#the forest is nowhere near you. Of course you don’t fear it

[loadsofcats]

I am reblogging this again, for Me, because I never seem to be able to find it whenever I am looking for it.

i’m actually pretty sure that aliens are fairies but i don’t think we’re ready for that conversation 

[jdgo51]

It’s a Jungle Out There: The Burden of Hopelessness

Today's inspiration comes from:

Traveling Light

by Max Lucado

"He restores my soul." — Psalm 23:3 NKJV

"I wonder if you could imagine yourself in a jungle. A dense jungle. A dark jungle. Your friends convinced you it was time for a once-in-a-lifetime trip, and here you are. You paid the fare. You crossed the ocean. You hired the guide and joined the group. And you ventured where you had never ventured before — into the thick, strange world of the jungle.

Sound interesting? Let’s take it a step farther. Imagine that you are in the jungle, lost and alone. You paused to lace your boot, and when you looked up, no one was near. You took a chance and went to the right; now you’re wondering if the others went to the left. (Or did you go left and they go right?)

Whatever, you are alone. And you have been alone for, well, you don’t know how long it has been. Your watch was attached to your pack, and your pack is on the shoulder of the nice guy from New Jersey who volunteered to hold it while you tied your boots. You didn’t intend for him to walk off with it. But he did. And here you are, stuck in the middle of nowhere.

You have a problem. First, you were not made for this place. Drop you in the center of avenues and buildings, and you could sniff your way home. But here in sky-blocking foliage? Here in trail-hiding thickets? You are out of your element. You weren’t made for this jungle.

What’s worse, you aren’t equipped. You have no machete. No knife. No matches. No flares. No food.

You aren’t equipped, but now you are trapped — and you haven’t a clue how to get out.

Sound like fun to you? Me either. Before moving on, let’s pause and ask how you would feel. Given such circumstances, what emotions would surface? With what thoughts would you wrestle?

Fear? Of course you would.

Anxiety? To say the least.

Anger? I could understand that. (You’d like to get your hands on those folks who convinced you to take this trip.)

But most of all, what about hopelessness? No idea where to turn. No hunch what to do. Who could blame you for sitting on a log (better check for snakes first), burying your face in your hands, and thinking, I’ll never get out of here. You have no direction, no equipment, no hope.

Can you freeze frame that emotion for a moment? Can you sense, for just a second, how it feels to be out of your element? Out of solutions? Out of ideas and energy? Can you imagine, just for a moment, how it feels to be out of hope?

If you can, you can relate to many people in this world.

For many people, life is — well, life is a jungle. Not a jungle of trees and beasts. Would that it were so simple. Would that our jungles could be cut with a machete or our adversaries trapped in a cage. But our jungles are comprised of the thicker thickets of failing health, broken hearts, and empty wallets. Our forests are framed with hospital walls and divorce courts. We don’t hear the screeching of birds or the roaring of lions, but we do hear the complaints of neighbors and the demands of bosses. Our predators are our creditors, and the brush that surrounds us is the rush that exhausts us.

It’s a jungle out there.

And for some, even for many, hope is in short supply. Hopelessness is an odd bag. Unlike the others, it isn’t full. It is empty, and its emptiness creates the burden. Unzip the top and examine all the pockets. Turn it upside down and shake it hard.

The bag of hopelessness is painfully empty. Not a very pretty picture, is it? Let’s see if we can brighten it up. We’ve imagined the emotions of being lost; you think we can do the same with being rescued? What would it take to restore your hope? What would you need to reenergize your journey?

Though the answers are abundant, three come quickly to mind.

The first would be a person. Not just any person. You don’t need someone equally confused. You need someone who knows the way out.

And from him you need some vision. You need someone to lift your spirits. You need someone to look you in the face and say, “This isn’t the end. Don’t give up. There is a better place than this. And I’ll lead you there.”

And, perhaps most important, you need direction. If you have only a person but no renewed vision, all you have is company. If he has a vision but no direction, you have a dreamer for company. But if you have a person with direction — who can take you from this place to the right place — ah, then you have one who can restore your hope.

Or, to use David’s words, “He restores my soul.”

Our Shepherd majors in restoring hope to the soul. Whether you are a lamb lost on a craggy ledge or a city slicker alone in a deep jungle, everything changes when your rescuer appears.

Your loneliness diminishes, because you have fellowship. Your despair decreases, because you have vision. Your confusion begins to lift, because you have direction.

Please note: You haven’t left the jungle.

The trees still eclipse the sky, and the thorns still cut the skin. Animals lurk and rodents scurry. The jungle is still a jungle. It hasn’t changed, but you have. You have changed because you have hope. And you have hope because you have met someone who can lead you out.

He restores my soul.

Your Shepherd knows that you were not made for this place. He knows you are not equipped for this place. So He has come to guide you out.

He has come to restore your soul. He is the perfect one to do so. He has the right vision. He reminds you that you are like foreigners and strangers in this world. — 1 Peter 2:11

And He urges you to lift your eyes from the jungle around you to the Heaven above you.

Don’t shuffle along, eyes to the ground, absorbed with the things right in front of you. Look up, and be alert to what is going on around Christ... See things from His perspective. — Colossians 3:2 MSG

David said it this way,

I lift up my eyes to the hills — where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of Heaven and earth. He will not let your foot slip — He who watches over you will not slumber... The Lord watches over you... the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord will keep you from all harm — He will watch over your life. — Psalm 121:1–7 NIV

God, your rescuer, has the right vision. He also has the right direction. He made the boldest claim in the history of man when He declared,

I am the way. — John 14:6

People wondered if the claim was accurate. He answered their questions by cutting a path through the underbrush of sin and death... and escaping alive. He’s the only One who ever did. And He is the only One who can help you and me do the same. He has the right vision: He has seen the homeland. He has the right directions: He has cut the path. But most of all, He is the right person, for He is our God. Who knows the jungle better than the One who made it? And who knows the pitfalls of the path better than the One who has walked it?

The story is told of a man on an African safari deep in the jungle. The guide before him had a machete and was whacking away the tall weeds and thick underbrush. The traveler, wearied and hot, asked in frustration, “Where are we? Do you know where you are taking me? Where is the path?!” The seasoned guide stopped and looked back at the man and replied,

“I am the path.”

We ask the same questions, don’t we? We ask God, “Where are you taking me? Where is the path?”

And He, like the guide, doesn’t tell us. Oh, He may give us a hint or two, but that’s all. If He did, would we understand? Would we comprehend our location? No, like the traveler, we are unacquainted with this jungle. So rather than give us an answer, Jesus gives us a far greater gift. He gives us Himself.

Does He remove the jungle? No, the vegetation is still thick. Does He purge the predators? No, danger still lurks.

Jesus doesn’t give hope by changing the jungle; He restores our hope by giving us Himself. And He has promised to stay until the very end.

I am with you always, to the very end of the age. — Matthew 28:20 NIV

We need that reminder. We all need that reminder. For all of us need hope.

Some of you don’t need it right now. Your jungle has become a meadow and your journey a delight. If such is the case, congratulations. But remember — we do not know what tomorrow holds. We do not know where this road will lead. You may be one turn from a cemetery, from a hospital bed, from an empty house. You may be a bend in the road from a jungle.

And though you don’t need your hope restored today, you may tomorrow. And you need to know to whom to turn.

Or perhaps you do need hope today. You know you were not made for this place. You know you are not equipped. You want someone to lead you out.

If so, call out for your Shepherd. He knows your voice. And He’s just waiting for your request."

Excerpted with permission from Traveling Light by Max Lucado, copyright Max Lucado.

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Joe Davis

@joedavis1388

23 minutes ago

MARCH 12, 2024

God Sees Us

Bob LaForge (New Jersey, USA)

"[Jesus] gave them strict orders that no one should know what had happened. Then he told them to give her something to eat." - Mark 5:43 (CEB)

"In Mark 5, Jesus exorcised a demon, healed a woman of her hemorrhage, and raised a little girl from the dead. I would have guessed that after all that, Jesus would have rubbed his hands together and called it a day. Or maybe he would have sat back among a crowd to recount all that he had done. That is what I would have done. But that was not Jesus’ way.

Jesus was more concerned about the risen girl’s needs. She was not a project to him; she was not a means to make himself look better. Jesus saw the young girl as a person with needs and fears. While everyone else was ecstatic and shocked, Jesus saw that the girl was hungry and told her mother and father to give her some food.

In God’s eyes we are not means to an end. We are not just one of many pieces in the puzzle. To God, each one of us is a person with our own needs and fears. God is interested in even the tiniest details of our lives. In every moment, remember that there is nothing too trivial to bring to God." Offer up to God every need, from the gigantic to the tiniest. He is authentically concerned about every need.

TODAY'S PRAYER

"Dear God, may we always remember that you are aware of our struggles every moment of our lives. As your people, we thank you for always caring about us." Amen.

Mark 5:35-43

"'35 While Jesus was still speaking with her, messengers came from the synagogue leader’s house, saying to Jairus, “Your daughter has died. Why bother the teacher any longer?” 36 But Jesus overheard their report and said to the synagogue leader, “Don’t be afraid; just keep trusting.” 37 He didn’t allow anyone to follow him except Peter, James, and John, James’ brother. 38 They came to the synagogue leader’s house, and he saw a commotion, with people crying and wailing loudly. 39 He went in and said to them, “What’s all this commotion and crying about? The child isn’t dead. She’s only sleeping.” 40 They laughed at him, but he threw them all out. Then, taking the child’s parents and his disciples with him, he went to the room where the child was. 41 Taking her hand, he said to her, “Talitha koum,” which means, “Young woman, get up.” 42 Suddenly the young woman got up and began to walk around. She was 12 years old. They were shocked! 43 He gave them strict orders that no one should know what had happened. Then he told them to give her something to eat."' In the unbelief of the followers, Jesus had raised up the young girl. And He did so by moving away from the people, with chosen disciples, and called her to get up. He kept even this miracle a secret. We are so blessed! Joe

[leap-loves]

Even Stone Cracks

A drabble I worked on a little while back for my new self-ship, Sticks and Stones! This is pre-relationship, but there are definitely feelings. Feat. Collei!

Tags: @goldenworldsabound

---

Tighnari is a very meticulous person, never taking a risk if it outweighs the benefits, and never when it puts another person in unnecessary risk. 

That’s why Shiko was positive that he didn’t know about the intruders in the forest. A group of treasure hoarders had set up camp deeper in the forest, right in the way of the path that Tighnari had suggested for her and Collei to follow to gather some materials for him. He’d insisted it would be fine because there hadn’t been much activity along that route lately. Perhaps that should have been the first sign something was amiss… 

Currently, Shiko and Collei were hiding behind a tree, within sight of the camp ahead of them. While logically, it would be best for them to abandon the rest of the route and return to report it to Tighnari so he can send a more suited team back to deal with it, Shiko also figured she could handle this. The only reason she wasn’t already in the fray is because Collei is there. She’s still young, and learning to fight. She can’t be left alone, one way or another. 

Looking to the young girl, clinging to her bag and cloak tightly as she stared at the camp, Shiko decided to simply ask. 

“It looks like we have two options… Either we turn back now and let Tighnari know about this camp so he can send a team out to deal with it…” She started, holding up one hand slightly. “Or, I can go and take care of it now, while you stay here and hidden. I don’t think it’ll take me long, and I can handle some treasure hoarders. But I don’t want you to be at risk without having a say in it. And if anything happens, just yell for me and I’ll come running.” 

Collei's face scrunched up in consideration, trying to seriously weigh the options. She wasn't too worried about *herself*, since she was good at running, and Tighnari had been training her with her bow. And Shiko is so strong! It should be okay, right?

"I want to stay." She decided resolutely, looking up to Shiko. 

Shiko nodded, giving her a soft smile and carefully setting her travel pack down. "Alright. Just stay over here and watch our things, okay?" She instructed. 

Once Collei gave an understanding nod, Shiko walked out from behind the tree towards the Treasure Hoarder camp, summoning her sword. It didn't take much more than that for their attention to be on her, and the fight to commence. 

Collei peeked out from behind the tree to watch, not having gotten the chance to see Shiko actually *fight* before. Train, of course. Spar, on occasion. But *fight*? That turned out to be a different, beautiful story. 

Despite her Geo vision, Shiko had a very fluid fighting style, almost as if dancing with her opponents. She twirled between hoarders, spinning down onto one knee and using her sword to trip them up, standing again without the slightest hitch. At one point she used her sword as extra balance to kick a treasure hoarder in the head and take him out of the fight. 

But she didn't seem to notice the potioneer behind her. 

Collei's eyes widened in fear when seeing him ready a potion, a pyro one it seemed, aiming at Shiko. 

While she knows that it's dangerous, that she's nowhere near ready to actually be in a fight… Collei knows she can't just do *nothing*. So without thinking on it too hard, she summoned her bow, a simple training one, but it was good enough. She nocked an arrow, closing one eye to focus and aim. She finally released the arrow, managing to intercept the potion bottle and shatter it early. 

It took everything in her to not cheer at the accomplishment, but all excitement died as the color drained from her face once she realized what she'd done. The entire fight paused long enough for all conscious participants to look towards her. She blew her cover. 

A few of the hoarders turned their sights on her, Shiko sneering in frustration. "Your fight is with me!" She shouted, stabbing her sword into the ground. Golden Geo energy started to crackle through the earth, taking a jagged path towards Collei before the energy shot up and made a protective bubble around her. A shield. 

A few potions hit the shield, but it didn't break. So the hoarders turned their attention back to Shiko, who was now fighting without her sword. It was still fluid, but there was more force behind every movement. Each blow almost made Collei think the earth itself was shaking. 

Now that Shiko was splitting her energy between the fight and maintaining the shield, she was taking more hits. She couldn't spare the energy to make mini shields to catch attacks. Fortunately the injuries were minor, small grazes and burns, easily treatable. But Collei couldn't shake the guilt that she had messed with the fight. Now she was getting hurt, thanks to her. 

By the time the last Treasure Hoarder fell, Shiko could feel her entire body shaking. She hadn't exerted herself that much since getting to Sumeru. Seems like she's out of practice… She'll need to work on that. 

With careful steps she returned to her sword, drawing it from the ground and dismissing it with less flourish than usual. The shield dissipated shortly after, and Collei came running over with their bags in hand. 

"Miss Shiko! Are you okay?" She started, her eyes already watering faintly. "I-I'm so sorry, I should have listened and just stayed hidden but I didn't want you to get hurt, but you just got more hurt, and-"

Shiko cut off the rambles with a gentle hand slowly placed on the young girl's head. "Collei, look at me." She instructed, her tone firm enough to get through the panic, but still gentle enough to not be scolding. 

Collei sniffled and looked up at her, taking a hiccupy breath. 

"I'm okay. This injuries are negligible," even though Tighnari is bound to scold her for her carelessness when they get back, "and that was a much needed workout. Getting hurt in fights like these show you where you most need to improve. It looks like I need to focus more on my Vision training." 

Offering her a soft smile, Shiko asked "Are you okay, Collei?" 

Collei whimpered a bit but nodded, rubbing at her eyes. "I'm okay. Thanks to you…" 

"That's all that matters." Shiko reassured. "We should keep going though, if we're out for too long then Tighnari might worry and send a search party." She wasn't even totally joking, either…

Collei nodded and offered Shiko her bag, but as they got ready to leave, that first step seemed to be the last straw for Shiko's body. 

Collei helped as her mentor collapsed, scrambling to try and help catch her, only to be pulled down too. "Are you okay??" She asked, her panic back full force as she tried to check her over for injuries. 

"I'm fine, I'm fine." Shiko tried to reassure despite how breathless she was, staying laid down on the ground for the moment. Apparently she needs the rest, after all. "I suppose that was just more than I can usually handle… just another thing to improve on."

"You need to rest, we should get you back to the village." Collei frowned, looking around. She knows the way back, of course, but… "I don't think I can carry you…" 

"Don't worry about that." Shiko reassured "Just give me a little while and we can keep going. I'm not going to let something like a little battle exhaustion get in the way of our task."

"But… Master Tighnari says that all exhaustion should be taken care of as soon as possible and is very serious…" Collei mumbled, fidgeting with her cloak again. Nothing they have really helped with exhaustion either…

"Yes, yes. That's why I'll rest for a few minutes so I can recover, then we can keep going. Though, if we meet any further opposition, we'll have to turn back." She didn't like the idea, but it was the safest option. She wasn’t in any condition to fight right now, and she sure wasn’t going to have Collei fight. 

Collei was hesitant, shifting her weight before nodding. “Okay… you get some rest.” She agreed finally, holding the straps of her backpack. 

Comforted that Collei would be okay with sitting still for just a few minutes, Shiko closed her eyes to let herself rest for just a few minutes. Surely just a few minutes is all she’ll need, right? 

When she next opened her eyes, her entire body felt heavier than before, and rousing herself from an apparently deep sleep was proving difficult. It was only the very careful jostling of her body that caught her attention enough to wake her. 

First, she was hit with the smell. Warm, and floral. Familiar. Safe. Tighnari. 

Wait. What's Tighnari doing here? He should still be at Ghandarva Ville… 

That's when she finally started to pay attention to the talking around her. 

"-just collapsed!" Collei was saying, her voice wobbly from worry, clearly having been panic-rambling. Bless her heart….

"Fortunately from what I saw, her injuries should not be the cause. She likely just over exerted herself with her Vision." Tighnari reassured, his voice making his chest vibrate in a surprisingly soothing way that threatened to pull Shiko back to sleep. 

There was some quiet, only accentuated by the sound of shuffling fabric as the two began walking. "So… it was because she had to protect me…?"

Tighnari gave a small hum as he considered, a common acknowledgement that he wasn't ignoring them. "Technically, yes. However, I am grateful that she did, even if I wish it had not been so detrimental to her. Had I the ability, I would have done the same thing. And knowing her, it is safe to conclude that given the opportunity, she would do the same thing again in a heartbeat." He reassured "So do not beat yourself up for it. Based on your report, you stepping out to help likely prevented further injury as well, so it could have been considerably worse had you not acted. I'm proud of you." 

Shiko couldn't help a tiny smile hearing that, of course agreeing. She's proud of Collei too, she made an excellent shot after all! But she didn't have the energy to vocalize it yet, shutting her eyes again. While the logical part of her brain told her to try and walk on her own, she can rest once back at the village… she couldn't resist the temptation to indulge. 

And when she heard him look down at her in his arms, softly reassuring her she was safe, that she could rest… that was all the permission she needed to let her exhaustion take hold again. 

The next time she was aware of her surroundings, she was laying completely on something soft. They must have made it back to the village. How long ago? Is her body still heavy from the fatigue, or has she been laying still for too long?

Opening her eyes only served to raise more questions than given answers. This wasn't her home, so who's was it? Glancing around sleepily told her it was Tighnari's. His room specifically, if the notes were any indication, or the brush on the corner of the desk that still has some dark blue-green fur and hair stuck in the bristles. 

Feeling something warm near her she looked down, seeing Collei also napping, sitting in a chair beside the bed and leaned forward to use the bed and her crossed arms as a pillow. Poor thing was far too worried over some simple elemental exhaustion… Shiko just hopes this will come to the young girls' mind whenever she considers pushing herself. 

Before she could do much else, Tighnari was coming back into the room with a tray and a few bowls, his ears perking up slightly more when seeing Shiko staring at him. After a quick glance over to Collei, he quietly crossed the room and used his tail to carefully clear some space off of the desk to set the tray down. 

"I see you're finally awake." He commented, his voice so soft it could barely even be considered a whisper. "How are you feeling?"

Shiko took the chance to take stock of herself, stretching out the arm that is furthest from Collei. She was stiff, but she can *move*, so she'll take it. 

"Better than I last remember, honestly." She admitted, doing her best to match his tone. "Feels like I've been run over by an angry Sumpterbeast, but I can move, so it's an improvement." 

Tighnari let out a soft chuckle, examining some of the bandaging he'd done on her exposed limbs, ensuring they were still secure and not in need of changing. "Improvement is good, and soreness is to be expected after the exertion Collei described." 

"So long as she's okay, it was worth it." Shiko mumbled, reaching down to gently smooth out the young girl's hair. It looked more wild than usual…

Collei didn't stir at the affection save nuzzling more into her arms, seeming to relax a bit more after the initial touch. 

"She ran all the way back to the village by herself to get me and bring me back to you." Tighnari told her gently "By the time we reached the village, she was about as exhausted as you, but her panic kept her functioning until I could reassure her you were perfectly fine, and even then she insisted on staying close so she could apologize to you first thing." 

Shiko frowned at that, letting out the tiniest of huffs. "Silly girl… I told her to give me just a little bit to rest and we could keep going… though, I suppose it wasn't just a 'little bit', if she could come here and back without me ever realizing…" 

"If she hadn't, I can only imagine how long it would have taken for us to find you two." Tighnari mused, offering her a bowl of what was now recognizable as soup, warm and smelling absolutely heavenly. 

"That is true… still, it was dangerous… She may have come a long way in her training, but I'd still be hesitant to let her free in the forest by herself, especially with that camp having been so close to our usual paths…" Shiko mused, taking a few sips of soup to relax and distract herself. 

"As true as that is," Tighnari agreed "I would rather she have done that over something less serious, than her have stayed put with you if you were more injured." He said, having his own soup and leaning against the desk casually. 

"I suppose I can't argue that." Shiko admitted with a small chuckle, her expression soft. She certainly couldn't be mad at Collei for her concern, after all. “Though I am rather surprised that you aren’t lecturing me over my carelessness.” She said, half-teasing. His lectures are rather infamous, after all. 

Taking a pointed sip of his soup, Tighnari gave a noncommittal shrug. Though, Shiko found it rather strange that he wasn’t looking at her when he answered. “There isn’t much to lecture you for. You train hard, and that was an unanticipated situation. You prioritized you and Collei’s survival and safety, as you should, and did minimal damage to the ecosystem, all while handling an immediate threat instead of leaving it for others far less equipped to handle it than you to deal with. The only room for improvement would be in you resting more adequately, so that you can balance out your intense training routine and avoid being as easily exhausted.” 

After a moment pause, he finally looked up at her, almost seeming… panicked?

“Not to say that being exhausted after the effort of fighting a group of Treasure Hoarders yourself while maintaining a construct is wrong or otherwise a sign of inadequacy, simply that your ability to maintain that stamina would be improved with improvements being made to balance your training and the rest that is necessary for our bodies to properly heal and recover from the strain-”

He was cut off by Shiko’s quiet laughter, which she attempted to muffle behind her soup, taking a few sips and relishing in the warmth that soothed her aching body. “Tighnari, relax.” She reassured with a soft voice. “I understand what you mean, and yes, I do probably need to work on taking adequate breaks… as rich as that is, coming from you.” She teased lightly. “The only way it could possibly be more ironic is if it were Cyno telling me this.” 

Shaking her head at the thought, she focused on her soup again. “So I plan to take the time I need to recover from this, then get back to training, since I still have a ways to go… But I know between you and Collei, I won’t be able to get away with pushing myself for quite some time now.” 

“Absolutely correct.” He nodded, frowning as his brows furrowed slightly, looking over at her in concern. “I was rather concerned when Collei came rushing into the village, as distraught as she was, and without you… Even once I reached your location with her I wasn’t able to dispel the anxiety that had built up in either of us until we got back and I could properly look you over…”

He paused to let out a slow breath, as if trying to steady himself, his tail twitching anxiously despite being semi-pinned against the desk. 

“Shiko, I was… I was scared… that your condition would be worse than I could help with. That there were hidden injuries, or an exhaustion that simple rest wouldn’t remedy…” He admitted hesitantly, his ears pinning back before glancing over at her again. “You are very strong, and capable. That is undeniable. However, that doesn’t make you infallible. You are still human, and humans sometimes must slow down, so that they don’t crash and burn… None of us here want to see that happen to you. To watch you work yourself until you crumble to dust. Myself especially, I want to see you grow and thrive here, like the roses.” 

While admissions of concern certainly weren’t rare, even from Tighnari, the way it was conveyed was so new. Technically a lecture, but in a way it was more so a… confession. Laying his thoughts and emotions out in the open instead of relying so heavily on logic. It left Shiko shaken, carrying a weight she wouldn’t have anticipated. 

“I understand…” she admitted after a few beats of silence. “I promise, my intentions aren’t to worry you, or Collei, or any of the others… I just… want to be able to protect you. All of you. This is my home, this is my family, and I refuse to sit by and do nothing when there are things that I can do to keep it safe.” 

“By resting and taking the time to slow down, you are giving us the opportunity to relax as well, without worrying about if you’re okay, if you will hurt or exhaust yourself before you can return to us.” He countered, sighing in frustration. Not at her. Never at her. Well… maybe a little bit at her. “All we ask is that you rest… for now, just aim for a week. Give yourself the chance to recover. Play with some of the kids if your energy permits, or help Collei with her studies. She enjoys spending that time with you, after all.”

Just the mere thought of not training, not helping in a more active manner, left Shiko itching to move. She busied her hands by tracing the design on the bowl in her hands. “A week… I… suppose that I can agree to that.” Not like she has too much of a choice, since knowing Tighnari there is a decent chance he has already told all of the other Forest Rangers that she is meant to be resting, and likely not allowed out of the village for the time being. 

“To avoid you being tempted to train, I’ve also taken the liberty of hiding your sword for the time being. Once you seem to have adequately rested, I’ll let you have it again.” Tighnari added casually, snorting once into his soup at her surprised glare, with no true heat to it. Just a playful betrayal. 

“Rude.” She mumbled with a small pout, missing the affectionate way his expression softened at the action. It was so rare to get such an open and playful response from her, and served to remind him how much she trusted him. Hopefully this means that she’ll trust his judgement, as well, and will actually rest as he instructed. 

“So rude.” He agreed, finishing his soup and stretching out. “Try to get some more sleep. If you need anything, just call for me.” He instructed, going to take her finally empty bowl. “I have a few things to attend to, but don’t worry about interrupting me.” Though he has a sneaking suspicion she’ll still try to do things herself. She’s only exhausted, not injured, so he figures that if her body lets her, he can’t stop her. With Collei there, she should be less likely to try and push herself for the moment. 

“Yes sir.” Shiko teased, giving him a playful little salute before he left, soft chuckles shaking his shoulders as the door shut behind him. 

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Timestuck AU: The Power of Mabel ch.2

While fighting over a time machine so one twin can win a pig or the other can win the heart of a girl, Mabel is left stranded in a snowy forest with no time machine and no brother. Oops.

The BEAUTIFUL art pieces were done by @clownwry and @elishevart ! THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! 😭❤️💋

ch.1 - ch.3

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford was way more nervous than he was letting on.

She had long, pretty brown hair, braces over her teeth, sneakers, a skirt, and a sweater that allowed the cold air to pass through it. Her cheeks were slightly chubby with youth and nosy, as well as her nose, due to the freezing weather. Her eyes matched her hair perfectly, and though they were clouded with fear and confusion, Ford swore he could see sparkling behind the clouds, sparkling that made itself well-known when she asked if she could make him a sweater or when she saw his hands.

She had long, pretty brown hair, braces over her teeth, sneakers, a skirt, and a sweater that allowed the cold air to pass through it. Her cheeks were slightly chubby with youth and nosy, as well as her nose, due to the freezing weather. Her eyes matched her hair perfectly, and though they were clouded with fear and confusion, Ford swore he could see sparkling behind the clouds, sparkling that made itself well-known when she asked if she could make him a sweater or when she saw his hands.

Ford would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy Mabel’s company, but she was practically a stranger, and keeping a random girl in his house that was located in the middle of the woods was fishy and Ford couldn’t help but feel like it was illegal. But he couldn’t leave her out in the snow and send her on her way to find her home and family, so he decided to keep her warm or healthy, simply because it was the right thing to do.

But then she said she had no parents to call. Only a brother, who was lost, too. Ford can remember the old rule: If you’re lost, stay where you are until you are found. So he then decided that she could stay here until her brother found her, which should be by morning at the latest.

Still, he felt uneasy, so once Mabel was settled in front of the TV, Ford excused himself and went into the kitchen to make a phone call. There was only one man who would have better judgement in this situation than him.

The phone rang a few times. Ford checked his watch to make sure it was a reasonable time to call. It wasn’t Sunday, was it? But then the ringing stopped. “Howdy! This here Fiddleford McGucket.”

“Hey there, buddy.” Ford smiled to himself at hearing that cheerful voice. “How have you been?”

