on the back. "You've got this", she whispers and the first girl nods, determination evident in the set of her shoulders. "Mister Aizawa!" she yells unintentionally loud and he winces.

"Sorry", she continues on a more acceptable volume. "My name's Uraraka Ochaco. I know why I came here." Sensing her nervousness, he gestures for her to continue. "Go on, I'm listening."

"I uhm... I came here for money!" she flaps out and her cheeks burn a bright red, as though she's ashamed. "That's quite logical, isn't it? This is an industrial town", he states plainly and she slumps in relief. "Man, when you put it like that..."

"You shouldn't worry so much." Gently, he gives her a little flick on the forehead and she giggles. "Got it, teach! But what I actually wanted to say, was that I wanted to help my parents financially, so I thought I'd take lady Takeyama's offer." Sniffling she admits: "I miss them though. I'd like to go back to them."

Oh. Oh no. Aizawa doesn't know how to deal with a crying teenage girl, especially not when another teenager is laying unconscious on his lap and a third one is staring at him with unblinking eyes that seem deeper than any pond he's ever seen.

"... Do you want a hug?" he suggests in the most awkward way possible. As soon as he slightly opens his arms, he gets tackled. However, Uraraka misjudges where exactly Shinsou is laid and as Aizawa pats the girl on the back, Shinsou wheezes and bolts upright after she accidentally kicks him in the ribs.

"Why", is all he says before he slumps back again. Saving Shinsou from hitting his head on the floor, the other girl quickly catches him. "Shinsou-chan", she addresses him, "you remind me of my little siblings." Then the realisation hits her and she does let go, dropping Shinsou. "I'm Asui Tsuyu." Her voice trembles slightly. "I wanted to help my siblings. Frogs don't do well in the winter."

She's quiet for a moment and then she carefully looks at the other children, who're working dutifully. "This isn't right. None of us are supposed to be here, we've got people waiting for us. We have to go home." Her declaration is said calmly and Aizawa can't help but like her. She states things simply and straight to the point, he can respect that.

Snorting, Shinsou sits up. "How are you going to leave? The guards will kill you. I'm surprised they haven't noticed your returning memories yet, but as soon as they do, it's game over." Ah, another realist. Well, more of a pessimist actually but Aizawa can definitely see where he's coming from.

"We're certainly not getting out with that attitude", he remarks dryly and Shinsou scowls in return. "Do you want to work in these mines for the rest of your life?"

Gnawing at his lip, Shinsou shakes his head, shoulders drawn tight. "No. But I've got no say in this matter. In this whole escape plan, you shouldn't think of me as an ally. You shouldn't think of me as an ally in any circumstance, actually." His tone is bitter and Aizawa wonders what's keeping the kid back.

"How about a neutral force?" Asui suggests and he can see Shinsou's head peek up in interest, even if he tries to hide it. "You won't rat us out unless you're forced to and maybe you could casually drop some hints about how we could get out. Completely by accident, of course."

Smirking, Shinsou shrugs."It's not like I could help it if that were to happen. No one can see accidents coming, right?"

Kids and their anarchy these days. Aizawa's a fan.

In the following days, they plan their escape. Surprisingly enough, these kids work incredibly well as a team. The only one who occasionally strays from that path is Bakugou, but for some reason he mellowed out after remembering his name. (My name is Bakugou Katsuki and if even a single one of you extras refers to me by another name, I'll fucking kill you! This was of course met by the group collectively going: "Sure Kacchan.")

Bakugou isn't the only one who remembers his life from before Hadestown. By now, it is easier to count the kids who don't. Those are only icyhot and karate-chop. Oh and Aizawa himself too, but he is determined to not dwell on that.

The day after tomorrow, the first three people will leave. They've decided to slowly leave in small groups, as to not attract any attention. Beyond the walls, they'll all wait for each other, so no one gets left behind. Aizawa has volunteered to stay with the last group. Knowing full well that this is going to be a tension-filled mission, he's not about to let a group of teenagers alone, wondering if they would make it out like their friends.

The morning of the great escape, the kids all discreetly slip something to the members of the 'first escape squad yo' as Mina cheerfully dubbed them. Yaoyorozu hands them little dolls (for luck!), Tokoyami some capes he found God knows where (revel in the darkness), Mina and Kaminari team up to hand them 'only the shiniest of rocks' (they work in a mine and Aizawa knows that they picked out the shittiest rocks in this space). The list goes on.

The first team consists of Midoriya (a wildcard, but mostly the strategical planner), Icyhot (a powerhouse) and glasses (he's fast). Their degrees of tenseness ranges from Icyhot's passive and emotionless expression, to Midoriya's brows that are drenched in sweat. "It's gonna work", the guy repeats to himself like a mantra and to highlight the seriousness of the situation, no one complains about it.

At sundown when the guards will switch, these three will swiftly escape. Before that, they'll work with the rest of them. The silence around them is heavy and oppressing, until Icyhot interrupts it with a quiet : "Ah."

Hagakure nervously laughs at that and with way too much fake enthusiasm, she slaps him on the back. "What is it?" Her voice has a slight hysterical edge to it and Aizawa hopes that Icyhot isn't about to say something socially insensitive. "It's nothing important", he says and tilts his head and furrows his brow. "I just think I know who I am. Was. Am. I'm not sure."

"That's magically good timing!" Mina whoops and claps in her hands. "Spill the deets hot boy, we want to know!" Kaminari echoes her. "Yeah hot boy, the people want to know!"

They're cornering him now and Aizawa, blessed with quick reflexes, yanks the fools back before they get scorched by the flames erupting from the boy. His bi-coloured eyes frantically scour the room and his finger twitch erratically. With slow movements, Aizawa reaches out with his hand, offering it to the boy. "It's alright", he whispers. "It's okay."

The flames only climb higher and the boy draws back. "No. I don't want to remember. I don't want to carry this name. I don't... I don't..." Deciding that he can't let the kid keep panicking like this, he crosses the room. Putting a steady and gently hand on the back of the kid's neck, he lets him hide in his chest. Trembling hands hold his sleeves in a steel grip and once more Aizawa gets hit by the realisation that he would do anything to keep these children happy and safe.

"Sorry", the boy whispers once he's calmed down and Aizawa lowers himself to his eyelevel. "Don't apologise, you didn't do anything wrong. Are you alright?"

Mutely, he nods. "Yes." He turns his head to face both Kaminari and Mina. "Todoroki Shouto", he blurts out and both of them give him a confused look. "Who's that?" Mina asks as though it isn't obvious. "Me. Also sorry for your hair", he adds as an afterthought, pointing at Kaminari's hair. A black searing mark graces his hair, the shape somewhat resembling a lightning bolt. "It adds to my charm."

For a while, the kids squabble meaninglessly, drowning out their nervousness as Aizawa fondly listens. As the evening draws nearer, their chattering quietens down once more. When the time for the guards to change draws close, they all wait with baited breath.

Unlike every other evening, it's woman's voice that relieves the guards of their duties. The thought of escaping while she's the only one in the way of freedom doesn't even enter their head as Takeyama Yuu stands in the entrance with a small child clinging to her arm.

