#sitting there alone in her cottage has given her time to think

[gretavanmoon]

an omnipresent force • ch 3

Chapter 3 - DARK PREMONITION 

Jake x female reader

Words: 14.1k

A/N: Semi-AU// Set six years in the future, the world has decided to cast humankind aside, starting with the poisonous entities that are destroying her the most.

*It's been over a month, and I'm so sorry. Life has been happening fast. Thank you for sticking with me through this one, I hope you're enjoying where this story is going!

Warnings: Dystopian Horror, Cursing, Crying, Suspense, Feelings of Fear and Uncertainty, An Apocalyptic World, Violence (& mention of firearms), Kidnapping, Mentions of Forced Beatings, Wounds and Pain, Blood, Death & Dying, Lying, Attacks, Deceit, Panic, Mental Anguish

Y/N

Three days, we’ve been in here. Three days since we were all blindfolded and made to sit in the metal-walled room, cold and terrified and confused. Three days since Paps and I had tried to make a run for it, and ended up almost crashing the truck into those black, shadowy creatures.

And three days since I had sat face to face with Jake Kiszka.

They’ve barely let us sleep, let alone see the light of day. On that first night, they’d drug us into a long room lined with cots, not even saying a word to us as we all just assumed we were to lay down and sleep. Luckily I’d found Paps and we were able to get cots beside one another, but the fact that he was able to be close to me still didn’t ease any of the deep, unsettling feelings in my gut about what the hell is going on. 

Paps and I had managed to talk to a few of the other people in the group, and just like us, they were kidnapped by strange, shadowed creatures, too. Everyone described it the same way, like it was out of a horror film. They looked human, sort of, but they didn’t feel it. They were cloaked in hooded robes, and none of us ever saw their faces. They had an aura I couldn’t explain, like they had one foot on earth with us, and one foot somewhere else completely. 

My intuition told me that since they felt so terrifyingly separate from breathing in the same air as me, that maybe they really weren’t of this earth. Fucking outrageous, I thought to myself, but, was it? Honestly, these days, nothing is surprising. 

The men that surround us constantly are dressed in black and armed to their teeth, and they remind me of those scary looking “military” men you’d see on video games, with their night-vision glasses and helmets strapped tightly under their chins. They’re quiet, but they use force at every given chance. I know underneath all of the garb, they’re just men. 

And still yet, I hate them.

They have all of us pushed into this singular room and forced to pretend that everything is normal. I want to scream at them, beg them for answers, be the one who finally lashes out for the rest of the group, but I hold back. I admit, their guns do scare me. 

“Y/N, is that… Jake, over there?” Paps asks me as we sit facing one another on our cots, each of us wrapped in the thin gray blankets they’d supplied us with. “The one that played guitar, right?”

I nod quickly. “Yeah, it is him, Paps. Crazy, right? I can’t even wrap my head around all of this…” The situation we’re in is one that I truly would have never even dreamt up. I find myself thinking I’m crazy, dreaming… or living inside some type of wild mental break from the terror of realizing the world is ending. I feel like I could go to sleep and wake up in my own bed, in my own little cottage back in Cheatham county, and all of this would be a strange and unfond memory. But what little sleep I have gotten the past couple of days has given me no rest at all, only adding to my awful mental state.

“How did he get here, too? I mean, I guess fame doesn’t matter during the apocalypse, but…” Paps is having a hard time understanding, too. I glance over to Jake, seeing him sitting cross-legged on his cot, staring at the floor below him as he’s wrapped in his blanket just as we are. The wounds on his face look better than they did three days ago, but I can still see the scratches and bruises.

A year ago, I’d be starstruck, shaking and giddy with nerves from being in such close quarters with one of my idols. But now, here, we’re on level playing field. We’re all lost and confused, hungry, and terrified. Hostages who can’t decide on our next move. 

“You should go and talk to him,” Paps suggests, his voice gritty. 

“NO!” I almost yell. “I mean, no, I… wouldn’t even know what to say…” I reply, my eyes jumping between Jake and Paps. 

“What do you mean?!” Paps says. 

“I… I don’t know, I mean. The other day when they were taking our blindfolds off, I showed him my tattoos. He recognized them, and he shook his head, telling me no, told me to stay quiet. I dunno, the look in his eye was threatening, like he didn’t–I don’t know. Like he didn’t want to even be associated with me,” I explain to Paps quietly as one of the guards passes by us. 

“What can he even say though, sweetheart? None of us know what is going on, maybe he has some clue? Maybe you could talk to him, he looks…”

It’s true, Jake looks more downtrodden than all of us. He always carried himself with just the right mix of confidence and humbleness, catching the eye of every single person he passed, but now it looks like the weight of the world is literally on his shoulders. He hasn’t spoken to a soul. Has hardly moved from his cot except to visit the one-stall bathroom at the end of the room. I’ll admit, I do feel bad for him, and I have thought about going and speaking to him again, but… the way he looked at me the other day…

“Just go, honey. We’re all just people, here…” Paps urges, reaching his arm out to push my shoulder in Jake’s direction. 

I take a quick deep breath, centering myself as I work up the confidence. This is so strange. I stand up and wrap my arms in the blanket, letting my feet carry me across the cold tile floor. 

I slowly walk to him, approaching him gently, not wanting to startle him from his gaze straight down into the floor. I crane my neck a bit, willing him to look at me. “Jake?” my voice is raspy. 

His eyes, those eyes I stared into for so many years as I watched him on stage, watched him in interviews, watched him fall in love with his instrument over and over again… the warm chocolate brown they used to be are now a sullen, deep black, and I know immediately that the life they once held has started to quickly fade to something else. 

They shoot to look back at me. Fast, while he recognizes me, then back down to the floor. He stirs on his seat. “You shouldn’t speak to me,” he mumbles, and I feel my heart shatter. He’s uneasy again, just like when he saw my tattoos. 

“I—I won’t bother you, if that’s what you want, I… I noticed you haven’t spoken much to everyone else and I just wanted to say hello, not as a, you know… but as a fellow capturee.” 

I don’t even know what I’m saying. Capturee? I’m blabbering. I’m starstruck! Yes, even still in this dark room during the apocalypse I am still…starstruck by him. Captured by his fucking presence, just like I always thought I would be if I ever got the chance to meet him. 

He bites his lips quickly as he avoids me. My hands clench together underneath my blanket, and I realize that what I’d actually said wasn’t that bad, I am truly just trying to reach out. 

After a few seconds, he taps the cot in front of him, inviting me to sit. Though it seems he doesn’t really want me to, I still believe he’s too sweet to turn someone away when they speak to him. 

So I gently sit where his hand was, swallowing hard as my heart rate flies. And within seconds, I’m face to face with him again. But this time, I’m so close, I can see everything that all those photographers over the years just couldn’t capture. He is so fucking…

“I said you shouldn’t speak to me, not that I don’t want to speak back,” he says, gritting out his words as his eyes dart around. 

“I—I’m sorry, I guess I don’t understand—“

Suddenly he grabs my arm in his hand, gripping it from underneath the blanket I hug around myself. He pulls my sleeve back, and quickly takes account of all of my tattoos I’d shown him just two days prior. I let him, his grip fast and sloppy, and I can just barely feel the rough callouses still left behind on his fingertips from all the years of playing his guitar. My stomach falls. 

My arm is resting palm up in his hand as he gazes on it, and I can see his back rise and fall a few times as he takes deep breaths. Then, as quickly as he’d gripped it, he pushes it back to me. I’m speechless. 

“What’s your name?” he whispers, his eyes bouncing to the guards. 

“Y/N,” I reply. 

“You followed us? Back then?”

I nod, “Yeah, I did. Since uh, since Strange Horizons, up until…”

He rolls his eyes and scoffs, shaking his head just a little. I’m off-put by his attitude, and I begin to wonder if he really isn’t as sweet as he’d put on all those years. 

“So it’s safe to assume you’re well-versed with everything we ever made…” he asks, rubbing his hands over his face as the blanket sits over his shoulders. 

“Yeah, I’d say I am…I mean, I was one of those people that did the ‘deep-diving’, I’m sure you knew about all that,” I stumble out. 

He nods as he winces at me. A guard walks behind me, and I watch as Jake tenses in his presence, avoiding looking at him, too. 

“Yeah, we knew about that.” His words are clipped, and I’m able to tell, now, that maybe he really doesn’t want to talk to me, even though he invited me to sit on his cot with him. 

“Um, it was…a lot of fun, figuring it all out…when you guys would release something new my friends and I would research and memorize and try and put all the pieces together for the world you’d built. Try to connect the dots, match things up from previous albums and try to project what was going to happen next. I can’t tell you how many theories there were—“

“God…” He scoffs again, rolling his eyes as he leans his head back, huffing an exasperated exhale. The fuck is his problem? He’s kind of starting to piss me off… I didn’t have to come over here and speak…

So I stop where I am, giving him the same sarcastic-ass look he’d just given me, and I begin to stand. “Alright, well it was nice meeting you.”

“No, wait…” his hand is on my elbow. “Sorry, you don’t have to…”

I pause, giving him a questioning look that tells him I don’t feel like my presence is welcome. 

“Please, sit back down,” he says, releasing his touch. I slowly do, wrapping my arms more tightly around myself to match his distant energy. I watch as he swallows, his adam’s apple bobbing as he thinks about what to say next. I’ve never seen him anxious, before. I’m the one that should be anxious. 

“How did they get you?” he asks quietly, this time finally looking me in the eye as he leans in a little closer. 

I push my knotted, unwashed hair behind my ear. “Well, my Paps and I were the only two of my family left, everyone else passed from the rash.” I point my eyes over Jake’s shoulder toward Paps, and he turns to look at him. “We got ahold of someone’s truck, and were heading back toward the city when we ran into these…things….” I try to think back on that experience, really feeling embarrassed that I am about to admit to Jake fucking Kiszka that I think we were abducted by aliens or some shit. Fuck. But, I digress…

“Things?” he asks. 

“Yeah, um. They were like… really tall, shadowy, men? I don’t know, they didn’t feel um. They didn’t feel human, when they captured us. I know that sounds crazy…” I try and awkwardly explain. But, it’s the truth. 

He cocks his head. “They didn’t feel human?”

“No, they felt almost, otherworldly. Like they were only halfway here,” I shake my head, trying to make myself sound like I know I’m crazy. “I dunno.”

But the look he returns to me isn’t what I expected. He doesn’t look at me like I’m insane. He looks at me like he just understood it. Just understood it all. 

“Fuck…” he mutters through his lips, his eyes wide with realization.

“What?” I press. “How about you? Where um, where is everybody else?”

He breaks away from his surprised stare. “I don’t know. Got separated. We were all staying up at some cabins back in Michigan, they came in the middle of the night. We all tried to fight them off, but it was no use. I woke up in the back of a truck, then again in a room like they had us held in when we were blindfolded,” he explains.

I won’t lie, I’m fucking enamored with the way he’s speaking to me right now, even with the heavy subject. I can’t help it. For years, just like every other person as deep in the fandom as I was, I spent my time being enraptured by him and the person he was. Completely taken by him, and possessing a crush unlike any other I’d ever had in my life. We all did. He’s still that man, just a little older, now. A little scruffier, a little more wrinkly. But then again, I’m showing my age, too. 

But I take his words in, picturing the scene and pretending I was there, and the fear he must have felt. How they all must have felt, being kidnapped by those things in the middle of the night.

“Your whole family was there?” I ask.

He nods. “I don’t even know who was kidnapped and who they left behind. But, it was men that took us, just like the fuckers patrolling us right now. They definitely weren’t aliens.” 

Did Jake Kiszka just fucking pick on me?

He smiles just a little bit as he watches me get offended. “I didn’t say they were aliens!” I yelp.

“Shh, shh!” he laughs, pressing his hand gently over my mouth. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. “I wouldn’t say that too loudly or else you’ll have the whole room freaking out.”

I bite my lips. Hard. Fuck, his hand was just on my mouth. 

I sigh. “I didn’t say they were aliens…” I whisper. “I said that they didn’t feel fucking human, okay?”

He breathes through another little laugh. “I know. I don’t doubt anything at all, these days,” he says. 

“So you don’t think I’m crazy?” I ask, just to clarify.

He takes a breath, looking behind me. “No, Y/N, I don’t think you’re crazy.”

My god, he just said my name. I have got to get my shit together. 

“Good,” I spit. “Because whatever had ahold of me wasn’t a person.”

His face goes white, and I watch his wheels spin. I can tell he believes me and my outlandish description. 

“Everyone up! Single file through the double doors! And stay quiet!” We’re suddenly aroused by the deep voice of one of the guards commanding that we all stand and move toward the doors. They’ve only done this once before, when they fed us what you could describe as a meal of sorts, but the effort it took to choke down would suggest otherwise. My attention is immediately redirected to Paps as I watch him stand and join Jake and I in moving toward the doors. 

“Paps, this is Jake,” I introduce them, and I watch as the slightest bit of a sparkle comes into Paps’ eyes as they shake hands. “Jake, my grandfather, Don.”

“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” Jake says, and his voice sounds almost normal. 

“Pleasure is mine, son. I uh, quite enjoyed watching you play over the years,” Paps says. 

Jake’s eyes brighten as they look back to me. “Is that right?!”

“I kinda made Paps into a bonafide fan, just like me. He came to a few shows,” I explain, feeling a little shy at admitting this, in this setting.

“Wow, shame we didn’t get to meet before, sir,” Jake says, with a half-smile. “Thank you for coming.”

“Silence!” one of the guards bellows, lifting his baton high in the air before letting it fall directly over Jake’s back. “You weren’t told to speak!” 

I scream out, I can’t help it. Jake falls to the ground in pain and Paps falls to his knees beside him, as they were still holding hands from the handshake. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” I yell, falling alongside them as he holds the baton high into the air again, ready for another strike. “Stop!!!”

The baton falls hard onto Jake’s back again before the guard stands back up, moving away from the line and addressing the group. I hear Jake hissing in pain as Paps helps him stand back up. 

“Does anyone else have anything to say?!” the guard yells, and I wish to god I could see his face behind his mask. The group mutters a few quiet no’s. “That’s what I fucking thought! Now move!”

We are all talking, why did they just punish him for it? Paps and I help Jake to stand and follow along with the line, and I feel myself seething with rage. What in the fuck was that even for?! We can’t even speak?

“Are you okay?” I whisper quietly to him. 

“M’fine,” he says, and we nearly carry him down the long, fluorescent-light lit hallway to the next room. It’s strange being around actual electricity again, and I snarl my nose at the fact that they’ve somehow found a way to harness it after the world has suffered so long without it.

After a couple of seconds he pushes our help away and we fall into the single-file line, walking fairly quickly to the room where they fed us before. 

JAKE

They told me they were going to treat me just the same as everyone else, but I never thought they’d be physically harming me out here in front of everyone. If anything, it’s almost as if they’re singling me out instead of blending me in, which kind of defeats the purpose, if they were telling me the truth. I know two of the men on guard with us are the two that spoke with me in the dark room, but I can’t tell if they are the ones using violence against me. Fuck, nothing really makes sense. And all I want is out of this goddamned building so I can find my family.

Now, as they throw us into this room with one singular long table, we gather to eat this sorry excuse of a meal again, all in complete silence. I can’t believe she had the confidence to come and talk to me on the cot earlier after that harsh, wordless look of warning I gave her two days ago when we were unblindfolded. I thought she may have gotten my warning and caught onto my message for her to stay silent, but I guess I have been on the anti-social side of things and probably look like I’ve been hit by a truck. 

Of course I’m locked up in this place with an old fan. Of fucking course. And of course she’s tattooed with all the symbolism we wrote into our music and art over the years, making her an unknown easy fucking target for this shit, if they knew. If they find out that she has just as much knowledge about whatever kind of shit we apparently fucking predicted, then she’s just as much on the road to having that baton over her back as I am. Should I tell her what I know? But even if I did, what would it change? She can’t wipe her tattoos off just as much as I can’t change my name. 

We all sit and eat in silence, all of us eyeing one another as the rest of them look on to me with pity, after having that fucking baton across my back. They don’t know me, I don’t think. None of them, except Y/N, have given me that feeling of being known, yet. 

As I scarf down the bland potatoes and cold canned vegetables, I run over the plethora of thoughts I’ve had for the past couple of days. I scan back to the very last few minutes I had with my family, if there was any detail that I’d forgotten, if there was any inkling I’d heard or missed that could give me any clue as to where they are. But every time I dig, I come up short. 

So then I move along to the conversation I had with those two in the dark room again. All those fucking wild things they told me, making me feel like this all is truly a fucked up dream. Realms? Other worlds? The battle… and the fact that they explicitly explained to me that the ones who live between both of these “worlds” are unlike us, could be the explanation for Y/N saying the ones who captured her felt like they were only halfway here. 

Kinda solidified that for me. She said it perfectly; the ones who captured them must have been the family that exists in both places, the ones who the Two told me were out still capturing immunes. It all adds up. But now, what do I do with all of this? And where the fuck am I gonna find my family?

My heart wrenches everytime I think of them, and how Josh and Sam and Daniel must be being treated exactly the same as I am, about to be pressured for information that we didn’t even know was important outside of our little fantasy music world. All those days Daniel spent locked away in his room, finally understanding that what we’d written was coming true. All of it being tied together… fuck, he was so right. And now we’re being punished for it. Used for it. I can feel my twin’s guilt from here.

I watch as one of the older ladies in the group is forced up by her arm, being pulled into another room. And then the same with the teenage boy. I panic, wondering where they’re taking them, and if we’re all subject to go. The rest of us all glance to one another in fear for a minute or two, until I hear what sounds like rushing water. A shower. Fucking finally. 

I haven’t felt a sense of impending relief like this in weeks. I’m hoping that the water is warm, at least, and they give us a few minutes of privacy to really get the good out of it. I look over to Y/N, and instead of seeing relief on her face, too, I see fear. 

It’s then that I realize there’s the possibility of one of the guards seeing her tattoos. She doesn’t know why, but she knows that based upon my look of warning, maybe they shouldn’t be seen. Now, I’m regretting not telling her. I have to do something. 

I get her attention and place both my elbows on the table, gently pulling my sleeve down with my pointer finger as I point to where her tattoos would rest on her arm. When I’m sure she’s locked in on me, I shake my head side to side, and again I place my pointer finger across my lips. Don’t let them see it, Y/N. Her brows furrow in confusion, and I try my damndest to quietly and secretly make her understand my charade. Finally I watch as realization falls over her, as she nods in return. 

Now I have to explain myself. 

A few minutes later one of the guards pulls me up and walks me to the apparent shower room, thrusting me inside and following me in. It’s even darker in here, which I’m thankful for, and there is a small stall with an old ratted shower curtain in the corner. The rest of the room is all concrete, with a small, cracked mirror on one wall and a tall cabinet on the other. “Undress,” the guard orders as he shoves me behind the curtain. I follow his order, the pull to have fresh water pouring over me more than my want for much else, right now.

The guard stands in the room with me, with his face to the wall. A little awkward, I think to myself as I look around for a shower head. “You gonna join me, or are you just here to make sure I don’t drown?” I ask him sarcastically as I peek from behind the dirty curtain. The water begins pouring from the chrome shower head, and I feel an ecstasy that I didn’t think was even possible, anymore. The water is lukewarm, but I’ll take what I can get.