“Stanford Pines! Good t’hear from ya!” Fiddleford cheered. “M’just fine, just fine! How are ya?! Ya haven’t gotten eaten by monsters yet, have ya?” He laughed, making his old friend chuckle along.

“No no, I’m alright.” Ford almost brought up the reason he called, but then he remembered something very important to Fiddleford. “How are Emma-May and Tater?”

“OH! They’re doin’ great! We’re all very happy n’ doin’ well! Ya won’t believe how big Tate’s gotten since ya last saw him! He’s already crawlin’!”

“Wow, that's great to hear.” Ford sat in a chair at the kitchen table. “Has he said his first words yet?”

“No, not quite. Actually, he’s extremely quiet. Not a lot of baby-babble.” Fiddleford chuckled. “The doctor says that’s perfectly normal. Tate’s so smart, he’s reachin’ for specific colors n’ such, n’ ya can tell he’s thinkin’ a lot n’ knows what’s goin’ on, he just got nothin’ t’say.”

“I was very shy when I was young.” Ford commented casually. He didn't feel like mentioning why. “If Tate is anything like either of his parents he’s very intelligent.”

“Oh, he’s so much like both of us it’s scary. Ya know Emma-May, so clever n’ quiet n’ such. Tate’s got all that. But he already looks so much like me! But he’s got his mama’s hair! N’ Santy Claus brought ‘im this fun little fishin’ game where ya fish for plastic fish with a pole with a magnet on it, n’ he loves it! I can’t wait to take ‘im fishin’ when he’s big enough! Ya really outta give yourself a break n’ come down for a visit, he’d move to see his Uncle Ford again.”

Ford’s face felt hot. “Perhaps. Spring is when a lot of anomalies are active and breeding, so i would prefer not to miss that, but maybe I could visit for a weekend before that…”

“Well, no pressure, I won’t assume anythang until ya tell me to, just know there’s always a bed for ya here.”

“Thank you, Fiddleford. The same for you and your family. The clean air will do everyone some good.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Fiddleford sighed happily and perked up. “So! Whatcha callin’ for? Not that I’m not happy just t’chat, but ya never call.”

Ford laughed and shrugged to himself. “I suppose I don’t. I’m sorry.”

“No need t’be sorry, Stanford, just wanna know what’s up.”

“Well, I was hoping to get your advice on something.”

“Shoot.”

“Um… well…” Ford rubbed the back of his neck, unsure how to tell him this. “I heard some unusual sounds outside today…”

“What kind of unusual sounds?”

“Cracks, like lightning. And some faint yelling.” Ford answered. “I thought it might be a tree branch or a new anomaly to catalogue, but when I opened the door a young girl was standing there in the snow with no coat.”

“Heavens! Is she alright?!”

“She’s okay, no frostbite. She was cold, but after sitting by the fire, drinking some hot chocolate, and changing into some dry clothes, she’s okay now.”

“Well, good.”

“So of course I brought her in. I tried to call her parents, she probably got lost playing…”

“Sure.”

“... but she says she doesn’t have any parents.”

“Oh.” Fiddleford sighed. “Oh. Now, wait, are ya sure she didn’t just say that so ya wouldn’t call?”

Ford chuckled and said, “I first thought that too, but she looked too sad to be lying.”

“Okay, I see. Does she got somebody ya can call?”

“She says she has a brother, but he was out there, too. So he is probably out there looking for her and therefore nowhere near a phone.”

“Fair enough, okay. So, I reckon y’all are waitin’ for him t’come ‘round.”

“Yup.”

“Well sounds to me like you’ve handled this all pretty well.” Fiddleford said confidently.

“You think so?” Ford asked. “I can’t help but feel like I’m doing something wrong. Like I’m missing something. Am I doing something wrong?”

“Nonsense, buddy, you’re doin’ great.” Fiddleford assured. “Look here, ya can’t just leave a young gurl out in the snow t’try t’find her way home...”

“I agree.”

“... so ya really got one option n’ that’s t’keep an eye on her n’ let her in as a guest. N’ ya tried t’call, but nothin’. The best thang ya can do right now is be there for this lil’lady n’ just be kind t’her. N’ if nobody comes for her by mornin’, why don’t ya go into town n’ see if anybody knows her, then they can help y’all out.”

Ford nodded, then remembered that his best friend couldn’t see it, so he said, “Yeah, that sounds like a good plan. Thank you, Fiddleford.”

“You’re welcome. N’ hey, are ya okay?” He asked seriously.

“Yes, yes I’m okay. I just want to make sure I do this right.”

“O’course. I understand. Ya want me t’come down there n’ give a hand?”

“No, that’s not necessary. I’m sure Mabel will find her brother in the morning.”

“Mabel, huh? Well, if y’all don’t, please call me. N’ even if ya do find her brother, call me. Keep me updated.”

“I will. Thank you, Fiddleford.”

