#'if i was orpheus i would simply' shut the fuck up
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"if i was orpheus i would simply not turn around" yes you would. if you were orpheus and you loved eurydice, you would. to love someone is to turn around. to love someone is to look at them. whichever version of the myth — he hears her stumble, he can't hear her at all, he thinks he's been tricked — he turns around because he loves her. that's why it's a tragedy. because he loves her enough to save her. because he loves her so much he can't save her. because he will always, always turn around. "if i was orpheus i would simply —" you wouldn't be orpheus. you wouldn't be brave enough to walk into the underworld and save the person you love. be serious
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anything you want
a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader
words: 1.6k
summary: (pre-established relationship) The one where you and him have your first kiss. It’s just Luke. He’ll do anything you tell him to, even if you talk too much. Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader
a/n: trouble is a yapper yall should know that by now. happy first kiss to you and luke!
(posted 1/25/24 unbetad)
—
“Come on, Castellan, we’re gonna be late if you don’t hurry!”
Your foot taps steadily on the forest floor, waiting for Luke to finish his demonstration of how to slay a chimera, and at the sound of your voice, he sheathes his sword and claps Chris on the back to finish up the workshop.
“Where you off to, man?”
“Gotta help our favorite head counselor set up for Greek Legends & Theatrics,” he says matter-of-factly, setting his battle armor to the side and making the walk up the steep hill towards the amphitheater to meet you like he’s following a siren call.
“Simp,” Chris mutters before his best friend slaps him across the head and jogs away.
“My hands are full, Rodriguez!”
“You wish!” Chris calls out as he picks up his sword, watching the slight blush rise on Luke’s pale cheeks as he almost trips over his own feet.
“Shut the fuck up!”
“Watch your fucking language,” you say sternly, which makes the both of you laugh when he finally meets you at the top of the hill. Instantly, you’re relinquishing everything in your hands: your water jug, the bag of costumes, a binder of scripts, and a ukelele. Luke’s juggling everything as best he can with no complaints, following your footsteps as he bumps the body of the uke against his hip to get a better grasp as he marvels at your excitement for your little drama club.
“What’re you teaching today, trouble?”
“Orpheus and Eurydice, and it’s gonna be great! One of my personal favorites! The kids should be ready for the performance at the end of the month,” you grin, walking backward as you descend the stone steps of the amphitheater.
You’ve both grown into your roles here at camp, finding places you shine and excel at and together you bridge what the kids, your kids, are lacking. But he can see how you let yourself thrive here, being the operative heart of Camp Half Blood, and you’re radiating as you beckon him to follow you.
Following you around has become a habit as of late, one that he’s only recently made himself aware of. Sure, he’s always loved annoying you and doing something stupid to get a reaction, whether it be a snide remark or a smile, but something in your dynamic has changed. You’re head counselor after all, and even though he’s only in charge of busy cabin 11, his hand is always extended to whatever you have to offer. Quite simply, he loves it when you look for him, there’s no other explanation for it.
You’ve always troubled him, his thoughts, his life— but Luke can’t define it, or deem it something he can live without. It doesn’t make sense, and now he often finds himself wondering what it would be like to be more than whatever you are; not enemies, not necessarily friends, but perhaps a secret third thing, something he admittedly holds sacred.
Luke trusts you with his life, but wouldn’t choose you to be his quest companion again he thinks, not after the scar only you deem pretty is an evident sign of his personal transgression. He stares at you for a second too long while you ramble, organizing your thoughts out loud that he doesn’t notice any of the actual words falling from your lips because he’s entranced by them. Slight worry crosses his sharp features as he realizes he could kill someone if you got hurt.
Fuck.
There’s a space he’s carved out for you in his heart that he reminds himself not to name yet and now you’re looking for him again, turning to him when you realize he hasn’t followed.
When did you get so close to him?
“Luke!” you exclaim, nibbling on your bottom lip as you snap your fingers in his face.
“Are you even listening to me? I need an extra hand setting up smores stuff for the bonfire later if you’re free, and then we have night shift after…” You’re leaning against the table with a delicate smile on your face and in moments like these where you rattle off your routine that he gladly picks apart— Luke feels a sort of elation better than any quest or glory he can achieve. Only you can make unpaid labor sound like Elysium.