I spot an old bottle of soap in the corner and help myself, lathering myself up quickly in fear of losing time in this paradise. I wash every crevice and my hair thoroughly, making quick time to rinse so I can spend a few blissful seconds with the water plummeting on my face. “Mmm, sure is nice in here, sure you don’t want to join?” I ask again, trying to egg him on or piss him off. I hum a loud song as if I’m enjoying myself, cocky with it even though I’m terrified of getting hit on the back again. I don’t even know if it was him that did it, I can’t tell any of them apart. 

Suddenly the masked guard is standing right by my shower curtain, tall and overbearing as he can almost see overtop of the pole. “You really don’t ever shut the fuck up, do you, Kiszka?” he blurts. 

I smile. It worked. I immediately recognize his voice as one of the Two. 

I continue rinsing myself off as I try and think of what to say next. “No, everyone always called me the quiet one, until they spent more than five minutes with me. Then they couldn’t get away quick enough,” I joke. “You the one with the baton? Could fucking ease up a little next time, you really make that shit real.”

“No. Isn’t me, it’s my brother,” he answers. The Two, they’re brothers?

Actually now, the more I think about it, the three minutes I spent with them in the dark the other day felt a little familiar. Their voices did mirror one another’s, and they seemed to offset the other’s energy. I could tell that without even seeing them.

“Was that the other one in the room with us two days ago? When you were explaining–”

“Yes. Was both of us,” his answer is clipped.

It’s silent for a second as I wait for him to say something else. Just then, my warm, blissful water supply cuts off, and my skin is already begging for it to come back. I groan at the loss, and begin wringing the water from my hair. “So you gonna give me something else? Any updates? They gonna take me away in the middle of the night again and drag me to a torture chamber to get answers out of me?”

I hear him huff a distasteful breath. “Listen, man, I don’t have much more information for you right now, but just know that yeah, that could probably happen at any minute. They haven’t told us much, lately. And I doubt they torture you…” he trails off. 

I rip the shower curtain open, completely uncaring that he’s seeing me stark naked, right now. Hell, this man has shared forbidden secrets with me, and I’ve never even seen his face. Fuck it. 

“Got a towel?”

He steps to the side and whips a door to the cabinet open, pulling out a thin white towel and tossing it across my torso. “Thanks,” I mumble. He then throws another set of thick fabric at me and I catch it before it falls. A pair of pants and a long sleeve shirt, both the same ugly gray color that look like they belong in a prison laundromat. Actually, maybe at one point, they did. 

I finish drying off and get dressed, and the man stands in front of the door with his back to me again. “That girl you were talking to, do you know her?” he asks. 

“No, not really,” I respond, “why?”

He shakes his helmeted head. “Just wondering, I do know that they’re going to take that old man that she sits with and sleeps beside.”

“Take him? Why? To where?” I’m suddenly panicked with worry, and I barely just met the man.

“He’s old, man. His time is limited. I don’t know much, but I’ve heard that they do some type of experimentation on the older immunes, see how much they can use them to their own advantage before their time is up,” he explains. 

“What the fuck? Experiments?!” I try and stay quiet when all I want to do is scream. “What is this, the fucking 1900’s?”

“I dunno Jake, all I’m saying is I heard they’re going to be taking the oldest from each of the pods here in the next few days and transferring them–”

“Pods? What are pods?” Now, I’m in his face, staring directly up into the dark glasses covering his eyes. 

“Eh, nothing, I can’t–”

“You can’t what, you can’t tell me? You’ve already given me all this fucking information and now you want to stop? I thought you said if I played my cards right, you’d be my best fucking friend… I’ve been cooperative, huh? So far?” I press. “What are fucking pods?”

His head nods away as he sighs, some type of radio beeping on his side. My time in the shower must be up. “Please…” I beg. “Is my family nearby?”

He looks at me again. “Listen, I don’t know much about the other pods, but I think that they are. I thought… I thought I saw your younger brother yesterday, walking down the main hall.”

“Sam..” I breathe.

“Yeah, Sam. The guy on the bass,” he responds. “I can’t tell you truthfully, Jake. Honestly, I just caught a glimpse. I would tell you more if I could, and as I learn more, I’ll feed it to you. We’ve just gotta be fucking careful, man. The other guards here don’t fuck around, ok? They’re trusted hires. Me and my brother, they have all the reason in the world to trust us. But they shouldn’t.”

I nod as his radio beeps again, and I place my hand on his shoulder. “Listen, would you do anything for your brother? Anything in the world to see him safe, alive?” 

I hear him swallow from behind his face covering. “Yeah, uhm. Yeah, I would.”

“Then you understand what it means to me when you said you think you saw Sam, what it means that I have to find them, protect them… just like you’d do for your brother just outside this wall, right?”

“Yeah, man. Yeah, I get it. I swear, as soon as I know more, you will hear it, too. From me or him. Remember, we’re on your side. We’re breaking free of this fucking place as soon as enough immunes are gathered… and we come up with a plan,” he says honestly. 

“I’m good at plans,” I say. “I’ll help.” He turns and opens the door, and I feel the rush of cold air enter the room with us, sending a chill over my still-warm skin. “And tell your brother that my fucking back hurts from the beatings…”

He forcefully ushers me back out into the dining area to join the rest, whispering to me through grit teeth. “All part of the charade…”

—-

As I’m laying on my cot later that night, I try to think of how in the hell I’m going to relay all of this to Y/N. How I’m going to warn her that they may be planning on taking her grandfather away. How we’re being kept in something called pods, which signifies to me that we’re just in some giant building being held in small groups so as to keep gossip to a minimum, keep us unorganized, distant. How I’m going to pass along to her the notion that everything we wrote, every piece of media we created, everything she followed and absorbed for so many years has literally everything to do with the situation we’ve found ourselves in. If I know anything about our fanbase at the time, it’s that though we wrote that music to be up for interpretation, most of it held true to a general, underlying fabric of that imaginary world. Well, I thought it was imaginary, and apparently Josh did too, until…

Should I tell her all of this? Should I even take the time to try and explain? I don’t even know her, but I almost feel obligated, at this point, to share my knowledge. She’s marked herself with proof that she knows the innermost details of our work, and has most likely formulated her own theories on it all. Of course they’d pester her for information, she’s a direct connection.

It may even be against her benefit to be seen talking to me.

I take a deep breath, wondering what good it would do to tell her about her grandfather, like she could stop it anyway. They’d probably just use force with them, too, and carry him off against his will if they tried to disobey and fight against the situation. 

The room is dark and quiet, save for the dimmed lights in the four corners of the room and the light snoring of my comrades locked up in here with me. I glance to my left, seeing Y/N laid on her side a few cots down, facing my way. Slowly, I lift my hand high into the air to wave at her, hoping that she’s still awake. 

A second later her arm is mirroring my action, floating up into the air and waving back at me. In the pale light, I can see a smile form on her face, her eyes lighting up just a bit as we both lower our arms back down beside us. It’s strange, I wonder what she’s thinking being locked up in here with me. I don’t often think about that kind of thing, from a “fan’s” point of view. I never really did, but sometimes it hits you. I wonder what it feels like to be on their side of things? Guess like how it felt when my brothers and I found ourselves in the presence of someone we looked up to. 

But this is quite different. 

I’ve got to get this information to her. If I don’t, I’ll regret it for the rest of my days. But how in the hell am I going to speak to her while we’re under the constant eye of these masked men?

Could I write her a note, detailing it all out? No, they could find it, and then we’d really be in deep shit. Telekeneisis, speaking in code, using more hand gestures? I’m starving, and my mind is getting to a point of delirium. If it weren’t for that shower today and those frozen carrots, I’m sure I’d be on the verge of passing out, right now.

My eyes feel heavy as I watch her face half shadowed in the darkness, and I know it won’t be long until I think of something…

I fall asleep with a song stuck in my head, one that I haven’t even thought of in ages,

‘The drums will shake the castle wall, the Ringwraiths ride in black, ride on

Sing as you raise your bow, shoot straighter than before…’

The melody of Page’s mandolin is ringing in my ears as memories of writing with my brothers infiltrates my mind, my body begging for peaceful mental rest. I can almost feel the instrument in my hand and the strings against my fingers as I hear the song playing in my memory. 

‘The magic runes are writ in gold

To bring the balance back, bring it back…’

 Maybe tomorrow will bring something new. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Y/N

“Jake… Jake, wake up…” I urge him, watching as his eyes flit around behind his eyelids. I gently press his shoulder, feeling quite uneasy about coming in on such a private moment of his. How on earth I’ve found myself being able to be the one waking him up from a deep sleep, I’ll never know. So many years ago I dreamed of just being in their presence during a show, and now, this? I dunno. Mysterious ways. 

“Jake, hey…” I try again, learning that he’s a fairly heavy sleeper. I watch his eyes finally open and register my face, and so I step back a bit as I cower from his bubble. “I’m sorry, the guards have already started patrolling, and they’re acting really weird, not telling us anything… just thought you’d want to be awake for it,” I say, having trouble explaining.

He sits up under his blanket and rubs his hands over his eyes and face. I can see the dark circles under them have gotten much worse. I also see that sometime during the night, he’d taken his shirt off, and I notice the swollen bruises on his back from the baton yesterday. They’re puffy and red, and I feel horrible knowing he has to be in pain. 

“You took your shirt off, are you not freezing in here?!” I ask, hugging my arms to myself in effort to deter asking him about his back.

“No,” he mumbles, grabbing it from the floor and sliding it back over his head. “I burn up when I sleep, burn up all the time, actually. Can’t stand having clothes on.”

I open my mouth to argue with him, my mind zipping directly back to all those years ago when we would literally beg him to take his stage jacket off for a show, and even then, he only ever showed himself shirtless a handful of times. Psh, the fucker must have liked to sweat. But it feels out of place to question him, now. 

“Everyone up! Dressed! Single file!” one of the guards yells across the room as they all finally stand at attention. 

We do as they say, getting into our little line that we’re all now so accustomed to, standing silently in front of the double doors. My hand reaches behind me and finds Paps’, the two of our fingers quickly squeezing one another’s as we remind each other that we’re okay. Jake ended up in front of me, and I can’t help but notice that his hair is as long as it’s ever been… the ends a little frayed but still sitting perfectly across his shoulders in a way my hair could never even dream of doing. I want to reach out and run my fingers through it, it looks so shiny and soft, but I stop myself, knowing that a younger me would be shaking in her boots, right now. 

“We’re going outside today, your pitiful asses need sunlight and fresh air, or else you might wither up and die, and we can’t have that,” one of the guards announces with a sarcastic laugh. I listen closely to his voice and realize that he sounds like he’s around my age. I wonder how on earth he got tied up with a job like this, at the end of the fucking world, no less. His accent even sounds local. 

“Thirty minutes. You can conversate, but keep it to a minimum, we will be monitoring your every move, your every uttered word, and don’t think we won’t,” he says, and his voice is so normal, that it isn’t even threatening. His words, though, are. “Stay within the boundaries of the courtyard, or we will use force. Do not fucking test us.” He turns and adjusts his weapon in his hands as another one opens the double doors for us to be led out. We only take a few steps before he turns back around. “Oh, and it’s not warm outside. So enjoy that.”

They lead us through the doors and down a long hallway, almost as dimly-lit as the room we live in. I see multiple doors but no windows, just long, maze-like hallways of beige-colored walls. We walk for a long time, up and down flights of stairs, and I start to wonder if they are just giving us a little extra exercise. I turn to look at Paps, finding him keeping up just fine, surprisingly. “You okay?” I mouth to him.

He smiles, giving me a sweet nod. I feel proud of him, even in this devastation we’re living in. 

As I turn back around, I see Jake looking at me directly in the eye. He seems out of breath, but not in a sense that he’s tired. He looks nervous. His eyes flick to the side and I follow them, seeing an old fire extinguisher hanging on the wall, a big black ‘X’ painted across the front of it. That’s odd. 

We walk more, and I feel the muscles in my legs start to tire up a bit on our fourth walk up a flight of stairs. We stay silent still yet, all glancing around at one another as we start to realize how huge this building really is. 

We’re led through a door again, and I watch as Jake’s eyes flit back to me again, motioning at me to look at that exact…same…extinguisher?

What the fuck?

I watch as Jake is shaking his head side to side in front of me, his fists clenching at his sides. I can tell that he’s mad, I can feel it radiating off of him. We round the corner at the end of the long hall, and finally, another set of double doors are opening to allow us to see the light of day for the first time in nearly a week. 

My eyes burn and water at the sight of it, the icy cold wind already blowing across my face as we all walk slowly outside into the grassy courtyard. Fuck, this feels good. The wind freezes my nostrils, but the sun is bright. Beaming hot rays shine down onto my face, and I take a deep breath, smelling the scent of impending snow coming through the air. As my eyes dilate, I see the green of the grass, the brown bark of the barren trees, the shadows cast from the overbearing sunlight. It’s all almost overwhelming. 

As I get my bearings and shade my eyes in the light, I look around to find everyone else doing the exact same. Not even a week we’ve been locked indoors, but that was all it took for us to crave being outside.

“Do you smell the snow?” Paps asks, a sweet smile underneath his mustache.

“Yes,” I whisper, grabbing onto his arm as we share giggles. It is rare that we get heavy snows in Tennessee, but when we do, they arrive harsh and quick. And with the way the sun feels so different now, and the weather has made such harsh changes…

I subconsciously look around for Jake, and I finally see him seated on a stone bench, his hands in his lap as he looks around at the buildings that surround us. I look back at Paps, and he motions for me to go and join him. I bite my lip. “Just go,” he says. 

As I slowly approach him, I hug my arms around myself again, feeling my skin chill from the wind. “So I guess this cold isn’t bothering you, huh?” I ask him, noting his very relaxed and carefree posture as it cuts through me like a knife. 

He looks down and picks a loose string from the gray sweats that they’ve given us. “Not really in the least,” he smiles a little, glancing up at me with one eye. I take the seat next to him on the cold bench. 

“I’m jealous, I freeze all the time. Bet you’re thriving in that cold dungeon they’re keeping us in,” I say, a little awkwardly. 

“It isn’t a dungeon,” he blurts out, his fingers brushing over the stubble that’s started to grow in over his lip and chin. I always loved him with a mustache…

“What? How do you know?”

“Did you see the fire extinguisher I pointed out to you? We passed it three times,” he says. 

“I–I’m not understanding…”

He turns slightly and glances at the guards around us, stopping speaking as they pass by. “These buildings aren’t that big… not big enough for us to have gone up and down four flights of stairs and down the exact same hallway three times. Either that guy was lost, or they were trying to confuse us on how to get out of here.”

“Oh…” I say, all of it actually making sense as I look at the building, only two stories high. “Why did they…”

“I paid attention to where we were walking, because I want to know where in the fuck I need to go when I bust out of this place, even if I’m in the dark,” he growls quietly, crossing his arms. 

“Bust out?! Jake, you can’t–”

“Yes the fuck I can,” he says, his eyes cutting to me sharply. I completely lose my breath, he is still so…

His jaw clenches as he keeps eye contact with me for just a second too long. “I think they were trying to tire out your grandfather, too,” he says. 

My heart falls. “Why, what do you mean?”

I watch his jaw clench again as he looks right ahead of us, his focused stare on the red brick of the building. “Jake! What are you talking about?” I press as I feel myself grow anxious. 

He turns to me, his face extremely close as he leans in, his eyes darting behind me to see if any of the guards are nearby. “They’re taking him.”

I feel the blood drain from my body. No… No. “They’re what? How do you know? What do you mean?!” I blab, almost too loudly. His fingers drift up to barely drift across my lips, just as they had done when he shut me up the first time. 

“Shh, you don’t know how to keep your voice down, do you?” he says, and he’s serious. For the second time in a week, Jake Kiszka has touched my lips. But, I can think about that later. His head swishes around nonchalantly as he whispers. “I have intel that they’re taking him, soon. The weakest and the oldest of the groups. It isn’t good, Y/N.”

“Wait wait, groups? There’s more of us? What in the–” I’m losing my breath, I’m so confused. “Where are they taking him? What for?” I whisper, already full of nerves and worry. 

“There are more of us. They keep us in small groups so we don’t spread gossip or information. They call them ‘pods’, and I have reason to believe that my family is in this very same building,” he explains. Just then, one of the guards walks right in front of us, giving Jake what looks to be the tiniest nod, his neck crooking ever so slightly down. 

…What? I watch as the guard’s finger slides off the trigger of his gun as he hangs closely nearby us. To my surprise, Jake keeps talking. 

“They are planning on taking your Paps, and uh,” he swallows. “What they do isn’t good, Y/N, I think they– I think they run some kind of tests on them…” 

I feel a rage I’ve never felt before boiling up in my veins. I want to lash out, I want to scream, I want to wage war on anyone who dares lay a finger on my grandfather. 

“Tests?” I ask, clipped, “What kind of tests?”

Jake swallows, keeping his eyes on the guard beside us. “Experiments.”

“Fuck…” I breathe. “No, they can’t, for what? He hasn’t done anything.. He–”

“He’s old, Y/N, his time is limited,” he says, and I watch as he struggles to explain it to me. Nothing is making sense… what in the hell is even happening? 

I’ve read plenty of books in my past that detail fictional apocalypses… the end of days in some other made-up world, but never did I think I would find myself in one, living day to day and having to think of ways to protect my family. Never.

“I won’t let them, I’ve got to do something…” I fluster, trying to stand from my place to go and be with Paps on the other side of the courtyard. Suddenly, I don’t want him out of my sight. If they’re going to take him, they’re going to take me. 

Jake’s hand is on my arm, stopping me from going anywhere. “Wait, listen. Don’t you want to know why they’re taking him, the oldest and the weakest?”

“Yes, but… you saw Paps in there, he kept up with us as we walked, he isn’t weak–”

“Exactly,” Jake says, “which makes me think we have some time.” I’m rendered speechless, the weight of everything falling over me as I’m enveloped with overwhelming worry. I look to the guard again as Jake goes on with a speech that he should be keeping quiet, but he isn’t.

“We’re immune, Y/N, from the rash. All of us, that’s why we’re here. They’re collecting us,” he says, no longer caring of the tone of his voice being loud enough for anyone to hear. I keep my eyes on the guard. 

“In the past few days, I’ve learned more than I ever thought could be possible, found out more information than I even have time to explain to you right now…”

“Try, Jake, please, I’m so lost…” I plead, my eyes never leaving the guard as Jake’s chin is almost rested on my shoulder, his lips close to my ear. I’m nearly shuddering at his proximity, but I have to force it away. The emotions running through me right now are almost too much to bear. 

“We are a part of something much, much bigger than us. Something that we can’t even fathom. You weren’t that far off when you said that those things that captured you didn’t feel human, it’s because they’re not. The world as we know it is trying to push us off, kill us with the monster that we created, but some of us, we are immune to that sickness. You, me, your Paps… all of us can’t be infected by technology. So they came and gathered us here to wait while the rest of us are collected, so that we can continue on with mankind.”

I’m speechless again as I let his words sink in. Nothing makes sense, everything is so far off base, I can hardly form a thought. 

Continue on with…mankind?

“There’s so much more to explain, and I will, later, but our connection to this is much, much deeper than the people that we’re locked in here with. And I think we are going to have to pay for it…”

“Pay?” I ask. “Why us, and not them?”