“Anytime, Stanford.”

~~~~~~~~~~

When Mr. Ford gave Mabel the remote for the old TV and went into the kitchen, she decided to use her awesome detective skills to figure out what year it was. If it was before Grunkle Stan lived here and opened the Mystery Shack, she must be pretty far back in time. But she had no way of knowing if it was 1999 or 2005 or the 50s.

The TV was old, but so was Grunkle Stan’s in her time. So Mr. Ford could have had this TV for a long time and didn’t want to replace it. 

Okay, so when was the TV made? Mabel didn’t know. Dipper would have known.

Okay, Grunkle Stan mentioned watching TV when he was a kid once or twice. So at least Mabel was when Stan was a kid, okay. 

Mabel turned the TV on and it was in color. Okay, so she wasn’t too far back in time. But the TV was playing a commercial for clear skin. The picture was gritty and all the people in it had puffy hair and long socks and oh my god was that woman wearing legwarmers?! Mabel grinned at seeing her favorite fashion on TV, but then her face dropped. When was she?

She tapped her chin and tried to think of how to know the date without being suspicious. She could ask Mr. Ford, but that might be suspicious. Mabel decided to start flicking through channels to try to guess what year she was in based on what was airing. A lot of shows were about cowboys, space, or game shows. Huh. Okay.

All the TV shows were definitely older. Nothing her dad would watch from when he was a kid, so if Mabel had to guess by everyone’s crazy air, the cheesy TV shows, and the music occasionally playing, she was in the 70s.

Huh. Okay. But she needed an exact year. So Mabel turned off the TV, saw an old radio on a desk, and turned it on to listen.

“... cuz it’s cold doesn’t mean you can't boogie, folks! So grab someone you wanna get warm with, turn up the music, and get your bodies warm in the coolest way possible! Here’s Night Fever, by the Bee Gees!”

Mabel grinned at the disco music. Her personal favorite song from these guys was More Than a Woman, but Night Fever would do. For a moment Mabel forgot her mission, jumped off the couch and left the blanket behind, and in the over-sized gray t-shirt Mr. Ford gave her while her clothes were drying, she danced along to the music, singing the chorus since those were the only words she knew.

“When you reach out for me. Yeah, and the feelin' is right,

Then I get night fever, night fever. We know how to do it! Gimme that night fever, night fever. We know how to show it!”

Mabel laughed at herself as she spun around in her socks and tried to do the point-and-hype dance she didn’t know the name to, but everyone did it when a disco song played.

Little did she know that Ford had returned to check on her, and was smiling at her as she shook her hips and waved her hair around and had fun. He leaned against the doorway and planned to let her dance in peace, but when she did a spin and saw him, she grinned and took his hand. “C’mon, Mr. Ford, come dance with me!”

Ford chuckled and shook his head. “No, no! I can’t dance!”

“You got two legs that aren’t broken?”

“Yes.”

“Then you can dance! C’mon!” Mabel encouraged, let him go when they were both in the middle of the room, and she started to dance again. “Don’t make me dance alone!” She even pulled an evil move and gave him puppy eyes. Rude.

Ford smiled slyly at her and hesitantly copied her boogie moves. It was true that Ford never liked to dance, but there was no one around but Mabel, and though he had only known her for an hour or more, he was sure she would never make fun of him.

And he was right.

“Wow! Look at you, Mr. I-Can’t-Dance! Yeah!” Mabel hopped on the couch, standing, and took Ford’s hand. “Here, I’ll spin you!”

Ford laughed and allowed it, doing a single spin, but then scooping her in his arms to dip her and then let her down, making her laugh as they continued to dance. 

“Alright alright, you crazy cats, that was Night Fever by the Bee Gees! It's a snowy day here in the heart of Oregon, with snow flurries coming in harder all night, but it should clear up by morning and be a fun day to go out and play! The date is January 26th, 1978 in case you gotta write a check or mail a thank you note to a friend or family member. I’m still writing letters for Christmas! We’ll be right back with some of your favorites after a word or two from our sponsors, so don’t go anywhere!”

Mabel stared at the radio. “Wow, 1978.” She breathed. Her parents were only kids right now, maybe only six or seven-years-old. Wow.

Ford chuckled. “I know, I’m still in the bad habit of writing ‘77.”

Mabel realized her mistake, but was grateful her host misunderstood her. “Me too.”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for dinner. How about some ramen noodles?”

“Yes, please! Can we play a game after we eat?”

“Sure. I don’t have many board games, but I do have a deck of cards.”

“Do you know any card tricks?!”

“A few.” Ford admitted, wiggling his fingers. “There are some advantages to having more fingers than average.”

Mabel grinned up at him and followed him to the kitchen for dinner.

[the-broken-truth]

The Dollmaker's Healer - Yandere Donna Benevieto x Reader (Part 1)

Memory is both a blessing & a curse - both helpful and hindering - both a miracle and a burden. You remembered how you come to be in the village - One of your late relatives passed away and bequeathed to you their Romanian Estate; you didn't even know that you were of Romanian Descent. Well - you knew your surname had a Romanian meaning but you didn't take much thought into it. Along with the estate - there were a few vaults and chests your late relative hoarded; making one of the richest residents in the village.

After meeting with the lawyer and getting your plane ticket - you traveled to Romanian's Village and was taken to your estate by a horse-pulled carriage.

The Estate was massive - tucked away in the Misty Valley with trees surrounding you; located on the edge of the cliff where the waterfall roared. The estate was about 3 stories - complete with an attic and a basement that was converted into a training room/herbal lab; that was your favorite part of the house. During your time in O/S (Orginal State), you spent a lot of your time hunting with your uncles or making salves and elixirs with your aunts from various plants; documenting the effects to know which were needed at which times.

To your uncles - you were the Bearer of the Eagle's Eye: You saw the furthest and could nail prey from as small as rabbits to as big as elk with a single arrow.

To your aunts - you were the Mistress/Master of the Gardens: Able to identify any kind of plant without fail. You got the best of both worlds and it came in handy considering that you were more attached to the wilds than civilian life.

With that memory of how you come to be here first in your mind, another come - the first time you saw the veiled woman and her puppet. You were standing on the back patio that overlooked the forest below the cliff your home sat - the fog was light this morning and you were just basking in the beauty when you looked to the side and saw another estate on the other side of the opening, sitting on the other waterfall's cliff. - it was grand but not as grand as yours. On the other estate's patio - you could see a figure, dawned in a black dress with a veil covering their face and - was that a doll upon their lap? You watched them for a while before the doll - it moved on its own, getting out the other person's lap and the two of them looked in your direction before disappearing into the estate. You thought about what the carriage driver told you - The L/N Estate was close to the House Beneviento - the current and only head of that family was Donna Beneviento, also known as the Dollmaker. You didn't think anything of it and went back inside your home to make some new healing salves you came up with.

A few months had passed since you first come to the village - you knew nothing here was normal: Lycans attacking at times, mutated wolves coming up out of nowhere, and then...there were the Daughters of the Castle - you encountered them a few times but you were able to defend yourself; sometimes leaving with a bite or a few scratches but it was never too bad.

One morning - you noticed that you were out of meat and grabbed one of the purses of Lei from the chest and put on your cloak before heading out the door. At this time - you developed of a bit of a reputation: You've used your salves for the people of the village and the sick got better, the hurt was relieved of their pain, and the restless was sleeping soundly; you made it into a bit of a business and it was very profitable. Everything was going great...until...the moment you met them.

"Excuse me. Are you Y/N L/N of L/N Estate?" A low voice called out behind you as you paid for your meat from the butcher. It was her - the veiled woman and beside her - clenching onto her dress - was the small doll you saw with her that day.

"Yes. I'm Y/N. May I ask who you are and what business you have with me?" You asked her.

"My name is Donna Beneviento - Head of House Beneviento. I came to find you because...I was hoping you could help me with my problem." Donna spoke in a low voice.

"What kind of problem?" You ask.

"It's her scar." The raspy voice of the doll called out - causing you to look at her. "She has a scar upon her face that she would love to be rid of but nothing she tried in the past seemed to have worked." The doll spoke.

"I'm guessing you're her companion? What's your name?" You asked the doll. The Doll and the Dollmaker were surprised - you weren't frightened by a talking doll?

"Angie. My name is Angie." The doll spoke. "You do no fear me?"

"At this point, I've seen a lot of things, Angie. Nothing really surprises me anymore here. So - what can you tell me about the scar?" You asked.

"It's...more of an infection caused than a common mortal wound." Donna's soft voice spoke as you stood back at your height to speak to her.

"An infection. Wait - was it caused by a Cadou?" You asked with a raised eyebrow - making both the doll and the dollmaker gasp.

"You know about the Cadou?" Angie exclaimed.

"Yes, I've dealt with a few cases of Cadou Scarring during my time here in the village. I made an elixir - while it can't get rid of the Cadou itself, it can make it so small that it gets rid of the scarring it leaves behind." You said with a smile.

"You...You can get rid of the scarring without getting rid of the Cadou? I...This is what I need - when can you do it?" Donna's voice was a bit louder - laced with hope that she could be free of the horrible scar without getting rid of the gift her mother gave to her.

"I have some vials of Cadou Represser at home; I don't feel quite comfortable allowing unknown people coming to my home but I can to yours - if you're comfortable with that. It will take 3 does - each a week apart." You explain.

"Yes - I can accept that. When can you come to House Beneviento to give me the first dosage?" Donna asked, her hands trembling with excitement.

"Once I'm done here - I dropped the food off at home, grab the vial and a fresh syringe, then meet you both at House Beneviento. Is that alright?" You ask with a tilt of your head.

"I...Yes. Please do come." Donna said as she gave a slight bow and turned on her heel before walking away with Angie at her heels. You smiled at the thought of aiding someone else with your knowledge and continued shopping - completely unaware of the smile and blush the veiled woman hid.

[A While Later]

After returning home and placing the food in the proper places - you made your way down to the Elixir Lab - that's what you liked to call it - and opened the cabinet to get a fresh bottle of Cadou Represser along with a fresh syringe - the cap securely over the needle to make more it was not contaminated by anything. You placed the two in your baggy jacket pocket before leaving your home once again. You began your journey to House Beneviento - crossing the wooden bridge that looked like it could collapse at any moment to the misty forest full of hanging dolls; you just looked at them and continued on your way until you came to a large grave surrounded by at least 20 smaller ones - looking at the gravestone of the large grave, you noticed that half of it was gone but the surname remained.

'Beneviento.' Sadness grasped your heart as you realized what you were looking at. 'Her family's massive gravesite. She really has no one besides Angie and her adoptive mother; that poor soul.'

You closed your eyes and brought your hands together in front of your chest in a praying manner - praying for the departed Beneviento Family & Donna's Happiness; no one should be as alone as she was. You finished your prayer and continued on your way - completely unaware of the porcelain eyes watching your move since you walked in the forest.

Upon arriving at the Beneviento Manor - you wanted up the wooden stairs to the door and knocked.

"Who is it?" The voice of Donna called out from behind the wood.

"It's Y/N. I'm here to do the treatment." You responded.

"Oh, please come in; the door is unlocked." Donna called out again.

You opened the door and saw Donna sitting in her wooden rocking chair near her round table; a cup of tea cooling by her side.

"Hello, Ms. Beneviento." You greeted as you made your way over to the veiled woman.

"Hello." It was simple and soft but you couldn't say anything about it.

With her permission - you lifted her veil to reveal her face and the Cadou that covered the right side of her face. Donna waited for you to utter about how horrifying she was but when she looked at your face, she saw the light blush creeping across your face. She asked if you were alright but all you said was: beautiful.

It was her turn to blush now.

No one ever called her beautiful - especially after seeing her scar. Donna felt a fluttering feeling in her stomach and warmth in her chest but she said nothing. You apologized for staring but she said it was alright; you thanked her before you gathered the supplies you brought with you and began your work. Filling the syringe with the liquid, you informed her that it would be a small stick and maybe some discomfort but it would pass in a few moments - she understood and you injected the Cadou Scar with the tip of the syringe and slowly injected the liquid until it was empty. You gathered your stuff but looked into the eye of the woman with a smile.

"I understand your reason but you really shouldn't cover your face, Lady Beneviento; you're very beautiful." You said with a smile.

"You... Do you really think I am beautiful?: Donna asked as you lightly dabbed the injection spot with an alcoholic wipe to make sure the injection site wasn't infected.

"Of course you are. You're a little different but that just adds to your beauty." You replied as your rose to your feet, gave her a polite bow before turning to leave but was stopped by her voice.

"Wait... Do you have anything else you need to be doing at this moment?" Donna asked.

"Not today. Why?" You asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Then...would you like to stay for tea?" Donna asked as she gestured her hand to the teacup.

"I would love to." You answered.

That's how it began - ever since the treatments started: you would go over to Donna's house just to see her and Angie, the two of them seemed to lighten up whenever you came around. During the second treatment, Donna asked you about her personal life - mainly: If you had a lover at home? This made you blush and Donna looked at but annoyed but when you said you didn't have a lover, she seemed to relax. After the second treatment - the Cadou was more than half as small as it was when the treatments started. Donna would ask you to stay more and more often, even when you had other clients to tend to - she was always upset when you had work but she didn't let her emotions get too involved...until that day.

It was a few days before her last treatment - the Cadou was so small that it only covered her right eye - the two of you were sitting and drinking tea and eating lemon cake squares; you made some and thought Donna would like one so you brought some over. Donna was talking about a new doll she was working on but when you didn't engage in conversation, she looked at you and saw you were zoned off somewhere. She gained attention once again and asked you what was on your mind - you informed her you met someone in the village.

This made her drop the cup in her hand, making it crash against the teacup platter resting on the table, shattering both.

"What do you mean - you met someone?" Donna asked with a low voice.

"Well - her father was one of my clients and she was thankful for my help. I ran into her in the village a few times running errands and she and I have been hanging out." You said with a blush on your face - this angered Donna more.

"But...Why would you need to hang out with her when you have Angie and me? Are we not enough for you?" Donna almost hissed at you.

"Well, she seems nice and we have a lot in common. She wanted to take me out to dinner tomorrow - it will be like our first date." That made something in Donna snap.

"A Date? With her?" She was silent for a moment before she spoke again. "No."

"What do you mean 'no'?" You asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Just what I said - you will not date this woman. You will not see her again." Donna said.

"And just who are you to tell me who I can or cannot see? My Mother? Donna, I'm a grown (Man/Woman), I can see who I want." You protested.

"I said you're not allowed to see her again; just listen to me and leave that woman alone. All you need are Angie and I." Donna said as she rose to her feet and made her way over to the stairs but stopped when you spoke again.

"Donna, you can't tell me who to see. You don't own me." You said.

"You need to listen to me - you are not allowed to see her again; just let it go." Donna gripped the rail of the stairway.

"You know what? I think I've been here for far too long to the point you think you can tell me what to do like you own me. I think I should leave." You walked to the door and reached out for the handle when the air suddenly got heavier.

"No. Don't...Don't leave me... You can't leave me, Y/N. Please." Donna called out as she began walking over to you but you kept your distance.

"No, I need to leave. I'll see you in a few days to finish the treatment but after that - we are no longer friends, Donna." Those words made Donna's blood freeze.

"No... No. Don't say that!" Donna's face raised as she lunged forward and grasped Y/N's hand. "Please, don't leave; I need you, Y/N. You can't just leave me." Donna begged.

"Watch me." You removed her hand walked out the door, slamming it behind you.

Donna fell to her knees and hugged herself, sobbing and begging for you to come back, to hold her and tell her you wouldn't leave her.

"Don't you understand, Mommy?" Angie's voice called out. "It's that other woman, she's making them think they don't want to be with you. If she wasn't in the way - you and Y/N would be together."

"Yes... I know it's her fault." Donna clenched her head and started laughing to herself. "She wants to take them from me. My Healer, my light, my love. But I won't let her. Don't worry, Y/N; once that weed in our garden is ripped out...it will just be us....Forever."

[youryanderedaddy]

Bewitched

I say fuck writing schedule m’rite hahaHa... 

Dynamic: Yan!witch hunter x witch darling

Summary: You get captured by the village’s witch hunter but he might just let you live if you prove to be useful.

tw: nsfw, non-con, threats, mention of religous themes (God, Devil, etc), kindapping, obsessive/possessive behavior, slight violence, degradation, vulgar language

 You could hear something. It was different from the sweet songs of the birds early in the morning or the restless howl of the wolves just before the clock hit midnight. And the smell was different too. There were no daisies, roses, magnolia or herbs to cleanse the air from the nasty smell of humans. Your clothes reeked of someone unknown, someone mortal and cruel, foolish down to their heart. Your hands were tightly bound, your shoulders pushed back in a way it was hard to feel the energy running in your own veins. There was a leather blindfold over your eyes, dulling your senses until you felt like nothing more than an animal trapped in a cage. As soon as despair managed to find its way into your lungs he entered the room and you knew instantly it had been him who had captured you.

 "You are awake." The man noted quietly as his heavy yet careful steps got louder, closer. Soon his hand was resting on your thigh, drawing small pictures, initials, anything to throw you off balance and keep your mind closed and your inner vision too blurry to focus more on killing him and less on the shame his touch brought. "The village paid me to kill you. We know you are a filthy creature of the night." He spoke trough his teeth in a eery, off-putting way. You could feel the cold sharp end of his silver dagger poking at your exposed collarbone, near to your neck. One inch away from a fatal wound, one move away from taking your life forever.

 "Go on then." You taunted the hunter while licking your scarlet lips, your heartbeat still violent with no sign of slowing down any time soon. "Kill me." You whispered despite the fear tearing at your insides like a wild beast. The blade suddenly pressed harder against your skin, enough to make you still frozen but lacking the actual strength to pierce. The human knelt down next to you, never dropping the deadly weapon from its sacred spot on your vulnerable neck. "You are a witch. The Devil's own spawn and blood. I just can't let you live among us." The man uttered quickly like a curse yet made no attempt to move the edge deeper. And you wanted to tell him everything about the sisterhood and the way all of you lived in peace and quiet until the villagers started killing off your friends for existing. The way you loved nature and harmony and despised violence, but of course the human would never listen to a dirty sorceress, a witch. So you just stayed there motionless on the ground, reconciled with your terrifying fate and its twisted ways.

 Meanwhile the hunter let the dagger penetrate into the warm flesh, drawing a few drops of fresh blood, and it dripped onto the floor like a brook of suffering. But the man was hesitating - his palms were sweaty and his eyes were hazy, he was unsure. After a few painful moments of indecisiveness he finally pulled the blade away and threw it in the dark corner of the room. The following silence filled the space with tension so heavy it could suffocate until the villager opened his mouth. "You have seduced me with this unholy body of yours." Adam said sternly and clenched his fists. "That's why I can't kill you." His voice was low and dangerous yet desperate and defeated. "I saw you back then in the forest." He started off as his hand traveled to your cheek and stroked it gently. "You were dancing around and picking flowers. You looked so pure and beautiful - like an angel. I couldn't stop watching you." The hunter confessed quietly and you felt his cold lips on yours. The kiss was bitter, soaked with the humiliation of his advances and the knowledge he had you at his mercy. "Damn your evil magic for making me feel this way". The man dragged his teeth through your lower lip and bit down in anger, moaning into the forced act of fake intimacy.

 He pushed you down aggressively, the ropes digging into your bruised flesh even more now. You couldn't move your limbs at all and you felt too tired to argue or yell at the man. It was clearer than a day that he was obsessed with you but it was far from your doing. If you had known just how easily humans became fascinated by beauty and youth you would have thought twice before using their forest as a home. And as much as you wanted to curse the cruel man forever your heart just couldn't let you harm someone with a beating heart. You were stuck and he was touching you everywhere with a palm so warm it felt like wax on your sensitive skin. Your long black dress was ripped to shreds and all the red beads from your necklace were rolling on the floor as a mockery to your title. You were stripped down to your bones and left with nowhere to hide from the monster trying to break you. The energy in your body was gray and filthy, too weak to do more than upset you even further. 

 "I am going to make you mine tonight. I will use you like the dirty pagan slut you are." Adam cupped your breasts together in a swift move and you shivered at the contact of flesh. His words were painful and didn't help ease the fact that it was the first time someone had touched you in such a private place. In no time your eyes had filled with tears you were too proud to spill but too scared to hold back. "Aww, are you crying, wench? Go on, cry some more for me. When I'm done with you no one will want you. You'll be ruined for anyone other than me." He cooed at you and took hold of your naked legs, spreading them apart which caused you to break down in a pitiful mess of tears, snot and hushed breathes. "You should be greatful I am letting you live. If you weren't so beautiful I would have killed you in an instance." The hunter kept going, his voice low and deprived, his hot fingers brushing against your belly, the disgusting feeling in your guts making your chest tighten, caging your bleeding heart inside. "You are lucky I like taming wild animals." He continued harshly, a crazy look in his enlarged pupils so blue and clear, yet so intimidating and suffocating to its victims.

 You inhaled sharply in a desperate attempt to calm your nerves and begged the villager with any strength left in your trembling body. "Please stop, please, for the love of the universe, just don't do it, just let me go and you shall never see me again." In reply the man simply smirked maliciously and licked his lips as he positioned himself over your open, exposed folds. His hands were rough and grabby, roaming over your frame and groping, digging, pinching every little curve. You prayed to both nature and the Gods above someone would come and take you away from this nightmare but to no avail. "No one will save you, witch. If they find you, you're dead, so you better be nice and quiet like a corpse while I take you." Adam spat out with poison and without any warning thrust his massive manhood into your tight entrance. The pain was sharp and piercing, white and hot. This time you started crying out loud in despair finally having realized you were truly alone. The humans wanted nothing more than to see you burn and now you were getting punished for being different.

 The man didn't spare you any moment of suffering. He would place wet kisses all over your body, bite at the soft flesh until red and scratch any time he felt the need to hear your miserable whines. "Look at the way I'm splitting you open on my cock, you are so damn tight. I wouldn't have guessed you were a virgin if you weren't bleeding like a little bitch." Adam chuckled darkly and hit your cervix over and over again until the pain turned into something else you were too ashamed to name. "If you ever try to tempt someone else with this sinful body of yours I'll fucking kill you." The man cursed under his breath and brought two finger over your clit, stroking it gently and drawing cicles. You threw your head back at the sudden jolt of pleasure and closed your eyes, trying to distance your mind from what was being forcefully done to your anatomy.

 "You feel so good around my cock, so pretty with your tits bouncing every time I pound into you. I love you so much." The hunter suddenly uttered as he slowed down the pace, driving into you with careful thrusts before going back to roughly shoving his length into your sensitive hole. "Say it back." He ordered lowly and smashed his lips on yours pushing his wet tongue all the way in, his hands messaging your breasts and toying with the stiff little nipples on top. You gained the courage to shake your head no so the villager wrapped his fist around your slender neck, giving it a light squeeze as a warning. You had no choice but to mumble a soft "I love you." when your survival instincts took over your dignity. Your sweet broken voice was enough to send the man over the edge and he came violently in your tight channel while whsipering all sorts of terrible, filthy words into your ear.

 You thought the torture was finally over but your hopes were quickly shattered when Adam pressed his fingers over your overestimulated bud and flicked it around, your mind finding it hard to copperhead the intense pleasure after the pain. "Cum for me, wench." He commanded you harshly and kept playing with your love button until your pussy clamped down and you experienced your first orgasm at the hands of a filthy, egotistical human.

 The male stroked your hair gently but still didn't move to undo the ropes keeping you restrained on the hard floor. "I've always wanted you." The hunter admitted in the next moment. You wondered whether you wanted him to shut up or keep rambling to distract you from the shame and humiliation. Your eyes were red and puffy from the sobbing and your head pulsated with dull pain. "I'll never let them catch you." Adam reassured you quietly as he drew small circles on your arm with his knuckles. "I will keep you forever, my love. It doesn't matter that you have succumbed to the Devil because from now own you are only going to serve me." He kissed your neck softly.

 "I'll become your God."

[sambvcks]

crawl home to her, b.b. x reader

chapter three // didn’t care much how long i lived

summary: bucky receives a lesson on modern music over cheap beers and freshly baked scones.

warnings: mentions of abuse, food, alcohol consumption, character death (sorry)

word count: 1.6k

author’s note: besties...how we feeling about today’s episode??? using this as a coping mechanism :)

[ read on ao3 | series masterlist | inbox | join my taglist! ]

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Your record collection was extensive and collecting an unhealthy layer of dust since you had inherited them from your grandmother. It didn’t take long to fish out a Best Of album from the vast shelves, handing over the sleeve to Bucky, who sat patiently on your forest green couch, as you fiddled with the turntable’s needle.

To busy himself, he read over the repertoire of songs listed on the back.

“Let’s Get It On?”

“Usually, a guy buys a girl dinner first, Bucky.” You took a cheeky swig of your beer with an eyebrow raise as he flushed at the insinuation. “We’ll start easy. If I Could Build My Whole World Around You. A criminally under-appreciated love song.”

A bouncy beat crackled through from the speakers as you settled into the couch beside him, tucking your legs beneath you. Today’s choice of pajama bottoms displayed little snowflakes across a navy background, despite the heat outside that still lingered into nighttime.

“I like it.” Bucky decided.

“Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell have so many amazing songs together. She might not sound like it on record, but she had a hard life. Abusive, cheating partners. Brain cancer that killed her young. Hard to know what anyone’s going through behind closed doors.”

I’d put so much love where there is sorrow, I’d put joy where there’s never been before.

“I really like it.”

Your apron still hung from your waist, the gentle tick of the kitchen timer in the shape of a grey cat sat by your side. A reminder of the scones you were whipping up when Bucky unexpectedly appeared on your doorstep. You didn’t question him or bring up the late hour. Simply ushered him in with a smile and a beer shoved into his gloved hand.

Bucky feels comfortable for the first time in a long time. Eyes focused, mind stagnant. Your perfume, woodsy and natural, lingers in the air and he has to take a long gulp of his drink just to occupy himself for just a second.

“I’m glad you like it. Though, I don’t know if I’ve ever met someone who doesn’t like Marvin Gaye. It’s like not liking Queen.”

“Queen?”

The timer rattled on the coffee table and the smell of vanilla and blueberries nipped at Bucky’s nose.

“Saved by the bell! I don’t have the time to berate you on not knowing about Queen.”

You bustled your way back into the kitchen, sliding oven mitts onto your hands as you inspected the oven with a professional certainty. The record out and into the next track as Bucky watched on, your shoulders swaying to the slow tempo. You were light on your feet as you plucked one tray from the heat and replaced it with another.

It was so easy for Bucky to imagine this world as his, with the soft swing of Motown as the soundtrack to your shared afternoons. In a different life, he would come home to your baking, ask how studying went as you swayed in the kitchen together. You would wash dishes next to one another, hips pressed close, and giggle when he would press his sudsy hands onto your cheeks. You would smear remnants of cake batter on his and he would let you feed him dessert from your fingers.

It wasn’t possible, he knew. Probably ever. You would be graduating school soon, off to be an important attorney and he would still just be your across the hallway neighbor who you sometimes shared desserts and pleasantries with. You would find out who he was eventually. Everyone did. You would leave. Everyone did.

You would simply be another in a long line of failed attempts by James Buchanan Barnes.

Still, he thought, we can have this one simple night. Where you don’t know who he is, and he can imagine that it lasts long after he retreats back to his apartment.

‘Heaven must have sent you from above.’ Crooned the lovesick singers on your record player.

As you returned to the living room with another beer and the promise of scones as soon as they cooled, Bucky could only think one thing.

He was definitely starting to like Marvin Gaye.

He was starting to like you, too.

When he returned back to his apartment, hours later with a pile of records you insisted he borrow in his arms and a belly full of blueberry scones, he fell into bed without a care in his mind. It was his first full night of sleep in ninety years.

-

Bucky started appearing on your doorstep more often.

Your number was now saved in his phone and was his most frequently used contact. You were his secret, though, something he didn’t even share with Dr. Raynor. No matter how many times she tried to get him to speak about his troubling lack of acquaintances.

You were the one thing in the world untouched by all the destruction waging a war between his ears, you were easy and simple and God, it had been a long time since anything had been simple. You didn’t mind that he was brooding and a little bit clueless, or his cheesy jokes and complaints about technology these days.

His record collection was quickly growing, though it was still nowhere near yours.

Most of all, he liked sitting in your apartment, at your kitchen counter or on that forest green sofa of yours. Sometimes, you would let him pick a record and tell him everything you could remember about it. Other times, you would read from your heavy law books and he’d pretend to understand the cases and terminology, head resting against the back of your couch, admiring how your brows would furrow in concentration. He’d tell you not to hunch over your book, but you’d insist you were fine, only to be complaining about your neck the next time he saw you.

“I wish I read more actual books, you know? It seems like all I know these days are case studies.”

The next visit he’d have a worn copy of one of his favorite books tucked under his arm. He’d read to you until you’d doze off to the stories of Bilbo Baggins and his team of dwarves, a blanket tucked up to your neck.

Every visit cemented yourself further and further into his identity, until his trips to the used bookstore down the block became weekly and his morning runs became longer as you pushed more and more baked goods his way. You’d kiss his cheek as you said your goodbyes, leaning against your doorframe as he disappeared into his apartment.

He was happy. Positively, unbelievably happy.

-

Two days before Bucky’s next scheduled visit, Steve died in his sleep.

Pneumonia, or something, Bucky didn’t really comprehend any of the newscast beyond the headline ‘CAPTAIN AMERICA DEAD’ flashing in bold letters across his television screen.

Sam called early that morning and Bucky just knew. He knew what was waiting for him on the other end of that call, so he shut his phone off and laid back on the hardwood floor of his living room, dead to the world.

He didn’t speak to anyone for a few days, not even bothering with his daily runs or grocery store trips. Your knocks at his door went unanswered, with no trace that you had even stood in the hallway waiting for him other than a batch of oatmeal raisin cookies on his doormat. The only appointment he kept was his therapy, where he stared out the window and counted down the minutes until he could leave. Each attempt on Dr. Raynor’s part to bring up Steve was shut down as quickly as it was brought up.

Finally, a week later, a pounding at the door woke him from a restless afternoon nap.

“Buck, I know you’re in there.”

Sam. Of course.

“These boxes are heavy, come on!”

Sam Wilson took up Bucky’s entire doorway with his broad shoulders, the boxes stacked in his arms taking up the rest. Bucky was quick to usher him in the door, eyeing yours across the hall. He knew one look at an Avenger on his stoop would finally connect the dots for you, and you’d never speak to the Winter Soldier again.

“Keep your voice down.” Bucky shoved the final box through the doorway before securing the lock in place.

Sam surveyed his barren living room, eyes flicking to the crumpled bedsheets gathered on the floor next to his sofa but didn’t linger for long.

“I was worried about you, man.”

It used to be ‘we’, but now it’s just Sam.

“Nothing to worry about.” Bucky pushed past him to his kitchen, collecting stray dishes he hadn’t bothered to move to the sink before then. He felt Sam’s careful gaze on him the entire time. He hated that. He hated how much Sam cared.

He mostly hated how much it reminded him of Steve.

“Found these boxes in Steve’s attic. Had your name on them so I thought you might want ‘em.”

Bucky swallowed hard, focused on scrubbing the dishes under water so hot it was turning the skin on his flesh hand a violent red.

“I know this is hard, Buck-”

The glass he had been rinsing shattered between his fingers and Sam took a step back as Bucky heaved in uneven breaths. There was a long silence between the two grieving men, neither able to fully understand the other. Sam would never feel Bucky’s ninety-year heartache, the abandonment and fear of the life ahead of him. Bucky would never understand the weight on Sam’s shoulders or his unease at the shield tucked under his bed at home.

“I just want to be alone.”

Sam could do nothing but respect his wish.

“Call if you need anything.” Were his departing words as he showed himself out.

Bucky got to work cleaning up the broken glass.

taglist: @tisthedamninez @wcndamaxcmoff @freyagallileaevans @bibliophilewednesday @justtoreblogfics @teti-menchon0604 @l-adysansa @heart-eyes-horan @thiswasnevermylifefromtony @rexorangecouny @dilfvision @urafakebetch @comphersjost @am-tired-bois @spid3rgwen​ @beautyandthebleh @euphoricaaaa  @mackycat11 @inadquacy @withyoutilltheendofthismess @motherofallthesmallthings @victoriabaker112213 @macrillez @stvalentiness @nova10711

[bunnie-the-lighthouse]

𝒲𝑒 𝐿𝒾𝑒𝒹~

Pairing: ATEEZ Park Seong-Hwa, ATEEZ Choi San & Reader

Warnings: It’s Suggestive, My Friend. Be Careful. (It’s Kind of Long Too)

Inspiration: Not Gonna Lie, I Don’t Know. 

Basic Idea: You Are In A Polyamorous Relationship With San And Seong-Hwa, Your Guardian Angels. But... They Hide A Deep Secret. 

Type: Fluff & Suggestive

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

On your way back home you were humming a song, enjoying the tune as it was finally Friday. You were hoping to just get home and cuddle with your favorite boys -- your guardian angels, Seong-Hwa and San.

You opened the door and saw Seong-Hwa organizing the dinner table while San was nowhere to be seen. Smiling at the sight, you once again feel comfortable and recharged after entering your house. “I’m home~” you chirped as Seong-Hwa looked up at you. “Oh! Hi baby,” he smiled as you smiled back.

“Where’s San?” you asked as Seong-Hwa brought out the last plate of steak. “He’s playing online with Yun-Ho,” the raven haired angel smiled at you, “Come on, go change to more comfortable clothes and tell Sannie that we have to eat dinner,” he ushered as you nodded and went off to the shared bedroom.

Opening the bedroom door, you saw San being focused on the game. You quickly gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, catching him off guard. “Oh, _____-ie!” he squealed while giving you a smile. “Hwa finished cooking dinner, let’s go eat, okay?” you asked as he nodded.

You then changed to more comfortable clothes, San saying goodbye to Yun-Ho as he then hugged you from behind. “How was work today?” he asked as you chuckled, “Slightly annoying, but now I feel better,” you responded. Turning around, you hugged him back, laying your head on his chest.

Eating dinner was the same as always, you guys shared how your day was and everything was rather chill. Something that did catch your attention was Seong-Hwa’s eyes. 

They would normally shift color from black to a light blue that resembled the sky. This would normally occur when he felt a strong emotion from you, and when you were recounting your story of how your boss yelled at you, you did feel quite frustrated.

However, this time… His eyes didn’t resemble the sky. They blinked a dark turquoise that you’ve never seen before. It caught you off guard, but you didn’t expect the turquoise to be enchanting -- it was mysterious, deep, and full of… Desire?... You weren’t sure yourself.

You decided to let it slide, and soon after dinner you guys huddled up on the couch to watch a movie. “Hyung, should we watch Fifty Shades of Grey?” San asked as the question caught you off guard, “What? Aren’t you guys not supposed to watch those types of things?” you asked, knowing that the movie was quite graphic from reviews -- you yourself never watched it, you just read reviews.

“I’m sure nothing bad will happen,” Seong-Hwa replied as you still felt concerned. Midway through the movie, you of course felt slightly heated -- however you were sort of worried over the toxicity of that relationship, and mainly, the fact that San and Seong-Hwa shouldn’t be watching this because they are angels… Guardian Angels, to make things worst.

As you leaned your head on San’s shoulder, you felt his hand lay on your thigh, which intrigued you. He was a bit playful, but not to this level. You felt a bit more heated, a wave of desire washing over you. And as you calmed down the strong emotion, you glanced and saw how his once emerald green eyes shone a dark forest green.

Something was definitely wrong. And you couldn’t help but feel excited.

“I see that our little baby has noticed something,” Seong-Hwa suddenly spoke, making you whip your head to look at him. “Huh?” you question as you feel fear creep into your system. Seong-Hwa’s eyes shone the same dark turquoise, and rather than returning to his black marbles…

They stayed in the unusual blue.

“Hwa?” you squeaked out as he smirks, you then felt San kiss your neck from behind, his soft hair tickling you slightly. “Sannie?” you asked but quickly got shut up by Seong-Hwa’s harsh kiss. You whimper at the force, closing your eyes.

Seong-Hwa kissed you hungrily as you couldn’t help but also feel aroused by San’s soft kitten licks on your neck. "It took you some time, _____-ie," San purred out against your neck as you were still confused over what the two angels meant.

You then opened your eyes and saw how Seong-Hwa didn't have two white feathery wings behind him. His halo was also missing… Instead, he had wings resembling those of a black dragon. That is also when you felt

Two sharp teeth graze over your sensitive neck.

"Oh babygirl.. We weren't your Guardian Angels.. In the crooked world that we live in, the only things that exist are those who are evil and those who are neutral. Creatures like us.. Incubus, if you may, were supposed to come here..”

“And ruin you,” San whispered in your ear.

“Though, we disobeyed the rules, and fell for a mortal.. We fell for you, _____,” Seong-Hwa confessed as San trailed kisses from your shoulder to your neck, sucking on your sweet spot softly as Seong-Hwa cupped your cheeks.

San pulled away from your neck, looking down at the mark that he left. Seong-Hwa then rubbed your cheek with his thumbs, "We were supposed to ruin you while you slept, darling.. But you won our dark cold hearts with your peaceful and beautiful face. I felt your sorrow from your tear stained cheeks,"

"And I felt your desperation when you hugged your plushie as if it were the only object that kept you sane."

"We felt connected to you.. And we couldn't ruin you," Seong-Hwa ends as you couldn’t help but look away, freeing yourself from the older’s grasp. You stood up and left to the bedroom, overwhelmed from their sudden reveal.

On the bed you sighed, hiding yourself under the blankets. You heard and felt someone shuffling to lay down next to you, someone else then laid on your other side. “Baby girl?” Seong-Hwa asked as you peaked your head out of the blankets, you were pouting, catching the two incubi off guard as they expected you to be mad.

“I hate you two.. For lying to me.. But I also love you two.. For being next to me and keeping me happy,” you confessed, as if opening the gates, allowing the two to enter your heart. You were about to wrap your arms around Seong-Hwa’s neck, but he stopped you by pinning both of your hands above your head.

“Then.. Should San and I.. Show you a whole new world?” he asked, smirking softly while purring out in ecstasy and love. You couldn’t help but feel enchanted by his dark turquoise pearls -- nodding at his statement.

San then chuckled and used his index finger to guide your view towards him, making you peer into his forest green marbles.While he crashed his lips onto yours, Seong-Hwa took the time to start kissing your neck, creating another mark near your sweet spot, to complement San’s mark.

You moaned in the kiss, feeling more heated as San’s hands trailed down and creeped underneath your shirt, massaging your tummy softly -- the friction making you ticklish. As you squirmed slightly, San and Seong-Hwa pulled away. San looking down and imagining your pleasured face as Seong-Hwa blew on the mark, causing you to exhale shakily.

San then laughed, a bit sinisterly, turning you on even more as he unbuttons his dress shirt with one hand, the other moving his hair back. Seong-Hwa also started unbuttoning his shirt, making you feel flustered -- watching two extremely hot incubi undress.

“Oh, by the way, baby girl.. Before we ruin you, remember that we are incubi, so we are more freaky~”

“We’ll give you an experience that you won’t be able to live if you date a human. Us incubi are especially proud of our skills,”

“We’ll make you squirm from the pleasure,”

“We’ll make you scream our name,”

“We’ll make you wish for more”

… “Are you ready?” …

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Hello hello! Bunnie here~

Sorry I’ve been MIA, had to focus lots on school since it’s the last quarter and I was trying to exempt all of my classes to leave school earlier :D

Thankfully, I am officially done with my sophomore year! Yaay! *Claps*

However, one sad thing is that my summer is gonna be hectic =_= so I may not be able to push out as much stuff as I’d like -- I have a summer assignment for AP Language and I’m attending an online Summer Program. 

However, I will try to type some stuff beforehand so that I still have content. 

Anyway, I present to you -- “Guardian Angels” Sannie and Ddeonghwa! :D

Did you like this concept? I did tone down the suggestive since I felt like I crossed the line a few times in the other ones. (Side Note: I did the GIFs myself, which is why the quality is kinda bad T_T)

Please tell me if you liked this! And please! Do send me a message if you have any requests! My inbox is open!

Have fun with your imagination, y’all!

Thanks for the patience and support! I’ll catch y’all next time!

[sugarstickery]

An Allegory Within the Dark

This is an unofficial fan translation of chapter 3 of Jujutsu Kaisen’s first light novel, Departing Summer and Returning Autumn by Gege Akutami and Ballad Kitaguni.

Summary: Mahito stumbles across an unusual human in his search for a place to call ‘home’.

Featured characters: Primarily Mahito, with brief appearances from Hanami and Jogo, along with an unnamed novel-only character

Timeline: An undefined time prior to the events of the Vs. Mahito arc

An Allegory Within the Dark

If you want to hide a tree, you go to the middle of a forest.

So if you’re looking to hide a person, you should go to the middle of a city.

Following that logic, it makes sense for curses worthy of being the true humans to set up their hideout in the city center.

Cursed spirits would actually have it much easier if they spent their time in places crammed with fear where humans and the like can’t live: deep in the mountains or in densely wooded areas, for example.

But for a group of curses plotting to overturn the current era, a base in the heart of the city is crucial for invasion and seeking refuge. That being the case, it’s also better to try aiming for a location with a high concentration of negativity.

Anyway, that’s how some employees from a scam business ended up massacred.

“This really is the simplest way to handle it. All of them nest together up here away from the public eye, so clean-up is a cinch.”

Jogo laughed while trampling the burning remains of a corpse underfoot.

Roughly two minutes ago, there were about six humans in the office.

The curses considered a few ways to handle dispatching them but ultimately decided that burning was the fastest, so Jogo quickly turned them to ash.

“But humans used this building, didn’t they? Won’t it be a problem if there’s property management or something?” Mahito asked, poking at an ostentatious vase displayed on a shelf.

Apparently the concern was unnecessary. Jogo tried to answer with a grin, but a nonsensical language cut into their conversation.

“⏁⊑⟒⟟⍀ ⎎⍜⋏⏁ ⟟⌇ ☊⎍⌇⏁⍜⋔”

“Oi, bastard—! Stop talking, Hanami! It makes my head itch!”

Though Hanami spoke in nothing but meaningless sounds, the intention behind it was somehow transmitted directly into the minds of others. This was usually unpleasant and it irritated Jogo.

When he noticed Mahito still looking his way, Jogo continued to explain despite his frustration.

“Hmph... What? There’s no need to worry. I asked Geto what his aim was, and it looks like these were the kind of underhanded humans who got involved in plenty of unethical things.”

“Hm. So basically, other humans won’t actually come close if they get that curse stuff happens here.”

“Exactly. Any respectable, straight-laced human would never come near this place under normal circumstances. It’s the perfect city-center hideout.”

“Is it really?”

“...What is it, Mahito? You don’t seem satisfied. What’s there to worry about? It would put us in a great position to start preparing our plans for the city, and it’s great for a quick escape if we need one.”

“Mm... No, you’re right, but...”

“But what? Spit it out.”

“It’s just... This room is really tacky.”

“Huh?”

With a pop, a small eruption burst forth from Jogo’s head. His narrowed eye looked like a painting of a gently sloping mountain.

“It’s tasteless, isn’t it? Stuff like that gaudy gold lion in the sparkly jar or this cheap-looking sideboard.”

“What are you even saying?! I have no idea what’s gotten into you lately, but you’ve been so annoying!”

“Movies.”

“Movies? Are those overly-embellished portrayals of humans really that interesting?”

“They’re references for my studies on the structure of a soul,” Mahito replied with an ambiguous smile.

If humans could see him, they might be reminded of a proud elementary schooler discussing the knowledge they gained from a book report.

“If I’m being honest, I don’t find the stories that interesting either, but I don’t hate the sense of visual aesthetics that humans have. That said, this room has too many useless colors and really hurts the eyes.”

“Such bratty, selfish complaints... We can just burn or toss anything that’s an eyesore.”

“No need, I’m going to look for a place to settle down on my own.”

“What? Ah, hey— Where are you going?”

Not waiting for Jogo’s response, Mahito waved over his shoulder and vanished like smoke or a gentle breeze, off to who-knows-where.

“Geez… Maybe it’s because he was born from human fear, but even knowing he’s a curse, he tends to be way too frivolous. Watching movies and all…”

While grumbling out his complaints, Jogo took a pipe from his shirt pocket to put in his mouth.

Unlike human cigarettes, this wooden pipe somehow imitated a screaming face when smoked.

“But that Mahito...”

Jogo spun around to survey the room with his one eye.

“...He says that, but it doesn’t seem tacky to me.”

“⊑⏃⋏⏃⋔⟟”

“I already said shut up!!”

--

You can only find a hideaway that suits you by looking for it on your own.

Mahito wandered through the city with this in mind. He alternated left and right turns on a whim any time he happened across a traffic light, walked alongside stray cats, or sometimes simply went in the direction of clouds that he liked the shape of.

While traveling along his chosen path like this, he keenly felt just how laughable humans were.

Though the city belongs to them, no one walking in and out of it was more free than Mahito.

Everyone seemed constrained. They were captured by ties of obligation and vanity, living in a wide, deep, big city with such narrow outlooks.

Unaffected by the enormous sky sprawling out endlessly overhead, they box themselves into their concrete city with their own hands and limited perception of souls, passing the time by whittling their lives down further and further.

Mahito even learned the words for some of these human concepts to study later.

For example, they call it “morals”. They call it “common sense”. They call it “emotion”.

But a human soul isn’t anything more than the resulting mechanical movement that comes from external stimuli.

And so they let go of freedom and live tightly controlled lives, fearing the judgmental stares of others, stooping to flattery for society’s approval.

“...What a waste.”

Everyone is bound by ostentatious shackles of their own making.

That’s why these curses know there has to be a change, as far as humans go. Those who cannot do anything but crawl in such an unsightly way under the magnificent sky must hand over the world.

Mahito thinks. He ponders over any topic his soul turns toward. He walks wherever the wind blows him.

Before long, the time had come for the sun to descend in the western sky. He could hear the burbling of a river.

--

“Not bad.”

The hideaway Mahito found was under a bridge, across the river.

It was a tunnel, vacant and huge like a temple.

Pipes ran along the inside, clear water flowing from them and into the river. It looked like wastewater was drained here after being purified, so there wasn’t much discomfort.

