#save me morning mist and sunrise

[cemeterything]

it really is insane how waking up early will grant you access to some of the most beautiful sights and sensations in the world that will make you want to live forever, but only if you overcome the gauntlet of a thousand razors that is getting out of bed early. truly one of life's little saw traps.

#🐉 #save me morning mist and sunrise

[edupunkn00b]

Decoherence, Ch. 10: Mementos

Creative Commons 1.0 Public Domain

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“Touch not that ring; 'twas his… And nought his relics can inspire Save memories…” - Mementos by Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë

WC: 3455 - Rated: T - CW: swearing, suggestive -

1864, June 9 - Breaker Hall, Yorkshire, England

Grey, somber skies sapped the summer’s warmth from that morning’s sunrise, the thin light peeking over the moor doing nothing to cut through the chilly, gloomy fog. The curtains over the big window were open, and Remus huddled under the covers, looking out over the silvery sage grass. A breeze swirled through the mist, kicking up little eddies and waves, a ghostly dance over the fields.

Fuzzy bits of dreams lingered in his mind. A strange red steam engine clattering over elevated train tracks, its surface marred and defaced with bright, clumsy lettering haphazardly painted on. The stone-like tracks bridged the canyons between tall brick buildings the way one might pass over rivers and streams.

He’d been in a much smaller room and was several stories higher. The narrow window looked out over the train with a murky greenish blue bay, or maybe even a wide river, in the distance beyond. Colored lights shone from tall ships and barges floated lazily past, apparently towed by the ships. No steamers, at least none visible in the darkness.

The surrounding buildings blazed with light, as did the trains. His room had been dark and he knew he was meant to be sleeping, but something called to him… someone? He was searching, but he couldn’t remember for what.

Remus watched the sky gradually brighten along the horizon and he clung to a pillow, his arms aching far more than they should after a simple day in his workshop. After a long while, he nodded to himself and crawled out of bed. Hands moving of their own accord, he straightened the bedding, fluffing up the pillows and smoothing down the quilt. It was time to start the day, check in with the family.

He washed his face quickly at the basin, then stripped out of his sleep clothes. The jingle of metal at his neck surprised him until he touched the two gold rings.

Lo.

Half naked, he rushed to the roller desk in the corner of his room and scrambled for a bit of paper, sketching out everything he remembered. The man with dark hair and eyes the color of the sky at dusk, the trains, both from his dream and standing between train cars, watching him disappear… green silk, horses, strange lights and glass windows with words and symbols.

Scrambling, he pulled out a stack of paper and, kneeling in front of the desk, kept writing, only stopping briefly to sharpen the graphite. He continued to write, words and pictures pouring from him until he was surrounded by dozens of leaves covered back and front with his memories.

“Re?” A voice—his brother’s voice pulled him from his thoughts and the pencil scraped across the page. “I apologize, I did not intend to startle you.” Ro looked around the room, and at him, charcoal smudged over his fingers and, likely his face as well, naked save for his ankle-long underpants. “You usually join us for breakfast by this hour… Are you well?”

“Yes, of course…” He re-read his interrupted sentence, They used to say you couldn’t use your phone on an air— Gibberish. “Recording a dream before it left me,” he chuckled, stretching to gather the scattered papers. “One never knows when serendipity may lead to useful inspiration.”

“You’ve demonstrated that often enough,” Ro chuckled, bending to pick up the pages that had floated out of his reach. “Fantastical dreams,” he murmured, studying a sketch of strange, jagged and curved shapes carved against the horizon.

Remus nodded and tucked the papers away in the rolling desk. “Indeed. I…” He returned to his wardrobe and pulled out an overshirt. “I should dress. I’ll be down in just a few minutes.”

~

As the day wore on, though, instead of retreating from his mind, he encountered reminders of these imaginary worlds everywhere he looked. The photosensitive paper reminded him of those moving pictures on the glass windows. The dials on his spectrometer, as well. By the time Janus visited to pull him away for dinner, he was bent over the table, a large sheet of paper in front of him, mapping out the shared frequency scale from one of the windows in his dream.

Screens, they’re called screens…

He tried to shake away the errant thought, but ended up captioning the sketch with the word ‘screen.’

“You’ve been busy today,” Janus purred near his ear, reading over his shoulder. 

“Hmph,” he grunted, finishing a note. “Needed to capture an idea…” he said vaguely and turned the page before adding a new set of markings along one edge.

“Are you building a new device?” Janus picked up another scrap of paper, turning it one way, then the other before Remus oriented it properly in his hands with a little smile.

“Considering it,” he nodded. “A mix of inspiration from a dream with a bit of necessity.” He pointed to the upper registers of the spectrometer’s dials. “When the needles hit their upper limit here, I have no way of knowing just how much higher they might go.” Remus then pointed to the designs. “This would expand the scale tenfold.”

“Are you able to generate that much energy?” Janus’ brow furrowed, just barely following.

“Sunlight is an option,” he shrugged. “Not for the photovoltaic paper, but perhaps there are other mechanisms…” His voice trailed off and he began writing furiously on the page, filling one side and flipping to the other with more text, boxes and arrows.

“Remus?” Janus said, reaching for his shoulder.

His head shot up. He’d forgotten Janus was standing there. “Yes! Yes, of course, I…” He sighed and nodded, setting down his graphite. “Yes, I will return to this. I need to ask Lo for his advice, anyway,” he mumbled.

“I’m sorry, who?”

“Ah… I…” Remus blinked. “Ro. I need Ro’s advice.” He blew out the lamp at the foot of the stairs and followed Janus up.

2114, February 9 - Jakarta, Indonesia

The elevator was out at the Senyan building, part of the new energy reduction strategy the Binus U had adopted. Water reclamation research was now the campus’ top priority. All other services and groups were forced to take turns running on low to no power.

It made their work on energy storage for the new dynamos that much more important.

Remus huffed it up to the ninth floor, groaning in disgust at how dim the workshop was without light. They’d be back on the power rotation tomorrow, but he was so close to a breakthrough, he really didn’t want to miss a day. His apartment just felt… wrong, anyway. There was no point in going home now.

He gathered his materials and snagged a fire blanket, then headed for the roof. It was only another five flights up and he’d have plenty of light and could rest under the water tower for a bit of relief from the worst of the heat.

When he reached the roof door, though, he found it propped open with a scuffed plastic wedge. It seemed he was not the only one outside the water reclamation team with this idea.

Opening the door slowly, he carefully replaced the stop so they wouldn’t both be locked out. “Halo” he called out, “Are you also here for the daylight?”

“Don’t move!” someone whispered. “I’m measuring,” the voice continued. Familiar, but no-one Remus had worked with had that accent… 

“Where are you from?” he blurted out.

“The States,” he snapped, followed by the clunk of metal on metal. “You triggered the seismograph. I’ll need to reset.”

“Oh?” Remus followed the voice to the shady side of the water tower. A man wearing a linen polo and denim shorts was crouched over a foot-long sheet of plywood covered in dials and tubes. A small interferometer was bolted to the center.  The man swore quietly under his breath, back turned to him. Remus set down the box from his lab and stepped closer. “What are you measuring?”

The man sighed heavily, shaking his head. “I am trying to reduce the energy lost to friction in a wind-up battery, but somebody—” He tossed a spanner down and stood, scowling at him. “Somebody interrupted me.”

Raven hair, eyes the color of the sky, even now bright blue and cloudless. Thick, black eyeglasses. 

“Lo,” Remus whispered.

“Logan,” he corrected, frowning. “Dr. Logan Sanders. Have we met?”

“I… I—I think so,” Remus finally managed. Had they met? They must have. “My name is Remus?”

“Is that a question?” He hadn’t lost his scowl.

“I…” Remus shook his head. This man was nothing like the one from his memory. Dreams. Whatever they were. Someone else. “I think maybe I’ve heard your name mentioned,” he shrugged. “I’m Dr. Remus Prince. I’m working on the dynamo storage project.”

“Oh, a spy? Great,” he muttered and tossed a drop cloth over his device. 

Remus held up both hands, shaking his head again. “No, I…” He took a step closer but the man—Logan—stepped back. Remus stood still. “No. I came up here to have enough light to work. Probably just like you.” His scowl shrunk a bit but he still stood between Remus and his own work, guarding it. “Fine, I’ll go,” he said and stooped to pick up his crate.

Logan’s face softened, just a bit, as he watched him heft up his equipment. “Show me what you’re working on,” he said in a rush before he moved more than five paces away. Remus turned, one eyebrow raised. “Please,” Logan added. “You saw my project. It’s only fair.”

“Sounds fair,” Remus agreed and laid out the fire blanket before kneeling and pulling the dynamo and its various components from the box. “It’s meant to replace the electric boxes in apartments,” he said, setting it down and attaching a set of springs and a crank handle. “I’m working to get enough voltage to run a servo for a fan or… with a photovoltaic panel, maybe even store enough juice for a phone or laptop charger.”

He turned the crank and the right side of the springboard compressed. “Will you do the honors?” he asked, tilting his chin toward the red switch next to a tiny bank of LEDs. Eyes narrowed, Lo toggled the switch with his knuckles, left hand in his back pocket to protect against a jolt. “Have a little faith,” Remus laughed. “It’s grounded, it won't electrocute you.”

“Treat every gun as loaded, Dr. Prince, and every wire as live,” he retorted, lips twitching in a smile when the LEDs activated.

Remus threw his head back and laughed again, “Spoken like a true cynic.”

“Spoken like a living cynic,” he muttered with his own tiny laugh. “So what can this thing do?”

“Ah, now you believe,” Remus winked. “Watch the other springs.” As the gears slowly unwound, the right side of the springboard gradually expanded. As they did, the left side then tightened.

“No way,” Logan whispered, dropping to the blanket to watch the gears more closely.

“Mm-hm,” Remus grinned from the other side of the device. “Yes way.” Together, they watched the left-hand springs creak and tighten, re-storing the energy spent on the right. Then the cycle began again.

Logan let out a real laugh that time and Remus nodded. “It maintains 98.2% of its potential energy with each round.”

“That’s incredible!” He looked up at Remus, those bright blue eyes piercing right through his. “Have you field tested it yet?”

“Not yet.” He shook his head.

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

“I…” Remus blinked. He’d been so distracted with these dreams he’d nearly forgotten how he’d planned his week. “I suppose…” He grinned again. “If it’s passed peer review…” Logan grinned back at him and Remus shrugged. “I live nearby, if you’d like to witness the first field test.”

Logan stood and offered his hand, smiling down at Remus with the reflected midday sun sparkling in his eyes. “I’d be honored.” 

~

They picked up some gado gado on their way back to Remus’ apartment. “Hope you don’t mind a bit of a walk,” he looked up at the darkened lamp in the hall that meant the building’s power was out. “I’m up on the tenth floor.”

Chuckling, he straightened his glasses, an endearing, familiar little gesture that stole Remus’ breath. “My apartment is on the 16th,” he winked. “I’ll race you up.”

Head thrown back in a laugh, Remus shook his head. “I hardly think that’s a fair fight. I’ve got my baby here,” he said, looking down at his motor.

“That sounds like the excuse of a man who knows he’s beat,” Logan smirked and started up the stairs.

Jogging carefully past him, Remus murmured near his ear. “We could always find another way to test our stamina.”

“We could,” he said, passing him on the stairs, taking three steps at a time. He waited for Remus on the landing. When he was still two steps down, Logan blocked the way and leaned close to brush a kiss against his cheek. “I can think of several effective exercises,” he whispered.

“Oh you can?” Remus muttered, stepping closer.

Logan took the crate from his hands and set it gently in the corner of the landing before pulling Remus up the last step. “I certainly can,” he whispered, pressing him against the wall.

Remus’ hands came up to curl through Logan’s hair, silk between his fingers. “Show me, Lo,” he whispered before capturing his lips in a kiss.

Logan's fingers laced together at the back of his neck, first pulling him closer, then wasting no time exploring and tasting his mouth. Logan's mouth was warm and… and known. Remus drew his hands through Logan's hair, playing at the sensitive spot at the base of his skull and just behind his ear. Logan reacted, melting against him, and Remus hummed triumphantly into their kiss.

“Lo,” Remus murmured when he broke away, breathless and mouthing across his jaw and down his neck. “Please…” He didn’t know what he was asking for. Logan left a trail of kisses down to his open collar, then tugged, skillfully unfastening the next three buttons.

“That’s better,” he whispered against Remus’ skin, mouthing across his collarbone and down his sternum.

Then Logan froze.

“You’re fucking married?”

“What?” Remus’ eyes flew open and he clutched the matching rings hanging from his neck. “No, Logan, I…” He shook his head and licked his lips. Remus opened his mouth, but nothing came out. How the fuck could he explain?

“What kind of creep do you think I am?” Logan scoffed, shaking his head. He stared at Remus like he was something he’d stepped in. “Pergi sana. I hope you treat your spouse better someday,” he spat and ran down the stairs.

“No!” Shaking himself from his stupor, Remus started after him. “Logan, wait! Please, I—”

“Follow me and I’ll mace you,” he called from the next landing down. “Fuck off.”

1981, March 28 - Astoria, New York City, United States

“Yeah, Ro,” Remus nodded, stretching the phone cord just enough to fill the coffee pot half-way with water. He dumped in the water and hit brew, tapping impatiently as coffee slowly trickled into the carafe. “Yeah, I’ll be there for Virge’s party. I’m grabbing coffee then I need to stop by Kids R Us for one more thing.” And the post office, he reminded himself, the Post-it notes plastered over the refrigerator mapping out his plan for the world he’d woken to this morning. “Then I’m headed right to your place.”

“He really doesn’t need more toys,” Ro laughed. 

Janus’ voice purred faintly in the background just as the coffee maker stopped percolating. The suddenly hushed kitchen let him hear Janus perfectly. “If he insists, tell him to get that new Millenium Falcon set.” His voice erupted in laughter and Patton’s got louder while Ro laughed along. Remus could imagine him crowding close to the phone.

“Don’t listen to him, Remus,” he said in that sweetly stern voice. “The Kiddo’s got everything he needs. Just bring yourself. He misses his uncle.”

Guilt tugged at his chest, claws dull but impossible to ignore. He’d bailed the last three times they’d invited him over. “I’ll be there,” he promised, filling a thermos with coffee. “And tell Janus I’m not buying the Millenium Falcon,” he added, his laughter petering out at the flash of a dream. Memory?

Tightening the cap on our thermos, my head tilts to the side and I narrow my eyes  as Lo gives an impassioned defense for a $189 Lego set.

“Look at the attention to detail!” he grins, flipping the box over and letting the enormous thing rest against the edge of the toy shelf. “The floor panels pop off just like they did in the film, and they’re specially made to fit the dimensions of the figures.”

“Lo,” I chuckle, looping one arm around his waist and reading the product description over his shoulder. “Virge is about to be five.” I nuzzle his cheek and point to the age range printed on the box. “Thirteen to ninety-nine. He’s way too young for this. How about the Brainy Smurf kit instead?”

“Oh,” Lo grins, oh-so-slyly placing the box in our shopping car. “I did not intend this as a present for Virgil. I thought we might enjoy it.”

“Hey, Re?” His brother’s voice sounded far away. “You still there?”

“Uh, yeah, Ro,” Remus shook his head and unscrewed the thermos cap to take a long draw of the coffee. “Yeah, sorry, just getting ready. See ya in a couple hours. Bye, Ro. Love ya.”

~

A giant Toys R Us shopping bag hooked on one arm and the little green certified mail slip clutched in his other hand, Remus fidgeted as he waited in line at the post office. They were backed up, the latest budget cuts knocking out two counters, leaving one harried postal worker to manage the line that spilled out the door. Remus had started back there, just under the awning and, an hour and a half later, was finally next in line.

“Next,” the guy behind the counter called and Remus hurried forward. He passed the slip under the plexiglass barrier and started to fish out his wallet for his ID. “Be right back,” he muttered.

The guy returned less than a minute later, gave his ID a cursory glance—fuck, where was this guy back in high school?—and passed him a thin envelope with a bright green Certified Mail sticker. “Sign here,” he said, shoving a four-part form his way. Remus got the weird puce-looking copy and the guy called out, “Next!” while Remus was still processing the return address on the envelope.

New York City Department of Health Office of Vital Records

The back of the envelope was imprinted with one of those fancy embossed labels. Official seal - Birth and Death Records.

What the fuck?

“Do you mind?” the little old lady behind him in line nudged him and he nodded.

“Yeah, sorry, Ma’am,” he muttered and found a mostly quiet corner in the last bank of P.O. boxes and set the toy bag on the floor between his feet, then ripped open the envelope.

It contained three thin slips of paper. The first was a carbon copy of a records requisition form, signed in his own looping cursive. He held the form up to the light, then ran his fingers over the faint imprint. That was definitely his signature. When the fuck had he ordered records from the Department of Health?

The other two pieces of paper were, as advertised, a birth and a death certificate. Both were for a Logan Sanders, born November 3, 1959, died October 1, 1971.

Lo?