He’s quiet again as the wind blows his hair across my face. I think I’m about to pass out as I feel him so close, but then I remember the heaviness of the words he’s saying, and not the feeling of his strands drifting across my face, as I’ve pictured them doing a million times before…

“You loved our music, right? Must have meant you had a love for our inspiration?” he asks, throwing me off. 

“Yeah, I guess…” I say, blinking as his strands catch in my eyelashes. 

“There were a bunch… who was your favorite? Who did you listen to most?” he asks. 

What the fuck? What does this matter?

“Uh, I dunno, Zeppelin, I guess?” 

“Good! Good… that’s good… so you are very familiar with them…” he breathes, confusing me even more. I pull away and meet his eyes, full of some type of new light. 

“...Yes…” I say through my teeth, the irony of the comparison almost making me laugh given their past with the band. 

He swallows hard as we hear a whistle being blown. 

‘The drums will shake the castle wall, the Ringwraiths ride in black, ride on

Sing as you raise your bow, shoot straighter than before…’ he sings, and I instantly recognize the song. 

‘The magic runes are writ in gold

To bring the balance back, bring it back…’

I nod harshly. “Yes, Evermore…?” 

“Yeah, that’s right. Inspired us a lot for–”

“Garden’s Gate. Yeah, I kinda always figured that…” I interrupt, wanting him to get along with it. “What does that have to do with anything?”

He bites his lips, his cheeks turning a deep pink. “Plant drew inspiration from Tolkien to write that song, right? Based the lyrics on a far-away world?” he goes on.

“Right, yeah…”

He licks his lips as he tries to formulate his words. “What if Evermore were real? What if it really exists somewhere out there, but only very little people know of its existence?”

“What are you talking about, Jake?”

“Would it be so far off to think that a song inspired us so heavily that it gave my brother confidence to write about a world that he had dreamt up? Had nightmares about? Decades-long nightmares about a world that we don’t believe exists, but only in our music…?” 

My eyes clench as I try and understand. 

“Jake, I’m…” I don’t really understand what he’s trying to say. “Josh had nightmares?”

He nods slowly. “Tons of them. About battles, ancient tales, warriors, characters who inhabited other worlds…” He pulls away, his eyes fixated onto mine. “About technology overtaking the world…” 

Oh. Oh my…god…

My face drops as my eyebrows raise. “What… how is that even…?”

I look to the guard again, watching as he nods at me, just as he had Jake. I hear the whistle again. 

“I have more to tell you, but first we have to save your grandfather…” he says. 

I feel panicked. “Is that man your intel?” I ask Jake as I turn to him and ask about the guard beside us. 

He nods, taking both of my hands in his. “Yes, he can be trusted. And so can his brother. There is so much more, Y/N, I just need to know that you trust me… do you trust me?”

Me? Is Jake Kiszka asking me to trust him?!

“Yeah, of course I do… I just–” The group is being rushed out as the whistle continues to be blown. I’m being pulled in the crowd away from Jake… but I watch as he mumbles to me. 

‘The magic runes are writ in gold

To bring the balance back, bring it back…’

Suddenly Paps’ hand is grasped in mine, and I feel the wind cut through my thin sweatshirt. I glance over to Jake again as he points to his arm once more, again telling me not to let anyone see the marks of my tattoos.

—-

We’re led back inside, taking the same route we did earlier, but backwards. I pay attention now, realizing that Jake was absolutely right. We pass the fire extinguisher three times, and go up and down the staircases an uneven amount of times it would take in this two-story building, even if it were the dungeon that they are keeping us in. 

My throat is dry as my emotions settle in, and I keep a keen eye on Paps, who I have let walk in front of me in our line. I need to tell him, but they will hear me. They will know. 

And Jake has intel?! What the fuck? How did he know he could trust that guard, we couldn’t even see his face! And he has a brother…?! All of this is still so gray to me, and I struggle with myself as I become a little internally irate that I don’t know every detail, like Jake does. I wish that we had more time to talk. More privacy. 

Jake is somewhere in the line behind me, and I try my best not to turn around and look at him. I need to look at him. I pull my sleeve down over my ink-covered arm, just like he’d asked, clutching the fabric tightly in my hand as we pace down yet another hallway. 

As they’re pulling us through a heavy metal door, two other guards are standing on the threshold. These guards aren’t like the ones who stay with us, they’re taller, thinner, and dressed differently than the ones we’re familiar with. They’re dressed in robes with hoods covering their heads, with heavy armored clothing underneath. They aren’t armed, but their faces are still covered. As the line passes between them, my stomach drops with a horrible feeling of dread. Something isn’t right…

These men aren’t guards, they’re the same beings that took us from the truck that night. 

“Paps!!” I scream, just as they grab onto either one of his arms, dragging him away from the line and through the door to another room. “Let him go!!!” I yell, my voice barely making the words out as I grab onto his waist, pulling him away from them. 

I catch his eyes, panicked and terrified as he fights against them. I feel Jake suddenly behind me, reaching out for Paps’ hands, as well. “Where are you taking him?!” Jake screams. “Don!”

“Y/N, no! Don’t let them…!” Paps yells back at me before a cloth is stretched over his mouth and eyes, and the heavy doors shut before us, leaving the whole group in a fury of madness. 

All of us, all of these people whom we don’t know but have spent the past few days locked up alongside us, all screaming and yelling and throwing their fists into the air to the guards who govern us. In this tiny landing in the curve of two stairwells, finally, all of us rise up against the guards in retaliation. 

“Let him go!”

“Bring him back!”

“Fuck you all, take us too!”

I hear the bunch of us erupt as my ears go deaf with adrenaline. I rush to the door, pushing my entire body weight against it to try and get through…to chase after where they had taken Paps. But it’s locked, barricaded with something heavy. 

I turn around again to the angry mob, the guards using force to hold them all back into the corner. They fight, they hit, they pull…I feel pride in the fact that maybe we aren’t all worthless in this place, after all... Watching on as we all finally stand up to them. 

But the thought is fleeting, as I watch Jake fall to the floor, blood pouring from the side of his face. I’m stunned, watching as it pools beside him. 

No…god, no. 

I rush to him, now, the mob of immunes now more infuriated than ever. There are only ten or twelve of us, all ranging in age and color and background…but they form a protective circle around Jake and I, layers of backs crowded above the two of us as I comfort Jake on the ground. 

Fearful tears are pooling in my eyes, and I feel the chaos above as I kneel beside him. They’re beating them, using force to drive through the protective wall to get to us, continuing on with trying to get to Jake. What had he done to piss them off? 

JAKE

I feel sharp pain near my temple and a dizziness overtaking my mind, but I also feel Y/N’s hand pressed tightly to my scalp and her presence beside me. I float in and out of consciousness, the noise of the chaos above me sounding more like a dull drone than individual yells. I’m being pushed and held down, but her hand never falters from trying to stop whatever blood is coming from the side of my head. I can taste metal in my mouth, and my ears are ringing so loudly that it hurts. There’s no doubt I will probably have a concussion. 

I look up at the blur above me, arms flailing, fists flying… all trying to protect me from…

Those beings. I know what they are…

They look different, though. They don’t look like the harmless hooded characters we emblazoned on the cover of our second EP, our mascots of sorts that adorned the front of so many posters and media. I remember how particular Josh was with coming up with the image of them, how cryptic he kept his descriptions. It all makes sense now… he was dreaming about the beings who exist between both realms. 

And apparently, they aren’t as nice as we had always envisioned them to be. 

Underneath their robes is a type of armor, chainmailled body suits made of heavy silver rings, all intertwined together and covering their chests like knights. Their faces can’t be seen, though I’m positive they keep them hidden under the heavy hood with a mask of sorts. They aren’t peaceful characters. What I always pictured as ancient representatives of our beloved world, our Infisonicosm, are nothing more than violent creatures who are apparently the ones sent to take drastic measures to protect the integrity of their realm. And capture my brothers and I.

It feels so out of sorts to even be thinking like this, believing what the First and Second told me about the parallel realm that we had written about. It’s ridiculous. It feels like insanity has overtaken my brain, believing in something so far-fetched that I actually want to laugh. 

…But all I want to do is run to my brothers and tell them that it is all fucking real. That Josh’s nightmares weren’t just dreams. That Danny was right all along, and nearly every single theory that was dreamt up by us alongside the ones who loved our music was, in fact, truth. 

“Jake!!!” I hear Y/N yell above the ruckus, trying her best to pull me to my feet. I’m dizzy, but I make it to my feet and stumble toward the stairs as she pulls me along, the angry mob behind me somehow holding off the creatures that haunted Josh’s nightmares. They need me. They want to hurt me, but they know I am valuable to their success. I have got to find my brothers, I have got to escape this place…

The two of us rush down the stairs, my feet carrying me quickly through the halls and dark staircases. Her hand is in mine, pulling me and keeping me on track as I stumble and bounce off the walls. “Stay with me, Jake… stay with me…” she beckons, and through my deafened ears, her voice is angelic.

My eyes stay half-closed as I run, keying in on her voice and the feeling of her hand pulling me along. I want to listen to her talk to me, I need the sound of it to keep me going… to keep me from succumbing to the dizziness. 

“Keep… Keep talking to me, Y/N,” I stammer out as we blast through another heavy metal door. I hear loud bangs and slams far behind us, and the pure fear of being caught again perpetuates my legs to keep moving. 

Suddenly I feel her hands on the sides of my head, her face so close I can feel her breath. “Jake, Jacob, look at me… open your eyes, we have got to keep running…” she pants, and the cadence of her encouragement lights a fire beneath me. “We’ve got to go, they’re chasing us…”

We take off again, the hallways seeming to become darker and darker the further along we go. I hear footsteps echoing behind us, and I know I’ve got to keep going, keep running. My heart is pounding as I try to stay alert. I know she has no idea where she’s going, but I’m just happy she is bringing me along. 

“Come on, Jake… come on…” she urges with a whisper, her hand squeezing at mine as she glances back at me every few seconds. It’s a miracle they haven’t caught up with us yet. I’m so out of breath I can hardly stand it, and the blood is dripping from the side of my head down onto my shoulder. But I hold her hand steady. 

The lights are flashing down here, and it seems as though we’ve run so far that we’ve reached a place that not many go. It’s almost too quiet, and only the sound of our heavy breathing is bouncing off the walls. We pause, looking around to gather ourselves as we take a second to breathe. 

“Are you okay?” she whispers, her hand shakily coming up to touch what I assume to be my head wound. I feel the immediate need to comfort her; the sound of the worry in her voice shoots right through my gut. 

“No, but I’m alright…” I breathe, barely hanging on to my consciousness. Thankfully, the adrenaline from running from those things has taken over and gotten me to safety. My chest is rattled and my limbs are sore, but still all I can think about is the terror that’s written all over Y/N’s face as she fights her instinct to want to assess me. “I’ll make it,” I reassure her.

“Your head, Jake, they– they hit you really hard…” her voice cracks, tears almost filling her eyes. I must look worse than I feel. The lights flash again and I suddenly notice a rumble under my feet.

“M’ okay, I prom- promise…” I stumble out, hanging on to my thoughts with everything in me. 

“Whoa,” she says, looking to the floor as she drops my hands. “What’s that?!”

The floor is vibrating, the walls around us beginning to make a loud humming noise as I start to feel uneasy again. The footsteps are still bounding toward us as we both scan around looking for another exit.

Suddenly, it’s as if the earth itself has decided to make every noise that has existed since the dawn of time- howling, cracking, lurching, growling… we both move our hands to cover our ears from the deafening sound, the shaking beneath our feet becoming more and more violent. 

It’s then that I know exactly what’s happening, another sinkhole. Right where we stand.

As the realization hits me, and the structure surrounding us begins to falter, I watch as the two creatures chasing us bound through the door we had just passed through, their arms outstretched and racing for us as we back away, hurling ourselves through the only other door that is available. 

The whole building begins to feel like it’s shaking, giving out from underneath us as I can feel the once-sturdy beams and foundation begin to give way. We have got to run. 

We race through the door, still hand in hand as we begin ascending the stairs now, trying to get out and to higher ground away from the buildings. I can’t explain the fear that’s rushing through my body; I’m not sure I’ve ever been as blatantly terrified for my own life as I am, right now. Fight or flight doesn’t even begin to compare to the fear of running from two things at once, both of them wanting to take your life for their own.

Running, bounding, skipping up stairs more quickly than I ever have before… somehow or another I’m managing, all because of the girl in front of me directing my motions, and not even thinking about leaving me behind. 

They’re on our tails, I can feel them… likely running to get to higher ground, too, at this point. The sound is still deafening in my ears as the walls begin cracking around us. We get to the top of a staircase and a bout of clarity hits me. I see one of those damned fire extinguishers hanging on the wall, an axe in the glass case with it.

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N!! Stop stop…” I say to her as I halt, our shoes sliding across the floor. I rip my shirt off, quickly wrapping the fabric around my hand. 

“What are you doing, Jake? We have to go!!” she yells, and I see the shadowed figures through the glass of the doors, bounding toward us. Without even thinking, I take my wrapped fist and break the glass, grabbing the axe that lies inside it. 

“Shut the doors shut the doors!” I yell at her, and she does, quickly leaning her back against them so that I can position the end of the axe through the door handles. Just as the head of the axe falls into place, the two figures hit the doors, trying as they might to pass through them. We step back, realizing our barrier is holding, and they cannot pass through it. I watch as Y/N holds both of her middle fingers up to them, and I hear their inhuman screams from the other side of the doors as they thrust their shoulders against them. 

Again we begin to run, flying up a set of stairs where I can see sunlight peeking through one of the windows. The building is shaking and moving below us, and my terror is at an all time high. Up we climb, my heart pounding as I watch her in front of me, turning to check on me every few seconds just as she had been. My heart flutters for just a split second at her concern for me, but it’s overtaken by the impending relief I feel for seeing daylight. 

“Go, Y/N! We’re almost there!” I yell, the ground below me vibrating so hard now that I nearly lose my balance and I put my shirt back on. “Run!!!” 

Finally we top the stairs and burst through the luckily unlocked door, rushing out into the cold brightness of the day. Yes, yes yes… I’ve never been happier to feel the cold rush of wind entering my lungs. My legs still carry me quickly over the now cracked concrete parking lot, around all of the old, dusty parked vehicles, and over barriers and fences as we run from the dreadful sound. I reach and grasp her hand in mine again as we hop over concrete barriers, onto what used to be the freeway.

A quick glance behind me shows me a sight I never thought I would see- the whole area we had just managed to run from, swallowed up by the earth. Fuck, Don…

I squeeze her hand as we rush again, both of us afraid that the fault line will continue to follow us. We run until we can’t anymore, until our legs are giving out on us, until we can hardly catch our breath. I finally stop, the dizziness beginning to reenter my mind as my adrenaline wears off. We’ve run about a half a mile, and we’re nearing what once was a string of stores. It’s abandoned, and shows no sign of any inhabitants. 

“Hey, are you okay?” she pants as we maneuver through the tall grasses that have grown through the parking lot. 

“I’m alright, I’ll make it…” I reassure her, watching her eyes light up when I say that I am okay. I squeeze her hand as we slow to a walk, feeling now that we might be safe.

We make our way to one of the old store fronts, what looks to be a convenience store. The windows are bashed out, and it has been looted, but I also notice something else on the cement below the door- fresh drops of blood. 

“Hey, Y/N,” I whisper, motioning to it. She looks to me as we both try and catch our breath, her brows furrowing in just as much confusion that’s probably written on my face too. I take the lead, the dizziness beginning to dissipate a little as I catch my breath, and my body calms. “Shh,” I motion with my finger over my lips, walking us through the old window as I follow the blood trail. 

We’re careful as we step over the glass shards and destroyed shelves, looking around to see if we could see anyone. Half of me thinks this is a horrible idea, and the other half wants to see if there is an injured individual who is hiding away, just as we are. I grab a pocketknife that once sat for sale on the shelf, wielding the blade in preparation.

There’s barely a breeze that floats through the old store, but I watch as the blood drops get smaller and smaller. They lead us to a door of what used to be the office of the manager of the store. Again, I hold my finger to my lips as I prepare to open it. This is such a bad idea…

My hand is shaking as I reach for the knob, second-guessing my decision with every ticking second. But Y/N doesn’t stop me, she must also know that any living thing we come in contact with is valuable, at this point. I grip the old gold knob and twist, my heart thrumming in my chest as I mentally prepare myself to fight. 

I shove the door open, and what I lay my eyes upon almost took all the breath from my lungs. 

“Sam?!”

“Oh my god, Jake!” He lurches toward me as I drop the knife to the ground, and the arms of my brother finally wrap around me in an unbelievably welcome embrace. 

Tears immediately fall from my eyes as we hold each other, and I can no longer feel the throbbing pain in my temple. “Is this real? Are you real?” I cry out, pounding my fist into his back in disbelief. 

“Yea, yea, I’m here!” Sam cries. “Fuck how did you–”

We pull away, meeting eyes as we fight to believe it. “There was another sink hole, we–we just managed to get out… we barely made it,” I explain, feeling out of breath again. “God, what– why are you here!? How did we find you?”

“We ran, we ran too! I used to come to this store sometimes, I dunno, it’s just where I ended up running to, then I was breaking the glass to get in and I sliced my hand open…” he says, running his hand along his dripping nose. “I heard you coming and we ran to hide…”

“We? Who’s we?!” I ask, looking around for someone else. 

“Jake? What the fuck?!” 

I turn to the voice behind me, recognizing it right off the bat as Daniel. I run to him, too, extending my arms around his torso as we embrace. “Oh my god…” he wails. “We didn’t think we’d find you, why are you here? How did you find us?!”

“Me and Y/N, we just ran…” I say, stepping back to look at her. She’s standing with her arms crossed, tears filling her eyes. “What’s wrong, are you okay?”

It only then hit me that she is watching the three of us reconvene, up close and personal. She looks like she’s in shock. 

“Yeah, I just…wow I never, I’m so glad you’re all okay…” she says through a thick smile. 

Immediately, Sam is walking to her through the pillaged rubble of the store. “Hey, I’m Sam, I’d shake your hand but, kinda bloody,” he says, extending his left hand instead. She sweetly takes it, her cheeks turning the brightest shade of pink.

“She knows who you are, Sam. She uh, followed us for years,” I explain. 

Sam glances at me with wide eyes. “No! You’re kidding!” 

I notice her cower back in shyness. “Yeah, sure did. Since uhm, since Strange Horizons,” she giggles. “All the way up until…”

The three of us stare at her as she collects her emotions. “I had tickets to the first show you had to cancel. Kind of uh, ironic, now…”

“Yeah, that one was a bit out of our hands,” Sam grunts through a laugh. I take notice of how long his beard has gotten, making me run my hand over my own rough, scruffy face. I haven’t even looked in a mirror in weeks.

“How in the hell did you two link up?” Danny interrupts my thoughts. 

“They had us in the same group, she and her grandfather,” I say, looking at her again. Her eyes hold mine for only a few seconds, fear and terror and sadness washing over her. She turns away as it looks as though she’s embarrassed for us to see her upset. 

I go to her as she turns, placing my hand on her shoulder. “Hey, hey, he probably made it out, they wouldn’t have just left him…he’s a strong and able bodied man, he—he’s probably rushing around trying to find you, right now,” I try to console her. 

