#to symbolize that the lives poured into them continue to breathe on

[bluestation]

i found you in the future

[ckret2]

Chapter 67 of human Bill Cipher gradually becoming less and less the Mystery Shack's prisoner:

Mabel's Guide to Secret Sleepovers!

They definitely won't get their lives endangered during the sleepover at all!! And if you believe that's not a lie, I've got a skyscraper in the second dimension to sell you.

####

A camera set up beneath the attic bedroom window recorded the dark room. In her pajamas, Mabel stood in the middle of the attic, boogying nervously to silent music.

A light shining from beneath the bedroom door turned off. Mabel stopped boogying, crept to the door, and leaned her ear against the crack.

She ran back to the camera and picked it up. "Okay," she whispered, "Dipper and Grunkle Ford are out on their mission, Stan and Abuelita are asleep, Soos finally knocked off building for the night, and Bill's in his new room. Welcome to... Mabel's Guide to Secret Sleepovers!"

She held up a flattened cereal box she'd written the title on. The title was almost invisible in the dark, but it was framed by stars painted on with glow-in-the-dark nail polish.

"Step one: getting your friends in the house." She turned the camera around. She swerved over to Waddles's bed as she crossed the room, whispering, "Hey, wanna come to the sleepover?"

Waddles snorted gently in his sleep.

"Aww, that's okay. Next time." She rubbed his belly, then crept toward the attic door.

She tiptoed in her socks down the newly-built hallway and past the curtain hiding Bill's new room, padded down the stairs, opened the back door, and hissed, "Pssst! Coast is clear!"

Out from the tree line ran Candy, wearing a camo-print blanket like a cloak, and Grenda, dressed in black and with her arms and face painted in brown and green. Grenda waved ecstatically at the camera as she passed.

With Mabel in the back, they quietly crept upstairs, quietly snuck past Bill's room, quietly closed the bedroom door, and quietly squealed with excitement. "First summer sleepover at the shack," Candy said, flopping on her back on Mabel's bed and spreading out her blanket cloak. She sat up, noticed a cardboard cradle next to Mabel's bed, and picked up the porcelain doll inside. "Oooh! Who's this handsome gentleman?"

"That's Bartholomew! I told you about him. Barty, these are my friends Candy and Grenda."

The doll did nothing.

"You can say hi, Barty! I trust them!"

The doll continued to do nothing.

"He's shy," Mabel said. "He's totally haunted by a little Victorian boy, though, really."

Candy nodded. "I believe you."

"This is cool!" Grenda said. She was trying to scrub the camo paint off her arms and face with her hands. "I've never gone to a secret sleepover before. Next time we should sneak into my place!"

"Okay, so," Mabel said. "I promised you I'd introduce you to the secret guy that's been staying here as soon as it was okay to. And it's okay to! As long as nobody else finds out I introduced you."

Grenda nodded. Candy said, "This sounds reasonable."

"Anyway his name's Goldie, he's been staying at the shack this summer, he's really fun, he's kiiind of a bad guy but in a cool way"—(Candy appreciatively said, "Oooh.")—"aaand he's asleep right now." A dramatic pause. "But not for long."

Candy and Grenda grinned evilly.

####

"Secret sleepover step two," Mabel whispered. "Introducing your friends to your other friend!" The camera's dark screen was illuminated by a slit of light as Grenda pulled open the curtain to Bill's room. The dim starlight pouring into the room was barely enough to illuminate the white lightning and yellow circle of symbols on the hanging zodiac blanket as the girls pushed past it to creep into the room.

Bill lay sleeping on the chaise extension of the orange sofa, catty-corner to the doorway, curled up on his side with his back to the door. Beneath his curls, the eye stitched on the back of his hood peered out at the room, shifting up and down with his steady sleeping breaths. The girls crept up behind him, biting their lips to keep from giggling. Candy and Grenda flanked Mabel, arms raised in preparation to attack, as Mabel held up her fingers... 3... 2... 1...

Bill rolled over with a devilish grin and lunged at them. "HEY, KIDS!"

The girls screamed. They bolted for the hall with Bill's laughter following them.

####

"You should've seen the looks on your faces," Bill gloated. He was sitting on the floor, legs crossed lotus style, in a semicircle with the three girls around the camera Mabel had set on the sofa. They'd set one flashlight next to the camera pointing out and another on the floor pointing at the ceiling.

"You got us good," Candy admitted.

Grenda leaned across the semicircle. "Hi! I'm Grenda. This is Candy."

"I've heard a lot about you two." Bill sat back, giving Grenda a somewhat less than warm smile. "Call me Goldie."

Grenda gasped. "Hey! Candy, look at his eyes!"

"What?" Bill's gaze darted between the girls' faces. His eyes caught the faint light and flashed like a cat's.

"They did it again!"

"Whoa!" Candy got up on her knees and leaned toward Bill. He leaned away.

Panic crossed Mabel's face. "Uhh, I can explain—"

"We knew it," Candy said. "We were sure you couldn't let us meet Goldie because he was a werewolf catboy!"

"I dunno," Grenda said. "They look more like frog eyes. They're kinda bulgy, too."

Bill stared at Grenda. A broad smile broke out across his face. "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said about them!"

Grenda asked, "Do your eyes suck into your face when you swallow like a frog's do?"

"I dunno, swallowing makes me blink. You tell me." Bill deliberately swallowed.

"Ugh, they do! Gross," Grenda said approvingly.

"Why do you have frog eyes? Are you a werefrog?" Candy asked. "Or did a mad scientist mutate you?"

Bill said, "You know the story about the frog prince? My great-grandfather."

"He is not."

"He could be!"

"Anyway," Mabel said, "Goldie's not any kind of not-human person or anything, that'd be crazy. He's just a big secret because he's committed war crimes, that's all!"

Grenda and Candy considered that.

"That's cool." Candy slowly pulled out a makeup bag. "Do you like makeovers?"

Bill eyed her appraisingly. "How good are you?"

####

The camera sat tilted off to the side, catching Grenda, Bill, and a bit of Mabel's hair. Bill and Grenda sat just out of the flashlights' range while Mabel and Candy off-screen debated how best to shape Mabel's lips. Grenda held a purple tube of foundation in one of the flashlights' beams; the tube had a logo that looked like a lilac triangle with a single eye and thick purple lips. She uncapped a black eyeliner pen, drew a big X over the triangle's eye and gave it a curly mustache, and added a cramped word bubble over it that said "UGLY LOSR." Grenda chuckled.

Past her, Bill's eyes flashed in the dark as they narrowed.

"Finished!" Mabel announced. She turned the camera to face the whole quartet again. "Secret sleepover step three: normal sleepover activities! Starting with... makeovers! Remember, you're beautiful just the way you are; but a real artist can look at a human body and see a canvas. And canvases are for paint!"

She pointed the flashlight at her own face. "I call this look... the Showstopper." She had eyeshadow, blush, and lipstick—in three different shades of pink—liberally caked on with a crunchy layer of multicolored glitter and with plastic gems bedazzling her brow and temples. It looked bad.

Mabel pointed the flashlight at Grenda. "This one's... Beach Babe."

Grenda said, "Like a mermaid!" She had blush painted to look like scales, clumpy blue mascara and blue eyeshadow shaped like waves, and lipstick that looked like a fish. It looked bad.

Mabel pointed at Candy. "And this is the Glam Rock Revival!" Candy had a shimmery blue star painted over one eye and half her face, and a smaller matching star on her opposite cheek. It looked unexpectedly good.

"And Goldie..." Mabel pointed the flashlight at his face. "He kinda just... let us experiment with some designs Candy found in a makeup book."

One of his eyes had a neon rainbow eyebrow and eyelashes and tiny glittery butterfly stickers. The other eye had golden eyelashes and bright blue and black flames that would look at home spray painted on an old school hot rod. It looked bad.

"I look awesome," Bill said.

"And check out our mani-pedis!" Grenda grabbed the camera and pointed it down at their hands and feet. Mabel had messy watermelon nails, Grenda had decent French tips, Candy's actually matched her makeup, and Bill—who, unlike the girls, wasn't so much showing off his nails as he was just sitting there while Grenda waved the camera around—had a different set on each hand and foot.

Mabel said, "Goldie let us each experiment on one set of nails."

Grenda pointed at Bill's right hand, "I did that one!" He had five extremely long glue-on nails, which in turn each had two more glue-on nails on top, each trimmed to a sharp point. All fifteen nails had garish pre-printed designs—stripes, polka dots, and three types of animal print. None matched.

Bill cheerily said, "I could stab clean through a grown man's throat with these."

Mabel leaned closer. "Goldie, why's your other hand so boring!" His left hand had all black nails.

Bill said, "Turn off the flashlights."

Mabel turned them off. Five glow-in-the-dark eyes peered up from Bill's nails. The girls ooohed appreciatively.

"Now what?" Candy asked. "We can't do our other usual sleepover activities. Rom-coms, karaoke, and saucy book readings are too loud for a secret sleepover."

"Aww," Bill groaned, "I was looking forward to karaoke."

"Candy's right." Mabel turned a flashlight back on. "We'll have to get creative. What's a good traditional sleepover activity that isn't too loud?"

They sat around for a moment in silent thought.

Bill turned the other flashlight on under his grinning face. "You girls ever summon a demon before?"

The girls smiled excitedly.

####

The camera trained on Grenda and Candy as they leaned over the lizard tank in the Mystery Shack's museum, staring at the "baby dragon" display. "Awww," Grenda cooed. "Look at them! They're so cute." She stood on her toes and crossed her arms on the edge of the tank. "How do their fake wings stay on?"

"Alien superglue. It'll last until their next shed," Bill said from behind the camera.

"They're very brown," Candy said, disappointed. "I guess it's good camouflage." She held up part of her camo blanket cloak to compare.

Grenda said, "I think they're either western fence lizards or sagebrush lizards. Do you know where Mr. Ramirez caught them?"

"In the forests around town," Bill said.

"Western fence lizards," Grenda said. "If they're boys, they'll have blue bellies!"

"Oooh." Candy crouched down eye-level with the lizards trying to see their bellies.

Grenda tentatively reached a hand into the tank to pick up one of the baby dragons; it skittered under a rock for safety.

Bill said, "You know your lizards, Grendo."

"Heh. Grend-O."

Candy said, "Grenda is the reptile and amphibian expert."

"I have a book on them! And a pet iguana!" Grenda announced. "Hey, Gold-O! What's your favorite lizard?"

Bill was silent a few seconds. "Leeet's go with chameleons. They've got cute eyes."

"Chameleons are my favorite too," Candy said. "I like how they change color. Their eyes are freaky, though."

Grenda said, "I like chameleon eyes! They're crazy! I think it'd be cool to look two different directions at the same time."

Bill lowered the camera slightly. "What, you mean like this?"

Grenda and Candy gaped at him in shock. Candy squealed in discomfort and shielded her eyes. "That looks painful."

Grenda laughed. "Cool," she said. "Hey, you like frogs too, right? What's your favorite frog!"

"Golden poison dart frogs." Bill answered without hesitation. "The brighter, the better."

"I love poison dart frogs," Grenda said. "On my death bed, I wanna lick one to find out what it tastes like!"

"Bitter sushi, until your mouth goes numb," Bill said. "But if you're gonna get drugged by a frog, make it a psychedelic toad. They're more fun."

"Ohhh. Thanks. Now I wanna taste sushi!" One of the baby dragons crept up a rock; Grenda tried, unsuccessfully, to catch it again.

Bill walked closer to the tank to film the lizards. After a moment, he asked, "What're your favorite frogs?"

"Oooh, that's hard." Grenda put her hand to her chin, thinking.

Candy said, "I think... the little green ones with the guts you can see through."

"Glass frogs," Bill provided.

"Either red-eyed tree frogs or strawberry poison dart frogs," Grenda said. "Maybe the tree frogs. Dart frogs have boring eyes."

"One of their only flaws." Bill paused. "What do you think about axolotls?"

"Mr. Pines lets me feed his sometimes," Grenda said. "They're kind of overrated, though. Frogs are better!"

"Hm." The hm sounded approving. Bill reached into the tank, effortlessly scooped his fingers beneath the wings and around the belly of a lizard, and lifted him up. Candy and Grenda gasped. "One male in the tank." He turned the lizard's blue belly toward the camera too. It wiggled in distress.

"Got it!"

Bill swung the camera around to look at Mabel, who'd just triumphantly come through the curtain from the gift shop. She was holding a box of rainbow chalk over her head. "The chalk Soos uses for sales and stuff!"

"Perfect," Bill said. "Manage to find a religious text?"

"No, buuut I found a copy of a DMV manual at the cash register." Mabel held up her find. "Will that work?"

"Hm." Bill considered it. "I've never seen someone try it before, but traffic law is just as imaginary as any other divine commands! Just try really hard to have faith in the rules of road safety and maybe it'll work. Never know unless we try it out!"

"Good enough for me!" Mabel said. "What did we need a religious text for, again?"

"Oh, once the demon's here, it's the only thing that'll be capable of banishing it, that's all," Bill said. "So! Where are we drawing this summoning circle?"

They found a clear space in the museum on the floor near the treasure chest display. Bill handed the camera momentarily to Mabel while he drew a four-inch version of the summoning circle for the girls to copy. "It needs to be white and blood red. Do we have any blood red chalk?" He rummaged through the box of chalk. "Hmm. Okay, either one of us can let a lot of blood, or we can try it out with pink chalk. What'll it be?"

Grenda and Candy looked to Mabel, considering the question seriously. Finally, Mabel said, "Pink chalk sounds like it'll be faster."

"I guess," Bill said, disappointed. He finished his example circle and stood. "Okay, there you go! Usually you're not even supposed to draw the circle unless you've fasted for twelve hours, but there's three of you and you haven't eaten in at least four hours, sooo it's probably fine."

Grenda raised a hand. "I had a soda. Is that bad?"

"Naaah, a soda's more bubbles than liquid, I bet it barely even counts."

Bill took over camera duties again as Mabel and Candy each took a stick of white chalk to draw half the circle. They started at different sizes. They had to do a weird wiggly slope in order to make the two halves meet. Candy asked, "Is that good?"

"Hmmm..." Bill considered the lopsided blob. "It's good enough!"

While Mabel and Candy puzzled over Bill's tiny pink protective sigils and tried to figure out how to draw them bigger, Grenda leaned over to Bill and whispered, "Hey! Are you really related to the frog prince?"

"No," Bill said. (Grenda's face fell.) "I was cursed by a witch. I can see through walls and in the dark, but in exchange I have frog eyes."

Grenda's face lit up again. "Stupid! Frog eyes just make you look even cooler!"

"That dumb witch had no idea what a real curse is. I got nothing but benefits," Bill said. "All right, you asked me one, let me ask you one."

Grenda looked at Bill with trepidation. "O-okay?"

"What's with the face you were drawing on that triangle?"

Grenda seemed relieved by the question. "Oh! We're not really supposed to talk about it much? But there was this triangle jerk that tried to take over the world last year. So we're supposed to cover up pictures that look like him. I dunno, it's a whole thing."

"Okay," Bill said irritably, "fine. How come you make him look stupid, though?"

"Because he was a big monster that hurt my friends and wrecked the town," Grenda said hotly. "He almost killed Mabel!"

Bill was silent a moment. "Sure," he said tersely. "If that's what it looked like, I can see how that would leave a bad impression."

"Hey, Goldie," Mabel said loudly. "I think we're done! Does this look right?"

"Let's see..." Bill inspected the circle, circling the perimeter with the camera. It looked bad. "Looks good enough," Bill said.  "All right! Everyone in position around the circle—Grenda, you're on the circle."

"Oops." She slid her foot back, smearing the chalk line and one of the protective sigils. "Uhh... I think I broke the ring?"

"It's fine, it's small! And you can still tell what the symbol is. Mostly," Bill said. "Okay, everyone remember the chant I taught you? Three, two..."

The camera's audio only recorded a long squeal of distortion instead of words as the girls started chanting. Bill backed up to get a better shot of the whole circle. The girls' eyes began glowing white; the flashlights flickered; and a fiery cloud of smoke filled the ring, billowing from floor to ceiling. The girls stumbled back, shielding their faces from the smoke.

"Hey, hey," Bill said. "Get back in there! If you stop the chant before it's complete, you'll—!"

With a boom, the smoke exploded outward, filling the room and completely obscuring the camera's view.

When it cleared up, the ring appeared to be empty.

Bill aimed the camera down and zoomed in. In the center of the ring was a tiny imp. It looked like a skinny coral-red hairless mouse with a spade-tipped tail and little bat wings.

"—you'll only get a small one," Bill finished.

They crouched down and stared at it. "It's cute," Candy said. Mabel said, "I'm naming her Cinnamon."

It blinked big wet black eyes at them. And then it scampered out of the gap in the chalk line.

The girls shrieked. The imp chased Candy around the treasure chest. Grenda tried to climb onto a display pedestal with a taxidermy jackalope, screaming, "Get it! Get it!"

"Candy! Run this way!" Mabel got on her knees, Oregon state driving manual held high over her head. As Candy ran past, Mabel shouted, "I do believe in the speed limit!" and swung the manual down like she was swatting a bug.

The manual smacked the imp. With a puff of smoke, it poofed out of the mortal plane and back to where it came from.

"Nice banishment, star girl," Bill said. "Hey, not bad for your first summoning, kids. You'll be bargaining with demon royalty in no time."

The girls heaved a sigh of relief. "That went pretty smoothly, I think," Candy said.

"Yeah!" Grenda climbed down from the pedestal. "There weren't any weird life-threatening twists or anything!"

"That doesn't happen a lot," Mabel said.

The camera suddenly lowered, pointing at the floor at an angle. "Hey, Mabel. Where'd you get this camera, anyway?" The camera's view turned back and forth. "It doesn't look like the one you usually record your guides with."

"Oh, yeah," Mabel said. "Dipper's using our normal camera, so I'm borrowing one I found in a box in the attic loft."

Bill said, "The cardboard box covered in fifteen strips of duct tape?"

"Uh-huh."

"So, the cursed camera?"

A pause. "The what?"

The camera's view became a blur as it whizzed across the room, only focusing again when the camera was ten feet in the air and staring down at the group of four. The camera's neck strap had wrapped tight around one of Bill's wrists, wrenching his arm into the air. Candy and Grenda automatically clung to his sides, the one adult in the room; he had his free arm raised up to avoid touching Candy.

"Well! This isn't ideal." The camera had a clipped, artificial-sounding voice—but a familiar one. "I'd been hoping you'd split up so I could steal your souls one by one!"

Mabel said, "Why do you sound like Grunkle Ford! Did you steal his soul?!"

"Stanford's voice is just the only one it's ever recorded before tonight," Bill said. "If it had stolen his soul, you'd know."

"How?"

"Because he'd be dead."

"Oh."

"So much for the element of surprise." The camera's sigh was laced with the crackle of VHS static. "But as long as my secret is out... time to hunt!"

"Huh! How about that," Bill said. "Kids? Run."

Grenda and Candy turned and bolted deeper into the museum.

Bill turned to stare at them in bewilderment. "Not that way—!"

Mabel threw herself on Bill's arm, trying to jerk down the camera and pull off the strap. "Let go of my friend, you—!"

The screen blurred as the camera butted the side of Mabel's head, knocking her to the ground. Panic flashed across Bill's face. "Mabel!"

The camera took advantage of his distraction to snap its strap around both his wrists, bind them together, and yank Bill closer. "At least I get to take out the biggest threat first," the camera hissed. "Smile for the camera, sweetheart."

Bill shot the camera a glare—and then seemingly got caught there, unable to tear his eyes away from the lens, as the camera slowly zoomed in...

And nothing happened.

"It's not working," the camera said. "Your soul should be sucked out by now. Why isn't it working?"

Bill shook himself out of the trance and laughed darkly. "Because a force too powerful for your little electronic mind to comprehend glued my soul in this body so tightly, even I can't pull it out!" He leaned closer until one wide bloodshot eye filled the screen. "Go ahead, give it your best shot! Maybe you'll help tug it loose!"

The camera paused. "Are... are you alright?"

Bill jerked back, scowling. "Oh, just shut— Mabel! Flashlight!"

"Flashlight!"

Bill tilted his head aside just in time for a flashlight to sail over his shoulder and crash into the camera. It shrieked inhumanly. It crash-landed at a tilt, a crack in its lens, the shot unfocused. Bill's blurry form looked down at the camera, holding the flashlight—and then he turned and ran for the curtain into the gift shop. The camera slowly rose back up.

Mabel shouted, "Bi—Goldie! Come back!"

"Keep it distracted!"

"You don't even need a flashlight, you coward!"

The camera's blurry view focused. The crack in its lens repaired itself. It stared at the curtain where Bill had disappeared, snarled, "Not worth it," and rounded on the museum.

And then it began stalking its prey.

The camera followed heavy thudding to find Grenda trying to knock down the main entrance's locked door. "Come on!" Grenda grunted. "This! Doesn't! Meet! Fire codes!" As she glimpsed the camera's approach, she gasped, flipped a rug over it, and bolted. 

It zoomed past Sascrotch, peered behind it, and caught Mabel and Candy clinging onto its back fur. They screamed, dropped down, and ran two different directions. The camera glanced between them indecisively and snarled in frustration when they both turned corners before it could choose a target.

It passed a six pack-o'-lope, a mummy, and a triclops skull; heard a papery rustle; and did a double-take at the displays. Grenda, wrapped in a bunch of receipt paper from the gift shop, ran away from the former "mummy" display.

It swooped under a taxidermy turtle with wings to find Candy hiding beneath the turtle's shell; Candy flipped the shell over the camera before she ran the other way.