"Good evening", she says and all of them look away quickly, hoping that she doesn't see the frustration in their eyes. "Shinsou, Eri wanted to visit." Timidly, the little girl lets go of Takeyama's arm and hops properly into their view. Her ruby eyes travel from person to person until they land unto a frozen-looking Shinsou. The shyness disappears like snow before the sun.

"Hitoshi!" She yells before running straight into his leg. Slapping Shinsou's leg in earnest, she hops from leg to leg. "Up, up!" Stretching her arms, she pouts until Shinsou kicks into action and swoops her from the ground. "Sup squirt."

Hoisting her on his hip, Shinsou listens attentively as the girl babbles about how she read a picture book and how she would love to taste some of the apples that she saw in there. With a blank look on her face, Takeyama steps close and boops Eri on the nose. As the little girl giggles, Takeyama asks whether she likes it here.

With big gestures, the girl nods. "Yes! There are no scary birds here and 'Toshi's here too."

"And 'Toshi is perfectly fine where he is, right?" Takeyama stares Shinsou down, who clenches Eri a little tighter. "He wouldn't be so cruel to leave, would he?"

With big eyes, Eri looks at Shinsou who quickly presses a kiss on her forehead. "Of course I won't", he shushes soothingly. "I'm not going anywhere without my favourite Eri-berry." She smiles at the silly nickname, worries eased. "I know that!", she declares confidently, but she does tighten her hold on Shinsou a little.

"Eri-chan, we should go again." Pouting, Eri shakes her head. "No, I wanna stay. I haven't seen 'Toshi in such a long time. Please lady Takeyama?" The girl puts on her best puppy eyes, to no avail. "No." It's a simple answer, but it's enough to make Shinsou put Eri back down and gently guide her to Takeyama.

"There you go, I'll see you later." Wrenching his hand out of Eri's, he turns to Takeyama. "Lady Takeyama, I have a request."

"What is it?"

"Go outside the walls and gather a bouquet of flowers for your wife, she'll appreciate it. Take some of your guards with you, for help." It isn't until he sees how robotic Takeyama's movements are, that Aizawa fully comprehends what Shinsou is doing.

As soon as Takeyama is out of sight, he grins at the boy. "Damn. What a strange accident. Nothing to do about it."

Eri tugs at Shinsou's sleeve. "Is this anarchy?"

"It is, squirt." She nods determinedly. "Good."

"Anyway", he says and looks at the stunned group of children. "Change of plans. Squirt and I are getting out too, because I don't want to be around when Takeyama comes back. I think it might be smart for everyone to book it."

Opening his hand for Eri to take it, Shinsou strides towards the exit. "Let's go."

For a declaration that confident, Shinsou regrettably doesn't get that far. So do none of them for that matter. As soon as they turn the first corner after leaving the mine, they stumble upon Takeyama, who's carelessly filing her fingernails. When they try to back away, she looks up and sighs. "Do you hold me for a fool, Shinsou?"

Right before his eyes, Shinsou loses hope and Aizawa doesn't know how he can return it to him. Their eyes meet and with a brusque shove, Shinsou hands him Eri. Not a moment too soon, because a giant hand plucks him from the ground.

Squeezing the boy tightly, the now giant Takeyama tuts. "This won't do."

"Don't hurt him!" Eri yells, tears welling up in her eyes. "Let him go!" She trashes in Aizawa's arms and he doesn't know what to do. Shinsou entrusted him with Eri and Eri obviously isn't going to give up before Shinsou is freed. Seems like there's only one option left. "Hold on little one", he whispers and as Eri does so, he mounts the lady in front of him.

Something behind his eyes clicks as he reaches the fist Shinsou is enclosed in. More accurately, was enclosed in. The fist disappears and as the three of them tumble through the air, Aizawa grabs Shinsou by his collar and whirls around mid-air.

Knowing that it's going to hurt, he aims his foot through a loop made of rope he'd seen dangling earlier. The loop goes taut around his ankle, effectively burning through his skin. There he dangles, arms full of kids and blood dripping of his leg. Fantastic.

A dark shadow rises up from the ground and snaps the rope loose. Aizawa curls around the children in his arms, hoping that he'll somewhat shield them from the harsh fall. The action isn't necessary however, as the shadow carefully puts them back on their own feet. "I saw it as appropriate to help out", Tokoyami explains and Aizawa nods respectfully.

"Who do you think you are?" For the first time, Takeyama doesn't sound apathetic. Instead, her icy cold anger makes the wind rise up and the temperature drop. "This is my town. Who do you think you are to disrupt my peace?" she repeats and Aizawa unconsciously places himself in front of the kids. She's not getting to them as long as he's around.

"You", she spits and Aizawa nearly gets blown away by the stream of cold that hits him full force. "I give you a place to work and this is how you repay me?" As she sweeps her arm to gesture at the crowd in front of her, ice rains down on them. Todoroki melts it and the show of defiance clearly irritates her.

"You're an ungrateful bunch", she sneers. "But it doesn't matter. I'll stomp this little rebellion into the ground." The world fades to black after those words.

Hizashi is tired and hungry and pretty sure that his feet look awful. They feel like all the skin underneath them has been neatly peeled away and Hizashi is not a fan of that particular sentiment.

He's been walking for weeks on end and finally, finally he's found the outer wall of Hadestown. However, he still has a river to cross and stones to get through. There is no way in hell that he's going to back down now though. He has a lover to find and apologise to. His vocal chords don't feel great and his fingertips are worn down.

Without hesitation they find his guitar strings again and he opens his mouth to sing, to coax the river to make way for him and for the stones to let him through. 'Wait for me Shouta', he thinks as he wheezes after he's sang his unfinished song, trying to desperately catch his breath. 'I'm coming.'

Aizawa wakes up with Jirou peering back at him. "Good morning teach", she drawls and he vaguely wonders why these pesky children insist on calling him that. It's better than Kaminari's awful suggestion of 'dad' though.

"Good morning mister Aizawa!" the only still unnamed kid yells and Aizawa groans in return. "It appears they have split us up! Do not fear though, we've already established a communication system."

Of course they did. Aizawa does his best to smother the pride welling up in his chest. Plugging her earphones into the ground, Jirou tilts her head. "I can't hear the others right now, something else is overpowering them." Furrowing her brows, she concentrates a little harden. Then, her face clears up and she gasps. "It's your song teach. The one that you sang to wake us up the first time. I've gotta admit, this man does it better though."

With a voice that sounds as though the gods have personally bestowed it upon her, Jirou repeats the melody that's whispered only in her ears. The words and notes fill Aizawa's mind and he longs. He longs for the original singer and the aura of security that surrounds him. Longs for warm love and sun-filled smiles. Longs for home.

Startled, Jirou asks: "You alright there teach?" Only then Aizawa notices the stray tear slithering down his cheek. With a harsh swipe, he removes it from his face. "Yes, don't worry about it."

Aizawa isn't the only one affected by the song though, because the kid with the glasses is staring into the distance, eyes misty. Then he slowly removes his glasses before taking a deep shuddering breath and breaking into tears. Sobbing, he curls up into himself. "Why did my older brother leave me here," he asks between sobs and Aizawa doesn't know how to answer that. He does however hold Iida Tenya until his sobs die down and he gets back to work with anger and disappointment simmering in his eyes.