“No he isn’t, Jake, you saw what happened to that building! There’s no way he made it!” she whisper-cries, covering her mouth. 

“Hey you don’t know that, Y/N. Those…things may have taken them with them when they ran. They know he was valuable. For all we know they got him out safely, you can’t think like that…” I say, and she bites her lips in trying to hold back her sobs. She holds herself as I hear Danny and Sam trying to make themselves invisible with pointless tasks behind us. She looks absolutely distraught. 

So I do the first thing that pops into my head, I take her into my best comforting embrace. “It’s alright, it’s okay to freak out for a second, if you need to…” I say. 

Her forehead rests on my shoulder as I feel her let it all go, her fear and sadness and worry that she’s been holding in for her grandfather. I can’t even imagine what she’s feeling right now. “Shh, it’s alright. We’ll find him, Y/N, I promise. We will find him.”

My promise holds less weight than I make it sound, but anything I can muster to try and qualm her sobs and calm her thoughts. I know how she feels, at least, being ripped apart from your family and forced into this terror. She relaxes into me for a short-lived few seconds, but as soon as she does, it’s as if the world around us disappears. I haven’t felt another human’s touch like this in weeks… the last time I really felt this connection was one morning before we left for the cabins, when my mom decided to break down on me a little, and I consoled her cries in the kitchen. 

It’s strange really, what the lack of that human connection can do to your psyche. You don’t really ever realize how much we thrive off of it, how much the chemicals in our brains rely on that rush of endorphins to keep us intact. I’ve missed it, I’ve missed a lot, honestly, but you don’t have time to think about your physical needs when you’re trying to survive. So I let her fall into me, and I into her, her hands gripping into the back of my shirt as her sobs shake her chest. I allow myself to squeeze her shoulders under mine, and rest my chin on top of her head, feeling more relaxed than I have in months. This feels…

“I’m sorry,” she says as she quickly pulls away and wipes her eyes. “Fuck, I shouldn’t be—“

“No no, it’s okay, don’t worry,” I say, the disconnection from her feeling more intense than I thought it would. Like my second of euphoria was snapped in half, right before the comedown. She dries it up quickly as she hides her face from me, and I decide to give her a second. I still feel a strange tingle shooting its way through my body, and I know for a fact just that small act of comfort will have me craving more later. 

“Jake, have you seen Josh anywhere? Heard from anyone else?” Sam says as he walks my way. 

I shake my head. “No, but I have some um, information…that I think could help us find everyone. But it isn’t the best,” I choke out as I watch their brows furrow. 

“What do you mean?” Danny asks, glancing back over to where Y/N is trying to collect herself.

I take a deep breath as I grab ahold of the old countertop beside me, still worn from years of use. My knuckles are red and busted, and my fingers look more frail than they have in my entire life. 

I’m honestly not even sure where to start with this…

“Daniel, before they took us, before everyone got separated, those thoughts you were having, those suspicions about our lyrics and our world…they’re um. They’re very, extremely real,” I try and begin to explain. “Unfortunately, I think… I think we’re in for a lot worse than we realize…”

"Wait, what? What do you mean they're real?" he asks, stepping toward me.

I take a short, chopped breath. "It exists, guys. That world we created, that we built from Josh's crazy fucking thoughts... We didn't invent it, it's real. It's in another realm that exists alongside ours. Josh um, Josh dreamt about it, for years. Everything he dreamed, he passed along into our music, visually, and conceptually. He was dreaming about it because it's not fictional. It's totally and completely a place that lives and breathes, just like we do."

It’s then that the four of us freeze, hearing loud footsteps trudging across the gravel-covered pavement in the lot outside. Three sets, at least. 

“Fuck,” Danny whispers as we all jump straight into panic again, rushing toward the back of the building to find a back door. 

We bust through, rushing to the heavily-wooded area behind the line of stores, straight to the unknown.

Again. Running…

Fear and anxiety grip me again as we rush up the hill, briars and sticks catching against my skin. Daniel and Sam are ahead of me as we scale up the steep incline, darting straight for any type of coverage we can find. I look back, realizing that it’s now my turn to find Y/N’s hand, and pull her along. 

No longer is my head throbbing, no longer is the dizziness wracking through my psyche. I’m not sure what switched, only fifteen minutes ago I was passing out as she pulled me through the hallways to safety, but here, now… I feel more clarity than ever. 

I find her hand, still damp from wiping her own tears, and I pull her to my side, giving her hand a tight squeeze as we run. We finally top the incline into a field full of trash and old machinery, abandoned vehicles and an old shed in the corner. The trees tower high above us, and I’m thankful that they had provided us with high boots as they held us in that damned building. We quickly trudge through the thick grass, and it dawns on me then how much nature has already begun to take over. How tall the bushes are, how much foliage grows on the trees.

It hits me then– it’s supposed to be winter… Why is everything so green?

I shake the disorienting thought from my head as I follow behind Danny and Sam, a quick and agile Y/N keeping right up with us. Darkness is about to fall, but my brothers and I are resourceful. Suddenly a brand new journey is awaiting us, a manhunt for the ages as our main concern is now finding Paps, and finding the rest of my family. 

As we run, I dig deep for gumption, for something steadfast to hold onto so that we can keep going. So we can work together to get through this, one step at a time. Our road ahead is going to be one of the most difficult we’ve navigated yet, but now I’ve got a team behind me. And though my other half is missing, I’ve got more drive than ever to find him, and stop them from taking us for our knowledge and twisting it for what we thought was imaginary, and using it to their own agenda.

I won’t be able to save the world, but damned if I’m not gonna try. 

Tags: @gretavangroupie @britney-gvf @sacredstarcatcher @wetkleenex-gvf @farfromthehomelands @takenbythemadness @writingcold @builtbybrokenbells @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @fleet-of-fiction @milkgemini @gvfpal @ageofcj@dancingcarbon @highway-tuna @stardustjake @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface @gvfmarge @gracev0609 @myleftsock @literal-dead-leaf @peaceloveunitygvf @ageofbajabule @slut4lando @jordie-gvf @sadiechar @tinydancer40 @rosabellagvf @capnjaket @lyndz2names @thetroublegetssoloud71 @gretavanomens @spark-my-nature @josh-iamyour-mama @anythingforjtk @alwaysonthemend @danieljlmwagner @klarxtr @fortunatelytinybasement @demonrat444 @gretavansara @watchingover-hypegirl @hippievanfleet @digitalnomadz @raviolilegs @lipstickitty @hippievanfleet @klarxtr @strange-whorizons @do-it-jakey-baby @myownparadise96 @gvf-luna @starshine-wagner @cassiesgreta @joopsandjangs @whimsiliz @kiszkas-canvas @whimsiliz @joopsandjangs @broken0mens @scoreofinfantryvines @whereiskeara @do-it-jakey-baby @miravanfleet @heckingfrick@kiszka-canvas @whimsiliz @joopsandjangs @broken0mens @scoreofinfantryvines @whereiskeara @do-it-jakey-baby @miravanfleet @heckingfrick @jenniferkiszka@jjwasneverhere @gvfmarge @pineapple-photographer @vanfleeter @gretnavannfleet

[eliteseven]

Absolutely love how you portray Tav and Shadowheart. Would you mind sharing some more domesticity HCs please?? They deserve that peaceful, full of love life so much 😭

🥹💕 thank you so much!!!! Sure, I would love to share a few nuggets of domesticity!

ShadowTav Cottage Domesticity HC’s (pt.2)

-Neither Tav nor Shadowheart have a “green thumb”. I think they’re both better at killing things, given how they’ve both spent the last decade 😅 but I feel like Arnell and Emmeline are just pure magic in the garden. They teach Shadowheart and Tav how to plant, water, compost, prune, and just generally care for the plants and trees. It’s like Emmeline’s little lessons in the kitchen. It’s a sweet way for them all to spend time with each other. Plus, every time Shadowheart’s parents remark that she’s doing something in just the same way she would have as a child, she lights up! 🥰

-Shadowheart and Tav starting a book collection 🥹 Shadowheart’s favorite smutty novels, a collection of Emmeline’s recipes, Tav’s favorite childhood books, writings that they came across in their adventures, books they pick up for each other on trips to Baldur’s Gate. They read together nearly every day. Sometimes, Tav reads while Shadowheart naps in her lap out in fields, under the sun. Sometimes Shadowheart gets a laugh out of her and reads her smutty excerpts while she makes supper in the kitchen.

-I’ve said this before but: Shadowheart particularly takes so much joy in decorating their cottage. Tav had her own quarters in her estate through childhood- but Shadowheart never really remembers a room being hers, let alone a cottage. She wants paintings! Color! Flowers, both alive, and of the dried and pressed variety! Little signs of their shared life together still make her eyes sting with emotion. Her clothes mixed in with Tav’s in the wardrobe (I HC they share everything🥰). Her equipment (sword, armor, etc) hanging beside Tav’s in their display. She never feels alone again. She has a home. She belongs somewhere, to someone, just at they belong to her.

-Shadowheart and Tav doing each other’s hair before bed. Or, perhaps, undoing is the proper term here- but I genuinely think this is a romantic, soft, domestic, meaningful ritual for them both. In days where Shadowheart wears her hair up; Tav lovingly undoes Shadowheart’s hair, part by part, runs her fingers through every silken strand. She rubs at Shadowheart’s scalp, gets her to unwind like a kitten, curling into her touch like she’s the warm afternoon sun. Shadowheart returns the favor- she loves Tav with her hair down. She brushes Tav’s hair and watches the stress of the day melt away from her shoulders. It’s something simple, really, but an act of sheer adoration for them both.

-Cottage maintenance, baby! A particularly bad storm has Tav (who…probably still isn’t the best at tinkering or fixing things bc…why would she be?) sitting on the roof, soaked to the bone, trying to patch a part of the roof that’s given out. Sure, they could put a pail under it and call it a day, but Tav is…Tav. It’s over Arnell and Emmeline’s little guest cottage, and she will be damned if she lets her in-laws sleep in the rain. She…can’t fix it. Not till morning, and not without assistance. But she and Shadowheart offer their room to her parents. Shadowheart comes and finds her in the rain, and I like to think…they just embrace it. Rain and all. It’s freeing. Probably stay out there till who knows when, just taking in the rain, embracing each other. Poetic cinema

-Tav comes a long way with the animals. She’s always liked animals, but I don’t think her past afforded her any chance to really have any pets other than her mount in the military (assuming she had one). It warms Shadowheart’s soul to wake up to Tav quietly whispering to Buttons about how busy their day is going to be, or racing Scratch and the Owlbear to the barn, or singing sweetly to Daphne while she brushes her. But seeing Tav holding the little ones: the kittens, the baby chicks, Buttons when he’s a pup…baby fever!!!!! Has Shadowheart down atrociously 😍

-not exactly a domesticity HC but needs to be said: they still train together. Tav will be damned if she lets her skill with a blade get rusty- especially now that she has a family to protect. Shadowheart, too- wits and blades always sharp, just for a different, kinder goddess now. Now, if they’re both sweaty and worked up and happen to simply jump each other’s bones afterwards, every time…. 😏 I digress

-bittersweet last one here: Tav is a human. Shadowheart will outlive her. She’s well-aware of this fact, and though she is living her best life, she worries for Shadowheart in the future. I’ve been playing with the idea that, every day, when Shadowheart is otherwise occupied, Tav slips away to write her a little note. Like a diary entry, almost- but for Shadowheart. Sometimes they’re brief thoughts, sometimes it’s as simple as telling Shadowheart how ethereal she looked that day, and how much Tav loves her. Tav saves these notes over the years as she compiles them. Hiding them from Shadowheart is one of the hardest things she ever has to do. But…one day, when Shadowheart is aching from the loss and misses her…well, she can open up this journal, or collection of notes, and fall in love with Tav all over again 🥹💕 Tav documents all these sweet little moments of domesticity, and they gain eternal life on that parchment. Shadowheart is free to relive their love and life together as often as she wants. I think she will always be Shadowheart’s home.

[starsreminisce]

how do you think elain deals with other people's preconceived notions of her?

You have to forgive me for being blunt, but since we don't have much to go on, all of this is headcanon/theorizing at best.

There’s that one scene in ACOMAF where they were sitting around the dinner table for the first meeting, and Cassian went off on Nesta for not wanting to help. Elain addressed Cassian with that preconceived notion about them not helping Feyre more during their time in the cottage. Cassian zeroed in on Nesta's guilt, but Elain acknowledged the truth in his statement and moved forward from it.

Elain sat a little higher as she said to Cassian, “And as for Feyre’s hunting during those years, it was not Nesta’s neglect alone that is to blame. We were scared, and had received no training, and everything had been taken, and we failed her. Both of us.”

I think Elain feels like it's a self-fulfilling prophecy. I know people want her to be this vengeful, "I'll prove you all wrong" type, but she wasn't angry at Nesta for being delegated to search for the trove during Solstice, even after they fought about it.

Rhys's line in Feyre's bonus chapter stuck with me: "Maybe she was never given the chance to be that way."

We don't know what happened when they told Elain that Nesta would be searching for the trove and that they were going to lock her down in case the Cauldron kidnaps her again, but at least from Nesta's perspective, Elain had moved on from it to the point that they didn't even address their fight come Solstice.

Elain seemed to have pivoted and looked at another way to be of use to the court, which translated to her attending the Hewn City Solstice as a representative.

That's why I love the pearl earrings that Lucien gifted her. I think it’s his way of acknowledging that she’s trying to find her place in a court that hasn’t really considered what else she can do. Her saying that she needs to get reacquainted with her powers and her eagerness to begin soon tells me she hasn’t been accessing her seer powers nor she had help.

Pearl is something she wore, and pearl with black is a timeless combination, with earrings being versatile with an array of dresses.

Of course, this is all without her perspective, considering there are a lot of things we don't know about her, but if I had to guess, it's similar to Feyre in ACOMAF when she was in Spring Court: she wants to help but has been blocked from doing so and doesn’t realize how strong she actually is because no one has bothered to check.

Interestingly, it was Lucien who realized that these changes were coming to Feyre anyway and tried his best to ensure she was given a fighting chance. It’s funny that Elain was placed in a similar position, and that Lucien, after failing with Feyre, might be given a second chance with his mate.

Hope this was insightful! Thank you for asking!

[irafuwas]

silly little theory about Lilia's possible UM

The majority of the cast has revealed or awakened their Unique Magic (UM) by now, and so far we've seen most of the usual types of magic often depicted in fantasy media: transformation magic, mind control, shield spells, curses, elemental magic, and so on and so forth. But I noticed that we still haven't seen any healing-based UMs. Restorative/Healing magic is pretty much a given in fantasy settings, and we know characters can use healing spells during in-game battles, so I feel it's only a matter of time before we get a UM that can heal wounds/reverse damage.

Now I don't know about you all, but when I think of "healing magic" and "Disney", the first thing that comes to mind is Rapunzel's healing incantation from Tangled (and its spinoff TV show, Tangled the Series). And out of all the characters we've yet to see display their UM, I think there's a chance Lilia might end up having a healing type of spell - one that's activated by him singing, just like how Rapunzel uses her powers.

To keep things organized, I'm going to break down this post into two parts, and will begin by talking about some of the similarities between Disney's Tangled and Silver and Lilia.

(Please note: This post contains minor spoilers for Book 7.)

Part 1. Silver and Lilia / Rapunzel and Gothel

Silver has many obvious similarities to Aurora and Prince Philip - and just to Disney princesses, in general - but I've been thinking for a while that there might also be some Rapunzel-esque elements at play in his and Lilia's story.

Similarities in Silver and Rapunzel's backgrounds

For those unfamiliar with the movie, Tangled tells the story of a girl named Rapunzel who has long, golden hair. Whenever she sings an ancient incantation, her hair starts to glow, and anyone who takes hold of the magic strands will be healed of almost any wound or bodily alteration - even aging. Rapunzel lives together with her mother, Gothel, up in a tower hidden deep within the forest. But unbeknownst to the young girl, Gothel had actually kidnapped Rapunzel not long after she was born, and her birth parents are the king and queen of the small kingdom they reside in.

Fearful of her crime possibly coming to light, Gothel forbids Rapunzel from ever leaving home, and it's not until the eve of her 18th birthday that Rapunzel finally descends to the ground for the first time since she was a baby.

Silver, too, is theorized by many to be descended from royalty. Different characters like Vil and Idia have commented on his princely looks, and his kind heart and unwavering sense of justice set him apart from most of the cast. Like Rapunzel and other Disney princesses, he also has an affinity for animals and can often be seen accompanied by blue birds and other small woodland creatures.

Akin to Rapunzel, he was raised deep within the woods of Briar Valley by his adoptive father, Lilia, who claims to have found him abandonded as baby. Instead of going to the school in town, his father homeschooled him at their little cottage, and though we don't know to what extent he was kept at home, he appears to have been pretty isolated growing up.

Rapunzel's one and only friend growing up was a little chameleon named Pascal, and the two of them spent a lot of time together whenever Gothel would leave to restock their supplies or enjoy some time in town. Silver, too, spent most of his time with his animal companions whenever his father would leave to go traveling.

How Rapunzel finds the truth, and possible tie-in with Silver's future origin story reveal

Near the end of the movie, Gothel forces Rapunzel back to the tower, and as she sits all alone once more in her dark room, she contemplates everything that happened on her journey. She thinks about the sun shaped emblem she kept seeing in town all day, how it perfectly resembles the same shape she's been painting on the walls of her bedroom all her life. Hasn't she seen it somewhere before? Somewhere far above her, out of her reach, on the edges of her memory. And she thinks back to the stone mural she saw in the town square, the one of King Frederik and Queen Arianna smiling with pride with their infant daughter in their arms. Don't her green eyes match the baby's eyes? Doesn't her golden hair resemble the baby's shining locks? And she thinks further back, to before she left the tower, when she tried on that shining crown that Eugene had been hiding in his bag. And like a lightning bolt, it hits her: That was her crown. She's the lost princess the entire kingdom has been desperately looking for all this time.

In Chapter 1 of Book 7, Silver comes across an ornate, crown-shaped ring while going through some of the clutter in Lilia's room. Silver murmurs that he feels like he's seen the ring somewhere before, and then a powerful wave of drowsiness strikes him. But perhaps instead of trying to pull him under... it was trying to awaken something in him - trying to dredge up some memory his heart had tucked away so deeply it had only ever felt to the boy like some distant echo of a dream he once had long, long ago.

Mother Gothel and Lilia

Focusing on Gothel and Lilia for a bit, one commonality I noticed pretty early on is how both of them are much older than they appear to be. Although Gothel's exact age has never been confirmed, she's believed to be at least a thousand years old. And Lilia isn't far behind, clocking in at nearly 700. While Gothel relies on the magic imbued in Rapunzel's body to sustain her youthful form, we do not know yet if Lilia simply naturally looks the way he does or if he's doing something to make him appear so young.

Lilia's black hair and garnet eyes always reminded me of Gothel's color scheme, especially when his Tamashina-Mina card was revealed.