Apart from the humid air and the moss that emitted a peculiar grassy smell, it seemed wide enough to splash and jump around in, and the concrete’s cool texture provided a refreshing welcome.

There’s a season that curses are partial to.

Negative human emotions accumulate from the end of winter to spring, and it could be said that the rainy season served as the so-called peak of their ripening.

The inside of the damp tunnel held the same atmosphere. There was a gloominess there in the dim lighting that could easily nurture fear. It gently moistened Mahito’s skin; he felt cozy.

“Yeah, let’s stay here.”

When choosing a place to live, it’s best to trust your instincts.

Perhaps humans should do the same, but what they can’t readily do, Mahito can decide without hesitation. If he’s free when he wanders, then he’s free when he settles down, too.

Mahito stepped into the tunnel in good spirits, knocking solidly on the concrete floor.

The soul’s metabolism smooths out in comforting spaces. But…

“Huh?”

After walking a short distance, Mahito discovered “that”.

He initially thought it was some garbage or something that a human illegally dumped. But before long, it became clear that it was a sack-like silhouette leaning against a wall.

At first glance, it perhaps looked like a mere collection of rags.

But the shape of a soul was there.

—Ah, it’s alive.

Yes, just as Mahito had realized, it was a human.

The tattered clothing and wildly overgrown hair and beard hid his shape, but it was undoubtedly a human.

His exact age wasn’t clear from his outward appearance, but whether he was 60 or over 80, he looked elderly.

Mahito thought it was a bit of a pain.

There was already a visitor living in his precious hideaway.

Of course, taking care of this issue would be an easy matter for him. But he felt the same discomfort as a homeowner finding a stain on the wall of their new house.

‘Anyway, if I’m gonna deal with this, let’s get it done,’ Mahito thought, reaching out toward the old man with a little sigh.

Whereupon, unexpectedly, the old man spoke.

“...I’m sorry if you’re displeased.”

“Hm?”

“I don’t know what you came here to do, but... I’m sure your mood has soured after stumbling across the home of an old fool. But I have nowhere to go, either.”

Mahito was a little taken aback.

The old man was clearly aware of Mahito and turned toward him to speak. This wouldn’t be surprising at all if he was talking to a fellow human.

But Mahito is a curse.

The eyes of a mere human can’t clearly perceive cursed spirits.

It isn’t impossible, though. If humans are born with cursed energy, it isn’t unusual for them to be aware of the existence of curses.

What caught Mahito’s attention was this old man’s lack of ‘eyes’.

As in, he had no eyes in the physical sense. Instead, in the empty sockets that once held them, there was a burn scar that was painful just to look at.

Even sorcerers rely on their eyes to view the world.

They depend on their field of vision to spot cursed spirits. That’s why so many of them use sunglasses and the like to conceal their line of sight, as it helps them remain unaffected. It also helps them maintain a balanced mind when their daily life overflows with curses.

However, that was not the case for this old man.

“Can you see me?”

When Mahito asked, the old man answered with a gentle nod.

“At the very least, I can feel you.”

“But you can’t see the world?”

“Naturally. That includes the scenery, what you look like, what color your skin is, and even your gender. Even so... I know you’re there.”

“...Are you a sorcerer?”

“Most likely not.”

“You’re being pretty vague, even though you’re talking about yourself.”

“For a long time, that’s what I’ve been the most vague about.”

Mahito began to notice something strange.

He can feel the shape of a human’s soul.

He knows the movement of a soul’s metabolism, whether it takes on a harsh form, withers weakly, or flickers with liveliness.

However, this old man’s soul was hardly metabolizing.

It was like a meadow with no wind, or a still sea, or the blue sky on a cloudless day.

No, it would be most appropriate to compare it to a stone.

His soul was like a stone on the side of the road.

No fancy ornamentation, no polishing. Unmoving, unwavering.

Calmly passing the time while growing moss.

That was the shape this old man’s soul had.

No matter how calm or how old a person is, the human soul always flickers.

As the years stack up, common sense doesn’t disappear, selfishness isn’t eliminated, and fear isn’t conquered.

But this old man was different.

The old man’s soul was at peace. He had sincerely accepted that everything would decay with time, but that didn’t mean he would throw his life away. It was truly similar to the way in which nature existed.

It was Mahito’s first time meeting anyone like this.

--

For a while, the tunnel became something of a den for Mahito.

He had gotten a hammock from somewhere, which he hung up between the pipes. He lounged in it and read, passing the time in comfort.

In a movie about life on a deserted island, a human who was desperate to survive made a hammock. Through it, he was able to regain a little peace of mind.

Since it looked surprisingly comfortable, Mahito gave it a try and it worked out nicely.

The arguments and fights of the outside world didn’t reach the inside of the tunnel, where only the burble of the small stream could be heard.

It provided a good environment for soothing the soul.

While leisurely absorbing new knowledge from his books, Mahito would sometimes absentmindedly gaze up toward the ceiling, or glance down at the corner where the old man squatted, looking as he always did.

“How do you live like this? It’s pretty mysterious...”

In the end, Mahito didn’t kill the old man.

It’s important to note that the old man wasn’t much of a hindrance for him. If it would make no difference whether he was there or gone, then Mahito figured getting rid of him would be more of a hassle.

The old man was just there, even quieter and more carefree than a stray cat.

Mahito knew the phrase: ‘man is only a reed, but he is a thinking reed’.

He found it hilarious and also genuinely liked it. It simultaneously boasted about being trapped in thoughts of the soul, while also showing that humans were frail as weeds.

It could be said that the old man was an unthinking reed, then.

No – he was even quieter than that; more like grass or some type of moss. In any case, the old man said nothing and simply carried on living.

Every now and then, the old man would suddenly shuffle off elsewhere, but he would be back to sleep before Mahito knew it. He was surely getting food from somewhere, but he never seemed to gain weight. If he lost any while in the tunnel, he would eat just enough to gain it back when he left, and no more.

It was a style of living so close to nature that it seemed more like a phenomenon than a life.

“That’s why I seriously wonder if you can see me.”

The suspicion was uttered suddenly.

Mahito wasn’t exactly speaking to the old man. Rather, his tone was that of someone talking to themselves.

But when he noticed that the old man’s soul didn’t waver even after hearing him speak, Mahito finally addressed him directly.

“How long have you been here?”

“Let’s see… I think a few winters have passed, but I’m not sure,” the old man muttered, his reply quiet.

Since they were two beings with souls who were aware of each other’s existence, Mahito felt it would be more natural to chat every now and then.

“Don’t you get bored?”

When spoken to in a soft tone, the old man also responded softly.

“I’ve forgotten how to be bored.”

“How do you usually pass the time here?”

“I don’t do anything, really. I just listen to the sounds.”

“The sounds?”

“The sounds of the water flowing.”

“...Is it fun?”

“It’s not. But I forgot how to have fun a long time ago, too, so it’s not an issue.”

So it was like that. Mahito nodded.

If this old man could no longer even feel the pain of boredom, perhaps his soul was worn down.

Humans of the city gasp and struggle through the hurt of not having enough, yet always wish for more even when they get what they wanted. Their souls grew fat and tattered through the rich accumulation of these negative feelings.

So in that regard, from Mahito’s point of view, the old man had a thin soul – but it could be said that was clever of him.

A fat and full human soul leads to a fear of losing the gratifying present moment, which in turn gives birth to curses.

“It’s hard to get your attention. What’s your name?”

When Mahito asked, the old man looked into the air for just a second.

“I left that behind. You can call me whatever you like.”

“There are humans without names? Even curses have them.”

“If you don’t meet other people, you don’t need a name.”

“Isn’t it a problem if you don’t have one?”

“When is it a problem?”

“When it’s time to be buried.”

“I don’t need a gravestone with a name. I can just be stuffed into a common grave, or maybe I’ll rot undiscovered and return to the earth that way.”

“Can’t you take a joke?”

“…Was that a joke?”

The old man didn’t laugh. Neither did Mahito.

But Mahito had the feeling that this old man was childish, contrary to his appearance. His lack of attachments created an unsullied disposition that might make him younger than he looked.

His interest in the old man simmered and surged.

It was his first time seeing this type of human, his first time feeling a soul with this form. For Mahito, this was a rare specimen.

What kind of path must life take to make this kind of human? What would be the most intriguing shape to make with a soul like that? What uses could one plan for such a person?

And what kind of curse would be born from them?

With these questions fueling his curiosity, Mahito started to chat with the old man.

“Why are you here?”

“…Why?”

The old man looked up toward the ceiling through his unruly bangs.

His eye sockets were empty, but it seems like even without sight, humans tended to stare into nothing when they were thinking. One curiosity of Mahito’s was satisfied.

“You weren’t born and raised in this tunnel, right? As a human, you must have been in that noisy city.”

“Ah, that. I lived a fairly busy life a long time ago. I inherited the house, worked, made money and supported my family.”

“So you were a human in a pretty good position.”

“In human society, yes. Looking back on it now, it was all meaningless.”

“So... what, you basically started living in a hole like a mouse, then?”

“I did that because I lost everything that I needed up to then. I lost my social status, my money, and a place where I belonged.”

“You lost it all?”

“I was tricked. That’s when my eyes were burned, so I lost my sight then, too.”

Mahito incidentally recalled the company Jogo attacked.

“You got tricked, huh? You seem pretty good-natured about it.”

“That’s because I didn’t care much about being tricked.”

“You’re a weird old man. Is this some kind of hobby where you get your kicks when people deceive you or something?”

“I’m just saying, that’s the kind of person I was back then. The ones who tricked me were my old friend and my wife. My eyes were burned in that so-called “accident”¹; they claimed I wasn’t of sound mind and body after that, and under the guise of caring for me, they stole everything I worked for before I knew it.”

“That’s a pretty flashy way to trick someone, isn’t it? You’re talking like it’s someone else’s problem.”

“Those two loved each other, and I was loved by no one. Knowing that was more monumental to me than being tricked.”

It was hard for Mahito to interpret what the old man said.

Love. Is it really such an important word?

It’s said that curses born from love exist in the world. It seems there are tremendously powerful ones among them, too. But Mahito doesn’t understand how the mechanism by which people love each other is any different from a cat’s attachment to a blanket.

Still, Mahito knows for a fact that people are obsessed with it.

“Didn’t you curse them? The ones who tricked you.”

“Not really.”

“’Not really’, huh. You know, normally a human in that situation would get angry and hold grudges, and it would make the shape of their soul deteriorate.”

“It’s true, though. I don’t think I had the energy to even consider seeking revenge or hurting them.”

“...I get it.”

Mahito nodded, filling in the blanks.

Regardless of whether or not he can guess the trends in human emotion, Mahito has studied many movies, novels and poetry so far.

Then there were the humans he tinkered with. Mahito could put together the pieces he gleaned from those things and use them to break down the old man’s story.

“So basically, you were in despair. So much despair that it was like your soul was about to die. That’s how you broke through the creation of grudges and curses and ended up like this.”

The old man slowly shook his head.

“I may have been disappointed, but I don’t believe I felt the intense despair you’re thinking of.”

“Are ‘disappointment’ and ‘despair’ different?”

“They are; this is just my personal experience.”

The old man raised his face, following the memories.

“There was no burning resentment or turbulent sorrow. It’s just... I was tired, I guess. Between work, assets, reputation, my life situation and duties, dealing with others, caring about the family name... I think I was probably just tired and worn out because of it all.”

“And that’s why you didn’t get mad even after being tricked?”

“I was at peace. They say the soul gets lighter after going through disappointments.”

The old man’s voice was calm.

It had a cool quality to it, like muddy water that had been filtered clean.

“I couldn’t see, I had no money, I had no love... But as I was walking through the city with nothing to my name, it all suddenly became inconsequential. And then, as I looked around, I saw the city in a new light.”

“Even though you can’t see?”

“Yes. When you can’t see anything, it’s just sound and wind that goes on forever anywhere you are. I couldn’t even see the walls blocking the city in. It was just endless darkness spreading out forever, like a starless night. For the first time, I understood how wide the world was. And I thought to myself... ah, I’m free, aren’t I?”

Mahito blinked rapidly.

This old man’s thinking didn’t fit any other case he had gathered so far.

Even hearing about his past, he couldn’t understand the old man’s thoughts.

But even from Mahito’s point of view, the old man was certainly free.

Without so much as leaving the middle of this tunnel, he knew that the sky was vast.

Perhaps he knew it better than any member of high society walking around freely in the city. He knew the wide spread of the sky, the soft caress of the wind, the gentle sounds of the water.

This old man, who looked like a simple rakugoka², had no property or social standing. He even lost his connection to other humans... And maybe that’s precisely why he could uncover the elusive meaning of the word ‘freedom’.

He was just existing, just being alive, without attachments, grudges or curses.

“So basically ‘not all those who wander are lost’?”

“Yes, though quoting Tolkien’s works might be a little tedious.”

Mahito smiled when the man immediately caught the reference to a book he just happened to read.

“Were you a bookworm?”

“All I did was cram a lot of information in.”

“It’s good to be well-read.”

If curses are born from the fear that humans feel, could this old man even be considered human?

As Mahito is, he struggles with the expression of human emotions.

But he was calm.

For the first time since coming into contact with humans, he had a feeling of peace.

“I think if everyone in the world was like you, I wouldn’t have been born.”

Mahito looked back at his book.

The old man, staring into nothing as always, fell silent again.

Curses are born from humans, but they also kill humans. There is no way for the two to coexist.

But in this tunnel, a curse and a human were doing exactly that.

Though distorted, this peaceful period of time flowed by gently.

--

It’s only natural for humans to hate and fear other humans.

Since they can’t see souls, they can only make guesses about the feelings of others, and they’re swayed by their own emotions.

They don’t understand that these things are just a reflection of the soul’s metabolism. They don’t even know where their soul is.

Mahito investigated the matter.

This blind man lost his sight and his connection to others, so his soul received less stimulation.

And so, no longer influenced by unnecessary things in the physical world, he spent a lot of time facing his inner world and reflecting.

“It’s kind of like a monk’s training. Through strong introversion, a person looks at their soul more often.”

Mahito walked around the city, skimming through a beaten-up copy of the Heart Sutra.

It was a sutra handbook that focused on controlling the soul. It looked like humans of the past did their own research into freeing the soul from the material world.

The old man’s life ended up in a similar state without him setting out to do it on purpose.

That was likely how he learned to feel other souls through the darkness he lived in. Mahito concluded this was the reason he was aware of curses.

“I think he was already predisposed, but... seems like it’s easier for introverted humans to show promise.”

If he gave the old man’s situation even deeper consideration, he could probably make a lot of guesses about a sorcerer’s training. There’s even a way to encourage the first manifestation of cursed energy.

In that case, it should also be possible to take a talented person and ‘make’ them into a sorcerer or curse-user.

Unleashing a curse-user made by a curse onto a sorcerer...

That might be a fun experiment. It’s easier to shake up a human’s soul by having them fight other humans, rather than just exorcising curses. Sukuna’s vessel should be no exception.

Although...

—Maybe it’s fine to do that a little later?

Yes, Mahito thought it over at his leisure.

He is free. When it’s time to move, he moves. When it’s time to rest, he rests.

And he was not in the mood to launch that plan into action.

Rather, for the time being, he just wanted to gather knowledge and indulge in thought. He also got some new books and wanted to read fantasy novels while basking in the quiet comfort of the tunnel.

Mahito’s gait became lighter. While walking alongside the throng of people, he even began to hum.

Suddenly, a loud voice rang out from between two buildings.

“—so damn annoying, yeah?”

Looking over that way, he saw two young humans: a man with long, thin hair, and a muscular skinhead. They were undoubtedly people who looked like trouble.

The long-haired man listened as the skinhead rambled on with his complaints, seemingly in some kind of sullen mood.

“Damn, it’s seriously freezing. Anyway, every last one of ‘em just puts on shitty airs, but it’s all just talk. Nothin’ but excuses. Ah, I wanna kill ‘em all...”

“You say that, but come on. You talk big about wanting to beat these guys to death when you’re pissed, but could you actually kill someone?”

“Sure. Ain’t like killing’s hard.”

“Seriously?”

Mahito squinted and listened, the conversation going in one ear and out the other.

It’s not that he disliked the way they acted or how they spoke bluntly about their heart’s desires. But Mahito knew people like this were all talk.

“Yeah– seriously, anyone’s fine, I just wanna kill someone.”

Then maybe you should do it without saying anything.

Better yet, he thought about practicing some killing methods on them. But Mahito felt the light weight of the book in his hand as he reached out, and he stopped.

Rather than sparing any consideration for this, he just wanted to go back to the comfort of the tunnel and read.

“I’ll kill ‘em.”

The skinhead’s grumbling voice sounded like a spell.

But the words would find no power or heart to shelter in. Shut away between these buildings, the most a person can do is talk to themselves. It’s best for humans like this to stick to the narrow back alleys, foolishly thinking they’re enjoying a wide world.

Mahito averted his gaze and made his way back home.

--

“Why did Gregor become a bug?”

Mahito suddenly asked the old man, not taking his eyes off the novel.

It was a famous book by Franz Kafka.

A story in which a human unexpectedly turns into a poisonous insect.

“The most popular theory is that the bug is a metaphor.”

“Metaphor?”

“It means he was a person who was hated and oppressed within society, treated the same way a human would treat a bug. Kind of like an old man who was suddenly blinded and tricked one day.”

“Is that a joke?”

“Not exactly.”

It was detached and dispassionate, but an answer would come back any time Mahito said something. When conversing with the old man, it felt like talking to a dictionary. He had a lot of information.

He knew about things like the inner workings of the mind and human culture, and he was smart enough to explain it simply in discussions.

For Mahito, who analyzed human souls through books and movies, this old man’s knowledge and conversation helped in its own way.

When do humans get angry? Why do they grieve?

How do they trust and in what ways are they betrayed?

Mahito lived with a different sense of ethics when compared to humans, so there were many things he struggled to interpret. The old man explained them and helped him understand.

He had a strong interest in the experiences of the old man, who had once lived among humans but didn’t act like them.

“After becoming a bug, Gregor eventually hid away like he was told to, but he still ended up being spotted and it led to his death. Jii-san³, why do you think that is?”

“You cannot find peace by avoiding life.”

“That’s a quote from Virginia Woolf, right?”

When Mahito immediately and correctly guessed the source, the old man raised a brow slightly.

“You’re a pretty avid reader, too. Conversations with you are really stress-free.”

“Do you have to go back to living with other humans, then?”

“If you don’t have any attachment to the human world, there’s no need to run from it or stand against it⁴.”

“I see,” Mahito murmured to let the other know he was listening, eyes still on the book.

Even if he wasn’t looking at it, the old man’s perpetually calm soul was aglow in the dark like always.

Mahito read his book in the dim room lit by the brilliance of that soul instead of a candle.

Time quietly flowed through the darkness.

Outside of the tunnel, signs indicating the end of summer crept up.

--

The end came abruptly.

One day, when Mahito was heading back to the tunnel with an abandoned poetry anthology that he picked up on an aimless walk through the city, he felt a noisiness that shouldn’t have been there.

There were one, two, three swaying souls.

One had a very familiar shape, but it was terribly frail. It was like the dying flame of a candle weakened by the wind.

With the same unchanging gait as always, Mahito stepped into the tunnel.

As expected, the old man was there.

But the unusual thing was the crumpled, strange position that he was in.

He was also sandwiched between two younger men who were looking down at him.

“Oooi, isn’t this bad? Did this guy seriously die?”

A man with long, thin hair spoke in a tone that was not particularly anxious.

“Didn’t I say it? I said I could kill,” a muscular skinhead replied, his voice casual.

“But ain’t this just impulsive?”

“Yeah, well, the old man had some real cheek, looking down on us when he’s this weak. So why not just kick him?”

The skinhead likely played sports, given that his legs were as thick around as logs. Kicking an old man to death would be easier than crushing a can.

The two didn’t seem to have a single scrap of interest in the old man, his life or his soul.

There was no reason, no grudge, no clear murderous intent.

It seemed like they simply arrived at the tunnel somehow. They took the opportunity to do as much violence as they wanted. They beat him on a whim.

It could be said that this way of being is freedom for humans.

Mahito crouched down, peeking at the old man’s face.

The beaten visage of the man with burned eyes came into view. But even at a time like this, his expression was as calm as always.

“Are you going to die?”

Mahito searched for even a mumbled word or two in response.

“...Seems so...”

The old man answered in a hoarse voice. He likely barely had the power left to speak now. It appeared as though the two men didn’t hear him over their loud conversation.

He intently inspected the old man’s soul.

The peaceful soul was not flickering, nor did it hold anger or grief; it was simply coming to an unhurried end.

Mahito was impressed.

This old man had found the true meaning of freedom. He really was released from every tie of obligation in this world. Even on the verge of death, that didn’t change.

Being able to make sure of that with his own two eyes, Mahito felt considerably relieved. In the same way he would watch a flower wither and fall, he observed the old man’s death.

Nevertheless...

“Jii-san?”

He had a feeling.

It’s like seeing a plot twist you don’t want to see if you keep turning the pages of a book.

Or like knowing the contents of a present before you open it.

That kind of buzz spread through Mahito’s chest.

While he puzzled over the instinctive alarm bells screaming at him to stop watching, everything was heading toward its end.

“...I thought I would die alone.”

The old man’s soul dimly flickered.

A smile was on his swollen face.

“...To have someone... here to witness this old fool’s last moments...”

The flicker might have been insignificant, like a single drop breaking the water’s surface. Even so, for an instant near death, at the end of it all...

The old man’s soul ‘metabolized’.

“...Tha...nk... y...”

The old man died smiling.

“. . .”

Mahito’s eyes opened wide, and for a moment, he was frozen.

He thought the old man was different when compared to other humans. To Mahito, he seemed unfettered.

Mahito thought the unique philosophical views stemming from such an extraordinary state of mind had freed him from all the shackles of this world.

But despite all of that, the old man was still captured right in his last moments.

On the brink of death, he clung to someone else so he could avoid a lonely end.

The old man was only human.

For a human, it was likely satisfying enough. Perhaps it was even the proper way for one to die.

“. . .”

Mahito said nothing.

But what felt like a dry wind blew through his chest, leaving him cold.

He didn’t know the name humans gave that emotion. But his consciousness was like yarn tangling in on itself, wriggling around like a worm—

And suddenly, it all cut off at once.

The only thing left behind was the sensation of standing in a dry and barren wasteland.

“—So basically,” the skinhead’s voice echoed. “Police probably won’t do a proper investigation. Not for this old nobody.”

“Hey, hey, hey; that’s still a person,” the long haired man answered lightly.

“Yeah, well, that guy started it.”

“He shoulda looked at who he was talking to before he picked a fight.”

“Anyway, my pants are dirty from all that kicking... That’s a problem.”

“So fussy. That’s what you’re worried about when you just killed a guy? How funny.”

“That ain’t a person. Anyway, don’t you know I like being clean? Ahh, the blood won’t come off... Water doesn’t do any good, right?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t – but more importantly, if you’ve settled down, I’m hungry. Let’s stop by a convenience store.”

“I dunno. If you’re gonna look, buy a bento and let’s get outta here.”

Mahito quickly stood up in the same way one would when they finished looking for something in a store.

A sense of fatigue was deeply ingrained in his body.

Their incoherent voices persisted, reverberating through the tunnel, smeared with excuses and attempts to escape reality. He couldn’t hear the soft burble of the stream.

With deep-seated listlessness, Mahito approached the skinhead as one would move to pick up fallen trash.

Idle Transfiguration. The technique spreads quickly.

And thus, the moment he tapped the man’s back, its shape was no longer human.

“Ee—!!”

If he just killed them, it would create a nuisance in the form of a corpse, so he simply folded it up into something palm-sized and kept it alive.

Then, with a careless sweep⁵ of his hand, he folded up the other man as well.

“Begh—”

It fell silent.

Mahito gathered up the two, now no bigger than chess pieces, and turned his attention down toward the remaining corpse of the old man.

It was now just a bag of meat full of bones. Not even the soul remained, so he couldn’t use Idle Transfiguration to fiddle with it.

He was briefly troubled by its disposal, which served as the biggest inconvenience.

In the tunnel, there nothing but the sound of running water.

--

--

It was a day where the sky seemed farther away than usual.

Clouds peeked out from around the buildings and a good feeling was carried in on the wind.

Mahito aimlessly walked about the city.

“Maybe I’ll catch a movie. It’s been ages.”

He picked a tiny, somewhat old-looking theater and snuck in.

He’s had high motivation lately, and it seemed like some unnecessary things had peeled away from his soul, leaving him more carefree than ever.

Thanks to that, he had also begun to toy with humans more often.

If he can fold a person up and make them small, he wanted to test out inflating one instead, but he slept on the idea overnight. It was pretty fun, but he knew that he was getting too absorbed. He also felt that carrying on with too much persistence wasn’t a good thing.

A change of pace every now and then was fine, too.

He hadn’t closely checked to see what was being screened. It was mostly just plain and obscure movies, but if one went in with no expectations, they might come across a surprisingly interesting tale.

Curiously, he had that kind of a feeling.

While walking through the hall of the theater, he casually felt through his pocket, which had grown bulky with the ‘small humans’ that he had touched.

—Speaking of which, he thought that was a nuisance.

He carelessly tossed some of them away.

Opening the door, he stepped into the theater.

Perhaps because it was a weekday, there weren’t many customers. The silhouettes of what appeared to be students filled out a few seats here and there.

From where Mahito stood in the corner, he had a good view of the screen.

Soon, instead of a curtain raising, the theater was engulfed in darkness.

--

T/N: [1] In this sentence, the implication is that the “accident” was very much orchestrated by the old man’s friend and wife, who burned his eyes somehow and then merely made it look like an accident [2] The rakugoka is the storyteller in rakugo, a form of (often) comedic theater that relies solely on spoken word from the rakugoka, who only uses a fan and hand towel as props [3] A way of referring to old men in general, basically like “gramps/grandpa”; Mahito never calls him by an actual name [4] Essentially, the old man’s saying that he (or anyone) can exist parallel to human society without interacting if they have no attachments to it and can still find peace, contrary to the Woolf quote [5] Kanji reads sweep, furigana reads cleanse (the same word for exorcism that sorcerers use)

Thanks as well to Pixi for help with editing and tl checks!  If an officially translated version of the novel becomes available in your country, please consider purchasing it, or consider buying a copy of the original novel in Japanese if possible!

[pftones3482]

Sometimes Stupid

Commission for @randomfandomfan from one of their many prompts they gave me. Took forever bc of work and life and also???? Now I have a cat??? So that's fun. But this was fun to write. Read it here on AO3

Set post TLO and pre HOO (and a little bit post HOO). Under a cut for length.

~~

Contrary to popular belief, Leo Valdez was not stupid.

He was an idiot, at times – for instance, maybe running away from his seventh (fifteenth? He’d really lost track at this point) foster home wasn’t the best decision he could have made, especially given that it was the middle of summer and oh, also, hurricane season. And okay, maybe he should’ve taken more with him than a single change of clothes, a box of Ritz crackers, a pocketknife, and a water bottle that had definitely seen better days, but he was in a rush, okay?

But he wasn’t stupid.

When he ran away from his foster homes, Leo tended to stay away from people where he could. And if he had to be around them, he cleaned up, smiled brightly, “Yes ma’am”ed and “Yes’sir”ed to an obnoxious point, and lied his pants off. People were less likely to call the police on a Hispanic kid if they thought he was just a darling little angel waiting for mom at the grocery store, and the last thing he needed was the cops in his business.

Not that it hadn’t happened, of course. He’d dealt with cops of all kinds – nice cops, bad cops, black cops, white cops (WAY too many of those, in his opinion), the occasional cop who would speak Spanish with him, cops who were just there to write a report and move on with their days – cops.

He tried to stay away from them.

Which meant sticking to beaches and forests, lakes and campgrounds, middle of nowhere places with no people for miles. Leo was good at disappearing. Hiding.

But there were always times when he needed an adult. When he needed to hitchhike, or when he needed food to the point of near passing out. Once for serious medical attention. There was a system to what adults you could trust.

Never cops. You could never trust the cops, no matter what naïve white parents thought. Leo had been in cuffs enough to know that was false.

You also couldn’t usually trust priests. They meant well, sure, but they always ended up calling the authorities in the end. That, or they tried to convert Leo to Catholicism, and while one of those encounters had ended with a swiped bottle of watered-down red wine and a night that made him vow to never drink again, he wasn’t trying to contact the church.

(THAT night, Leo would say he had been stupid. He could admit that)

Homeless people were usually okay. While a lot of them were very suspicious of everyone, almost every homeless person he’d ever met would point him in the direction of food, water, free showers, free clothes, or a library (his saving grace during the heat of the summer and the cold of the winter). The times when he came across gay homeless people were when he felt safest – they especially never pressed him about his background. Ironic, really, that he felt safer with strangers on the street than his foster homes.

Moms were sometimes okay. Especially if they were Hispanic, or black, or just anything but white. They, at least, wouldn’t call the cops on him. But they were also hit or miss – sometimes they helped in way of a meal, or a new bottle of water. One mom even took him to the store and got him new socks and underwear (he had cried that night). But other moms rushed him away from their precious babies. Some moms called him ungrateful for the “space he had.”

Dads were a never. Leo never went to men if he could help it, even if they had children with them. He didn’t trust them as far as he could throw them, and that wasn’t very far.

But it was hurricane season. And he was on the coast. And it was downpouring, and he was starving, and the only people he had seen for miles were a white couple, a man and a woman, standing on the porch of a somewhat rundown shack that Leo would’ve probably thought was abandoned if he hadn’t seen them there.

The man was tall, peppered hair that was shifting more to salt, with a rough beard and a pair of glasses perched on his nose. The woman at his side was short, probably Leo’s height, with dark curly hair and vibrantly blue eyes. It was streaked with gray, but she was, admittedly, a very pretty woman. Something about her smile put Leo at ease.

He clutched his backpack tighter in his fist and stumbled over the sand towards the shack, ankles rolling uncomfortably on the wet ground. He was sure he looked atrocious, sure that the moment they spotted him, they’d shriek and cuss him out and lock the door.

But then he coughed, hard, his shoulders shaking, and the woman whipped her head around. He watched her eyes widen, watched her tug at the man’s sleeve, and then she was bolting – barefoot, Leo noticed – down the steps and over to him.

He flinched when she wrapped an arm over his shoulders, jolting out of her grip more from habit than anything else. She froze, holding both hands up and relaxing her stance. “Hey, honey. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Somewhere deep down, Leo’s brain was scoffing at the patronizing words. But on the surface, he focused on the words, and then sharpened his eyes onto the man as he approached, phone in hand. “I-I c-can’t-”

The woman looked back, down at the phone, and her shoulders stiffened. “Paul, put the phone away, please.”

Her voice held an intonation that Leo couldn’t decipher, but the man – Paul – instantly shut the phone off and pocketed it. The moment it was gone, Leo let his shoulders loosen, and he looked at the woman anxiously. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I-I just…”

“Hey.”

Her arm was more cautious this time, sliding around Leo’s shoulders with a pace that would let him move if he wanted. He didn’t, just let it happen, and then the woman was easing him over the sticky sand and up the steps of the shack, Paul close behind them. He stopped at the door, pushing back hard against the woman’s guiding grip. “I don’t want to ruin your house,” he managed.

The woman’s laugh was…well, to be perfectly honest, it made Leo feel warm. Like she could never hurt him.

Those are usually the most dangerous people, his mind tried to reason with him.

“Sweetheart, it’s just a rental cabin. Besides, I’ve had far worse than a little sand and water on my floors before.”

Before he could wonder at that sentence, she opened the door and nudged him inside. The second that Paul closed the door, the sound of the wind died down and the chill in the air evaporated. Leo realized he was shivering.

The woman’s hands were warm on his cheeks. “My name is Sally, hon. You are-?”

He usually gave a fake name, but – “Leo, ma’am.”

“Don’t you ma’am me,” she scoffed, her voice easy as she helped Leo to the couch. “I’m not that old, am I Paul?”

Paul put his hands up. “I abstain from answering.”

Sally scoffed and pressed a cool hand on Leo’s forehead. “Can I take your backpack, sweetheart?”

Something like panic flared in Leo’s chest, and Sally must have seen it, because she pulled her hand back and held it up. “I’m not moving it far, I just want Paul to dry everything out for you, okay?”

Fingers shaking, Leo shrugged off his bag – the one he’d been carrying for nearly three states – and passed it over to her. She took it like it was a priceless artifact, and handed it to Paul with more tenderness than Leo had ever seen given to an inanimate object. “I think my son might have left some clothes here while he was with us last week,” she said, voice soft. “He’s a little older than you, so some things might be big, but is it okay if we give you some of his clothes while we dry out yours?”

Leo swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Um. Yeah.”

She stood up and left with Paul, giving Leo a moment to be alone and take in the cabin around him.

It was old, but obviously well taken care of, with weathered planks of wood gracing the walls and the floor. He was in the living room, full of mismatched couches and chairs and a bookshelf stacked full of books and games. He didn’t see a TV in sight, but he wasn’t expecting to find one. He stood shakily, suddenly very aware of how wet he was getting the couch, and wrapped his arms around himself as he explored the rest of the main room.

The kitchen was small and cramped, but he could smell something full of tomatoes and spices in the oven that made his tastebuds water. He didn’t dare look for fear of getting caught, so he stepped away and into the tiny dining area. There was sand on the floor, spread thin and fine, and it was such a small thing, but it made Leo relax even more – Sally meant it when she said she didn’t care about him ruining her floors.

But she and Paul had been gone for a while, and Leo wasn’t stupid, okay? It didn’t matter how well intentioned someone was, they always thought they knew better, and if they were gone too long, it meant they were trying to decide for him. So he crept towards the hallway they’d vanished to, praying that he didn’t step on a squeaky board. Old homes always had them in the most inconvenient places.

“-not answering?” he picked up Paul’s voice saying.

“No,” Sally said, a sigh in her voice. “He did say he and Annabeth were on a date, but I didn’t expect them to be in Paris of all places. How did they even-?”

“Can you get ahold of Chiron?”

Not the police, then, Leo reasoned, unless they knew an officer by that name. He leaned a little closer.

“No – I try not to call the camp unless I need to. Phone lines and all that, you know?”

Paul huffed. “I know. And Rachel is at art camp, right?”

“Yup,” Sally said, and Leo heard a sound like a blowing raspberry. “He clearly isn’t aware of anything, Paul. He’s terrified.”

“Probably a runaway,” Paul hummed, and Leo flinched at the damning statement. “Met a couple kids like that teaching.”

He looked like a teacher. You couldn’t trust most teachers either, Leo had learned. They were just like priests. Tried their best, but they always inevitably called someone.

“What did you do? Who did you call?” Sally asked, and Leo stiffened. Here it comes, his brain taunted.

“No one,” Paul said.

Leo blinked, taking a slight step back. What?

“Kids don’t run away for no reason, Sal. Especially not kids like him. Perce taught me that. I mean, maybe in my early days of teaching, I might have called the authorities, but ever since this summer I…how could I risk that? Even before then, I mean…the stories I’ve heard from some of these kids I’ve talked to. We don’t know anything about him. If he ran away, all this way, in this weather? It was bad, love.”

Leo’s throat ached.

He’d never, the whole time he’d been in foster care, ever heard an adult admit that they were wrong to call the authorities on him. Never heard an adult take his perspective into account, especially without even knowing him. Never had an adult admit that his life could be anything other than ideal.

He took another step back and oh shit, there it was, the cursed piece of wood in every old house to ever exist. He cussed under his breath and ducked his head as Sally stepped into the hallway. He refused to look up at her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “You were just gone for a while a-and I thought you might be calling someone.”

No verbal response. Instead, a soft bundle of fabric was pressed into Leo’s hands. He startled, gripping onto the clothing, and looked up at Sally and Paul with wide eyes. Paul shook his head. “We’re not calling anyone, son. Not if you don’t want us to. But we do ask that you get cleaned up, before you catch pneumonia.”

Sally tilted her head towards the door across the hall. “Let me know when you’re done, I’ll toss your clothes in the dryer. Paul was just finishing up dinner when you came along. Do you like lasagna?”

Leo’s mouth watered at the thought of eating any kind of food that wasn’t stale crackers and canned tuna. “Yes ma’am.”

“What’d I say about that ma’am nonsense?” Sally scolded.

Leo ducked his head, trying to press down the tears. “Yes, miss,” he chuckled.

Sally laughed as Paul headed for the kitchen. “It’s a start, love.”

~~

Sally’s son’s clothes were soft, well loved. They smelled like sea water and lavender detergent, and though the t-shirt was a gaudy orange with letters so faded that Leo couldn’t read them, he sank into the fabric with a sigh. Sally had also passed him a pair of sweatpants, and Leo hoped that her son wouldn’t be mad if he ever found out that some random foster kid had borrowed them.

If he was anything like Sally, though, Leo had the feeling he’d like him.

His hair was still wet, but this time from a shower, and Leo couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten to stand under an actual stream of hot water without people literally timing him to make sure he didn’t take too long. He stood in front of the mirror, sighing a little at how skinny he’d gotten. He’d always been small – being skinny only made him more of a punching bag for the bigger foster kids. His hair, untamed from weeks of running, hung in his eyes, and he wondered briefly if Sally might have a hair tie he could borrow.

He left the bathroom and crept into the dining room, where Sally was setting the table and Paul was pulling one of the most beautiful lasagnas he’d ever seen out of the oven.

“-texted me, said they’d be back tomorrow morning. He offered to come back sooner,” Sally was saying as Leo stood in the doorway, “but I know he and ‘beth haven’t really gotten to go on any non-monstrous dates recently.”

She blinked when she saw him standing there, and her smile softened into something warm and inviting. “Come on, hon. Paul was just getting dinner out.”

Maybe it was the malnourishment, or Paul’s cooking skills, or Leo’s exhaustion, or a combination of the three, but Leo had never tasted such good Italian food in his life. He downed one, two, three pieces and a full salad before he finally slowed down. To his relief, neither Paul nor Sally gave him any grief about how many pieces he took. Honestly, he thought he watched Paul actively make his slices bigger than theirs.

They’d clearly been talking about their son when he came in the room. This guy was in Paris, on a date with his girlfriend, and he was coming back tomorrow. Leo wondered just how rich this family was – the dad was a teacher, but Sally hadn’t said what she did, and Leo was a little afraid to ask.

When Paul brought out a pie for dessert, Leo almost cried. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had any dessert fancier than a stolen Ding Dong from a corner store. Paul definitely gave him a larger slice than them, and as he ate it, Sally poked at her own pie.

“Leo, we’re not going to pry,” she started, gentle. “Your story is yours, and I know how tricky it can be to share yourself and your past with new people.”

The sad smile Paul shot her didn’t go unnoticed by Leo, and he internally bristled at the thought that this wonderful mom in front of him could understand anything about how he felt, because that meant that she’d gone through shit she didn’t deserve. He said nothing, though, just nodded.

Sally eyed her pie thoughtfully, stabbing a blackberry that had escaped the crust. “But I feel like…well, I feel as though my son especially can relate to how you’re feeling, or at least some of it. If you’d be willing to wait for him to come home, maybe we can figure some things out together.”

Leo felt lost. He’d been lost a lot before, but this was the first time it was mental and not physical. “What?”

Sally looked up, seeming to realize that she’d baffled him. “I mean…”

She looked at Paul, and Leo looked between the two of them, tightening his grip on his fork. They were having a silent conversation. Leo hated when adults did that. “You mean you want to wait until I’m asleep so you can call the cops o-or foster services or-or just wait until your son gets back so he can tell me to get out.”

He shoved his chair back from the table, tears prickling at his eyes. Every time. Every time. He always got his hopes up, always thought he’d found the perfect people, people who got it, and every fucking time, he-

Hands settled on his shoulders, and he ripped away, scowling at Sally. Her eyes were sad, and Leo felt an unwelcome stab of guilt in his chest. “That is not what we were suggesting, ever, honey. I would never call foster services, first of all. They’re atrocious, especially for kids of color.”

Leo jolted back. He’d never had a white woman actively acknowledge his race so bluntly before – it was usually partnered with some demeaning comment about “his kind” of people. He eyed Sally warily.

She lowered her hands, keeping them on her hips where he could see them. “Second, I’d never call the police either. You’re not a problem, and my son has had enough unfortunate encounters with them for me to…distrust them severely, to say the least.”

Her son had-?

“I just…we know a place. Where you would genuinely be safe, hon. No foster homes, no cops, with people who get it.”

She was lying. She had to be lying, no matter what Leo’s heart said. But she wasn’t going to let this go, and he knew it. So he sighed, fidgeted with his fingers. He wished he had something to build. “Okay. I’ll wait for your son to get home.”

Sally relaxed, and Leo gave her a thin smile.

He helped her and Paul clean up the kitchen, put away the leftover lasagna. Sat with them and did a puzzle, played a game of Clue with them. Fixed their radio for them, much to their surprise, and then watched with a small smile on his face as Paul and Sally danced around the living room together. They tried to get him to join, but he’d never been much of a dancer, so he declined.

They bid him goodnight around 11, and he shut the door of their son’s room, let the hours tick on.

At three am, he got up, changed back into his own clothes, left the borrowed ones folded neatly on the foot of the bed. He took a flashlight from the bedside table and slid it into his backpack, stepped out of the bedroom and avoided the squeaky floorboard.

The tool kit from fixing the radio was still on the coffee table, and he picked it up with only the slightest feelings of guilt. Went through the cabinets and pulled out sleeves of crackers, a box of granola, eyed the leftover lasagna with a sad gaze. He found a roll of toilet paper under the sink, a bottle of hand sanitizer in a junk drawer.

He paused by the game of Clue, left out on the table from their match, and let his fingers trace over it sadly. His gut screamed at him to leave. His heart screamed at him to stay. He wasn’t stupid.

Leo had always trusted his gut.

He pocketed the candlestick piece and turned for the door, flinching the second his eyes landed on Sally.

Her hair was done up in a braid, her pajamas wrinkled, and the moon shining through the window reflected the sadness in her eyes. Leo opened his mouth, but couldn’t find it in him to speak – the lump was back.

She stepped forward and he shut his eyes, expecting a lecture. Instead, her hand cupped his cheek. Her other hand pressed into his, and he gasped as he felt the telltale touch of money in his fingers. He looked down at the wad of cash – he couldn’t see how much it was, but he knew that he didn’t deserve it. He looked up at her, panicking. “I can’t-”

“Stay, I know,” she whispered, and that wasn’t what he’d been planning to say, and he knew that she knew that. “I understand, Leo. I understand, sweetie.”

The sob slipped out before he could stop it, and Sally’s eyes softened. She bent at the hip, pressing a soft kiss to his curls. “When you end up meeting my son,” she murmured, “come visit, okay?”

Leo had no idea what that meant, but he nodded, if only to appease her. “I’m sorry,” he croaked.

She squeezed his shoulder. “Nothing to be sorry for, honey. Be safe.”

Sally watched him go, watched him shut the door behind him, and he looked down at the money in his hands with a choked feeling in his chest. It was more than he’d held in his entire life. He couldn’t take it, but he knew she’d be upset if he didn’t. And if there was one thing Leo refused to do, it was make Sally more upset than he already had.

So he pocketed it and, with an aching heart, stepped off the porch of the cabin. The storm from earlier had died down, and, fingers tight on his backpack straps, he started making his way up the beach.

~~

Percy was bouncing up and down at the entrance to Camp Half Blood, fingers curled around Annabeth’s hand. “Do I look okay?” he asked for probably the thousandth time that morning.

Piper rolled her eyes. “Percy, it’s your mom. She doesn’t care what you look like.”

Percy shot her a mock glare. “I haven’t seen her in over a year, McClean, sue me.”

“You look fine, Perce,” Annabeth laughed, kissing his cheek. “She’s gonna mostly care that you’re alive.”

“Okay but this tattoo-”

“Sorry, you vanished on me for over a year, crossed the globe, and you got a TATTOO?” came a very scolding, very obviously Mom Voice, and Leo snickered, turning to see who was about to absolutely whoop Percy’s ass.

And he stumbled on his own feet, lips parting as Sally (Sally Jackson, his unhelpful brain mocked) appeared at the top of the hill. Her hair was a little grayer than it had been when Leo met her, her hips a little wider, but her smile was the same, her laugh as Percy launched himself at her the same peal of delight Leo remembered on his toughest nights, and when she caught his eye over Percy’s shoulder, her smile only widened.

Okay, so sometimes Leo Valdez was kind of stupid.

[novamirmirsblog]

I am not a woman, I'm a God (17+)

If I can't have love I want power pt 2

If I can't have love masterlist

Word Count: 1640

Genre: dark I guess?

Request: no

Warnings: none? (atm anyways)

A/N: I'm not too happy with this chapter so it's subject to change BUT the next couple chapters should pick things up a little :3 OH and the next chapter might contain smut (Idk yet - I'll try to edit this when I've written the next chapter)

1737 - The middle

The revenge was sweet and drawn out. The redhead and her long-time friend had made sure of that. They let you finish the duke off but not before they had their fun. The two women were gorgeous, both with red hair that would make any woman jealous. The green-eyed woman had hair like a wildfire and the blue-eyed woman had hair the colour of a deep red sunset. Liking women was wrong but you weren’t sure these two counted as women – they certainly weren’t human. Wanda, the one with sunset hair, tortured your husband mentally, angry whisps the same colour as Natasha’s hair crawled in through his ears and buried themselves deep within his brain. While this was happening, Natasha was peeling layer after layer of skin off him with her razor-sharp nails. You weren’t sure if you could even call them nails – not when they looked so much more like claws. While Wanda was exploiting your husband’s deepest darkest fears, Natasha was calmly explaining to you which tools to use where so you could cause the most pain. Apparently pain and torture was an aphrodisiac for them because the two demons decided to show you what you had been missing out on due to your husband’s lack of skill.

That was almost 200 years ago. Wanda and Natasha had given you great gifts, allowing you to have a much longer life, giving you cat-like reflexes and godlike powers. Perhaps your favourite was the enhancements they gave to your voice. People were suddenly compelled to do whatever you suggested they do and the rush it gave you was unexplainable. These gifts were not free however and yet the price was one you willingly paid repeatedly. Especially because it meant spending extra time with your two favourite demons. You were there to cause chaos and have fun which was ironic considering Wanda was a chaos demon and Natasha was a succubus but perhaps that’s why you did what you did. Perhaps it was because you were made by them and therefore must serve them in every way imaginable.