Couldn’t be the same Logan. This kid died over a decade ago. He woulda been… not even twelve years old yet. Remus scanned the form, squinting at the tiny print at the very bottom. Cause of death: [ x ] Accidental 

“Well that doesn’t fucking tell me anything,” he muttered. The guy at the other end of the row of mailboxes fumbled his keys and Remus pulled himself together enough to think about what a 6’ tall guy with green hair and a leather jacket dropping f bombs in the middle of the post office must look like. “Sorry, man,” he shrugged with an attempt at a smile. It felt like a death grimace. “Mail.”

Tempted to shove the whole envelope and cryptic certificates into his back pocket and booking it, he took a breath and carefully refolded them before tucking the envelope in a zipper pocket on his MC. He finished the last of his coffee, picked up Virge’s present, and headed out. Ro’s place was only three stops down on the N train. He’d be there in no time.

#Decoherence #ts logan #ts remus #intrulogical #Logan Sanders #Remus Prince #ts roman #ts patton #ts janus #ts virgil #ts lucas #Roman Prince #Patton Hart #Janus Pater #Lucas Sanders #Roman Sanders #Janus Sanders #Patton Sanders #Virgil Sanders #for the character tags #human au #alternate universes #physics #tssstorytimesubmission2023 #tss storytime 2023 #sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #sanders sides fanfic

[askaalaska-vdeppressed]

The Path of Life Is Filled with Zany Bards Ch8

Sooo

Yeah, This is kinda short I had to get back in the groove of writing this story hope you enjoy (also i'll probably update Broken but Golden too as a prize for second place)

Masterlist

 Summer had rolled on steadily week by week. Being farther north meant the heat was not so intense as to cause one to suffer, only discomfort. It was mildly frustrating in a way. The heat was enough to be uncomfortable and make one not want to venture outside of a breezy shaded spot, however it was not reasonably hot enough to use as an excuse. You circumnavigated this as best you could by trying to spend any time you needed to outside early in the morning. Which was how you found yourself creeping up the path to the stables in a barely visible morning light.

A blue calm shrouded your surroundings. Mist or fog rather sat still in the high grass of the fields. Insects and creatures starting there day as you did, proclaiming there songs into the silent morning atmosphere. Swift work was made of extracting two horses from their stalls—the grey draft for yourself and the sassy roan that Faye preferred. You tied them out by the posts and diligently set about bounding them in the leather and wool of blanket and saddle, pondering all the while your new found friendship with Faye.

She was one of Addisons daughters who happened to be near your age. You had found her to be incredibly comforting for a stranger. Addison had scolded her on your first meeting—when she had proclaimed rather bluntly that your coco and taupe colored dress made you look like a molded piece of bread. Her father had just stood there aghast for a moment before beginning to berate her, only for your laughter to cut him off. It was nice having someone say what they truly thought to you with no hesitation. Genuine people had been few in and far to come by in the wealthy circles your family danced in.

You had quickly found a repour with Faye and you ended up giving her the dress as a gift in jest. She had even proclaimed she would wear it someday.

“I’ll save it for something special” she had commented as she had held up the garment. “I can’t save it for your wedding since your already married, but perhaps if we ever have a party” You giggled as she folded the dress to be put away

“You can be the prettiest mold in the room” you retorted.

“Damn right!” She had turned to you, a grin, cheeky as could be filled her face.

Lost in your work and mind you failed to notice the girl sneaking up behind you until two hands gabbed at your waist, causing a curt and clipped yell to pass your lips.

“Faye you-“

“Just making sure you’re awake” She innocently replied, sauntering over to the other side of her horse.

“Can’t have my favorite boss falling off and getting mud in her hair or gasp even her clothes, we only have so much soap in the house.” Caught up in her teasing she had failed to notice you had taken a large flake of hay. Waiting for her to finished before throwing it up in the air and coating her in pieces of straw and grass.

“You little!” She didn’t have time to finish the insult as you hopped on your steed and began galloping away from her. Laughter filling the morning sunrise, as you rode off through the field. The sound of hooves thumping behind you became louder as she chased in pursuit. When she finally was neck and neck with you, you laughed even harder. The straw so thoroughly ingrained in her hair that it clung to her still as the wind whipped it about too and fro.

For just a glimmer of a fraction of a moment you weren’t a wealthy countess, or a reluctant wife or a successful trader. You were just a girl, smiling and laughing with a friend in the morning sun. Just this little moment of carefree splendor, it made you think perhaps that it would all be okay. Maybe not today or the next, but someday it would end up being all right.  You could live with that you supposed.

~

“Y/n I don’ know about this, you know me and I don’t really fit in with these sophisticated types.” Faye had whined in your ear as the carriage pushed nearer and nearer your old home. You had been invited for a party to commemorate the summer solstice by your parents, and you had readily accepted it. Your older sister—who you had not seen in some time—would be in attendance with your first niece and her husband in tow. You had never actually met her husband, you had been away for business purposes, going in place of your father since he needed to be in attendance at the wedding.

Excited at the prospect of seeing your family and new niece, but reluctant to face your family alone you had strong armed Faye into attending with you.

“It’s okay Faye, you won’t have to leave my side. Just sit, look stoic and I’ll answer everything for you, it’s honestly what they would expect from you if you were my real maid.” You had come up with  a simple story to sneak Faye in with you. She was your personal maid—hired by Julian to keep you well and happy while he was away.

Julian

Your mind flicked over to his face in your memory. The bright and striking eyes. The way the light of the morning sun had bounced of his hair the morning you’d said your goodbyes. You wondered what he was doing now? Sleeping in to stay up late for his next performance? Playing merrily in a town square for any who would pass by on the way to there errands? Perhaps he was simply walking in the woods on his way to the next adventure.

Yes you could picture that. The gentle sway in his step as he walked through brush and bramble. The freckles of light plunging down from the tress playing every so carefully with his countenance. Plucking out a tune to keep himself company as he went along. With only the forest and it’s inhabitance as his audience.  And perhaps the creatures of the woods would stop a moment just to listen to him.

It occurred to you that Julian hadn’t actually played for you before he left. For all you knew he was dreadful at it. But, it seemed unlikely to you. Julian just seemed the type to have art weaved in his soul.

During all of your reminiscing your face had gone sour. Deep creases framing your furrowed brows as you stared into the seat of the carriage.

“Are you alright? You look like you want to throw up and scream at the same time?” Faye had asked in her blunt as always fashion. It snapped you out of your mind fog.

“I’m okay, just…” You looked out at the scenery, turning back ever so surely to the moss and greenery you grew up around.

“….missing home I suppose”

#jaskier fic #jaskier x reader #jaskier x y/n #jaskier #slow burn

[fangirlstorycreator]

The Legend Of The Lost Princess ♡ Chapter 17

"Hey, hey Y/N, its morning" You feel a hand gently nudge you awake, and hear the sound of Taligaros voice, he's calm and quiet, not startling you as you wake up. "Is it sunrise already?" You ask in a groggy voice "I'm afraid it is Y/N. Come on, I've saved you some fruit from breakfast, lucky I did actually, Jareth and Blackwall were fighting over who could get the fresher strawberries. I swear those 2 are driving me insane" You chuckle as you sit up in bed to face him. "Its like those 2 are siblings, always winding eachother up" "Your right, you know, being the only woman in the group, you could always use your feminine authority over them if they get to much to handle" "My feminine authority? What even is that Tal?" "Oh come on you know? If guys are all fighting and they hear the firm tone of a strong woman, they'll behave almost instantly. It's like their being scolded by their mother again" "As much as I agree with you, I'm not quite sure I need to do that"

Just as soon as you say that, you and Tal can hear Jareth and Blackwall squabbling over the last bowl of blueberries. "I picked them Blackwall, their mine!" "I dont see your name on them" "How can I write my name of blueberries?!" "I don't know, your capable of being a complete dochebag so why couldn't you write your name on fruit?!" Taligaro looks back at you with a smirk "Alright, maybe I dont need to do that, yet" "Well at least your thinking about it" You both chuckle, then he says "Alright, I'll let you get dressed, see you out there" He moves out of the tent while you get dressed, and when your all finished and packed your tent away, you put your things on Maximus and Taligaro hands you the fruit he saved. He was very kind to you, and he was always able to make you smile, how did he do that? After your awful life before you were an adult, you never thought you'd find even a shred of happiness afterwords, and yet, Taligaro was more than a shred.

Everyone got packed and mounted their horses, as you double checked the map and made your way out of the forrest. It was early in the morning, and you could hear the sound of bird song, see the light streaking in through the leaves of the trees, and little mice and rabbits running around in the distance, being able to hear the crunch of leaves under their tiny feet, it was lovely. "Hey Y/N" Logan shouts from his horse behind you "How far till we're out of this forest?" "According to the map, we should be reaching the edge of the forest any second. Well, the edge of THIS forest at least" "THIS forest? What do you mean?" Blackwall chimes in "Don't you remember Logan? We have to go through the forbidden forest, over the lake of mists and onwards to the black mountains" "Yeh I remember, but I thought THIS was the forbidden forest" Cael chuckles slightly "If this was the forbidden forest, one of us would probably be dead by now, or hunted down by something that lurks within" "Your just playing with me Cael"

"Yeh well that's what one guy thought too. He was warned by everyone he knew not to go there, and to prove them wrong, he even decided to make his own home inside the forest. He was a snooty rich lord and had the money to do it, so he got his servants to build this elaborate White House there, and he was able to live there for about 3 weeks with no problems" "3 weeks?" "Yeh, it was how long he stayed there believing he was right. One day he invited his rich friends over to see his house, they were very impressed and decided to bring back more people the next day. Thinking it was just rumours about the forest, they thought they could demolish the forest and make even more houses for the rich people. However... the very next day when they came back, the lord was nowhere to be seen. The house looked like a stampede had been through it, all the furniture was ripped up and smashed to pieces. And the only thing they could find of the lord, was his single finger wearing his ring, in a pool of blood"

This story was really freaking out Jareth, but Logan was only a little creeped out. "As if!" He says trying to act tough. "Noone ever went back to the lords house again, in fear of upsetting what ever laid in wait, and stopping themselves meeting the same fate" Taligaro tuts and turns his head back to look at them. "Alright that's enough you guys, we're nearly out of this forest if you stoped telling tales and looked ahead" Doing as he said, everyone looked infront as the beautiful green hills of the land came into view, watching the sun dance against the land in different shapes as the clouds formed and changed in the sky.

You stop Maximus as everyone finaly exits the forest. "Right, according to the map, the forbidden forest is to the west of us, so it should be right over....there..." You say feeling nervous through your sentence. It was a completely different scene to the path ahead of you. Instead of sunshine and freedom, the sky was dark and heavy as it loomed over the black trees of the forbidden forest. It was almost like dark magic made it look so much more menacing, your stomach turned at the sight of it.

Jareth lets out a nervous laugh "Are we seriously going in there? Please tell me we're not going in there" Blackwall pulls up his horse beside him, patting Jareth firmly on the back. "What's the matter Jareth? You scared?" "What?! Me?! No no I'm not scared, I just uhh, think maybe there could be another way round?" You look at the map, and unfortunately there isnt another way. "Sorry Jareth, this is our only path. Just stick close together in there and we'll be alright" Your first to trot off with Maximus, Taligaro and his men following behind you along with Blackwall, and Logan. Jareth still looks visibly shaken, Cael says to him "Come on Jareth, it's just a forest, let's get this over with eh? They were just stories I told you" "Uhhh yeh...let's...get this over with..." Everyone enters the forest, bidding farewell to the sunlight, and into the shadows....

#thomas ian griffith #sensei targaryen #general taligaro #general taligaro x reader

[wynilthyrii]

Scars and Souvenirs

A gray sliver of dawn appeared through the trees that lined the road through the Everlight. For a few moments, she watched that slice of sky shift its color, growing lighter with the sunrise. A mist hung thick and heavy, as was common this time of year, threading through the trees the same as it would hang over the markets at the township, at the Reprieve, as it would drape itself over still-rebuilding Whiteblade and lay like velvet over the fields outside of Anu’shalah.

Thoughts tangled, images from the previous night’s nightmare mingled with the conversations of previous days. The argument with Tyr. The discussion with a stranger near the steps. Then Aison Bloodwrath the previous night, with a ranger’s teasing to break the brittle ice that might have settled without it. Maybe that had been the spark that set the fuse that led to the terrors that had plagued her sleep.

“You’re quieter than usual for a morning you’ve asked me to ride with you,” her companion ventured softly. Tenebre sat easily in her saddle, body swaying with her mount, bow hanging from a hook near her knee. The ranger watched her for a few seconds, then glanced away, tracking the motion of one of her foxes as it veered off toward the edge of the road to investigate something, only to return a moment later.

Wyn noticed, too. “Anything?”

Tenebre shook her head. “No. So what is it?”

She winced. “Just a lot on my mind, I think.”

“Ah, well. Join the club, there.” A wry smile curved her lips, then faded. “So what piece is it? The thing that has Tess wargaming, the fight that no one is supposed to know you had with Tyr, or something else? Sleeping giants stirring?”

Wyn winced again. “How did you know about—”

“Ardus is worried,” Tenebre said, her voice even even as her tone remained light but almost wry. “When it comes to the two of you he falls into that brotherly role pretty easily. His only saving grace is that he didn’t inherit the same drive to fix things for everyone all the time.”

“I don’t do that. Not all the time.”

“Only sometimes,” Tenebre agreed. “So is it that, or…?”

“No,” she said. “Not just that, anyway. “More than that, and less. It’s a lot of things.” Wyn paused, eyes roaming across the road ahead of them. They’d clear this section of the forest soon, emerge into fields near the lake. “Maybe it’s just the weight crashing back down again.”

Tenebre was silent for a few seconds at her side, following her gaze. The forest grew lighter as the sun climbed into the sky. “I don’t know. It seems like the balls are in the air.”

“For now,” Wyn said softly. “I was talking to someone yesterday about the Order. Something he said…I don’t know. It just brought everything back. The choices you try to make to make things better until suddenly there’s no more choices—the choices are all bad.”

“Service teaches us to obey orders in those situations,” Tenebre said quietly. “And command teaches us to make them and damn what it might do to us.”

“I can’t let the Order turn into some kind of meat-grinder again, Tenebre. But that almost seems secondary to here, to this place and these people. And at the same time, what kind of person would I be if I stood back and just let the old patterns take hold again?”

“Not the person any of us know you are.”

The brush thinned. The gray light of a misty dawn folded around them. Tenebre nudged her horse closer, reached across the gap to squeeze her knee.

“I had nightmares last night,” Wyn said, her voice barely audible over the sounds of the mist-shrouded wood. “My mother. The war. The aftermath. That—all of it.” She swallowed hard, closing her eyes for a second. “If he hadn’t been there this morning, I’d have woken up screaming.”

Tenebre’s fingers tightened a little more on her knee before she let go. “You’re not the only one with nightmares like that. More of us have them than don’t, I think. It’s…it’s another part of what we are, I guess. Part of the kind of life we live. I think…” her voice trailed away.

The silence lingered for long enough that Wyn began to wonder if the Farstrider by her side would say anything at all, would finish the thought. She nearly told her that it was all right, that it was just that she needed to wrestle with some things, to sort through them, and all would be well. It was perhaps only half a lie.

But Tenebre eventually continued, as they cleared the edge of the forest and began up the road that curved toward the lake and the Caverns, green grass rising on either side of the road. “I think the fact that some of us find a way to keep on, to keep trying to make it all better than it was for us for those that come after—it’s good. Maybe it’s not all good for us, but it’s good. It’s something. Somehow it’ll make a difference even if it doesn’t make everything worth it.”

The nod came slowly, but it came nonetheless. Wyn reached across to squeeze her arm, then let go, turning her attention back to the road, to the stillness and quiet around them.

”There’s more coming,” Wyn said, her voice nearly inaudible.

”I know,” Tenebre answered. “There always is.”

Somehow, the way she said it didn’t leave her stomach clenching or her blood cold. It was just an acknowledgement. Not something to fear, to run from.

It simply was.

Just another thing that would leave them bent, but not broken—or, if broken, remade. Perhaps it had always been that way, would be that way, until cycles were broken.

They’d already broken one. How many more would there be?

“Thanks, Tenebre,” Wyn murmured.

“Yeah,” the ranger said softly. “Of course. Anytime. You all right?”

“I will be,” Wyn said, one corner of her mouth quirking toward a smile. “Probably. Eventually.”

Tenebre laughed. “The story of our lives.”

Wyn grinned, then kicked her horse into a trot. Tenebre kicked hers into a gallop, setting off across the dew-damp grass.

Laughing, letting go of some of the weight, Wyn followed.

#wyrmrest accord #wra #world of warcraft #wyn ilthyrii #fiction #horde #sin'dorei #quel'thalas #rp #Everlight #Blood Knights #Age of Blood #Wanderers #Dawnglory county

[sky-limits]

[twwm] shaka prompt 1 - sea

What I had been...