It's too soon to say whether or not Silver came to Lilia under nefarious circumstances, or whether Lilia knows who Silver's birth family is and what not, but the fact still stands that Lilia and Gothel have the following points in common:

Both are very secretive about their pasts, even towards their children

Both chose to raise their adoptive children in secluded areas and mostly kept them at home

Both are much older than their appearances belie

Both would often leave their young children home alone to go run errands and explore the world

Both can be very flippant about how their actions affect others (listen, I am a lilia oshi so pls don't @ me. the guy can be pretty damn selfish. refer to endless halloween and like all of book 7 :///)

Both have a black/garnet color scheme

I do understand that many of the points I've made so far also apply to Briar Rose (e.g., she was raised secluded in the woods, didn't know she was from royalty, her caregivers kept secrets from her, etc.), but for the sake of this theory, I'm just focusing on things from a Tangled perspective.

Part 2. Lilia's Unique Magic: A Healing Incantation

Now, I'd like to focus on why I think Lilia's UM will be activated through song. He's mentioned several times how much of a music lover he is, and together with Kalim and Cater he's one of the only remaining members of NRC's Pop Music Club. Kalim even reveals that Lilia is the one who taught him how to play the drums.

We've heard from other students how dreadful Lilia's singing voice is, which appears to be some sort of heavy metal screamo. Lilia himself claims he can sing a crying baby to sleep in just a few seconds, but whether that's due to his great singing prowess or the poor child fainting from shock remains a point of contention.

With his penchant for music and singing, I feel it's entirely within the realm of possibility for Lilia to activate his UM by singing. And again, since we haven't had any healing-based UMs yet, and since there is a pretty renown healing song already in the Disney canon, and with all of Lilia and Silver's similarities with Rapunzel and Gothel, could it be that his UM is a healing song?

With all of that being said, seeing as this is Twisted Wonderland, what if instead of Mother Gothel kidnapping an infant princess and using the child's magic to sustain her own life, we get Lilia using his unique magic to save an abandoned newborn prince, slowly and gradually giving up his own own life force over the years to keep the child from succumbing to his endless slumber. And so the story goes:

One day, somewhere in a faraway land that had been long forgotten by the world and abandoned by time, Lilia stumbles across the strangest kingdom he's ever seen. He can tell by the architecture and the writing on some of the buildings that it must be a human settlement, but it's so quiet - much too quiet to be a place inhabited by people. He wanders through the town, past the baker, who snores quietly into a pillow of hardened dough, past the blacksmith, who's slumped on the ground with a half-finished sword in hand, the hot metal long cooled down. He climbs the tall, stone steps up into the castle, walks through a maze of hallways and rooms before reaching what looks to be the young heir's nursey. He looks inside the bassinet and thinks the child is dead at first - so slow and so shallow are the baby's breathes as it dreams and dreams. He places a wary hand on its chest - just to be sure - and lets out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding as he feels the child's rapid heartbeat thrumming against his palm.

He could save the child, perhaps. His unique magic, a powerful healing incantation renown throughout the Valley, might be able to lift whatever curse had been placed on the residents of this strange kingdom. His curiosity piqued, Lilia pulls his long hair in front of him and blankets the baby with his dark strands.

As the spell comes to an end and the glow starts to fade from his hair, the baby's tinny cry sounds out from the bassinet. Lilia pulls his hair back behind him and staggers as he sits down to catch his breath. The spell takes a considerable toll on his magic reserves, and he'd been warned countless times before by fae much older and wiser than him that overusing his powers would ultimately cost him his life. Waking up the child felt like a punch to the gut, and he closes his eyes with a shiver thinking about trying to rouse all the other sleeping townspeople he'd seen on the way there.

The baby's increasingly louder cries pull Lilia away from his thoughts, and he slowly rises to his feet, keeping one hand on the bassinet to steady himself. "Shit," Lilia hisses under his breath. I'm going to need at least a day's rest before I can use my unique magic again. But I can't just leave him here...

He gingerly picks up the red-faced infant and starts rocking him. Lilia hadn't held a baby since Malleus was born so many centuries ago, and he has to readjust the screaming child in his arms a few times before he remembers how to do it.

"Shh, shh. It's alright, I'm here. You're okay."

It feels like an eternity until the baby finally stills. Deciding he'd had more than enough adventure for one day, thank you, he turns around and retraces his steps back out to the castle entrance, through the town gates, and beyond to the surrounding forest, where he'd left his horse and the rest of his gear. He figures he'll keep the baby with him overnight, and then return tomorrow to try and wake up one of his parents.

But Lilia notices something's wrong as he wakes up to the sunlight filtering through his makeshift tent the next morning. The baby is still there where he left him, swaddled next to him in the only clean shirt Lilia could find in his pack, but he doesn't stir when Lilia gently tries to nudge the child awake. He still doesn't awaken even when Lilia bangs some pots together and screams at him to open his eyes.

Lilia frowns, and starts unbraiding his hair with shaking hands.

"When I sing my healing incantation for him, he wakes up fine enough. He just doesn't stay awake. It's always a matter of time before the curse begins to reactivate again."

As soon as Lilia returned to the Valley, he called on every doctor, elder mage, and experts on ancient curses he could find. Each of them came to inspect the child in turn, and they'd nod their heads and say "I see, I see" as Lilia told them what happened, and then they'd poke and prod at the baby and scribble in their notebooks and poke some more before finally shaking their heads and leaving Lilia with just a weak pat on the back and a whispered "Good luck". After a month of fruitless visits, he decided to put his investigation on hold and just focus on caring for the newborn, whom he'd named Silver. It was then that Malleus finally found an opportunity to sneak away from the castle to come visit, and he listened with a frown as Lilia recounted the tale.

Quietly, Malleus replies, "I see. So that means... You'd need to keep using your unique magic on him over and over again to keep the curse at bay. Correct?"

Lilia clears his throat before answering. "Correct."

Malleus's pinched face says Are you really sure about this?, but he remains silent as he watches Lilia rock the sleeping child in his arms. Lilia is thankful for his young charge's apprehension - he doesn't think he could find an answer if Malleus asked for one.

And yet - night after night, without a moment's hesitation, Lilia tucks his long, long hair into the child's tiny hand, and the words start spilling out of his mouth - always slow at first, but steady - flowing faster as he closes his eyes and accepts that there's no turning back from what he's done.

And he sings:

Flower, gleam and glow

Let your power shine

Make the clock reverse

Bring back what once was mine

Heal what has been hurt

Change the Fates' design

Save what has been lost

Bring back what once was mine

What once was mine

[draguta]

.a court of fate and fortune | twenty-two.

pairing: lucien vanserra x fem!reader

summary: | book two | lovers separated, powers that won't be controlled, a doomed wedding. with the threat of war looming over prythian, lucien, Y/N, tamlin, and rhysand's inner circle must scramble to find allies and prepare themselves for what is to come. but Y/N only has one aim; to find her way back to lucien, and protect him at all costs.

chapter warnings: mentions of domestic violence

chapter word count: 3860

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Beast

Your footsteps were as silent as the night as you stalked through the woods, keeping as low and out-of-sight as you could manage, inwardly cursing yourself for not asking Azriel for tips. Your body slid between the trees carefully, your eyes snapping between the forest floor, checking for twigs or dried leaves that might have cracked or crunched under your feet, revealing your position, and the figure that wandered before you. He wasn’t aware that you were following him - that you had even left the cottage - especially not after he had been so insistent that you remain in bed and eat your breakfast, porridge that he had dutifully ‘borrowed’ from the sentinels’ dormitory over the hill at the top of the meadow before you had even woken that morning.

It hadn’t taken long for the smell of the sweetened sloppy oats to rouse you from sleep, especially when combined with the gentle patterns echoed over your bare shoulders and back, and the quiet whisperings of ‘sweet human’ and ‘my love’ that Lucien murmured into your ear. Yet, as you swallowed your third spoonful of porridge, washing it down with a cup of hot, milky tea, he had announced that he was heading out to find Tamlin, and all thoughts of hunger had dissipated from your mind faster than you could swallow the mouthful of tea that you still had. The second the door had closed behind him, you had leapt out of bed, threw on whatever clothes you could find in Silas’ ancient armoire, and rushed out the door behind him.

Based on how high the sun was sitting in the blue, cloudless sky above the canopy of trees, visible between the leaves every now and then when the vast woodlands because sparser, you had to guess that it was around midday already, meaning that you’d been walking for at least two hours already, scanning every bush and every clearing for any sign of the High Lord, whether it be in beast form or as High Fae. As of yet, there was no sign of him.

Not that you really cared - let him wallow in his own guilt in the woods for as long as he wished, perhaps forever, if that’s what it took for him to realise his own mistakes, that it was those mistakes that had led him to this very point. Perhaps that was Tamlin’s fate, to eternally wallow, and you weren’t going to stand in the way of that, not when his actions had haunted you for months. Not when you couldn’t even go inside your own room alone, because every time you looked at that corner by the door you were thrown straight back to being helpless once more. Not when those actions would no doubt stay with Feyre too. Not when he had made that same mistake twice now, and showed so little remorse for what he had done.

Of course, he had apologised, when you had returned to Spring, but you weren’t naïve enough to think that it was anything close to genuine. You had been wearing a mask since you had come back - the mask of the perfect, obedient sister to the High Lord - and you knew very well that he was wearing a mask too. The mask of the penitent brother who was simply glad to have his sister back. It was a lie - a carefully constructed one; it was painfully obvious to you that the only reason he was remaining on your good side was to gather any intel he could on the Night Court.

Morse the pity for him that any information you had given him, or would give him, had been planned by you and Azriel beforehand.

Regardless of what your feelings toward Tamlin were, however, the thought of Lucien out there alone searching for him, knowing the state that Tamlin would be in, made your stomach swirl. You wouldn’t intervene - wouldn’t step in unless it was really necessary. And if Tamlin even so much as unsheathed his claws at Lucien-

“Are you planning to follow me all day, my love?”

You froze in your tracks, breathing heavy, just as Lucien turned toward you, a smirk playing on his golden-tanned face and his auburn hair falling over his shoulder as he moved. Sunlight cast down between the treetops above, shining down on the exact spot where he stood, illuminating the spattering of freckles across his skin, and despite yourself - despite wanting to dip behind the closest tree before his eyes landed on you and pretend that you weren’t there at all - you were rooted to the spot, unable to pull your eyes away from his little grin. You had been caught.

“How did you know?” You asked breathlessly.

His eyes trailed up to the trees, across the brush surrounding you both. “It’s quiet in the woods today,” he said softly, before looking back to you. “I heard every step that you made, even if you were trying to be silent. I was waiting for you to make yourself known, but I guess that wasn’t the plan?”

You huffed out an incredulous laugh. “I wasn’t planning to tell you I was here, no. I just wanted to come in case…in case you needed my help.”

“With Tamlin?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. Your sight cast downward, and you nodded slowly. Lucien simply chuckled, taking a step toward you and pulling you toward him, burying your face in his chest. “My sweet little love, always protecting me.”

“Well, someone has to do it,” you smirked against his shirt. His shoulders shook with laughter, and you heard him inhale a breath as if he were going to say something - a snarky remark, no doubt - when-

A rustle sounded in the brush behind you, and the two of you froze, Lucien’s hand instinctively going to the pommel of his sword. He squeezed you tighter to him once, before letting you go. “Stay here,” he whispered, eyes trained on that line of trees where the bushes blanketed the trunks behind you, “and don’t move until I say so.”

One kiss to your temple and Lucien’s warmth was gone, the slick slice of his sword echoing through the woodland as he unsheathed it, holding it out firmly in front of him as he edged closer and closer to that bush. Then, a sound came from behind those leaves, something akin to a…whimper.

He paused, cocking his head slightly, before pulling the leaves back; you could see the sag of his shoulders.

“Tam,” he whispered, and within a second you were by his side, looking down into the bush. There Tamlin sat, naked save for a shredded scrap of cloth that looked as if it had once been his shirt draped over his body. He was curled up on the ground, knees to his chest, head balancing on his legs, and shoulders shaking. You didn’t miss the flash of red blood across his cheek and chest, although whether it was his, or that of the Bogges, you weren’t sure.

Lucien lowered himself to his knees before his High Lord, something you were sure he had done before when pledging loyalty to the Spring Court and his leader, but this time it was different, and you could see that. This wasn’t an emissary kneeling before his High Lord - this was a loyal male lowering himself to equal with his friend.

It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention.

“Tam, are you okay?” Lucien asked slowly. Tamlin’s golden locks, scruffy and knotted, housing leaves and snapped twigs from a night in the woods, fell over his face as he looked up, watery emerald eyes meeting those of russet and gold. They snapped to you for a second, and you could almost see the question hidden in the green there - ‘why are you here?’ - but they returned to Lucien as quickly as they had come. Yet, he offered no answer to Lucien’s question.

“I killed the Bogges,” he said quietly; his voice was hoarse and croaked, and you imagined how dry his throat must have been, besides the blood that caked over his front teeth. “But I couldn’t bring myself to go back to the manor.”

‘Because I can’t face the destruction that I caused there,’ was what he didn’t say. But you knew, without question, that when you did return to that manor you’d find it ripped to pieces.

“You have to go back at some point,” Lucien said softly, gentler than you would’ve granted Tamlin. “Your people need you, no matter what has happened.”

Tamlin cocked his head to the side. “You would expect me to continue? To keep going like this when Feyre is…gone?”

“Why wouldn’t you?” You interjected, pursing your lips. Two pairs of eyes snapped to you, and despite the small shake of Lucien’s head, and the warning on his face, you continued, ignoring him entirely. “You were the one who caused this. It wouldn’t be fair for you to act like the victim.”

Tamlin practically snarled, all vulnerability dissipated from his features as they contorted into anger. “You would blame me for Feyre’s kidnapping?”

You raised an eyebrow, huffing out a shocked laugh. “Who else would be to blame? You locked her in that house, Tamlin. Perhaps you should start looking at yourself, before throwing the blame at everyone else like you always do.”

“That’s enough, Y/N,” Lucien hissed, but it was too late - your words had already hit their mark. Tamlin growled, anger sparking in his eyes, across his face.

“There is only one person to blame, one person who bears the fault here,” he snarled, claws glinting in the early-morning sunlight as they slipped from his knuckles. “And that person is not me.”

“Think what you like, brother,” you snapped, “but no matter who is to blame for this, the fact remains the same: your paranoia is suffocating, and it will be your downfall.”

“Rhysand-”

“Rhysand took her, yes,” you bit back. “But he is not the one that broke her in the first place.” Your ruse - you had to keep up your ruse, no matter how angry you were. No matter how much your ‘brother’s’ treatment of Feyre the day before had made you sick to your stomach. Rhys had to remain as the terrible and horrific all-powerful dictator who had stolen Lady Spring away like a thief in the night. Not just for Rhys’ sake, but for the sake of Prythian. “Could you not see it? Really? Were you that blind?”

Tamlin was on his feet in seconds, only that scrap of material wrapped around him covering his modesty. Not that it would have mattered, not at his eyes flashed the feral green of the beast, and claws erupted from his knuckles in a swift swipe. Not as golden fur began to sprout from the back of his neck and his chest, and horns slowly grew from his temples. It wasn’t the quick flash of light that usually transformed him; this was anger pulling it out, prolonging it in an attempt to make you fear him.

It wouldn’t work.

Not anymore.

Once your knees would have trembled and your bottom lip would have shook at the sight.

But now you were strong. You were no longer weak.

His breaths came out in pants as he growled, “Remember who you’re speaking to. Remember who saved you all those years ago. Remember who is your High Lord.”

Lucien shot you a warning glare. “Y/N, don’t-”

But you were raising your chin already, hands fisted at your sides in a firm, determined stance, one you had once seen Feyre take up Under the Mountain, had once envied when you had been weak and she had been strong. And in that same commanding tone, you said, “You are not my High Lord, Tamlin. Not anymore. You’re not even my brother anymore. Whoever you are now, it’s not the person I once knew.”

It was those words that brought the beast to the forefront properly. His body cracked and curled and transfigured into that giant lion-bear-elk beast. He hurled forward onto all-fours, saliva dripping from a fanged mouth as he snarled and growled and inched closer to you.

You didn’t back down.

“Go now.” The voice was Tamlin’s voice, yet different - more wild, and deeper, gravelly. The voice of the beast that he had become, now evident in this form and in that of his Fae form. Tamlin was a beast, through and through. “Before I rip you to shreds.”

You swallowed once, turned on your heel, and disappeared between the trees.

Even as you heard Lucien whispering to him calmly. Even as the beast whimpered, and a thud on the woodland ground told you that he had fallen to his knees, told you that he was grieving, even in this form, even through his anger.

You didn’t stop. You didn’t turn around. And you didn’t feel sorry.

You didn’t return to Silas’ cottage. Instead, it was your room back at the manor that you found yourself in, empty bags sitting on your bed waiting to be packed, piles of clothes strewn about the floor, separated based on what you might need to take, and what could ultimately be left behind.

You had no doubt that Tamlin wouldn’t let you stay, not after that. You’d let your anger control you - let your fearsome loyalty to your friend overpower your judgement. And in doing so, you had failed your mission, had let down Rhys and Azriel and Cassian - had let down even Feyre, in a way. More than anyone else, however, you had let down Lucien.

You would be forced to leave, and you weren’t sure, after such a failure at your only job, you would be welcome back in Velaris. So, perhaps Silas’ cottage would act as a refuge for a time until you were able to find somewhere else to reside. You scanned every memory you had of Prythian, every person you had met. There would be no safety found in the Autumn Court, and the Winter, Summer, and Dawn Courts were not known to you well enough to offer you sanctuary. But perhaps…perhaps Helion at the Day Court could be your sanctity, if needed. He had, after all, been such a kind soul when you had visited with Lucien…

Throwing a pile of stockings into the bag - likely too thick for the glorious sunshine of the Day Court, but enough that they might work for any possible future trips to other courts - you huffed out a sigh. 

It was a strange thought, that you would be leaving without seeing Tamlin again. That the next time you saw him may well be on the battlefield. And if he were to die during that battle - as many others would, falling with their comrades on either side - it would be with your last words to him being that of vicious insults bitten in anger. Would be that of you telling him how much of a coward you thought him to be.

No. You wouldn’t think like that. You pushed those thoughts to the very back of your mind, locking them away in a box that you refused to open again. Perhaps not in Lucien’s eyes, judging by the way he had knelt before his friend, had warned you not to speak your mind, but in your eyes Tamlin deserved to hear those words. Deserved to know what you now thought of him.

You slipped out of your room and across the hall into Lucien’s. You knew that there were at least a few dresses and underthings strewn over the back of his desk chair that belonged to you, left there to be forgotten after various nights spent wrapped up in his sheets. Grabbing them, you hooked them over your elbow, eyes drifting to the desktop. Various papers were sat atop the dark red-wood desk, each one bearing Lucien’s curled scrawl, slanted and hardly legible in certain areas where he was passionate about the contents of the report. You chuckled, running a finger over the indents of ink on the paper, but as it trailed over the final sentence of a report about the unrest toward the sea border - the one closest to Hybern - you paused. Rather, froze.

There, on the desk, tucked back against the wall and half-hidden behind a faelamp, sat a jewellery box. It was small - too small to hold a necklace - but perhaps contained a pair of earrings. Curiosity got the better of you; you reached forward, fingers wrapping around the suede box and holding it in your palm. It was heavy, and the little gold latch on the front glinted welcomingly, as if inviting you to open it.