The next day they get a visitor carrying the name Bakugou Katsuki, who's holding a sadlooking Eri. As soon as she spots Aizawa, she sprints over to him and clings to him without speaking a word. She doesn't need to tell him that she and Shinsou have been separated.

"This is the middle ground where mindfucker and I are gonna trade small people", Bakugou bluntly states and Aizawa shrugs. "Sure."

Iida and Jirou both remove themselves from the situation because neither of them particularly wants to deal with Bakugou. Said teen currently looks as though he's trying to eat a particularly sour lemon. "Tiny, can you shut up about whatever I'm about to say?" Eri nods dutifully and mimes locking her mouth and throwing away the key. "You know what? I'll go play with the ear-lady, she looks very cool."

After Eri has disappeared out of earshot, Bakugou turns his scowling gaze to Aizawa while fiddling with a smooth rock in his handpalm. Ah, so he's nervous. "If you even tell a single soul about this, I'll kill ya", he threatens and Aizawa represses the urge to roll his eyes.

With his shoulders high and tense, Bakugou admits that he isn't sure about leaving Hadestown. "Don't you miss living? The sun?"

"The sun's not a coward. It attacks me and leaves lasting marks, I can admire that." That's probably the closests Aizawa is going to get him to confess that he wants to leave, but he'll take it. "I just don't think it's fair of me to do so though. I mean, I came here so I wouldn't fucking bother people anymore, so it's contradictory of me to go."

"What do you mean by that?" Aizawa asks. Sensing that they are nearing the core of Bakugou's anger problems, he prepares for the worst. "Do you think I'm dumb?!" he suddenly yells. "Do you think I don't notice how fucking scared people are of me? That I don't notice that no one actually likes me? The only thing people keep me around for is my skillset."

Aizawa knows that the way Bakugou acts is in no way inviting and no one in their right mind would try to approach him if they didn't know him. Listening to his outburst, it seems like Bakugou is one of those gifted children that has been given two choices: swim or drown. Bakugou, being the perfectionist he is, of course chose to swim, effectively estranging him from his peers and drowning himself in imagos and expectations of others. It's logical that eventually he'd crack under that. However, Aizawa has to keep in mind that none of these things excuse the things he's said or done to other people.

"Bakugou, you need help." The teen's fists tremble and Aizawa gives him a gentle knock on the chest. "But at your core, you're a passionate and driven young man. I respect that. Get out of here as soon as you can and make something out of that life of yours. The fun thing about being young is that you have the chance to grow. Take it."

Bakugou's eye are the sizes of dinner plates. Then he scowls again and buries his hands in his pockets. "Like your shitty opinion matters old fart." His cheeks are slightly pinkish and Aizawa hides a smile before rapping his knuckles on Bakugou's forehead. "That's mister Aizawa to you, brat."

"Yes sir", Bakugou retorts sarcastically and kicks him in the shins. It's probably not the hardest kick he could give, but it still hurts like a bitch. Before he can kick the kid back, two new figures appear.

It's Shinsou and Kirishima, the former one holding the latter one with great difficulty. "Echange of small people", he huffs and drops Kirishima right next to Bakugou before sprinting towards Eri. At Aizawa's raised eyebrows, Bakugou shrugs and slaps Kirishima hard on the shoulders. Without blinking, the other boy takes it. "Look at this rock-hard head. He's not a weakwilled coward." As the blond and the redhead start their own conversation, Aizawa goes to find Shinsou.

The boy finds him instead and the first thing he does is thank him for watching Eri and asking if he'd be willing to do it again in the future. "Naturally", Aizawa answers without thinking. "But I think it'd be best for her if you two don't get seperated again."

Shinsou is quiet for a bit. "There is someone I'd like for you to meet", he then says hesitantly. Aizawa simply nods. "Lead me to them."

They move through the dead city, dodging guards until arrive at a shabby looking house. The door is firmly closed, but Shinsou crawls through one of the windows, Eri following him obediently. She gestures for Aizawa to do the same and after double-checking for guards, he climbs into the small house.

Inside, sitting on the floor is another teenager, although this one appears to be older than Shinsou. "Aizawa, this is Mirio, to whom Eri and I owe our lives. Mirio, this is Aizawa."

As Mirio swiftly waves away the praise, he shoots Aizawa a beaming smile and salutes. "Hi there!" he greets cheerfully, eyes not quite meeting Aizawa's. That, combined with their milky colour reveals the fact that Mirio is blind. Upon closer inspection, Aizawa can also see that his legs are thinner than they should be. Muscle atrophy reveals that the boy hasn't walked in a while. "We can't leave Hadestown without him", Shinsou firmly announces and Mirio's eyes widen. "You're planning to leave?"

Aizawa nods before mentally kicking himself. "Yes." For a moment Mirio's smile falls and then the blinding grin is back in place. "Man, don't bother with me. At least I've got some use here." He laughs in self deprecation. "You can't exactly dump me anywhere you'd like."

"How about your parents?" Aizawa suggest and Shinsou balls his fists at that. "The scumbags decided to book it as soon as their son lost his superstrength while saving a fuck up and a little girl." Mirio shakes his head in denial. "No, it was just hard on them, dealing with a change that big."

"That's part of the job description of a parent!" Shinsou bristles and storms out, furious. "I'll go after him", Aizawa reassures him before leaving the cramped house. Finding Shinsou proves to be a lot easier than he thought it'd be, because the kid is just sitting on the roof, anger burning in his eyes.

"It isn't fair", he bites out and digs his nails into his palms. "Good things should happen to good people." He turns to Aizawa. "Make it happen. Give them futures, please." The desperation of the plea catches Aizawa off guard, but not enough to not make him notice certain details in that statement.

"You didn't include yourself in that list. Do you not think of yourself as a good person?" Shinsou snorts and lets out a bitter laugh. "I brainwash people regularly", he says as though that explain everything. "And?"

"And? It apparently means I'm an awful person. On top of that I never lost any memories after coming here. Do you know what that means? It means that no memory I had was worse than Hadestown, because otherwise the town would've gotten rid of it. Not only am I an inherently evil piece of shit, I'm also an ungrateful brat."

The frustration and anger drips of his voice, but Aizawa can recognise the deep self-hatred and sadness underneath it. "You've just given me all the more reason to get you out of here. You deserve memories that are good, better than this wasteland that calls itself a town. You and your companions deserve a home." Aizawa knows that he can't dispell years of self-loathing with a few words but fuck, he's gonna get these kids out of here and give them all the support they oh so obviously need.

They can't dwell on the topic for too long though, because down in the streets, something is obviously going on. People are gathering in the centre of the town and the miraculous thing is that no guard has moved to stop them yet. "Let's check it out", Shinsou says and Aizawa falls into step as Shinsou leads him over rooftops.

Once there, they spot all the other children too, gazing at a blond man who's serenading a very charmed Kayama Nemuri. She has her hand placed on her chest and looks at the man as though he's absolutely delectable. When he has finished his lovesong, she sighs deeply and tilts his head up so she can look him in the eyes.

"Oh darling", she sighs, "When I was as young as you, my then wife to be sang me a song just as sweet. Now she builds mines and factories, somehow thinking that I'd be charmed by those. You want to find your lover?" The blond man nods and she laughs without mirth.