Waves crash outside the house, slowly lapping up the sand of the sea's shore like a kitten and a bowl of milk. The wild outer waves were rough, loud, foaming, while the ones that crept onto the beach snuck in like thieves, invisible titans sticking their fingers onto dry land after digging themselves from the deep.

I sat inside, listening to the gentle lull and thrum, the lub-dub, lub-dub heartbeat of the earth. Our home was cozy, and quiet. You get used to the roar of the waves after a while, the calling of the sea rocking you to sleep.

My wife walks into the room, hands wrapped around two mugs, and hands me one. Her white hair hangs loose from the tie she keeps it in, and I tuck it in for her when she sits next to me.

We exchange no words in this evening ritual of ours. It is simply us, our skin, kissed by salty air, and the drinks in our cups. She leans against me, and I hold her. I've never felt something like this, not before I met her and not after she was gone.

I press a gentle kiss to the top of her head, and take our mugs inside. Our house sits a little ways above the beach itself, on a small cliff. The stilts keep us protected from an erroneous tides, and the wood, worked by ourselves, keeps us warm.

As I am washing, my old hands roughened by years of ocean water, I watch my wife. She tilts her head to the sky, eyes closed like the clouds speak to her only then. I know she finds poetry in the way the world is, and I love her for it.

I loved her the night I first met her, on this beach, head back to the clouds like she is now. I asked her what she was looking at, and she answered: "The albatross's sigh." I had no idea what it meant then, and I still don't now.

But she lassoed me with her spirit that day, drew me in, and I stayed. Our hair had faded, salt and pepper for me, and white for her, but the spark in her chestnut brown eyes never went away. She was full of the words of the world, and seemed to speak them through fingers that danced when she wrote.

I had only been living here on these islands for a short while, born elsewhere and given a home. It took a time to be accepted, to not be seen as an outsider, but she held me through it.

Now, we had built ourselves a comfortable life. I went outside, took her hand, and started to dance. We stepped together to the whirling of tidepools, and soon to bed.

In the morning, I strode out onto the beach in the early morning light, stretching my back. The sunlight feels good on my skin, freshly awoken as it tends to be in the hours of sunrise. Then I sent off down the beach.

My feet carry me lightly along, sand brushing up in between my toes, as I bend down to save mollusks and sea stars, washed up in the uproarious tide of the night prior. I toss them back into the waves, hopefully to settle in a more secure place this time. I watch as clamshells and oysters hit the ground of the seabed gently, with a light explosion of sand around it as it sinks down. This is my morning routine, spending time with the mist and the sea, saving those immovable creatures who cannot save themselves.

Eventually though, one of our dogs runs up to me. A shaggy, fur-covered bundle bowls me over into the surf, excited tongue covering my face in sloppy wet kisses. "Lucy!" I'm laughing, soaking wet, and trying to wrestle myself out from under my large dog, when the smaller one trots up beside, propping his paws on my chest. "Hi, Vincent." Lucy takes this cue and hops away, bounding into the surf and barking at the birds. Vincent pads at my heels, nosing at shells and flipping them over to check for creatures.

I look back to my house, and my wife is standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips with a smile on her face. Her dress sways in the early morning breeze, framing her like a white candle flame against the burning orange of the horizon. I remember when we started aging, she was worried I wouldn't love her, her skin not as youthful as it had been. I held her face in my hands, perfect, and told her I'd love her now, in the future, and always.

It never mattered to me what she looked like, truly. I had never had eyes for anyone but her - no matter how old we got. She is beautiful to me, wrinkles and crows feet and laugh lines that tell the story of her life, her skin containing the memory of everything she has been through.

I wave to her, and call the dogs, and walk back to our home. They settle beside us on the porch, and I hold my wife to me, whispering to her words like the ocean waves at low tide, soft and gentle and loving. We sip hot coffee as the sun rises more and more, surrounded by the crash and roar of the waves, and the love that has bound us since we first met.

#shaka origin prompts #twwm #sky's words

[abhiquarius]

Mokokchung binds my soul like a rubber band to a pony tail hair

What’s the best part about living in a hill station? Is it the fresh air, the ideal temperature of the sun, the dramatic landscapes or the journey up the hairpin roads altogether? It’s pretty much everything that’s mentioned. Just a presence of calm and tranquillity does the trick to healing you inside out. And one such destination soaring up the mountains in Nagaland is Mokokchung which I proudly call my home. It is only when you leave your hometown for a city you realize what you missed. I long to travel back just to sit by the hillside and watch the sunrise and hear the local roosters cluck. So, dear readers, let me give you an insight into my hometown and what you can do there and when.

While it may take time to remember the name, I certainly took months to remember. It is not as difficult as it may seem. I’ve often come across people from mainland India who find it hard to pronounce. Here is a trick, the construction of the words can be broken into three parts, Mo - Kok - Chung. Mo - Kok means unwillingly and the word Chung involves a group of people. Altogether making Mokokchung, referring to a group of settlers who departed unwillingly from their area. Mokokchung is populated by the Ao tribe. It is one of the 16 major tribes in Nagaland. Every tribe has its own dialect and the people from Mokokchung speak the Ao language being a local language of communication.

The journey is an alright one if not perfect. I prefer an overnight bus ride from Guwahati, Assam but trains and flights make it easier from Dimapur, Nagaland saving time and money. The moment you enter the gate to Nagaland, lush green forest and gurgling streams will accompany you. As you ascend, beautiful landscape will appear out of a thick mist. While the view can be appealing, the roads are not kind. As a mountain destination, you are bound to find sharp turns and rocky roads at certain parts. But travelling to Mokokchung can be a little intense. Some parts of the road can be narrow and mostly gravel with potholes. While other parts can be like this image, isn’t it lovely.

Mokokchung glitters with lights and music every season you visit. It will tickle pink you after you see happy faces during festivals. If you have not experienced exotic festivals as I have then you are losing a big deal. I remember eating steamed rice with pork and boiled beans on a banana leaf spread on a stretched table with a group of people during the Moatsu Festival. This act shows brotherhood. It is celebrated to honour Lijaba who is the creator of the earth to appeal for his divine sanction in the cultivation. The main annual festival of Mokokchung is Christmas that brings great joy and tradition. It is an occasion of cakes and doughnuts that are exchanged among friends, neighbours and families.

Winter adds a whole new filter in the town, with its biting cold mornings to the starlit sky and the culture-filled Hornbill Festival. It is a one-stop festival to witness Northeastern’s culture, traditions, cuisine and clothes. Hornbill Festival is held every first week of December in Kisama Heritage Village approx 6 hours from Mokokchung and near Kohima. The best part is, it is free to enter but the seats are on first come bases. The village is filled with stalls with clothes, food and local beer to savour. If you are not a huge meat consumption, you’ll be at a loss because the stall mainly serves local Naga food; it is a state where non-vegetarian items like beef, fats, fish and pork are popularly served. Although, you will find a few vegetable items to consume like varieties of beans including Soya and other items like Pumpkins, bamboo shoot and dried yam leaves.

The lifestyle in Mokokchung is relaxing and walkable everywhere. With boutique shops, welcoming cafes, and hangout places not far from the main town, youngsters enjoy roaming around the town and nearby villages. However, the town does not have nightlife and the shops and restaurants close before sundown. Although after my 2020 visit to Mokokchung, many hip restaurants have come up attending to students and adults needs. My favourite restaurant to hangout is Bambusa and Urban Hub Cafe.

Getting to Mokokchung

By Air: The nearest airport to Mokokchung is Dimapur at a distance of about 212 km and Jorhat about 105 km. You can find daily flights to these airports from all over India with layovers in Guwahati or Kolkata.

By Train: The closest railway station to Mokokchung is Mariani, Assam at a distance of about 85 km. However, Dimapur is the only railway junction in Nagaland but it is quite far from Mokokchung as compared to Mariani. It is convenient to get down in Guwahati as well and get an overnight bus that’ll drop you in Mokokchung the next morning.

By Road: Mokokchung is well-connected by road from Assam. However, National Highway number 61 running from Kohima to Amguri crossing Wokha, Mokokchung, Changtongya and Tuli is a common route to travel within the state. The Nagaland State Transport (NST), as well as shared taxis, are common means of transport on this route covering a distance of 162 km from Mokokchung to Kohima.

[tallstars-rewrite]

Chapter 4

chapter list / previous / next

“Hold still!” Briarkit held Tallkit’s paw between his, trying to lick out the piece of thistle caught in the pad.

“You don’t have to worry about it.” Tallkit mumbled.

“I told you, I don’t mind. I think I've gotten good at it, and I know you don’t like asking.”

Tallkit looked away sheepishly. It was true that he didn’t want to bother anyone with thorns, mostly because he was embarrassed about it. If he couldn’t stand up to thistles, stones were going to be even worse. He winced at the drop of blood that leaked from the wound once and tried to hide his sour expression. Sandstone said WindClan tunnelers' paws rarely bled, but Tallkit’s soft pink pads picked up thorns and sharp stones constantly, especially when he tried to practice digging.

Tallkit curled his long tail anxiously around his hind paws as he glanced back at the nursery. “You know, lately I've started to feel like Heatherstar and my father don’t like each other much...Do you think that will make Heatherstar not like me? Will it make my apprenticeship harder?” I’m already afraid it’s going to be hard as it is at this rate...

“I don’t know how they feel about each other, but I’m sure Heatherstar’s not like that.” Briarkit said. “What reason could some cat have for not liking you? There, the thistles out now and it's not bleeding much anymore. Hawkheart told me all you have to do is keep it clean, so just be careful where you walk.”

Tallkit rolled his eyes. “You sound like Brackenwing sometimes. I don’t know why you like Hawkheart so much. He’s so prickly!” 

“Hawkheart is really smart!” Briarkit protested, “He’s not so bad...well, ok, he’s not the nicest, but he does his best for all of us. He’s the one who taught me how to deal with my own thorns.” Briarkit stood and gestured for him to follow with a flick of his short tail. “Now come on, some of the warriors said we could see the inside of their den.

Lilywhisker was waiting to guide them inside with an impatient Shrewkit. Fallowkit and Fawnkit were busy being scolded by their mother for snooping through the Heatherstar’s nest uninvited.

“Don’t mess up any of the nests,” Lilywhisker warned, “Larkflower will not be pleased with you.” 

“Or us for that matter,“ mewed a muffled voice. Tallkit perked up as Dawnstripe and Appledawn padded into the den

“Dawnstripe!” He chirped, rushing to bump his head against the moor runner’s foreleg. A large vole dangled from her jaws.

“Hiya kittens,” Dawnstripe purred, “You all behave yourself, we’re not really supposed to let you see inside here, but only because the other warriors are out. So don’t get us in trouble by scratching up anyone’s bedding or leaving prey bits on the nests.” She gave Tallkit a wink “I won’t mess up anything!” he said quickly, “I’ll sit still.”

Dawnstripe laughed, “I’m sure you won’t, Tallkit.”

“Suck up!” Shrewkit whispered. Tallkit ignored him.

 Appledawn, a stout rosey-cream colored molly trotted up with a rabbit haunch. She lay the prey next to Lilywhisker, who nodded in greeting to the two mollys. 

“Good hunting for this weather?” Lilywhisker asked with a large yawn.

Appledawn shook some hanging frost from her soft pelt “Oh Lily, it’s absolutely beautiful out this morning! You should have seen the sunrise from the high moor. It's all foggy from the cold and the way the sun reflected off the mist, I almost couldn’t focus on the hunt.”

“Almost couldn’t focus, luckily I got her eyes torn away from the sky long enough to sniff out the prey.” Dawnstripe said as she placed her vole on the ground. “I know the hind legs are your favorite so we were sure to save you a bit.”

“You two have been so sweet. You know you haven’t been apprentices for several moons now, you don’t always have to worry about bringing me prey first.” Lilywhisker purred.

“But now we can just because we want to!” Appledawn grinned. She started to sit, then suddenly jumped up again before her hind quarters had even touched the ground. “Oh, I almost forgot, I promised Larkflower I’d go on the next patrol to cover for Meadowbreeze. Sorry I can’t stay, but I’ll see you later!” Appledawn gave Lilywhisker and Dawnstripe a brisk lick between the ears before bouncing off as fast as she’d come. 

“She hasn’t settled down a bit since becoming a warrior, has she?” Lilywhisker said with a shake of her head to smooth down the fur Appledawn had ruffled. 

Tallkit eyed a vole Dawnstripe had brought in. He had only eaten solid food once, still much preferring milk, but he didn’t want to turn down the offer. Palebird had told him firmly he was too old for milk. 

Dawnstripe noticed his gaze and nudged it towards him. “We caught this especially for you, you mentioned you’d never tried vole before, right?” 

Tallkit shook his head, flattered that the warrior had been thinking of him at all. Dawnstripe leaned down to help him tear into the soft flesh when he struggled with it, and both he and Briarkit settled down to eat while Shrewkit made a mess tearing the fur off a rabbit limb. 

“I missed the taste of rabbit. They’ve been scarcer than usual lately and I prefer to save them for the elders and queens.” Lilywhisker sighed, and then added, “Rather I miss being able to find them myself.”

Dawnstripe hummed sympathetically. “I hope the aches haven’t started up again.”

Lilywhisker shook her head “No worse than normal, it’s easier to ignore now. Hawkheart thinks it will improve more over time, and then I’ll at least be able to take longer walks on the moor.”

“It’ll take ages to find a rabbit hunter like you again. I don’t know how you did it, it’s like you read their minds above and below ground alike. You’ll have to give the kits tips when they start their training.”

Tallkit looked up briefly from his vole. “You hunted before? I thought you had always been the camp nurse.” 

He knew Lilywhisker spent a lot of time around camp since her limp hind leg made it hard for her to run. But it seemed so natural to have her around, he hadn’t thought of her ever doing anything else. 

Dawnstripe blinked at him “Of course, Lily was a very talented tunnel hunter. One of the best.”

Tallkit gaped at her “You were a tunneler? You never said!” 

Tallkit couldn’t recall the other tunnelers talking to her like they talked amongst themselves. Surely even if she didn’t tunnel anymore that shouldn’t have changed? tunnelers were such a close unit.

Lilywhisker smiled slightly “I don’t like to visit the tunnels much anymore. Doesn’t feel the same these days after my leg was broken.”

“What happened to your leg?”

Dawnstripe glanced between Tallkit and Lilywhisker. “Oh Tallkit, I don’t know if--”

“It’s alright Dawnstripe,” Lilywhisker said, “it’s natural for kits to be curious. These things happen. Tunneling isn’t always safe, Tallkit. Some moons ago after a bad rain, a tunnel I was working on collapsed on me.”

Tallkit simply stared at her in stunned silence. He knew the tunnels caved in sometimes but he didn’t know that they could hurt cats like that, or that you could get stuck under them. “But...couldn’t you have just tunneled back out of the dirt?”

Lilywhisker almost laughed. “Well, not really. In certain parts of the tunnels, you’re so far underground that the weight of the earth above you makes it dangerous. My leg was crushed, and it never fully healed.”

“I didn’t know…” he whispered.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to frighten you Tallkit.” Lilywhisker said gently. “I thought you would have known. Tunneling is dangerous work.” 

“What happened to the tunnel?” he whimpered.

“I believe they dug another one around it. I’m not sure. I don’t keep up on their projects.”

 He thought he detected a slight edge to her voice. Her tail flicked. Tallkit had more questions. How had it happened? Did Ryekit and her siblings know? His father said tunneling wasn’t dangerous if you knew what you were doing. Why wouldn’t he have mentioned cats could get so hurt tunneling? He looked at Lilywhisker’s leg, limp and stiff, scarred from where she dragged it across the earth. If that could happen to her leg, what else could happen? What if it hadn’t just been a leg, what if it had been worse? The questions burned inside him but he couldn’t bring himself to ask and readily nodded along when Dawnstripe offered to change the subject. 

Tallkit forced himself not to think about it. Being a warrior was about bravery. He wouldn’t face the tunnels alone. Maybe it was a surprise accident. Maybe as long as he didn’t go out alone in the rain it would be alright. He tried to reassure himself, feeling sure his father would warn him if there was anything to be worried about.

***

Tallkit had expected the day of Mistmouse’s kits ceremony to be relatively uneventful for him, but it seemed that was not going to be the case. Heatherstar called their ceremony right at dawn and Tallkit was content to roll over and go back to sleep until he felt Shrewkit’s paws incessantly batting at his nose. Tallkit swiped a bleary paw at him and opened one eye.

“What?” He whined in a hissing whisper so as not to awaken Palebird who he lay curled up beside him. “Is the ceremony over?”

“Yeah! And you’ll never guess what happened. Heatherstar decided to make all of them moor runners, and the tunnelers are bristling like hedgehogs!” Shrewkit said. “It’s kind of funny actually. Come on, but be quiet.”

“Huh?” Tallkit wasn’t awake enough to fully register it, but he tiptoed over his mothers tail and padded after Shrewkit. Brackenwing had gone to the ceremony leaving only Palebird in the den, so it wasn’t hard to get out unseen.

“What do you mean none of them?” Tallkit asked when they were safely outside. “Why would they all be moor runners? And how do you know, were you watching? You know we’re not old enough to be at the ceremonies or clan meetings!”