~~~~~

You had watched your siblings grow from afar and made sure every single villager who ever even looked at them wrong suffered. When you were with Wanda and Natasha, it felt as if everything just fit into place. It was strange and you felt as if you shouldn’t miss them – they killed and tortured your husband in front of you, gave you gifts that meant you couldn’t live a normal life and coerced you into sex that you weren’t sure you wanted; yet you still wanted them.

Your story was told countless times and the more times it was told, the deeper the truth was twisted into a legend, a tale mothers told their children to keep them away from the forests late at night. You were turned into a martyr, a victim of the horrible cruelties the evil creatures of the world could bestow onto innocent girls.

You were anything but.

If the storytellers could see you now, they would burn all mentions of your story. You were a problem child, a bad example and you had two of the most powerful demons wrapped around your little finger.

A few years ago, you had mentioned to Natasha and Wanda one evening that you were bored. That’s how you found yourself currently being shot at.

“Natty I’m bored.” You whined, throwing yourself dramatically over the bed. History was going through a dry spell; people weren’t doing anything interesting and there weren’t enough opportunities for you to wreak havoc.

“Natty” Wanda mocked “Our princess is bored.”

“Well, we can’t have that now, can we?” Natasha moved to hover over you, Wanda placed your head in her lap. Natasha’s tail flicked with a cat-like manner before it slithered between your legs.

You grabbed her tail and she let out a moan “Not now Natasha. I’m serious. If I knew living forever was going to be this boring, then I wouldn’t have done it.” That wasn’t quite true, you enjoyed being theirs to use but you were getting restless.

Natasha rolled her eyes, leaning up to kiss Wanda instead. You waited a few moments for the two demons to stop their make-out session, but it didn’t look to be ending any time soon. You rolled out from underneath Natasha and untangled Wanda’s fingers from where she was massaging your scalp.

“Awe come back baby.” Wanda broke the kiss and made grabby arms at you. For a supposed demon, she sure was soft. “I promise we’ll make things more fun.”

Natasha rolled her eyes again “You’ve gone soft Wands.” Although Natasha huffed and puffed about how ‘soft’ Wanda had gotten, she seemed to have a slightly less hardened heart when she looked at you.

You were no longer bored but you were being shot at and while it couldn’t kill you, it sure did sting. Perhaps going after Dick Turpin’s loot was a bad idea but what can you say? You wanted to live a little. All you had wanted was a pretty horse you had seen him steal but nooo – he had to keep them all for himself. You had managed to escape Mr Turpin himself but one of his lackeys just wouldn’t give up. Rather than continuing to run, you decided you may as well get a quick meal.

“Hello darling.” Your voice echoed from all around, you watched as the man trying to kill you frantically whipped his head around.

“Who are you? Come out now!”

You let out a low, predatory chuckle.

“I’m the poor little martyr in all your stories.”

“No. You can’t be- that’s impossible! You should be dead!” You watched as the man continued to spin around and around in circles, watching him trip before revealing yourself.

“I am ancient. I have seen empires rise and fall. I have seen kings and queens and holy men enter the world and I have seen them leave; and yet I am nowhere near as old or as powerful as the women who made me the person I am today. While I watched preestablished civilisations crumble, they were reminiscing the time they created them, all while burning them to the ground. Some call me the end but they are mistaken. They are the end. I am your warning. I am the only kindness they will show you. Trivial things such as death do not concern me.” As you finished your speech, Natasha and Wanda’s comforting aura surrounded you, the dark mist embracing you before forming the two women.

“Couldn’t let you have all the fun now could we dove?” Natasha’s voice rumbled out against your neck, biting it lightly.

“You have to share.” Wanda cooed, lifting your chin up to face her as she captured your lips with hers.

The idiot who you were about to kill and feed on decided now was a good time to make their escape. Luckily, Wanda had other plans as her red magic bought the squirming meal back to you.

“Go away. I want to eat. It’s been so long.” You pouted, making your way back to your meal. It was a little annoying that to continue living in your young body that you had to drain the soul from another person, but it was worth it.

“But if we leave then who’s going to do all the heavy lifting?”

“And who will dig the hole in your garden?”

“Or put the body in the hole?”

“Or-”

“Okay! I get it. Fine. But just hush, okay? I like to eat in peace.” You grabbed the man and kissed him hard, feeling his soul merge with yours before it was consumed by the darkness.

“I don’t know why you always have to kiss them to feed” Natasha bit out, moving away from you with Wanda, voicing her unhappiness at you kissing someone else when only she should be kissing you- her and maybe Wanda.

“Well, it wasn’t me who made her feed that way.” Wanda whispered back

“Are you suggesting this is my fault?” Natasha’s voice got low and dangerous, and you felt the forest drop about 10 degrees.

“Well that’s how you feed isn’t it?” Wanda’s eyes glowed and a wind picked up.

You pulled away from your meal, the faint glow of his soul swirling around your mouth and eyes. “Want to share?” The forest rose back to its original temperature and climate as Natasha kissed you, absorbing small remnants of the soul. Wanda wrapped one arm around your waist while the other snaked up to your neck, her teeth lightly biting and sucking along your shoulders.

“I think you forget dove” Natasha broke the kiss to growl at you

“We’re in charge here. If we wanted to share, then we would share.” Wanda finished off for her.

It dawned on you that perhaps this was about more than just the meal. They were jealous.

“Are you two jealous?” You laughed, not at the situation but at their reactions. Wanda bit you harder and Natasha just glared at you.

“Of course not. Why would we be jealous of some silly insignificant dum-”

“Baby…” You reached up and placed one hand lightly on Wanda’s horn and the other on Natasha’s cheek, effectively stopping Natasha’s rant about how unjealous they are. Wanda moved from where she was standing behind you to stand next to Natasha. “You both know that if I could live off Demon energy then I would, but I can’t.”

Natasha and Wanda shared a look, having a silent conversation in the space of seconds before turning their attention back to you. “That’s not necessarily true love.” Wanda said.

“It will be painful but…well demons aren’t born. They’re made.” Natasha explained.

“And if you wanted to…”

You didn’t even hesitate before giving your answer. “Yes.”

Taglist:

@lucydiibi

[ererokii]

— broken strings and beautiful melodies

diluc r. x f!reader

Word Count: 9.6k Warnings: major character death, mentions of violence, mentions of blood, gore, this does not follow the og plot and lore/ some spoilers for “We Will be Reunited” Archon Quest Note: this is for Attack On Academia’s Mythology Summer Collab! Please be sure to check out the masterlist for everyone else’s works. They all worked super hard and it turned out amazing! And big thanks to @reddriot and @axther for betaing <3

Synopsis: A simple love story between the Pyro Archon, and a mortal.

taglist || masterlist || server link || collab masterlist

Another four days pass and it’s finally Friday. Fridays at Angel’s Share were no different from the ones prior. Exhausted adventurers and townspeople venture inside the tavern to drink their woes away, to forget, or to have a great time. It was annoying, to say the least—hearing the laughter and cheers bouncing off the walls.

However, Diluc had to say nothing was worse than a certain pigtail braided bard strutting in with his lyre. The redhead had no choice but to serve the bard his choice of drinks after figuring out his true identity (although he still makes him pay the whole total—even if the singer can’t find a way to pay). 

Like before, the bartender lifts his head up, crimson eyes boring into the crowd gathering beside the bard at the nearby table. 

The bard’s soft voice matches with the melody of his lyre, fingers pulling and gracefully sliding past the strings. His eyes closed, telling a story to the nearby peers and the quiet man standing behind the counter. A tale Diluc heard once, yet it weighed on him all the same.

“The story of this archon is no better than the rest, yet, the most tragic comes from the debris of war. The god of War was like no other. Loads of strength, yet grief and sorrows weigh him down like an anchor in the vast ocean. Love is a mere factor, yet love is one of the many things the god brought ruin to.”

-

With heavy footsteps, a red-haired male walks along the dirt path in no shoes, wearing the silkiest of robes one could ever obtain. He hums to himself, brushing a loose strand of hair away from his face, letting out a huff of annoyance when it falls right back into the same position as before. 

He breathes in the crisp air of the summer night, relishing the winds that brush across his skin. Summers in Natlan were one of a kind. While it was scorching in the morning, when the night came around, all was calm. The harsh rays turned into blissful winds that cleansed the land of heat. 

During the other seasons, it was never too cold, nor was it ever too hot. The temperature was just right for all men, women and children. 

Located in the southwestern region of Teyvat, Natlan was home to the Pyro Archon, known as The God of War. The god, Murata, is unlike any other god. Ruthless and fierce, he does not handle any threat lightly. Anything thrown his way, he does not hesitate. With kindness and love, Murata will no doubt protect his nation.

His statues are scattered across the land. Standing with his formal rags and cloak that shields his face, Murata holds his claymore in his right hand, the tip pointing down to symbolize his foes beneath him as he celebrates in victory.

In the night sky, his statues act like lights to guide those on safe journeys home or to neighboring nations. Along with being guides, the structures are used for a place of reverence. Often many would journey far and wide to pay thanks for everything he has done. 

In the center lies the biggest of them all, flowers and candles are set up around it for ceremonial purposes. Every night new plants were replaced for the days to come. Like the other Archons, Murata was grateful for his people. When roaming the land, he spots commoners on their knees by the base of the statue during the late of night or the crack of dawn. Not wanting to disturb, the archon watches from afar. 

Today is different. Murata continues to walk along the path, listening to the noises coming from the forest animals and the creeks as the waters begin to rush at this hour of the night. He can’t help but let out the faintest of hums at the sounds of nature. 

He reaches for the side of his face, tucking a red strand behind his ear. Often the god will put his hair up into a low or high ponytail, but for outings in the cool atmosphere, he prefers to wear it down. His powers were compared to his hair many times. When describing his appearance, he listens to the children exaggerate saying his hair is literal flames that he can produce from the palm of his hands. Of course, this is nowhere near true, but a child’s imagination is quite amusing. 

In the distance, his crimson hues bore straight ahead at the small flickering light. 

“Someone must be up now,” he whispers to himself, debating on leaving them alone but instead, chooses to go up ahead and observe from a closer proximity. Muratans knew what their god looked like. He comes out during the day to pay visits but never for long periods of time. 

As quick as they see him, it's as quick as they’ll see him leave. No one can ever hold his attention for too long. 

The sound of strings being played can be heard from his spot-- and he halts. A lyre, one of his favorite pastimes and favorite instruments. 

Over the hill is a figure sitting beside the statue, back turned to him but he can see the movement of their arm. Curious, Murata continues to stalk forward quietly, not wanting to disturb the worshipper. 

The melody played is show-stopping in his eyes. He wonders if Celestia had sent down someone he was unaware of to play this just for him, and only him. If anything, he could settle on the grass and listen to them play for ages on end, wearying his immortal days out. Music was the only thing that could settle him, but not forever. 

Now, he's a mere few steps away from the cloaked figure. His face is lit up by the candles by his feet. His tongue peeks out of his lips as an unknown feeling bursts through his body. His palms felt sweaty and his heart rate increased. 

He winces when the wrong note is played, gritting his teeth together. The redhead doesn’t think much until a force pushes him backward.

“W-Why are you standing there watching me?! Don’t you know this place is meant for us to come together, not to be creepy like you just were right now?!”

“W-What?” he whispers in surprise, bringing a hand to cover his nose that suddenly feels wet. He pulls away, noticing the red drops on his skin. Blood.

“Don’t question me that way! You know exactly what you were doing…  A pig is what you are. Oh, just you wait until Murata finds out about this.”

“Murata huh?” he questions, wiping his hand on the grass, watching the blood dissolve into nothing-- the red trails of blood trickling down his nose come to an unsuspecting halt.

He clears his throat and comes to stand, staring down at the figure behind him. With the candlelight, a glimpse of crimson eyes and matching hair can be seen. In a matter of seconds, it's silent. Until there is a subtle gasp.

It amuses the Archon greatly to see a change in behavior and the fear present in the civilian's eyes. He wouldn’t dare try anything to her, but maybe it would lighten the mood if he did.

With desperate breaths of air, you reach forward and grab ahold of the man's hands, squeezing as hard as you could. “M-My Lord, I deeply apologize for my behavior! Please forgive me! I was foolish!”

“No need to be formal all of a sudden…mistakes are made and all can be forgiven. I must say, you are quite gifted with that instrument in your hand.”

Your face heats up, suddenly finding the ground much more interesting than him as you gaze down. Your god had just complimented you and yet here you are losing the composure you had seconds ago. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, hand clutching the lyre close to your chest. “It’s an honor to hear such wonderful words, especially coming from you.”

Murata stares down, an unexplainable look upon his face. Then, he smiles. 

“Your name?”

“Pardon?”

“What is your name? As someone as gifted as you, I think you deserve to have your name remembered.”

“My name is Y/N. For some reason, your kind words seem to boost my confidence. I normally don’t play in front of people, I’m too shy and afraid of their judgement. I only like to play in front of the statue… or in this case, you.”

“How about you play for me again?”

-

The angelic sounds of your lyre had been played more often since you’ve met the god. The night was when you shined, when no one was around to listen or stare at you. The dark sky made you feel alone, yet you were at peace. You found pleasure in playing for the Pyro Archon statue, yet having him sitting beside you and listening made your heart beat just a bit more than before.

During the day, you find yourself sitting under the big oak trees, the sunlight peeking through the leaves and shining upon you two. Murata lays close to you, eyes shut and lashes resting against his upper cheeks as the song lulls him to a quick nap or a state of serenity. 

He’ll comment on a subtle note, saying how he loves the pitch, or give recommendations. Many times Murata has taken your instrument and played a tune or two for you. He says every gentleman should at least know how to serenade a lady.

As a child, your family spoke highly of him. They even used him as a threat against you when you’ve done something wrong. Now that you look back, it was a mere hoax and it possibly scarred you just a bit. When you first told Murata this, he stared with his lower lip quivering before his shoulders started to shake and then, he let out a laugh. 

“Surely you didn’t believe that, right?”

“I did! I was a child, what else was I supposed to do?! I nearly wet my sheets when my mother told me that you would come and scare me!”

“Well come on now, are you still scared?”

He enjoys seeing you worked up—then again, he loves seeing you play the lyre. He stays quiet and watches your fingers move as if they had a mind of their own. You move with grace, without hesitation. There is no wrong note, no wrong string when you play. Sometimes being here with you in this moment made him feel like he was mortal. Like he was able to live freely.

Being bound to divinity in Celestia, Murata had wandered Teyvat for ages, alone. Each person he had gotten close to, he had to watch them disappear from this world in the shadows. At some point, he even had to pretend to be lost so others could forget about him. If they forgot about Murata, would the load be easier on the Pyro Archon’s shoulder?

But now, you’re aware of his status and who he truly is. If you were to stay by his side, would he be the last thing you see before you pass into the next life? He’s not sure, but he’s hoping that won’t be true. He couldn’t bear with the guilt that will get him worked once more at the thought of another mortal dying in front of his eyes. 

“Murata?” you ask one afternoon, sitting by the same statue you met him for the first time. “What’s it like?”

He steers his gaze away from the clouds and onto you, an eyebrow raised in question. “What is what like?”

“You know—” you start, messing with the material of your dress, head lowered. “Being a god?”

And then he freezes. Out of all the questions you could have possibly asked, this one had to be the most unexpected. 

“Why do you wish to know something like that?”

“I want to know what it’s like. Immortality and eternal beauty sound pretty amazing, doesn’t it?”

“No,” he immediately states, sitting upright. His body looks tense, posture perfect and hands in his lap. However, you notice the small twitch in his fingers, as if he’s thinking. You can hear the heaviness in his breathing—lips parted as the air slips in and out of his mouth.

How can living on this earth for years on end, watching people die in front of you like they are meaningless, be perfect? Is that what people thought about immortality? The faces of past friends from ages ago are nothing but a blob of color in his mind. He can’t remember their faces, nor their voices—only the memories they have shared, and even that is starting to fade away.

Murata cleared his throat, eyes fluttering shut. His chest heaved up slowly, before falling at the same rate. Soon, he opens his eyes and faces you. He reaches up and tightens his high ponytail, running his fingers through the red tresses. “The life of an immortal is not...ideal.”