"Give those sweet dreams up. He's probably forgotten about you or replaced you with sparkling stones."

Aizawa looks at them, frozen stiff and feeling guilty, though he has no idea where the feeling is coming from. Below him someone scoffs and when he turns to look, it is Takeyama. "Nemuri, are you off with some charming singer again? How long will this one keep you amused? Are you never sated?"

She turns to Shouta, who still hasn't moved. "If you want a lover, you should shackle them with jewels. Even then, they'll still be unwilling to spend time with you", she berates, but Aizawa can't hear her, eyes trained on the blond with the guitar in his hands.

"Shouta", he breathes and without thinking, Aizawa, no Shouta jumps off the roof, landing in front of Hizashi. "Hizashi", he says with just as much reverence, before both of them move and smash their lips together. It's desire in its purest form, one hand tugging at blond locks and the other gripping the other's sleeve. Hizashi isn't much better, hands roaming from Shouta's shoulders to his back before settling on his waist. They both draw back to allow just the tiniest puff of air to be taken in before connecting their lips again.

This time it tastes sweeter and Shouta takes the time to rediscover his loved one. He can feel tears, but he's pretty sure that they are Hizashi's. Like, the full 20 percent sure. Somewhere halfway, this kiss turns into them just smiling against each other's lips. "I love you", Hizashi says and Shouta admires how easily he does it. How easily he marches into Hadestown with Shouta's name on his lip and a declaration of love ready to be followed right behind it.

"And I'm sorry", he adds. "I didn't notice that you needed other things than I was providing and I'm sorry about my lack of alertness in general. I'm deeply, truly sorry."

"Lover", Shouta addresses him and it isn't lost on either him or Hizashi that this is the first time he's used the term withouth sarcasm. "I'm sorry too. I should've said something first before running. I shouldn't have abandoned you without a word."

"We're both a bit stupid", Hizashi laughs and Shouta snorts in agreement. It hasn't even been five minutes yet, but Hizashi being near makes Shouta feel as though the sun is shining and the birds are about to sing. All his life, Shouta perfected the art of surviving, while Hizashi learned how to live. Maybe they can finally share their knowledge in earnest.

"I uhm", Hizashi falters a bit. "I still don't have gold for a ring or enough wood to build a big and comfortable bed. Hell, I wouldn't even be able to fill a whole wedding table with food", he rambles, insecurities evident and Shouta is both worried and endeared. Interrupting Hizashi's babbling, he places a hand on the other man's cheek.

"Love, I don't need a golden ring. All I need is enough food to not starve and a fire when I'm cold."

"I wish I could give you more, like I said I would", Hizashi admits and runs his hand through his hair. "I know", Shouta simply says and softly strokes Hizashi's cheek. The man's eye close as he leans into the touch. "But the times are what the times are. All I ask is that you hold my hand, that you are a steady presence in my life. You light up my life by just being you, I don't need more than just you. Well, just you being somewhat more attentive."

"I'll be so attentive that you'll find it creepy", Hizashi says determinedly and a breathy laugh escapes Shouta's lips. "Sure. Take me home with you Hizashi."

"We're gonna have to walk back into the cold though."

"I know." He meets Hizashi's hypnotic eyes and repeats himself. "Take me home with you."

"You aren't free to leave though", Takeyama says, arms folded over each other. "You signed yourself over to me. You're a worker of mine. Stop this spectacle at once and get back to work."

Her wife lays her hand on Takeyama's arm and shakes her head. "Yuu dear, you can't mean that. Look at them." The longing in her voice is evident and Shouta pities her a little bit. Life must be awful if your significant other of god knows how many eons has decided to not be emotionally invested in your relationship anymore. "He came here for his lover, do you think he'll leave without him?"

"Then he can work like the others. I wonder how long his twig-like arms will keep up."

Nemuri looks forlornly at her estranged wife. "Will you do me a favour? Will you give his song a listen? Let him and his lover go if you like it, tear them apart if you don't." The goddesses exchange gazes until Takeyama lets out a irritated sigh. "Let's hear it then."

"Before I start I want you to know that Shouta and I are also taking the kids if you like my song. Ain't no way in hell that I'm gonna turn a blind eye to child labour." (Shouta falls a little deeper into this bottomless pit called love.

After striking a few chords, Hizashi turns to Takeyama and his determined expression turns into a much softer and sadder one. Opening his mouth, he starts to sing:

Heavy and hard, is the heart of a queen

Queen of iron, queen of steel

The heart of a queen who loves everything, like the hammer loves the nail

But the heart of one, is a simple one

Small and soft, flesh and blood

And all that it loves is a woman

A woman is all that it loves

(Takeyama places her hand on her chest, as though she's suddenly rediscovered her own beating heart)

And Hades is queen of the scythe and the sword

She covers the world in the colour of rust

She scraped the sky and scars the earth

And she comes down heavy and hard on us

(Looking around her, she finally realises she's gone too far with her attempts to keep her wife close. She's made the place that should be a home to her wife for six months a year into a living hell. Not only for her, but also for the people that turned to her with hopes to find a better life)

But even that hardest of hearts unhardened

Suddenly, when she saw her there

Nemuri in her mother's garden

Sun on her shoulders, wind in her hair

(She had looked stunning, Yuu remembers it well)

And you didn't know how

And you didn't know why

But you knew that you wanted to take her home

You saw her alone there, against the sky

It was like she was someone you'd always known

(They had joked in the beginning, teasing each other relentlessly)

It was like you were holding the world when you held her

Like yours were the arms that the whole world was in

And there were no words for the way that you felt

So you opened your mouth and you started to sing: La la la la la la la...

(Meaningless sounds, but they had perfectly described how she felt. The pure exhileration at the prospect of holding the most beautiful, funny woman with a misshievous streak in her own arms)

The more she has, the more she holds

The greater the weight of the world on her shoulders

See how she labors beneath that load

Afraid to look up, and afraid to let go

So she keeps her head low, she keeps her back bending

She's grown so afraid that she'll lose what she owns

But what she doesn't know is that what she's defending

Is already gone

(That line hits her like a punch in the gut. With all her being she'd tried to make Nemuri stay longer than those six short months, offering her pretty objects but not once had it crossed her mind to change her tactics. She'd shut herself out in fear of getting hurt and as a result, had hurt everyone around her)

Where is the treasure inside of your chest?

Where is your pleasure? Where is your youth?

Where is the girl with her arms outstretched?

To the woman she loves

With nothing to lose

Singing la la la la la la la...

As the young man's voice fades into the air, she's faced with her actions and inhumanity of it all, the cruelness that she bestowed on others and her inability to meet her lover's needs. Nemuri gives her a sad smile and Yuu reaches out, carefully as though she's scared that she might scare her away. Nemuri however, was never one to be scared of her lovers and with a laugh, she takes her hand. Without them having to prompt him, the young man , Hizashi if she recalls correctly, starts another song. It's a sweet tune that invites them to dance and for the first time in centuries, Yuu and Nemuri dance.

Hours later the impromptu 'ball' comes to an end and Hizashi gives Shouta a nudge. "Look at them", he whispers, giving a nod in Nemuri and Takeyama's direction. "There's no way they won't let us go."