“Don’t be such a clean-paw!” shrewkit scoffed. “We wanted to watch, so we snuck out. It’s not like Brackenwing will actually care so long as we don’t interrupt.” 

Briarkit was still crouched in the grass some distance away from the meeting hollow below Tall Rock, waiting for his brother and Tallkit to catch up.

“What are they talking about now?” Shrewkit whispered.

“It’s hard to hear, but Plumclaw looks upset.” Briarkit replied

“You’re wriggling, stop hitting me with your stupid tail, Tallkit!” Shrewkit hissed. “Find somewhere else to put that thing!”

“Sorry.” Tallkit tucked his tail under him. The three kits where piled together with their heads poking out from behind a lichen covered stone.

“She gave Ryepaw to Larkflower,” Shrewkit whispered, “And Fawnpaw to Cloudrunner, and Fallowpaw got Aspenfall.”

“Aspenfall?”  Tallkit said in disbelief, “I can’t imagine him mentoring anyone. Why would Heatherstar even want him to?”

“Who knows, but Fallowpaw will surely be pleased. She thinks he’s the coolest cat in the clan.” Briarkit responded. 

The new apprentices and their mentors had left, but the clan was still clustered together into groups. Tallkit could tell even from this distance that several tunnelers didn’t look pleased. The kits dared to creep a bit closer to listen in.

“I just don’t see why all of them are training as moor runners when we have so many.” Crowfur, a scraggly black furred tunneler complained loudly to Heatherstar.

 “It feels like you want the whole of WindClan to be moor runners!” Plumclaw added, “A tunneler’s litter no less! Mistmouse, did you know about this?”

All of their eyes turned to the small dusty gray molly who had seated herself at the back of the crowd and was clearly trying to be unnoticeable. She looked between them with wide eyes.

“W-well I--” she stammered. “They...showed no interest in tunneling. It’s just...what I...um…” Her small voice gave out under so much attention. 

Hareflight, a tall stoic moor-runner who Tallkit heard was the sire of the litter, stepped up beside her. “I think they’re all more built for moor running. Maybe it’s just who they took after. It was the best thing to do for them.”

Sandstone flattened his ears “I’m sorry, but I recall you made it clear you didn’t intend to help raise those kits, so your opinion doesn’t really matter.”

“That’s hardly any of your business. They are my clanmates all the same so of course I think they should follow the path that’s best for them.” Hareflight replied firmly. “Mistmouse was part of the decision with Heatherstar and the council, and this is what was decided. That is all there is to say in the matter.” 

Tallkit couldn’t see Mistmouse’s expression from where they were. Had she really been the one to tell Heatherstar she didn’t want any of her kits to be tunnelers? 

Plumclaw looked at her fellow tunneler, hurt apparent on her face. 

“What? Misty, you wanted this? I thought you were so excited to teach your little ones to tunnel! We used to talk about it all the time!”

Mistmouse looked like she had lost her voice and was trying to duck behind Hareflight. Tallkit thought he saw her gaze travel across the clearing to where Lilywhisker lay, who had remained completely silent through the whole ordeal.

“Well, that was... before Leafshine.” Mistmouse mumbled.

Tallkit leaned closer. There was that name again that Ryepaw had mentioned. So that cat was important somehow in all this?

“You can’t mean to say you don’t trust us to keep our own safe?” Crowfur sounded dismayed.

Woollycloud stepped forward  “I’m sure that’s not what she means. What happened was a devastating loss to us all. Mistmouse, I know you and Leafshine were close, and StarClan knows I miss her more than anything. The wound is still fresh in all our minds. It may be disappointing for us, but there will be more kits. Perhaps when we’ve better stabilized the tunnels that we have.”

“But because of that accident, we have taken all the more precautions to make sure it never happens again!” Crowfur pointed out.

To Tallkit’s surprise, Hazelnose, a meek tawny-brown tunneler, and Crowfur’s son, stepped forward.

“But didn’t we think that before too, after the last time there was a collapse? I don’t think it’s fair to think Mistmouse doesn’t trust us, but...it’s true that tunneling isn’t as safe as it used to be. It’s dangerous work, and we’ve had...accidents.”

Sandstone’s neck fur began to bristle. “Of course you’d say that Hazelnose, you’ve been looking for every excuse to slow us down for moons. You and Mistmouse both! This is fear mongering! Everything about the life of a warrior involves sometimes taking risks, otherwise we’d be living with our lost cousins in the twoleg territory. It’s no more dangerous than anything else we do, at least not for the cats who actually know what they’re doing!”

Some cats flinched or gasped. Lilywhisker was on her feet, her lips curled in a snarl. Many cats started arguing over one another and it became hard again to make out what was being said from their vantage point. The kits ducked behind the rock as some cats stormed away from the meeting place.

 Tallkit heard his father shout, “Oh come now, you know what I really meant! Don’t put words in my mouth, It just means we need more cats carefully trained, not less. It’s only going to be harder to keep the tunnels safe without enough paws, and more moor runners who don’t know how to traverse around them!”

When Tallkit peeked out again, the clan had begun to disperse, many still murmuring crossly amongst themselves. Woollycloud was facing his father and whatever he was saying was cut off as Sandstone whipped around and stalked off. Woollycloud started after him but shook his head and turned away.

Sandstone was exiting the direction of the rock that the kits were bundled behind. 

Shrewkit leaped up. “Rats, he’s coming this way, scatter!”

They all started scrambling back towards the nursery, but Tallkit knew that Sandstone had already heard them before they did. He froze as he met Sandstone’s dark amber eyes. For a moment they were still alight with fury, but they softened a bit when they landed on his kit.

“I suppose you heard all that then?” Sandstone asked. 

Tallkit looked down at his paws. “I’m sorry, I know I’m not invited to clan discussion...I just wanted to know what happened.”

“A big mess is what happened,” Sandstone sighed and cast another glare over his shoulder. “I’m telling you, Mistmouse will regret that decision when her kits turn out just like the stuffy snob who sired them. Sure is a pity, son. I’d hoped you’d have someone to train with. But don’t worry, your tunnel mates are all the company you need. Looks like we’re all we can depend on these days. We’ll just have to work harder to make up for it.”

“Yeah...” Tallkit agreed, though he continued to look down.

He found himself struggling to share that resolve as his father padded away. Was he supposed to hold up the tunnelers all by himself? If Hazelnose and Mistmouse were struggling, and Palebird didn’t know when she’d be out tunneling again, that just left Woollycloud, Plumclaw, Crowfur, and Sandstone as the only other ones not retired.  It left so much on his shoulders... He began to feel the weight of the earth as if it were already hanging heavy over his head. And I don’t feel like I'm very good at it… he thought miserably, thinking of his past pitiful attempts at practice. How could he be safe in the tunnels if he didn’t feel like he knew what he was doing?

***

Later that evening, Tallkit was in the loose pile of soil his father had dug for him in a far corner of the nursery, nose in the dirt, desperately trying to scrape a deeper dug out. He couldn’t stop trying until he felt stronger. He had to be ready when he faced the real tunnels, or who knew what might happen? The sun was starting to sink, and the harsh orange light spilling into the den burned Tallkit’s eyes, only making his frustration worse. His claws ached as he sat back with a huff.

Something cold and sharp nicked him in the hind quarters. A small clod of snow and mud had bounced off his rump and rolled into his shallow hole. He spun around to see Shrewkit twitching his tail in annoyance.

 “Alright Wormkit we get it, you really like the mud, but are you gonna be here all day? I’m trying to practice my racing and Briarkit is slow as a snail!”

Briarkit glared at his brother as he caught up with him, clearly winded. “You keep changing the course! That’s why I fall behind!” 

Tallkit sighed. He really would rather be playing rabbit run around the camp. But instead he shook his head. “I don’t have time for kit games! I'm busy finishing this.”

Briarkit looked a little hurt and Shrewkit scoffed “what do you mean kit games? You’re younger than us!” “I have to be ready.” Tallkit mumbled as he continued scratching at the ground.

“You don’t look like you’re having much fun.” Briarkit mewed. “Just because we won’t always train together doesn’t mean we’ll never see each other.”

“Ugh, whatever. Have fun with the rocks.” Shrewkit turned and trotted away. Briarkit hesitated before following. Tallkit looked back at his friend with a sudden pang of guilt as the two kits walked away. He hadn’t hurt Briarkit’s feelings, had he?

“How has she been doing?” he heard a hushed voice from outside the den. Tallkit knew it was rude to listen in on conversations, but it was hard not to when he was so painfully bored. Craning his neck through the entrance, he saw three mollies huddled together a couple fox-lengths away.

“She’s been awfully quiet since the ceremony this morning.” Tallkit recognized Brackenwing’s voice.

 Mistmouse replied “I-I don’t know... I know Sandstone didn’t mean it like that, but I think she’s still angry at him. I heard it come up when she was talking to Woollycloud.”

“Have you spoken to her at all? You used to be so close.” Meadowbreeze, Mistmouse’s sister, spoke in a soft, concerned voice.

Mistmouse let out a little sigh. “I don’t know if she’d want to talk to me...She hasn’t talked much to me or Plumclaw...I know it’s been moons since Leafshine died, but I don’t think she’s ever really recovered from it.” She hesitated before adding quietly, “I don’t know if any of us have. Plumclaw refuses to even mention it, and I--”

Tallkit tried to inch closer to see. Mistmouse was hiding her face as Meadowbreeze curled her tail around her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was still so difficult.” Brackenwing murmured.

 Mistmouse shook her head “We must move on, I know we must, and I try to think that she would want us to. She used to love tunneling so much! But even now I can’t bear to go near the northern tunnel system. To think she’s still down there... Lilywhisker lost her leg in that tunnel collapse and we all lost even more with Leafshine. Tunneling has just... never been the same for me without her.”

“Don’t feel guilty for being afraid.” Brackenwing said, “It’s not even just Leafshine. Oakflower and Fawnfeather’s deaths weren’t so long ago either, and I’m sure Heatherstar hasn’t forgotten what happened to her mother all those moons ago. No reasonable cat could blame you for being nervous.”

There was that name again. Leafshine. The cat he only heard of in hushed whispers amongst the tunnelers. Is that what had happened? The accident Lilywhisker mentioned...It didn’t just hurt her, it had killed one of the tunnelers? Maybe multiple tunnelers? Cats really have died down there! 

Of course he knew warriors died sometimes. But somehow dying from the earth collapsing felt so much more terrible than anything else he could imagine. A cat could get help in battle, run away from a predator, but if the world around you simply decided to fall in, what could you do? What could any cat do? Tallkit couldn’t stop a mental image of what it would be like having heavy dirt walls close in on him, crush him as easily as he crushed a leaf under his paw. He felt sick with the thought, and the pain in his claws and feet seemed all the sharper.

chapter list / previous / next

#chapter 4 #FRU4

[shittybundaskenyer]

✹ ▬   𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐃

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈.   — 𝓖𝓻𝓲𝔃𝔃𝓵𝓲𝓮𝓼 𝓔𝓪𝓼𝓽      |     𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏  — The Goddess of War, Morrigan Marlowe I.

pairing: Arthur Morgan x Morrigan Marlowe (OC)

summary: She saved him and with that he saved her in return. It was a strange symbiosis, like wildflowers in a fruitless garden, alluring curious bees. He made her garden bloom.  —  Arthur Morgan thought he was done with living, but in a gentle golden sunrise, on that cursed mountain, he's rescued by a mysterious woman. 

warnings: descriptions of injuries and sickness, blood, Arthur has TB, some self-hatred and unkind thoughts

𝑁𝐸𝑋𝑇 𝐶𝐻𝐴𝑃𝑇𝐸𝑅    |    𝐴𝑅𝐶𝐻𝐼𝑉𝐸 𝑂𝐹 𝑂𝑈𝑅 𝑂𝑊𝑁

There’s a wolf. 

Between gently swaying raspberry vines and dried grass its eyes glint. Golden, with a hint of forest green. He can see it clearly, even though his vision is getting cloudy with stinging tears that are forcing their way through until they can escape from the corners of his eyes. He was never a man who cried easily but the happenings of those last few hours are starting to clear in his mind, and loneliness is slowly sinking its sharp claws into his barely beating heart. 

The wolf scents the air, maybe it smells his fear now, or the lingering gunsmoke the wind stirs towards its way. Will it rip his throat out? That would be at least quicker than slowly choking on his own blood. 

But the wolf doesn’t move like it would attack. It just watches him, cautiously stepping closer until he can feel its fur brushing the torn up knuckles on his right hand. It brushes its muzzle over the ripped fabric of his shirt where a bullet grazed his shoulder and where Micha's punches start to bruise a dark reddish purple. 

He feels blood mingling with the tears on his cheeks, a salty copper taste lingering in his mouth as he gasps for air. The wolf snarls, but not threatening, drawing closer to his face. 

Their eyes meet and the sun slowly creeps over the horizon, painting the landscape purple and golden in the early morning mist. Arthur's chest hurts, so much that he can barely catch his next breath. The wolf sniffs his face and for a second they inhale the same air. Its ears flatten, golden eyes meeting his. 

There's something in its gaze, a warmth almost, like when he would look at sunlight filtering through the canopy of a forest on a hot summer day and let it gently caress his face.

Arthur struggles for another breath, even more desperate now. He starts shaking, wrecked by sobs and pain and the need to fill his lungs with the air that is barely pushing past his throat. The wolf nudges him then, places its head between his collarbone and neck, bares its teeth and he thinks now, it will tore his flesh open. 

He tries to reach for the light fur that grows on the wolf's head but he doesn't have that power in him anymore. His hand lies limp over his stomach, absentmindedly pressing down on a wound to slow the bleeding. Not that it would mean too much. 

His vision starts to go black around the edges but it's not from the wolf's attack. It just… rests there, like it would listen to his breathing, the slowing beats of his heart, until it rises and stomps its large paw on his chest, flaring up the pain from broken ribs again. He wheezes and the wolf growls, almost annoyed. It circles him and pushes its head under his arm and shoulder and turns him to his side. It's even worse now, the pain and the lack of air, and he moves as the wolf pleases, too weak, so goddamn weak.

The wolf rams its head into his back, making him cough until a thick patch of reddened spit and phlegm leaves his mouth. He can feel blood trickle down from his nose and he retches, helpless, and spits again.

There now, he can gulp down a breath. 

It doesn’t let him rest. Hits him with its paw and nose, bares its teeth when their eyes meet after the reddened saliva dribbles down his chin. He’s too tired to do this, too weak to keep on breathing, but the most animalistic instincts of him and the wolf doesn’t allow him his final rest, not yet. So he wheezes and coughs and chokes until he calms down, until the wolf looks at him once more, with the rising sun glinting in its eyes, and rests its head on his aching chest, huffing a warm breath over his jaw. 

Sunrise paints the landscape golden and under, the misty forests a warm reddish-purple. The world is quiet, only his tired breaths are mingling with the quietly whistling wind that twists and turns around the Grizzlies and the old, crooked pine trees. A whitetail buck grazes not too far, the sunshine glinting on his antlers. He raises his head and Arthur and the wolf stare back at him until he turns and jumps, disappearing between frost-kissed blackberry bushes. 

The wolf and the sun warms him, caressing his face and pained body, gently lulling him until the sky turns into pink, purple, and then a brilliant blue. 

He can’t keep his eyes open anymore. 

 *

 When he wakes the wolf is gone but there's a woman. 

He's in a room, laying in a bed that is covered with something soft, maybe a pelt. His senses are still muddled, but they slowly creep back to him. The ache in his body is still present, breathing is still a struggle. The light coming from a hearth and a kerosene lamp is making him blink back tears, but with his hazy vision he notices the woman quietly busying herself with brewing something, and the air is heavy with the sweet smell of burning herbs. 

And then he coughs.

The coughing fit wrecks his body, makes him gasp for air between spitting up blood and choking on it. It stains the fur he's laying on, and drips down the corner of his mouth, disappearing in his beard. 

The woman drops the kettle she was holding and rushes to him, carefully pulling him by his uninjured arm to lay on his side. He spits again, the blood finally clearing from his mouth while she holds him in place with one hand and hits his back with the other until he coughs up the mucus that's choking him. 

Arthur goes limp when it's over, wheezing in painful breaths while she regards his face and the stained pelt under his head. She reaches for his overgrown hair and brushes it out of his face, her gaze meeting his. She has doe eyes that glint golden in the light of the dimmed kerosene lamp placed on his bedside. He doesn't recognize her but somehow he feels he knows her at the same time. Maybe from another life. 

"Better now?" she asks quietly while she places his hand on the bed and gently lays him back. 

Arthur tries to speak but only a tired groan leaves his lips while a string of bloodstained saliva dribbles down his chin. He tries again.

"Not much," his voice is so quiet that only a whisper of a gentle breeze could blow the words away. But she listens and lays her palm flat on his forehead. His skin is clammy there, probably the result of a fever, and she clicks her tongue disappointedly, confirming his assumption. "If—If I may ask," he rasps out, trying to be polite, even if speaking feels like being stabbed in the throat every second, "where am I, Miss?"