It chased Mabel around a barrel of monkey heads, ending in a stalemate on opposite sides of the barrel with each of them twitching left and right trying to figure out which way to run; until it remembered it could just float over the top of the barrel. Mabel backed up and blew a handful of chalk dust in the camera's lens. By the time it wiped its lens clean on a dried monkey pelt, Mabel was gone.

It circled around the invisible man to see whether its cloak hid any children behind its back, made a noise of disgust when it didn't find any, and turned to leave. "Wait a minute. That man isn't invisible!"

Candy—her face beneath the "invisible man's" suspended glasses and bowler hat—sighed harshly and threw down her camo blanket, revealing she was sitting on Grenda's shoulders. "This camouflage doesn't do anything!" They tumbled to the ground and ran different directions.

This time, the camera didn't make the mistake of hesitating before choosing a target. It flew after Grenda.

Grenda stopped in a dead end with a gasp. "Uh-oh." She turned to see how close the camera was behind her, flinched, and tried to dodge around it. It jerked to the side, backing Grenda into a corner.

"Back off, you big, ugly—!" She punched the camera square in the lens, her fist filling the shot. The crunched lens had repaired itself before Grenda stopped shaking her smarting hand. She gasped and covered her eyes. "Please don't take my soul! I'm using it!"

"Not for long!" The camera's strap whipped around Grenda's wrists, yanking her hands down. "It's time for your close up!"

Grenda tried to turn her face away—but the camera caught her gaze, and she turned toward it, eyes wide, hypnotized. The shot zoomed in. A swirling green mist began spiraling out of Grenda's eyes.

Until another set of eyes cut in between, yellow and slitted and furious and framed by mismatched eyeshadow. "Miss me?"

"You," the camera snarled.

Grenda cheered, "Gold-O! You came back!"

"Hey, Grend-O." Bill glanced back over his shoulder. "Sorry for the wait—takes a while for glow-in-the-dark nail polish to charge and dry."

"Get out of my way!" The camera tried to butt the side of Bill's head.

He caught it in his left hand without looking, his arm extending off the edge of the screen like he was taking a selfie. "I don't think so." He raised his right hand—several of the ludicrous nail extensions had already broken off—with palm facing out. There was a symbol painted on his palm, glowing whitish green; but whatever symbol he'd painted on his palm couldn't be fully seen because the moment it was in full view of the camera's lens, it became so bright it almost completely washed out the rest of the frame.

The image skipped and the audio recorded a shriek of static before the camera managed to wrench itself free of Bill's grip and rush back.

Bill caught it by its strap, twisting it about his left wrist to keep it secure. "Now let's get this straight," he snarled, teeth bared at the camera. "Everything beneath this shack's roof is my domain and under my protection! If you want to hurt anyone here—" his voice dropped demonically low, "—you'll have to get through me." He dragged the camera closer. 

He clamped his right hand over the camera's lens, trapping it with the glowing symbol on his palm; the static screamed, stuttered; and then the film overheated and melted.

####

The camera switched back on. "Welcome back to Mabel's Guide to Secret Sleepovers!" Mabel's left eyeshadow and blush was smeared across her face. "Weee're back! Goldie taped a symbol to the camera that keeps it stunned, so we're safe! Woo-woo! Now, back to sleepover step, uh... seven or something: greeting the sunrise with your friends who didn't get any sleep!"

She turned the camera toward Candy and Grenda, who were sitting with her on the saggy sofa on the back porch. They were blinking dazedly toward the glowing horizon.

"And now you've completed a successful sleepover! Great job, everybody!"

"You kids can stay up if you want," Bill said. (Mabel aimed the camera down; Bill was lying on his stomach on the porch, cheek resting on his crossed arms, eyes shut.) "I'm already asleep."

"Boo," Candy said. "Sleepover quitters are lame."

"Yeah," Mabel agreed. "But he saved our lives, I think he earned it if he wants."

"Do you wanna sleep on the couch?" Grenda asked. "There's still some room! We could squish together!"

"Nah, s'more comfortable down here," Bill mumbled. "My back's killing me."

Grenda laughed. "Old."

"I got assaulted by a camera!"

"Hold on, I have an idea!" She got off the couch and knelt next to Bill. "I saw this at the mall once." She dug an elbow into his back. "Is this helping?"

Bill grunted. "More to the left," he said. "It might be helping a little bit..."

Grenda pressed her other elbow into his back, putting her upper body weight on it. "How 'bout now?"

"Not quite..."

Candy climbed on the arm of the sofa and crouched there. "Let me try!" Grenda leaned back. Like a wrestler, Candy jumped in the air and dropped, sharp elbow first, onto Bill's back.

Bill's eyes flew open and he let out a strangled shriek of pain. It petered out. "Oh, hey—that actually got it. Thanks, kids." He sighed in relief and immediately fell back asleep.

Grenda pumped a fist. "Yes!"

"He really was tired," Candy said.

"So, what'd I say, girls?" Mabel asked. "I told you Goldie was cool, right?"

"Okay, you were right," Candy said. "He is a very patient makeup mannequin."

"And he taught us how to summon demons and saved our lives," Grenda said. "And the first thing didn't even cause the second thing! Which is weird!"

Eyes still shut, Bill mumbled, "You flatter me."

"Hey!" Grenda picked up a sofa cushion. "You're supposed to be a-SLEEP!" She swung it down on his head. He only laughed.

"Yes!" Mabel cheered. "And the moral of the story is the friend of my friend is my friend's friend! Or—wait—no. The friend of my friend is my friend too?"

From under the cushion, Bill said, "The friend of my friend is my rival for her attention."

"No!" Mabel turned the camera to herself. "Anyway, that's Mabel's Guide to Secret Sleepovers! Tune in next time for... I dunno, maybe alpacas or something. We'll see!"

She set the camera in her lap, episode completed.

####

(Would you look at that, positive character growth. Hope you enjoyed, and looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts!)

[thatonegreekgodwrites]

“ECHOES OF ELYSIUM”

Odysseus x Fem!Reader

warnings. sexual assault, slavery, a greek retelling, eventual smut, war/gore, this won’t have a happy ending

pairing. odysseus x fem! reader (inspired by epic:the musical)

in the heart of troy, amidst the towering walls and architecture, the city bustled with the vibrant energy of its people. the market squares were filled with the sounds of merchants haggling and children playing, unaware of the shadow of war creeping ever closer. within the palace, the air was different—heavier with the scent of incense and the hum of anticipation.

you, a young slave girl with kind eyes and calloused hands, moved silently through the halls. your life was one of routine and quiet obedience, your existence almost invisible among the grandeur of the palace. today, however, was a day of celebration, and even you could not escape the excitement that seemed to permeate the very stones of troy.

the reason for the festivities was the birth of the heir, the firstborn son of prince hector and his beloved wife, andromache. the birth of the child promised new hope and joy, a symbol of strength and continuity. their legacy now secured if the gods favored them so. the celebration was to be grand, with nobles and warriors alike gathering to honor the new prince and his family.

you had been tasked with pouring wine for the guests. it was a simple task, yet it required precision and grace—qualities that had been drilled into you from a young age. you carried a large jug, the cool red liquid sloshing gently inside, as you made your way to the grand hall.

as you entered the hall, you were struck by the sight before you. the room was adorned with rich tapestries and garlands of flowers. the tables were laden with food and drink, and the air was filled with the murmur of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter. at the center of it all was prince hector, his tall frame and noble bearing making him easily recognizable. beside him stood andromache, cradling their newborn son, both of them beaming with pride and joy.

you approached the head table with a steady gait, careful not to draw too much attention to yourself. you dipped your head respectfully, eyes fixed on the ground. you could feel the weight of the guests' gazes on you, but you remained focused, constantly reminding yourself to not make a mistake in your mind as you were known to be a bit clumsy.

"wine, my lord?" you asked softly, voice barely above a whisper.

hector turned to you, his expression warm and kind. "yes, thank you," he said, gesturing to the goblet before him.

you carefully poured the wine, the liquid catching the light and sparkling as it filled the goblet. moving down the table, you repeated the process for andromache and the other guests. as you worked, you couldn't help but steal glances at the infant in andromache's arms. the baby boy, unaware of the significance of his birth, slept peacefully, his tiny chest rising and falling with each breath.

the celebration continued, the sounds of music and laughter filling the hall. you retreated to the edges of the room, task completed only for the moment. you watched the scene unfold, a mixture of longing and contentment in your heart. despite your status, you found joy in the happiness of others, even if it was a distant joy.

the night wore on and you remained vigilant, ready to attend to any needs that might arise. you and everyone else were unaware of the storm brewing beyond the walls of troy, the consequences of paris' actions casting a long shadow over the kingdom that would consume them in darkness in due time. for now, in this moment of peace, the future seemed bright and full of promise.

but you knew, as did everyone in troy, that peace was a fragile thing, easily shattered by the whims of fate. and as you stood in the grand hall, the echoes of the past and the whispers of the future intertwined, creating a tapestry of uncertainty that would shape the destiny of troy and all who lived within its walls.

lingering on the edges of the grand hall, your eyes scanning the room for any sign that you might be needed. the celebration for the birth of hector's son was still going even as night fell, the hall being brought alive with music and laughter.

suddenly, the room seemed to tilt as a hand gripped your shoulder, pulling you roughly into the light.

you turned to see hector's younger brother, prince deiphobus, his face flushed with wine and his eyes glazed with a drunken haze. he was known for his roguish charm, but tonight, it was more than evident that he had indulged too much.

"well, well, what do we have here?" he slurred, his hand wandering from your shoulder down your arm, lingering in a way that made your skin crawl. "a pretty little dove in the midst of all these hawks."

you stiffened, your pulse quickening as you bit your tongue, swallowing the surge of disgust that rose within you. you were a servant—a slave, and he was a prince. to resist would mean severe punishment, which meant you had no choice but to endure.

"my lord, can i get you some water?" you offered, hoping to distract him, your voice steady despite the turmoil within.

deiphobus laughed, a sound that was more menacing than mirthful. "water? no, i have something else in mind." his hand moved to your waist, drawing you closer as his breath was hot and reeking of alcohol against your ear. "tell me, does a slave like you know how to have fun?"

you forced a smile, the muscles in your face straining with the effort. "i am here to serve, my lord, in whatever way pleases you."

he grinned, his hand sliding lower. "good girl," he murmured, fingers tracing the curve of your hip. "i knew you would understand."

every fiber of your being screamed to pull away, but you remained still, eyes fixed on the ground. you could feel the weight of the guests' gazes on you, some watching with curiosity, others with indifference—after all, your plight meant nothing to them.

"why don't we find a quieter place, hmm?" deiphobus suggested, his tone laced with a dangerous edge.

"deiphobus," helenus called out from next to them, raising his goblet to his lips as he quirked a brow, voice calm but commanding. "leave her be."

deiphobus turned, a drunken sneer on his face. "ah, helenus. always the serious one. why don't you go back to your scrolls and leave the fun to me?"

helenus' eyes narrowed. "surely you can go one night without tainting another servant. find entertainment elsewhere and by the gods, remember that you're a prince, have some decorum."

deiphobus scoffed, but the firmness in helenus's voice gave him pause. he let go of you with a rough shove, making you stumble back. "fine, fine," he muttered, turning away with a dismissive wave. "always spoiling the fun."

helenus watched him go, his expression unchanging until deiphobus disappeared into the crowd. then, he turned to you, his gaze softening ever so slightly. "next time you ought to remember i won't be able to stop him, i suggest you find a way to keep your hands busy."

you nodded with a tug inside your chest. "yes, my lord, thank you."

with that, he looked away, drowning the conversation of the people around him as his own servants served him grapes. you took a deep breath, your hands trembling slightly as you took helenus' advice, moving around the large room to keep yourself occupied and out of the sight of deiphobus.

you felt the fragility of peace hanging in the air, a feeling of knowing that the celebration of new life was shadowed by the impending storm. yet, within the confines of your role, you found a flicker of strength, a resolve to endure whatever fate the gods had in store for you.

author’s note. comment your thoughts, if this does well I’ll continue it over on here and might put more effort into the account. you can find this story also on my wattpad account. thanks for reading!

[wingedblooms]

Blooming with life

@offtorivendell and I were chatting about the cover for the next book and while there are several options for what might be depicted on the cover, the one that makes the most sense to me (and makes us scream) is the Cauldron (blooming with life, vines and flowers and creatures spilling from its iron lip). It hasn’t been used on a cover yet, and assuming Sarah will continue with one romantic pairing per book, it would align perfectly with what Elain and Azriel’s story would contribute to the overarching plot.

Let me preface this by saying that I do think the three Archeron sisters embody (or are vessels) for the three faces of the Mother, and they will likely need to come together at some point in this storyline (the dream). But if anyone’s story is connected to a force that once bloomed with life, and is tasked with uncovering its secrets to help it and the land bloom again, it’s Elain. The quiet, gentle gardener who glows like the dawn and smells like a promise of spring. She might even be able to use the language of creation to (re)write her own fate. It doesn’t seem coincidental that Azriel has been present or connected to Elain’s major moments involving the Cauldron (her forced rebirth, naming her powers, questioning the mating bond, using TT to rescue her family, being forbidden from going near the Cauldron, etc.). Their story is tied to the Cauldron and what we’ve learned about it (from the original trilogy to the spin-off books to the crossover). Sarah has left hints that it is still important, in general, and specifically in Elain’s journey with Azriel:

acotar

Feyre gives us our first glimpse of the Cauldron from the living (Spring Court):

I found myself overlooking a rose garden, filled with dozens of hues of crimson and pink and white and yellow.

I might have allowed myself a moment to take in the colors, gleaming with dew under the morning sun, had I not glimpsed the painting that stretched along the wall beside the windows.

[…]

At first I could do nothing but stare at its size, the ambition of it, at the fact that this masterpiece was tucked back here for no one to ever see, as if it was nothing—absolutely nothing—to create something like this.

It told a story with the way colors and shapes and light flowed, the way the tone shifted across the mural. The story of…of Prythian.

It began with a cauldron.

A mighty black cauldron held by glowing, slender female hands in a starry, endless night. Those hands tipped it over, golden sparkling liquid pouring out over the lip. No—not sparkling, but…effervescent with small symbols, perhaps of some ancient faerie language. Whatever was written there, whatever it was, the contents of the cauldron were dumped into the void below, pooling on the earth to form our world…(acotar)

acomaf

Elain emerges from the Cauldron. It tips onto its side by itself, as if influenced by an unseen force. Elain rises from the floor, like the earth in the mural, glowing with immortal light and beauty.

And as if it had been tipped by invisible hands, the Cauldron turned on its side. More water than seemed possible dumped out in a cascade. Black, smoke-coated water.

And Elain, as if she’d been thrown by a wave, washed onto the stones facedown.

Her legs were so pale—so delicate. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen them bare. The queens pushed forward. Alive, she had to be alive, had to have wanted to live—

Elain sucked in a breath, her fine-boned back rising, her wet nightgown nearly sheer.

And as she rose from the ground onto her elbows, the gag in place, as she twisted to look at me—

Nesta began roaring again.

Pale skin started to glow. Her face had somehow become more beautiful—infinitely beautiful, and her ears … Elain’s ears were now pointed beneath her sodden hair. (acomaf)

acowar

After Elain was Made in the Cauldron, Azriel is the one to name her power, freeing her from a murky realm where dream and reality entwine:

“A seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “The Cauldron made you a seer.” (acowar)

Feyre wonders about Elain’s new, inner sight and how it might be connected to the Cauldron.

Elain had been told—by Amren. She now sat at the table, more straight-backed and clear-eyed than I’d seen her. Had she beheld this, in whatever wanderings that new, inner sight granted her? Had the Cauldron whispered of it while we’d been away? I hadn’t the heart to ask her. (acowar)

Feyre questions the mating bond system, wondering why Azriel and Elain aren’t mates and who determines it.

“Why not make them mates?” I mused. “Why Lucien?”

“I’d keep that question from Lucien.”

“I’m serious.” I turned toward him and crossed my arms. “What decides it? Who decides it?”

Rhys straightened his lapels before plucking an invisible piece of lint from them. “Fate, the Mother, the Cauldron’s swirling eddies…”

Azriel is the first to notice Elain’s absence and risks his life to get her back, inspiring Feyre to join him.

From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.”

Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s eyes glowed golden in the shadows.

Nesta said, “Then you will die.”

Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

With the shadows, he might stand a chance of slipping in. But there were wards to consider, and ancient magic, and the king with those spells and the Cauldron…(acowar)

Armed with Truth-Teller, the blade Azriel gifted to her for the battle, Elain—rather than the Cauldron—answered Feyre’s pleas, somehow appearing just in time to deal Hybern a killing blow.

For a moment, I thought the Cauldron had answered my pleas.

But as a black blade broke through the king’s throat, spraying blood, I realized someone else had.

Elain stepped out of a shadow behind him, and rammed Truth-Teller to the hilt through the back of the king’s neck as she snarled in his ear, “Don’t you touch my sister.” (acowar)

While connected to it through a living link, Feyre learns that the Cauldron adores Elain, gave her such powers (plural, baby), and would not harm her.

The Cauldron seemed to realize what she’d done, too, as his head thumped onto the mossy ground. That Elain…Elain had defended this thief. Elain, who it had gifted with such powers, found her so lovely it had wanted to give her something…It would not harm Elain, even in its hunt to reclaim what had been taken. (acowar)

Both Elain and the Cauldron are described as blooms in bleak and barren settings, which seems to be a hint of their intertwined role/power that is reinforced in the spin-offs and crossover.

She was a rose bloom in a mud field…[…] If Elain was a blooming flower in this army camp, then Nesta, she was a freshly forged sword, waiting to draw blood. (acowar)

-

The Cauldron shattered into three pieces, peeling apart like a blossoming flower (acowar)

acosf

Cassian reminds us that the Cauldron is hidden (and supposedly asleep) in Cretea, worrying that no one could control it if it awoke.

A chill skittered down Cassian’s spine. He trusted the Seraphim Prince and the half-human woman to keep the Cauldron concealed, but there would be nothing they or anyone could do to control its power if awoken. (acosf)

Nesta reminds us of the time the Cauldron stole Elain and its song called only to her:

Elain had been stolen by the Cauldron and saved by Azriel and Feyre. Yet the two terror still gripped Nesta, waking and asleep: the memory of how it had felt in those moments after hearing the Cauldron’s seductive call and realizing it had been for Elain, not for her or Feyre. How it had felt to find Elain’s tent empty, to see that blue cloak discarded. (acosf)

The Inner Circle discusses the Cauldron-Made Trove, and Feyre and Amren remind us that like calls to like, which is why the sisters can help find them.

“What does it have to do with the Cauldron?” Nesta pushed.

“Like calls to like,” Feyre murmured, looking to Amren, who nodded. “Because the Trove was Made by the Cauldron, so might the Trove find its Maker.” (acosf)

Elain offers to find the Trove when Nesta admits to her fears, and Nesta forbids her from going anywhere near the Cauldron.

Amren said, “You tracked the Cauldron—”

“It nearly killed me. It trapped me like a bird in a cage.”

Elain said, “Then I will find it. I might require some time to…reacquaint myself with my powers, but I could start today.”

“Absolutely not,” Nesta spat, fingers curling at her sides. “Absolutely not.”

“Why?” Elain demanded. “Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can’t have it both ways.o You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

“Then go off on adventures,” Nesta said. “Go drink and fuck strangers. But stay away from the Cauldron.”

Feyre said, “It’s Elain’s choice, Nesta.” (acosf)

Nesta gives us a glimpse of the dusk service where priestesses worship the Mother and the Cauldron and the Forces That Be (Fate). A sacred, possibly interchangeable trio, which is deeply connected to creation and the earth:

The music was pure, ancient, by turns whispering and bold, one moment like a tendril of mist, the next like a gilded ray of light. It finished, and Merrill spoke about the Mother and the Cauldron and the land and sun and water. She spoke of blessings and dreams and hope. Of mercy and love and growth. (acosf)

Nesta finds the carved rose Papa Archeron made for Elain and places it next to a figurine of a primordial goddess:

She plucked another figurine from the mantel: a rose carved from a dark sort of wood. She held it in her palm, its solid weight surprising, and traced a finger over one of the petals. “He made this one for Elain. Since it was winter and she missed the flowers.”

-

Her gaze shifted to the carved wooden rose she’d placed upon the mantel, half-hidden in the shadows beside a figurine of a supple-bodied female, her upraised arms clasping a full moon between them. Some sort of primal goddess—perhaps even the Mother herself. Nesta hadn’t let herself dwell on why she’d felt the need to set the rose there. Why she hadn’t just thrown it in a drawer. (acosf)

Nesta makes a bargain with the Cauldron, so it is at least somewhat awake and seems to be influenced by, or working alongside, a luminescent hand (maybe a gentle gardener’s hand?) that intervenes on Nesta’s behalf.

And as it faded, dark ink splashed upon Nesta’s back, visible through her half-shredded shirt, as if it were a wave crashing upon the shore.

A bargain with the Cauldron itself.

Yet Cassian could have sworn a luminescent, gentle hand prevented the light from leaving her body altogether. (acosf)

After their almost-kiss on solstice, Azriel dares to question the Cauldron, which he appears to revere.

“What if the Cauldron was wrong?”

Rhysand blinked. “What of Mor, Az?”

Azriel ignored the question. “The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it’s possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another.” He had never before dared speak the words aloud.

hofas

In the crossover, we learn more of the Cauldron’s history. Life once blossomed from it, but—as if echoing Azriel’s question to Rhys—it was warped by the Daglan (Asteri).

“The Cauldron,” Azriel amended. Bryce shook her head, not understanding. “You don’t have stories of it in your world? The Fae didn’t bring that tradition with them?”

Bryce surveyed the giant cauldron. “No. We have five gods, but no cauldron. What does it do?”