He nods absentmindedly, eyes flickering to your lips as you continue to speak, and he can’t help but admire how the way the sun filters through your hair…
Maybe Chris was onto something…
“You okay? If you need a break you can sit and watch us, the kids should be coming soon to start.”
Your fingers graze his bicep, and he blinks at you, your eyes wide with curiosity and a fire that can’t be tamed. You drive him crazy. He probably looks like a lunatic, frozen in place as he stares at you, so he shakes his head lightly, albeit unconsciously as he furrows his eyebrows, scar crinkling with his eyes as he smiles at you. What a dork.
“Why’re you looking at me like that?” you laugh, your head falling onto your shoulder as you look at him sideways. You’ve noticed Luke is softer with you nowadays, hands always full when you keep him busy, and unlike the other cabin counselors, seldom does he fight you about camp duties. He’ll fight you about anything else though, just to get the last swipe at your attention, to make sure your eyes are on him.
And they always are, whether you can help it or not.
Luke steps forward, duffel bag still in hand and ukelele at his other side and suddenly he looks like he’s on a mission, his signature smirk stealing the air from your lungs as you forget what you’re saying.
“Like what, trouble?”
Nervous laughter bubbles from you at the increasing proximity. It’s the first time he’s spoken since you got down here. His cargos brush against the smooth skin of your legs as you nestle your hips against the table, and the smell of sweat, musk, and citrus infiltrates your nostrils with a shaky breath.
“Like you’re about to make a mess of something. I can’t really tell,” you whisper. Why are you whispering? There’s no one here but you two and the sound of birds in the spring air.
It’s just Luke. Luke Castellan, who you glitter bombed when you were 14, who shoves you around every chance he gets, and steals food off your plate at every meal.
“I might. Not sure yet,” he swallows as he looms over you, the bag in his grasp falling to the side and the ukelele making a dissonant noise as he sets it on the table.
When did you let him past your defenses? The wall around your heart was well protected after years of whims of what you thought was love felt like running headfirst into concrete.
But Luke’s always been there, watching.
Though as a son of Hermes, sneaking in without a sound is what he does best. Perhaps a little too well, the both of you not noticing it for what it was until this moment.
“What are we doing?” you ask, and his reply is to pull you in by the belt loop of your denim shorts, snatching you closer with a curl of his fingers.
“You talk too much, you know that?”
Then suddenly, finally—his lips descend onto yours stealing your breath away like it's second nature, almost thoughtless and without anymore questions. There's a moment where you both sigh as if it was a relief to finally be touched like this, no hidden meanings, no ulterior motives, and nothing else makes sense but to be here kissing him.
Luke’s calloused hand weaves under your jaw and into your hair, propping you up as your knees buckle slightly, so intense and gentle at the same time, lips forging the undeniable connection between you that’s gone unspoken for so long. His hands are full of you, and he tastes like the strawberries you snuck onto his plate at lunch.
Your hands slide up the front of his shirt, a featherlike touch to confirm that he’s there though the feel of his tongue slipping in makes you wonder how much time you’ve wasted arguing with him when you could’ve been doing this.
Everything about this kiss feels familiar in a way you can’t describe, but this embrace lets you learn about him what you thought you were already so sure of. It makes you wonder if you’ve been here before in a different life, and then you remember who’s in front of you.
It’s Luke, who likes it when he gets to fall asleep to the sound of your voice telling a bedtime story, follows you around even if his siblings tease him, and never ridicules you for your innate madness.
Perhaps he’s just as mad as you.
Your eyes flutter open, and he’s already walking away, nervously chuckling like he didn’t give you a life-altering kiss. When your heart finally feels like it’s in your chest again, you grumble loudly, shaking your head with his name still caught between your teeth—
“LUKE CASTELLAN! Don't you dare run away from me!”
He's quite sure he hasn't sprinted away faster in his life. But as he runs up the steps of the ampitheater to try and clear his head, he stumbles when he looks at you, turning around every few paces until he finally catches the unmistakeable smile on your face. Luke eats shit at the top, falling against a tree and he hears the sound of your laughter.