She pulls back her hand and glances towards the window on the far wall for a minute, where blinking stars and an inky black sky is visible through the glass, and then back to his eyes. 

"Found ya half-dead while I was huntin'. You're in my home now, up in the Grizzlies." 

Arthur just nods and closes his eyes, not having the energy to keep them open anymore. The woman pulls back for a little and when she returns he feels a cool, wet rag on his forehead, and soon after, her hands again, sneaking under his head to keep him upright while a tin cup is lifted to his lips. He forces himself to look up at her when he feels the fresh water hitting his tongue. 

She’s a bit surprised when he grabs the cup she’s still holding, his palm wrapping around hers so he can drink all of the water. When he’s done she doesn’t pull away immediately, but regards his face, the scars and blackened bruises still lingering there. The blood on his chin over an old, jagged scar. 

“Why did ya bring me here?” he rasps, every word a stinging pain to form. She looks down for a moment, at his bruised hand that carefully releases hers. The tin cup is empty. 

“Guess life ain't done with you yet.” 

That's all she says and he sighs, regretting it the next moment as his lungs try to expand, so tired, so weak. He stifles another cough into the fur he stained with blood earlier.

“You’re wrong, Miss. I’m as good as dead.” 

Her face turns a bit worried, but she tells him she saw him fighting on that mountain. That after all he did she couldn't let him die while those other men in black swarmed the place like rats to search through the dead. 

His face falls at that, a frown drawing his brows together while she watches him. He tells her that she got herself into something that could kill her. She answers with a sad, bitter smile and that she knows exactly how cruel men could be. He doesn't ask her how or why, he only nods and turns his head to the side where he can see the stars glinting silently outside the window. He knows women who met cruel fates. 

If the Pinkertons didn't find his body, they'd track him down. Milton assured him that he would be hunted to the ends of the earth until the end of time. Agent Milton was dead now, shot down by Abigail when Arthur's strength failed in fighting him off. Still, his voice whispers in his mind regardless. 

Arthur is sure that they'll hunt him down and shoot him like a dog, or make it last like they did with Mac Callander. The sick bastards .

And this woman, they will kill her too. There's no mercy after what happened, no offer for amnesty. Just a gun and a finger on the trigger. 

"If they turn up… They'll kill us, Miss."

"They can try," is her only answer.

She lifts the rag from his forehead, puts it in a bowl of water he can't see from where he's laying, but he can hear it splashing as she wrings out the cloth. The cool touch of the fabric is back in a few seconds while she rises from the chair next to him and her pinky finger accidentally brushes his scarred knuckles as she lifts up the tin cup from his weak grasp. 

Arthur doesn't feel like talking anymore.

 *

 He spends a week sweating out his fever. The woman brews him herbal teas that taste awful and knock him out cold within five minutes. She feeds him broth when he's too weak to even lift a spoon and she tends to his wounds and bruises. 

Arthur tried to refuse her help, the food she made for him, the care she gave so willingly. He never could defeat that kindness in her, however stubbornly he tried. She just gave and cared and made sure he was living day after day, not letting him succumb into that self-destructing hole he dug for himself. Arthur marveled at how such a pure soul can still exist in such a cruel world. She told him it's easier when she's alone in the mountains, and that people are kinder here than stuck up city folk. That, he agreed on. 

And now, after each passing day he feels vulnerable. He never had to rely on someone else when he was wounded or sick—he always managed on his own, even stitched his own wounds sometimes. They always left a jagged, ugly scar, but he never had to bother someone else with them. Now, he's furious. But his anger is directed only at himself, his weakness, his foolish self that got himself sick, that worked himself to the ground, that didn't die on that mountain. 

He asks her to stop once, when she's taking out spoonfuls of broth into a bowl. She doesn't understand. Arthur looks at her when she comes closer with the bowl in hand, sitting down next to him on an old wooden chair. He tries to sit up but his broken ribs protest and he sinks back into the bed with an annoyed huff. 

"Why're ya still doin' this?" he asks while she lifts the bowl to his lips. He drinks it, his body fighting, not as stubborn as his stupid mind—it fights to live, because it always fought for that. 

"'Cause you're not gettin' better."

"You know what I mean."

"We're more similar than ya think. I was in your place once. A stranger helped me, and now look at me. I live. And you'll live too," she manages to be so openly honest with him without revealing any real detail about her past. Arthur's beyond curious, but he just takes the bowl from her now, gulps down a mouthful because he feels, for the first time in a month, truly hungry. 

She watches him while he finishes the food, smiles at him when he pulls away the bowl and his upper lip and beard is smeared with the broth. She has a kind smile, a lady's smile that was not born to live in the wilderness like this. 

He wipes his mouth with the back of his palm, the ache in his shoulder flaring up like gasoline poured onto embers.

Arthur realized a few days back that she was the only person who lived here. One night, when he couldn't sleep from the nightmares and his aching chest he listened how she walked around the house, checking the doors and lighting the lantern outside, on the front porch. 

But no one was coming home in the late hours of the night. 

He asks her then, that she lives alone or her family is just away. She looks down, a hint of sadness softening her features before she can hide it behind a fake, barely there smile. They're not coming back. 

"I'm sorry."

It's not pity, not when he's lost so much too. It's more like a deep understanding, a knowledge of hidden wounds that never can heal fully. She looks at him again until their eyes meet and he's confronted with an honesty that usually only mirrors can muster. 

"It was a long time ago now," she tells him while she takes the bowl into her hands, leans back on the creaking chair. Arthur follows her movements with tired, bloodshot eyes. She looks outside, through the small window where the curtains are only half-open, the early morning sky burning behind them in a deep red and purple. 

She rises then, takes the bowl to the washbasin in the other corner of the room. She brews coffee, its familiar scent awakening a comforting warmth in his still aching chest. She offers him a cup, leaves it on his bedside to cool a little while she takes her own and steps out to the front porch, into the sunrise in red.

 *

 She asks his name the next week, when he still doesn't start to heal. Arthur answers her with a bitter smile and his name, so strange now on his tongue that still tastes of coppery blood after coughing. 

"You wanted something to write on my gravestone, ain't ya?" 

"Don't be silly Arthur," she scolds him, walks closer from the stove where she's brewing some new kind of tea. He likes how his name sounds when it rolls down her tongue. It's soft. Strange. After so many other people had said it with hate and anger, it's nice to hear it like he could be a normal person. Not a no-good ugly bastard like him. It's also nice hearing his first name, the one that is stained with a bit less blood than Morgan , the one that shines inky black on every wanted poster from Blackwater to Annesburg.

She sits beside him, on the bed this time, and she checks the cool rag that's draped over his forehead. Her hands smell like various kinds of herbs, of the outside, of the wilderness. Arthur inhales it deeply, fights down a cough while he ignores his aching chest. He misses the outdoors. It's nicer dying in a forest than a bed. It's more fitting for him, too. No outlaw deserves the warmth of a home in his last days. 

"It's still burnin'," she sighs and pulls back her hand. 

"I'm not gonna get better, Miss." Arthur turns towards the window again, where he can see the pine trees basking in the early afternoon sunlight. Frost glimmered on their branches earlier and painted the cobwebs in the corner of the windowframe a shining silver. "I have consumption."

Admitting it to her feels like a mistake, just like being in her house, eating her food, accepting her care. He doesn't deserve all this, not when he has taken so much from kind people like her before. He tried to do good in the end, he tried , but—

"I know," she nods, a hint of sadness sparkling in her eyes. "My Pa had the same symptoms. He had it as well."

He starts to understand now, the things she said about her family. He wants to ask but he bites into his lip instead and nods. She watches him for a moment, her eyes following the tired lines of his face. 

She tells him her name then. Morrigan. Arthur remembers the Irish tales and legends Hosea used to read for him when he was still young and somewhat careless and happy . A Celtic goddess, war and fate and doom and death. How fitting for him. But not for her, not when she's so gentle. She reminds him of Boadicea, another kind soul named after women of war. 

"I've seen enough death, Arthur," she whispers and she stands up from the side of his bed, walks towards the whistling kettle on the stove, but she turns back for a second to look into his eyes and say "I don't wanna see yours too."

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x oc #rdr2 fanfic #arthur x morrigan #morrigan marlowe #my writing #sunrises in red #im finally done sitting on this chapter #i wrote this like a week ago #so here ya qo i can't look at it longer #also i'm pretty rusty still so i'm sorry if this is shitty #anyways i want arthur to heal #so this will be the center element of this fic #with some love and care sprinkled on it

[lepus-arcticus]

52. Interlude

That night, wading through the undergrowth in the boreal chill, Walter Skinner believed. 

He saw it all and he believed; saw the ship slip from its shimmering veil, massive and magnificent in the endless, glittering night; saw the bodies rise; saw light, saw heat, saw his agent rapt and limp in the ecstasy of surrender. 

He saw it all, and he felt anew the awe and terror of Vietnam, the helicopters and the fire and MK-NAOMI, the sputter of an M60, khaki dark with blood. He saw it all, and he felt the quiet peace of inevitability, and then the sick sweetness of wonder, or perhaps the end of wondering. 

He stared into the sky as the tears gathered without falling, stared as the invaders blinked away into an abrupt and infinite void. He stared until there was nothing left but the slow creep of dawn’s mist, the sound of his own ragged breath. Stared until there was nothing left to do but stumble back through the pines to the car, to Mulder’s keys still dangling from the rental keyring in the ignition, to his jacket crumpled in the back seat. 

Walter sees it all, again and again. 

He closes his eyes, and he sees it all, sees nothing but his promise, made in earnest and then helplessly, flagrantly broken. 

-

When the sunrise begins to stain the wood paneling of his office, burning away the homey shadows in a flame of honey and bronze, he swills back the last of his whiskey and makes the trek, coatless, to the steaming coffee cart across the street. He is not drunk. He is never drunk, even after his best efforts, but the cool morning air slaps him sober anyway. 

He stands in line, pays the burly, ageless Serbian woman manning the cart her due, and wrestles a lid onto the paper cup. Black, no sugar, no cream. He stalks back through the wind with his coffee to the Hoover, picturing Scully at home in the great concrete belly of the building, tilting endlessly at her strange and unclassifiable work, reluctant to leave its orbit. 

He glances at his watch as he shoulders past security. He’s still got twenty ‘til their meeting. 

Jesus Christ, she shouldn’t even be here. It’s bad for the baby. She should be resting, goddamn it, should have her feet propped up on a pillow or three, should be eating fucking bonbons with her stubborn head wrapped up in a fluffy towel. She should at least be on desk duty, not running around Idaho brandishing scalpel and SIG-Sauer like some sort of modern day dual-wielding hedge knight. 

As usual, he abstains from the elevator, and takes the stairs back up. The mild exercise helps him squash his chivalrous irritation, helps him put it back into context. Maybe he’s just more of a sexist than he thought he was. Or maybe he just knows his agent. Maybe, that night in the hospital, he looked down into her wet blue eyes and saw rage and fear and unbridled joy as she wept, saw a woman, a lover, a mother. It was a revelation; he hadn’t even seen her cry when her sister was killed. 

She’s a warhorse, that one. She’s Joan of Arc. At the very least, she’s one hell of an agent. 

He guards himself against sentiment; he does not yearn. But in his weaker moments, he allows himself to wonder. He knows that he is no Fox Mulder, no crusader or revolutionary. War’s vicious hand had already beaten the thirst for adventure and glory out of him by the time Dana Scully was ten years old. He’s no longer the kind of man that could inspire the love and loyalty of a woman like her, and maybe he never was. 

But hell, he still believes in doing the right thing; believes in America, even after all he’s seen. He’s got the patience to play the game by the rules, the muscle to bend them. He knows his place, his role in all of this.

Some men are bound for greatness. Some must be content to be good. 

-

Nothing about Dana Scully has ever been cliché, but he can’t help but think that in this newly fertile iteration, she really does glow. Across from him, coolly delivering her account of the events in Burley, she’s pale and dewy, clearly fighting through a bout of morning sickness. He thinks she might be wearing less makeup. Her cheeks are beginning to fill out, her cider hair shines with health. She is beautiful beyond all reason, beyond all sense. When she finishes her narrative, he has to clear his throat in order to speak. 

“And Agent Doggett?” He prompts, watching her face carefully. He likes John Doggett, likes his weary moxie, his work ethic. He recognizes within him the familiar clarity of loneliness. 

Scully purses her lips for a quick moment, the only indication that he’s hit a soft spot. “He’s a good agent, sir,” she clips. “He’s thorough and seems to have a respect for what we—what I—do. But…” 

“But he’s no Mulder,” he finishes for her. 

She blinks, slowly, unevenly, and looks down at her hands, knotted together in her lap. 

“Listen, Agent Scully, I couldn’t very well leave you alone down there,” he says. “Not while you’re… not in your present condition.” He pries off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose, knowing that he sounds like the worst kind of man. “Not that you’re…” 

“It’s okay,” she says, saving him. “Thank you.” 

She still won’t meet his gaze. 

“Scully… off the record. We haven’t given up. We’re still working hard to find him,” he says, leaning forward, reaching for some sort of simpatico, some way to scale the wall between them. “Frohike—”

“Frohike can’t do a goddamned thing,” she interrupts, her voice thin and sharp. She lifts her shining eyes to his, trapping him in the vortex of their whirlpool blue. “If Mulder couldn’t bring me back when I was taken, then there’s nothing that any of us can do to bring him back now. We have to wait. I’ve been thinking. It’s the only way. I have to be—” 

“Exactly, Dana. Now is the time for patience.” The use of her first name seems to shock her back into herself. Her pink tongue darts out to wet her lips. 

“Your only job right now is to wait,” he continues. “To focus on your work, on your pregnancy. I won’t have you doing anything rash or stupid. That’s Agent Mulder’s job.” 

She can’t restrain a small, sad, girlish smile, and the sheepish pleasure and relief that rushes through him is entirely inappropriate. Juvenile. Undeserved. 

“Which, by the way, is waiting for him when he returns, once he is ready,” he says, forging onward. “Doggett’s position is temporary. I just feel better knowing that there is someone looking out for you, someone you can rely on, to turn to when you need something. John Doggett is a good man. You can count on him.” 

She does not respond. Silence fills the room. 

“I, uh, I have something for you,” he says. He rummages in a drawer, extracts an overstuffed manila envelope, slides it across the desk. She stares at it for a moment before claiming it, drawing it into her lap and unspooling the clasp. 

“The investigation no longer requires these items as evidence,” he says, by way of explanation. 

Scully reaches inside and pulls out a worn leather wallet. A badge. A ring of keys and a lockpick jackknife lashed together with a Liberty Bell keychain. 

She opens the badge and rubs her manicured thumb over Mulder’s photo. It’s an act so intimate and heartfelt that it hurts him to observe it. He studies his own hands instead, large and square and calloused from long, punishing hours in the Gold’s weight room down the block from his condo. 

There’s a soft metallic click. He looks up. 

There is a single key on his desk. 

“This is my apartment key,” Scully says. “Hold it for Mulder until he gets back, will you?” 

She stands, and her waist is still tiny, her secret still safe. She is proud, sweet, noble, peculiar. He is not in love with her, but he could be, if he let himself. “Thank you for looking out for me, Walter.” 

He watches her disappear through the door, back to the basement, back to the shadows. He savours the sound of his name on her lips.

- 

Incrementum

#incrementum #not me taking three weeks to write 1500 words #txf fic

[unclecassian]

On the Topic of SJM Breaking My Heart in ACOMAF

*Spoilers for A Court of Thorns and Roses and A Court of Mist and Fury*

No matter how many times I re-read the entire ACOTAR series, especially ACOMAF, SJM never fails to break my heart with her writing. So here is a list I made of all the lines from ACOMAF that ripped me in two 🥴 

“Alone in my bedroom, I realized I couldn’t remember the last time I’d truly laughed.”

“I might even cry for my mother, who had never cared for me, anyway. I might beg her to save me—” 

“The sentries returned in full force the next morning.”

“He’d locked me in here… He’d locked me in. He’d sealed me inside this house… I couldn’t get out; I couldn’t get out; I couldn’t get out—”

“Maybe it’d be a mercy to be ended— A broad hand gripped my face—gently enough not to hurt, but hard enough to make me look at him. ‘Don’t you ever think that,’ Rhysand hissed, his eyes livid. ‘Not for one damned moment.’” 

“Some small part of me whispered that I could survive Amarantha; I could survive leaving Tamlin; I could survive transitioning into this new, strange body… But that empty cold hole in my chest… I wasn’t sure I could survive that. Even the years I’d been one bad week away from starvation, that part of me had been full of color, of light. Maybe becoming a faerie had broken it. Maybe Amarantha had broken it. Or maybe I had broken it, when I shoved that dagger into the hearts of two innocent faeries and their blood had warmed my hands.”