“All life came and comes from it,” Azriel said with something like reverence. “The Mother poured it into this world, and from it, life blossomed.” (hofas)

-

The Cauldron was of our world, our heritage. But upon arriving here, the Daglan captured it and used their powers to warp it. To turn it from what it had been into something deadlier. No longer just a tool of creation, but of destruction. And the horrors it produced … those, too, my parents would turn to their advantage. (hofas)

The Under-King leaves us with a look at the Cauldron from the dead. It was misconstrued as a goddess over time, explaining interconnected, if not interchangeable, terms (Mother, Cauldron, Fate/Forces That Be), but she is a force and her name is Wyrd.

The Under-King lounged on a throne beneath a behemoth statue of a figure holding a black metal bowl between her upraised hands. Symbols were carved all over the bowl, continuing down her fingers, her arms, her body. Ithan could only assume it was meant to represent Urd. No other temples ever depicted the goddess, no one even dared—most people claimed that fate was impossible to portray in any one form. But it seemed that the dead, unlike the living, had a vision of her. And those symbols running from the bowl onto her skin … they were like tattoos.

[…]

“And she,” the Under-King went on, gesturing to that unusual depiction of Urd towering above him, “was not a goddess, but a force that governed worlds. A cauldron of life, brimming with the language of creation. Urd, they call her here—a bastardized version of her true name. Wyrd, we called her in that old world.” (hofas)

Tags: @elriel-month 💕

What do you think will be on the cover, friends? Do you agree it might be the Cauldron, or will it be something else, like the Harp or even…a Pegasus?! Ramiel?

[holaseniorahoe]

»»— For Eternity —««

Content: Zhongli x reader, angst, character death (reader), gn reader

Let me know if I missed any so I can add them

The golden rays of the setting sun poured over the city of Liyue, casting a warm glow over its bustling streets and the delicate architecture of its towers. The winds carried the scent of saltwater and incense from the harbor, where merchants traded their wares, and children laughed as they played in the alleys. But in the heart of the city, among the quiet corridors of a secluded courtyard, there was an unshakable stillness.

Zhongli stood silently, his amber eyes reflecting the orange hues of dusk. His posture was as firm and regal as the mountains he once carved, yet his gaze was distant, sorrow clouding the sharpness that once defined his every movement. He was not a mortal, not truly, yet today—standing here—he felt the weight of time pressing down upon him.

You had always been a fleeting moment in the grand tapestry of his life, a mortal whose days were numbered from the start. But he had allowed himself to believe that, perhaps, the time you shared would last longer.

The night before, your breaths had grown shallow, and the vibrant light in your eyes had begun to dim. You lay in the bed you once shared, your hand weakly grasping his. Zhongli had been at your side the entire time, his presence a comforting constant as your body began to succumb to the illness that had stolen you from him.

"Zhongli…" your voice was barely a whisper, but he heard it as clearly as if you had shouted. He leaned in closer, his hands cradling yours as if the force of his will alone could hold you here longer.

"Yes, my love?"

"I’m… sorry… I won’t be able to keep my promise," you rasped, your words faltering. A soft, bittersweet smile formed on your lips. "I… wanted to stay with you… longer."

He swallowed hard, an unfamiliar tightness in his chest. For centuries, he had witnessed the passing of time, watched countless lives flicker like candles in the wind, but this… this was different. The pain was unfamiliar, raw. His hand tightened around yours gently, as if by doing so he could stop the inevitable.

"You need not apologize," Zhongli said, his voice steady despite the storm raging within him. "You have given me more than I could ever ask for."

You closed your eyes briefly, letting his words wash over you. The steady rhythm of his voice was soothing, as it always had been.

"Promise me… you won’t forget," you whispered, opening your eyes one last time to look at him.

"I promise."

And then… your hand fell limp in his grasp.

Now, as Zhongli stood over the small memorial he had arranged for you, the weight of his immortality felt more burdensome than ever. A thousand years, ten thousand, they meant nothing in the face of the quiet moments he had shared with you. His heart—though he had long believed it could never break—felt heavy with grief.

Zhongli had always understood the transient nature of mortals, but it was the first time he had allowed himself to feel the loss so acutely. You were not the first he had loved, and you would not be the last. And yet, no matter how many times he experienced it, the pain did not dull.

A sigh escaped his lips as he knelt before the memorial, placing a single Qingxin flower—your favorite—on the stone. The mountain flowers that thrived in Liyue’s heights were said to symbolize the fragile beauty of life, and now they seemed more fitting than ever.

"I will never forget," he murmured, his voice low, almost as if speaking to the wind. "Even as the ages pass and the mountains crumble… your memory will remain."

The wind stirred around him, gentle and cool, and for a fleeting moment, it felt as though your presence was near. But then it was gone, like the fleeting dreams that vanish with the morning light.

Zhongli rose to his full height, his amber eyes gazing out toward the horizon where the sun had already begun to dip below the mountains. The city behind him continued its life—people living, laughing, loving—unaware of the weight of a god’s sorrow.

He would continue, as he always had. But this time, with the knowledge that even a god could feel the ache of loss, and that even a thousand promises could not bring back what was taken by time.

But still, he would remember you.

For eternity.

[cafeinthemoon]

Ruins - Part XXIII

Chapter 23

Wordcount 2,3k

Title Part XXIII

Fandom Shummatsu no Valkyrie / Record of Ragnarok

Previous chapters

1 . 2 . 3 . 4 . 5 . 6 . 7 . 8 . 9 . 10 . 11 . 12 . 13 . 14 . 15 . 16 . 17 . 18 . 19 . 20 . 21 . 22 . Outtake

Symbols ⭕ . ➕ . 💛

Warnings: The continuation of their honeymoon ❤; non explicit sex; steamy in general

Tagging @holdyourwine @lilacshouko @shirayuki-ayumi @telvess @alecfromsaturn (If you want to be tagged in any of my stories, just leave a comment on this chapter or send an ask or a message)

N. A.: It's finally here 😭 The continuation of their deserved honeymoon! I've been struggling and procrastinating, trying to decide the amount of information I should include in this one, but I opted for little info and more ~action lol I wanted it to be one of those chapter where the characters are just relaxing and living their lives instead of being too worried about moving the story forward.

Hope you don't mind X)

As the kiss deepened, your mind wandered to all the things you’ve experienced with Hades, all building up and culminating in that one moment, when you were finally a couple. Fear, respect, protection, friendship, passion and love – everything he already represented to you, and everything you were willing to represent to him, was there, boiling and pulsating inside you, and pouring out through the gestures of your hands, your wet lips united and the heat of your skins, pressed together.

With his left arm wrapped tight around your waist, Hades brought you closer, his mouth wandering across your neck, your collar, your breasts, as you held on to him with eager hands: while your right one’s nails crawled on his back, your left was tangled in his hair. Suddenly, you felt his teeth brushing on your skin and started laughing; he laughed back in response, his breath muffled on your skin, tickling and provoking more laughter.

– You’re quite a teaser, my Lord – you murmured in his ear; then, moving away to look him in the eye – Is this the way you found to cease the tension of our first time?

Your husband brushed your hair behind your right ear, then held your chin with his fingertips, observing your face with a tender smile.

– Perhaps – he approached his mouth to yours, speaking over your lips – But it seems that it’s working, isn’t it?

Before you could think of a reply, he pulled you in a sensual embrace, lying on the mattress and making you lie upon him. You giggled, leaning your hands on his chest.

— You could say that.

The sight of his ecstatic face glued to you, surrounded by the strands of your untied hair, falling on each side, his eyes swallowing every inch of yours, the blush on his cheeks was just too much to you; the influence of Aphrodite’s potion, increased by your disposition, and you took the initiative by approaching yourself to him: holding his chin, you made him open his lips with your thumb, covering his mouth with yours, your tongue searching for his; on his part, things were just as heated: his hands, grabbing on your waist like claws, held on to you with strength, helping you to keep your balance, guiding you in languid, delicious movements.

The only thing you could think of was how much you loved Hades: you loved everything your senses could catch from him, from the softness of his skin under your touch, the thin layer of hot sweat forming on it, to the glow of desire in his eyes, his noisy breath, the firmness of his hands; you loved him to the point you didn’t want anything else: to give yourself to him, to live for him, to become everything he needed; you loved him, and wanted to melt into him, to embrace him, to devour him. And certainly, he felt the same, for soon he took over the situation, adjusting his grip on your waist and making you lie on the bed, putting himself over you and suffocating you in an even hotter kiss. You smiled over his lips when he moved them away for a second, and wrapped your legs around him, tightening his body against yours.

You felt that was the right instant. You couldn’t wait anymore.

– Take me – your voice came out as a sigh on his ear – Make me yours...

And he answered your plead, and took you at that moment. And it was when you understood you were born for this, for him, that you’ve never been complete by yourself, neither as a mere human. The pleasure of your flesh was equal to the ones of the heart and the spirit, the ecstatic feeling of fulfilling your purpose eating each cell of your body.

Somehow you sensed the smell of Aphrodite’s potion increasing as the act carried on, as if it had its effect potentiated by your natural feelings, and these latter empowered the potion in return as two complementary forces. Noticing this pattern, then, you started imagining what would happen if you introduced variations in your activity, so you tried to touch him in different manners; to your surprise, changes in the intensity of the fragrance were felt, as well as curious reactions from your partner: there was a moment, for example, when you caressed his ears the same way you did in the Secret Garden, several days ago, and his response came in a growl, then a muffled laugh in your neck, which provoked laughter in yourself. It was like among the potion’s many properties there was one that allowed you to identify and recognize preferences of your lover.

– You noticed that too, uh? – you heard him whisper – Clever girl.

You understood what he was talking about. He then pulled you tighter to himself, and you responded with a loud moan, and the smell increased again; your hands reached to his back, pressing on his skin as if he could disappear at any moment. You found yourself praying that it didn’t happen.

Please, stay forever. Please, never leave me.

You didn’t understand exactly why you thought of those exact words, but something inside you awakened, and you were convinced that, more than the ceremony led by Zeus-sama, this moment was your real marriage, when you gave everything you had to the man you loved: your body, your thought and feelings – your soul – and received the same from him in return. An understanding of the divine unison came to you with this: unlike the human one, which could be broken with the mere disappearance of feelings, a marriage between two gods would take much more to come to an end. But you knew you’d never want such thing, not with all the things you’ve experienced together until that point. Not only this, but somehow you knew – whether through the contact with his body or through a special exchange of thoughts – that Hades was feeling exactly the same.

And the conscience of this impregnated your physical body, and brought your senses to a state of climax. You felt part of your consciousness abandoning you, then found yourself holding on to him as you’ve never done before, mumbling incoherent words of love and attachment; you also noticed the same behavior from his part and, though you weren’t experienced in these types of things, you supposed he had his apex not so long after yourself. Suddenly, you felt something close to exhaustion, as if you just shared part of your vital energy with him, but it wasn’t like you were losing your strength: you were just becoming something more than yourself by joining him. You wanted to talk to your husband about this, but when you tried to move your lips, but you were too tired for this.

You’ve spent a moment together even when it was over, then Hades lied by your side and pulled you to him. You stood in silence, nestled in is arms, and never knew exactly when your mind slipped into the world of dreams.

There, you saw yourself in a familiar place.

It was a desolated landscape, surrounded by the ruins of what reminded you of a beautiful construction, raised in a remote past. Under your feet, the darkness of a sterile, brown earth, and above your head heavy clouds pushed away by cold winds, blowing through the red skies; through your skin were sent successive shivers, and you crossed your arms around your body to protect it. Yes, you’ve been there countless times, but it wasn’t but a dead world, unable to welcome lively you; the ruins were still the same, silently resting and not waiting for your touch – they didn’t belong to you, after all.

An ancient world with which you’ve never been able to find a connection...

Until you decided to turn and look. And then you found something you’ve never noticed in your other times there: the reminiscence of a high dome, indicating the spot where the construction’s entry once was. You took hesitant steps toward the arc and looked into it.

It was when you had the greatest surprise: looking back at you with a loving smile, there you saw Hades. You covered your mouth with both hands, not believing your eyes at first, but then all the hesitation disappeared and you ran to him, jumping into his arms. It felt like when you saw him for the first time, at Valhalla’s Library; it seemed to have happened a long time ago. The biggest difference, however, was the absence of fear in your heart, since you didn’t think twice before reaching to him. When he took you in his arms, you were invaded by what you could only described as true peace.

Little by little, you felt like you were falling asleep in your lover’s embrace in that dark world, only to slowly wake up in your honeymoon chambers, lying on your bed beside your husband. You looked up to him and noticed he was waking up at that very moment.

That time, you were able to speak.

– I had that dream again – you whispered – The dream about the ruins… It hasn’t happened since I’ve arrived at Valhalla...

– Interesting… – he caressed your hair in response – The same just happened to me…

Your heart skipped a beat when he revealed that: you didn’t understand how, but you already knew that.

He adjusted you in his arms to continue the conversation.

– Tell me… did something different happen this time?

Your eyes widened a bit and you stared at him.

– Yes! – you took a moment to recall the scenario – I’m sure I was back among the same ruins as before, but this time I saw some kind of dome near them… I approached and looked inside it… – you smiled – Then I saw you…

He smiled back.

– And then you ran to me.

– Yes, I did it – you completed his thought – I really did!

– It was the first time you saw me there – he said these words with a sort of relief, as if something that he has been waiting for too long finally came true.

– You’re right – you smiled – And because of this, it was the first time this dream brought me good feelings. Before this, I used to feel anxious about it.

He bent down to kiss your head, and you smiled.

– Tell me – you restarted – What do you think of this? Is this a sign that our purpose is close to be reached?

– I have no doubts about it – he replied – Now that we are together, things will certainly become clearer in the next days. We will have no problems figuring out what to do.

– I agree – you said – You know, I’ve never felt this peace before… It’s like I’m finally where I’m supposed to be...

Your husband’s response was to pull you tighter in his arms, as if he understood that you were talking about them. You closed your eyes, listening to his breath, your nostrils inhaling the smell of his body. After some time, you sensed something warm growing slowly in your lower belly, spreading to your inner thighs and the rest of your body, and though you had little experience in those things, you soon recognized the feeling, deepening as you turned your attentions the closeness of your bodies, your skins rubbing each other as you moved: you were desiring him again.

Without a word, you turned on your stomach, putting yourself over him, each of your legs on his sides.

– Please… – you whispered on his lips – Touch me again…

His response was quick: his hands grabbed your hips and brought you underneath him, rubbing his lips through your skin.

– Of course, little one – he murmured in your ear – Everywhere you want.

That time, you grabbed his hands, using them to explore your body. This audacious gesture took a smirk from your lover, who entered the game and let you do what you wanted for a while, until he decided you were having too much fun by yourself and took over the situation, grabbing you and taking you with even more intensity than the first time.

You ended up half awake on the mattress, more tired than before, while Hades lied his head on your chest. You kissed him and spent a moment caressing his hair. You weren’t sure how long you’ve stood there, but you fell asleep in the meantime, only waking up to the sound of the sheets moving, followed by soft steps on the floor and a door opening; a distant murmur of running water reached your ears, and you opened your eyes to find the bathroom’s door half opened, a yellow light leaking from it.

Despite being sleepy, you made an effort to leave the bed and walk toward the door, doing it slowly: as soon as you stood up, you felt an ache on your limbs and between your thighs, which seemed to increase when you moved too fast.

Did I exaggerate? Could it be that I’m still in process of transformation and not in my full strength?

You left those doubts aside when you opened the door and found your husband relaxing on the bathtub, the water at his chest’s height, the steam surrounding him. He immediately turned to the door’s direction when you stepped into the place, and a soft smile formed on his lips. You saw him stretching his right hand toward you in an inviting gesture; you accepted it and walked to the bathtub. You were wearing no clothes, only having your long hair to cover you, but no shame stopped you to move it away from your shoulders to enter the water. You lied on Hades’ lap, resting your head on his shoulder, the warmth of the water soothing your discomfort and leading you back to the calm state of unconsciousness.

[thatonebirdwrites]

Heroic

Lena Kieran Walsh knew her plan was perhaps the most ridiculous and ludicrous plan of all time. Yet her mother's last wish before her death had been, "become a menace to our enemies."

Lena, in tears, holding her mother's hands, vowed, "I will. Be at peace, Mammy." Her mother exhaled few ragged breaths with a faint smile before she slipped away. As if she'd only needed Lena's vow to finally let herself go.

The funeral had been a quiet affair, mostly due to her mother's instructions. Lena invited those on her mother's list, but she also added Sam Arias and her daughter, Jack Spheer, and Andrea Rojas -- her friend group to help support her.

They stood on the Cliffs of Moher that day, and as requested by her mother, she spread her ashes amongst the dirt by that trail and planted the oak. It had taken a week to get permission for the planting due to the area being a park, but the week had given Lena time to secure the ingredients for one last spell.

Lena herself didn't believe in magic per se. She was a scientist to her core, preferring to study biology and physics at the university, her thesis on the use of nanotechnology to target and destroy cancer cells. A project she shared with Jack and Sam. As much as university had set her apart from her mother’s lessons, she still remembered the old ways.

Traditions taught from mother to daughter, magic and stories that mustn’t be forgotten. Her Mammy was a self-professed druid within a larger druidic coven. She'd been highly regarded in the community as the caretaker of Ireland's history and myths, and Lena had been expected to take her place until she’d flounced off to uni.

But that day, she asked Sam to hold her brolly, it being a soft day, the mists from the heavy clouds like pinpricks against her cheeks. She knelt in the dirt and unstoppered the growing potion, one she’d carefully made per her Mammy’s instructions. Sung the magical words and focused all her mind and heart on imbuing it with her love for her Mammy.

That day, on the Cliffs of Moher, Lena poured the potion into the roots of the oak and sung the activation song. Her voice clear and precise, the melody soothing with little runs, and her eyes closed to keep herself from weeping. Tears would shatter her voice, and she needed to this perfect.

She could do no less for her Mammy.

Later Jack, Andrea, and Sam would swear the tree had grown during that moment, but Lena had her eyes closed and missed it. Lena expected the coven’s agreements that growth occurred, but Jack, Sam, and Andrea? They’re the pragmatics and realists of the group.

In the following months, she’d think of that day often, while she quietly worked through her mother's grimoire. Partly to better understand but also to continue her legacy in a way, and that was what gave her the idea.

Her mother referenced several artifacts that had been stolen from Haitian tribes, who had contacted her out of concern the magic within them was being misused. Her mother's cancer had prevented her from doing much more than attempt wards on the exhibits in London to prevent misuse.

But Lena had a better idea.

Why not steal from the colonizers who ransacked countries, starved populations into submission or outright killed them? Lena knew the stories of her people well. Her mother had taught her of the potato famine, which had been caused by the British literally poisoning the fields. The trauma of that colonization never left her people, and she let the rage from those injustices fuel her plan.

The Haitian tribes would see their lost artifacts returned, and Lena would wear the color of blood as a symbol of the dead left in the wake of the colonizers. Yes, if she planned well, she could leave her mark, and live up to her promise to her Mammy.

"Lena," Sam argued, "You can't do this alone. Let me help."

"I don't want to risk you," Lena protested. "You have a daughter."

"And the risk to you?" Sam crossed her arms and frowned. "You're family, Lena. And we help family always. So if you're going to do this stunt, then let me be your getaway driver."

“She has a point.” Andrea sipped her scotch from where she sat next to Lena’s bar. She leaned against it, both elbows on the counter, while her hand swirled the scotch. “This is a grave risk. Besides, it’ll be way more fun with friends, Lena.” She smirked. “I am an excellent—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” Lena pointed her finger at Andrea in warning. Her ex-girlfriend smirked in response and leaned against Sam’s side. The two had become nearly inseparable since meeting, and Lena didn’t mind if it meant less jokes about her own sex life.

Jack, who had stayed silent up to that point, chuckled. "Luv, they’re right. Doing this alone? It's a bit much. You need a team. I'll see if I can rig up a program to keep the cameras off your movements."

Lena already had done some preliminary hacking to see the extent of the security, but now that Jack had mentioned it, having someone to control the cameras would be immensely helpful. And Sam was an excellent driver and had a pilot's license, mostly because Lena had needed a buddy to get through the lessons.

"Fine. You all can help." She made a show of rolling her eyes and sounding put out, but secretly she was thrilled that her closest friends had her back.

Sam turned onto Mare Street in London, and slowed to a stop near 11 Mare Street. She parked with a frown. "Lena, are you sure this is it?"

Lena stared at the rather small storefront. Victor Wynd Museum of Curiosities was emblazoned above the more stately letters of The Last Tuesday Society. The window overflowed with a grotesque display of shrunken heads, skeletons, and voodoo dolls. No wonder Mammy's Voodoo friends contacted her for help. This place stank of exploitation of their craft.

"Yup. It's smaller than expected."

"Are you kidding me?" Sam leaned over her steering wheel. "There's a cocktail menu posted on the door."

“What? Are they drinking out of the skulls?” Andrea quipped, a hint of disgust in her voice.

Anger seared through Lena's veins. "Of course. Typical British."

"Hey!" Jack protested from the back seat, where he sat with a laptop. His fingers danced across the keys. "I am mildly offended, Luv."

"Jack, you're more Scottish-Indian than British-Indian," Lena drawled.

“Still. Till the Scots gain our independence, we do not drink from skulls.” He sniffed dramatically, but she knew he wasn't really bothered. "Their security is a load of tosh."

"Considering how tiny this storefront is, I'm not surprised," Sam said. "So, uh, what's the best way to do this?"

“Too distracted to hear Lena’s hours long presentation?” Andrea teased, which elicited a glare from her girlfriend.

“The placement of your hands is the villain here,” Sam shot back, her cheeks reddening.

Andrea raised her hands and wiggled her fingers. “We all need exercise sometimes.”