Having heard him, Takeyama nods. "That's the least I could do for you. Take the children with you." She waves at Mirio who had eventually joined the crowd with Eri because Shinsou and Aizawa didn't return. "Someone fetch him a wheelchair, it'll make the journey easier." Placing her fingers in her lips, she lets out a loud whistle. "Hey Tensei!" she shouts at the sky. "Take these people home!"

"I'll have to go too", Nemuri says and Takeyama's expression becomes blank again. "Don't give up", Nemuri whispers. "It's just six months, I'll be back before you know it. Let's try to fix this." Reluctantly Takeyama agrees. "Let me bring you to your other home", she offers. "I haven't spoken to your mother in such a long time too, I bet she hates my guts by now. Time to try to fix that."

Shortly after the two ladies have left, Tensei lands in front of the group and as Iida pushes to the front, Shouta notices how similar they are. "Brother", Iida gasps, "Why would you leave me here?"

"Yuu and Nemuri are friends of mine and you aren't born out of the same relationship I was. They promised to keep you safe from my mother's wrath , but I suppose that wasn't the case?"

"No, it wasn't!" Iida cries out and Tensei nearly breaks his younger brother's ribs with a crushing hug. "I'm so sorry Tenya. I'll take care of you from now on, I won't be neglectful to my duties as an older brother again."

The Iida's reunion is the first of many. One by one the children get returned to their parents and Shouta and Hizashi make sure to leave them with ways to contact them, should it ever be needed. In the end, they're left with three children, which is one less than they'd originally thought. (Todoroki decided that he would join his two siblings in their search for the oldest of them).

"So", Hizashi said, turning to Mirio, Shinsou and Eri. "Would you guys like to go home with us?" Eri puts on a contemplative face. "Are there apples there?" she asks, as though that's the most important factor. Shouta looks up at the trees, who just started to bloom. Spring has come.

"Not yet, but there will be soon."

"Okay then", Eri answers and takes both of their hands. "Let's go home."

[searchingwardrobes]

If I Die Young

Happy birthday, @followbatb ! This fandom isn’t just made up of writers and artists, it’s also made up of faithful readers like you. I so appreciate you following my stories, and I hope your birthday is fantastic! This story will seem in the beginning like it’s tragic with the title and the whole “major character death” tag, but it’s not what it seems. Just remember the Underworld arc and the whole “mostly dead” thing in The Princess Bride 😉

Summary: Killian reached the edge of the river and sank carefully to his knees beside the bed of reeds and roses he had spent all night weaving together. He deposited his love gently upon it, the soft petals of the middlemist roses seeming to embrace her. He stepped back, pressing his eyes closed in a silent prayer before pushing the precious cargo gently into the water. He clung to the tenuous hope that the rumors were true; that this river fed into the most legendary of waters: the River Styx. A Captain Duckling Enchanted Forest AU in which Killian goes to the Underworld for Emma instead of the other way around. Based on the song by The Band Perry.

Rating: T

Trigger Warnings: Major character is dead (but Killian goes to the Underworld, so . . . )

Words: 2,000 and some change

Also on Ao3 and part of my Fandom Birthday Playlist

Tagging: @kmomof4 @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @winterbaby89 @jennjenn615 @thislassishooked @bethacaciakay @teamhook @tiganasummertree @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @kday426 @let-it-raines @shireness-says @welllpthisishappening @wellhellotragic @distant-rose

 If I die young, bury me in satin. Lay me down on a bed of roses. Sink me in the river at dawn. Send me away with the words of a love song.

 Princess Emma’s arms swung limp against black leather. Her head was flung back at an uncomfortable angle, her long golden hair tumbling like a waterfall. She hadn’t gone completely cold yet, but her face was unnaturally pale, her lips void of color.

Captain Killian Jones, known by most as the fearsome pirate Hook, carried his load with a grim face, a single tear tracking down one cheek. He should have known the Dark One would take this love from him just as he had once taken Milah. He had doomed the princess from the moment they met. He should have stayed far away from her, but he was weak. Weak or his Emma was too stubborn and feisty to take no for an answer. Probably both.

He reached the edge of the river and sank carefully to his knees beside the bed of reeds and roses he had spent all night weaving together. He deposited his love gently upon it, the soft petals of the middlemist roses seeming to embrace her. They seemed fitting. It was a field of middlemist roses where they had shared their first kiss. Ever since, they always made him think of her and the love they shared. She looked exquisite, even in death, her white satin dress giving her the aura of a goddess. He bent and kissed her cold lips, another tear falling upon her cheek as he pulled back. Those weren’t the lips he had come to love; they weren’t warm or pliant or eager.

He stepped back, pressing his eyes closed in a silent prayer before pushing the precious cargo gently into the water. He clung to the tenuous hope that the rumors were true; that this river fed into the most legendary of waters: the River Styx. If not, he would most likely be dead in a matter of days. No one would believe that Emma had not died by his hand. He was a pirate, after all, one with a vicious hook at that. Her body disappearing wouldn’t bode well for him either, nor the secrecy of their romance. He was bound for the gallows if this didn’t work.

He would welcome the gallows if this didn’t work.

The little raft bobbed gently on the water, the current taking it softly as a fog rolled in. Killian was scarcely aware of his feet taking him into the waters, his eyes straining as he waded in, desperate not to lose sight of his love. Yet the fog was unrelenting, and he could no longer see her golden hair or the blush of the roses. Tears coursed down his face now, his chin falling to his chest as his eyes slid closed.

“Come aboard.”

Killian startled, looking up to see a dark hooded figure aboard a small boat. He stood in the bow, extending his bony hand to Killian, yet he could not see the being’s face.

“Come aboard, mortal. The Queen Persephone wants an audience with you.” When Killian still hesitated, the being sighed in irritation. “It is what you seek, is it not? A way to save your love from the Underworld?”

At that, Killian shook off this stupor, and took the sailor’s hand. Charon, he realized, ferryman for the dead. How the craft sailed, he had no idea. It had neither sails nor oars, yet it glided through the misty waters all the same. All concept of time fled Killian’s mind, and before he knew it, they were on a dark and foreboding shore.

Wraiths swooped through the air, and the fog seemed ever present as Killian made his way to the castle not far from the river. Charon had stayed behind, assuring Killian that he needed no guide. The man (being?) had been right. Something intangible seemed to pull him towards the castle, keeping him on the right path.

The castle itself was made of something like obsidian, it’s towers black and sharpened to points. The gate was made of a mixture of charred bones and spikes that resembled black ice. They opened for Killian automatically, and an invisible hand seemed to push him forward.

The floor was ebony marble, polished like glass. The throne room was empty but for the two thrones at the far end. The one on the right was as black and sharp as everything else, the man upon it white as a corpse in contrast. Yet Hades was handsome in a sharp and angular way, his long elegant fingers idly petting one of the large heads of Cerberus, the three headed dog of the Underworld. The imposing creature, as large as a horse and broad as a lion, hummed through one of its frothing jaws, taking obvious pleasure in its master’s ministrations. Yet the other two large heads growled as Killian drew near.

“Calm Cerberus, dear,” the figure on the left said gently.