“‘I’m thinking that I must have been a fool in love to allow myself to be shown so little of the Spring Court. I’m thinking there’s a great deal of that territory I was never allowed to see or hear about and maybe I would have lived in ignorance forever like some pet. I’m thinking…’ The words became choked. I shook my head as if I could clear the remaining ones away. But I still spoke them. ‘I’m thinking that I was a lonely, hopeless person, and I might have fallen in love with the first thing that showed me a hint of kindness and safety.’”

“‘As long as the people who matter the most know the truth, I don’t care about the rest.’”

“...when I had belonged to Tamlin and been little more than a spy and prisoner.”

“I had done everything—everything for that love. I had ripped myself to shreds, I had killed innocents and debased myself, and he had sat beside Amarantha on that throne. And he couldn’t do anything, hadn’t risk it—hadn’t risked being caught until there was one night left, and all he’d wanted to wasn’t free me, but fuck me, and—… And when Amarantha had broken me, when she had snapped my bones and made my blood boil in its veins, he’d just knelt there and begged her. He hadn’t tried to kill her, hadn’t crawled for me. Yes, he’d fought for me—but I’d fought harder for him… And he had the nerve once his powers were back to shove me in a cage. The nerve to say I was no longer useful; I was to be cloistered for his peace of mind. He’d given me everything I needed to become myself, to feel safe, and when he got what he wanted—when he got his power back, his lands back… he stopped trying. He was still good, still Tamlin, but he was just… wrong.”

“And maybe I was exhausted and broken, but I breathed, ‘I killed them.’ I hadn’t said the words aloud since it had happened. Cassian’s lips tightened. ‘I know.’ Not condemnation, not praise. But grim understanding. My hands slackened as another shuddering sob worked its way through me. ‘It should have been me.’”

“And it wasn’t sorrow, or despair, or terror that hit me, but… unhappiness. Such bleak, sharp unhappiness… I was unhappy—not just broken. But unhappy. An emotion, I realized. It was an emotion, rather than the unending emptiness or survival-driven terror.”

“It’d just been a relief to think that for a moment, he might have been as lonely as me.”

“He flinched. The most powerful High Lord in history flinched. And I knew I’d hit hard—and deep. Too hard. Too deep.”

“‘And yet I found myself deciding that if you took his hand, I would find a way to live with it. It would be your choice.’ I sipped from my wine. ‘And if he had grabbed me?’ There was nothing but uncompromising will in his eyes. ‘Then I would have torn apart the world to get you back.’”

“‘I wonder if some part of me knew what was waiting for me. That I would never be a gentle grower of things, or someone who burned like fire—but that I would be quiet and endurining and as faceted as the night… I wonder if, even in my despair and hopelessness, I was never truly alone. I wonder if I was looking for this place—looking for you all.’... ‘I was looking for you, too,’ Rhys murmured.”

“And I saw the pain and sorrow in his eyes. Saw it and didn’t care, not as that thing in my chest was twisting and breaking. Not as my heart—my heart—ached, so viciously that I realized it’d somehow been repaired in these past few months. Repaired by him. And now it hurt.”

“And there it was. A future. The future I saw for myself, bright as the sunrise over the Sidra. A direction, and a goal, and an invitation to see what else immortality might offer me. It did not seem so listless, so empty, anymore.”

THE ENTIRETY OF CHAPTER 54 BUT I’LL JUST GIVE THE HIGHLIGHTS:

“‘And then—then I learned your name. Hearing you say it… it was like an answer to a question I’d been asking for five hundred years.’”

“‘I knew that you were my mate, and you were in love with another male, and had destroyed yourself to save him, and that… that I didn’t care.’”

“‘If you were going to die, I was going to die with you. I couldn’t stop thinking it over and over as you screamed, as I tried to kill her: you were my mate, my mate, my mate. But then she snapped your neck… And I felt you die… And this beautiful, wonderful thing that had come into my life, this gift from the Cauldron… It was gone.’”

“‘But I felt you through the bond, through your open mental shields. I felt your pain and sadness, and loneliness. I felt you struggling to escape the darkness of Amarantha the same way I was. I heard you were going to marry him, and I told myself you were happy. I should let you be happy, even if it killed me. Even if you were my mate, you’d earned that happiness.’”

“My friend through many dangers. My lover who had healed my broken and weary soul. My mate who had waited for me against all hope, despite all odds.”

“If I hadn’t already been in love with him, I might have loved him for that—for not insisting I stay, even if it drove his instincts mad, for not locking me away in the aftermath of what had happened yesterday. And I realized—I realized how badly I’d been treated before, if my standards had become so low. If the freedom I’d been granted felt like a privilege and not an inherent right.”

“‘Don’t let him take me,’ I sobbed again. ‘I don’t want to go back.’ And when I looked at Mor, at the tears streaming down her face as she helped Cassian get upright, I knew she realized what I meant.”

“‘I don’t give a shit if she’s your mate. I don’t give a shit if you think you’re entitled to her. She is mine.’”

“I cleared my head, my shattering heart—breaking for what my mate had done, sacrificed for me and my family. For her sisters. Because she hadn’t thought… hadn’t thought she was essential. Even after all she had done.”

*wipes tears away* yall crying too? no? oh ok cool,,,

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #sjm #a court of thorns and roses #rhysand #feyre #rhys #feysand #nessian #nesta #cassian #azriel #mor #elain #amren #sarah j maas #tamlin #feylin #books #reading #sad #a court of mist and fury #night court #feyre x rhysand #feyre x tamlin

[rainydaymiddleearthimagines]

The Arrangement pt7

The room was tense, everyone watching your body. Arwen was so insistent on you still being alive, it actually made Aragorn a little uneasy. Was there truly a chance of a revive or was she just trying to convince herself of that fact? Short answer, yes. You were able to reawaken, Elrond made a point to try and use magic to reveal a potential answer. Gandalf was on his way now, Thranduil not exactly pleased with this but still understood the dire need of help.

Aragorn wondered if this is how helpless you felt. If this was the pain you were in, but one thing bothered him. Why were you dead? When he was in the Fade, he was unconscious. You however were dead. Was there some reason you chose death? Was there going to be a reason for you to wake up? These questions troubled the man's mind. Legolas had decided to read, hopefully distracting him from all of this but the boy hadn't flipped a page in the book. Arwen was sitting in a chair next to your bed, watching your sleeping face as she held your hand. Elladan was the one changing your bandages by the hour and Elrohir was just sitting in the corner in a chair, watching the floor. And Elrond... Gods, poor Elrond was in a chair across from Arwen, bowing his head and praying to any divines that you were going to wake up.

Suddenly though, all the elves looked up, sensing someone new. The door opened and a bearded man walked in. He wore all grey robes, holding a wooden staff in his hands as he walked over to you and closing his eyes as he put his hand to your forehead. Elrond watched him carefully, waiting for a response. "Y/n is with Galadriel." He muttered, keeping his eyes closed. "She needs to make her choice by sunrise." He said, opening his eyes. "Is there a way to save her Gandalf?" Elrond asked, clearly desperate for good news. Gandalf noticed his urgency. "Fret not my friend. Y/n will make the right decision for her." Gandalf said softly. His gaze fell onto Aragorn. "Hello... Who are you?" He asked. Aragorn looked over at you, his thumb gently caressing the top of your hand. Gandalf looked down, seeing the ring on his hand. "Aragorn." Gandalf said, looking at him. Aragorn looked at the man. "He's a friend Aragorn." Arwen assured. "We have met. A very long time ago when you were but a boy." Gandalf said. "I'm afraid I don't remember much about you." Aragorn murmured, looking at you.

Gandalf could sense some form of adoration for you. He wasn't sure though, presuming it was something he was reading into. "How many more hours until sunrise?" Elrohir asked. "Two." Arwen answered. Now the tension was stronger than before. Everyone was staring at you or the window. If you were awake you'd make some comment of this being utterly ridiculous. Of course if you were awake right now, they wouldn't be so anxious or tense. Fuck, you might even be having fun in the woods right now or at least on the way home.

Instead you were dead, in front of people who loved you and wanted you back more than anything.  Elrond was so scared. This is exactly what he wanted to avoid.  His greatest fear of losing one of his children was playing out in front of him and he had no control. Gandalf put a hand on his shoulder. "We have to remember she is intelligent. She will choose what she feels is best Elrond." Gandalf reminded. Elrond nodded, letting out a shaking breath. Whatever you felt was best....

You looked across from you, noticing the low hanging mist around you. You knew exactly where you were. The Fade. You were sitting at a table, a small bowl of water in front of you. You had been here once before when you were a child. You had spent a good chunk of your childhood in Mirkwood rather than Rivendell. It was supposedly safer. Much more peaceful and protected in its prime. However you still had that spark. That yearn for adventure that anyone could see. So they sent you back to your father once you were a little more mature. By then Aragorn had left, wandering the lands until he met the rangers and eventually joined them. You had no idea in seven years, you'd meet him.

"Even in your final moments he seems to be on your mind." A voice said. You looked up to see Galadriel, who was staring vacantly into the mist. "He usually finds his way to my thoughts." You said. Galadriel looked over. "Y/n. Why choose death?" She asked. You sighed. "Isn't that what's best? Aragorn needs some sort of push to the throne, Legolas needs some sort of push to stand up to his father, my own father needs some sort of push to be more involved, gods. Everyone needs a push, and this might be a good wake up call for them." You said. Galadriel shook her head. "Y/n, they need you to give them that push. Elrond will fall into despair if you die, Aragorn won't even be able to look at his claim to the throne and Legolas will lose his one reason to speak up. Y/n, you've influenced these people more when you were alive. Dying will not solve anything." She said. "... Galadriel would you actually care if I was gone?" You asked, noticing the resistance to death. Galadriel had no response. She sighed and looked down. "I've grown quite fond of you as my grandchild Y/n.... And as your grandmother I'm asking you to stay." She said.

You looked down. "Alright." You breathed. "I want to stay." You said. She almost seemed relieved by this answer, nodding before you looked down. "You can leave the fade when your ready." She said. You looked up and she was gone. When you were ready? You weren't even sure this was the right choice to begin with.

Morning light crept through the trees. Aragorn did not sleep, hoping that within the next two hours you would be awake. Two hours passed. You were still dead. Elrond put his face in his hands, Elladan putting a hand on his father's shoulder as he came to terms with your death. Arwen sobbed, still holding your hand. Legolas... Poor Legolas stood there not saying a word. The second he saw sunlight it was like he went into a state of shock. Aragorn closed his eyes, wishing he had said something, anything to you about love. Instead he was stuck with this sadness within him, this dread he couldn't escape.

Everyone was quietly grieving, Gandalf closing his eyes and bowing his head. Arwen pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead and let go of your hand, putting her head on her arms on the edge of your bed as she wept. Elrond hadn't moved, neither did Elladan. Elrohir was looking down at the floor, sad and bitter tears falling down his face. Then Arwen looked up with a gasp, a shocked look on her face. "What is it?" Aragorn asked, having to clear his throat from crying. Arwen said nothing, looking at you with some sort of expectant glance.

You gasped for air, coughing profusely as you did, color already returning to your body. Everyone was relieved in an instant. Arwen hugged you tightly. "Air— Arwen; I need air!" You croaked. She let go and you let out a breath. "You had us all worried sick!" Elrond said. "I'm sorry Father." You said, giving him a genuine look. He didn't argue with that. He didn't make a comment. All your father did was hug his little girl. You looked over and gaped. "When the hell was someone going to tell me Gandalf was here!?" You asked. "Hello dear friend." He said as you pulled away from Elrond. "Hello Gandalf!" You said.

Aragorn looked at you with what you could only describe as "puppy dog eyes".  You didn't wait for him to come to you, you hugged him tightly. He cradled your head, holding you as if you were the most precious thing in the world to him. "Don't you ever dare to leave me again." He muttered. "Wouldn't dream of it." You said, smiling as you pulled away. You looked over to see Legolas. "If you don't hug me, I will be very disappointed Legolas." You joked, him practically jumping onto you. "Okay— we've have to speak about grips— I need air you guys!" You breathed. "You can breathe later, you absolutely dense moron!" Legolas said, smacking your arm after he let go. "Wha- ow!" You winced.

"What took you so long to cross over any way?" Elrohir asked. "Uh... Well that's.." you sighed. "We all need to talk. Galadriel has given me information on something." You said. Gandalf rose a brow. "She says she's seen the ring." You said. A tension fell over the ring. "Someone unexpected is going to take it, her vision isn't clear as day anymore but she suspects that it will involve... Everyone." You said. "Everyone?" Legolas asked. "Everyone." You repeated. "Middle Earth is in danger?" Aragorn asked. "How soon is this coming?" Arwen asked. "Within the next fourty years." You said. "We should evacuate—" "There is no use in running father, destruction will follow." You halted. He noticed that look. The certainty in your eyes. "What can we do?" He asked. "Help when the time comes." You said. He paused. "Alright." He agreed.

Arwen looked at Aragorn, who hadn't let go your other hand. You were holding his hand while speaking, making Arwen look at Legolas and then Aragorn. "Y/n, do you need some air?" Arwen asked. "...Yeah, that actually does sound nice." You nodded. "Good. Up on your feet." She said. You stood up, nearly falling from how stiff your legs were but Aragorn caught you. "Are you alright?" He asked, that soft voice making you smile. You nodded, standing up straight. "I'm fine—" you said right before attempting to take a step and faceplanting.  Legolas bit back a snort and even Elrond had a hard time not laughing.

"I may need assistance." You said, not removing your face from the floor but putting up your index finger as if you were stating fact. Aragorn laughed, a very adorable laugh that made you smile as you sat up. "Laugh it up Aragorn." You said. He rolled his eyes and extended his hand. You took it, yanking him down with you. He looked at you and bursted out laughing again, this time you joining him. The two of you must've looked like idiots, sitting on the floor laughing. Elrond put his hand to his face but still smiled. You were so in love. "Alright. Seriously, I need help." you laughed out. Aragorn got up, pulling you up with him.

You two walked out (carefully of course) leaving everyone alone. "...Do you think he'll finally say something?" Legolas asked. "He'd be stupid not to." Arwen replied. "Stupid not to do what?" Elladan asked. Elrohir looked at his brother. "...Tell me you are not this dense." Elrohir said. "What? I'm asking a question!" Elladan said confused. "Father, how am I the wise one here?" Elrohir asked. "Honestly, I have no idea." Elrond chuckled. Gandalf chuckled and the group all laughed at poor Elladan's ignorance.

You sat by a fountain, stretching your arms. "I haven't been in Mirkwood for a very long time." you muttered. Aragorn sat next to you. "Legolas's coronation?" He asked. "That was actually around the time I left." you said. "What made you come here in the first place?" he asked, noticing the regalness of the kingdom didn't exactly fit your personality. "I almost died when I was two." You said. Considering you were thousands of years old, it was hard for him to imagine you as a child. "Father thought it would be safer for me to be here, where I would be supervised. All. The. Time." You said with a sigh. "I don't think he knew how hard it would be for them to keep me... Contained." you said, making Aragorn chuckle. "You tend to really dislike when you don't have control over your own choices." He said. "Any normal person would hate that." you said.

A light breeze hit you and you inhaled, your hair flowing. "I remember how free I felt when I finally left" you said. "Then I went to Rivendell." You huffed. "And it all started again." Aragorn nodded. "Well... I mean less security so it was easier to leave." you said earning a chuckle from him. "What I've learned after spending time with you, is that there is no stopping you from doing what you want." Aragorn said. You looked over at him, smiling. "I'm sorry I scared you. Honestly. I... Shouldn't have remained in that area once I realized I was alone." You said. "I should've been on the offense Y/n. You had a dagger against a warg, I don't care who you are, those were not great odds to begin with." He said. "My point is: I'm sorry." You halted his weapon rant. He looked at you and lifted your hand. "I'm glad your safe." He said, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. You smiled, putting your free hand to his cheek. "Aragorn I want you to know that I do care for you... In a more... Romantic capacity... And have for about fifteen years." You admitted. He smiled, looking at you. He set down your hand and did something he had planned to do ages ago.

He kissed you.

You were tense at first, being surprised by his wordless reciprocation. You eased into his arms though, practically melting when his thumb caressed your cheek. "My love for you has been lingering for almost as long as I've known you. Since you convinced me that I am not my legacy. Since I started wearing this ring." He said, resting his forehead against yours. "I've made my choice, that I will not make my claim to Gondor unless you are ruling with me." He said. You looked at him. "You want me to—" "One day... When I truly am ready I would like you to be my queen." He said softly. You smiled. "One day." You said softly. "One day" Aragorn repeated. 

You had no idea how accurate this was to come.

                                -End to the Arrangement-

#aragorn #aragorn x reader #aragorn imagine

[elsanna-shenanigans]

April Contest Submission #1: Morning Break

Words: ca. 1,900 Setting: Canon Lemon: lime CW: drowning, vomit

There’s something about kayaking on a lake at sunrise, a serenity that is rarely matched. Most of the wildlife is quiet, except for the call of loons waking up early in search of fish. The air is still and cool, fog gently wafting over the surface of the water. The sun’s first rays are golden and warming, chasing the night away and waking the fish below the surface of the water. A few frogs start to splash around a little on the shoreline, in search of their own meals, but the overwhelming sensation is one of calm and quiet.