Lena rolls her eyes. “Stop acting the maggot you two.” She nods toward the museum-cocktail lounge. “Three am is the goal since they close around midnight. Jack, focus on taking over their security feeds. I'll have a program ready. It'll erase itself within twenty minutes. If I'm not out by then, all of you leg it. If I’m caught, I’m caught, but I won’t have you three joining me."

"That's kind of tight," Sam said, uneasy. "And we can’t just leave you, Lena."

Lena sighed. "I mean it, Sam. This isn’t some grand heroic moment. It’s breaking and entering.”

“I beg to differ,” Jack said. “Heroic is indeed what this is. Lost artifacts returned to their homes? A modern day Robin Hood.”

Lena smiled and shook her head. “Look, I get in, procure the stolen artifacts, and get out. No sight-seeing or distractions. Twenty is plenty.” She turned to glare at Andrea. “Can’t trust you not to lob the gob with Sam, so you’re the lookout.”

Andrea smirked. “Fine. I’ll wear all black.”

“Good. Do that ridiculous whistle if you see any Garda.” In reply, Andrea gave Lena fingerguns. “Sam, use your electric car. The idling’s as silent as a grave.”

Sam nodded. “Can do.”

“Now remember,” Lena narrowed her eyes at Andrea but glanced at the other two in the car for good measure. “We’re scouting now. No getting banjaxed. I need you all as sprightly as a wagtail.”

“Being a craic vacuum today?” Andrea quipped.

“No more dossing around, Andi,” Lena said exasperated. She used that saying once about Sam being too uptight, and Andrea adopted i almost immediately to Lena's annoyance. “Or you’re sitting the rest out.”

“Wait, there’s more planned?” Andrea grinned. “Mina, you’re holding back.”

“Shut it. We have a job to do. Now let’s get cracking.” Lena opened the door and wished she wasn’t about to sully herself in the most exploitive, macabre cocktail lounge she'd ever seen.

The moment she stepped inside, she wished she hadn’t, as the jampacked walls full of macabre exhibits and the strange musky scent almost had her walking right back out.

But no, she needed reconnaissance. Locate exactly where to enter, nab the target, and exit. Surely her ancestors and the ancestors of her mother's friends will forgive her for having a short drink next to a taxidermy lion on a table made from a sarcophagus.

She needed the ancestors protection for this, not their fury. Besides, the cocktails turned out to be manky as hell.

Dressed in a red cloak, wide-brimmed hat, gloves, and boots, Lena felt a trifle ridiculous but also proud of herself. Time to finally live up to her vow, to do what her mother could not, and bring home what was stolen.

From their reconnaissance, she marked several windows large enough for her to slip through. All required a climb. It hadn’t taken her long to make a device to shoot the rope into the wood of the window. Climbing had been a bit stressful, but she’d made it. Below she could see Andi, leaning against a wall as she watched the road. Jack was still in the car with Sam, the program churning through the security.

It took three tries with her tools to unlock the window and push it open. The stench hit her first. She pulled up her scarf to wrap around her face. For feck’s sake, did the owner store poop here? She dropped into the attic and to her horror there was indeed poop here. Several glass jars labeled with celebrity names and dates sat in a container to her right.

It gave her an idea however. She gathered a few and carefully made her way down the rickety ladder to the main floor. In the bar area, she set up each of the jars and uncapped them. Two she dumped their contents in front of the main office.

She tiptoed out of the bar and gingerly entered some of the exhibits. She couldn’t take it all — her bag couldn’t carry it for one nor would the rope hold that much weight — but the staggering amount of human remains on display twisted her stomach with rage.

Maybe she could come back and steal it all, but for now she focused on the Voodoo poppets. They were arranged in rows three exhibits down the hall in front of a macabre set of shrunken heads, African Masks — the designs reminding her of the Igbo people actually — and several skulls.

She bowed her head and murmured the words she’d heard her mother say many a time, “Tagaim chun tú a thabhairt abhaile. Bí ar a suaimhneas.” Irish for ‘I come to bring you home, be at peace.’ Then one by one she wrapped them in the silk the Haitians had sent her mother for this, and tucked them in her bag.

A quick sweep of the other exhibits found her three more poppets, and a search of the attic another six. Her twenty minutes neared completion, so she scurried through the window, slid down the rope, and tapped the button on her belt. The bolt blew apart in a rain of metal, the rope dropping like a flying a snake.

She whistled to Andrea, and the two legged it to Sam’s car. As soon as they tumbled into the backseat, Sam slid out of park and the car silently pulled away from the curb.

"Five minutes to spare," Jack said with a wink. "Nicely done."

"I'll do better next time," Lena leaned back and patted her bag. "Mam's friends will be relieved to have these home again."

"Here you are, being the hero of our time," Andi said with a grin and poke of her elbow in Lena's side. "You need a name though." She looked over Lena's outfit. "Why red?"

"Carmen is the hue actually." Lena laid her hand on her bag and thought of her Mammy, how the cancer had slowly eaten away her life. How hard she'd worked toward causes of liberation. "I promised Mam I'd become a menace to my enemies. I wear the color of anger and blood."

"Right, and whose gonna know that?" Jack pointed out.

Lena smiled. "Oh, the world will know soon enough."

Three hundred Euros later and two days of searching flights, Lena was on her way to the Haiti, her prize carefully hidden in her carry-on luggage. As she watched Ireland fade from view, she took a deep breath and released it slowly. She’d done it.

She’d rescued priceless artifacts, and now they were going home. Smiling, she leaned back and closed her eyes. Already plans formed of improved methods of infiltration. If she was going to do this, she was going to do it well.

[snitchcrimsonwrites]

Drawn Together: Chapter 3

Paring: Eventual Tech× Jedi! Female Reader

The Bad Batch are on the run after the events on Pantora when they run into a mysterious stranger who offers them assistance. Who is this stranger, and how come it seems like they know, Echo? The story will roughly follow the events of the series.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Outside the cabin, the forest is silent, and the Empire is seemingly far away. Inside, the mood is lighter than it has been in days. The Batch sits around the crude wooden table, plates of food in front of them. Echo is resting on a makeshift cot in the corner, still unconscious but breathing steadily. His vitals, according to Tech, are stable.

Wrecker leans back in his chair, his plate wiped clean, and he has a huge grin on his face.

“This is so good! You’ve gotta tell me what’s in this stew!” He beams. 

You stand by the fire, amused with a small smile, and pour more stew into a bowl. “Family secret,” you claim with a laugh. It's been a while since you’ve been in the company of so many others. 

Wrecker’s grin widens. “Well, whatever it is, it’s the best thing I’ve eaten in months. I could eat like this every day!”

Hunter sits nearby, watching the room carefully but more relaxed than before. His initial wariness has diminished, though his sharp instincts remain alert. He’s noticing Omega's ease with you, the mysterious vibe around you having captivated her attention.

Sitting beside Tech, Omega listens to you with wide eyes, hanging on every word. Her curiosity brims over as she points to a large, ancient-looking book on a shelf behind you.

“What’s that book about? The one with those symbols—what do they mean?”

You gesture to the shelf, immediately aware of the book she pointed out. Of course, she noticed that one. “That’s the history of an ancient civilization that existed long before the Empire or even the Galactic Republic. The symbols you see are their language, most of it lost to time.” 

Omega’s interest is piqued, and now she wants to know more about these ancient legends. “Can you read it? Do you know what all of it means?” she asks, her voice laced with eagerness. 

You smile slightly, shifting from the stove to the table, answering with the same calm patience as before.

“I’ve studied the symbols, yes. I’ve learned much from their writings and about those who lived here long before us. But there are some things that remain… mysterious.” You close, waving your hands in the air in front of you to add to the theatric effect. 

Tech, who has been listening intently, cuts in. His curiosity is not easily sated, and he continues the bombardment of questions. You shift answering Tech’s scientific inquiry, all while keeping Omega engaged.

Hunter watches, quietly taking it all in. His gaze moves from Omega, so engrossed in your words, to Tech, who’s asking question after question with relentless focus. Despite his reservations, Hunter finds himself beginning to trust you a little more. If nothing else, you’ve proven helpful—and the way you handle Tech’s and Omega’s constant stream of questions with grace has lessened his wariness.

Hunter cuts in, smiling slightly.  “Omega, let her breathe. She’s answering enough questions for both you and Tech.” She giggles in response. “I’m just curious!”

Tech, however, isn’t finished.

—-------------

The rest of the Batch is resting now—Wrecker is slouched in a chair, snoring softly, and Omega lies curled up by Echo’s side, her hand resting gently on his arm. Tech sits by the window, his goggles reflecting the low light as he works on his datapad, occasionally glancing over at Echo to monitor his progress.

Hunter stands by the doorway, leaning against the wooden frame, his eyes still scanning the room out of habit. His soldier’s instinct keeps him on alert, even in this moment of calm.

You approach him, your presence as subtle as ever. Standing beside him, looking out into the dark forest beyond the cabin. After a beat, you speak, your voice low so as not to disturb the others.

“Hunter… I’ve been meaning to ask about your ship. Where exactly did you leave it?" Hunter turns slightly, studying your face for a moment. He sees only genuine curiosity in your question. He hesitates, then responds, his voice matching your volume. “It’s on the other side of the forest. In a cave up a ridge. We left it there to stay hidden.”

You frown slightly, your brow furrowing as you process the information. There’s a brief silence before you speak again, your tone more serious now.

“If that’s where you need to go, there’s something you should know.”

Hunter’s gaze sharpens. He crosses his arms, waiting for you to continue.  “The path through the forest to reach the other side… It won’t be as simple as just walking back the way you came. The quickest way is through the crystal caverns beneath the forest. It’s a winding labyrinth of tunnels; you’d get lost without a guide. The only way to make it through safely is underground.”

Hunter’s expression hardens, and the idea of trekking through unknown tunnels does not sit well with him. He frowns, “Caverns? Why didn’t we come across them on the way in?”

You shake your head. “They’re hidden—deep. Most travelers don’t even know they’re there. The forest has a way of keeping its secrets. But if you try to go back through the surface paths, especially with the Empire still out there… I don't know if you'd make it.” 

Hunter is quiet for a moment, processing the new information. It sounds like a complicated detour, one they hadn’t prepared for. But you’re not finished. 

“I’d be willing to escort you all through, but there’s something else. If Echo isn’t able to move on his own, I won’t be able to take you through the caverns. They’re treacherous—tight spaces, steep climbs. He needs time to heal, or you’ll be putting him and all of us at serious risk.”

Hunter’s jaw tightens. They’re already running out of time, and the longer they stay hidden, the more likely the Empire will tighten its search grid. But your words sink in—Echo is still too weak to make such a journey, especially one that sounds this dangerous.

“How much time?” He sighs. 

You look back to Echo as you respond. “If he continues to improve at this rate, a day or two should give him the strength to move on his own. But pushing him too soon… you could make things worse.”

Hunter closes his eyes for a moment, frustration simmering beneath the surface. They can’t afford to wait, but they can’t afford to lose Echo either. He turns back, meeting your gaze.

“Thanks for the information. I’ll let you know what we decide.”

You watch him carefully, sensing the weight of his decision. “Hunter… the forest has many paths. Some are hidden. You may need help to see them.”

Hunter doesn’t respond, but he gives you a small acknowledgment nod before returning to the group. He can’t help but think that’s something one of the Jedi masters would say. As you slip away, Hunter’s mind races with the implications of their next move.

—---------------

The cabin is quiet, save for the occasional crackle of the fire and the steady breathing of the Batch as they rest. Hunter leans against the table, still deep in thought from your conversation earlier, while Tech, Wrecker, and Omega have settled nearby, keeping an eye on Echo’s unconscious form.

You quietly slip out the back door, stepping into the cool night air. The door creaks shut behind you, leaving the Batch inside. Moments later, Echo begins to stir.

His fingers twitch, and his eyes flutter open, the fog of unconsciousness slowly lifting. Omega is the first to notice, her face lighting up as she rushes to his side.  “Echo! Echo, you’re awake!”

The others quickly gather around him, a wave of relief washing over them. Wrecker grins broadly while Tech scans Echo with his datapad, ensuring his vitals are stable.

Hunter kneels beside him, helping Echo sit up slowly, supporting him with a firm grip on his shoulder. “Easy there. Don’t push yourself too hard.”

Echo blinks, disoriented, but as his mind sharpens, he looks around at his brothers and Omega, taking in their relieved faces. “What happened…?” He asks, offering a weak smile. 

Hunter, Wrecker, and Tech quickly fill him in on the last two days: the ambush, the injury, your intervention, and how you saved him. As they talk, Echo listens carefully, still piecing everything together. Just as he’s absorbing the information, the front door opens, and you step back into the cabin, your eyes flickering over the group before landing on Echo.

In that instant, Echo’s expression changes. His eyes widen in surprise, and he straightens up as much as his condition allows. His scomp hand moves reflexively to his temple in a salute, his face lighting up with recognition.

“General…!”

The rest of the Batch freezes, their eyes widening in stunned silence. Omega looks up at Echo, confused, while Hunter, Tech, and Wrecker exchange incredulous glances. You blink, momentarily caught off guard by the formality of Echo’s reaction. 

“Good to see you too, soldier,” you say, returning the salute weakly. 

The room falls utterly silent as the Batch stares between you and Echo, trying to make sense of the unexpected familiarity. Tech raises an eyebrow, clearly calculating the odds of this scenario. Wrecker scratches his head, his usual carefree demeanor replaced with utter confusion.

Omega is the first to break the piercing silence.  “You know her?”

Echo lowers his hand from the salute, still looking at you as if he’s seeing a ghost. His voice is raspy but filled with certainty.

“This is one of our Jedi Generals… she’s led multiple recon and rescue battalions. The most recent was a specialized unit… they provided medical care and extraction to me after I was rescued on Skako Minor.”

This revelation hits the Batch like a thunderclap. Tech straightens in his seat, his mind racing as puzzle pieces begin to click into place. He’s figured it out. “Jedi Master ______. Known for her abilities in healing and using the Force in unconventional ways on the battlefield. A General commanding a specialized clone force that worked on recon and extraction missions, she was part of the squad that came in after Echo’s rescue on Skako Minor and the one who treated his medical injuries before he left with us.” 

You nod, your face shadowed with memories of a life long past.

“Yes. Our unit specialized in medical extractions, recon missions, and strikes behind enemy lines. I worked closely with those clones… until everything changed.”

Hunter’s expression tightens as the reality of her words sinks in. “You escaped Order 66.”

Your eyes darkened, that day clearly still weighed heavily in your mind. “I did. I was one of the lucky ones. The clones in my unit… they turned, just like the others. But I managed to slip away, disappearing into the chaos. I’ve been hiding on this planet ever since.”

The Batch listens in silence, absorbing the weight of her confession. Wrecker scratches his head, clearly still processing the idea that this healer in the middle of the woods was once a Jedi General. “Wait… so you’ve been out here this whole time? Why didn't you try to reach out to anyone." 

“I'm not sure if you saw General Kenobi's message after the order fell but it’s safer here. The Empire doesn’t bother with the forests, especially those on the outer planets. The locals come to me for healing but don’t ask questions. It’s a simple life, but it’s kept me alive.” You confirm with a nod. 

Tech is still running the calculations in his mind, piecing together the significance of your abilities. “I have heard General ____  had rather unique Force abilities tied to healing, but to see them in action… that’s remarkable. You recognized us when we were fleeing, didn’t you?”

You turn to Tech, your face softening. Your eyes show no hint of hostility, only a quiet resolve. “Yes. When I saw you being hunted by the Empire, I felt you might not be the same as the ones who turned on me. I didn’t know why, but I thought… if you’re still fighting the Empire, then maybe I could help. Even if it meant risking my life. Then I recognized Echo and the rest of you from our comms on Skako and knew it was worth the risk if I could help you.”

Hunter finally speaks up, his voice low and thoughtful. “You took a big risk coming for us. The clones turned on the Jedi. We did things...”

“You all risked your lives every day for us and the people of the Republic, it was the least I could do.” 

------------------

 The Batch are now comfortably scattered around the main living space of your cabin. The mood has shifted to something lighter—a rare moment of peace. Wrecker grins as he recounts a tale from one of their missions during the Clone Wars, his booming laughter filling the cabin. Omega is hanging on his every word, her eyes wide with fascination.

She exclaims loudly in disbelief, “You really lifted the entire transport by yourself?!”

 “Not the whole thing… but enough to make a difference! Ha! You should’ve seen the looks on those droids’ faces!” Wrecker boasts. 

Hunter, sitting back against a chair, chuckles softly. Tech taps a few notes on his datapad, though even he allows himself to be drawn into the conversation, adding in details about the logistics of Wrecker’s feat. Echo, still recovering, smiles faintly from where he sits, though his energy remains limited. The room is filled with camaraderie, starkly contrasting the tension they felt earlier. It feels strange, almost surreal, to share stories of the war, a time that now feels like a different lifetime.

After a while, the stories begin to slow, replaced by comfortable silence. The group starts to settle into sleep, their bodies and minds exhausted from the long day. One by one, Wrecker, Omega, and Hunter drift off, leaving only you and Tech awake. Tech remains seated, his focus fully on his datapad, typing quietly.

“Tech, I owe you an apology,” you say breaking his concentration. 

Tech looks up, his brow furrowing slightly in curiosity. “Apology?” 

“For my “omission” when healing Echo. The salve I used on him… it helped, but it wasn’t what primarily saved him. My Force healing did most of the work. Though I suspect you had a suspicion. I couldn’t risk revealing anything.  After everything that’s happened with the clones, with the Jedi… I didn’t know if I could trust any of you with that information. Even though I helped you, I wasn’t sure how you’d react.”

Tech nods, understanding the logic behind your caution, though he remains quiet momentarily, his sharp mind processing your words carefully. “We’re not exactly standard clones anymore. You’ve seen that. We’re unlike those who followed Order 66, but thank you… for saving him.”

You offer him a small, genuine smile, grateful for his understanding.

“I wasn’t completely lying about the herbs, though. They do have incredible properties—more than I’ve ever seen on any other planet. If you’re interested, I could teach you about them. They might prove useful in the future.”

Tech’s eyes brighten with interest at the mention of the local flora. His scientific curiosity quickly resurfaces, and the tension eases. “I’d like that. Learning about local medicine could expand our capabilities. I’ve always found planetary ecosystems to be fascinating.”

You chuckle softly at his enthusiasm. “Well then, I’ll give you a crash course. The plants in this forest… they’re something special.”

[buckyssoldat]

Chapter 57: Serendipity

Warnings: mature themes, mentions of loss and grief, mental health struggles

A/N: This is part of my series, Forsaken - The Fallen Soldier. If you wanna be tagged in this, just send me an ask or a message. Feedback is always appreciated, don’t be shy to share your thoughts on this :)

And I am done with my graceless heart

So tonight I'm gonna cut it out and then restart

'Cause I like to keep my issues drawn

It's always darkest before the dawn

Alice had already decided where would be the first stop of her journey: Tokyo. She wanted to go back to Union Bar, check on Hiro, and remind herself of the time she was a mercenary and when by ‘Indigo’.

The journey to Tokyo was a blur of airports, security checks, and long hours on the plane. Alice’s thoughts were a whirlwind, her mind replaying every moment with Steve, every argument, every kiss.

When she finally arrived in Tokyo, the once vibrant energy of the city was now gone due to Thanos’s actions. The streets didn’t buzz with life like they used to. Alice had always loved the city’s chaotic charm, but now it was completely different. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for what lay ahead.

Union Bar was tucked away in a narrow alley, a hidden gem known only to those who needed its services. Alice pushed open the door, the familiar creak bringing back a flood of memories. The bar was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of whiskey and the hum of quiet conversations. She scanned the room, her eyes searching for a familiar face.

Hiro, the owner and bartender, was behind the counter, his sharp eyes missing nothing. He looked up as she entered, a flicker of recognition crossing his features. “Indigo,” he greeted, his voice warm despite the hard edge it usually carried. “It’s been a long time.”

Alice managed a smile, though it felt fragile. “Too long, Hiro. And it’s Alice now.”

He motioned for her to sit at the bar, pouring her a drink without asking what she wanted. “So, Alice, what brings you back here? Thought you were done with this life.”

Alice took the drink, the burn of the alcohol a welcome distraction. “I am. But things have a way of pulling you back.”

Hiro nodded, his gaze steady. “I get that. Sometimes the past doesn’t let go so easily.”

She looked around the bar, memories of her time as ‘Indigo’ flooding back. This place was once her sanctuary, a place where she could lose herself in the chaos of her mercenary work. Hiro had been more than just an employer; he had been a friend and a mentor.

“Do you remember the tattoos you did for me back then?” Alice asked, her voice filled with nostalgia.

Hiro smiled, his eyes softening at the memory. “How could I forget? Each one told a story, a piece of who you were.”

Alice traced a finger over the snake tattoo on her arm, a symbol of her past. “They meant a lot to me. Still do.”

Hiro poured himself a drink, raising his glass in a silent toast. “I’m glad. You were always one of my best canvases.”

She hesitated, then asked, “Do you ever think about the ones we lost?”

Hiro’s expression grew sombre. “Every day. We lost good people, friends, family. The worlds changed in an instant.”

Alice nodded, her eyes glistening. “I still see their faces. It’s hard to move on knowing they’re gone because of a madman’s whims.”

Hiro placed a comforting hand on hers. “We honour them by living, by continuing to fight for what they believed in.”

They talked late into the night, reminiscing about old times and catching up on the years that had passed. Hiro didn’t pry into why she had come back, sensing she wasn’t ready to share. Instead, he offered her the comfort of familiarity, a place to rest and relax – the apartment on top of the bar, where she used to stay a few years back.

Over the next few days, Alice found herself falling into a routine. She spent her days exploring Tokyo, losing herself in the city’s streets and ancient temples. The nights were reserved for the Union Bar, where she and Hiro would talk late into the night, their conversations a balm to her troubled soul.