You shouldn’t - you knew that - and yet…

The latch clicked as you unlocked it, swinging the lid open to reveal the velvet cushion inside, the same auburn red as the box that contained it; as Lucien’s hair. And there, tucked into the hole in the centre of that pillow, sat the most beautiful ring you had ever laid eyes upon before.

You had seen plenty of jewels here at the Spring Court; the vaults that held Tamlin’s family fortune housed hundreds, if not thousands, of alluring rings. But this…The band was golden - not just gold, but the same type of gold as Lucien’s eye, the metal that seemed to hold an inherently angelic gleam to it, that seemed to burn like molten flames. And there atop it, encrusted into that band, held in place by small golden leaves that twirled and eddied around it like smoke from a fireplace, sat an amber crystal. You knew that gemstone the second you saw it, carved from the very stone you had given Lucien for Solstice so long ago, one of the many crystal points of that gem. But this one had been cut and polished, the rough rock exterior removed, and whilst it still kept its naturally jagged cut on the top, the bottom half had been smoothed to perfection.

Your shoulders shook slightly as you stared down at that ring. Because the meaning behind it…This ring wasn’t meant for just anyone, not with that stone set on it, not with what that stone meant, and represented. This ring was for you. To be placed on your fourth finger during a ceremony that would bind you and Lucien together, would cement your love for one another before everyone that you cared for.

Slamming the box shut you shoved it back in the spot where you had found it, your heart beating a mile a minute. You weren’t meant to see that ring - it wasn’t for your eyes, not yet. But-

But how could you leave now, knowing what Lucien had planned, knowing what he envisioned for your future together. Lucien was your future, you knew that already, but that ring signified something more. More than that mating bond, more than what you felt for him. Because it showed you exactly what he felt for you, showed you that even though he hadn’t felt that snap yet, even though fate hadn’t decreed it time for him to learn that you were mates yet, he was still more than willing to bind his life to yours for eternity. That his love was that strong, even without the mating bond compelling him to do so.

You slipped out of Lucien’s room, closing the door silently behind you and didn’t stop walking until you were back at the foot of your own bed, staring down at the piles of clothes there waiting to be packed.

“What-” You froze at the voice that sounded behind you, from the doorway. “What are you doing?”

You cleared your throat. You hadn’t quite gotten to the part in your plan where you worked out what to tell - or what to do - with Lucien. You’d barely gotten past packing your bags and attempting to winnow to Silas’ cottage. You knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if you asked he would follow. You could feel that through the bond that tied you to him, even if he was blissfully unaware that he was sending that feeling through those strings connecting you both. Blissfully unaware that those strings were even there at all.

But now your plans had to change. Now you couldn’t, in good conscience, leave. Not when there was a future promised for you here with Lucien by your side.

You didn’t turn - couldn’t bear to see the disappointment on his features if I did, knowing that he’d likely worked out exactly what you were doing. “I was going to leave,” you said slowly. “I was going to stay in Silas’ cottage tonight, and then go to the Day Court tomorrow morning.”

“Why?” The question was so quiet, and you wondered if he was thinking about all those weeks that you had been parted before - he in the Spring Court, you in the Night Court.

“I didn’t think I could stay here,” you said simply. “After what I said to Tamlin.”

You heard his footstep sound behind you as he took a tentative step closer. “And now?”

“Now I…I don’t know,” you said slowly. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“Then don’t,” he breathed. “Stay here, with me.”

You finally turned, meeting his eyes, taking in the curl of his brows, the thin line of his normally succulent lips. “Do you think he would let me stay?”

“I don’t know,” Lucien replied honestly. “But I’ll keep you safe, even if I have to stay with you at all times. Even if I have to order Silas to guard you every second of every day to keep you safe.”

You chuckled, unable to help yourself. “I don’t think Silas would be happy about disobeying his High Lord.”

Lucien shrugged, sidling ever-closer to you, hands reaching up to rest on your hips. Despite his casual stance, the worry didn’t leave his face, nor his eyes. “For you, I think he would.” His thumb stroked a soft line against the material of your dress. “Please don’t leave me again.”

Your own hands moved up to cup his face. “I won’t,” you assured him. “I promised you, didn’t I? Promised I wouldn’t leave you again. I’m sorry that it even crossed my mind.”

He let out an audible sigh of relief, hands pushing at your hips slightly, navigating you toward the edge of the mattress, pushing you down until your head hit the comforter. He crawled up your body, caging you in, lips meeting the heated skin of your neck in an instant, tongue swiping licks to the dip between your jaw and neck, lips dragging kisses along your collarbone.

“Seeing you out there today - the way you spoke to Tamlin,” he murmured between his ministrations. “I was scared for you, but more than anything, I was proud. And all I could think about was getting my lips on you - was tasting you.”

You moaned at his words. And yet, the only thing you could think about was that ring, and what that meant for you and Lucien.

Taglist

Complete: | @loveshineslikethesky | @elleclairez | @lostpirateinwonderland | @judig92 | @old-enough-to-know-better73 | @atrashsith | @chanaaaannel |

Lucien Vanserra: | @luna-foxglove | @lumos-barnes | @cumuluscranium | @dreamlandreader | @enrichmenttimeinmyenclosure | @rachelnicolee |

[waltwhitmansbeard]

go on, claim my heart: chapter one

welcome to the sequel of my fair lady! if you haven't, i recommend reading my fair lady and it's following one-shot, you need not worry, child, before reading this. you can find where to read those on my masterpost. this fic is inspired by @romeoandjulietyouwish's medieval au.

On a hill on the outskirts of Zephrah, beneath the branches of a cherry tree that grow more skeletal with each passing day, stands a small stone cottage, with a little garden overflowing with autumn vegetables framing the path up to the green front door. Inside this cottage, a roaring fire staves off the evening's chill as a man sits in front of it, uncorking a bottle of wine and pouring two glasses. Behind him, he hears the soft snick of a door closing, and then a whispered, "Okay, I think she's actually asleep this time."

Vax turns to smile at his wife, who is somehow even more beautiful with bags under her eyes and her hair sloppily braided over one shoulder. "Come sit, have a drink with me. We can pretend for five minutes that we're still functioning people."

Keyleth throws herself onto the sofa beside him and gratefully accepts the wine. "Five minutes? That's ambitious." She takes a sip of the wine and sets the glass back down on a small side table. "Have you heard from Vasselheim yet?"

Vax frowns. "Apparently much research is needed into the matter. No god has claimed a mortal Champion in centuries, so the scholars are having trouble verifying my claims." He rolls his eyes and sips from his own wine.

"The offer still stands." Keyleth lays a hand atop his arm on the back of the sofa. "An appeal from my father will carry more weight than Pike's words alone. You shouldn't be afraid to let us advocate for you."

"Hey." He sets his wine glass down to take her hands in his. "I'm not afraid. I just...you have a thousand things on your plate already, you and your father both—the workers' strike in Terrah, Duchess Uvenda's illness, the trade renegotiation with the Dwendalian Empire. Pike and I can handle some ornery monks in Vasselheim. You two worry about running a nation."

Reminding her of her duties seems to have a soporific effect on his wife. Her eyelids start to droop, but she shakes her head quickly to wake herself up. "No, I want to help. I mean, putting aside the fact that you're my husband and I love you—" Vax brings one of her hands to his lips, kisses it briefly. "—it is actually good for Zephrah and the Ashari Nation for us to be so closely associated with the Raven Queen's Champion. Other nations tend to think us sacrilegious, given that we have no official ties to any deity, so the future sovereign being married to a Champion helps...ease some religious tensions."

Vax smiles teasingly. "See, I knew you were only in this for my station."

It's Keyleth's turn to roll her eyes. "Some days, you're lucky I'm in this at all."

"I am very lucky indeed." He stands, pulling her to her feet despite her tired groan. "Come. We are going to bed."

Keyleth bites her lip nervously. "Vax...I would, I just...I'm so tired..."

"To sleep," he clarifies, tugging her gently toward their bedroom. "No doubt Vilya will have us awake again in an hour or two, and a sleep-deprived princess is not what the Ashari people need." He ushers her toward the bed, and as she hangs up her dressing gown for the evening, he quickly and silently pops into their second bedroom.

Keeping each footstep as quiet as possible, he creeps over to the beautifully carved cradle, where inside, a tiny baby with a riot of red hair sleeps soundly, her little arms and legs tucked under several blankets. Vax reaches down to brush her cheek with the back of one finger, more softly than a breath. "Sleep well, my seedling." He takes one last, lingering look at his daughter—every day he must remind himself how impossible she is, how good the gods have been to him, a man most unworthy of her miracle—and creeps back out of the room.

In the other bedroom, he finds his wife, hair only partially taken out of its braid, already face-down on the bed, sound asleep. Vax tenderly pulls the covers up over her before sliding into bed beside her. He throws an arm over her torso, not terribly worried about waking her up, and curls into her back, just as grateful as every night before for his implausible, perfect family.

.

Someone is shouting Keyleth's name. Or, she thinks they are shouting. They must be, for their voice is very far away, and perhaps underwater. She is only vaguely aware that it is her name that she is hearing, though the sound is distorted, hazy, so maybe it is not her name at all.

She should go after it, the shouting, to see what the matter is, but her body is leaden, her limbs unwilling to move. She should just stay here, really, in the dark and the warm, and perhaps the shouting will go away.

Except it is getting louder. The voice cuts through, the hazy quality lessening, and yes, that is most certainly her own name. But also another—Vax. Yes, where is Vax? She could open her eyes to look, but like the rest of her, her eyelids are as heavy as stones.

Something is wrong. She's sure of it now. Her bones do not usually weigh this much, and the shouting is so loud now, so frantic. The voice is still fuzzy, a little frightening even, but Keyleth cannot move as it approaches, faster and faster, until she is being shaken, tossed about like a child's doll, and the voice is so very close. "Keyleth! Keyleth, wake up!"

It takes every ounce of her strength, summoned and focused carefully, to open her eyes. Her vision is blurry—perhaps she were the one underwater this whole time—but there is a face over her, the brows drawn together in concern and the mouth moving in such an odd way. "Princess, are you alright?"

This is Derrig. She knows Derrig. She blinks a few times, and the haze lessens, just a bit. "I...I don't..."

Her head falls to the side, entirely out of her control, and she sees someone beside her—oh. There is Vax. "V..." She wets her lips, so painfully dry, and tries again. "Vax?"

The hands that had shaken her awake leave her arms, and suddenly Derrig is on the other side of Vax, shaking him now. Keyleth sees her husband start to stir, as slow and clumsy as she feels.

A small thought blooms in the back of Keyleth's mind, a shoot sprouting up from the winter frost. "Where...what time..."

"It is morning, Your Highness," Derrig explains. "I came for the start of my day, and both of the night guards are dead outside."

Derrig's words cut through the fog, and the thought coalesces into something more solid. If it is morning, then that means Keyleth slept through the night, something she has not done since—

"Vilya." Keyleth wills her body to move, forcing it out of bed and crashing onto the wooden floor. She hears Derrig swear under his breath and rush around the bed, helping her up. Vax is still coming to, but she cannot wait for him. She stumbles forward, away from the bed, and with Derrig's help makes it to the closed door of Vilya's bedroom. She cannot get the door open on her own, so Derrig opens it, and Keyleth forces her legs to move her in. She collapses onto the edge of the cradle and looks down.

It's empty.

[anandabrat]

it rained when it should have snowed

I had an idea last night that demanded to be written, and posted today, because Yule. So - happy Yuletide all, whatever it brings to you. The gifts you all have given me have changed my life.

The knock on her door, when it comes, is erratic, is almost so faint she mistakes it for the wind.

It’s growing dark by the time she makes it up the footpath to the cottage, and the snow is falling steadily. She deposits the load of firewood just inside the heavy wooden door, then shakes her coat out on the covered porch. Inside, she feels the damp through her socks and sighs - her boots have another hole, certainly won’t make it through the winter without repair. She’ll have to go into town, but that unpleasant thought can wait for now. For now, she’s home, and the fire hasn’t gone out yet, the pot of stew hanging on the hook hasn’t bubbled over yet, and it’s Yule. Her house smells properly of evergreens and herbs, and holly overflows from her mantle. 

She sniffs the air - her stew needs something. She reaches up among the bundles hanging upside down from the rafters, pulls down a fading green sprig of thyme, and crosses the floor to chuck in the pot. 

One bowl left drying on the kitchen counter. One spoon beside it. The nameless cat who sometimes curls up at Helena’s feet at night catches her own supper outside. She feeds only herself these days, and that’s for the best, really.

She’s not sure why, sometimes, she still bothers with all the trappings of this time of year. If it’s worth the fuss, for only one person. If the off chance that magic is real and moving through the world is enough of a reason to drag half the forest into her house. Likely, the whole thing is merely another whimsical notion of humanity. But she supposes it doesn’t hurt to give the forces outside her door a little respect, just in case.

She eyes the hole in the toe of her boot with distaste, sitting in front of her fire, sipping broth from her bowl, thinking of the journey to town, the long walk and the longer looks that await her at the bottom of the valley. But perhaps it’s been too long, anyway, since she saw another person. Since the beings she spoke to had no fur or feathers. Or perhaps not. Fur and feathers might bite, might claw, might have fleas - but at least they knew when to leave well enough alone.

The knock on her door, when it comes, is erratic, is almost so faint she mistakes it for the wind. But no - there it is again. Three raps, pause, then again. The wind is rarely so tidy. 

The last time anyone ventured up to her, the leaves had been golden and just beginning to fall from the trees. The young woman - almost a girl - had been huddled inside herself, in a shawl, though it had been a fine enough day. And she’d whispered, haltingly, that she’d tried everywhere else, and nobody knew how to rid her of her curse… and Helena had stopped her there. Not a curse, she’d snorted, no such thing, come in, foolish child. She’d sent her home a half hour later with several small packets sealed up in waxed fabric, and that girl had never come back, so either Helena’s herbs had worked, or they hadn’t. But that is not Helena’s business. She doesn’t know quite, anymore, what her business is. But it isn’t to ask after folk who don’t care to know anything about her save what gossip filters through town.

That has been the way of it for years now - and Helena likes it that way, she reminds herself - that only the brave or the foolhardy, or occasionally the truly needy, make the long climb to her cottage. They don’t bother her for nonsense like love potions or removing warts. The idiots might not understand who she is, but at least they seem to understand who she is not.

She is not someone to be bothered over trifles.

The knock sounds again and startles Helena out of her thoughts. No trifles, and especially not on a wet, snowy night like this one. Whatever could bring someone out here on Yuletide - they are either very ill, or they mean her ill.

When she opens her door, it’s with her ax in hand.

But it’s the first, not the second. Helena’s heart sinks as she sets her ax down against the wall, so carelessly it nearly clatters to the floor. The wild-eyed woman bracing her hand against the doorframe is pale, visibly shaking, not wearing nearly enough clothing for the cold night, and clutching her belly like -

Oh. Helena’s own belly twists. “What are you doing here?” she snarls, not meaning for the words to come out as harsh as they do, but not caring overmuch either. 

The woman looks up again, pale as milk, and her eyes are bright and sharp even through the pain. “They said you could help. They said -” and she slams her eyes shut and grimaces and pants, and Helena automatically counts the beats even as she hates herself for doing it. “They said,” the other woman continues, when she has regained her power of speech, “that you’re the only one who can help.”

Helena regards her, stony-faced. “I haven’t done that in years. Besides,” she says, her tone losing its scant edge of compassion, “didn’t they tell you who I am? That I’m -”

“They did - well, they tried to, but look, I don’t care who you are. The midwife in town, she said - she laughed at me. She asked me where my husband was, and then she sent me away and told me she didn’t care what became of me or my… never mind. It doesn’t matter what she said. The constable, I found him, or he found me really, I wasn’t sure where to go and he told me, he said maybe you could… he gave me directions. He was kind.” 

Helena snorts. “Constable Lattimer's alright. The midwife in town, on the other hand… well, she’s also the daughter of the pastor. She sees her help as only for who she deems deserving. But that still doesn’t mean I -” she cuts herself off, seeing the other woman’s face change again, and Helena counts it out again and wishes she could stop herself.

“Please,” the other woman continues, breathless, frightened - terrified. “Please. Something isn’t right. Something is - I’ve been at births before, I’ve helped, I helped my sister and two of my cousins and this isn’t… I thought I could do it myself,” she whispers, and by the way she casts her eyes away Helena can see what this admission costs her to make, to admit this level of desperation, that she would even try to do this alone. “I thought I could… since she said no, since everyone said no, but I can’t. Please. I’ll… as soon as the baby's here. We’ll be gone. I just -” 

She’s not wrong. Helena can see instantly that she’s fading, that she truly has no other option than to be here. The scraps of Helena’s humanity pull at her, and she hears her mentor’s voice in her mind reminding her that this knowledge she possesses comes with a duty. Yes, even if few dare to ask her for such gifts anymore. Yes, even if they call her names and mistake her intelligence for arrogance, her skill for hubris. Though this woman has done none of those things. 

This woman, whose desperate, beautiful voice is already halfway to breaking Helena’s will, is looking at her with tears in her eyes and exhaustion written all over her face. “Please,” she says, one more time, just that and nothing more.

Helena clutches her own door so hard she can feel the oak digging into her nails, and she says through gritted teeth, “Fine. Alright. Come in,” opening the door the rest of the way, allowing the other woman to pass through her threshold.

Inside, by the fire’s light, she can see that everything this woman is wearing is as wet as if it’s just come from washing, that she’s soaked down to her skin. “What’s your name?” Helena asks her, already turning to the business at hand, divesting the other woman of her sodden coat.

“M-Myka,” she replies, teeth chattering harder now that she’s beginning to warm up. “Th-thank you. I don’t -”

“Thank me later,” Helena says shortly. “I’m Helena. Sit down. We’ve got to get all of this off of you, and I can’t take your socks and shoes off if you’re standing. How long have you been in labor?”

Myka sinks down as carefully as she can on Helena’s willow wood chair, which creaks ominously, but holds. “Since - midnight? Yesterday. I can’t be sure of the exact time.” The last word comes out as a hiss as another contraction hits her and Helena sits back with Myka’s dripping socks in her hands, watching with a keen eye.

“And your waters?” she asks, when Myka’s breathing has slowed again.

“This morning.” Helena winces slightly. Myka sees it. “That’s bad, right? I thought it was probably bad when it happened and then…”

But Helena isn’t listening anymore. “Shh,” she says absently. “Lift up, please, we’ve got to get all of this off of you.” Myka’s eyes widen briefly and Helena chuckles. “This is no moment for modesty,” she chides gently. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. You're wet to your skin, you’ll be warmer with it off. And the baby can't come with it on, anyway. Come on, off with it.” 

Still Myka hesitates, her eyes searching Helena’s face for something Helena can’t name.

Helena sighs. “You’re safe here. Now that you’re here, and you’re under my care, no harm will befall you as long as I am able to prevent it. This includes protection from the outside of this home. Not that I think anyone from around here would dare try to enter without permission. If you listened to any of the stories people tell about me in town…” Helena trails off, not one to repeat the highly exaggerated tales told by the locals.

Myka smiles briefly. “I did listen. A little. But there’s a witch where I come from too, you know. There’s listening to the town, and then there’s listening to the ones the town leaves out.” She lifts off the chair enough for Helena to pull down her underthings. Goosebumps rise on her naked skin, then gradually begin to subside in the glow of Helena’s hearth.