Queen Persephone, in contrast, was soft and bright in every way. Her skin was tanned, like someone who spent most of her time in the sun. Her hair was a soft brown like earth turned over in the spring. Her eyes were as a bright blue as the sky, her lips and cheeks as rosy as flower petals. Life itself married to death. It was a perplexing picture.

Hades gave a command to Cerberus, and all three heads immediately calmed, resting their chins on the dais. Hades turned to Killian then, steepling his long fingers beneath his chin. Yet when he spoke, he addressed his wife.

“You know they always look back. Why waste your time?”

“Love is never a waste,” Persephone argued. Hades actually smiled then, clasping his wife’s hand and bringing it to his pale lips. Persephone smiled fondly in return, then looked back at Killian. She rose from her throne, made of cherry wood instead of black marble, and stepped down from the dais to approach the pirate.

“I am honored to be in your presence, goddess,” Killian said as he bowed. He didn’t think “majesty” was the right word for a deity, and hoped he had addressed her correctly.

He was relieved when the goddess smiled at him. “I think you just might be different from the others, Killian Jones. A princess and a pirate, a most unlikely pair. Like the god of the dead and the goddess of spring. Most people think my husband tricked me into eating that pomegranate, but I ate it willingly.”

Killian was surprised at the fondness in her eyes. Persephone turned then and snapped her fingers. A young woman in a gown of deep purple and a bronze colored hooded cape hurried to the goddess’s side.

“Guide Captain Jones down the hidden road out of the Underworld.”

“Yes, my queen,” the woman said, bowing low.

Persephone turned to Killian again. “I am sure you have heard the tale of Orpheus.”

Killian bowed once again. “Aye, most honorable Queen, I am not to look back or I will lose my love.”

Persephone gently took Killian’s chin and lifted his gaze to hers. “That is right. Go and do not look back.”

The sad expression on her face wasn’t at all encouraging. Neither was the sinister expression on her husband’s. He had the oddest feeling this was a game to them.

Nevertheless, he followed the hooded woman out of the throne room and out of the castle. She led him past the desolate royal grounds, past the fields full of wraiths and fog, and into a dark and foreboding forest thick with gnarled trees and thorns. Just as they entered the woods, she turned to him and threw back her hood. She had the alabaster complexion and colorless lips of one of the dead, yet her beauty was unfading. Her mahogany hair shimmered despite the darkness, and her chocolate brown eyes swam with both sadness and intensity.

“I am forbidden to assist those I guide, so listen to me carefully now.”

“Who are you?”

Her gaze lowered to the dead leaves at her feet. “One who knows more of love and loss than most can imagine.”

Killian’s eyes widened. “You’re Eurydice, the woman Oprheus loved. The one he almost rescued from death.” She simply nodded, and Killian’s jaw clenched. “How cruel to give you this task!”

She gave him a sad smile. “It wasn’t given to me, I requested it. Perhaps one day love will conquer death, and I wish to be there to see it.”

He clasped her hands in his one. “Thank you.”

“Now,” she said, putting her hood back over her head, “not only can you not look back, neither can you reach back. So keep your hands at your sides. Don’t try and check in any way that she’s there behind you. Also, Hades doesn’t want to let any soul go from his kingdom. Believe nothing you hear, no matter who the voice sounds like. And finally, you can’t look back until both of you are out of the tunnel to the Underworld.”

Killian nodded. He knew the story of Orpheus well, and that had been his mistake. He had stepped out into the land of the living, and thought it would be safe to look back at Eurydice. Sadly, his love had not yet crossed the threshold, and she had disappeared like mist before his eyes. The voices she was warning him not to listen to had to be Emma’s, who else could tempt him to look back? So he filed that away as well. He threw back his shoulders and drew in a steeling breath. He could do this. For Emma.

“I’m ready.”

Eurydice nodded. “I can’t look back either once we begin, so keep your eyes on me and don’t stray from the path. Emma is to keep her eyes on you in the same way, so she is depending on you as well.”

Killian swallowed hard, and sent up a quick prayer to whatever god or goddess would listen and take mercy on them. Eurydice faced forward and plunged into the wood.

Killian quickly learned that it wasn’t just what the voices said. (Are you sure she’s really there? Can you really trust Hades? What about your brother? Doesn’t he deserve to be saved too? Don’t you love him just as much?) It was the pull they had on him, the tugging on his heart to doubt, to fear. It took much more willpower than he had anticipated not to give in to their suggestions to glance back or turn around and go back for his brother. And though he had been prepared for Emma’s voice, he had underestimated how strongly it would affect him. Her pleas sounded so desperate, frightened, and broken. (Help me, Killian! Please! They’re hurting me! I can’t see you! Where are you, Killian?) So afraid was he of losing sight of Eurydice and getting them both lost, his eyes went dry staring at that bronze cloak as she wove between the trees. It was no simple trail, that was clear, and without a guide he and Emma would be hopelessly lost.

Finally yet suddenly, he was in the bright sunshine, just a few miles down the riverbank from where he had watched Emma’s body sink at dawn. The urge to spin around, to see if his love was really there was strong, but he resisted the temptation. It would be just like Hades to trick them. To tell Eurydice to guide him, then go back later for Emma. Instead, Killian went to the edge of the water. It wasn’t the ocean, but the gentle rush of the current calmed him nonetheless. He took in deep breaths as the sun sparkled on the water, praying, waiting.

“Killian,” a familiar voice whispered at his side. The slender fingers of one of her hands wrapped around his bicep, the other closed around his hook. Though it was only cold steel, he swore he could feel the warmth of her hand through it.

He turned to look at her, her bright jade eyes, her pink lips, her rosy freckled cheeks. He choked on a sob as he pulled her close to him, breathing in the familiar cinnamon scent of her hair. He buried his fingers into the soft strands and trailed kisses along her cheeks.

“You’re here, you’re really here,” he choked out.

She laughed as he kissed every available spot on her face; her nose, her chin, her forehead. Then his lips found hers, and the memory of them cold and still fled as she kissed him back with abandon. They kissed until their lips were swollen and they were gasping for breath.

“I love you,” Killian told her, his forehead pressed to hers.

“I love you, too,” Emma whispered back.

In the shadows just beyond the threshold, Eurydice smiled beneath her bronze hood. She watched Killian Jones scoop Princess Emma into his arms, watched the princess wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him with passion and exhilarating happiness. As she turned from the scene to descend back into the cold darkness, she couldn’t wait to tell Queen Persephone that love had finally conquered death.

If I die young bury me in satin. Lay me down in a bed of roses. Sink me in the river at dawn. Send me away with the words of a love song.

[witchqueenofthemoon]

MOST BELOVED SUN

Wanted to write a little Hades/Persephone Millory AU, this is what came out of me.

“My love, my love, I will think of you every day, I will kiss the ground and send it through the earth to you, I will miss you every minute, wishing you were in the sun next to me, your fingers warm, I will bring you flowers my love, my dearest love, beloved…”

He wakes each dark day, same as the one before, half the bed cold as ice, his face pressed into the folds of her pillow, smelling of her with an overwhelming ache, and thinks of what she said last he saw her, lifts his fingers to the air, his hair sleep-tossed, to receive the kisses that hang there, the ones she sent through the earth. There is only air, but he imagines the kisses there, and brings his fingers to his lips, and kisses them, achingly, imagining her silken hair falling through them, her soft cheeks between them, her lips, oh her lips, the space between her breasts, the hollow of her neck and shoulders.