One evening, as the bar was winding down ant the last of the patrons were leaving, Hiro turned to Alice, his expression serious. “You know, if you ever need to work again, there’s always a place for you here.”

Alice shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “Thanks, Hiro, but I’m not here for that. I need to figure out who I am, away from all this.”

Hiro nodded, his eyes understanding. “Just know that you’re always welcome. Sometimes, finding yourself means coming back to where you started.”

His words lingered with her long after she left the bar that night. Alice wandered through the quiet streets. She found herself at a small park, the cherry blossoms in full bloom despite the late hour. She sat on a bench, the soft petals falling around her like snow.

As she sat there, Alice though about Steve and Natasha, about the life she had left behind. She missed them, missed the way they made her feel safe and loved. But she also knew that she needed this time for herself, to heal and to grow.

The next day, as Alice sat at the bar, she looked at Hiro and made a decision. “Hiro, I wanna ask you a favour.”

“Anything,” he replied, curious.

“I need another tattoo,” she said, her voice steady.

Hiro raised an eyebrow. “You have something specific in mind?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I want it to say, ‘you are free.’ It… It reminds me of someone special.”

Hiro’s eyes softened with understanding. “I’d be honoured to do it, Alice.”

They set up in a back room of the bar, a space Hiro used for his private tattoo sessions. The hum of the tattoo machine was a comforting sound, a reminder of the past but also a promise of a new beginning. As Hiro worked, they talked about everything and nothing, the way old friends do.

When he was finished, Alice looked at the new tattoo in the mirror, her eyes shining with unshed tears. The words ‘you are free’ stood boldly on her skin, just on her left side, next to her chest.

“Thank you, Hiro,” she said, her voice choked with emotion.

Hiro smiled, his eyes warm. “Thank you, Alice, for letting me be a part of your journey.”

Alice said her goodbyes to Hiro, feeling a mix of excitement and anxiety about her next adventure. As she boarded her flight to London, she couldn’t help but replay their conversations in her mind.

The flight was smooth, and Alice spent most of the journey lost in thought, wondering what awaited her in the city of London. Upon arrival, she navigated through the Heathrow Airport, collected her luggage, and hailed a cab to her hotel.

After settling into her room and freshening up, Alice decided to take a walk to explore the area. As she wandered through the historic streets, she marvelled at the blend of old and new architecture, the iconic red buses, and the diverse crowd that made London so vibrant.

She found herself near the British Museum, intrigued by the imposing structure. Deciding to step inside, she walked around the grand halls, taking in the vast collection of artifacts from around the world. It was in the dimly lit section dedicated to ancient Mesopotamia that something unexpected happened.

As Alice rounded a corner, she accidentally bumped into someone. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, looking up to see a woman with dark hair and an ethereal beauty.

The woman smiled warmly. “It’s quite alright. No harm done. I’m Sersi, by the way.”

“And I’m Alice,” she replied, smiling back. Just then, a young girl with an air of mischief approached them.

“Sersi, did you find anything interesting?” the young girl asked, then turned her attention to Alice. Her eyes widened in recognition. “Wait a second, you’re Onyx, right?”

Alice smiled, a hint of surprise. “Yes, that’s right.”

Sprite’s face lit up with excitement. “I’m a huge fan! I can’t believe I’m meeting you in person! Your work as an Avenger is legendary.”

Sersi looked intrigued. “Onyx? An Avenger? Now, this is interesting. Oh, and this is Sprite.”

Alice felt a mix of pride and nostalgia. The last time someone recognized her went horribly. “Thank you, Sprite. It’s great to meet you.”

Sersi’s eyes lit up with interest. “Well, this makes our meeting even more unexpected. You must have some incredible stories.” 

Alice smiled. “I suppose I do. But what about you two? Do you come here often?”

“Whenever we can,” Sersi answered while she looked around. “There’s always something new to discover, even in a place like this.”

As they chatted, Alice found herself drawn into their conversation. Sersi and Sprite seemed knowledgeable and passionate about history and artifacts, but there was an air of mystery about them.

They decided to leave the museum together, stepping out into the streets of London. Alice walked alongside her new acquaintances. They continued to talk about the museum, ancient civilizations, and the mysteries of the past.

Sprite’s eyes twinkled with excitement as she glanced at Alice. “So, Alice, what brings you to London? Another adventure?”

Alice smiled. “Just looking for a change of pace. I felt like it was time for a new adventure.”

Sersi nodded thoughtfully. “Sometimes, a change of scenery is exactly what we need to find what we’re looking for.”

Alice couldn’t help but feel there was a deeper meaning to Sersi’ words. “What about you two? Do you live here?”

Sersi and Sprite exchanged a quick look. “We travel a lot,” Sersi said. “There’s so much of the world to see and understand.”

As they walked, Alice noticed they were heading to a café. Sersi gestured towards it. “How about we grab a coffee? I’d love to hear more about your travels, Alice.”

Alice agreed, feeling a sense of camaraderie with Sersi and Sprite. As they settled into a cozy corner of the café, the conversation flowed easily. They talked about their favourite places, strange encounters, and the allure of the unknown.

Sprite, unable to contain her excitement, leaned forward eagerly. “Alice, could you tell us some stories about your Avenger life? I bet you have some amazing tales.”

Alice chuckled. “Sure, Sprite. Where do I start?”

Sprite’s eyes lit up. “How about the time you and the Avengers stopped that alien invasion in New York? I’ve always wanted to hear the inside scoop on that.”

Alice smiled, reminiscing her first kiss with Loki during the battle. “Ah, that was quite a day. The chaos, the teamwork, the sheer adrenaline… It all started when Steve Rogers came to visit me and told me about a new initiative…”

As Alice recounted her experiences, Sersi and Sprite listened intently. Alice spoke about the wins and the losses, the friendships among the Avengers, and the sense of purpose that came with protecting the world. She shared anecdotes about missions gone wrong, close calls, and moments of humour amidst danger.

The stories flowed, and Alice found herself enjoying the trip down memory lane. Sersi and Sprite were captivated, asking questions, and marvelling at the details.

Though they never revealed their true identities or their purpose, Alice felt a strong connection with Sersi and Sprite. There was something extraordinary about them, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that meeting them was no coincidence.

As they parted ways later that afternoon, Sersi handed Alice a small, intricately carved pendant. “A little something to remember us by,” she said with a smile.

Alice accepted the gift, touched by the gesture. “Thank you. I hope we meet again.”

Sersi and Sprite exchanged knowing glances. “I’m sure we will,” Sprite said with a wink.

As Alice walked back to her hotel, she felt a renewed sense of excitement and wonder. Her adventure in London was just beginning, and she knew that meeting Sersi and Sprite was the start of something truly remarkable.

The following day, Alice decided to explore the city some more. She wandered the streets of London, her thoughts still racing from her encounter with Sersi and Sprite. She couldn’t shake the feeling that meeting them was part of something bigger.

As she walked, she saw posters and tributes to the missing, reminders of the half of humanity that had vanished. The world was still reeling from the loss, and every person she passed carried a sense of grief and confusion. It made her even more determined to find meaning in her journey, to discover how she could contribute to the world now reshaped by loss.

Alice decided to immerse herself in the city, hoping that exploring its historic and cultural sites would provide some clarity. She visited the Tower of London, marvelling at the ancient architecture and the stories of intrigue and power that filled its walls.

On the afternoon, as she strolled through the Hyde Park, she found a quiet spot by the Serpentine Lake. The serene environment offered her a chance to reflect on her journey so far. She watched the swans glide across the water and felt a sense of peace she hadn’t experienced in a long time.

As she continued her walk, Alice ventured into Covent Garden, enjoying the livelier atmosphere, with some street performers and market stalls. She browsed through the shops, picking up a few souvenirs to remind her of her time in London.

It was in Covent Garden, among the noise and the groups of people, that she spotted a familiar face. Sersi and Sprite were sitting at an outdoor café, engrossed in conversation. Alice hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should approach them, but then decided to go ahead.

“Sersi, Sprite,” she called out, making her way towards them.

They looked up in surprise, their faces lighting up with recognition and warmth.

“Alice!” Sprite exclaimed, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “What a coincidence!”

Sersi smiled. “It’s good to see you again, Alice. How have you been?”

Alice pulled up a chair and joined them at the table. “I’ve been exploring the city, trying to find my place in all this. It’s been… enlightening.”

Sprite leaned forward, her curiosity evident. “Have you found any answers?”

Alice chuckled softly. “Not all of them, but I feel like I’m getting closer. London has a way of putting things into perspective.”

Sersi nodded. “It’s a city rich in history and resilience. It’s no wonder it’s helping you find your way.”

They spent the next hour chatting, sharing stories of their experiences in London. Sersi and Sprite seemed genuinely interested in Alice’s journey, and she found herself opening up to them.

“I’m planning to leave London soon,” Alice said eventually, a hint of sadness in her voice. “I think it’s time to move on and see where the road takes me next.”

Sprite’s face fell slightly, but she quickly masked it with a smile. “Where to next?”

Alice shrugged. “I’m not sure yet. Maybe somewhere quieter, where I can really think.”

Sersi reached across the table, placing a hand on Alice’s. “Wherever you go, remember that you’re not alone. There are people out there who care about you.”

Alice felt a lump in her throat as she nodded. “Thank you, Sersi. That means a lot.”

They finished their drinks and walked through Covent Garden together, enjoying the last few moments of each other’s company. As the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the city, they reached the edge of the market square.

“We’ll miss you, Alice,” Sprite said, her voice sincere.

Alice smiled, feeling a warmth in her heart. “I’ll miss you too. But I have a feeling our paths will cross again.”

Sersi and Sprite waved goodbye as Alice turned to leave, their figures blending into the crowd of Covent Garden. Alice walked away with a renewed sense of purpose and a heart full of gratitude for the unexpected friendships she had formed.

As she prepared to leave London, she looked back on her time in the city with fondness. It had given her the clarity and strength she needed to continue her journey. With each step she took towards her next destination, Alice felt more confident that she was on the right path, ready to face whatever the future held.

After much contemplation, Alice decided to travel to Bali, Indonesia. The island’s reputation for its natural beauty, spiritual energy, and warm community drew her in, offering the perfect setting for relaxation and self-discovery.

The flight to Bali was a mix of anticipation and hope. As the plane descended, Alice caught sight of the island’s greenery and stunning coastline, filling her with a sense of excitement. She felt that this was where she needed to be.

Upon arrival, Alice found a cozy guesthouse near the beach, a simple yet charming place that felt welcoming. She quickly settled into a routine of leisurely walks on the beach, exploring local markets, and soaking in the serene beauty of her surroundings.

One afternoon, while enjoying a quiet moment at a beachfront café, she struck up a conversation with a local woman named Ayu. Ayu was in her early forties, with a warm smile and a friendly demeanour that put Alice at ease. They quickly bonded over their shared love of the ocean and a good cup of coffee.

As they talked, Ayu shared her story. She owned a small bar on the beach, a popular spot for both locals and tourists. She mentioned how she had always dreamed of running her own business and creating a space where people could relax and enjoy the simple pleasures of life.

“You should come by the bar tonight,” Ayu suggested. “I think you’ll like it. We have live music, and the sunset view is incredible.”

Alice smiled, feeling a sense of connection and curiosity. “I’d love to. Thanks, Ayu.”

That evening, Alice made her way to Ayu’s bar. The place was everything Ayu had described and more. It had a rustic charm, with lanterns hanging from the trees, a bamboo bar, and colourful cushions scattered around for seating. The sound of gentle waves lapping at the shore provided a soothing backdrop to the live acoustic music.

Alice found a spot and watched as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. She felt a deep sense of peace, more than she had felt in a long time.

Over the new few days, Alice became a regular at the bar. She enjoyed the relaxed atmosphere and the friendly conversations with Ayu and the other patrons. One evening, as they were closing, Ayu approached her with a proposition.

“You know, Alice, we could use some extra help around here. The place gets busy, and I think you’d fit right in. How would you feel about working here for a while?”

Alice’s eyes lit up at the idea. “I’d love to, Ayu. It sounds perfect.”

And so, Alice began working at Ayu’s bar. She found joy in the simple tasks of serving drinks, chatting with customers, and helping with the day-to-day operations. The work was fulfilling, and the camaraderie with Ayu and the rest of the staff made her feel like part of a family.

The weeks flew by in a blur of laughter, music, and stunning sunsets. Alice felt herself healing, the weight of her past lifting as she immersed herself in the present. The bar became a place where she could be herself without the burden of her past.

One evening, the tranquillity of the night was shattered when a group of armed men burst into the bar, their faces masked and their intentions clear.

The sudden intrusion sent shockwaves through the crowded bar, patrons recoiling in fear as the armed men shouted threats and demands for money. Alice’s heart pounded in her chest as she took in the scene, her mind racing as she assessed the situation.

Without hesitation, she sprang into action. Years of training had sharpened her reflexes and combat skills, and she knew she had to act quickly to protect those around her.

Focused, Alice moved with precision, her movements fluid as she weaved between tables and patrons. She dodged the swings of the assailants’ weapons, their movements clumsy compared to her own.

With a swift kick, Alice knocked a weapon out of the hands of one of the intruders, sending it clattering to the floor. She followed up with a series of quick strikes, each one calculated to disarm and incapacitate her opponents.

The room erupted into chaos as tables overturned and glasses shattered, but Alice remained focused, her mind clear and her movements swift. She knew that every second counted, and she refused to let them win.

Ayu watched in awe as Alice effortlessly subdued the would-be robbers, her movements a blur of speed and precision. It was as if she were dancing, her every step calculated and deliberate as she fought to protect those around her.

As the last of the intruders fell to the ground, Alice breathed a sigh of relief, her pulse still racing in adrenaline. She quickly moved to secure the assailants, tying them up with makeshift restraints to prevent them from causing any further harm.

Ayu approached her with a mixture of astonishment and gratitude. “I… I don’t know what to say,” she stammered, her voice trembling. “You… you were incredible, Alice. I’ve never seen anyone handle a situation like that before.”

Alice offered a reassuring smile, her adrenaline still coursing through her veins. “It was nothing, Ayu. I’m just glad everyone is okay.”

But Ayu couldn’t shake the feeling of awe and admiration for Alice’s bravery. “You’re more than just a bartender, Alice. You’re a hero.”

As the police arrived to take the would-be robbers into custody, Ayu and the other patrons gathered around Alice, expressing their gratitude and admiration. The tension of the moment dissolved into a sense of relief, as they celebrated Alice’s courage and fighting skills.

In the aftermath of the incident, Ayu looked at Alice with newfound respect and admiration. She realized that there was more to Alice than met the eye, and she felt honoured to have her as a part of the bar’s community.

Four months passed since Alice arrived at Bali. She continued working at the bar and, thankfully, there were no more incidents.

One evening, as they were cleaning up after another busy night, Ayu turned to Alice with a thoughtful expression. “You know, Alcie, you’ve brought a lot of positive energy to this place. We’re really going to miss you when you leave.”

Alice smiled, feeling a pang of sadness at the thought of leaving. “I’ll miss you all too, Ayu. This place has become a second home to me.”

Ayu hugged her tightly. “Promise you’ll come back and visit?”

“I promise,” Alice replied, her voice filled with emotion.

Ayu had a heartfelt expression of gratitude on her face. “Thank you, Alice,” she said, her voice chocked with emotion. “For everything. You’ll always have a place here, whenever you need it.”

Alice smiled, feeling a sense of pride and fulfilment. Bali had given her more than just relaxation; it had given her a chance to rediscover her strength and resilience. She said her farewells to the other employees, who were all sad to hear she was leaving.

As Alice prepared to leave Bali, her mind filled with memories of her time at Ayu’s bar and the friendships she had forged there. But amidst the bittersweet farewells, one thought lingered in her mind: Steve.

With a mixture of anticipation and trepidation, Alice reached for her phone, her fingers hovering over the familiar contact. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the conversation to come.

With a determined resolve, she dialled Steve’s number, her heart pounding in her chest as she waited for him to pick up.

After a few rings, Steve’s voice came through the line, filled with warmth and concern. “Alice? Is everything okay?”

Alice took a moment to compose herself before speaking, her voice steady despite the tumult of emotions withing her. “Hey, Steve. Yeah, everything’s fine. I just… I wanted to hear your voice.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, and Alice could sense the tension in Steve’s voice as he replied. “I’ve missed you, Alice. More than you know.”

Her heart ached at his words, the weight of their separation pressing down on her. “I’ve missed you too, Steve.”

They fell into an easy rhythm of conversation, catching up on the events of the past few months and sharing stories. Despite the distance between them, their connection remained strong.

As the speakers of the airport announced Alice’s flight, she felt a sense of peace settle over her. “I’ll be coming back soon, Steve,” she said, her voice filled with determination. “I promise.”

Steve’s response was filled with hope and longing. “I’ll be here waiting for you, Alice. Always.”

With a heavy heart but renewed resolved, Alice ended the call, a sense of clarity washing over her. Bali had been a journey of self-discovered and healing, but now it was time to move on.

As she boarded her flight to Reykjavik, her mind filled with thoughts of the future. No matter where her journey took her next, one thing was certain: New York would always be her home.

tags: ​​​​​​​​​​​​​​@capswife

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[ashabsynthe]

Banishing Rituals: Releasing Negative Energy and Inviting Positive Change

In our spiritual and personal growth journeys, it's essential to not only cultivate positive energy but also release negative influences that may hinder our progress. Banishing rituals offer a powerful way to let go of negative energy, disruptive patterns, and unwanted influences, creating space for positive transformation. In this blog post, we will explore the concept of banishing and share effective banishing rituals to help you cleanse and renew your energy, inviting positive change into your life.

Understanding Banishing: Banishing is the act of intentionally releasing or removing negative energies, entities, or influences from our lives and surroundings. It is a proactive approach to clearing away stagnant or harmful energy that may be impeding our growth, happiness, or well-being. Banishing rituals can be performed on various levels, including the energetic, emotional, mental, and physical realms.

Salt and Water Cleansing: A simple yet effective banishing ritual involves the use of salt and water. Fill a bowl with purified water and add a handful of sea salt or Himalayan salt. Stir the water with your fingers, infusing it with your intention to cleanse and release negative energy. Then, starting from the top of your head, use your hand or a sprig of fresh herbs (such as sage or rosemary) to flick the saltwater over your body, visualizing it washing away any negative energy or influences. As you do this, recite affirmations or prayers of release and purification. Finally, discard the saltwater by pouring it down the drain or onto the earth, symbolizing the removal of negativity from your life.

Candle Magic: Candle magic is a powerful tool for banishing negativity and inviting positive change. Select a black candle, which represents the absorption and release of negative energy. Set up a sacred space where you can focus your intention. Light the black candle and visualize the flame as a transformative force, drawing in and transmuting any negative energy. As the candle burns, imagine the negativity being consumed by the flame and released into the universe, transforming into positive energy. You can enhance the ritual by writing down specific negative influences or patterns on a piece of paper and burning it in the candle flame, symbolizing their release and transformation.

Mirror Reflection: The mirror reflection technique is a potent way to reflect negative energy back to its source. Find a mirror and sit or stand in front of it. Take a few deep breaths to center yourself. Visualize the mirror as a protective barrier, reflecting back any negative energy or intentions directed towards you. As you gaze into the mirror, repeat affirmations or prayers of protection and release, stating your intention to deflect and dissolve any negativity. Feel your energy strengthening as you assert your power to banish negative influences.

Ritualized Visualization: Engage in a visualization ritual to actively release negative energy and patterns. Find a quiet space where you won't be disturbed. Close your eyes, take deep breaths, and enter a relaxed state. Visualize the negative energy or influences as dark clouds or cords attached to your body or aura. See yourself surrounded by a bright, cleansing light. With each exhale, imagine the dark clouds dissipating, and the cords detaching and disintegrating. As you continue this visualization, sense the freedom and lightness that comes with releasing these negative energies. Affirm your intention to let go and invite positive change into your life.

Conclusion: Banishing rituals are powerful tools for releasing negative energy, patterns, and influences that no longer serve us. By consciously engaging in these rituals, we create space for positive transformation and invite a renewed sense of well-being into our lives. Experiment with the suggested banishing techniques, adapt them to your personal preferences and remember to infuse your rituals with intention and mindfulness. Embrace the opportunity to cleanse your energy, invite positive change, and embark on a path of growth and transformation.

[echoedcrosshairs]

Foxglove ~ Commander Fox x F reader (part 5)

According the language of flowers Foxglove symbolizes riddles, conundrums and secrets along with ambition and creativity.

Summary: A small fancy caff shops pops up in the senate building. Commander Fox is not amused.

Slow burn, enemies? to lovers, Commander Fox x reader

Warnings: Angst, Smut, explicit smut, oral (f receiving), cuckolding, throat grabbing, hair pulling, hatefucking? Pent up tension?

part four part six

Masterlist

Rage poured from Fox's features, yet you noticed something else you couldn't quiet place. Sadness? You stared at him in shock, he was right you never noticed him and never would have thought he made the coffee in the morning. You were always one of the first people to the office and assumed who ever arrived first made it but then you remembered days of being the first person and there was already a hot pot of caf waiting. It couldn't have been anyone other then him because he practically lived in his office. You saw his brow knit together as he watched you figure it out. "I..." you were at a loss for words but noticing how incredibly warm the room had gotten cause a slight sweat to break out. His eyes were embers as they continued to glare down at you, you realized it was those embers that were burning you. Stunned for words, you apparently didn't need any as his lips crashed into you. The embers roaring into uncontrollable flames, it took you a second to register what was going on or to register that you were kissing him back with equal fever. The fire of his touch burning any thoughts in your head besides how he felt against you. Your fingers found his hair gripping it tightly while a small pull causing him to groan into your mouth, his hands reached lifting you by your ass to sit on his desk. One hand stayed on your ass while the other found your throat lightly squeezing it. It was intoxicating, his lips were perfect against yours even as his teeth lightly grazed your lip; careful yet hungry.