Helena lifts her hands to Myka’s swollen belly, feeling carefully. She cocks her head and frowns. “What?” Myka’s voice sounds terrified and Helena glances up to a face gone nearly bloodless. “What’s wrong? Is… is the baby…”

“No. Remarkably, the baby seems to be fine,” Helena replies crisply, turning her attention back to feeling the contours and protrusions on the other woman’s belly. She feels Myka sag a little with relief, then suck in a breath as another contraction takes her. Helena waits, leaves her hands where they are, just to confirm, then nods. “Unfortunately for you,” she continues, when Myka has recovered herself, “you’ve got a stargazer on your hands. Or not in your hands, not just yet," she adds, with the smallest of smiles.

“A what?” Myka looks almost sick as she asks.

“The head’s the wrong way up,” Helena explains, standing. “Babies are meant to come out you looking down, then they turn for the shoulders. When they start out facing up - oh listen,” she adds hastily, seeing Myka’s suddenly alarmed expression, “it’s not as bad as all that. It’s not breech, it’s not - there’s far worse ways for a babe to present, believe me. And though that cow in town will get an earful from me next time I make my way down, it’s good, really, you’re not with her. She really has no business calling herself a midwife at all - her training, if you were to call it that, is woefully inadequate for anything but the most ordinary of births.”

“And you - but you said you haven’t -”

“It’s true, I haven’t attended a woman in this way in years, but that doesn’t matter. What matters now is that you’re exhausted and half-frozen and in no shape at all to push out a baby who doesn’t know up from down. What you need -” and Helena sighs, holds out her hands to Myka, who carefully pulls to standing, overbalances, and stumbles into Helena - “what you need is a rest.” 

“A rest?” Myka’s voice sounds incredulous into Helena’s shoulder.

Helena walks backwards carefully, still awkwardly holding Myka up, until she feels the edge of her own bed with her legs. “Yes. Here,” and she turns until Myka’s the one with her back to the only warm, soft surface in Helena’s home. “Sit.”

Myka sits, then she stands again as she looks around and realizes what’s happening. “I can’t… in your bed? But I’ll…” she looks around helplessly.

“You’ll bleed on it? Inevitably. And leave other fluids besides, in all likelihood. There’s nothing for it. There is simply no other place to warm you up and get you fit for what’s to come, and if you ruin all my blankets, well, I’ll send you a bill - or keep your first born,” Helena adds tonelessly. Then she winces inwardly, waiting for the fear surely such a jest will bring. But Myka just snorts once and sits back down, and makes no reply at all. Helena blinks in surprise and something suspiciously bright sparks inside her briefly. 

“And how am I supposed to rest, exactly, when every few minutes…” and Myka’s voice trails off again, as if on cue, with a little gasp of pain.

Helena waits until Myka can hear her to make her reply. “Just lie down, and close your eyes. You’ve been at this for a full day and night, you might be surprised by how much sleep you can get in two minute intervals. Besides,” she adds, softening her voice just a touch, “you’ve a ways to go still, and I have some preparations to make. You might as well be comfortable whilst I get ready.”

Myka looks like she’d like to argue, but Helena doesn’t give her the chance. She tucks both of her blankets around Myka, then stokes the fire high. She makes a trip out to the woodpile, then another - she might not have time, later. She takes the kettle away from the fire and washes her hands up to her elbows in water as hot as she can stand.

The tincture she wants is in the very back of the cupboard, the bottle dusty, but it still smells potent, so she gives some to Myka anyway, in a little water. She pauses, watching Myka as she drinks, and when Myka hands her back the cup, neither woman moves away. The color is coming back into Myka’s cheeks, just a bit. Helena takes in how dirty and tangled the other woman’s dark curly hair is, how painfully thin she is besides the obvious swell of her belly. 

Then Myka’s face contorts again, and she grunts a little this time, and Helena knows Myka is not ready yet, not for that, so she sets the cup down on the ground and sits down on the edge of the bed next to Myka. “Lie back down,” she instructs, “and close your eyes. You need to rest more before you push.”

“I can’t,” Myka says, and it comes out as a whine. “It… 

“It what?” Helena prompts.

“It hurts,” Myka admits, and even knowing this woman for an hour Helena can imagine that admission of weakness isn’t an easy one. “Everything - it hurts so much.”

Helena keeps her voice calm and low and even. “I know it does. Shh. It’s just pain. Shh. Put your head here,” and Helena gently pushes, eases Myka’s head onto her lap. Her fingers begin touching Myka’s hair hesitantly, then gradually gaining confidence, gently running her fingers through Myka’s curls, untangling snarls, rubbing circles on her scalp. “Shh. Don’t think about it, just for now.”

“Don’t… think about it?” But Myka’s eyes are closed already, and she lets out a deeper breath, a sigh than tells Helena she was right, that Myka truly does need some respite.

“Yes. Don’t think. Just let it go. Let it come and go.”

Myka’s starting to drift in and out, and Helena can see her face relaxing, even though she gasps a bit as the next contraction hits her. “Who are you?” Myka mutters, afterwards, as Helena begins to hum to her, softly.

“Shh. Nobody, really. Just a woman with too much knowledge and not enough good sense or fortune to get away with it,” Helena murmurs back.

“Sounds familiar,” Myka replies, sleepy despite herself, and breathes deeply again.

Helena holds Myka in her gentle sway for hours, humming, rocking. The room grows warm, far warmer than Helena ever allows for herself, and Myka sleeps and wakes and sleeps and wakes, and Helena watches her carefully, until the sun begins to come up through the east window, rosy against the new snow, and the birds begin singing for the dawn.

Then Myka’s breathing changes again, and with the next contraction Helena hears a deep, throaty groan rumble out of Myka. Then, then it is time, and Myka sweats and cries and wails and screams, while Helena holds Myka up on her side and one leg up clasped hard in both hands, for Myka to push against with a strength and will that leaves Helena nearly as breathless as Myka. And when Helena shifts position to catch a living human being in her hands, the winter sun is streaming through her one window, as full of sunlight as could possibly be in the dark of winter, and all the birds are calling to each other, harsh and loud and full of song. At last, a crown, shoulder, feet slide out, and a cry rises up - from the new babe in shock, and the mother in triumph. 

Helena lifts the new baby up and cradles her for just a heartbeat before she gives Myka her daughter, reverently. Helena tucks her last clean dry blanket around the two of them, and for a brief, shining moment the birds and the light seem to be speaking directly to Helena, as if Yule might be a real, breathing presence in the world and not something to simply mark the passing of the darkest day of the year. As if to smack her across the face with the newness and brightness inherent in the world.

She notices that Myka is crying, and, faintly, that she is as well. She brushes the tears away and turns away from the scene, broken open by raw beauty, feeling at once intimately part of and utterly outside of it. “There. You’ve a fine, healthy baby girl. Congratulations.” She starts to move away - to stoke the fire again, she tells herself - when she feels a hand holding on to her own.

“Sit. Sit with me - us. Please.”

Helena does not turn. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

Myka laughs, a loud, riotous sound that reverberates around Helena’s small house like thunder. Helena hasn’t heard such a sound in a long time. “I’m the intruder. Or is she? Both of us. Come look at this miracle. You saved us,” she adds, looking at Helena in wonder as she sinks down next to Myka - how could she not, when the woman can make a sound like that? “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Helena replies, but her tone is gentle. “What are you going to call her?”

“Well, I was thinking of Christina, after my grandmother,” Myka says, “but I’m not sure God is the right one to thank, or my family either, for what’s happened today - or really, for some time now.”

“Mmm. I see your point.”

“What would you call her?”

The question makes Helena stutter to a stop. She stares at Myka, then down at the tiny baby, still wet, her dark hair slicked back against her head, clutching at Helena’s blanket with impossibly small newborn fists. “Why would my opinion matter?” The question is honest, though Helena hears how it sounds and winces slightly.

Myka blinks at her. “If my family and God aren’t to thank for this… for her being here… surely you are.”

Helena opens her mouth to reply to find that she can’t speak at all. She blinks several times. “I would,” she finally manages, “call her Holly. For the hope of the new year, and for the strength she’s already shown in such a short time. But I’m not her mother, and I wouldn’t presume…”

But Myka is nodding. “Much better. Holly,” she croons at the child, and Helena’s heart flips over in her chest painfully, surely for the way she’s always felt in the presence of new life. Surely.

She rises, to get Myka a cup of broth from the pot that’s been bubbling away these long hours. Surely this feeling bubbling inside her own heart can’t be for Myka. For how in the space of just a few hours, her small house feels alive again. Feels full - of sound, of conversation, of the space between her and another - of life. Surely not. That’s absurd, and - 

Myka is trying to rise, painfully, and Helena reacts without thought, dropping the cup into the pot and rushing to Myka’s side instantly. “What are you doing?” she scolds, reaching for Myka’s shoulders, then withdrawing. “You can’t just be getting up, so soon, you could hurt yourself, you could bleed inside, you need to -”

Myka shakes her head, sitting on the side of Helena’s bed, Holly - and even thinking the name makes Helena want, irrationally, to hold the child again - Holly in Myka’s arms, already worn out from being in the world for so long. “As soon as she’s out, I said. I won’t trouble you any more. I wish I had more to give you for all your pains. You’ve been so unaccountably kind. I have some money saved up, that I’d planned to give to that other woman.” Myka looks apologetic, and beyond that, bone-tired. And she should, of course she is, but there’s something beyond the intensity of birth there, some other weariness. 

Helena has no idea what to say. “Don’t go,” she stammers, without quite thinking, then, realizing she means it, adds, “you can’t. I won’t hear of it. You’re not well enough and besides,” she adds, more softly, “you’re no trouble at all. You or the - Holly.”

Myka snorts. “If we’re no trouble, I tremble to imagine what might be.”

Helena almost lets the jest go by, lets the moment pass. But it’s Yule. There’s a new baby in her house, a miracle, and her mother, who looks to be a bigger miracle still. This is a time of magic in the world, and Helena is no fool, to let it walk back out her door the way that it came. 

“You’re here in my bed,” she points out, “with a newborn baby in your arms and not one other person who cares for you by your side. I hardly think I’m the only one who knows trouble when she sees it coming.”

Myka sags into herself, then looks up at Helena with clear eyes. “You’re right,” she replies. “Of course you are. And that trouble… it may follow me. I won’t ask you to take on a perfect stranger’s burden.”

It’s Helena’s turn to laugh, and somewhere she feels that sound twine with Myka’s, impossible as that is. Myka’s eyes widen and then she returns Helena’s broad grin. “You’re hardly a stranger now. And you’ll recall,” Helena says, more seriously now, holding Myka’s gaze, reaching out to place her own hand atop Myka’s, still cradling Holly, “that I promised you no harm would come to you while you were here, if I was able to prevent it. That holds true still, and will until you leave.” Helena takes a breath, and lets it out in a rush. “And you needn’t. Leave. If you… you could stay. If you want.”

Myka cocks her head. But she doesn’t say no. Helena continues, “I mean. It’s the new year. Here you are. It feels… I’m not one for signs, for portents, but - but I hope you’ll pardon the impertinence if I say your being here has already made me feel happier and more alive than I have in a long time.”

Myke reaches out for Helena’s face, a questioning look in her eye. Helena closes her eyes and nearly holds her breath, as Myka carefully cups her cheek.

“Can I say yes for just now? And see how it feels later? I… I’m so tired. And elated. I’m not sure I can trust how good I feel right now. If it’s today or - if it’s real. It feels real,” Myka adds, almost as an afterthought.

“Of course,” Helena replies promptly. “Get back into bed. That baby needs nursing, and you need something to drink.” She rises again, busies herself with fishing the cup back out of the pot, with washing it clean and refilling it with broth, thinking of how she’ll have to get another one, and another bowl too. 

When she turns back around, both Myka and the baby are asleep. Helena carefully tucks them in, the quilt just so, then sets out for clean water from the well, for more wood. The birds call and call out to each other, not for her, or maybe only for her, and that fact that she’ll never know which it is, comforts rather confounds her.

Holly

It rained when it should have snowed.

When we went to gather holly

the ditches were swimming, we were wet

to the knees, our hands were all jags

and water ran up our sleeves.

There should have been berries

but the sprigs we brought into the house

gleamed like smashed bottle-glass.

Now here I am, in a room that is decked

with the red-berried, waxy-leafed stuff,

and I almost forget what it’s like

to be wet to the skin or longing for snow.

I reach for a book like a doubter

and want it to flare round my hand,

a black-letter bush, a glittering shield-wall

cutting as holly and ice.

[monterraverde]

Goodbye Paldea, my temporary home.

She wasn't expecting to become thick as family with Red and Giovanni, and she was fully prepared to have to make this move on her own... Until they quickly offered to help her move everything into the new house.

A small little cottage on the outskirts of saffron with marshland practically in her back yard... Sure it was a bit of a fixer-upper, needed some renovations on the walls and floors, but it was structurally sound, built to withstand earthquakes and the like, and the renovation project would give her goals to work on... And a new job lined up with Sabrina and Silph Co. to start as soon as she got settled.

It almost seemed surreal, that this is what this whole excursion spawned... what was just a vacation quickly turned into a life changing adventure... One that was still ongoing, all things considered.

Packing only enough for a weeks stay, the group caught the next plane to Paldea, 15 hours back and forth was going to be a pain in the ass, especially with the boxes they were going to eventually be carrying... And the entire way there, despite her sleeping most of it, it was obvious how anxious she was becoming... She needed to have so many conversations, and she knew there was going to be tears, and anger, and people trying to get her to stay.

Red and Giovanni were gonna have to deal with her being a hot mess for a little while longer... She wondered why they put up with her for so long to begin with, but... She was happy they were here.

When they arrived at the house, the first thing she noticed was the overpowering smell of alcohol and bleach- Right, Giovanni mentioned he had cleaned the place before he left, but she hadn't expected it to feel like a HOSPITAL when she got back... And her bedroom felt the same which-

Oh.... Oh he cleaned in there too didn't he?

Oh no...

Welp, that's an embarrassment she'll never get rid of.

Better get to work before she can think on it too much-

------

Leaving the Elite brought a heavy pain, swearing in her replacement brought even more... and when all was said and done, she left with grace and dignity, and broken hearts in her wake... The way Poppy and Hassel all started bawling as she left would sit on her conscience for ages, and when she comes back to the house that day, she cries... For several hours. It's hard, leaving everything behind, leaving everyone you love behind.

But this has never been home... Just windows and rooms and a roof- and trauma, so much trauma...

She's never quite okay afterword, but the packing is swiftly finished, the house in Los Platos finally sold, and the key for the one in the desert cloned, one given to Bella, so she'd always have a place to come home too in Paldea if they ever came back.

Clothes, old electronics, decorations, curios, bedding, pillows, everything crammed into boxes that was light enough to carry by one person. The furniture would be left alone, no sense in trying to haul that cross continents. Shipping the boxes, she washed her hands of it... Locking the door one last time as they proceeded back to the airport in Porta Marinada

Another 15 hour flight later, and the ordeal didn't weigh any less heavy... The new house was small, enough for a single family to live comfortably, and all her things she opted to bring fit neatly inside.

She'd start sourcing materials for the renovation projects in the morning, and buying new furniture and appliances... For now, she sleeps.

Welcome to Kanto, Trainer, seize your own happiness.

[boy-under-the-sage-bush]

From what I know, I have no clue why this happening. I believe it’s due to her birthday being tomorrow and then the song we used to listen to together. I have no clue what will happen if I listen to the artist we both liked, I’m scared to, I’m already feeling the sensation in my stomach, it’s been happening a lot more lately, first it scared with when Mr S was around and that was simply because I didn’t want to get in trouble for my piercings but now it’s constant and never ending. I always feel like throwing up or crying, I can hardly breath in this school and it hurts every inch of my body. Maybe I should get more help but I just can’t, I don’t know who to turn to or how to get people to believe me. How am I meant to be an adult when I cannot even look a man in the eye?

Sometimes I wonder if I will actually leave this town, leave my home, leave everything behind… But I don’t think I can, I know this here, it’s peaceful and understandable. I wanna be able to support my mother, support my spending habits, support myself but I don’t have it in me to become a 9-5er, I cant let myself become one of those people, I need to become something, something that’ll make my family proud but I’m lazy and I don’t know what’s happening around me. I just sit here and stare at a pc screen, letting the world go by.

Hell sometimes I wonder if I’m actually meant to do anything with my life… sometimes I wonder if I’m even alive, everything around me makes me so nervous and sick, I feel like I’m alone in a world full of lonely people but in  a different way, the way you feel alone when you don’t know anyone at a party or the way you feel alone when you go to school and now of your friends are there, the kind of lonely that happens when your friend group don’t include you in the discussion but you’re still sitting with them. I feel the kind of lonely that makes life seem darker, more morbid, even sadder and crueller than what you woke up in. Is it really the life an 18yr old is meant to be living? Is it the kind of life that anyone should be living?

I read once that people with mental illness simply see the world for how it truly is, not how everyone wants to see it. I relate to that, everyone talks about how year 12 is the most important thing but how can it be when kids are literally trying to kill themselves in school bathrooms or kids are dropping out because teachers have given up on them. In what world is what we look like more important then if we want to kill ourselves or if we’re about to fail school? I wonder if they really care about the students they have, sometimes I look around at my classmates and think “How have we gotten this far?” I like to think that it’s because we all have at least one person who cares but looking around even closer at these kids… I don’t think they do, the eating disorders, the bullying, all the failing classes. No one cares about us, they just care about how we represent them has parents, teachers, and schools.

Everything about the kids I go to school with says that maybe I’m right, maybe I’m not meant to be someone, maybe I’m just meant to live in a cottage and be a hermit, someone people tell their kids “oh I don’t know what happened to him”, maybe I’m meant to die, someone who tried so hard that he burnt out, someone whose life was simply for the good times and not the long times, someone who is meant to be a memory and not someone in people’s lives. A sweet memory of an easier time.

I think about this often, just as often as I think of my best friend, a young man studying biology in the city, four hours away from me. He’s my best part: nice, helpful, intelligent, and friendly. Or I’m the bad parts of him; loud, standoffish, annoying, angry, obsessive. It doesn’t matter, we’re two parts of a puzzle that was maybe never meant to be complete.

[juliansummerhayes]

Daily diary: Saturday, 11 May 2024

“Spiritual life is not mental life. It is not thought alone. Nor is it, of course, a life of sensation, a life of feeling – “feeling” and experiencing the things of the spirit, and the things of God.” – Thomas Merton, Thoughts in Solitude

It’s 05:12.

I’m sat here in the kitchen. The sun is peeking out, but not yet risen. I have a cup of coffee poured; the mug that it sits in has a picture of Charles Bukowski smoking. That pleases me – all of it. 

All of it.

I have looked at Tumblr and shared a wonderful Mary Oliver poem from this site.

And I feel (as yesterday) grateful. 

A sort of relaxed grateful, one I inhabit with a light touch. 

I know that ‘this’ won’t last and won’t be forever.

I was told yesterday by Allison and daughter #2 that I was unemployed. Technically I am but I am being paid for the next seven days – the number of days holiday I accrued from the last teeth-gnashing gig that I never took. I also have a job lined up to start a week Monday and so: (a) I don’t feel unemployed, (b) I want to kick back and feel the full width of my seven-odd days before I’m back in the admininstrivia that will order my days, and (c) I feel I’ve earned this period, given that I’ve not taken my foot of the workplace gas for the last six years.