“There comes a time where living forever is not as good as it seems. A human like yourself might think differently since there is an end to everyone’s journey. Death is inevitable for a human, and almost all are afraid of the end itself. Even… I am afraid there will be a time I will be cursed with that end. But for now, that’s something that rarely crosses my mind..”

And he continues. Murata proceeds to tell you about the drawbacks of being a God. When he speaks, you can see pain flash across his eyes as he recalls a memory of a loving friend who passed before him. He tells you there’s no avoiding this never ending nightmare. If there was a way he could overcome this spell of immortality, he would choose mortal life in an instant. 

He believes nothing good comes with this. In his eyes, everything gets destroyed by his hands. If he hadn’t created this nation, he wouldn’t be here with you, nor would he have people at his feet who love and worship him for everything—for giving them a home. He would be a traveler with no home, or loved ones.

The Archon doesn’t realize how much of his thoughts he spilled until he feels the warmth of another—your hand resting upon his cheek. This alerts him as he jolts, eyes wide as he stares at you. You wear a small smile, head cocked to the side. Your thumb moves on its own, wiping the tear away that dribbles down the swell of his face. 

His body relaxes, shoulders slouching as he relishes your touch, not having been caressed by another, let alone a human. If he’s being honest, it's been at least a century since he has gotten close to another mortal. It’s a foreign feeling, but he loves it nonetheless.

Your soft spoken words are enough for him to be at ease. 

“It’s okay, you don’t have to continue through the suffering.”

In a vulnerable state, the tears continue to flow down his face, arms slithering around your body as he pulls you in close. At first the motion shocks you, but soon you return the action, hand resting on the small of his back and by his head, stroking the soft locks. You can hear the faint sobs that escape his lips and it’s strange. From stories, they state Murata was fierce, barely any emotion in him.

But he looks nothing more than a broken man in need of comfort. 

You press your lips against his head, humming softly to him. His arms tighten around you, a shaky breath slipping past. As much as Murata hates this feeling, but after being alone for as long as Teyvat had been founded, he thinks he deserves to be this close to someone again.

After moments of silence, the god is positioned beside you, hand resting on your thigh and head on your shoulder. His eyes feel heavy, the area feeling irritated and scratchy from his crying. As much as the thoughts still swirl in his head, they seem to be drowned out by the melody you play for him.

He lazily draws organic shapes with the pad of his finger on your skin, eyes beginning to close. 

Your lyre is one of the few beautiful things he has come across in his lifetime. You currently hold the number one spot for the most beauty he has seen but when you sit with your instrument, he swears he can see the wings of an angel behind you. 

He steers his gaze from the lyre to your face, eyes taking in the small details of your visage. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he notices the slip of your tongue peek from your lips, eyebrows creasing in concentration. Along with the melodies, he listens to your small hums as you play a song just for him-- one of worship and love.

His hand runs up your arm, halting your movements at once. Eyes opening, you stare forward for a second before looking down upon him. He recognises your confusion and lets out a laugh, hand trailing up before his thumb rests on your chin, making you keep your gaze on him.

Your face heats up at this interaction, mouth parted. Your breathing becomes uneven when you notice the close proximity. Your stomach flutters, the back of your throat suddenly going dry—no words able to slip through. His chest rises and falls just as quick as your own. 

His tongue peeks through, licking his lower lip. His crimson hues stare at your lips before averting his gaze to your eyes. As much as it’s tempting, now is not the right time.

“Beautiful,” he whispers quietly, for your ears only. “So beautiful… like an angel sent down from the divine...”

- The lyre, made of nature’s resources and carved into the most adoring shapes—the ends curving in different directions and a piece of excess wood piercing straight through the middle with a pointed tip and a rounded end. Made for the best, the lyre contains seven strings that seem to glow throughout the day and the night. 

In the middle, an emerald gem shines embedded on the wood, reflecting the rays of the sun, sparkling for all to see. Around lies the detail of the sun, the soft yellows encircling it. And just beneath that is gold details that resemble the wings of those who are free. Two flowers that are foreign to the land of Natlan are delicately engraved—their colors showing pure innocence.

The Cecilia flowers stay in bloom, never once dying out. Nor has any other grown in their place.

A perfect instrument, one of elegance and purity. Perfect for you. 

The origins of said lyre are unknown, yet when it was given to you as a young child, you didn’t dare question it. Instead, you took it with the biggest grin and thanked your father as many times as you could. You were intelligent and extremely talented. At first, your mother was skeptical of such an object being in the possession of an nine year old, but your father assured it was in safe hands. 

Since then, it’s been by your side to this day. It’s never been out of your grasp and you only let certain trusted people play it. For some reason, seeing others hold the instrument made you feel weird. 

Playing your gift made you feel like you were above the world, like you could ascend to Celestia and play for the gods. It felt as if some sort of divine power surged through your veins and riled you up. And now at the ripe age of 24, having the Pyro Archon by your side as you play for him daily, it feels as if your purpose of living has been complete. 

Seeing his soft smile and slight nods he gives when he's impressed (which is all the time) or when he places his hand on yours to play along with you. Having him close to you makes you feel warm, excited and giddy; almost like a young girl in love.

Which... You won’t lie to yourself about that. 

There have been times during the day where you catch yourself thinking about the red head. Thoughts of him swirl your head as you drift off to sleep and he’s the first thing you think about in the morning. Sometimes you notice that you make motions in the air, like you are stroking something, when in reality, you wish to have his head in your lap again as you play with the loose ends of red tresses.

The god was just so breathtaking. Staring into his eyes was mesmerizing. The color of flames held in his eyes drew you in so far, it felt as if you were walking through a pit of flames. Yet, these flames never extinguished or brought harm to you. 

“You’re lost in thought again,” Murata comments, poking your shoulder with his pointer finger. “You alright there? I don’t need you tripping over a rock or something.”

“Huh?” you ask, glancing over at him. “O-Oh it was nothing. I’m okay.” You offer a not so convincing smile, scratching the nape of your neck in embarrassment. Knowing you for a while, the god offers a nod and looks forward, his hands behind his back, steps in sync with yours.

You let your hand drop, clearing your throat as you hum, filling the silence with some noise. Your eyes wander around the area before gazing up at the tall man beside you. You take notice how the ends of his ponytail sway side to side with every step he takes.  

The apple of your cheeks heat up when you can see his back muscles flex as he straightens his posture. The shirt he wore let your imagination run wild; there was no doubt that Murta was built.

“It’s quite rude to stare,” Murata says out of nowhere, barely glancing over at you. “If you want, I can just stand in front of you so you can actually look at me face to face.”

“Oh be quiet,” you mutter, stepping forward and grabbing hold of his hand—his much larger, covering yours entirely. Upon contact, his fingers intertwined with yours, squeezing softly.

“You know I love messing with you,” he hums, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, which you respond back to him with a quiet “I know.”

The rest of the walk is filled with comfortable silence. It’s a bit chilly in the land of Natlan. One of the many summer days that turn out to be filled with crisp air and cloudy skies. Storytellers always said if it were cloudy during the season of summer, karma and misfortune was on the way—yet no one believed such lies like that. 

His hand is so warm, you think, glancing down at your conjoined hands. Ever since that day by the giant stone statue of the god where you almost kissed him, his behavior towards you changed drastically. He’s been a bit more touchy (not that it bothered you; in fact, you loved it), holding your hand and somewhat more affectionate. At the end of your day when you would say goodbye, he would pull you close and plant a gentle kiss to your cheek or sometimes even close to your lips.

Just thinking about those actions makes you flustered, looking away from him and out to the open. 

“What do you think it means to be in love?”

Hearing those words from the man beside you causes you to choke on your saliva, hitting your chest to calm your ongoing coughs. When you’re finally composed, you gasp for air and stare at him in shock. “W-What do I think about that?”

“Mhm.” He nods, inhaling deeply, his other hand reaching up into the air as if he was stretching before lowering it. “What do you think it means to be in love? I’m curious as to what you humans think it might be.”

“I-” You gulp, eyes semi wide as you try to wrack your brain for anything. That was not a question you were expecting, especially right now. “W-Why do you want to know? Isn’t love, love?”

“Well, aren't there different ones? Can’t people be in love with parts of someone? Lets say, only being in love with someone for their status in the nation. Or just their looks but not for them. 

“Well… I think being in love with someone means you don’t care about their status or who they look or who they are.”

“Even if they’re a god?”

“Even if they’re a god.” you say confidently, before realizing what he said. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Even if they’re a god,” he repeats, stopping in his tracks as he turns to face you. His cheeks are painted with soft pink, red eyes averting from you. 

Murata’s heart is racing, far faster than it ever has in his life. HIs lips are dry, his mouth is parched. His shoulders heave with every deep breath he takes. Does the sweat of his hands bother you? God, he feels like a young boy about to confess his love to a girl he’s been pining over—although he's not completely wrong.

“Murata, what’s wrong?” you ask quietly, tilting yourself a bit to look up into his eyes as his head is lowered. “Are you okay?”

“Why are you so intoxicating?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Y-You’re all I can think of,” he stutters, squeezing his eyes shut. “I can’t get you out of my mind, even though I shouldn’t get close to those I love and care for. In the end, I’ll be here and be forced to live with this overweighting guilt that rests upon my shoulders as time continues to flow knowing that you’ll be dead.”

A hiccup gets caught in the back of his throat, his thoughts becoming foggy all of a sudden. “I don’t like this feeling. I absolutely despise it.  Many times after we hung out, I thought about disappearing again like I have before I got too close to anyone again. But I can’t let you go, nor will these memories ever go away.”

“Don’t you understand?” he whispers, hand shaking as his grip becomes tighter. “I can’t lose you… you’re too special to me already. I know there will be a day where we part ways forever but I want to be a part of your journey until then.”

His confession throws you for a loop. His words continue playing over and over in your head like a song you learned the night prior. You have this unexplainable feeling in your chest, yet it warms up as the seconds pass. Your whole body feels tingly, from the top of your head to the tip of your toes. 

Your quietness is too much for him to handle right now—a bit silly if you were to ask the Archon himself. “Say something,” he mutters, shaking your hand lightly. The redhead can already feel the rejection pooling in the depths of his stomach, eating away at him.

“You... Do you love me?” you whisper, looking up at him with doe like eyes. Murata can’t seem to answer for himself, one hand cupping your cheek. He moves closer, his breath fanning your face. The flames in his eyes gaze into yours, losing himself in the color before he averts down to your lips. A quiet way of asking for consent.

You lean forward, lips barely brushing against his. It’s shy between the two of you. After having such strong feelings for each other, neither of you know how to proceed. No one moves, it feels time has stopped.

You feel him pull away slightly before going back in, his lips fully pressed against yours. His other hand drops yours, instead wrapping his arm around your lower back. Your chest pressed up against his, your finger runs up his side, to the top of his shoulder and around, cradling the back of his neck.

His finger tightens around the material of your coat you wore for the day, using it as leverage to keep you standing. His kisses are soft yet fierce. The softness of his lips and his scent up close are enough to drive you insane, enough to make your knees buckle and make you want more. You want more of him, Murata.

A small grunts leaves his mouth when you tug on his hair. In return, he nibbles on your lower lip, chuckling at the small noise you produce from his motion. It’s becoming harder to breathe as you stay in this position with him. If air wasn’t a necessity, you wouldn’t go for it. 

You pull away from him, panting softly as you gaze up into his eyes. His eyes hold nothing but love and adoration as he peers down at you. The corners of his lips curve upward as he leans in, barely presses against yours again before pulling away. He sneaks in a few quick pecks, listening to your quiet laughter.

“Of course I love you.” He makes you look up at him, your face cradled in his hands as if he was holding something delicate, something that could be wrecked and destroyed any second. “That’s why I asked you what you thought about it.”

“And I love you too,” you reply softly. “I thought.. After everything you wouldn’t want to have feelings like this, let alone a human.”

“Sometimes boundaries are meant to be broken if it means true happiness.”

-

“Tensions have arisen in the land of Natlan. Nearby gods have caused quite the stir, causing Murata to put it to a halt at once. Upon ascending to his seat in Celestia, there have been prophecies saying a great misfortune is underway and can arrive in an instant. Since then, he’s been worked up. He cares much about his nation and will let no harm come its way.” 

The bard strums the string before growing silent, letting his head hang forward, his pigtails falling in his face. “It’s a true shame that such a horrid thing came to be… If only he was strong enough as he said he was.”

Murmurs arise from the drunken peers, hiccups joining the air as they beg him to continue the song. Even if some wouldn’t remember this night in the morning, this was still enough entertainment. 

“W-What happened next, bard?! Finish it!” an adventurer gasps, holding his cup of alcohol close to his chest, his cheeks heated and a light pink.

“You wish to know?” the bard asks, peeking through his lashes, his two toned eyes staring into the soul of the bartender. “Why of course!” he laughs cheerfully then clears his throat, batting his eyelashes as he brings his hand to his chest.

“Although, I’m quite parched and would love to have another cup of Dandelion Wine! What do you say, Master Diluc?”

“My answer is no. Do not ask me for something when you will not pay in the end.”

“Agh what a shame,” the bard sighs, letting his head hang back but never breaking eye contact with the redhead. “Don’t you wish to know about the ending?”

“I could care less.” Diluc speaks through gritted teeth, arms crossed over his chest, the infamous pose he does every hour of the day. “I just want you out of here.”

“I’ll pay for him!” one of the nearby men yell, fumbling with his wallet to grab the gold circles of currency to give to the bartender—and all the bard can do is smile cheekily, opening his hand. 

“Well, looks like the drink is paid for. Can I have it now, Master Diluc?”

The red head, already annoyed with the behavior of the young man in front of him, reluctantly takes the coins from the drunk. Without speaking, he serves the singer his desired drink, noticing the small smirk he wears. “Why are you smiling at me like that?” he asks, eyeing him up and down.

“Because I’m getting to my favorite part.” He takes a sip of his drink and places the cup back down. After a pleasant sigh is heard from him as he takes hold on his lyre, stroking the white petals of the Cecilia flowers. “And you’re gonna love it.”

- Melodies of the lyre were played even during the darkest of times. The soft notes were enough to make anyone who felt down happy again, or at least content, even yourself. The colors of the strings being played was enough to put you at ease. Sometimes when you’re out in the town, many children would ask you to play their favorite song or at least a simplified version if you weren’t familiar with it. 

But as of now, all of Teyvat was in ruin. Murata had told you the truth; he hated keeping you in the dark when you deserved to know. As much as he disliked saying this, your life indeed was on the line, more than his. In fact, the whole nation was at risk, along with the other six neighboring ones. 

From other Archons, Murata heard that a water monster, Osial, had arisen and was ready to ruin and kill innocents for the sake of a seat in Celestia. Morax, who was the overseer of Liyue at the time, was trying his best to seal the beast with his spears.

In this case, Murata hopes a threat like this doesn't happen to Natlan. Especially when he’s not there to protect his people, to protect you.

Murata hears a gush of wind from behind him and the earth beneath him starts shaking. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, small puffs of air slipping out of his mouth. He reaches above and tugs on the black hood of his cape. 

His archon outfit consists of silk white pants and black sleeveless shirt that resembled a vest with a slit down the middle of his torso. And to top it, a black cape flows behind, the hood covering his face from all to see. In his right hand, his fingers curl around the handle of his claymore.

A heavy burden rests upon his shoulders as he stares forward, seeing the world erupt into flames and utmost chaos. In the distance, he can hear the screams and cries of the families asking for mercy. He wonders what you would think about him if you were to see him right now. 

“Murata,” you whine, trailing the last syllable of his name as his lips peck against the bare skin of your shoulder. “Come on, you know that tickles.”

“Yeah? Maybe I’ll continue to do it,” he muses, nipping at your skin before blowing warm air onto your neck which causes you to squirm from him, pressing your hands against his chest. He listens to your soft laughs, loving the way your body moves under his touch. Your arms wrap around his neck, hugging him close as you hum, inhaling the scent you’ve grown to love. 

“Mmm… I love you.”

“And I love you too,” Murata whispers to no one, blinking rapidly when he realizes he was lost in thought and was not in fact with you, but only remembering a moment from a few days ago. In reality, here he stands in the middle of a deserted land that must be destroyed. Blood is on his hands, splattered on his face. 

“I didn’t even want to do this,” he mutters, grinding his teeth together as he proceeds to walk forward, watching red explosions burst from the ground, red blocks protruding from either ends of the nation. In the sky, the color purple takes over as lightning strikes down from the heavens and is brought forth onto the land. 

From his position, the ground had been cracked and was on the edge of being split apart if another Archon had used their powers against the nation. 

He lifts his claymore in the air, staring up at the red sky with anguish. His lips part as he whispers something to himself, reassuring that what he is about to do is alright and isn’t his fault. A sudden strike of his weapon pierces the land, flames bursting into the air and cracking the earth. 

Murata breathes heavily, leaning on the rounded edge of his weapon. Sweat trickles down his face, the hood falling off of his head. Two strands of hair fall forward, framing his face, the rest of it tied back into a low ponytail. 

The flames continue to run down the cracks which branch to smaller ones that cause the piece of rock beneath the surface to crumble and fall, leaving the terrain to become uneven. 

“Wow! Even from afar I can spot you,” a semi high pitched says from behind him. The Pyro Archon stiffens, internally groaning as he stares over his shoulder, meeting two green eyes. “Someone doesn’t look happy as he used to be.”

“Barbatos,” Murata grumbles, looking forward as he straightens his posture. With one hand, he picks his hood over his head once more and the other pulls his claymore from the ground, resting it on his shoulder. “What do you want from me now?”

“Just letting you know Morax has finished in the south region of Khaenri'ah,” Barabtos states, a frown growing on his lips as he looks away, the tips of his toes barely touching the ground as his wings keep him afloat. “You're not the only one who didn’t want this. We had no choice.”

“No choice huh…” He trails off, his claymore suddenly evaporating into thin air and gold dust left in its wake. “How are we loving, protecting gods if we just obliterated this nation with no god? What does that make us? We’re no better than those who do us wrong against our own homeland. We’re just like Decarabian. Nothing but tyrants.”

“Don’t bring up that name again.”

“Why? Because deep down you know it's true.”

“Because that was his own choice to keep us entrapped. We had no choice but to bring ruin. They felt-” Barbatos hesitates, licking his lower lip before continuing, “-they felt threatened. A nation with no god is a false one to Celestia. Everything must be in order. Khaenri’ah was not the case. We had to, or we’re next. The divine is not ready for a land with no god.”

“I shouldn’t have come.”

“Murata. If you hadn’t, who knows what would have happened to Natlan.” A deeper voice from behind him is heard, the sound of footsteps becoming louder before they stop beside him. “You and your people would have been in grave danger.”

“Unlike you, I don’t need to keep making contracts.”

Morax chuckles lightly, shaking his head, his ponytail swaying with the movement. “And how does that look on you, God of War?”

Murata shakes his head, refusing to look at the Anemo Archon and the Geo Archon. “War or not, this is not just. The victors burn bright and the losers turn to ash. This-” he motions to the now deserted land of dust and blood. The sky is a deep red, the sun or moon nowhere to be seen. The earth is uneven, mountains caving into the ground as streaks of dark colors emit from the ground. 

The spot the three archons stand upon is nothing but cracked ground, an empty space separating them and the rest of the debris. 

“This is not war.”

Even when he’s not in his right mind, the only thing that can put him to ease comes up, suddenly soothing his woes away. He closes his eyes, envisioning he’s somewhere else

“You’re so pretty,” you whisper in the god’s ear, twirling a strand of hair around your finger with a smile. “No wonder you’re a god. How could they not take you?”

“Please. You flatter me too much.” He grabs hold of your wrist, bringing it to his face, planting a kiss to it. “On the contrary, it should be you in my position. No, an angel is what you are.”

“An angel? Please, enlighten me.”

Murata shifts on his side to stare down at you, brushing the baby hairs from your face. A blanket covers your bodies from your previous intimate sessions, yet he remembers every curve, every flaw that’s perfection to his mind. “I mean, look at you. You’re too beautiful for this world.”

“Am I now?”

He nods, dipping his head slightly. The tip of his nose brushing against yours. “You are. You’re amazing. You’re everything in this world. You’re desirable but most importantly... you’re divine.”

“Wow, now I’m flattered.”

He smiles, the corners of his eyes creasing as he presses his lips against yours in a soft kiss. It lasts for a few seconds but it feels as if it goes on for years. When he pulls away, you cup his cheek. “And you are ethereal.”

The god shakes his head lightly with a sigh, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. You’re all he can think about. Even when he is busy taking away innocent lives and watching them get turned into monsters, the sweet image of your face continues to pop into his mind. You’re the light in the dark. 

He hates the feeling of being away from you, especially when he’s on close watch from Celestia. There’s something unsettling in the pit of his stomach that he can't quite put his finger on it. Murata watches Morax and Barbatos exchange a few words before he gasps, lifting his head up fast. “Natlan. It’s in danger.”

- The nation of Natlan, located in the southwestern region of Teyvat and home to the Pyro Archon, was under attack. There was no point in trying to save them, they were already too far gone. No god in sight yet the trails of monsters were left behind. Did the Archon truly love them like they said he did? Or was it all a lie to get people’s love?

The once beautiful land is ruined—looking like the one he destroyed not long ago. His statues that aided his people on their journeys far and wide were now broken and cracked. Chunks of stone litter the ground and crush nearby civilians. Whoever was standing beside those statues had been brought down along with them, no way to return. 

The god feels weak in the knees as he staggers over the dirt path that has noticeable traces of dried blood. No doubt from his people. Where are the bodies? He has no clue.

Houses have been torn apart, the roofs blown off and thrown into the field of flowers on the other side. He feels torn at heart. He wants to give up walking, already knowing the outcome but refuses to stop. He hopes that a few people, even just twenty people, can still be alive and he can move them somewhere else.

The night is cold and fresh as it was years ago. Only this time, the sounds of the animals in the creek aren’t heard and the wildlife is quiet. He looks towards the forest, hoping a deer or a boar will rush through the trees. But his hopes die when he notices that's not happening, and the habitat is burnt to ashes. 

“Somebody,” he croaks out, averting his eyes upward and freezes. Up ahead, in the center lies the biggest statue of them all, where flowers and candles are set up around it for ceremonial purposes. Every night new plants were replaced for the days to come. 

The most beautiful statue in all of Natlan has been crushed. The head of the statue is gone from the area (he can only assume it had been tossed across the nation or into the river). The candles are no longer intact,  the pieces scattered and buried into the burnt grass.

“No,” he whispers lowly before crying out, running towards it. His heart races as he steps closer and closer. All his worries and fears; he doesn’t want them to be real. He doesn’t want any of this to be real. He wants to be at home.

You.

You. 

Where are you?

He gasps for air and drops to his knees. Red eyes frantically search along the stone pieces. He plants his hands on the ground and hisses upon contact, retracting back. A rock share pierced his skin. Murata bites his lower lip as he shakes his hand, watching the piece fly off before he can continue looking.

Are you safe at home? You were, right? Surely you wouldn't come out when everything is being attacked, right? Yeah, that’s it. You’re safe at home waiting for him to return. Waiting for him to be in your arms so you can cry about your fears of losing your life and him.

And by the end he’ll calm you down, say soothing words into your ear as he holds you close, saying he’ll never leave like that again and stay with you forever. God or not, immortal or not, he plans to stay by your side. 

And then your lyre will be played for you and only you. He knows your favorite melodies. Oh so beautiful, he loves hearing you play them but this time, he’ll play for you until the end of time. 

Your lyre-

He freezes.

His hand hits something underneath the stone. Something smooth like wood and the prick of an object with a pointed tip—an all too familiar feeling.

With a grunt, he grabs ahold and heaves back, pulling it out from under the rubble. A surge of fear flows through his veins when he falls back, holding an object in his hands. 

It’s a cracked lyre, with pieces broken off where an emerald stone originally would have laid. The gold trinkets are ripped right off, the empty space now feeling dull. He notices the seven strings have now turned to three and aren’t holding their original color that glows. 

The only thing that’s untouched, however, are the Cecilia flowers. Not a hint of blood stains the white petals. 

His eyes grow wide when he gazes somewhere else, spotting a hand peeking out from the same spot he pulled the lyre from. A choked cry gets stuck in the back of his throat when it all clicks together.

You weren’t home like he thought you would have been. You weren’t waiting for him to return from his wages of war, to be in his arms. Instead, you did what you always did.

Worshipped Murata, under the ceremonial statue.

The one that caused your death. 

Tears well up in his eyes as he hugs the lyre close to his chest, mouth parting as a sob slips out. He rocks himself back and forth, shaking his head at this false reality but he knows this is all real. 

Murata babbles to himself, muttering things underneath his breath as he hyperventilates. He can’t catch his breath. His throat is closing in on him, the air too thick to even breathe right now. 

The tears blur his vision. He can’t see nor think straight anymore. The god of War was unable to save his people from the hardships of an incoming war. What kind of god was he? Was he even one? Or was he now a false one?

What seems to be years later, though it only is an hour or so, Murata finds himself standing on the edge of a cliff, dried up tears evident on his face. The whites of his eyes are red, the tip of his nose matching the same color. 

He sniffles, nose stuffed from the moments earlier. His breathing hasn’t changed a bit. His shoulders still shake with every inhale. The atmosphere around him is tense, maybe even too quiet for his liking. 

Behind him, he refuses to look back on the destruction he let happen. Even from a far enough distance, he can still clearly hear the crackling of fire and the sounds of a nation dying. 

He lowers his hand from his chest, spreading his fingers open. In a matter of seconds, the handle of his weapon appears slowly, the rest of the claymore following suit in gold dust. 

He peers down slightly, watching the red and black glow before dimming out. The slant from the edge of the weapon, one he has used to kill off his enemies without a thought. In the current state, he can see the traces of blood left behind. 

In his other hand is the damaged lyre. His fingers keep it close to his chest, his heart. One of the last things he had of you. The tip of his pointer fingers strums a string and he winces from the uneasy sound it produces. This instrument no longer plays the melodies he adored, and worse yet, the person he adores can no longer hear it. 

Murata was the Pyro Archon. Amongst the other gods, he was ruthless yet kind and merciful. When a threat was sent his way, he did not hesitate to take care of it. He took care of Natlan. 

Or, that’s what should have happened. 

He closes his eyes, goosebumps forming on his arms from the gust of wind that breezes by him, knocking his hood off. His hair that was let down swayed in the breeze, the loose ends flowing behind him. His bangs move slightly and then stop, falling in their original place. 

The rest of his cape follows in the wind, the ends flowing behind him like the draft was made just for him right now. 

“I let you down,” he says, clearing his throat. He stares at the colors of oranges, pinks and blues, meshed together to create the sunrise that he grew to love but now, he suddenly resents it. 

A single tear cascades down his face and lands on his bare chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, squeezing his eyes shut. A rare whimper slips past his lips. With a shake of his head, Murata brings the lyre to his face, pressing his lips against the cracked wood. 

A goodbye kiss should always be special, shouldn’t it?

He pulls away, stroking the place where the gem would have been at. “I’m so sorry my love.” He averts his gaze and lowers himself, dropping the lyre on the ground underneath his feet. 

“Even I could not save you from the end of your journey. And as your god, I failed to protect you.”

When he stands up straight, his fingers tighten around his claymore. He stares down at the instrument, longing for time to change and to go back. To go back to how things were before. 

He can still hear the sound of your life and your smile popping into his mind. At the thought, his lips curl upward faintly in a small smile. 

Oh how he misses you already. He still remembers when he first saw you on that day under the statue as you played for him. You were aggressive, that was for sure. No doubt about it when you swung at him with your lyre and accused him of being a disgusting pig.

He can only blame himself. Deep down, he knew a day like this would come, but he didn’t think it would happen so soon. 

But maybe now, as he called you his angel or an angel of Celestia, you can now ascend to where you truly belong. 

This isn’t goodbye, but a farewell, he thinks, clearing his throat as he gets closer to the edge. He peers downward at the ground miles beneath him.

As he failed here, he still has a job to do, no matter what. 

So then he jumps. He brings his claymore around and over his shoulder and swings it down. Flames engulf him in whole on his way down until he hits the ground with a thud, his weapon taking up all the impact. 

-

“And thus, the Pyro Archon aided in other nations against the treacherous demons that corrupted their land. After such heroic deeds, he was never to be seen. Many questioned: where did the god of War go? Who will remain victorious?”