His hand pressed tighter against your throat, that  beautiful moan caused him to tense hearing it again. It was even better this time. He pulled his hand off your ass resting it at the hem of your skirt, he waited but you didn't stop him. His hand continued to move up until he found your soaked cover bits. This thumb swiping down your pearl causing you to arch your back forward. Hesitantly he moved your underwear to the side putting his thumb directly on you gently coating it with the slick from your opening before placing it back on your bud. Fox's heart was pounding every lewd noise slowly driving him to the brick of just having you on the desk. He yanked your finger out of your mouth as you tried to silence yourself, "No one can hear us currently," he growled pressing his finger harder against you. He released the hand around your throat dropping it the lip of the desk, white knuckle gripping it was you got closer and louder. When you came he kissed you again swallowing the moans planting his other hand on the desk.

"Osik," he gritted out pulling back feeling your strained breathing and removing his hands from the desk to unpin you. The hardness in his cock  threatening to unleash itself on upon your beauty "Get out," he snapped, fixing your underwear and pulled you off the desk and depositing you on the floor the moment you looked lucid enough to walk. One handed he fixed your twisted skirt.

"Good," you hissed pressing the button for him, "That never happened."

"Fine by me," he growled noticing the audience glaring, "It would have been a big mistake anyway," he added coldly.

"Fark you, Fox" you growled opening the door, "Step on Bantha dung and have a great day," you added slamming the door shut behind you.

Scowling you saw Jesse and Hardcase exchanging credits, "What?" You snapped at them stalking back off to the cafe.

"There taking beats if he was going to have a black eye," Kix said softly catching up, behind the false privacy of the counter, he grabbed your hand, "What happened."

"We argued, nothing new."

"79's, drink and blow off steam?" he asked.

"You know? I'd love too."

Kix arched his eyebrow at the comment and quick response, he gave your hand a light squeeze before letting go, "I need to head back to the med bay, I'll try to be here when you get off. If I'm not I'll met you at your place." If looks could kill, Fox would have been a dead man as he glared at him as he walked past his office. He felt one of his squad mates slap his back finding Fives staring at him putting his arm around his shoulder pulling him away from the office he had been inching towards. Neither of them were idiots while everyone else was oblivious to what had more then likely happened.

"79's tonight" Fives whispered watching Kix nod his head.

The rest of the shift went by in a blur, between serving and cleaning by that point you would have sworn you naturally smelled like coffee as it had seemed to soak into your skin. Fox hadn't so much as walked by the door as you could tell. Your body still burned from his touch, hours later you could feel the ghost of his hand on your throat and how perfectly his lips interlocked with yours. The craving between your legs hadn't subsided, the accidental friction causing it to renew but then your anger renewed. Fox was absolutely correct, you were with Kix and it would have been a mistake but then why did it feel so good. Closing up the cafe you looked around and Kix was no where to be found. You rented a speeder to get home faster to have time to shower before you had time to satisfy the urge yourself you heard the light knock at the door. Groaning you wrapped the towel around yourself and opened the door finding Kix waiting, who quickly stepped inside closing the door behind him while staring up at the ceiling.

"Sorry I didn't realize you were in the shower, I should have messaged you," he said awkwardly.

"Kix... you've seen me in just your shirt," you laughed, "I'll only be a couple more minutes."

You quickly disappeared back into bathroom pulling out the seemly revealing clothing and light makeup. You threw everything on finding him waiting next to the couch giving him a small awkward wave as you disappeared into your room to dig out a pair of matching shoes.

"You look beautiful," Kix smiled leaning in the door way admiring you, "almost ready?"

"Let's go!"

Fox slide into the commanders booth with a round of drinks, grabbing two for himself. Peaking around the room there wasn't a dash of blue insight. His guilt was started to eat at him, the sound of your moaning forever sketched into his mind and it would never be something he would forget or the anger afterwards. He took a long drinking finding Neyo staring at him shaking his head.

"They're going to be here," Bacara pointed, "we shouldn't be here."

"The only clone friendly bar around," Fox said grimly knowing he was correct.

"What you did was wrong," Neyo added, "I expected better from you."

"You don't think I don't know that," Fox growled, "Your not our buir."

"No but I am the one you called," Neyo scoffed, "Speaking of bad decisions," he noticed the cluster of blue walking in, "That's what has your cod piece in a twist?" he said looking at the only woman with them.

Fox's eyes found her immediately, arm wrapped around his. Cleavage immodestly covered and legs on display, his eyes shot back to his drink "Yes," he scowled.

"Eh, I've seen better," Bacara mumbled, "but I get it," the added comment got him a glare but he shrugged, "I was trying to say she's not my type," he said honestly.

Kix's and Fives glare didn't go unnoticed by the commander while they were sitting at the bar, you had been pulled into Kix's lap. How the bar stool was supporting all of you was up to speculation. Fox watched Kix's hand fall on your thigh smiling at something you said as he set down his drink pulling you over to the dance floor. Somewhere Fox heard Neyo tell him to stop staring but it wasn't until Bacara kicked him did he finally pull his eyes away. Fox found them both glaring at him. Scolding him for what seemed like forever his eyes caught Kix and you on the dance floor, you were absentmindedly grinding against him while he stared at you with a starved expression. Kix had leaned down whispering something in your ear as he pulled you off the dance floor towards the refresher.

Bacara's hand came down swift on Fox's shoulder shoving him back into the booth, "It's going to happen sometime whether you want it to or not." 

"It's a loss cause and you know it," Neyo added watching them disappear, "You did kick her out of your office, we both know you could had her right then and you didn't. Unlike droids you do have a conscious up there and it told you not too, listen to it."

Fox grumbled that he was right before finding the devilish look of Fives staring at him from the counter, who no doubtably watched it all. He watched him whisper something to man next to him, "Doing it to get back at me." He noticed Neyo and Bacara also watching, "perhaps." This time neither of them stopped him as he got up and shoved his way into the refresher. He stood outside for a minute straightening the anger on his face into dull annoyance before shoving the door open. He turned eyes squinting at the two of you finding Kix's hand modestly on either side of you and no armor out of place. Both of you just kissing but there wasn't a change in temperature in the too nor frantic grasp. He heard Kix let out a sigh turning to him, "Yes, Commander?," he said coldly.

"Anything has more of a connection then that poor excuse of a kiss," it was a statement not a question.

"By all means," Kix sneered stepping back, ignoring the rattled expression on your face as their stared down each other.

"And you called me a pig," Fox said eyeing your figure on the counter, leaning himself up against the wall, "Looks like your no better then me."

"How about you say what you mean for once," you spat at him, hoping off the counter. You glared at Kix who was to busy glaring at Fox to notice. He just dragged me in here to get under his skin.

You tried to make your way to the door but Fox's arm caught you pulling you to his chest with a small thud. His fingers traced your spine watching your spice curve a little more, he hovered his mouth inches from yours watching your eyes dilated just the faintest amount, "I didn't even kiss her and had more of a reaction."

Kix stared at you for a moment, hurt but knew biologically there was nothing he could do. While they were all clones, each one of them vastly different and attraction was a fickle thing, "Get it out your system," he conceded.

You started to protest but Fox had already found your throat pulling you back to him. Where there should have been embarrassment, you only found yearning. What had felt like a wildfire earlier with Fox had change into an all consuming inferno. Trying to keep your hands planted at your side hadn't last long as they found his perfectly combed back hair. He groaned pushing you back towards the counter. One handed lifting you up on it. He took his hand off of you violently ripping the dress up forcing your barely covered ass to touch the cold counter. Your hairs gripped his hair rough, mildly pulling him back. He groaned but stopped kissing you. You looked at Kix's face, perfectly neutral but he gave you a notice nod telling you to proceed. Fox sneered fingers wrapping around the thin band of your underwear and pulling it down while his mouth found your neck but this time there wasn't teeth just the strength of his lips sucking a deep mark into your flesh for all to see.

Fox pulled your ass to the lip of the counter as you yanked his head back from your neck with one swift moment of his hand his cod piece had clicked against the tile of the floor. Fox's nails raked down your thigh leaving red lines down them. He put his lips back on yours nipping your bottom lip swollen before sliding his tongue into your mouth exploring you as his hand worked him free of his pants while the other moved down to working your tight opening preparing you for himself. Having a little to much practice at his fingers automatically found the perfect spot turning your kisses into pitiful moans. He growled stopping before you came, "The only thing your cumming on is my cock." He pressed his soaked tip into you slowly sheathing himself all the way, uncharacteristically being thoughtful of the pain splitting your tightness. He didn't keep you on the counter long, the moment he was  buried tipped to base his hands grabbed either side of your ass holding you in the air as he started thrusting. Have a problem with counter? Fine I'll show you my physique, I don't need it to fuck you.

It burned, it burned so good. Each thrust was wild as it slide almost all the way out then slammed back in. As he thrusted he guided you towards him with his hands creating momentum. He pulled his mouth away from yours staring into your eyes and what seemed like your soul as he fucked you. The way his golden eyes glowed made it seem as if lava laced his iris's. You brought your other hand to his hair, both hands pulling causing his head to tilt back. Fox's throat expose as he growled glaring down his nose as you, "fuck you," he said as your mouth found the front of him and bit. You felt his arms mildly quiver before they locked back into place, "You are," you cruelly reminded returning his wild gaze. The pressure building it your core was turning you into puddle your hands falling limp from his hair resting on his shoulders.

Fox felt it the small shake in your legs start, "Just fucking cum, stop fighting it," he gridded out feeling your cunt start choking his cock as you spasmed around him. He felt your wetness drip down causing his balls to twitch as the warm fluid. His whole pelvis was already soaked and became drenched as you finally came undone around him, "Osik," he panted dropping your ass the counter, one hand holding your head in place and the other flat against the wall holding himself up as he continued thrusting through your high finding his as you just barely started coming down. He blinked wildly as you convulsed around him milking him of every white rope that could come out of him. Fox looked at your floating expression, the relaxation and peacefulness. He grabbed your wrist and pulled them off him putting them at your sides as he pulled out of you watching your combined orgasm leak. He quick tucked himself away grabbing paper towels from the dispenser putting some between your legs and the other wiping up the mess. His thighs felt like their were going to rip down the center and his leg kept threatening to buckle he propped himself against the counter splashing cold water on his face while he tried to process what had just happened. He looked at you as you had a similar expression as you breathed through your mouth trying to catch up on oxygen. Both of you silent, what could he even say?

"Are you okay," he forced himself to say as your breathing hadn't gotten better.

"Woozy," you admitted your head was still spinning, a queasy feeling had started settling over you. You hadn't noticed when Fox had set you over a toilet cleaning you up or when a glass of water had been put into your hand but you remember the sound of it breaking as it slipped through your fingers until your eyelids falling shut not before you saw the panic in Fox's features.

Your body was sore but incredibly warm, your hands felt around before your eye lids compiled with opening. It was your bed. Your head throbbed as you sat up, the room was dark but there was light from the front room cascading under the door and you unmistakably heard Fox and Kix's voice bickering. Red flamed your cheeks remembering what had happened. As horribly awkward as it was going to be to face them you quietly pulled your legs to the side of the bed and walked weakly towards the door. You opened it finding them standing right outside the door.

"You need to get back in bed," Kix said quickly grabbing your waist as you clutched the doorframe for support.

"Don't we need to talk-" you also found Fives on the couch your legs tried to give out at the additional embarrassment finding two other men you didn't recognize at the tiny table whispering between themselves.

"When you get back into bed," he said picking you up bridal style placing you back into the bed. Fox had stepped back into the room, switching on the light, "Turn it off," Kix ordered, pulling the blankets back over you. Kix sat the bed next to you with his scanner looking you over. He let out a sigh, "That... was hotter than any holonet contraband," he muttered hoping Fox wouldn't hear it and boost his ego, "We can not help who we are attracted too, even if their an ass," his eyes darted to Fox's cold expression, "I am not mad, I told him to get it out of his system," his voice was gentle and thoughtful, "We'll figure this out. If anyone ask, we were arguing in the bathroom," he added.

"They don't know?" you said finding the mild black eye on Fox.

"No, Fox and I fought, you fainted again hitting your head," Kix reiterated, "Something are better kept as secrets even from brothers."

"How are you feeling," Fox said flatly.

"Head hurts," as soon as the words left your mouth Kix was priming a pain reliever injecting it into your leg massaging the spot, "a little better."

Kix and Fox exchanged glances before Fox caved to whatever it was an sat on the other side of the small bed, "I still say we forget it happened," he muttered. You weakly punched him yearning a chuckle from Kix, "I wasn't referring to that."

"So what we're you referring you?" You asked drily.

"When you passed out I slipped trying to catch the glass, eye first into your knee cap," he grunted, "Fighting was a good cover story since we used the bacta on your neck and legs."

"Karma," Kix cackled, "As for you, your dehydrated so bed rest," he said once he caught his breath.

"Who are?"

"Neyo and Bacara, two hardasses which happens to be my batch mates," Fox interrupted.

"Can you not-"

"Interrupt you?" Fox snickered, he caught your hand pinning it to the pillow, "careful," he warned.

"What's taking you two so long!" You heard Fives call.

Both of them stood up, leaving. You laid there staring into the darkness of ceiling, what in the karking hell happens now? A tiny knock came at the door before you said anything it opened and you caught the flash of red as Fox stepped in.

“Their all asleep,” Had it really been that long? “Can’t sleep either?” he asked awkwardly.

“To much on my mind,” you admitted.

“I can… fix that if you want,” you arched an eyebrow at him watching his eyes trail down and his tongue glide over his top lip before looking back at you, “Just have to be quiet.”

“I don’t think will help you sleep though,” you countered.

“I’m not the one who needs to sleep,” he said putting his hands on his hips.

“Okay,” you whispered.

Fox walks over next to you pulling the blanket back finding you just in Kix’s shirt, he growled pulling the hem up. You learned up and let him pull it off. Fox got onto the bed putting his knees on either side of yours trying not the let the cold plastoid of his armor touch your bare skin letting his mouth trial kisses down the front your throat across your collar bones before moving to your pebbled breast gently pulling on your tenderness with his lips before continuing working his way down. He hears you gasp as his hot breath hovers over you, “quiet,” he repeated watching you put your hand across your mouth. Fox rest the tip of his nose on your swollen anticipation as his tongue glides across your opening. He moves his arms under your legs cool armor forgotten as he pulls your pussy closer to his face. Tightening his tongue into a spear plunging it into you. Fox continued to fuck you with his tongue as his nose rubbed against your clit once he felt you buck into his mouth he pulled his tongue out moving his mouth to your pearl latching his lips tightly onto you while letting his fingers sink into your soaked entrance. His fingers worked effortlessly in you as the tip of his tongue danced you to the edge making your legs quiver around his head. “Fox,” he heard your muffled moan, hips started grinding against his harden length for relief.

You started grinding against his face, your head fell further back against the pillow and your hand found his perfect freshly trimmed hair. You become a quivering mess until the tiny graze of his teeth sent you over the edge. Tears rolled your cheeks and you bit down on your fingers to keep the string of moans from spilling out. Fox didn’t stop through your high until your thighs clamped his head still. You barely felt him retract his fingers or spread your legs freeing his head but you saw the smirk on his face along with your juices dripping off his chin along with his hand rubbed the crooked cod piece.

“Get some sleep,” he smirked grabbing the discarded shirt and handing it back licking you off his lips, “You taste delicious,” he admitted feeling his cock twitch.

You yanked his wrist catching him off guard pulling him over you, “You need help getting to sleep too. Fuck me again, Fox.”

“I’m already close you won’t” he barely managed to say before he felt your leg wrap around his waist and coax him into the bed. He looked back at the door then down at you and then down at your perfection ripping off his cod piece and shoving himself into your tight soaked warmth. He moaned your name feeling his balls already starting to twitch. It only took a handful of thrust before your cunt finish sucking him off. “Fox,” you moaned your voice starting get loud before he started kissing you to keep you quiet. He was panting, embarrassed about how fast he came, “You fit me so perfectly,” he whispered pulling himself out, “I’ll be right back.” He disappeared into the refresher wiping his soaked dick off tucking himself away replacing the cod piece and grabbing a wad of toilet paper. When he came back he found you back into the shirt, he placed it between your legs and helped you to the refresher waiting for you to be down to move you back to the bed. Hearing you move around he opened the door finding you waiting for him. Both of you yawned, causing him to smirk, “Good night,” he said once you were back in bed. Kix and Fives were still pass out on the couch with Neyo and Bacara against the kitchen wall still out. Fox sighed but the relaxation from the orgasm was finally enough to let sleep take him, he sat down by his batch mates and joined them. The last thought through his head was how his name fell from your lips no longer laced with venom wondering how long it was going to stay like that until he screwed it up again.

[human-psyche]

BLACK.

CHAPTER 1

Heavy rain pelts the landscape of Seoul in a slow, torrential drizzle, rivulets of water pouring like glass beads from the night skies that envelop everything in a blanket of sombreness. The continuous sound of the rain covers the rest of the noise coming from the city, farther and farther away as Yoongi runs. 

A firing gunshot dissipates the monochrome silence, then another, each aimed in his direction; both miss their target but his pursuers don't stop, rounds of bullets hitting the wall of the train station he ducks behind to catch his breath.

Min Yoongi is his birth name. 09 is his number. August D is a code.

He was and is known by many names of which the combination above describes who he is shortly. In the world he lives in, one's value is measured in kill counts: the greater the amount, the higher and richer one becomes. But becoming top of the game is the suicidal glory of entering an arena where other fighters have free reign to strike, money are just a currency of exchange to a reputation like his一 a quality deathdealer. There is a system this hierarcy is built upon, its signature being that of coins with each individual's symbol engraved on it, a metaphor derived from greek mythology where a person requires coins to be granted passage over the river of Hades's underworld or risk wandering the shores for one hundred years untill they are allowed to cross. 

Those without a coin of their own are low ranked members of the organization, they are easy to replace and disposable. Those who acquire a silver coin represent the ones who are diplomatic and agile, they may have ranked fast but lack solid force. Those who obtain a gold coin are the ones branded as superior specimens of their occupation, suitable for any job, any contract, in any circumstances, and most sought after and expensive above their versatility. Then, there are the ones who possess a black coin, the rarest kind. They are the ones who make the rules and enforce them, the ones who lead.

EX-DEUS is an organization that does not exist to the public for all intents and purposes. Named after the latin phrase "ex deus mortis" which means "from the god of death", its profit results from a simple yet obscure program: contract killing. Founded by Kim Manseok and his second wife, Natasha, the company has an extended base in the USA, South Korea, China and Russia, although its web of operation has spread throughout several countries on the globe. Orphan children are picked off the streets whether willingly or forcibly, while some perhaps even kidnapped from their families without recollection of it, and subjected to a training regiment that steps past the boundaries of human ethics, shaped into the perfect weapons. Emotions are suppressed and nullified, pain becomes numbness and desirable results are reached around the ages sixteen - eighteen on average, a time at which one is permitted to start taking on jobs. Few can form attachments...

Night rain is an irony and an illusion to Yoongi, it reminds him of days he can't erase or unseen. 

It reminds him who he truely is, what he does, and what he might've lost before even having it. 

He inhales sharply and moves, shooting one of his assailants. When he finally leaves his hiding spot and runs for cover again, bullets fly and hit the roof of the station too, sparks from a short-circuit raining like a second gale of fire drops: the male turns at the last moment as a man shoots. Yoongi's faster, only getting a scrape to his arm while the other guy collapses to the floor, a second attacker's gun proving to be out of bullets. He tosses it away and chases after him madly, just as the train barells through the station at blinding speed. The younger has no choice but to engage him in a fight, a knife cutting the air close enough to slash his throat except Yoongi's reflexes aid him in overpowering the man and stabbing his own knife into the side of his neck. Not without a lesser injury though, because he's tired, bleeding and on the run for days. 

He pants out puffs of congealed air, the roar of the trepidation that shakes the train tracks drowning out his fatigue. 

There is only one person left that he can count on.

. . .

THREE YEARS AGO ... 

The corridor of the tightly secured company is one he'd gone through a hundred times. A hundred times it was always like this: grey walls and an ominous weight of guilt that they thought they could ignore forever. But that wasn't his priority right now. 

Yoongi feels it as he halts at the end of the hallway, the male seated on the armchair at the entrance for waiting bearing dissimilar levels of emotion written over his countenance.

He's Jimin, a silver coin owner he'd seen around Y/n quite often, who's mostly unreadable, would it not be for a trace of something akin to anger. 

His fingers tighten on the velvet box inside the pocket of his coat. 

A person who's usually with them when waiting for details on a new contract is missing. 

"Where's Y/n?" 

"She's gone."

Jimin's blunt reply sends a surge of frightening dread through his gut, a foreign feeling. For a second there he forgets that sentence could have one other meaning, his mind going blank. Their occupation's not to be trifled with, death is a perpetual friend but also their fiercest foe.

"What the fuck do you mean she's gone?" 

"Her room's empty, she's gone." the younger continues, clarifying the misunderstanding. 

It's only then that he directs his attention to Kim Manseok's office, where Taehyung has a screaming match with his father. 

"...something was wrong with her the night she came back from her last contract! She would never leave like this!" 

"It isn't your business to demand of me to disclose confidential information!" 

"It is, she isn't just some random member of the organization! I consider her more of a sister than my step-sister is! You should have told me! Where is she?!" 

"Like I said, I can't tell you, Taehyung."

"If you have anything to do with this, or your wife does, I'm done with you. Did you get rid of her to teach me a lesson, huh? Are you going to do the same with Yoongi? Why? Because I'm not like Namjoon? Because I'm not the obedient, responsible son you want? Did you?! Answer me, father!"