Elsa closed her eyes as she let her boat slowly drift along the surface of the water, the clear ice allowing her to see the aquatic life underneath it. She could have used her magic to propel her along, but there was something calming about languorously paddling along the lake herself, the subtle scent of pine trees in the early morning air.

She breathed in the cool, moist morning air and relaxed her body, letting the mist caress her exposed shoulders. She’d desperately needed a break from the palace, and while her icy fortress on the North Mountain was often her first choice for some breathing room, the icy lake just a few hundred meters from the mountain was almost as good. The pressures of crown affairs, land disputes, water rights… all of the buzzing that filled her days vanished when she was out here, one with the wind and sky.

Just as she picked up the Greenland-style stick paddle she’d woven from ice…

… a loud belch startled her out of her reverie, and she dropped it in the water.

Elsa turned around with an arched brow and a disapproving frown as her sister covered her stomach and giggled. “Sorry! Hunger burp. I, uh… I didn’t know that was going to happen. I guess I’m hungrier than I thought.”

“That’s quite unbecoming, Princess,” she scolded, struggling not to let her laughter show as she dipped her fingers into the water next to the boat, icy fingers forming a new paddle as her old one drifted away. “Didn’t you pack any snacks?”

Anna cringed, hunched down in her woolen cloak. “I… might have accidentally left them in the dining room after Gerda dropped them off.”

“What got you so distracted that you left snacks behind?” Elsa chuckled, turning around to start paddling the kayak. “Snacks are usually your favorite part of our outings, especially when you have Gerda include some of those cocoa stroopwafels you keep having me import from Holland. Our Minister of Trade is quite displeased with just how many we’ve ordered.”

“Umm… nothing, really. Nothing at all, sis.” Anna picked up the icy paddle Elsa had made for her in her mitten-clad hands and began to match Elsa’s rhythm, hoping her sister didn’t turn around to see how furiously she was blushing. She thought back to how closely she’d watched her sister at the pre-dawn breakfast they’d shared before departing for the lake.

Watching Elsa eat, so properly and daintily, was incredibly arousing to her. This morning’s meal of scrambled eggs and smoked salmon on toast nearly killed her; Elsa ate with a knife and fork, and every time the pink tip of her tongue flicked out underneath the forkful of food, Anna’s breath hitched.

“It’s not nothing. You can talk to me, Anna. There’s no one out here that will hear you, whatever it is, so say it out loud.” Elsa chuckled as she continued, “You and snacks are practically lovers. I find it hard to believe that you’d leave your lover behind.”

With a wry grin, Anna put her paddle astern and reached her arms around to cup Elsa’s breasts with her mitten-clad hands, rumpling Elsa’s ice dress slightly. “I didn’t leave all my lovers behind, you know,” she whispered in her sister’s ear.

Elsa lost another paddle.

“Anna! Not in public!” she hissed, dipping her fingers into the lake once more to craft another paddle. “We’re supposed to be enjoying a nice, quiet morning in nature.” Elsa glanced around furtively, but the nearest cottage was on the far side of the lake, hundreds of meters away. From that distance, no one would be able to make out any details.

“I was appreciating nature!” Anna snarked back as she picked up her paddle and resumed rowing, savoring the memory of her sister in her hands. “Besides, I-”

Abruptly, Elsa held up her hand to shush Anna, lifting her paddle out of the water and cocking her head. “Do you hear that?” she whispered.

“No, I… wait, yes I do. It… it sounds like someone’s crying. But I can’t tell which direction it’s coming from, it’s echoing all over the lake.” Anna turned her head from side to side, attempting to locate the source of the sound. “There, over there!” Anna pointed to the northwest, a small row of cottages lining the distant shore, probably a kilometer away. She could see a few thin wisps of smoke from the chimneys, likely cooking fires as families started their days.

Elsa squinted. “It sounds like a child’s cry… and not a normal one. Let’s go take a look.” Both sisters began to paddle as the cries got closer and louder, but they were still hundreds of meters away. Elsa set her jaw, wove her fingers together, and an icy wind blew at their backs, speeding the boat towards the shoreline faster than they could have paddled alone.

As they approached, they saw the source of the cries; a young blonde girl in a threadbare dress, not more than four or five years old, was standing on the shore, her hands over her eyes as she wailed. Elsa beached the kayak; as soon as Anna was ashore, she turned it into snowflakes that drifted away. “What’s the matter, princess?” Elsa asked, kneeling down.

“M-m-m-my big sister! My big sister is m-m-missing!”

Anna knelt down and put her arm around the little girl, rubbing small circles on her back to soothe her. “It’s going to be okay, sweetheart. Where did you see her last?”

The girl pointed towards the cluster of fifteen cottages, simple wooden structures with thatched, grass-covered roofs. In the center of the cottages was a small stone well, and a stone communal oven near it. The sisters walked over to the well and immediately saw what had happened.

Anna gasped, her eyes wide as her hand flew up to cover her mouth. There was a girl, not much older than the little girl standing next to them, face down at the bottom of the well, partially submerged in the water. “How- how long has she been in there?”

“Mama just sent her out for water a few minutes ago!” the child choked out between cries.

Elsa nodded at her sister as she furrowed her brow, then closed her eyes and reached into her magic. Tendrils of frost and snow shot from her fingers, and a thin coating of ice surrounded the girl in the well. As she did with Olaf at the Christmas tree, Elsa’s magic lifted the girl from the well carefully, levitating her onto dry ground. She suppressed the waves of fear and sorrow inside herself; the very thought of losing Anna like this made her sick to her stomach.

Anna touched her fingers to the girl’s neck. “I think she still might be alive, Elsa. Do you think any of the families here have a bellows?” A few years back, when Anna had nothing to do in the palace except explore and read, she’d read through most of the medical books in the Royal Library, one of which detailed how a fireplace bellows could be used to resuscitate a drowning victim.

“No need for that,” Elsa smiled grimly as she conjured a bellows out of ice and handed it to Anna while she propped the little girl up into a half-sitting position, holding her head and shoulders steady. Anna carefully placed the bellows in the girl’s mouth and pumped them a few times. Within moments, the girl’s chest heaved and she regained consciousness, then bent over and vomited out the water in her stomach and lungs on the rocky ground.

Anna’s heart leapt at seeing the little girl revived. Warmth spread in her chest and she could barely contain her joyful laughter. The younger sister immediately charged in, displacing Elsa as she hugged her older sister tightly.

Anna stood up, taking Elsa’s hand as they watched the tearful reunion of the little sisters, memories of her own childhood plucking at her heartstrings. Before her isolation, Elsa had hugged her like that. Several of the cottage doors had opened and villagers had peeked to see what all the commotion was about. One woman, most likely the girls’ mother, rushed over to see what had happened, sitting in the dirt to hold them.

The younger sister spoke up immediately, taking her mother’s hand excitedly. “I cried for help to the spirits because Ingeborg was missing and I couldn’t find her! But then the spirits came and saved her, Mama! Ingeborg fell down the well.”

The girls’ mother, a middle-aged brunette peasant woman, crouched down and cradled her children as she soothed them. “Karoline, you should have come back inside and gotten us, baby. Next time, please come get us right away instead of crying to the spirits, okay?”

“Why, Mama? The spirits came,” she beamed, pointing at Elsa and Anna.

“They’re not spirits, Karoline. They’re just-” At that moment, the mother looked up and nearly dropped her children. “Oh my God, Your Majesty! Your Highness!” She immediately tried to scramble to her knees so she could bow properly to her sovereign. “Please forgive my rudeness!”

Elsa laughed and knelt down, resting a hand on the woman’s shoulder to reassure her. “Please, there’s nothing to forgive. Princess Anna and I were just out for a quiet morning on the lake when we heard little Karoline’s cries.”

“And she used magic to lift Ingeborg out of the well and then her friend used a magical thing to put air back inside Inge, Mama! She is so one of the spirits!” the little girl chirped excitedly as the royal sisters nodded, affirming the truthfulness of the girl’s story.

“Th- thank you, Your Majesty. We are so grateful to you for saving Ingeborg’s life. Long live Queen Elsa!” A few of the villagers who were huddled in their doorways echoed the mother’s oath.

“Well, we should be going,” Elsa smiled, taking Anna’s hand in her own as she bent down to address the girls. “Karoline, remember to get an adult if your sister is in trouble, and remember to love your sister and be kind to her. And Ingeborg, always be grateful that you have a wonderful little sister who looks after you so well, just like Princess Anna always looks after me.” The royal sisters waved to the villagers as they walked back to the shore, and Elsa decided to show off a little for the children.

She tapped the ground with her foot and instead of a small kayak, a much more grand Nordland single-mast boat appeared, the sails fluttering in the breeze just as Elsa’s ice gowns did. Both Ingeborg and Karoline clapped at the show, while the adults stood flabbergasted at their Queen’s abilities. Save for the Eternal Winter, none had ever seen Elsa’s magic up close.

“Well, that was anything but a calming break from the palace,” Elsa murmured as they sailed away to the far end of the lake, the village growing smaller in the distance. Anna turned to her sister with a devilish grin tugging at her lips, reaching towards Elsa. “Speaking of breaks… I’d like to get back to appreciating nature now, please…”

#elsanna #submission #april 2021 contest #prompt: break #lime

[thegoodgayshit]

Luz’s mother really doesn’t want to send Luz to camp. She knows once she leaves, there is no going back. But Luz has a knack for getting into trouble, and one day she stumbles into the same type of people her mother would have preferred she avoided. After helping Luz dissolve her high school bully into dust, Eda and Lilith know right away that this kid is just like them - a child of the gods. So Luz hops on a Pegasus and heads to Camp Half-blood, where she embarks on a dangerous quest that makes her both friends and enemies... and she might even save Olympus along the way.

Chapter Fifteen: Gus’s Mom Reminds us to Eat our Vegetables

That night, the four of them actually got sleep. Luz had another dream where she was back in the mountain, but once again the woman in the cage just regarded her with big eyes, encouraging her to have hope. When she was woken up by Gus for her turn at guard duty, she had the last shift before dawn and sat outside the tent watching the sun rise with a fairly optimistic outlook on the day to come.

She’d changed into her only set of fresh clothes but kept her hoodie and shorts over her leggings and white shirt, and she was feeling like today would be a fresh start. After all, if Hestia could be trapped in that cage for weeks, looking as terrible as she did and still remind Luz to have hope, then she would have to make sure she still had hope.

Around her neck, she shifted the dog whistle Eda had given her. They’d been in plenty of dangerous situations so far, but Luz was still very hesitant to blow the whistle. She didn’t want to use it unless she absolutely had to, and even if she did, she wasn’t sure it would even work. Luz had relied on a lot of chance so far on their quest, but this one seemed like too big of a stretch to rely on.

Eda had never let her down, but this strange bronze dog whistle might. Luz didn’t know what to think.

Amity woke up first, meeting her outside in the morning and sitting next to her on the grass outside the tent, splitting one of the last wraps silently with her. Luz took the half thankfully, and the two watched the rest of the sunrise together, Amity occasionally sipping little bits of nectar. There was one point where her skin was starting to look feverish, and Luz got nervous and pushed the canteen away from her.

“Maybe that’s enough for a little bit,” she said quickly, and Amity giggled, nodding her head.  

“That’s probably a good idea. There isn’t a lot of it left anyway.” She packed the canteen away and put it at her side, tucking her knees against her chest as she nibbled at the wrap.

“How are you feeling?” Luz asked, but she already knew the answer. She looked so much better. Amity’s skin had returned to a soft cream color instead of the sickly pale it had been yesterday. She’d lost the slight summer tan she’d had at camp, but Luz was certain she’d get it back after a bit of travel. The bruises had almost completely faded from her body, and she seemed to be back to most of her previous strength. Luz was happy to see her so energized.

“Good, much better than I was yesterday, I should find a change of clothes though.” Amity picked at the shirt she’d been wearing, which was definitely worse for wear. There was a slash mark right across the stomach. It was definitely going to make them look suspicious. When Amity lifted her arms, Luz could see her bellybutton through the tear. “I lost my backpack in the mountain, so I don’t have any of my stuff. I haven’t showered in so long, I’m starting to smell like a satyr.”

Luz laughed, almost choking on her wrap. “I think that can be arranged. We can stop before we get on the bus to Colorado and you can pick up some stuff.”

Amity’s smile wavered a little bit. Luz noticed it always did that when she mentioned Colorado. She was going to ask about it, but before she could Willow and Gus walked out of the tent, Willow looking ready to go with her backpack slung over her shoulder, and Gus yawning, blinking sleep out of his eyes.

“Good morning you two,” Willow said with a smile. “Are we ready to keep moving?”

Amity and Luz nodded, both of them getting to their feet. They offered to help break camp, but it didn’t involve much work. After pulling a string on the side of the tent, it popped back into the canister Gus had opened it with. Luz was seriously impressed.

“And you mocked me for being over-prepared,” Gus said with a teasing grin, and Luz laughed.

“Consider this my official apology.”

Gus produced a water bottle from his bag, and his toothbrush and toothpaste. Luz and Willow did the same, leaving Amity staring there wistfully. Willow smiled at her and reached into her bag, handing her an unopened toothbrush still in the packaging.

“I figured there was a chance you lost yours, so I packed on just in case,” she said shyly, and Amity offered her a grateful look.

“Thank you so much. This is more than I deserve.”

“You’re a part of the team now!” Willow just said with a smile. “If you need anything, just ask.”

After they brushed their teeth and did their best to “get ready” for their day on the go, Willow waved her sword and the thorn barrier fell. They walked out of the forest and back towards the main road.

“I don’t usually encourage this, but we don’t really have a choice,” Gus said slowly. “Luz, you should use your phone to call us a cab. It would be a couple of hours to walk back to downtown.”

Luz nodded, figuring if Gus gave her permission that was as good as she was going to get. When she turned on the phone, nervous notifications of messages from her Mami popped up, and she did her best to ignore those and call the cab company first. When she was assured a cab would be on the way, she ignored Willow’s disapproving look and went to her messages to look at her Mami’s texts.

“I can’t just ignore her,” she said quietly, and Willow sighed but turned her head away, giving her the go-ahead.

Luz looked down, reading the three messages carefully, each sent two days ago about twenty minutes apart.  

Ok, mija. Have fun on your field trip. Stay out of trouble, and if you ever need anything just give me a call.

Wait, I thought you weren’t supposed to have your phone at camp?

Some things never change with you. Te quiero mucho, carino xoxo.

Luz knew she shouldn’t risk it, but she typed back a quick response anyway.

Te quiero mucho, Mami <3

She turned off her phone and tucked it back into her backpack. When the cab did eventually roll up and the four of them piled in, Luz went to sit in the front. The cabbie was an older man who looked at the four of them and turned to Luz with a raised brow.

“You kids have money for the cab, right?”

Luz did her best not to get irritated with the cabbie for being so rude, especially since he was looking at Amity and her dirty clothes with unmasked suspicion. Luz thought that was pretty brave, especially since she had an actual sword on her belt. She remembered what Eda had said about the thing that stopped mortals from seeing their world. She wondered if the sword just looked like a weird belt. She doubted it helped them in this case. She was really missing the magic of Antheia’s flower crowns.

“We have money,” Luz said. “What’s the fair to downtown?”

“From here, probably forty.”

Luz felt like that number was high, and judging by the look on Gus’ face it was more than they could afford, but they didn’t have much of a choice. Nodding, Luz got in the passenger seat, and her friends got in the back.

While they drove, Luz noticed the odometer on the front of the cab. Her eyebrows raised. Like the map, the price on the reader was not what Luz’s gaze had fixated on. Above it, there was a floating yellow number, with a price a lot cheaper than the odometer. Luz grinned. She was starting to love the perks that came with being a Hermes kid.

Sure enough, when they pulled inside the city near the bus terminal, and Luz told the cab driver to pull over, he told Luz the price was going to be forty-three fifty. The number Luz saw said thirty-two sixty. When Luz told him this, that same mist appeared over his eyes, and he accepted their money without hesitation. The four of them got out, and as he drove away Amity blinked at Luz in awe.

“How did you do that?”

Luz shrugged, “the odometer said thirty-two sixty was the real price.”

Amity’s mouth opened to protest, and Gus nudged her with her shoulder. “Her dad’s the god of merchants and travelers, remember?”

Amity made a noise of understanding. “Right.”

Luz’s eyes however had shifted from her friends to the map station outside the bus terminal. When she opened it and saw her custom display of information, she gawked.

“Oh no! The bus leaves in twenty minutes. If we miss it, we won’t catch the next one until tomorrow.”

That urged her friends to move. They raced inside the station, and Luz pushed through the crowd to one of the open terminals. There was a lady waiting there who smiled as she approached.

“Hello, how can I help you?”

Being a child of Hermes was really benefiting Luz on this quest. Not only was she able to get a decently priced ticket for Amity to Denver, but she had also been informed that their three other tickets would suffice on this bus as well since they hadn’t been able to make the full trip to Denver. Luz had a feeling when she stamped their other tickets with approval she had been making a big exception, likely due to a little magic, and a little bit of Luz’s friendly smile.