“Many say he disappeared to join his love in the next life. Others say he stepped down as god to live amongst the mortals as he always wanted.” The bard hums and lays his lyre across his lap. 

“It’s a shame really, how beauty can go to waste.” His fingers run over an emerald gem that lies in the middle of the wood. His lyre was beautiful. 

The edges curved in different directions with a piece of wood piercing the top with a rounded end and pointed tip. Seven strings glowed recently as he placed the object to rest. 

“But it’s not as if it was her fault.” His slender fingers run over the white petals with a faux sigh of despair. “She would have been popular amongst the folks here, if she was immortal, of course. If only he kept his word to her saying he would protect her no matter what.”

The bartender drowns out the rest of Venti’s words, his eyes trained on the wood beneath his feet. 

Diluc Ragnvindr, owner of the Dawn Winery and Angel’s Share. Information is at his fingertips wherever he goes. In Mondstadt, he is a nobleman of high status. Everyone knows about him. 

His crimson eyes hold tears as he lets out a shaky breath, bringing a gloved hand to wipe away at the water that threatens to spill. 

He tries to keep his mind off of it but he can’t suppress it.

In front of him was Lord Barbatos himself—one he knew too well from millennia ago. Having fought with him in the Archon War, and the Destruction of Khaenri’ah, Diluc knew there was no way to get rid of him. 

It shocked him the most that the bard even remembers the story from back then. Even if other storytellers told this tale, Venti was the one that pierced his heart the most. 

“Master Diluc!” At the sound of his name, the red head hesitantly lifts up his head. Venti’s annoying smile greets him, pressing his finger against his cheek in a thinking motion. 

“Did you like it? I hope you did! I try to incorporate any stories of the divine. It seems that today was a hit. Don’t you think so?”

“Why are you bringing it up?” he whispers, not caring that tears trail down his face. “Why do you need to remind me of my failure?”

The other peers don’t seem to notice the usual calm and collective man in tears. They’re all too far gone in the hole of alcohol. 

Venti’s eyebrows crease, cocking his head to the side. “Failures? What do you mean? I’m just doing my job and singing like I always do. You’re doing great things in the Wine Industry. What failure could you possibly mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean!” Diluc snaps, slamming his hands on the counter in front of him, causing the bard to jump in his seat. “You know exactly what you’re doing!”

“Oh dear oh dear,” Venti sighs, shaking his head. He picks up his lyre, placing his lips against the wood. 

“So pretty huh?” he asks once he pulls away, a small smirk on his lips as he shows Diluc. “Wouldn’t it be amazing if you got to play this?”

The strings continue to shine, dimming and going bright again. An instrument perfect for anyone and in this case, for Barbatos. 

It pains Diluc to see him with your lyre. As much as you told him you despised other people holding it, he feels much more stronger about it. He wants nothing more than to snatch it from Venti’s hands and tell him to get out. 

“Others say that he wanders in the world right about now. No one knows what he looks like though. It’s a shame if anyone were to find him and blame him.” 

Venti’s fingers run over the strings. A melody is heard in the air, louder than any of the drunk men in the room. 

Diluc feels a sob beginning to form in the back of his throat. He wants nothing of this. He wants to truly go back home to Natlan with you. He could have made you a god and you could have been here with him today. 

As much as Diluc wants to look away, he’s mesmerized by the way the singer’s fingers move gracefully against the strings. For a split second, he could have swore he saw you sitting in his place, singing softly for his ears only. 

Like the angel you were. 

“But it seems that the god is afraid of confrontation. And yet, he seems to be mourning over his lover even after her death. If anyone were to be at fault, it would be his—” 

Venti stops, peering up at Diluc through his lashes. A sinister look was evident in his eyes. He paused for dramatic effect, a smirk growing on his lips. He hums and strums the last note.

“Isn’t that right, Murata?” Venti muses, asking a question in the form of a song. But in reality, he aimed it towards the redhead god standing in front of him. 

Diluc stares dumbfounded, mouth parted and eyes red from his silent crying. His hands are balled beside him. The peers cheer for the bard and offer drinks to compensate for his amazing singing—to which he laughs it off but takes the offers regardless. 

And all Murata can do is live with his own guilt, for the rest of his immortal life. Forever.

taglist: @reddriot @thicmitten @katsuhera @novvabeam @patt-writes-stuff @axther @tspice283  @bonitoge @mysticalchocolate @yanfeisrose @mowestruc @tokyosrevenge @jaegerverse @hu-tao-main @midnightangelfox​ (add yourself to the taglist up above!)

[btsinwonderland]

A Drop of Poison - Ch. 1: The Beginning

A Loki fanfiction!

Next Chapter

Full Chapter List

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

It’s your third week back in school and you're slumped over a tower of textbooks as some kind of makeshift pillow. Your head rests on the 394th page of “The Dream Oracle” where you’ve begun to drool. You raise a hand to wipe it away, which takes up nearly as much energy as trying to stay awake.

It was cold in the dark.

Chills ran up your arms, from your fingertips to your neck as you floated through the darkness. It was frightening the first few times you dreamt of it but now it was familiar. The cavern formed slowly as your eyes adjusted to the minimal light emitted by a fire below you. Small sticks and papers created a meager flame which reflected off the black pool of water you looked into. You always wondered who made the fire, but there was never anyone there.

In the centre of the cavern was a small lake, its ripples moved like serpents. On queue, your body flew over to the middle of the lake and dove in. You swam - more like sunk - to the bottom. It may have enveloped you in utter darkness, but you saw the glow. The bluish light of the object drew you in like a moth to a flame and you reached out for it. Once again, you were thrown out of the lake just as you were about to touch it.

You looked around at the empty cavern and noticed the shadows moving. This was new. Usually, you woke up as soon as the lake threw you out.

Near the shore, by a dangerous jut of rock, there was a man. He was tall, with raven black hair and a proud nose. His expression was one of wonder and fear. There was a green light that emerged from his hands and he waved this light in front of him and beside him, almost erratically, as if he was warning someone - or something - to stay away.

“Don’t come near me!” he shouted. It echoed through the cavern.

You came closer and recoiled at what he was speaking to. Every dark shadow was, in fact, a body. The green light that the man emitted showed their decaying, pale faces. These bodies moved towards him. Not a sound, but each expression was contorted painfully. Their bony hands reached out to him, and he threw a green ball of fire at them. Some flew backwards into the lake, but there were so many.

They surrounded him. You saw him put up the fight of his life, and yet they came closer still. Until he had nowhere to run. You reached out to try to help him, but your body was already being pulled away. The last thing you heard was him scream your name, “Freya!”

Hands slapped onto the desk, and your head bounced on the pages.

“My god, have you been sleeping here this whole time?” An annoyingly familiar voice said. “You wouldn’t believe it! They’re finally getting a replacement for Professor Rattowl.”

It took several seconds for you to remember where you were. You lifted your head and look into a pair of inquisitive brown eyes and an aloof expression.

Her hair was braided on the sides and drawn into a high ponytail. Her robes were wrinkled as usual. “Valkyrie, how did you find me in the Hufflepuff common room? I specifically told Thomas to throw you off.” Your voice was thick with sleep.

Valkyrie snorted. “Thomas is a fool for a flirty conversation. You’d think that boy had never had a wank before…”

The memory of the dream hit you, and your heart sank. “Valkyrie, I saw something.”

She glanced at you and then to the wall of the hallway. A long shadow approached swiftly. “Oh shit, the prefect!”

“Quick! Hide!” You said to Valkyrie, pointing her to the coat closet.

A gleaming head of blonde hair turned around the corner and walked towards you. His eyebrows were raised, and he adjusted his rectangular glasses, glaring at you. You tried not to look guilty.

“Eves, what are you doing? This is a quiet area, and I heard voices.” he walked around your desk, looking around suspiciously.

“I must have fallen asleep. I had a poor sleep last night so…”

“Hmmm,” he said, walking near the coat closet.

You held your breath as he reached for the brass door handle. “You know we don’t allow any other houses in our quarters, Eves.”

“Of course.”

He turned to you, reaching away from the handle. “Then you also should know we don’t condone dirtying the sacred pages of our texts,” he said, gesturing at your books with a frown. “Clean this up and head to the Great Hall. Headmistress Frigga has announcements to make.”

He left, adjusting his glasses again but with his shoulders straightened out as if he had done a good job. You wondered if he would pat himself in the back afterwards.

Valkyrie all but crashed out of the closet and mocked Gerald. “Sacred texts! What a prat.”

You chuckled as she took a chair beside you. “Sacred or not, this damned thing cost me twenty galleons!” You wiped the drool away with the sleeve of your robe. The inside was a warm yellow. You glanced at Valkyrie. “How do you keep sneaking into our common room?”

She winked at you with a mischievous smile. “I have my ways, my sweet innocent Hufflepuff darling,” she said, reaching out and patting you on the head. “I wouldn’t dare want to corrupt your purity with treasonous talk.”

You punched her in the arm. “You are a jock in the land of intellectuals,” you said with a smirk, glancing at her red and gold tie.

She linked her arm through yours and dragged you away from the desk. “Alright alright, miss intellectual, now that you’ve stopped drooling, let’s go eat.”

***

The great hall was washed in the warm light of the candles that hung beautifully in the air above you. It was a sight that had never ceased to amaze you, no matter how many times you saw it. The flames flickered in a soft dance. You followed the path of candles over to the head table where all your professors sat.

Professor Odinson was there, with his chiseled youthful face that made all the ladies, Valkyrie in particular, swoon. He was a handsome man, though he did not occupy your thoughts as often as he did for others. Beside him was Professor Sif, laughing humorously at something Professor Odinson said. Then there was Professor Fandral nodding and smiling at Professor Hogun - whom you guessed was discussing the riveting growth cycles of the mandrake.

Headmistress Frigga was in the middle, in her silvery blue robes with sequins sewn into intricate patterns. Her aura was one of a Queen, with a gentle and kind face. On her one side there was an empty seat and on the other side was Heimdall, the divination professor, with whom she was in a deep discussion with. His sunset coloured eyes drifted around the room before settling on you. He always knew. You smiled back and waved at him. He nodded, though his expression was strained, perhaps even troubled.

For a moment you wondered if he knew what you had dreamed. Heimdall was one of the greatest seers of your time, and you happened to be his favourite student. He already knew of your repetitive dreams regarding the cavern, but you needed to tell him about the strange development - and the mysterious man you saw. Most of the time your dreams were fuzzy, but you remembered his face with an aggressive lucidity. Blue eyes that reflected the green magic in his hands before they disappeared into darkness remained on your mind. You took a deep breath and pushed it away.

“Did they already do the first years?” You said aloud to your table.

Mo, a fellow seventh year Hufflepuff, nodded. “Yep, and I guessed about 25/30, not bad, eh?”

You smiled at him and turned around to Valkyrie, who was right behind you, seated at the Gryffindor table. She winked at you when delicious food marvellously populated the table and you all tucked in. She filled her plate and then roughly rocked Mo to the side and sat down beside you.

“What were you saying about Rattowl?” You said, biting into a chicken hand pie. The rich flavour of creamy peas and carrots filled your mouth, and you reveled in it for a brief moment.

Valkyrie had half a mouthful of sausage and chewed loudly. “Well, it’s been what? A month since he croaked?”

A Hufflpuff girl across from you both, Nila, balked at Valkyrie. “How can you say that? He was...killed.” She could barely say the last word.

Valkyrie gave her a look. “What? It don’t make no difference, does it?”

Nila huffed indignantly. Mo interjected. “Well, it’s not every day a professor disappears for three weeks, only to be found ripped apart in the Forbidden Forest.”

You all wrinkled your noses in a few seconds of awkward silence. He was right. It was a bizarre and terrible thing to have happened. You had no love for Professor Rattowl. He was a cranky old man with awful manners, but he did not deserve such a fate.

Valkyrie said, “Well I heard that the Headmistress’s son is going to be the new potions teacher.”

You raised your brows. “Professor Odinson has a brother?”

Valkyrie’s eyes lit up at the mention of him. “If there are two Thor Odinson’s, then I will die this very moment.”

You, Mo, and Nila rolled your eyes at her when the doors crashed open in an echoing sound. All the chatter in the Great Hall was silenced when a lean and tall figure in a black cloak strolled into the room. His languid pace revealed a streak of arrogance - or confidence - as he walked down the hall, towards the head table. He walked between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables and slowly removed his hood.

You audibly gasped when you saw the raven haired man with his high cheekbones and proud nose. His blue eyes snapped towards you, and you felt your face heat up in seconds. He kept his eyes on you briefly before looking back at the head table. You breathed again once he was well past you.

Valkyrie looked at you questioningly. She whispered, “what’s going on?”

You could not take your eyes off of him and whispered back, “later.”

Everybody at the table rose, and Headmistress Frigga spoke with her wand pointed at her neck. “We will never forget our dear Professor Hubert Rattowl and the legacy he leaves here. The tragedy of his passing will remain a bitter memory in the long colourful history of Hogwarts. It has been a terrible time trying to fill this role, and our surprise guest has been gracious enough to accept our invitation. Professor Loki Laufeyson’s entrance may give you a taste into his exciting curriculum as the new Potions Master.” She gave him a warm smile.

He walked over to his seat and placed his hands on the table to look out at the students. There was something both inviting and dangerous about him. You could not look away.

He smiled widely and raised his hands. “Your potions saviour is here!”

The students clapped and eventually broke into applause. The Slytherin table was particularly ecstatic. There was no mistaking what house he belonged to. He looked at every table with a wide grin, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. They rested on you and your heart stopped. They flickered away, and he moved on before sitting down as the Headmistress continued her announcements.

Your hands were still clasped together in mid clap as you looked at the same man that was in your dream. His screams echoed in your mind and you wondered if this was all a nightmare. Regardless, it was going to be an interesting semester.

[anxious-little-faicye]

CAMP UNUS ANNUS SAFETY RULES!

Rule #1 - Always remember the BS (Buddy System).

Rule #2 - When confronted by a bear (depending on the type of bear), confront it back and make lots of noises. But keep in mind, only do that for Black Bears.

Rule #3 - Bears can't get through the polyurethane of a tent. Plastic repels nature, since it's not of this world.

Rule #4 - The forest doesn't give a damn about you. Arrogance will get you nowhere.

Rule #5 - If you're stuck in a tree alone and two people happen to come across you, they are buddies. Don't just assume because another human life is nearby that they're obligated to help you.

Rule #6 - You help those in need though.

Rule #7 - Communication is key.

Rule #8 - Look, scan, observe, react, run.

How to survive a bear attack:

Rule #9 / Step Number 1 - Evaluate, determine which type of bear it is that it's attacking you.

Rule #10 - If the bear grunts twice it's a Grizzly, if it grunts three times then it's a Polar Bear.

Rule #11 - When dealing with Polar Bears, the biggest thing you want to do is make sure that you're covered head to doe, with as much armor as possible (sleeping bags work just fine).

Rule #12 / Step Number 2 - Try to maintain silence, maybe it'll go away on it's own.

Rule #13 / Step Number 3 - If step 2 fails, abandon all coverage plans, because clearly it's not going to work. However, you don't need to worry, because your tent is safe as long as the bear doesn't claim it as it's own by attracting other bears as competition.

Rule #14 - It is very important that when you go shopping for your tent (or you're finding your tent), you get one that's strong, triple layer made of the highest quality material.

Rule #15 - If the bear attacks with a gun, make sure you cover all of the important parts of your body. The smaller the target the harder it is for a bear to get you.

Rule #16 / Step Number 4 - This is an emergency step, you would never do this unless you were in a extremely dangerous situation... just run. With the help of your buddy (don't forget the buddy system!) you will roll the tent from the inside away from the bear.

Rule #17 - It's important to remember where your tent was when you pitched it.

Rule #18 - At this point the bear should be very intimidated by your skill and athleticism. It may think you and your buddy are now one large creature.

Rule #??? - RAGE, rage against the dying of the light...

Rule #19 - After all that escaping protocol, the bear should be gone by now. But in the case that it's not, just keep going rolling away in the tent.

Rule #20 - Bears are afraid of the sunlight, they can't handle it's intense heat.

Rule #21 / Step Number 5 - And finally, to escape the tent, you have to find it's weakest point and destroy it.

Rule #22 - Nature it's a dangerous place filled with evil, horrible monstrosities that are beautiful in their own way.

How to safely bury your friend:

Rule #23 - Carcasses can attract bears and other wildlife that are opportunistic scavenges.

Rule #24 - For this process you're going to need a shovel and a buddy.

Rule #25 - Don't forget the Buddy System (B.S) or you will DIE.

Rule #26 - The first thing you're going to do is search the area for a proper place for a burial. You want a place with some soft dirt, plenty of open space, and not too near to the campsite.

Rule #27 - Dig six feet down (at the least), so you can put their feet first, then head at the top.

Rule #28 - Your dead body will grow into the environment.

Author's Note: ... I don't trust counselors Mark and Ethan.

Rule #29 - B.D.S.B (Bearing Doesn't Stop Bears)

Rule #30 - You are also going to need a quality shovel that can break through. You want a sharpen blade and a good foot rest.

Rule #31 - Do not, under ANY circumstances, mention the Tactical Shovel to counselor Mark.

Rule #32 - When you're digging a grave you should bring water, remember to stay hydrated!

Rule #33 - You can only absorbe so much sweat you produce. After a while it gets unhealthy, because your body can't filter out the bad water that you produce.

Rule #34 - You piss out of your skin when you can't piss out of anywhere else. So if you drink that, but then you piss it out again, then it becomes Super Piss (and that's not good to consume). But if you drink that then it turns into Ultra Piss, which is very valuable but bad to ingest. It's also incredible dangerous because, while bees can smell fear, they can also see the vapors from the Ultra Piss. So, although rare and easy to sell to a high price, it would attract thousands of bees.

Rule #35 - B.E.C.W.U.B (Be Extra Careful With [the] Ultra B[P]iss)

Rule #36 - The forest is one of the most polluted places, you can't get a breath of fresh air.

Rule #37 - Your buddy is always a breath of fresh air. (Hey, please don't do what Mark and Ethan did on the video, COVID-19 is still a very, very real thing.)

Rule #38 - Once you are done digging the grave, lay the body on a fetal position. Remember to really support the spine.

Rule #39 - If you can, get a standing grave, it's great for the spine.

Rule #40 - You can feel more productive when you are standing.

Author's Note: ... I really, REALLY don't trust counselors Mark and Ethan. I knew that bacon tasted kinda odd-

Rule #41 - Now all that's left to do is lay your friend to rest.

Rule #42 - Now you can go ahead and say words of rememberness, a testament to their life.

Rule #43 - The truth is the nicest gift you can give anybody.

Rule #44 - If you listen closely when your friend is later rest, you can hear their soul whisper their final thoughts.

Rule #45 - Remember to hit counselor Mark with a stick for waking us up at 6 am using a pan.

Rule #46 - Team building is the most important part of being on a camp. Because you may have your buddy, but we are all a team.

Rule #47 - Trust is the very foundation of any team.

Rule #48 - At any moment your buddy can need you. You'll never know when a bear is going to strike, when a chipmunk is going to go rabid, when a raccoon is going to be sneaky. You've got to be prepared for anything. And above all, you need to be prepared to catch your buddy if they fall.

Rule #49 - When you're in the nature, you are going to be climbing on a lot of things. They may be slippery surfaces, you may be not sure of your footing. You've got to be prepared at any time to catch your buddy.

Rule #50 - The higher the fall the greater the trust. Anyone from your team could be falling at any moment, make sure to catch them.

Rule #51 - Trust counselors Mark and Ethan...?

Rule #52 - Your buddy can fall in any direction, you've got to be ready.

Rule #53 - With a trust fall you've got to trust your buddy, but you gotta trust yourself too.

Rule #54 - No better way to exhibit a team than to show your strength together (by making a human pyramid).

Rule #55 - Tug of War, classic team building from earliest man. Get a rope and you pull, but you've got to make two teams so you can compete and defeat their respective enemy (and they need to die).

Rule #56 - Don't forget, it's hot outside, so make sure you wear your sunscreen and drink plenty of water.

Rule #57 - Start in the middle (the knot needs to be in the middle), and whoever gets it to the point where the winner is obvious.... well, wins precisely.

Author's Note: UNUS! UNUS! UNUS! UN- oh, nevermind.

Rule #58 - The next most important part of team-building is sharing. Sharing with eachother is basically bonding. You learn from eachother, you have openness with eachother, and so on.

Rule #59 - The clue to win Three Legged Pace is coordination.

Rule #60 - It's always important when you go out outside to be prepared, and of course, bring water.

Rule #61 - Make sure to keep cool when you're in the wilderness, it is important for survival. And when you're done drinking water, you can play a little football with your friend using the leftover bottle.

Rule #62 - While playing Three Legged Egg Balance, remember to keep a steady "one-two" rhythm.

Rule #63 - FIRE IS NO JOKE. Don't play around with it.

Rule #64 - Knowing how to built a fire is one of the most important skills at Camp Unus Annus. With it you can cook your food, disinfect your water, clean your clothes, stay warm and call grandma.

Rule #65 - And if your grandparents are death, stare deeply into the fire until you see their face swim out of the flames.

Rule #66 - Fire is spelled F-I-R-T. Sorry, I don't make the rules.

Author's Note: Wait a second, are they not Camp Counselors?-

How to built a fire:

Rule #67 / Step Number 1 - Be aware of the current threat level for forest fires. Right now it's midnight. That's B, for Be aware.

Rule #68 / Step Number 2 - Kindling. Be aware, get kindling, find perfect stick (B.A.G.K.F.P.S)

Rule #69 (nice) - Remember, if you want to start a fire get your bag of piss.

Rule #70 / Last Step - Friction. The friction of the stick (zooming around in circles) against the friction of a wooden piece creates smoke signals. The smoke signals will travel to your candling and say "Hey, catch on fire." And in response it will sometimes go "Okay" in an umberwear farm. The umbers are what leads to the fire in an it case of a FIRE. Very important.

Rule #71 - Always have a fire extinguisher (preferably water) just in case something goes wrong.

Rule #72 - Put your prefect stick on your wood base and start rubbing said stick against it.

Rule #73 - Gently blow the base after rubbing the stick, fire needs oxygen to grow.

Rule #74 - If you manage to make a hole through the base, leave the stick there and start spinning it. With the power of insertion, if you get it going fast enough, flames should ignite.

Rule #75 - Fire needs to be seduced.

Rule #76 - To produce the flames you need to sin.

Rule #77 - Satan knows.

Rule #78 - For the love of God, keep counselor Mark away from sharp objects.

Author's Note: ... Does anyone else see the weird man dressed in a black suit outside or it's just me...?

Rule #79 - No matter what goals you may have in life, a little bit of hard work, a little bit of determination, a bit of luck gets you anywhere.

Author's note: Yay escape room! I love those!

Rule #80 - Beware of counselor Evan throwing things at the tents.

Rule #81 - On daytime the bats are squirrels, but on nighttime they are vampires. For this reason you shouldn't be around bats, or they will suck your blood.

Rule #82 - Counselor Mark really loves riddles.

Rule #83 - Stay six feet away from the trees to avoid being attacked by a squirrel.

Rule #84 - The most dangerous things about the deers are their antlers and hooves.

Rule #85 - To survive the snakes you need to: Look, Observe, Scan, React, Run (L.O.S.R.R)

Author's Note: Counselor Ethan is fucking smart, fight me. Also, shout out to counselor Amy because not once have I mentioned her and she's amazing.

Rule #86 - Run away from Mark. JUST RUN.

Rule #87 - Tragically, counselor Mark has turned into the beast called Neanderthalensis Marconius, also known as HeeHoo.

Rule #88 - HeeHoo feeds himself with wild Takis, roaming around the woods butt naked and in solitude...

Rule #89 - If you wish to communicate with the HeeHoo, there are sounds he will react to: Unus Annus.

(And here it is, after nights of work I present to you the -not so official- Unus Annus Rule Manual! This has been a blast, I am so glad I could finally finish it. Camp Unus Annus was absolutely amazing in every sense of the word, thanks Mark, Ethan, Amy and Evan for the experience!)

@tiny-crecher (I am SO sorry-)

@markiplier @crankgameplays

[starcrossedkaiju]

Kingslayer AU: Chapter Four

I would say this is where the plot really kicks up. Especially next chapter.

\\ Warnings: blood, violence, guns //

Home was quiet under the overcast winter sky. A blanket of snow covered everything in sight. Scott shoved his hands in his pockets and shivered away the chill creeping down his back. It was beginning to snow more heavily as the evening set in on the server.

Winter never faired well with him, it made his hands and knees weak, and stuck him with a near constant headache. Most ailments rendered him bedridden if it was cold enough outside. He hoped he wouldn’t get sick.

Jimmy had hurried them into Scott’s home quickly after entering the walls. It wasn’t really Scott’s anymore as both of them had been sharing the space for quite a while. There was evidence of each of them strewn about.

It could do with some cleaning but the clutter made it feel more natural.

Safer, perhaps.

Scott took his shoes and jacket off. He left them near the door so no muck would get tracked into the house. It was cold inside from a week of being neglected, not a lamp had been left on after he went to see the Sand People.

One glance at his bed proved to be the nail in the coffin. He climbed into the loft and lay down, his head hit the pillow and he was out.

*****

Water trickled across the ceiling. It dropped down and landed on Scott’s cheek. Plunk Plunk Plunk.

Scott blinked into awareness and looked for the source of his awakening, only to find that it was completely dark. Panic surged through him and he sat up quickly only to hit his head on a hard surface. His hands flew out in surprise and hit two stone walls.

“What,” he breathed.

The floor beneath him was damp from perpetual rain seeping into the cell.

“No,” he whispered repeatedly.

The darkness was suffocating this time, he couldn’t calm down, he knew he’d run out of air eventually. Maybe the lack of oxygen was finally making him go crazy, imagining the walls were getting closer and closer. Scott pushed himself up against the corner and hugged his knees to his chest.

The water that woke him up seemed to flow more like a waterfall now. It hit the jagged floor and slowly approached the corner Scott had decided to glue himself to, but it didn’t stop. The water only grew deeper and deeper. He was too tired to even care. Death seemed like a more peaceful option then trying to escape.

He would drown in his tomb alone, and they would get away with it.

*****

Scott’s eyes flew open. This time not to a completely dark stone tomb, but a softly moonlit bedroom. His bedroom.

A weight from behind him made itself known.

Jimmy must have gotten into bed with him earlier that night. The covers were pulled over both of them.

Scott turned around and leaned into his sleeping husband’s arms, taking a few moments to assure himself of his surroundings; and that he was safe at home.

Sensing that his night of sleep had been cut short, Scott meticulously unwrapped himself from Jimmy’s arms and replaced himself with a pillow.

His socks masked most of the noise he made as he exited the room and partially closed the door behind him. It was deathly silent when he unhooked his coat (the one he didn’t ruin) from its place on the wall, equipped his boots, and slipped outside.

The contrast of warmth from inside to outside made Scott’s eyes water. His hands were safe inside his mittens when he brushed some snow off his front steps and sat down.

It was a bit windy outside, breeze funneled through the valley and into the Hobbit town. It bounced off the hills and dissipated into the air. Scott wished he’d brought his telescope so he could admire the sky, which was clear at the moment. A lonely band of the Milky Way sliced across the cosmos to the west.

Stargazing always filled him with a feeling of yearning. He couldn’t remember why, or even when it had started, but ever since he found himself on this server with borders and rules he felt out of place. Not just in the way he looked, but being grounded for so long. Scott had trouble understanding the ways of this world. It was obvious that he didn’t quite fit.

The snow had died down since they arrived hours earlier, nobody had cleared it for a while so it was near shin deep. Every inch of the landscape was buried, including the entrance to their enchanting room, and all the flowers that would typically adorn the forest floor.

Something was wrong.

Scott couldn’t put his finger on it. Coming to alertness, he scanned the scenery like a hawk until he saw it.

Footprints.

Fresh. Footprints.

Directly in front of his home, they came right up to the first step and no further. There was multiple sets fanning out across the lawn area. He could see all three sets from his perch.

Scott froze with fear. Someone had paid a visit in the middle of the night while they were asleep. He wondered why, but he knew.

He was about to get up and lock himself inside when he felt something step on the creaking stairs right behind him. Scott’s eyes flicked to the side for a split second before he instinctively stood up and attempted to flee down the remaining steps, but he didn’t make it.

A hand instantly wrapped around his forearm and wrenched him backwards, he fell into an armored torso. A gloved hand clapped over his mouth, and an arm snaked under his own to render them paralyzed.