"Kim Taehyung, do not talk to me like that! This is not about you!" 

"Then tell me why she's not here!" 

"Y/n requested that I help her disappear. She retired and wishes for none of you to find her."

The EX-DEUS's chairman's verdict stuns all of them, having not expected that. 

Slamming the door on his way out, Taehyung joins them on the hallway, a frown crinkling at his features. He sees Yoongi and since he and Y/n work together as partners, he vows, "I'll find her. I'll find her even if I have to search the entire country. I'll tell you once I get a lead."

Jimin sits up, that undeciphered anger in his orbs more evident. He passes by Yoongi without even sparing him a glance. He knows what is going on with Y/n, why she left, but he keeps it to himself. 

Yoongi's hand tightens around the box in his pocket, nearly crushing it.

. . .

An ordinary, plain life in the Gwangjin district. A small apartment. An elementary P.E teacher's job. A new identity, a fake name. A new look. Y/n tries to go to sleep every night and not remember who she really is, where she comes from. It isn't difficult to pretend, living peacefully day to day and not linger and get stuck in the past, dreaming of people she used to share pain with, or the ones who caused her pain. The ones whom saw her as death's angel before taking their dying breath, the ones that still haunt her nightmares sometimes. Faces, faces she associates with familiarity, and faces that have little to no shape. 

Here, she isn't L/n Y/n. She's just Y/n with a false surname.

The only fault in her existence is the silver coin she still has tucked somewhere into the drawer of her nightstand. 

Rain outside the windows disrupts her thoughts, her bare feet tapping the floors as she walks to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of juice. It's a friday night, she can relax from another day at the school she teaches at, and enjoy the free time of weekend. In the modest, rented apartment, loneliness feels like the luxurious comfort she was not able to afford prior to being this fake person she is. 

However, as if the universe is plotting against her, a sudden knock on the front door causes the girl to put her glass down and wonder who might be so late at night. She surely had no visitors to look forward to. 

Brows knit, Y/n goes to unlatch the door一 and nearly screams when she sees him, his arm leaning on the doorframe, dark eyes piercing through her own. 

"...Yoongi?" she breathes out, both in shock and frustration. 

The reason her heart drops to her stomach has a double edged root. One, he's soaked to the bone, his cheeks are bruised and exhaustion hangs to his hazed lids. Two, he's right here, in front of her, whilst she worked so hard to block him out of her mind. 

"You're in love with him." Jimin declares one fine night as he puts his elbows on the railing, glimpsing the city below with her. 

Y/n laughs, hysterically. It doesn't sound genuine though. "Who? Yoongi?" 

"Don't lie." 

"What do you want me to tell you? That I'm flawed?" 

"You're different, you don't need to be fixed. You managed to feel this even if it's not in our nature. Love."

"What's the point? It's Yoongi. The day he feels something for someone, the world will fall apart. He's among the best EX-DEUS has ever had. Unlike me, there's no error in his code. He fucks, he doesn't love."

"Taehyung said you guys never had sex."

"That's because to him, I'm a friend, a sidekick, a partner, whatever. Even the girls Taehyung brings in so you guys can have fun with get more attention from him."

"Unrequited love." he leans his head back, glancing to her afterwards. "How are you coping with that?" 

"I undressed in front of him one time when we were at a hotel during an assignment and he didn't even blink. He was that unfazed." 

"What are you going to do?"

"Nothing."

They stay silent following her answer, the wind blowing through their hair over the sounds of city traffic. Then Y/n speaks again. 

"Do you know what else I started feeling lately?" 

Jimin grunts, urging her to go on. 

"Guilt."

"What the hell are you doing here? How did you find me?" she scowls as she regains her composure, refusing to let herself crumble at the sight of him. 

Yoongi's lips twist, the ghost of a smirk gracing his rugged appearance. "Hello to you too, Y/n. You haven't changed, you're as pretty as I remember you and twice as bitchy."

She glares, attempting to hit the door shut but failing due to him sliding his foot between it and the wall. 

He pries it open and gets inside, pushing past her without permission. 

"If you bleed on my floor I'll shoot you myself. Get out. I don't want to see your face." the female trails behind him, in the livingroom. 

"Easy." he taunts, unknotting his tie and throwing his soaked suit jacket on the back of the couch; he removes one leather glove using his teeth, and the other with his free hand. His dress shirt is stained red underneath. "You owe me a favour, Y/n. I'm here to get even."

"Fuck you, fuck your favour. I'm not doing this anymore, I have a life here, get out of it, you son of a一" 

Her words cease when he unbuttons and peels his shirt off, his wet torso from the rain exposing the ugly knife cut on his side and the scratch of a bullet to his left arm. Traitorous worry clenches her chest. 

"I saved your pretty little ass, you have to help me. I know you never go back on your word."

"Stop calling me pretty, or anything that concerns me." she fumes, walking over to him and shoving him down to sit on the couch. "Don't touch my things." she warns as she goes to the bathroom, retrieving the first aid kit. 

Returning to the livingroom, Yoongi has one of her framed pictures of Jungkook in his grasp, likely having picked it from the decorative table next to the couch. 

"Your boyfriend?" 

"It's none of your business." Y/n presses a little purposefully on his wound with the cloth she's using to clean it. 

If he wants to hiss at the sting, he doesn't nor shows it. "You changed your style. It looks good on you."

She would say he looks unfairly handsome too but ofcourse she can't. Resorting to not giving him a reaction, she busies herself with his injuries, disinfecting and treating them.

A palpable tension resides between the two of them, with him watching her and the young woman avoiding his gaze. She makes quick work of her task, soon after bandaging his arm. Stitching the one on his waist is trickier, because she has to concentrate despite the feel of Yoongi's lithe, toned muscles under her fingertips, his persistent orbs tracing every slope and curve of her face. 

"Why did you leave?" 

The predictable question earns a pause from her, in which she finishes dressing his second wound, adding medical tape onto the gauze. "I couldn't handle the guilt anymore."

He doesn't quite believe her, someone as competitive as Y/n wouldn't just disappear like that. 

Yoongi has lived with the impression that she's not fond of him because they grew up fighting for the best rank and he ultimately outmatched her. 

The truth is, she left for three particular reasons. The first, yes she did end up feeling the oppressing guilt of their profession. The second, she was in love with him and she wanted to get away from the man who wouldn't reciprocate her feelings一 an affliction she never expected would plague and chase someone like her, specially trained to eliminate and demolish such sentiments. Nobody knew about the third reason other than herself and Jimin, and she certainly wouldn't confess it to him. That was the night her harmless, ambitious annoyance torwards Yoongi turned to hate. 

Catching her by surprise, he grabs her arms as she's about to pull back, dragging her closer instead. The only distance left to separate them is a mere centimeter, forcing her to look him in the eyes. 

"Is there more, isn't it?" 

She forgot how compelling his presence can be, a sliver of nervousness inflicting her otherwise confident traits. She has to swallow, stabilizing her emotions in order to lie effectively. "No. And even if there was, I wouldn't tell you."

She pushes herself off him and snatches the framed photo he dropped on the couch, putting it to its rightful place. 

"Take off the rest of your clothes."

Yoongi regards her blankly. He cocks an eyebrow, as if her demand has another implication.

They're back to their old teasing, bantering, arguing routine. 

"You're freezing cold and all wet from the rain. Just do it." she rolls her eyes. "I'll get you a towel to dry up and clothes to change."

"From your boyfriend?" 

"Yes, from my boyfriend. Do you have a problem with that?" 

"This Jungkook guy, does he know you don't love him?" 

"And how do you know I don't?" she yells back.

"Because you're a heartless bitch who used to kill people."

Y/n comes from the bedroom holding the promised towel, a shirt, a pair of jeans and underwear, throwing them at his face with a vengeance. "Here's the clothes, asshole."

Later, after she treats the bruises on his cheekbones and lip too, they eat at the table of her kitchen, her mind running through her choices; she questions herself why she gave in and helped him. She swore to herself she didn't want to see him again, but her heart wouldn't allow her to just turn her back on him, and besides, she owed him that favour. She isn't the kind of person to break promises or not repay something good done to her. 

"I asked you how you found me."

"Taehyung sent people to search for you, he's been trying to track you down for 2 years. He got your location last year but decided to respect your wishes and not contact you. He said he's fine with atleast knowing you're okay."

"Who else knows about this place?" 

"Jimin."

She nods, addressing their current issue: "So what's going on? What do you need?" 

"Let me stay here a couple days."

"You're not telling me what happened." 

Yoongi tosses his chopsticks on the table, rubbing a hand over his tired eyes. He sighs, his situation none too common. 

"Someone paid multiple contracts to get me killed."

"What?" Y/n frowns. "You mean members of EX-DEUS are going after you? But you're one of their own...how did chairman Kim even approve those contracts?" 

"You're behind with updates, Y/n. Taehyung's father is no longer chairman. He had an accident in january, he passed away."

"Then who is it?" 

"Natasha."

"That snake? Taehyung should've become chairman, or atleast Namjoon."

"Apparently, Kim Manseok signed a document which automatically made his wife chairwoman when he died."

"She's crazy, she's going to ruin the company for money."

"She already did. By order of her authority, members of EX-DEUS are now aloud to target and kill each other if a contract is sent from a client. She's turning the organization in a fucking bloodbath."

. . .

a/n: thanks a lot for all the likes this story got, and all the reblogs, truely!

[linktheacehero]

Ao3 Link @zelinkcommunity

The sunset paints the sky with its orange and red hues, the wind is still as if the earth is holding their breath, only the sounds of the forest’s critters are heard. Zelda continues her path, pressing deeper into the woods, she’s come here for a reason and will not stray, she refuses. Tears are pricking her eyes as she walks; memories of a man clad in green with a smile that rivaled the sun flashing in her mind. Days of bliss, wonder and love is what brings her into the forbidden woods of the east, to find the one who could bring her the peace her soul ached for. 

The sound of a twig breaking caused her to unsheath her blade, eyes locking on a strange wooden creature whose eyes dimly glowed in the setting sun. A skull kid, she realized. She heard many things about them in books- of their impish nature, born from the children who got lost and called the woods home and how skittish they were amongst adults. This one however, was nothing like what she had read and seemed to be fixated on the symbol on her cloak. The crest of the royal family with the sheikah eye,  a gift from her hero given just before he left. “You have the same symbol as him!” The child cried out. It ran towards her, not caring that she held a weapon that could injure it, and tugged at her cloak with desperation. “Please Miss Princess, you have to hurry! He told me you can help him!” Him? Was it possible that the skull kid was talking about her beloved? She wasted no time securing her sword to her waist and asked the Skull Kid to lead the way. The forest child leaped across the branches, each time  looking back to make sure Zelda was following. Her majesty nearly tripped across the roots  and stray rocks, but she pushed forward. She would not fail him this time.

The skull kid led her to a clearing where a grand tree remained. Its roots, whose thickness was the size of tree trunks, wrapped around the area like snakes. And laying by the trunk of the tree was-

“Link!” She ran to meet him, hand on his bloody cheek. He was gravely injured; his right eye was missing and there was a deep gash across his chest where broken pieces of armor remained. Blood was everywhere, staining his golden armor and the grass below; he gave out ragged gasps while trying to say her name and winced in pain each time she touched him. “Please stay with me.” 

 She frantically searched through her pouch only to find a singular vial of red potion; she prayed it would be enough to keep him here. Gently she poured the red liquid into his mouth, hand cradling his jaw so he could drink with ease. A few of his smaller injuries healed, but his breathing remained the same. Pressing her hands to his chest, she willed the power of the triforce alongside Hylia’s bloodline to flow and heal everything she could. He would not die, not yet.

Please let me save him, please let him live. She nearly collapsed into him, she felt her energy waver and saw her hands dimly glowing golden. She looked back to Link, his gaze was still pained but there was a softness in his eyes, one she thought she would never see again. “Y..ou came..” he breathed. A horrible cough escaped his lips, making worry knit into her heart. Had his injuries been so great that her power was unable to heal him? Had she been too late? Nonono, he has to make it, please I beg you.

“Of course I came, my love.” She pressed a kiss to his nose, hoping that would not be the last time she would do so. With trembling hands, Link pulled out the ocarina from his belt, blood coated fingers staining the polished surface. “I don’t know how much time I have but,” he raised the ocarina, and Zelda felt a sense of dread plummet to her stomach.

“Wait Link, no-” a clear note rang out from the instrument. His brows were knit together in discomfort but he did not let that stop him. The ageless song of time danced around them with the memories they held dear flickering in their minds, eras of war and peace, moments of eternal love and promises. When he played the last note, a wavering breath left him. “I love you…” 

She kissed him, tasting iron and salt but she did not care. “I love you too.” She felt his body loosen in her touch. Once parting, she could see his skin grow pale, his eyelid close. She sobbed into his neck, cursing destiny and the goddesses who trapped them in a life where happiness was unattainable. “What’s the point of fighting for peace when we aren’t allowed to live it?” 

Then, as faint as a whisper, she felt a pulse. Was it possible? She pressed her fingers on the pulse point and felt a slow and steady flow. 

“He’s still alive, I can still save him.” She took the ocarina from his hands, she did not know how much time he had left but she refused to waste a second of it. The prelude of Light sang as clear as the growing night sky above them, transporting them into the Temple of Time. 

------------------------

Link woke up with a numbing pain, lips feeling drier than the haunted wasteland and a thirst that he felt would require Lake Hylia to be drained in order to quench it. He tried to sit up but the room begins to spin causing him to press a hand to his head. He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on his breathing so the dizziness could go away. Ughh I think I need a potion.  

He resided to keep his movements to a minimum and checked his surroundings. He’s at the castle infirmary, no one seemingly  around. As he looked out the high windows, he guessed it had to be sometime in the afternoon. His gaze traveled to his left where he saw a sight that made him believe he was dreaming. 

Zelda's hand is in his, head resting on the other, while a little girl about the age of ten is sitting on her lap eating cookies. She looks nearly identical to Zelda when she was the girl’s age; slightly darker strawberry blonde hair, eyes that matched the most precious opals, and small freckles that adorned her cheeks. The girl noticed Link staring at her and gave him a large grin. “You’re awake!” she exclaims with glee, “mom, wake up, he’s awake!” Zelda didn’t wake, not even stir when her daughter gently shook her. Last night’s events had taken almost all of her energy, he could remember how she nearly collapsed after using her magic to heal him. “Hey kiddo, maybe leave your mom to rest for a little bit more, okay? I’m not going anywhere.” She nodded at him, and promptly got off her mother’s lap and tried to climb onto the bed. Link let out a small chuckle seeing her efforts. “Do you need some help?” “No I got it!” After her third try, she managed to get on the bed. “What’s your name, mister?” 

“Link. What’s yours?” His hand never left Zelda’s, his thumb caressing her skin. Was this real? Or was it another trick of the goddesses? “Saria. Are you the hero my mom talks a lot about?” That caught his attention. He turned to look back at the child, she seemed to be very interested in his next answer. 

“I suppose I am.” 

Saria giggled with glee. “So you’re the one who gave her the Moon Tear necklace right? Does that mean you’re gonna marry her one day?” 

He felt his ears burn, he had forgotten how upfront children could be. “Yes, I gave her the necklace. Um, well I would like to, but don’t tell her okay?” Saria looked at him with a sad expression, and he quickly added, “cause I want to make it a surprise!” The truth was that he wasn’t sure if he could ask for Zelda's hand. Since she had a daughter that would also mean she already had a husband.

And yet he was nowhere to be seen.

The sound of a waking Zelda brought both of their attentions to her, with Saria loudly greeting her with a hug. “Mom, Link is awake, see!” The queen gave her daughter a warm smile before turning to look at Link with such tenderness he felt like he could melt. “Yes, darling, he is.” She gently squeezed his hand, and Link found his answer. This was not a dream, he had lived and was back with his beloved. “How are you feeling?”

He responds by lifting their joined hands to his mouth and presses a kiss to hers. “Better now that I’m with you.” He loved how flustered she got with the kiss, her cheeks flushing like when they were teenagers and he had just complimented her beauty. “I am feeling a bit thirsty though, and slightly dizzy.” 

“I can bring him water!” Saria piqued,   running out of the room before anyone could inform her that there was already a glass of water on the bedside. 

“She’s a really sweet kid,” Link told Zelda as she sat on his bed. From here he could see dark circles under her eyes and dried blood, presumably his, coated on her hands. “How are you feeling?”

“She really is. Energetic too.” She rested her head on his shoulder, careful to not put too much weight on his wounds. “I’m feeling tired mostly, and relieved. You were losing so much blood and were in a state of shock, I didn’t know what to do.” He could feel her grip tighten as she continued, “I had to donate some of my blood so you could be stable and… the doctors had to amputate your leg. You were hit with some cursed ice that wouldn’t stop spreading and if they didn’t you could have-” she didn’t finish her sentence. She couldn’t bring herself to say it.  “I really believed I had lost you, Link…” 

The worn hero turned his head to kiss her forehead, lips lingering before resting his forehead on it. “But you didn’t, I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.” She let out a shaky breath before nuzzling closer, like she was afraid he would disappear. He wouldn't. Not anymore.

A thought entered his mind, one that he debated if it was the right time to ask. But if he didn’t ask now, he doubted he could ever. “Zelda, where is Saria’s father?” 

Link expected many outcomes; a cryptic answer, the man himself entering the infirmary to see his wife cuddling another man, or maybe something along the lines of him being distant. What he had not anticipated was Zelda giving him a mischievous smile with a glint in her eyes that screamed of trouble, alongside a simple answer. 

“He died of a tragic illness a few years after our marriage. Saria was still young enough to remember him, but neither of us like to talk about him much.” 

“Oh.” Link wasn’t the smartest person when it came to social cues, but he did know Zelda well enough to understand that an illness had not truly been the cause of her husband's death… an unintentional one at least. He wasn’t surprised, whatever fate the man got was a well deserved one if Zelda had deemed it so. “That’s quite unfortunate.” 

“Truly. A widowed queen with a single daughter to raise and a whole kingdom to take care of, my life truly is a trial without someone at my side,” she teased, and Link had a hard time trying to not laugh. It was like they were fifteen again, making fun of the rumors that were stacked against them and dreaming of the future they yearned for.

“A struggle indeed. So if you’re a widowed queen, I wonder what your response would be to a proposition I have?”

She raised her brow at him, curiosity peaked. “And what is your proposition to this widowed queen, Sir Link?”

 He couldn’t stop the grin that was forming.“One simple question is all I ask, your majesty.” He let go of her hand and placed it on her cheek, eye never leaving hers. “What if you were no longer a widow? What if someone came to ask for your hand and promised you a life of peace and bliss, where the darkness could not reach and your daughter could grow feeling more loved than any other child in the world?”

Her eyes sparkled like the stars. His breath hitched when he felt her hand gently tug his hair at the back of his head. “It’s a hard proposal to reject, Sir Link.” She was leaning closer, lips but a mere whisper away. “So I will ask you something, a simple request similar to yours…” he could feel moon tear humming in sync to the beat of their hearts, anticipation in the air. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” he breathed, and closed the gap between them. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes, my heart,” he told her through each kiss. For once in their lives, the two felt that their future was bright.

(A few years later)

It was a clear day, the sun shining warmly above them while the birds were chirping their songs in the trees. Zelda is sitting beneath the large oak in her garden, Saria sitting next to her and playing with her little brother Daru. Link, meanwhile, was play fighting with their daughter, Impa, both slashing the air, careful to not hurt each other. 

“Whoa! You nearly got me there, Impa!” Their three year old giggled and put on what she called her “hero face”, which was basically her trying to copy her father’s concentration face when he trained. 

“Hyah!” she yelled and tapped on Link’s prosthetic. Dramatically he fell to the ground, latching off his leg and raising it above him as he cried.

“I'm hit! Oh by Din, I’ve been struck down by the bravest heroine in all the kingdom!” He closed his eye, tongue stuck out as he pretended to be killed. Impa is giggling as she runs over to him, a triumphant grin on her face. 

“I didn’t hurt you, did I Papa?” she whispers in his ear. Link responds by lightly shaking his head, still pretending. “The evil king is dead! Now the kingdom is in peace!”

“Wait!” shouted Daru, to which his twin sister looked at him in confusion. “He wasn’t evil, he was just cursed!” Impa gasped and immediately went to her mother. 

“Mama come on! You got to kiss Papa so you can break the curse!” She pulled Zelda by her hand, Daru and Saria joining in by pushing her to get up. The queen simply laughed and rose from the ground. 

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m going.” Zelda looked down to her husband, who had now conveniently closed his mouth after hearing what Impa said, and leaned in close. Her lips were grazing his when her hand touched metal, and right as she pressed a kiss she leaned away and ran off with his prosthetic.

“HEY!” he yelled, leaving the kids in a fit of laughter as they witnessed Link trying to chase Zelda with one foot.  “Zelda, get back here!” She stuck out her tongue, a mischievous grin on her face as she leaned against the tree. He knew she wouldn’t go too far, but he also didn’t mind a challenge. With previous years of battling monsters and learning how to balance, he crouched as low as he could and pounced on Zelda when she came close.

“Gotcha!”

They tumbled down into the grass, smiling and laughing while their children tried to regain their breaths. Link couldn’t tear his gaze away from his wife, their noses brushing as she wrapped her arms around his neck. To believe that only a few years ago he was near the brink of death and now here he was sitting beneath the blue sky in the arms of his queen and beloved spouse while their children stood a few feet away. 

“Zelda.”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

She gave him a soft smile, whispering against his lips before kissing him with all of her heart’s devotion. 

“I love you too.”

[blackiraven]

This story was written a long time ago and was gathering dust in my archives. So I decided to share this with you😘

The last riddle.