He paces back and forth in the great hall, his ravens watching with endless, shining black eyes. They do not make a sound, but their heads move back and forth, following the fall of his dark cloak, the incessant clacking of his boots, and they know he is deeply troubled, for this is the time when she is not here. He paces for hours, hands buried in his dark curls or pressed over his storm-blue eyes, thinking of the way her weightless chiffon dresses fall on her breasts and her waist, the flowing endlessness of her gowns, her bare feet running through the halls of the palace of darkness, scattering light, her skin flushed under his ardent caresses, her mouth meeting his like a prayer, her small hands under his dark velvets, making him shiver into her touch. He often thinks he sees a halo of gold around her; she’s the sun to him. A sun he can only dream of, for now. He thinks of the way she whispers into his ear at night, and shivers with longing.

He sits in the great throne embellished with the bones of kings and queens. His fingers tap on the edges, snaps echoing through the hall. He wants to scream or cry, throw himself into the Styx and let the souls drag him into nothingness; without her, his food is ashes, his drink is sand, no music moves him, no poetry, and sleep comes but after such a long while. The scent of lily of the valley lingers in their bedchamber, and he clutches her pillow, breathing it in as though it were a reed and he was underwater, drowning. He cries in the silence, the darkness, alone, waiting in anguish.

“Mallory, Mallory, Mallie, come back to me…”

And then, finally, the fall; the first autumn leaf twirls to the earth, golden-crimson, and one day, as he sits on his throne of cold bones, he hears the laughter of an angel echoing down the mouth of the Styx, echoing on the bones that line the cavernous walls, hears her delighted cry as she runs to Cerberus, the great, dread, three-jawed hound who becomes a puppy in her arms, and he can’t help but cry out for her; Mallie, Mallie, my love, you’ve returned to me.

Oh, Michael, Michael, she laughs and falls into his arms in a rush of sweet air and hers are full of flowers, roses and lilacs and lavender, for she hangs them in the halls to dry and spread their sweetness, for nothing grows in the Underworld. She hangs them over their bed every year, and sometimes he wakes and sees the petals have fallen around her head as she slept, and made her a crown, a crown for the queen of the Underworld, his sunlight, his salvation. He opens his mouth to her breathless one and kisses her and she tastes like honeycomb and sweet basil and apples and he moans with relief into her body and she smiles into him, sighing, hazy with desire. Beloved, how I missed you, how I missed you so, my queen, my joy.

They stay in bed for days, tangling the sheets and untangling them and tangling them hopelessly once again in a frenzied admonition of devotion, she pretends to get up, to leave, blankets falling from her bare shoulders, looking back at him with a gasp of playful challenge and he pulls her down to him again, pressing his nakedness into hers and she opens her legs to press her sweetness to his thigh and he sucks at her neck, his long-fingered hands wrapped around her breasts, her ribs, her hips, her core. He worships at her altar, devoted, fervent, arduous, entire. His queen. Every moment she is here he is grateful, most blessed; every moment she is gone he is cast down to deepest sorrow. And so it is; how terrible, how wonderful, his sunlight, most beloved.

[hauntedlesbianmermaid]

A look at the shared summer vacation of the Theoi and their followers {Story}

A/N: Hi everyone! I hope that you enjoy reading this because I loved writing this story. I sometimes asked the Theoi to take the wheel while I was writing the story, so I hope that I wrote everything like They wanted to. Please excuse me if my grammar is not that good, English is not my first language. The whole time I was writing I had some tropical house music in the background. So if you want to and can, I would advice you to put some summer music in the background, it really gives the story an amazing touch. Thank you all for reading this and know, that even in your lows, the Theoi will always love you!

@modernmythsnet | Event Twenty Six | Summer Vacation | Mainly: Apollo, Dionysus, Demeter, Persephone, Hera, Zeus, Eros, Aphrodite and Ares. (I know, it’s a long list)

To set the scene: It is mid July, the temperature is perfect for a tropical summer vacation. Not too sweaty, not too hot. The sea water is glistening like shimmering make-up on an angel’s face. The beach sand is almost so hot it burns your feet. The forest is full of whispers of long forgotten creatures that celebrate the summer. Large buildings are filled with loud music and partying people. Everywhere you go is laughter, music and food. The Gods and their followers are happily enjoying these moments together on earth.

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Apollo is playing beach volleyball with Dionysus and a couple of us. An upbeat song is playing in the background and a crowd is forming around the field. Both sides are competitive and the worshippers are having fun playing together with the Gods. Apollo is leading the left team, Dionysus the right. While observing the match you can see the different tactics of each team, in the eyes of Dionysus’s team you can see the wild instinct to win, the sheer determination to hit every ball as hard as you can. The eyes of Apollo’s team are filled with the strength and preciseness of an arrow, ready to hit the target and get the victory. After the intense match, who ended in a tie, Apollo, Dionysus and the rest of the people grab a refreshing drink nearby the volleyball field. Smiles and grins are plastered on everyone’s face as they celebrate this wonderful day.

Somewhere else, Demeter, Persephone, their devotees and a couple of Nymphs are walking in a field filled with wild flowers. Both Goddesses are wearing beautiful sundresses, the material is soft as silk and decorated with strawberries, flowers and ladybugs. The Nymphs as well as the devotees are wearing earth colored dresses and jumpsuits made of recycled materials. They are all picking flowers and putting them in woven baskets while feeling the earth underneath them with their bare feet. Everyone is silently humming their favorite song and a soft but refreshing breeze flows through the air. Making the plants wave like the ocean. From a distance, with a big flower crown on her head, Gaia is watching them with a loving gaze. Happy that in this moment everyone is at peace.

Big bouquets filled with exotic flowers are placed almost everywhere, the white marble floor is slightly warm because of the sunlight that shines through the big windows. The chatter of Hera, Zeus and their followers echoes through the halls. Apart from a few who were sitting on pillows on the ground, almost all of the followers are seated on the soft velvet couches that decorate the big room. Everyone is sitting cozy together and the table in front of them is filled with games, drinks and food. Everyone is having a wonderful time, talking about everything and nothing, playing card games and eating all kinds of food. When everyone is getting bored with the card games, they decide to go to the pool that is in the backyard. The view from the pool is otherworldy, below you you can see big fountains and gardens that are filled with beautiful flowers, herbs and vegetables. Around the pool are plants in vases with large leaves used for the little bit of shadow they give and sunbeds decorated with cushions and towels with intricate patterns. Inside the pool there are floaties and beach balls in a range of different vibrant colors. Almost everyone jumps in the pool, the water giving them a refreshing feeling. While playing around in the pool a sense of love, belonging and happiness fills the air.