“It would be in your best interest not to scream Major,” a terrible Scottish accent made itself known. Scott nearly rolled his eyes.

Of course, this dramatic fool had to come and ruin his night. One thing was for certain, he was not getting kidnapped again.

A sharp object poked at his ribs.

“Just a precaution,” someone said in a falsely apologetic tone. No doubt it was Skizzle.

That meant that he was being immobilized by Martyn. He should have known really, that man followed the Red King anywhere. Upon the ladder’s orders, he escorted Scott down the steps and across the snow stricken grounds, just next to Jimmy’s “house” that they’d mainly been using as storage for the odds and ends that didn’t fit in Scott’s place.

The hand was removed from his jaw and he jolted his head away with a mirthful expression. He fixed his eyes directly where he assumed Ren’s were beneath his sunglasses; which he was wearing in the dead of night. Asshole.

Skizzle stood next to Ren with an imposing posture, as Martyn had a free hand to hold his own weapon with. The weapon being an enchanted diamond axe which he held with a sort of pride.

“You know,” Ren began, “I must give it to you Major, that escape you pulled off was impressive,” he spoke in an unbothered manner and ground his foot upon a rock somewhere under the snow.

“Why are you doing this, Ren?” Scott cut to the chase. He was uninterested in games.

“You aren’t even a red lifer. You can’t kill me,” he added.

Ren scoffed. He adjusted his glasses, “and who exactly is policing that rule?” he said with a knowing quirk of an eyebrow.

“Grian?”a beat passed, “you?!” he began to laugh to himself. Skizzle and Martyn joined in momentarily.

“More green lifers have killed people than red at this stage, so don’t get on me about that,” he said.

“These are my walls,” Scott pointed out.

“That’s funny, you didn’t seem to have much respect for our walls earlier did you,” Martyn said close to Scott’s ear. He pulled away.

“Can I at least be let in on why you’re picking on me of all people?” Scott asked with no enthusiasm.

“Don’t tell me you went on and forgot that Timmy dearest is responsible for the deaths of myself and Skizzle,” Ren shot back, leaning into the other’s personal space.

Everyone looked between each other, “among other things,” Ren added.

Skiz nodded in agreement and sent a meaningful glare towards Scott’s house, where a dim light was on in the bedroom.

Scott’s mouth hung open in rueful shock, “that’s what all this is about? It was an accident,” he shouted. Which earned him a light punch in the side.

“Be quiet,” Martyn warned.

“You know he didn’t mean it! He was sorry and you know it. The only reason you’re even here right now is because it was an accident. Don’t do this to him,” Scott half pleaded but he was more angry.

“Oh yeah, I almost forgot. You’re buddy buddy with the people who want to kill us too. Hmm, maybe you are familiar with the term ‘covering our bases’?” Ren added.

“This isn’t all about your perfect little life Major,” Ren dropped the accent and took Scott by the front of his jacket.

“Things are going to change around here for all of us, and it starts with your Timmy paying his dues,” he said.

Scott’s face pulled into a scowl. He thrust his head forward vigorously, the plastic CRACK of Ren’s sunglasses on impact split through his ears as he saw the “Red” King stagger backwards.

Before his goons could decide their next moves Scott lifted his foot up behind him quickly, glad he’d decided to wear his heavier boots on a whim as they collided with an unfortunate set of unmentionables.

The owner of the unmentionables keeled over. He all but threw the axe out of his hands, which Scott graciously took for himself. He tore himself free and swung around, bringing the back of the axe down on Martyn’s bowed head. Purposefully omitting the sharpened blade from the equation.

Skull met stick with a loud THWACK; and Martyn’s body went limp. The Hand fell on his side into the snow with a muffled thump.

Scott admired his work for a moment and considered it even for the lingering purple bruise still on the side of his own face.

There was no time to waste though, he turned back to the remaining members of Dogwarts with a new feeling of control.

Ren’s face was still buried in his hands. No doubt sporting a wicked nosebleed from being head-butted. His glasses were nowhere to be found. Somewhere in the deep snow.

Scott’s attention turned to Skiz now. Who was in battle position.

It was not a fair fight by any means. The Red Army was decked out in their signature crimson dyed armor (not great for sneaking around but they weren’t much into that) and their iconic shields which Scott thought were a bit ugly.

Nobody was immune to quick thinking though. Even with all that armor, a man can’t be immune to a kick in the nuts.

Skizzle made the first move. He pushed off his heel and swung his sword vertically in Scott’s direction. The ladder, shieldless, jumped out of the way. Skizzle regained his composure and ran after him like a blood sniffing shark. Scott ran away from him in as dead a sprint that can be achieved in knee deep snow, letting his pursuer gain some momentum before he sharply turned around and plunged his axe blade into the thick wood of Skiz’s shield.

The aforementioned momentum caused Skiz to keep moving while his Sheild was ripped from his arm attached to the sharp blade of Scott’s (new) shiny axe. Both of them fell over in the snow.

Wanting to get the jump, Scott staggered to his feet and sat on top of Skizzle to keep him on the ground. They pushed back and forth with their respective blades until Scott was thrown off the other, who immediately slashed his sword at him but missed by a hair.

Scott rolled away clumsily with the shield on his arm and used the handle of his axe to stand up just in time for another barrage of slashes that audibly cut through the air. Scott blocked them with his shield and with the hilt of his axe, managing to repel his opponent for enough time to get his share of hits.

“You’re using the wrong side of the axe, man!” Skizzle pointed out after being beat a few times with the non-lethal side of Scott’s weapon, which he was using his armored forearms to fend off.

“Would you rather me use the other?” Scott replied.

They went back and forth in a struggle to gain control of their respective fights, of which had seen them travel to the corner of the Hobbits’ walls where two hills flattened out and created an amphitheater with a perfect stage in the center.

The metallic clashing of weapons filled the area, Skizzle managed to wrap Scott in a chokehold, the shield had been thrown to the sidelines amongst the struggle, with a blade growing ever nearer to his throat. Scott held off the oncoming sword by brute strength alone, his hand braced against his opponent’s forearm and shook with the effort.

“This is it for you,” Skizzle strained, “no more games,” he said.

Scott answered with a war cry. He knocked the other’s chest with his elbow and threw both of them forwards a bit, just enough to wriggle free and get away from the blade. While Skiz wasn’t guarding his midsection, Scott jabbed the handle of his weapon into the space between Skiz’s chest plate and armored leggings.

A breathless cough was all that came from the man behind him, followed by a drawn out whine, then a satisfying thud and the clunking of armor as it fell into the snow.

There was no place to celebrate his victory however, when a very angry, bloody nosed king strode up to the crime scene. Ren’s expression told Scott that he wasn’t a fun target to play with anymore. Tougher than he looked, perhaps.

The leader of Dogwarts trudged menacingly up to Scott, who made to raise his weapon but instead was greeted by a fist in his face. The force threw him to the ground, where Ren’s heavy red boot descended upon his chest. A blade sliced into the hard ground next to Scott’s ear. His axe was yanked from his hands and thrown somewhere behind them by Ren.

“Alright Major. Perhaps I underestimated your capabilities,” Ren practically spat, “It’s a shame really. You would have been such an attractive addition to the Red Army,” he said with a mocking sadness.

“That was supposed to be your sales pitch?” Scott strained.

Scott could feel rivulets of blood flowing down his face from his nostrils, it seeped into his mouth and tasted like he’d eaten iron shavings. His hands were clasped around Ren’s ankle and foot, trying to alleviate the stress that was on his rib cage. He liked being able to breathe after all.

“You’ve clearly proven too much for my army to handle,” Ren jerked Scott by the front of his shirt, as if he was the one to blame for his army’s failure.

“But I digress. I guess I’ll kill you now,” the Red King smiled down at him with a devious grin, and shoved him harshly to the ground.

Scott could see that his eyes were a striking yellow, set back in his head a bit so that they were perpetually shadowed by his eye sockets. Strands of white and brown hair fell around his face, and his right ear twitched upon his head.

His vision was swimming dangerously close to blacking out as Ren hoisted his weapon, a glimmering diamond axe with a gold accented handle, above his head. Scott shut his eyes and prepared for the cold hard inevitable when a loud POP ricocheted off the amphitheater walls. Followed by a dull plunk.

The axe fell from Ren’s hands like it was knocked away. He jumped like he’d been startled. His eyes were blown wide, and Scott thought he might look scared.

Ren raised a shaky hand to his right shoulder, turning it a bit so he could see, he gently touched the surface of his arm. His fingertips came back covered in a layer of blood.

He began to slowly turn around, Scott sat up on his elbow to follow his line of sight.

Standing in the entrance to the amphitheater, in the snow that had been disturbed by the previous altercation, was a furious looking Jimmy.

His hunting rifle was still raised and aimed at the Red King, smoke poured from the barrel and floated into the frigid air.

Ren stood up and faced Jimmy, an out of place smile gracing his countenance.

“Well! Looks like we have a full party now, I was wondering when the special guest was going to show up,” he teased.

“Your little friend here put up quite the fight,” Ren took Scott by the back of his hood and lifted him out of the obfuscating layer of snow.

“You just don’t stop talking do you,” Jimmy said sternly. He didn’t move an inch, and his finger was poised on the trigger of his father’s old gun.

Ren had stopped talking. He resorted to staring down his nose at the other man.

“Get out of my walls, Ren,” Jimmy demanded.

“Now hold on dude, we’re not finished here,” Ren prefaced.

“No, I think we are done here!” Jimmy raised his voice.

“You’re going put him down right now,” he ordered, “take your men, and leave my home,” Jimmy yelled.

“Or what?” Ren asked, although it was more of a last ditch effort than a promise of more to come.

“Or I aim for your head next time,” Jimmy deadpanned.

Ren chewed his bottom lip pensively, seeming to consider his options before rendering himself rightfully defeated. He nodded curtly, and tossed the battered Scott at Jimmy’s feet. He strode over to Skizzle and kicked him encouragingly in the side, gathering him up and then going to retrieve Martyn, whom he had Skizzle sling over his shoulder.

The Red Musketeers vacated the Hobbit’s walls, going through the door they broke down on the way in. Jimmy kept his rifle trained on them until he was sure they weren’t coming back. Then he turned back to Scott, shakily flipping the safety of the rifle back on.

“Scott,” Jimmy called out, “hey, can you hear me?” it was too familiar.

“I’m fine,” Scott assured; but his husband wasn’t having it. He took the other’s face in his hands gently and assessed the damage.

“I think you have a concussion,” Jimmy observed.

“I think I could have used your help a bit earlier,” Scott joked, but Jimmy didn’t smile, “I mean I knew you were a heavy sleeper but this is ridiculous”, he added.

Jimmy helped him up and he wobbled a bit before taking in the scene he’d made. A clear path of action stretched from the front door of Jimmy’s house to the Western Wall where the amphitheater was. Some of the snow was red with blood.

Jimmy took Scott’s arm and pulled him into a half embrace, “let’s go back inside. You’re freezing,” he whispered.

“Wait,” Scott said.

He started sifting through the snow, eventually pulling out the axe he’d stolen from Martyn. Ren had retrieved his and Skiz’s weapons before leaving. He held it up and flipped it over in his hands a few times gleefully. Then, he trudged over to Jimmy’s front door and found Ren’s discarded shades under some red stained snow. The right lens was cracked down the middle, hairline fractures branched off of it.

He held the sunglasses up for Jimmy to see with a proud grin, waving them around in the air.

“How’d you manage that?” Jimmy asked, dumbfounded.

“I went like BAP!” Scott articulated as he pretended to head butt Jimmy to demonstrate, “and they must have come right off! Look at that, a perfect trophy,” he bragged.

“You know, I didn’t question why he wasn’t wearing them because I didn’t think that even he was enough of a dick to wear sunglasses in the dead of night,” Jimmy said.

“Now, inside,” he pointed to the door.

[one-pissed-off-child]

Only A Fool

I have been here for 300 years.

Anyway, here you go.

Phillipe didn’t listen to Camille.

He was tired, true (in this same moment, a thousand lifetimes away, he would have been much too tired and much too sullen to put up a fuss) and he had a long journey ahead of him. But Phillipe had given everything to this island. His years, his family’s funds, his dedication, and now he would give his children. He was owed, at least, a chance to see them for the first and last time.

So he went.

When his wife laid down to rest, still weary from the tribulations of birth, and when the old midwife stepped outside to fetch a bundle of calming herbs at the king’s behest, Phillipe went to see his daughters.

As he stepped into the hall, Phillipe came to the stark realization that he had no idea where the nursery was. In all the hours that they'd been here, Willa had not bothered to show him where the babes would be kept. Why would she? He was never meant to see them after all. They weren’t his to see.

But still, he searched undeterred, and eventually, he came across a room a few doors down from Camille’s birthing chamber, barred by an expertly crafted door engraved with three black roses. Beautiful flowers marked with the color of death. How symbolic.

Pushing into the room, Phillipe was reminded of the brief moment of calm that often comes within the eye of a storm. He felt himself relax as he took in the domesticity of it all.

Sunlight gently streamed in through the window, falling on three bassinets to the side of the room. He felt a small smile split his face as he approached the cradles. Seeing the small forms sleeping peacefully inside filled him with indescribable joy, he wished he knew their names. Phillipe’s smile morphed into a frown. He should know their names.

He started with the one cuddling the cloud pillow. Scooping her tiny form into his arms was a surreal experience. She barely weighed anything at all and staring down at her little face almost gave him the sensation of floating. It was often said that the queens retained no physical traits from their parents before them but he could see that this one had his jawline and ears. She would grow up to be beautiful.

Phillipe kissed her brow before settling her back into place.

The next one did not look much like him, although he could see a bit of Camille in the roundness of her face and himself in her strong nose. However, as he gently lifted the little girl out from underneath her horrid mobile, it quickly became clear the similarities between them lay in their personalities. He chuckled softly as she squirmed in his arms. His mother often told stories of how fitful Phillipe was as a child, even when asleep. His restlessness did not subside much as he grew older but rather worsened. All up until now in his manhood he had trouble keeping still. Phillipe suspected this child would be the same.

He pinched the tiny hand that slipped out of the swaddle and nearly cried when it latched around his fingers.

He tenderly set the second child down, careful to avoid disturbing -or touching- the dead reptiles, and turned his attention to the final cradle.

This last child was not like him in appearance nor mannerisms. She was so still that Phillipe almost feared for her health until he saw the healthy flush in her face. And she did not look like him at all but, he noted with no small amount of pride, she was almost the mirror image of Camille. Smallest out of the three by far, this one had to be the youngest.

Just as he kissed her cheek and prepared to set her down, big, black doll-like eyes suddenly fluttered open. He froze.

She didn't immediately start wailing like he assumed her to. In fact, she stared at him almost expectantly. As if she were waiting for him to do something. It almost felt like...a request.

To his credit, Phillipe did try to leave. Told himself to go before his traitorous thoughts could continue entertaining a notion that would likely get him killed. Yet still, even as his rational mind tried to reason with his body, he felt himself crumple to the floor. Those eyes that were so much like Camille's turned his legs to anchors.

There is a saying amongst the people of Fennbirn. At first glance, it seemed a strange one given this island’s seemingly unconditional adoration of their triplet queens. But the years taught him better.

Only a fool could love a queen

Then he truly must be the king of fools to have fallen in love with four of them.

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

Camille shot up with a gasp. Cold sweat ran down her forehead in rivulets. She gripped the sheets like a lifeline. She felt like throwing up. Camille groaned at the intense pounding in her skull. She hadn’t been able to sleep properly since her...victory.

Sleep. How could she? How could she when the ghosts of her sisters screamed in her ear; when she saw their dead and dying faces every time she closed her eyes; when the memories of her early days returned to her and all she could think of is the sweet little girls in those memories and how she murdered them?

Camille shook herself. Now was not time for regret. It wouldn’t do much good for anyone either way; what’s done is done is done. She was so close to everything she had dreamed of for seven years.  She could start over; live the life she had always wanted from the beginning. All she had to do was walk away and never turn back.

Yet, when she searched for her dream's face, she did not see him.

A cold pit of dread formed in her stomach.

Camille called for him, hoping he had simply stepped out for air. No answer. The pit in her stomach grew larger.

She desperately wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he just went to get some water or if not that then to get a better pillow or if not that then to use the chamber pot. One by one she checked the kitchen, each of the bedrooms, and the bathroom, and one by one they all were deemed empty.

Once it became evident that her husband was nowhere else in the house, Camille slowly made her way to the nursery. She pointedly ignored the bittersweet feelings that rose marked door summoned within her as she made her way into the room.

Inside, she found her husband, sitting on the ground and cradling one of the baby queens against his chest. Camille sighed heavily and approached the pair. She carded a hand through his auburn curls.

He looked up at her and- oh

He was crying.

Her love, soft-hearted though he may be, was not a well-known crier.

Pursing her lips, she carefully settled down next to him. "Come now, darling. Let us find Willa." But he was already shaking his head. He looked back at the child in his arms.

"I- I can't do this Camille. I'm sorry."

Camille's hand slipped from his hair to his shoulder as she dredged up every last ounce of patience her tired body possessed. "I know this is hard for you but it's simply how we do things here. I promise that once we get to the mainland-"

“Did you hold them? Did you even touch them?”

“Phillipe-”

“Take her, Camille.”

Camille did not take her. “You’ve known that this would happen for years. I’ve told you time and time again that you can’t get attached. This is why I told you not to go. ”

"I can't just leave my daughters-"

"They aren't your daughters," Camille said gently, "They belong to the island and the Goddess only."

Phillipe tensed. "So you truly believe that it's right for us to just sail away and go about our lives knowing what they'll be subjected to here? That it's right to just hand them over after everything these people have done to you?"

“It is my duty as queen”, Camille said mechanically. She wasn’t even sure if they were her words (they weren’t. Not really).

“They’ve taken so much from us. I hear the way you cry out for your sisters at night. I've seen the scars on your arms and back. The Arrons, the temple, this entire damned island, they have given you nothing, nothing but heartache and pain. And as thanks for your suffering, you'd give them our children to torture?"

"They are not our children!", She snapped, then softer, "Please, enough of this. You know the island won't let them go. We can have a real family on the mainland."

Phillipe just sadly shook his head again. "I can't be with someone who would abandon her own daughters to a life of misery. If you force me to choose between you and them- it's them. I'm sorry", and Camille's heart shattered.

He finally turned from the infant to her. "I don't want to choose, please don't make me choose." He took her hand and rested it on the child's -Katharine, she numbly recalled- head. "This is our family. Don't let the island tear it apart."

Everything Phillipe was saying went against the very person Camille had been taught to be. What the temple taught her of being a vessel for the Goddess on earth. What the Arrons taught her about succeeding no matter what. The things Phillipe was suggesting were blasphemous and damn near sacrilegious (but she had stopped praying a long time ago). To go along with it would be to burn down years of meticulous planning. To spit in the face of all the teachings Camille received.

She looked from Phillipe and his pleading eyes to Mirabella and Arsinoe, blissfully sleeping through the turmoil in the room, to little Katharine, whose eyes and nose looked so much like her own.

Queens never pass on physical traits

She was tired of following the rules.

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

The Black Cottage was small, although it was not actually a cottage. Hidden away in the forest and surrounded by undergrowth, it was not an easy place to find, let alone reach. Few people were privy to the cottage’s exact location and every one except the queens were sworn to secrecy on pain of execution. This, of course, was to allow the Midwife to raise the ascending queens in peace as well as protect them in those few vulnerable years where they were not constantly guarded by a powerful foster family. The meticulous position now worked to their advantage as Queen and King rushed to secure the baby girls in the back of Willa’s old but sturdy wagon.

Phillipe tied down the wicker baskets that held his daughters with the rope they found in the kitchen while Camille shackled Willa's fastest horse, Sarin, to the front of the wagon.

Phillipe stopped suddenly. "Wait, should we bring nappies?"

Camille blinked. "What? You mean soil cloths?"

"Yes, who is going to change them?"

"I'd reckon you know more about these things than I do."

"But you're-"

She shot him a withering look. "I'm what? A woman?"

"Smarter than me", he finished.

Camille just rolled her eyes. "We can figure all that out once we're on the road. I'll go get the cloths." He nodded as Camille finished attending to the horses and turned back towards the house.

She stopped.

There in the meadow stood Willa. This was the first time Camille's seen her since the birthing. She had completely forgotten about her pseudo mother. Behind her, a small gasp indicated that Phillipe had similarly forgotten about the only other person in the house.

“Camille-”

“Get in the wagon.” She sucked in a breath and righted herself with a confidence she did not feel. “I will handle this.”

Still, Phillipe glanced between her and the old Midwife as though he expected Willa to summon a dagger out of thin air and bury it in Camille's eye. Knowing of the old woman's history as a poisoner, Camille could not even say his concern was unfounded. But he finally nodded once and got in the coach's seat.

She approached Willa with her head held high

Willa smiled as she drew near. "You were going to make off with my only wagon and best horse without even a goodbye? The gall of this generation."

Camille didn't know what to say. She stayed silent as she eyed the bag Willa had slung over her shoulder. Noticing the younger woman's tension, Willa's smile fell away.

"Relax girl. I'm not going to beat you to death with a rucksack." Her eyes hardened, "And I'm not going to try and stop you either."

Now Camille's silence was tinged with an air of shock.

"Those six years I spent raising the three of you were the happiest years of my life. I treasured every moment I spent watching you and Arden play in the river. Eating those horrible cookies that Nautica baked every winter," Willa raised one wrinkled hand to Camille's cheek. She didn't pull away. "You girls were the most important things in my life even after those black carriages came and took you away."

"I collected every piece of news about you three I could find. I celebrated every victory with you and every time I heard of Nautica's escapades with her multiple spouses or of Arden's ridiculous spars with the warriors from Bastian, I would think of our time here together."

"The pain I felt when I heard of their passing was the worst than anything I had ever experienced. I prayed I would not live long enough to feel it again."

Camille couldn't help it. Tears blurred her vision as she whispered, "I killed them."

Willa nodded. "You did."

"I remember their faces. I remember the river, the cookies, all of it." Camille shook as she wept, "And I killed them."

"And now-", Willa said as she wiped her tears, "You will ensure no little girls are forced to kill their sisters ever again."

"You failed your sisters and I failed the three of you. Do not fail your daughters." Camille nodded against Willa's hand.

Willa again smiled briefly.

“I’ll send for the houses in two hours. It will take one hour for the word to reach all of them and another three or so for the carriages to arrive. I suspect that should be just enough time for you to reach the landing. Provided you take the back roads of course.”

“I-yes. That should be enough.”

“Good. Now then,” She handed Camille the sack she had brought. Inside were blankets, soil cloths, medicinal herbs, clothes for infants, and a collection of peculiar items that she assumed were to the girls entertained. And quiet.

"Thank you", said Camille, and she meant it from the depths of her soul.

"A child needs not to thank her mother for doing a mother's duty." Then mother and daughter embraced for the last time. Camille stiffened as she pulled away.

“You’ll be-” executed. Brutally. Painfully.

The old crone just smiled. “I will be fine.” It was a lie.

The Midwife turned around and slowly made her way back into the house. Camille watched until her back disappeared behind the door before walking back to her husband and daughters.

To her family.

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

Jonathan Blackburn is a family man at heart.

Whenever his sister needed help wrangling her massive brood of eight, Jonathan was there. Whenever his mother needed him to drive the cattle because one of the work hands fell sick, Jonathan was there. And when Phillipe came to him seven years ago and told him of his plans to go to the legendary island of Fennbirn and pursue one of their triplet queens well, what other choice did Jonathan have than to go with him?

You could start a family of your own you know, Phillipe had said.

And Jonathan replied, How could I trust myself to start a new one if I can't take care of the one I have now?

So, when his little brother arrived at the landing three hours early in an old wagon with his wife at his side and a slumbering newborn in his arms, Jonathan took one look at his pleading face and called for the captain to take to sea.

Not a word was passed between them.

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

The Goddess took being robbed of her new queens about as well as Camille expected her to.

Within thirty minutes of leaving Bernadine's Landing, a vicious storm descended upon the mighty Rapshire, and thus, the battle began.

If there was one silver lining in this whole debacle, it's that every man aboard this ship was a mainlander. Not one of them batted an eye when she and Phillipe carried the girls aboard.

But as it goes, if there's an upside then there's a downside. No matter how good of a crew these men were, they were simply no match for the ferocity of the typhoon. There were many times in her life when Camille wished to be an elemental but none more so than today.

Down in the underbelly, Camille listened to the stomping and shouting above her head as the men tried everything in their power to keep the ship afloat. Phillipe was up there too, shouting orders with the rest of them.

A particularly strong gust of wind threatened to capsize the ship altogether and the young mother desperately kept hold of her children while struggling to stay sitting upright. Camille winced as the wails of Arsinoe and Katharine rose to match the crashing of thunder.

The eldest of the baby queens simply laughed. Where Camille greened every time the boat was violently rocked by the waves, Mirabella shrieked in delight and flapped her little arms about as if she were the one bringing this storm down on their heads.

Camille huffed. Elementals.

Once again, the ship rocked so violently that it was everything Camille could do to keep a tight grip on the baskets. She felt something slip out of her pocket and clatter to the ground. She looked down at it and paled.

A vile of nightshade. Willa had pressed it into her hand during their embrace. Such a poison was much too weak to have any effect on Camille. There was no question of who it was for.

You will ensure no little girls are forced to kill their sisters ever again.

Somehow she managed to grasp the vile with a shaking hand. She swallowed as she considered the task before her. Killing two teenage girls whose faces she hardly remembered was difficult enough but three infants?

Yet, letting the Goddess sweep them back to the island would be just as damning. A small bit of nightshade is incomparable to the suffering that the Arrons would inflict on Arsinoe. And Mirabella, she would be forced to live through the deaths and haunting memories of her sisters as Camille is. She uncorked the vile.

Yes, this is the kinder fate. A death by nightshade would be quick and painless. At her young age, not even Arsinoe's poisoner gift could protect her from a toxin this deadly.

She only wished that she could have made their last moments as joyous for her two youngest as they were for Mirabella.

Slowly, she kissed each of the girls goodbye. The silence was deafening as she pressed the vile to Katharine's lips and made to tip it back.

Silence?

Camille snatched the nightshade away before a drop of liquid could spill over.

The cabin was suddenly still. There was no booming thunder overhead. No screaming wind that nearly knocked them clean over. She couldn't even hear the rain anymore. It was as if the storm had never happened at all.

Camille dared to let herself hope.

And when Phillipe rushed downstairs to practically slam his mouth into hers, she knew her dreams finally came true

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

The sun on her skin was a blessing after being cooped up in that tiny cabin for what felt like hours. If the pleased cooing was anything to go by, it seemed Katharine agreed.

An arm wrapped around her waist and her husband and brother-in-law joined her at the bow of the ship. Each of them held her other two children.

Phillipe observed them with proud eyes. He stared down at his daughter in his arms as if she were the most perfect this in the world.

Phillipe looked at her again and she saw tears in his eyes for the second time in seven years.

"What are their names?"

Camille smiled through her own tears. "She-", Camille said, nodding to the babe in Phillipe's arms, "-is Mirabella. The eldest." The new father beamed.

She gestured to Jonathan. "She is Arsinoe. Middle child."

Jonothan grinned down at his wiggling niece. "Hello, little Arsinoe. I am your uncle Jon. I can already tell you're going to be as much of a handful as your father is."

"And this is Katharine. She is the youngest." Camille pressed a kiss to Katharine's head.

Phillipe repeated their names in order under his breath. Then louder and louder still until he was shouting at the top of his lungs.

"THEIR NAMES ARE MIRABELLA, ARSINOE, AND KATHARINE! I'M A FATHER!"

Jonathan whooped. "You heard him, gents! Hats off to the new parents!"

Camille laughed like she never had before as each and every man on board cheered and flung their hats into the ocean. Those that didn't have hats took the shirts off their backs and whipped them over their heads like madmen.

Distantly, the part of her that still thought of Fennbirn as home wondered what would happen to the island without its queens. Perhaps the people would learn to move on without them, even as their gifts faded. Or maybe the Goddess, in a fit of self-righteous anger, would turn her ire on the island that she’d birthed. Maybe she would command the seas to rise and swallow Fennbirn whole. Send a storm three times as terrible as the one she inflicted on Camille's family to wash everyone and everything away.

But as she watched her husband dance and cry and laugh and kiss their daughter all over her face, Camille found that she could not bring herself to care.