They boarded the greyhound right on time. Making their way to the back, Luz sat between Willow and Amity, with Gus on Willow’s left.

“Well, that’s basically all the money we have left,” Willow said with a grimace, gesturing to their now significantly emptier change pockets. “We have about twelve dollars in change between us.”

“That’s not going to do much when we get to Denver, and we still have about a seven-hour bus ride ahead of us,” Amity added with a frown. “We’re going to need to find some more money. We don’t want to have to walk the whole way up the mountain. We’re be swarmed and surrounded in no time.”

“What do you mean swarmed?” Luz asked, turning to look the half-blood in the eyes. A light blush fell over her cheeks at the eye contact, and Amity’s gold eyes looked away nervously.

“Its… it’s just dangerous for half-bloods.” Amity stuttered, and Luz frowned, not understanding why Amity was acting so strange all of a sudden. Did she have something on her face? Luz wiped her face with her sleeve anxiously.

“It’s a translated Greek landmark,” Gus explained helpfully, and Luz turned her head to look at her friend instead. Gus was fidgeting with something in his backpack, and he pulled out a sheet of parchment that Luz peered over to look at.

It was a hand-drawn map, but unlike most of the maps, Luz had seen recently, there was nothing usual about this one. It showed North America, but where a lot of big landmarks were there were also hand-drawn additions. Luz’s ADHD brain went bonkers trying to take it all in at once, and while there were countless drawings, she only had time to look at a few. The first one Luz noticed was the Empire State Building, which had an addition to show Mount Olympus. Camp Half-blood had been outlined on Long Island Sound, but Luz also noticed another camp on the other side of the country near San Francisco labeled “Camp Jupiter” with the Roman SPQR above it. Not far from that, near Los Angeles, was an addition labeled “Entrance to the Underworld”. There was a castle in Quebec labeled “Boreas’ Palace”, and where the Bermuda triangle was had been labeled the “Sea of Monsters”.

Gus however, directed her to Colorado, where he pointed towards modern-day Mount Elbert. It had been relabeled “Mount Pelion” with a drawing of a group of Centaurs. Luz recognized them easily enough by the half-man, half-horse biology.

“This is why it’s dangerous,” Gus said grimly. Luz frowned, not understanding.

“I thought centaurs were friendly, didn’t that group of them come to Camp Half-Blood right before I arrived?”

“Most centaurs are friendly,” Willow assured her, but her eyes were also trained on the map. “But the ones who live in Mount Pelion are known to be dangerous.”

“In Greek times, Mount Pelion was a place where many famous demigods came to train,” Gus said, running his finger over the map. “Achilles and Jason were two really good examples. When the fire of Olympus moved to different empires, Mount Pelion kept its role as being a safe haven for new demigods to train. It always spouts out some of the best demigods of the era, like Nero, Ferdinand the Seventh, Lord Byron, and Lafayette who all trained under Chiron like Achilles and Jason. When North America became the new flame of Olympus, Mount Pelion moved, just like it did every time before then. But Chiron didn’t return to Mount Pelion. He left and founded Camp Half-Blood.”

Luz’s brain was hurting from processing everything Gus said. She was still trying to wrap her head around the idea of Lord Byron being a demigod. She was pretty sure her English teacher would heavily disagree with the idea of him being any kind of hero.

“Why did Chiron leave?” Luz asked, and Amity finally spoke up from next to Luz, the blush now faded from her cheeks. But Luz noticed that even though she was talking to her, she kept her eyes trained on her camp necklace, fiddling with the beads.

“Nobody knows. But he warned heroes against going to Mount Pelion. Before I left on my quest, Lilith told me to be careful. The Centaurs that live there are smart and ancient in their own way. It’s not that they don’t like heroes, but legend has it they can detect when a hero is lying, or misguiding their intentions. If they think you are doing that, they will tear you limb from limb.”

Luz gawked, dropping her mouth open. She suddenly was feeling a lot less confident. She wasn’t trying to deceive a Centaur, but she didn’t have the best track record with ancient heroes, and she worried a Centaur might notice that.

“How did you, Boscha, and Skara avoid them?” Luz asked with a frown, and Amity winced like she’d been hoping Luz wouldn’t ask that. She didn’t respond, and Luz was going to let it go before she sighed.

“I visited my parents in Cherry Hills Village. My father gave me a map to an alternate route up Mount Pelion that would be away from the Centaurs. He did warn me that I’d find monsters on the way, but we decided we’d rather take on a couple of hellhounds than a pack of Centaurs.”

“I don’t suppose you still have that map?” Willow tried, and Amity sighed, shaking her head.

“Achilles took my backpack. I don’t have it anymore.”

“I don’t suppose your dad would have extra copies of the map?” Gus asked, and Amity hesitated, biting the inside of her cheek.

“He might.” Luz could tell from the look on her face though that she didn’t really want to go back to see her parents. After what Luz had heard about them, she didn’t blame her.

“Ok, then it’s an option. Options are good.” Luz said carefully, trying not to rock the boat. Her three friends nodded in agreement, and the four of them settled into a comfortable silence.

Luz found herself staring out the window as they passed through the American south. She realized this was the first time she’d ever been out of state. Her Mami had always wanted to take her to Disney Land when she was little, but because of all the weird things that’d happened to Luz, and her Mami’s busy work schedule, they’d never gotten the chance. Maybe now that she knew how to defend herself, they could go sometime when Luz saw her again.

Before she’d even realized what had happened, she’d dozed off around midmorning, tired from having the latest guard duty. Unfortunately for her, her dreams this time were not as pleasant as they had been from the previous night.

Luz was standing in the mountain, in front of Hestia’s cage. She was kneeling, and dark smoke was curling around her feet, blocking her from being able to look at Hestia. Before she could process what was happening, she had cold sharp metal pointed against her back. Luz couldn’t help but gasp, and cold hands wrapped around her shoulder, steadying her.

“I see you’ve been watching me, little hero. If you have no problem eavesdropping, then perhaps I should give you a glimpse into what you are about to experience.”

Chills ran up Luz’s spine at the cold voice of the mountain man, and when she looked at the hand grasping her shoulder, she realized it was completely gloved in the dark fabric. She couldn’t see any exposed skin.

The man jerked Luz to her feet, and she bit her tongue to stop herself from crying out in fear. She didn’t want to look weak, but the mountain man seemed to pick it up because he laughed. There was nothing warm about the gesture. It was cold, just as cold and dead as his voice.

Hestia’s eyes flashed in the darkness, letting Luz know she was there, but the man didn’t let her look much longer. He turned her away from the cage and towards the back wall, and Luz couldn’t stop the gasp that left her mouth.

Against the wall was what Luz could only recognize as a massive portal. It was made of dark obsidian gemstone shards and chunks of mix-matched metals and bricks stacked against it. Next to it was a table, with a bronze goblet sitting on top of it. On the top of the portal’s edges, there was a hearth glowing with red fire. Luz’s eyes widened. Hestia’s fire. Inside the portal, what Luz saw made her want to shrink away and hide forever.

It was a dark and barren landscape, with a black river flowing in the distance. There was a line of ashen and despondent people – no, spirits – floating by, but they acted like the portal didn’t exist at all. Luz felt the ground shake beneath her feet when she heard a ferocious growl, and the shadow of a three-headed dog bigger than some of the apartments in Manhattan glowered in the distance.

The Underworld.

“Not an encouraging sight, I know.” The man said silkily into Luz’s ear. Luz shivered, she hated when he did that. “I myself was subjected to this torment for far too long. It took long, hard, work, but I freed myself, and I will free others who are so much like you. Heroes, cheated of their lives and forced to suffer in the dark. Why would you try and stop something so good? Something that will cleanse this world and stop cheating out demigods of their chance to truly live?”

Luz couldn’t tear her eyes away. Fear and panic were racing up inside her quicker than she could control. The man seemed to sense this again because he hummed removing the point from Luz’s back. Finally tearing her eyes away, Luz spun sideways away from the portal and the man, looking at him in the face for the first time.

His face was completely covered by a gold mask with horns protruding the top of it. He had the white cloak on she’d seen in her last dream, and his eyes glowed an eerie and unnatural blue. In his right hand, he had a pure celestial bronze staff, sharpened at the end. Luz was once again paralyzed, too terrified to move or speak.

“I’ve seen this prophecy, Luz Noceda,” he said, his voice somehow right in her ear like she hadn’t gotten away from him. “One of your friends will die in this mountain, and you will be unable to stop me. Which one will it be? The daughter of Demeter? The son of Athena? Or… will it be the daughter of the love goddess who thought herself worthy enough to stop me on her own?”

Luz finally found her voice at the mention of her friends, and she snarled, stepping forward. But she might as well have tried to walk with cement up to her knees. Something was holding her back, keeping her in place.

“Leave my friends out of this,” she said, glaring daggers into his eyes. “We will stop you and free Hestia, and none of them are going to die while we do it.”

The man chuckled, turning her back away from Luz to look into the portal. “You better hurry then. You’ve already met Theseus and Orpheus, and the other girl knows from experience how strong and mighty Achilles is. Do you think you could take on hundreds of demigods who are also going to rise from the grave? Hestia can only hold on for so long, daughter of Hermes. You better hurry.”

Luz was snapped out of her nightmare by someone shaking her arm. When she woke up, she saw Amity leaning over her, her gold eyes wide in concern.

“Luz! Are you alright? You were moving around in your sleep.”

“That’s an understatement,” Gus said from next to her, clearly happy he hadn’t been the one to wake Luz up after their head collision the last time he’d tried. “You were yelling. We were getting some looks from the other passengers. But we’re here, so you better get up.”

“We’re here?” Luz shot up, almost colliding her foreheads with Amity’s. The daughter of Aphrodite yelped like Luz had shocked her again, recoiling with such a fierce blush it ran all the way to the tips of her ears. “How are we here? There’s no way I slept that long.”

“You looked tired, so we just let you sleep,” Willow said from next to her, already collecting her things. “We have to move though, Gus said he thinks he knows where we can restock on supplies.”

Luz blinked. “You do?”

A grin split across Gus’ face and he nodded. “I do! Follow me.”

They walked off the bus and Luz came face to face with downtown Denver. As Gus lead them down the busy streets, Luz realized it was now Monday morning and three days since they’d left camp. Foot traffic was pretty heavy, which meant nobody spared them any glances, except maybe Amity, who’s face flushed in embarrassment whenever somebody looked at her clothes. Luz felt guilty remembering she’d said they would find her new clothes in Kansas City and that they just hadn’t had the time.

Gus cut left and right down streets, and if Luz wasn’t paying attention she would have lost him for sure. Eventually, they passed down a busy mall looking area and Luz caught sight of a street sign that read “16th Street Mall”. There were no cars on this street, so Gus speed-walked down the middle of the walkway, and Luz was quickly starting to lose patience.

“Gus, where are we even going?”

“It’s around here somewhere, trust me!” Gus said certainly before his eyes widened in delight. “Here it is!”

They dipped right along the side of one of the building corners of a department store Luz hadn’t had time to read the name of when Gus stopped right in his tracks and Luz had to jerk to a halt not to hit them. Amity wasn’t fast enough, and she cried out in surprise and crashed into the back of Luz. Luz stumbled but managed to catch Amity’s hand and keep them both steady.

“Thanks,” Amity said, and when her eyes locked onto their connects hands she blushed again. Behind them, she thought she heard Willow made a noise in the back of her throat that sounded like a mix between surprise and understanding. Luz turned with a raised brow, but Willow must have seen it coming because she just smiled simply at Luz, wiping any expression off of her face.

Deciding she must have imagined it, Luz let go of Amity’s hand and Amity immediately used it to clutch her arm. Gus hadn’t noticed anything at all and was busy examining a spray-painted graffiti on the wall with narrowed eyes.

Luz looked at it and blinked. It was an owl, that looked just like the one above the door to Cabin Six. The Mark of Athena.

“There’s no way that can be a coincidence,” Luz said aloud, and Gus shushed her, clearly trying to focus. Luz quieted, deciding to just watch him instead.

Eventually, Gus ran his hand over the beak of the owl, and it glowed up white. Stumbling back with a grin on his face, the brick began to shift until there was a door. Whooping in excitement, Gus pulled on the handle, and it swung inwards, leading them inside.

“One of the children of Athena’s many on-the-go workshops,” Gus said with an excited grin. “After you!”

Luz and her friends made their way inside, and when she saw the interior of the workshop she couldn’t help but gasp in delight. It had everything a demigod could ever need. There was a fridge, counter space, and a stove in the back of the room, and cabinets above it. There was a set of four bunk beds lining the back wall, and a linen closet behind it. There were three huge workshop desks, packed to the brim with notes, maps, charts, and a blackboard that still had written equations on the wall. There was a bookshelf literally lined with books, and upon further examination, Luz realized that it was filling itself as she and her friends walked in.

As a matter of fact, everything seemed to be adjusting as they walked in. Certain maps vanished, a microwave appeared on the counter (Luz was especially excited about that), and next to her Amity literally shriek in delight when a wardrobe appeared full of clothes. She ran right towards it, taking a fresh shirt off of a hanger.

“Gus, what is this place?” Luz exclaimed in glee, doing a full circle around the room. Even as Luz talked, the room seemed to be adjusting. The walls went from white to grey, with a light blue accent wall behind the bunks. A larger zoomed-in map of Colorado appeared pinned next to the blackboard over the formulas. Willow opened the door to the fridge and started shuffling through it, pulling out trays of food that looked so fresh it might as well have been picked off the vine right before she pulled it out.

Gus had made his way right over to the fridge as well, and Luz remembered neither he or Willow had eaten yet today. He grabbed a can of Spite and popped the tab, taking a swig before responding to Luz.

“Children of Athena have known about these for decades, they were originally workshops used by our mom but then she abandoned them and left the locations for some of her kids. One of my siblings told me that there was one rumored here ages ago. The room will give you whatever you need within reason, and we should be able to restock all our supplies here for our quest. If we need to plan, this is the place to do it. Monsters won’t be able to find us here either, it’s enchanted with Athena’s protection. But we won’t be able to stay long, it’s meant to be a rest spot, not a permanent residence.”

Luz’s eyes had locked on the blackboard, and she moved closer to take a look. One side was still stacked with chalk and equations, some notes, and other things Luz could barely read, let alone understand. But on the right side of the board were little signatures and notes left by other demigods to show they had been there. Some of them were funny, and Luz laughed while reading them.

“Spiders will not come into the workshop – this is fantastic news.”

“Malcolm, Julia, and Travis were here. Percy Jackson, unfortunately, was not.”

“The fridge will not speak to you like Siri, don’t try”

At the very bottom right corner were the initials P+A drawn in awful handwriting around a heart. An arrow pointed up to the line where Percy Jackson was mentioned, and in chalk, there was an arrow above the line which read “I am now” with a crudely drawn smiley face sticking out its tongue.

“Luz! Are you going to come to eat?”

Luz turned and saw her friends all sitting around a little table that definitely hadn’t been there before. There was a tray of foods on the table, and someone had even grabbed her a lime soda out of the fridge. Grinning, she joined them, sitting down and noticing something odd about all the foods.

“Uh, Gus. Why are half of these foods vegetables?”

It was impossible not to notice. While most of the food was arranged in a charcuterie kind of style, with various meats and cheeses and crackers, there was an enormous variety of vegetables and dip. Gus flushed.

“Look, she might be a goddess but she’s still my mom. Even godly mothers want their kids to be eating healthily.”

Around the table, everybody laughed, and that didn’t stop Luz from digging in. As she was eating, she eyed Amity from across the table and smiled.

“You finally got some new clothes!”

She was now dressed in a long black shirt with sleeves that came to about her forearms and magenta leggings. Her camp necklace sat right above the shirt, and the amethyst pendant was now clearly visible. Her mood had clearly gotten much better too because she was grinning at Luz, clearly happy.

“Yep! It feels great. And I just looked next to the wardrobe, there's a bathroom back there with a real shower!”

The reaction was instant. Luz and her friends all gasped in delight, and Gus slammed his fist down on the table.

“I call going after Amity!”

“Hey!” Luz squawked, turning to him with a playful glare. “I’m a quest leader, so I should go after Amity.”

“You’re not allowed to use that against me!” Gus complained, crossing his arms. “I’m younger, so I should go first.”

“We’ll all have plenty of time.” Willow reasoned though she was smiling at the pair of them bickering. “We’re going to need some time to collect ourselves and plan our next move.”

Luz’s smile faded, and she swallowed nervously. “Right, about that.”

She took a deep breath as her three friends turned to face her. While Willow and Gus were confused at the sudden tone change, Amity recognized the expression on Luz’s face right away because she paled.

“It’s about your dream, isn’t it?”

Luz nodded. “I saw the man in the mountain, Belos, and I know what his plan with Hestia is. He’s used her fire to create a portal to the Fields of Asphodel.”

#the owl house #lumity #luz x amity #Percy Jackson AU #shelby speaks