What shall I do today?

I don’t honestly know. See my kids and hopefully speak to daughter #1. I was going to go see her next week but the only day she can fit me in is the same day I’m attending a funeral of someone I once worked with. I’ll go for a walk – I might do something a bit different instead of my loop around South Brent – and undoubtedly I’ll lose myself in the haze of “chores” that need doing around our wee house. There will also be a bit of reading; I want to use the above book as a form of daily meditation. Merton’s favourite book of mine is “New Seeds of Contemplation” which I can highly recommend, alongside any of his work.  And there will be some poetry. Always poetry. 

And then?

Who knows.

The thing is: as you get older, or as I age, I find myself lost in the reverie of the small and quite insubstantial things. That’s code for saying I can sometimes find myself looking at a tree, admiring the view or even grinding coffee by hand and feel I’m touched by a deep spiritual valance.

Anyhow, enough of my rambling ode to the day.

Happy days campers.

Blessings, Julian

PS. Here is a Mary Oliver poem – if you’re not already familiar with her work.

When death comes

When death comes like the hungry bear in autumn; when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse

to buy me, and snaps the purse shut; when death comes like the measle-pox

when death comes like an iceberg between the shoulder blades,

I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering: what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

And therefore I look upon everything as a brotherhood and a sisterhood, and I look upon time as no more than an idea, and I consider eternity as another possibility,

and I think of each life as a flower, as common as a field daisy, and as singular,

and each name a comfortable music in the mouth, tending, as all music does, toward silence,

and each body a lion of courage, and something precious to the earth.

When it's over, I want to say all my life I was a bride married to amazement. I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms.

When it's over, I don't want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular, and real.

I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened, or full of argument.

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

--Mary Oliver

[sonic-spirit]

AAAAAHHHHHHH-HA-HA-HA-HA...! WEEELLLLLLL...! If I'd known I'd be working a camp day today I would've made some very different choices last night! Namely, I probably wouldn't have drunk almost an entire bottle of wine by myself...!

So...! Yeah! Yesterday was nice, I made shepherd's pie (technically cottage pie cuz nope, not paying extra for lamb...!) for Thanksgiving, had a lovely day with my mates, and it was super nice! Also I drank an entire bottle of red wine, minus the cup that went into the shepherd's pie, by myself. We hung out, watched Voyager, and just had a nice, chill day together. Went to bed late, because though I was scheduled to work today, there was nothing in the schedule, so I figured I'd roll up this afternoon and do barn chores.

Fast forward to 7am this morning, when I'm woken by a call from my boss. "Whoops! Did I forget to tell you that we have a Thanksgiving Break camp today? Yeah, you need to go get there and get the horses ready and check in the campers by 9!" Feck! Yeah, no, no one told me. So I shove my shit to work, catch the horses, get them tacked up as quick as possible, and contemplate whether I'll be upchucking the entire contents of my insides soon. Fortunately, trailering the horses from the pastures we keep them in to the park we do lessons and stuff out of gave me long enough sitting and not moving too much to get over the worst of that.

Fortunately, there were only 3 kids. 9am to 2pm is still a pretty long time to babysit alone, but at least I had horses to entertain them with. My boss had given me the go-ahead to let them ride twice, so I was able to let them know we'd do lessons before and after lunch, and we were able to fill the rest of the time with visiting the pond and meeting some probably abandoned pet ducks, graining, watering, and cleaning up after the horses, and them grooming the horses, on top of snack and lunch. So it all worked out.

They liked me, and I certainly don't think that they were the "little monsters" A described them as, though the two older ones did have an adversarial best friend dynamic I didn't love, and one was pretty demanding and liked to play the why game, even though she's a bit old for it. Look, kid, don't ask me about why we stand when the horses pee while we're riding them if you don't want to know the answer! But overall they were fine and did well. A hadn't let them trot Wednesday, and we didn't have a camp session yesterday, cuz national holiday, and I didn't quite realize how far behind where I'd expected them to be, so we did a lot of back-tracking in the first lesson to get them up to speed after the first round of "What the fuck is happening right now," trotting.

We started the second lesson with a short trail ride, where I climbed on Lucky to lead them on the 20 minute trail. Buuut I'd also brought Milly, because I like her and will take any excuse to do something with her (I'd already hopped on and used her as a demo horse in the morning lesson), but I didn't trust her on the trail. So we head out, hear her crying, I feel bad for having her stuck alone, and then the whinny is louder than it should be. Nearer. We look behind us, and there Milly is, bringing up the rear of our little trail ride and looking very pleased with having untied herself. So, I swung off and ponied her from Lucky's back the rest of the way out and back. She did fine! And I liked having her on there, honestly. ^_^ Gives me a good way to trust her more on a trail. I'd really like to take her on trails, myself. Fuck, I'm in so much trouble with that horse.

[testingforhope]

Chapter 4 - Peaceful Mornings

Hysteria has always been sort of quiet. That’s one of the small habits that she learned from being alone all the time. Sometimes she doesn’t even think she remembers Common all that well, but then she thinks back and notices that's the language her thoughts came in. She also doesn’t know many proper etiquette of her day and age. The books that she had read when her mom was still teaching her must have been centuries of age now. She felt distant when she realised this; let alone the fact that she also has not seen many people in the middle of the woods. The book she subconsciously is one of her own. Poems she wrote to fill the time and silence around her. Not that she had many people to read them to anyway. After setting down the book, Hysteria walked to the kitchen to get some breakfast for her. She settled on eggs and a glass of water. After the eventful time she’s had the past weekend, she decided that it would suit her well. Setting her plate on the coffee table in the living room and sitting down in her chair, Hysteria decided to read one of her poems. Probably not one of her morose scriptures, however. They could put you in a bad mood all day long if you read enough of them. She settled for The Rainy Day. Picking up her fork and shovelling her eggs onto it and into her mouth she started reading. If the eyes were to ever be the sky, Then the sky has cried more than me this year. The water falling isn't sad though. It is tears of life and rebirth and joy all given to you from The shelter of your tea and books in a large library Where no one talks to you and you can slip away into your finest fantasies. That is the life the world sees when it cries, Hoping, Dreaming, Praying You'll be there with the great dreamers as their memories and words Drip off their tongues like honey in the great mixing bowl of life and death.

Now finished with her eggs and water, she decided to do some inventory in her kitchen and storage room. But of course, before she could do anything of that sort she settled on doing the dishes first. After the dishes were done, she swept room to room gazing and scouring all the inventory her ‘little’ cottage held. From herbs and other plants to ingredients for spells, she was set. From poultry to wood, however, she needed to go out and harvest some so she could get started on her next adventure without all of those troubles later. Grabbing her over-shoulder endless bag, a flask of water, some berries, and her axe, she set out into the late morning with a plan.

[bluuxriising]

Do you ever think of the Scozzari?

She glanced over her shoulder at the faceless entity, a smile in her dark eyes. "Every single day." Bluu turned her attention back to the landscape she'd been painting, reaching out to run a fingertip over a stream of water swirling around a rock in its path. "Papa Sal would have loved this piece of art." Running water was difficult to execute because you had to convey motion and energy and capture the play of light on the surface.

Water that wasn't muddy took its color from its surroundings; it would look blue under a clear sky, green in the shadow of a mountain, dull on a gray day. She had spent years painting the sea and never tired of it because the water was always different. Different. That's what her life had become without her mother, her father...her siblings. Bluu's heart clenched, and her eyes lowered. "It's hard not to think of them when you're living on the edge of the world alone." Her shoulders tensed, and she ran a hand through her hair. "I..I wish I could go home," she confessed.

[silly-thinkings]

Twisted Daydream~

  Sorry for just ghosting, motivation for writing has been pretty slow. but my fics are being worked on! (The Cursed stone is what I've been focusing on recently. only 3-4 chapters need to be written)

I've received many kind words on "Vacation gone wrong". and it is a stand-alone story. This is just filler ya know. will a narrative come out of this? Maybe... I have been thinking about A plot. But this has been sitting in my Docs for a while now and I'm happy with how it came out. Let me know what you think about it :3

P.S this is a long read--  Tumblr isn’t letting me post all that sooooo.... this is broken up into parts;-;

Please do not Repost my work. Likes and reblogs are appreciated. I do not own any of the DC Characters. This is just Fanfic

The gentle rays of the sun graced your face as you took a deep breath. You looked out the window of your small cottage home and reviled in the beautiful view of the grand farm in front of you. You were in paradise. A paradise perfect for you and Bruce to spend the afterlife.

“You know, I still can't believe I made it up here” You heard Bruce say as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Whatever do you mean?” You adjust your body to face him.

“Well… the things I've done, as Batman-”

“What? Beating up the bad guys?” You said with a giggle before placing a hand on his cheek “Bruce, you’ve done so much good. And then some. Besides, plenty of magic users foretold that we’d be together in the afterlife.”

Bruce smiled, your comforting words easing his mind. He placed his forehead onto yours as the both of you just enjoyed each other's space.

That was until the scent of fire invades your senses. Bruce immediately was put on high alert as a green liquid slowly began to engulf his body.

Your breath hitched as he slowly backed away “Bruce? What's happening?” Suddenly a sharp pain began to overrun your body causing you to fall to the floor.

Bruce felt cold as if he were submerged in water.

“No… no no NO!! Can’t I have any PEACE!” He shouted as the liquid consumed his body.

You felt helpless as you reached your hand out to Bruce. Your face pained him “Y/N… I think someone is bringing us back.”

“The pit?”

“Yes…”

Bruce noticed how You had a different substance corrode you. A blue fire began to surround your body. He pulled you into him. “Y/N, I will find you. I will fix this” Bruce cradled your form as the fire spread faster.

The pain you felt crescendo before you whispered one final time “ see you soon.”

Bruce watched as the fire engulfed all of you before he too disappeared from paradise.

****

The surrounding guards watched as Bruce rose from the waters with such a rage they've never seen before. Bruce was rabid, Punching and kicking every guard who dared to cross paths with him.

“Don’t Shoot!, we can't afford another death.”

That voice, Bruce immediately turned to attack the woman before he was successfully subdued with a tranquilizer gun. The woman slowly walked forward to the now sleeping man. “Welcome back my beloved, we have much to do.”

~Elsewhere~

A scientist slowly backed away from the grand tank that housed the one and only Y/N Wayne. He was tasked with the impossible, to resurrect the dead. With some help, and a mysterious liquid that was given to him by an unknown source he believed he’d done it.

“Yes… yes yes YES! HAHAHA, the Court will finally accept me now.” He hollered in joy as he hugged the tank.

Y/N Floated in the teal-colored water as her body slightly twitched. The sound of a phone caused the Scientist to break from his glorious accomplishment “Tucker speaking. I'm busy”

“Is that so? I hope that you have the results we are hoping for.”

Tucker gulped as he realized who was on the other end of the phone “Lady Angelica. I- I didn't expect a call… especially so soon”

“The court and I wanted to know if the little project we were funding had progressed”

Tucker turned to the glass tank and smiled “Yes well, Ms. Wayne has returned. H-however I still need more time.”

There was a long pause before Angelica spoke “Excellent work Mr. Tucker. I will send a Talon your way for protection. We don't want any vigilantes spoiling our plans.”

There was a click on the other end of the phone. Tucker stared at it wide-eyed before whooping in joy “Thanks to you Wayne, ill finally be recognized in this city.” He walked over to his desk and pressed a button, draining the water “You and your husband rejected my plans for Gotham. Even Luthor thought I was crazy. But now I’ll-”

“GRAH!” Y/N slammed her head against the glass, causing Tucker to jump a bit in shock. Blood trickled down her cheek as she pulled her fists back to slam the glass.

“No no no” Tucker pressed another button causing water to drain faster before smoke began filling the tank. He watched as Y/N’s body swayed from side to side before falling limp.

“Great. She’s not really back…” Tucker placed his hands in his hair in a panic before freezing “No… I’ve essentially reset her! She is nothing more than a wild beast that must be tamed.” ~~Continue Here~~

[comfy-whumpee]

1: Young and Old

Whumptober 2022 #1. @bloodybrambles, @wildfaewhump, @lektric-whump, @that-one-thespian, @raigash, @avian-american

None of this was supposed to happen. They were nineteen. Nineteen. They were still earning their degree. They were on placement. They beat the other applicants to a prestigious internship. They observed cutting-edge research. They…

“You found out she was alive.”

The words cut off their rant, and Spencer nods, smiling without humour. “I mean, she is a plant. But. More alive.”

“A dryad is not a plant,” the elder witch admonishes her, amused. Her one eye glints in the sunlight, dark and somehow russet brown. “But I understand the distinction. While plants have voices, they are not sentient as we are. They feel no pain or sadness.”

“Well, that’s good to know, ‘cause I’m pretty sure my Venus flytrap is dead.”

Jhazel laughs, but there is pity in her voice when she tells them, “Perhaps less dead than you think, given your abilities. But carry on. Tell me how you came to know her.”

Spencer sits back in the wicker armchair, listening to it creak. The witch’s cottage was full of old furniture like this, but everything was covered in handmade blankets dyed deep, rich colours, softened by countless hands. The plants arrayed along the windowsill in tiny, mismatched pots gave the air a fresh scent, carried in by the gentle breeze that ruffled the tall trees outside. Jhazel was leaning against the counter of the open kitchen, a mug between her hands, in which was tea that she wasn’t drinking.

“She talked. Picked up words, argued with how they were treating her. I was on the night shift a lot of the time, alone, bored, so I talked back. They said she was just mimicking, like a parrot, but… She used words in different ways to how she’d heard them, and she made her own sentences.”

“You heard her voice.”

“I saw her, she’d say. Many looking, but only me seeing.”

Jhazel inclines her head, accepting the distinction.

“They noticed that she talked to me, so I got… It was kind of a promotion. But not really. A lot of pressure to stay on-site and not go home, obviously it all had to be secret, the research, and then…”

They break off. They pull their glasses off to rub their eyes, dislodging strands of dark hair that fell in dull straggles over their brow, overlong and dry from weeks of nothing but astringent chemical soap. Jhazel has a cream for that, and she makes a mental note to send Spencer home with some.

“Then they decided I was too important…” they force out, dry voice cracking with the effort.

The witch inhales a breath that tastes of her forest. The child sits on her armchair, wrapped in one of her homespun blankets and pale with the effort of not crying, and still doesn’t understand.

“I believe they recognised that you had magic,” she eases the words into the air. “I’m not sure how. But what they did to you was to try and access it, just as they did with Silver Birch. When I came for you, it was because I sensed it too. The earth magic I wield is natural-born, but the dryads strengthen me. You have your own too, and Silver Birch woke it.”

Spencer’s face is a knot of conflict. Disbelief battles wonder. So young and so embittered already.

“You may never have noticed if not for your proximity to her. But there is a reason she chose you.”

“Wish she hadn’t,” Spencer grumbles. “I got…” They cut off without finishing and shake their head roughly. “It’s fine. I fucking deserved it.”

Jhazel doesn’t see the point of arguing with them. She is often called a wise woman, but no counsellor. “Then consider your penance paid. Ask yourself which path you will follow next.”

Sensing the meaning behind the platitude, Spencer turns hunched shoulders to look out of the window, where ancient trees as tall as houses stand around the cottage like sentries, and some of them, not trees at all. Amongst them, Jhazel feels the eddies and gusts of dryadic power, spinning through branches, rustling leaves, and some, clustering at the window to feel out the presence of their new guest.

“Well,” she declares, rising to her feet and handing Spencer the mug of tea. “Drink that. You need strength. And I,” she smiles, eyes flashing bright, “need a protegee.”

[littlesolo]

My Kate/Lucy Fics - Current and Upcoming

This is a collection of one shots and multiple chapter fics about Kate and Lucy and things between them. There's one series as well. I'll try to update this more often.

Multi Chapter Series

There's Still That Pull - (19/?) Breaking up with Kate had been hard. A drink with Jane hadn't helped, but it hadn't hurt either. It's the one she has afterwards at her own place that has her spending the night in front of Kate's door, but unable to knock.

Lucy's still mad at Kate, but after finding out a few more details, she wants to talk to Kate again. Needs to talk to Kate again. Trouble is, work goes on.

Kate has been sent to New York to follow a lead given to them by Clark Lohan. She's fallen back into what she knows, but is miserable. She has her priorities though: Work, eat, sleep, and try not to hurt Lucy.

Things quickly spiral out of control and it puts their own situation on the back burner while putting them side by side again. If they live through it all, maybe they'll find time to talk.

Ending Start - (4/?) Kate and Lucy met for the first time on one of the rare nights Kate goes out to a bar for a drink. She hadn't planned on starting anything, hell, she hadn't planned on talking to anyone other than to order a drink, but then Lucy Tara showed up with her smile. Followed by other moments in their relationship.

A Shift in Priorities - (3/?) Kate's first undercover assignment for the FBI has her nervous. That feeling doesn't last long though. No, she's well past nervous when things take a sudden and unexpected turn that she can't ignore. Kate has to think on her feet to keep herself and a young boy safe and a step ahead. When the NCIS team learns that Kate's gone missing, they scramble to find her while staying under the radar. Lucy can't lose Kate, not now that they've just started again. 

Adrift in the Snow - (8/?) Lucy's finally sitting down to talk when Kate gets a shock from back home. Setting their break up aside, Lucy goes to be there for Kate. It’s only until they get there that she realizes how much Kate needs her support. Hopefully, they can find a moment to themselves to figure things out. Because the situation with Cara wasn't what she thought, but neither is Kate. (Slight Criminal Minds crossover). 

The Wrong Whistler - (1/?)  A different take on Lucy and Kate's break up in S1. 

One Shot Collections

Kacy Drabbles

Kacy Drabbles II

NCIS Hawaii/MCU Crossover

Hidden Little Things

The Moments Between the Daily Grind

Kacy AUs

Mechanic AU -

Bodyguard AU - (Complete)  Secrets That Are Only Yours to Keep - A new sensational actress, Marla might be in danger. Worried about her safety, her manager hires a bodyguard. Jane Tennant's best: Kate Whistler.

Model/Photographer AU - (1/?) Through the Lens - Lucy's a model going into a photo shoot with a new photographer. At first she's nervous, but Kate Whistler isn't the typical photographer. It has her intrigued.

Childhood Friends for a Summer AU - (Complete)   Moonlight Ridge Reunion -    Lucy Tara met the best friend she's ever had one summer when her dad was doing business in LA.  18 Years Later, Moonlight Ridge is her Uncle's latest venture and it's in trouble. Kate takes over and tries to keep them afloat or at least get them through the season. The latest guest to reserve a cottage? Lucy Tara.

Upcoming Multiple Chapter Fics/Long One Shots

Details Matter - They've broken up and Kate is now FBI. A lot has changed, but now they have to work a case together. Alone and in a creepy town, they have to figure out how to survive until rescue. And maybe figure things out between them. But seriously, it's those details that you don't think to mention that turn out to be important. Turns out that applies to more than in just relationships. Based on this post.

Cindy Thomas Returns

- Cindy is back on the island and brings her kind of chaos.  There’s a story associated with it all, but Cindy isn’t sharing. 

More to be added!