Everything was so quiet. The thick cold walls absorbed all possible sound. Silence and loneliness dug sharp claws and teeth into the soul, and billions of thoughts filled the brain to the brim and literally poured into reality in the form of many drawings on any hard, empty and accessible surfaces. Numbers, formulas, diagrams, maps, plans, questions and just words. If I keep everything in head all the time, then their framework is lost, they get mixed up and stand in front of my eyes all the time. In the meaningless mass of information generated every second, all voices are silenced, silhouettes and faces are drowned. The reaction to all living beings and influencing factors disappears, only the environment can be analyzed. This happens gradually, as if the main functions of the body are switched off one by one, and I fall into a coma, where only I and my mind are. Anything can be fished out of this stream: formulas of eternal life and medicines for all diseases, new chemical elements and laws of physics, drawings of a perpetual motion machine and a source of infinite energy, the truth, due to which absolutely everything exists. I just need to reach out and grab any piece, then another, and another, and another, and eventually collect the whole picture of the universe and get the knowledge I want. I can do it, I'm the only one who can do it. But… they tied my hands tight. Again! They were pumped me up again with cocktails of drugs that there was no living place left on my hands, but only bruises. They were nailed me alive again in a concrete coffin for slow and painful rotting under the influence of chemicals and my own disorderly thoughts. I see, but I can't make it out, there are too many multiplying characters. Symbols flow visibly from the ceiling, quickly replace oxygen atoms, getting into my lungs, and then into poisoned blood, ooze from the food brought and float in a glass of water, get under the skin, demand to study themselves, paint, calculate, embody. I was pressed into a corner like a trapped animal. I can't sleep, eat, drink, breathe. I choke and choke on them. My personal circle of Hell, my nameless grave, and symbols and signs are my corruption.

How long has it been like this? A day, two, or a year? Or maybe just a few seconds after arriving here? What's going on out there? A huge bat once again eats the flesh of the fallen? Sucks their blood with thick fangs, grinds bones with a bottomless mouth and enjoys every cry and plea. His huge belly will never be filled, hunger and thirst will not subside. He will look for new and new victims and torment the old ones, which I am. You can drink all my juices, squeeze out all my blood, knock out my life… my teeth. Continue to carry the punishment through your weapon, Dark Knight. But, I ask everyone and everyone who hears me at the moment, do not let him find him. Don't let him touch my…

Everything was so quiet. The thick cold walls absorbed all possible sound. Until it was cut through by a loud explosion and the subsequent alarm. The whole shroud fell off, the numbers and letters eroded through the cell door that opened by itself. I saw surging crowds of freed and falling from their hands inhumans in white coats. Shots rang out, shouts and laughter rang out. Finally. My new ingenious plan worked, and the bombs installed in the right places worked successfully. It remains to wait quite a bit. The bat won't have time to catch up with me. After a long coma, the long-awaited awakening took place.

After a while, one of those dressed in the snow-white armor of Gotham medicine came running to my cell. In a hurry and constantly looking around, he began to untangle me from the straitjacket. Near his feet lay my cane with a knob in the shape of a question mark, brought like a faithful dog. I knew they wouldn't have time to take it to the station as evidence. When my hands stopped being squeezed by tight straps, I immediately grabbed the special weapon and got up from the floor.

"M-Mr. Nygma… I-I did everything you said. Does our d-deal still stand?" the sent agent stuttered in fright, backing away from me. You can buy any thing in Gotham, life and opinion, the only question is the price.

"The answer suggests itself. But in order not to be suspected of betrayal, we need to stage an attack." having caught my balance, I slowly approach him with a prepared cane.

"What?! No, please!"

"I'll get in touch with you. Later." not wanting to waste any more limited time, I swung and hit my own agent on the head. Blood sprayed, and the body fell in amazement, without even having time to squeal. The blow is not strong, he will survive and be fine, but there may be a scar. It's more plausible this way. Consider this my gratitude for the work done.

With a bloody cane at the ready, I merged with a raging and partially armed crowd rushing to freedom or some other goals. The only picture of violence that I admire every time. How doctors and guards are subjected to bloody and cruel revenge from those whom they once bullied without feeling guilty. How the equipment that brings pain, called "treatment", breaks down. How the lids of all coffins are broken out, from where hatred, anger, malice and rage of those buried early come out. It's hard to restrain yourself at such moments. The mouth automatically begins to shout out the riddles invented during the imprisonment to the first comer. He, of course, is not able to solve them, for which he receives a deafening blow and sheds his blood.

"You can't see me, hear me, smell me, but everyone wants to feel me! Who am I?!"

"How many obstacles will you not erect, you will not kill me! Who am I?!"

"I can be with both the living and the dead man! Who am I?!"

Knowing the structure and location of all big complexes by heart, along a pre-built path, I was able to get to the new exit that appeared with my "small" help in the form of a hole in the main wall. All the patients actively broke out, suppressing the opposition from the hospital security. They always lose, as if such cases had never happened before. While the cops are coming here, I will have time to get to the city through the forest, at the entrance to which a package with ordinary outerwear and shoes was hidden under a marked stone, so as not to attract attention later. Hiding a straitjacket under a long raincoat made of expensive fabric, putting my frozen bare feet in comfortable patent leather shoes, and my hands in leather gloves, and lifting an elegant bowler hat on my combed hair with a comb in my pocket, I rush into the depths of the forest, simultaneously putting on new glasses and wiping the blood from the cane with a clean handkerchief. It's too early for you to see me like this…

The dark coniferous forest was replaced by a dimly lit stone one. So empty and vulnerable, because all the protection is focused on the damn Arkham. Clouds were gradually gathering overhead, blocking the view of the bright moon from the chaos and disorder going on below.

Dead end. An ordinary brick wall with no way. For the others. I take a tiny key out of my secret breast pocket and find the same inconspicuous hole in one fake brick. Click. A solid secret door opened. The stairs behind it led to several more doors, already metal. In order to open them, special alphanumeric and numeric passwords are needed, plus in some cases it is necessary to choose the right door to reach the main lair of Riddler in one piece. So that no one can get to you, hurt you… Instead of the sickening smell and smoke of the streets, I was accompanied by a pale green light and the squeak of push-buttons, and the brick wall itself closed tightly behind me.

All the obstacles that I personally constructed went through without difficulty. It remained to go through the last and easiest – a simple door of typical apartments. Which I did. A light, soothing gloom greeted me and invited me into a room made like a living room. The only faded light of the TV made it possible to see the proper interior and furniture. The screen was full of headlines and reports about the explosions in Arkham and mass escapes of "especially dangerous criminals." As always, the same thing. Exclusive footage with "our beautiful hero and savior, bringing justice." Aren't they tired of broadcasting about it themselves? Right on the threshold, I threw off all my disguise, left my cane and walked with quiet steps into my cozy house. On the table next to the empty sofa lay various parts, tools and something resembling a simple wind-up device. There were also sheets with drawings drawn by hand with felt-tip pens. So childish, but also diligently serious. I take the object in my hands and look at it from all sides, at the same time looking at the colorful drawings. Hmm, almost done, but it looks like you're confused about the last details. I dug out a pencil on the table and corrected the numbering of parts in some places. Now you will definitely finish it. Leaving a small workplace, I go into my personal office, where it is forbidden to enter anyone but me. The first thing I do is turn on the main power, all the monitors hanging on the walls and the main computer, behind which my work proceeds. While the whole office was activated, I decided to check the bedroom. In total darkness, on the edge of the bed, with his legs dangling, a small lump was sleeping soundly, and his hands were holding a thick book about mechanics and engineering, read almost to the middle.

"Leslie… " I whispered to myself with a share of joy and, tiptoeing closer, stroked his head. In response, the sleeping child only softly sniffed. After putting the book away, I take the warm little body in my arms, hug him lightly so as not to wake up, and sit down on the bed. You continue to study even in my absence. You read, invent, design, assemble by yourself. Well done, my boy. I am so pleased to observe this process, but I don't want to demonstrate it. I want to be a strict teacher for you, show little pity, thereby tempering you and preparing you for everything possible. After all, the world is full of cruelty, especially this city. But you're so cute, so funny, energetic, diligent, hardworking, innocent. Like you coming from another world. Gotham doesn't deserve you… Sometimes I want to just drop everything and become a caring parent for you, replace that filthy family, start a new life and dedicate it to you. But, all my thoughts, plans, ideas, I can't bury them, they have to come true! I can't leave everything at once, I can't! Riddler must mentally and physically defeat the bat! Must feel his stupidity, helplessness and worthlessness in front of me! And then crush! And for everyone to see it! See all his shame, his loss! His undisclosed cheating! To be praised, feared, and finally recognized me as the only genius! I cannot retreat! And then… I already have a new meaning. Its you, Leslie… Therefore, it is necessary to protect you. I am very used to you, you have become almost my own son for me, which I never even thought about. I did not consider such events possible. I will train you, educate you, take care of you, even if I find myself locked away again. You love my views and opinions – I will continue to express them. This means that all my efforts are not in vain. If I am destined to lose and be beheaded by the Dark Knight, I will die physically, but my soul will continue to live. It will remain in you, Leslie. It is you who will not let Riddler disappear… The answer to my most important and last riddle in my life - is Leslie. And you won't solve it, Batman! I won't let you…

These few minutes have completely and truly cured me. It became very good and calm. Thirst returned, the desire to eat, rest, my breathing returned to normal. The bruises next to the veins on my hands stopped hurting, and the blood stopped burning the body, having been cleansed of medical poisons. Now I feel life. Thank you, Leslie. Alright, I won't put your sleep at risk anymore. Take a break, at your age it is much more necessary than me. And I will continue the interrupted work. Or I'll start something new! There are so many plans in my head. I carefully put the child on the bed, cover him with a blanket and, taking the first soft toy that comes along, carefully place it in his hands. While the bat is busy, Riddler will have time to set traps for the rodent everywhere. Before leaving the bedroom occupied by the boy with my permission, my eyes caught the drawings hanging on the walls. He loves to draw so much. Most of the drawings depicted my return from Arkham, where a boy joyfully greets me, but none corresponded to a real return. But you'll still be glad, only in the morning. For the sake of this moment, I will wait for the first rays of the sun. To check all your accumulated knowledge, give new tasks, check the completed ones and compare the learning results. I believe in you. I'm proud of you…

[eighthmelody]

The Burning Three

Orochimaru dies, but Anko knows better.

She waits for Iwashi and Mozuku to return while cleaning the blood from her kunai, wiping the knife across long, smooth blades of grass. Her eyes drift to the tree where the dead snake lays. She can hardly call herself superstitious, but there's a niggling part of her brain that muses about what happens to those who kill symbols of good luck and renewal.

Anko pockets the kunai and decides to put more distance between herself and the tree.

************************

The next morning, her team is in Konoha, mission successful, and no man left behind. Godaime seems distracted as Anko files the report but doesn't interrupt her.

It's afterwards, as the kunoichi is taking her leave, that the older woman tells her that she's meeting an old friend for dinner and that she wants her to join them. Her tone, though calm, indicates that she's expecting her to come.

Anko bows her head and takes her leave, the sense of foreboding weighing all the heavier.

************************

Her suspicions spike when two-thirds of the Legendary Sannin treat her to a full-course meal and all the sake she can drink. She feels tempted to flirt with Jiraiya a little longer, if only to see if she can talk him into an impromptu dango-run, but then Tsunade makes a remark about cradle-robbers, and the legendary bickering begins.

She's split between her sense of responsibility and her deep-seated sadism for all things dramatic and amusing, but eventually, Anko tries to bring both of her elders back to reality.

"Not that I don't enjoy a free meal , Godaime-sama, but is there something you want to tell me?"

Jiraiya and Tsunade pause in their arguing, the air between them growing thick as they sit back. Anko hears the words in the back of her head moments before Tsunade nods and Jiraiya speaks.

"Orochimaru is dead."

When Anko doesn't respond, he takes it as a sign to continue. "Our sources say that he tried to take the body of Uchiha Sasuke and was killed by the boy in the process.

Anko doesn't look at them, but she knows they aren't looking at her either, affording her what little privacy they can in this public setting.

She doesn't tell them what she really thinks, that she doesn't believe for a single second that he's really dead, because it would undermine everything that he's worked for in the last decade. Men who dedicate their lives to living forever don't go down that easily.

Instead, she tells them what she thinks they want to hear from her, and -really- what she needs to hear from herself.

"Well," she clears her throat of backed-up bile, "that's the way it is, huh?"

With careful hands, she takes the sake bottle, pours a cup, and downs it all in one drink.

"Good stuff," she breathes through smiling teeth.

************************

The thing of it is, you can't mourn a man who refuses to die.

************************

Later in the evening of the new moon, as she perches on the windowsill of her top-floor apartment and smokes, Anko studies the lightless sky and notes how flat and shallow it looks without the moon and stars revealing its dimensions.

Orochimaru told her once that the heavens were endless, ever-expanding, and that -one day- he too would be as immeasurable and infinite as space.

The curse mark flares at the thought of him; Anko lets its flames burn his widowed dreams to ashes and hopes they cremated him as soon as possible.

************************

After all, one can never be too cautious when it comes to the undying. . .

************************

As night deepens, so does the pain.

It drives her to tops of buildings, gliding from rooftop-to-rooftop. Eventually, the ferocity of the Forest of Death welcomes her, and Anko slaughters and burns and poisons everything that she comes across until she has almost bled herself dry of chakra. Then the curse mark pulls and coaxes her to take more and more of what she needs, what she wants. It's all here for her. She just has to dip her hands into it and drink. . .

Foreign chakra swells against the borders of the seal, dammed only by her refusal to ever borrow anything else from him again. Hand cupping her burning neck, she wills away the temptation until it subsides and then collapses on the forest floor.

Staring at the overlapping branches above, Anko runs a tongue over chapped lips and can only think of how thirsty she is.

************************

"How long has the pain lasted?" Shizune examines the seal without touching it, eyes keenly noting the peeling red skin and the swelling around it. Anko is perched on the examination table, legs crossed, hands folded over one knee. She looks relaxed, but it's hard to miss the tension in her shoulders and the way her eyes watch every single move that Shizune makes while the med-nin hovers this close to her.

"Like this?" She closes her eyes, resting them. "A week." Anko can't see her, but she imagines Shizune standing tall now, hands on her hips as she prepares to scold her patient.

Instead, what she hears is Shizune softly clearing her throat. "You should have come in sooner if it's been bothering you this badly." The medic notes the bags beneath the younger woman's eyes. "You haven't been sleeping well either."

"I sleep just fine after I exercise." Anko opens her eyes then and sees how the older woman frowns at her. "You're right. I thought I could handle it by myself . .like before, but it's gotten worse ever since I found out about Orochimaru. . ." Shizune's expression softens, mouth tensing as she wrestles with a response.

"You don't have to say it. I'm not sorry that he's dead." She just doesn't believe it yet.

"Anko, I wasn't- I mean, I don't expect you-".

"I'll be the first to say that he deserved what he got. I am the happiest woman in Konoha right now. I'd smooch that Uchiha brat if he were here, and I don't even like him." Shizune's too stunned to respond. The silence that follows only bothers Anko because there is nothing else to distract her from her burning neck.

When Tsunade arrives, she blocks the seal the only way she knows how and tells Anko to take some time off to get some sleep.

************************

Without the pain, she sleeps well enough, until the dreams begin. They aren't frightening, but they leave her disturbed all the same.

One early hour, she wakes after giving birth to her former sensei and laughs until her throat is raw and her gut is sore. People tend to think she's off-her-rocker, but it's the first time Anko's ever considered the possibility that they're right about her.

************************

She's never confided in anyone outside of Tsunade about Orochimaru, but when she finally opens up to Kurenai about her odd dreams, her friend suggests doing something to help her relax at night.

"Your tea ceremonies have always worked for me," she reassures, not bothering to hide the way she studies the other woman. "Do you want me to come over and help out?"

Kurenai's invitation is warm and kind, but Anko hardly has to mull over the offer before she rejects it, finding solace in the quiet comfort of isolation more and more these days.

"No. It's fine. . .It's a great idea, though."

************************

At twenty-seven, seiza is second-nature to her, the accompanying pain of coiled limbs a mere after-thought for an experienced ninja.

Sit high. Spine straight. Feet folded. Smooth out the wrinkles in your kimono.

He had always demanded perfection, in spite of hefty sacrifices made to obtain it. It's here, amidst the mingling smells of incense and burning charcoal, that she kneels before that altar and allows him to make a place for himself in the emptying parts of her mind.

Fold the cloth; cleanse the tools. You've already cleansed them before, but one must be considerate of one's guests, Anko.

Her hands scoop the matcha, but it's his voice that instructs her, a lazy tone that is deceitfully patient. She has known it well. She mustn't disappoint. He doesn't take failure lightly.

Whisk until the matcha is fully dissolved; serve.

No shadows pool around him where he lounges across her matted floor, a picture of defiance even in the face of such an ancient and refined ceremony. He has always done as he pleases and has never possessed a love for the sacred. Today, he instructs her as he had in times past. No need for such formality.

In spite of the folds of the kimono he wears, he is soundless as he shuffles to examine the tea bowl. He smiles, the ensuing chuckle echoing unevenly across the back of her mind.

Feeling sentimental, Anko?

His lips drag over the only two syllables that make her name, voice heavy and slow within her. She doesn't shiver, but she can't fight the way her skin crawls up her back.

"I'm not the type to throw things out when the impulse hits me." His smile touches his eyes. He sits straighter, stare dissecting at the layers and layers of mental fortitude she has spent nearly two decades building until she is left feeling naked and cold before him. The curse mark scorches her neck and shoulder, Tsunade's carefully-placed seal having been devoured mere hours after its placement.

"Besides, it's still in nice shape."

That it is. You obviously cherished it, he drawls with half-lidded eyes then motions towards the bowl. We shouldn't let it cool.

Anko takes it in her palms, relishing the steam and the heat against her cold hands, then rotates it and welcomes the smooth, delicate taste of the tea. She's perfectly aware now that it is with her tongue that he tastes, with her hands that he grasps, and with her eyes and ears that he sees and hears.

"Well, what do you think," she asks as her tongue runs the length of her bottom lip, testing every lingering flavor.

I think I taught you well.

[yhwhrulz]

Worthy Brief - September 4, 2024

The dry bones will live!

As we continue this study of the Dead Sea Scrolls we jump to 1963 and the unearthing of Masada.

Flavius Josephus the Jewish historian recorded the tragic events at Masada in “The Jewish Wars.” Masada was ignored for years as it reminded the Rabbis of the failures of the many false messiahs that appeared after Yeshua (Jesus).

However, Yigael Yadin, the son of Eleazar Sukenik who originally purchased the first of the Dead Sea scrolls, led an international expedition to unearth the secrets of Masada. While many archaeologists revel in the massive building projects of Herod the Great and the ruins of the siege of Masada, I want to focus on the Biblical documents which were discovered there, since in the synagogue the Jewish rebels had constructed after they seized the Roman compound in 66 A.D, Yadin discovered fragments of Ezekiel’s vision of the dry bones, [Ezekiel 37].

Ezekiel 37:7-8 So I prophesied as I was commanded. And as I prophesied, there was a sound, and behold, a rattling, and the bones came together, bone to its bone. And I looked, and behold, there were sinews on them, and flesh had come upon them, and skin had covered them. But there was no breath [ruach] in them.

The prophet's remarkable vision pertained explicitly to the restoration of Israel to the Promised Land, the first phase of which was merely physical, a necessary precursor to their spiritual restoration when the breath or Ruach of God would be poured out upon the restored nation.

Once again, an archaeological discovery of Biblical text containing Ezekiel’s vision illustrated precisely where Israel was in their present history… the physical restoration of the Jewish people to their Land. The same passage also foretold their restoration in the Spirit, and since Israel's restoration is only partially completed, we continue to anticipate its fullness according to the sure word of prophecy. Just a few short years later, that restoration showed its first signs of life…

On June 7, 1967, Israel reclaimed the Temple Mount for the first time in 2000 years. Meanwhile on the other side of the globe in San Fransisco, on that same day, the Jesus movement was being birthed. Within just a few years, an enthusiastic community of Jesus-loving ex-hippies from the 60s took the world by storm and revival broke out; thousands of Jews came to faith in Yeshua (Jesus), beginning the spiritual rebirth of the Jewish nation foretold so many years ago in Ezekiel's vision of dry bones. Quite a number of those new Jewish believers actually made aliyah and moved to Israel to participate in its spiritual renewal.

Pete, don't fail to recognize these amazing signs as prophetic events minutely correspond to archeological discoveries. We are witnessing fulfillments promised millennia ago in our modern times. The blossoming of the fig tree, a symbol for Israel, was one explicit sign given by Yeshua portending the end of the age and His soon return. "Learn the parable of the fig tree," He said. When it becomes “tender and puts out leaves, know that summer is near", the harvest is ripe and He is at the door. [Matthew 24:32-33]. In light of these things, let us watch and pray as never before, and keep our lamps filled with the oil of His Spirit, and let us remember, "the testimony of Jesus is the spirit of prophecy; [Rev. 19:10].

Your family in the Lord with much agape love,

George, Baht Rivka, Obadiah and Elianna (Missouri) (Cincinnati, Ohio)

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Editor's Note: During this war, we have been live blogging throughout the day -- sometimes minute by minute on our Telegram channel. - https://t.me/worthywatch/ Be sure to check it out!

Editor's Note: Dear friends — we are now booking in the following states. Ohio, Kentucky, Michigan, Indiana, West Virginia, Tennessee! If you know Rabbis, Pastors or Leaders who might be interested in powerful Israeli style Hebrew/English worship and a refreshing word from Worthy News about what’s going on in the land, please let us know how to connect with them and we will do our best to get you on our schedule! You can send an email to george [ @ ] worthyministries.com for more information.