In a different place, Aphrodite, Ares, Eros and their admirers are standing in a large clean kitchen talking about what type of food they are going to make for this hot summer day. All the windows are wide open and the sweet smell of fruit and flowers linger in the air. After deciding what they are going to make, Aphrodite, Eros and a couple of us stay in the kitchen preparing the chocolate, ice cream and waffle batter, while Ares and the rest go outside to pick the strawberries and cherry’s. Ares gives everyone a basket for the fruits and leads them to the backyard. The backyard is filled with berry bushes, fruit trees, bees softly buzzing and other insects living peacefully. Everyone starts to pick the fruits they need and placing them in their baskets, sometimes Ares helps one of us up to get the cherry’s from the trees. In the kitchen things are a bit more choatic. Eros is teasing some of us by smearing chocolate on our faces and Aphrodite is teaching us how to enchant the ice cream and batter with love. The kitchen begins to look more and more messy as time goes on. Just as Eros is about to start a food fight, Ares walks in the kitchen with the rest of the group holding baskets full of bright redt strawberries and cherry’s. His group is a bit suprised to see the kitchen in this state: messy and covered in chocolate, but after the baskets are placed on the kitchen counter, everyone begins to start baking the treats: Strawberries covered in chocolate and waffles with cherry’s and ice cream. The group is working hard and having a good time together, enchanting foods, fooling around and secretly eating from the ingredients. Then when everybody is done baking, the kitchen table is decorated with plates full of juicy bright redt strawberries covered in soft creamy chocolate and fluffy waffles with glossy cherry’s and vanilla flavored ice cream. Everyone takes a seat and eats from the delicous food they made.

And then, at the end of the day, you sit at a campfire that is build in the middle of the beach. The stars twinkle bright in the dark blue night sky and the moon is full. The heat of the fire is soothing and when you look into the flames, the sight you see is almost bewitching. All around you are Gods and Goddess and people who love Them just as much as you. You listen to the chatter between the Theoi and humans, Apollo who is playing love songs on his guitar and the soft crackling of the twigs in the fire. A couple of minutes later and someone decides to bring out marshmallows, chocolate and crackers, everybody chears and begins to assemble their s’mores. The smell of melting chocolate and marshmallow is almost overpowering the smell of burning wood. Out of nowhere, on the right side of you, you hear Dionysus, Eros and Apollo singing. Slowly people around you start to sing with them and soon everyone is singing in unison. It sounds beautiful, some voices are higher or lower than the rest and you wish that this moment would never end. From your left side you see a couple of people beginning to stand up, when you take a closer look you see that they are the Muses. Dressed in flowy clothes that are in the colors of the rainbow, they begin to form a circle around everyone and then start to dance to the singing Gods. When you look at each one of them they all have different dance styles that somehow fit perfectly with the music. More people are standing up and a couple of minutes later almost everybody is dancing around the fire, laughing and singing. You too begin to dance to the magical sounding music, Sometimes you dance alone, sometimes you have a partner, the Gods join in too and soon you are swinging back and forth between dancing with humans and dancing with Gods and Goddesses. And that’s how you spend the rest of the night, happy, loved and never alone.

[silverynight]

Alright so random grindelnewt au time. So in one of your past grindelnewt mini fic things Gellert calls Newt his Persephone, and now I'm imaging a Greek god au with Gellert as Hades, Newt as Persephone, and maybe Theseus as a role simulator to Demeter. Any thoughts?

(okay just a side note that has nothing to do with this, but did you know that, in Greek mythology, Theseus and Pirithous actually tried to kidnap Persephone?)

@thecancerwolf

Gellert would be a very scary God of Death except to Newt of course; he was bitter, because he was condemned to spend his eternity in the Underworld, although he was allowed to go to the surface every now and then.

Newt, he’s just so perfect as Persephone, so in tune with nature and all the creatures; there’s no beast that doesn’t love him and he cares about all of them. Nature always feels Newt’s love as he stops in the middle of the day in the woods, talking with dragons and making friends with fairies and pixies, sometimes dancing under the moonlight or under the golden light of the sun.

Theseus, he’s just as overprotective as always, watching over him whenever he can and begging him not to wander so far from home.

But Newt’s a wild creature, it’s impossible to keep him in one place and he’s happily sitting next to a lake, talking to a kelpie and a couple of nereids that are always asking him to tell his brother to make more flowers grow near the lake; most of them know if they want something from Theseus, they must ask Newt first.

But Destiny always liked to play dangerous games and moves pieces in a way that has Gellert Grindelwald showing up at that same place as the young God is. He freezes once he sees Newt.

And innocent Newt, always hidden and protected by his brother, smiles at the stranger, having no idea who that man is. But Nereids run away, the fairies and even the kelpie, for no one likes to have Death close.

“Do you need anything?” Newt asks, always ready to help.

Gellert just stares, too fascinated to talk.

“Are you okay?” The boy frowns, worried. He reaches out to him, surprising the god of Death. “You look… sad.”

Gellert would have killed anyone who dared to say something like that to him, but this boy was completely different. The God sighs and takes the hand that’s been offered to him, it’s warm and soft and so different from the things in the Underworld.

“It’s because I’m lonely,” he admits, surprising himself for his honesty.

Newt’s expression changes; pain written on his face and it’s so beautiful for Gellert to have someone that cares enough to feel bad for him. Then, the boy beams at him.

“Well… You’re not going to be lonely anymore because I’ll be your friend.”

But Gellert doesn’t want him to be just a friend, no, he’ll have him as his husband and he’ll look beautiful and ethereal in a crown, sitting on a throne, right next to him.

Gellert doesn’t let go, he makes him fall into a peaceful dream and takes him to the Underworld.

When Newt wakes up he’s not pleased, not at all, not even after Gellert offers him the world, not even after he gives him that three headed dog that Newt immediately names Cerberus, not even after he swears he’d be good and caring and he’ll do anything for Newt as long as he doesn’t leave him.

Newt’s anger fades away quickly; it’s always been difficult for him to stay mad, because his heart is clean and kind. And eventually he realizes that Gellert truly loves him and that he’s really a lonely man.

Newt falls in love and marries the God of Death, but he misses the sun and his friends and Theseus…

And Theseus? He’s spent months looking for his little brother; the wind carrying his voice screaming Newt’s name all over the Earth.

Theseus cries cold, iced tears that spread over all lands and countries. The winter covers the Earth, a winter that doesn’t end and starts killing people.

Newt finds out when the Underworld starts being filled with children, men and women and creatures that weren’t supposed to be there.

“It’s cold, it’s always cold up there,” a girl says, sad and shivering like she’s still on the cruel surface.

“I need to see my brother.”

Newt is determined and Gellert is not capable of denying him anything, even though he knows if he allows him to leave he will never come back.

But he lets him go.

Winter ends the moment Newt jumps into his brother’s arms; colors return to the land, flowers and light and warm are back as Newt wipes off the tears from Theseus’ cheeks.

The older God laughs again, making spring and summer return… until Newt tells him what happened, until Newt says he has to go back.

Theseus would like to kill Gellert, but how do you kill Death himself? It’s impossible, besides… Newt would never let him.

His little brother goes again, although he promised to come back, but Theseus still worries.

And the leaves start falling.

When Newt returns to the Underworld, Gellert gasps in shock and wastes no time putting the young God on his lap, stroking his cheeks and neck like he wants to make sure he’s real.

“I thought you were never coming back.”

“You silly, I’ll always come back to you.”