He thinks he’ll spend the rest of his life running away if it means he can look back and see if you’ll follow.
—
“I don’t know how it is you are so familiar to me—or why it feels like I am getting to know you and more as though I am remembering who you are. How every smile, every whisper brings me closer to the impossible conclusion that I have known you before, I have loved you before—in another time, a different place—some other existence.”
-Lang Leav
ask to be put on general/luke taglists!
luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?): @kissingyourgrl l @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri @number-onekidqueen @nininehaaa @bradynoonswife @stevenknightmarc @hoodedhavok @happy-mushrooms @homebyeleven @anotherblackreader @too-deviant @liviessun @lilacspider @theadventuresofanartist @sucker4seresin @simpforsunwoo @zanzie @starrystormwritings
#luke castellan x reader fanfic#luke castellan x dionysus!reader#luke castellan x reader#pjo show imagine#percy jackon and the olympians#made by ma1dita ♥︎#trouble!verse#luke castellan fluff#thank you for reading my love ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚
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Hiding by Florence + The Machine is such a Calliope and Dream song
Hi anon!! Florence + The Machine isn’t my usual type of music but your ask made me 👀👀👀 so I listened to the song and ohmygod. I hope you don’t mind if I write a breakdown of some of the lyrics? I…may have gotten a bit carried away. I’ll stick most of this under a read-more because there is simply Too Much.
I think you hide / When all the world’s asleep and tired / You cry a little
ALL RIGHT STRAIGHT OFF THE BAT WE’VE GOT SOME EMOTIONS HERE. I will say it a thousand times, it speaks volumes to me that though Dream is billions of years old and has had a number of lovers, Calliope is the only one he married. As we see in Brief Lives, Dream does sometimes break down. You know that panel of him sitting in his chair with his hand over his face? Yeah. Fuck. As his lover, as his wife, Calliope may have witnessed something like this or at least suspected it. I’m imagining a situation where Orpheus as a young child has an minor accident, and Calliope and Dream have to just. Stop. And cope with the knowledge of his mortality together.
I know that you’re hiding / I know there’s a part of you that I just cannot reach / You don’t have to let me in / Just know that I’m still here
Now this is GOOD SHIT. It goes both ways with these two!!! Dream would never know what it was like to experience the abuse Calliope survived, would never force her to tell him about it. Calliope would never understand the weight of what it means to contain the world’s collective unconscious, to have to be so rigid with yourself to the point of pain. But these lyrics speak to steadfastness. While we don’t see much indication (either comics or show) that they will be there for each other in the future, in the show we see the tenderness between them so clearly in Calliope pressing her cheek to Dream’s, Dream’s eyelids fluttering shut. It’s VERY easy to expand on that and explore in fic and headcanon that they would again forge a supportive relationship—bolstered by the character development Dream has had since their marriage—and work together to try to heal. I’ve written that myself!
I know you’ve tried / But something stops you every time
Hahahahahaha. Oh my god. I am hitting Dream with a stick.
And it’s your pride / That’s keeping us still so far apart / But if you give a little / So will I
HELLOOOOO. Okay, so I know the initial reaction is to probably apply this to Dream, which, yes, he is one proud motherfucker. But I think Calliope certainly has her own share of pride, although not to the extent of her ex-husband. (I’d say in her episode, we see more of the like, self-worth, I-know-what-I-deserve type of pride. Which is good!!! I adore that about her!!!) She did not want to yield over those thousands of years, either. And she will not beg. She will request—may I visit you in the Dream Realm sometime, so that we may finally talk about our son, and grieve him properly?—but she will not beg. But! If Dream gives a little!! So will she!!!
I know I seem shaky / These hands not fit for holding
THESE HANDS NOT FIT FOR HOLDING. JESUS CHRIST. This is, of course, a lyric that shouts and screams Dream at me. I am in pain. I’m thinking of the way he says, “I owe you that much.” The word owe stands out to me—I think it may indicate that he has become aware he did not always treat Calliope as she should be treated, and he feels he has to make up for that in some way. I’m thinking about how he says, “I’ve learnt much in recent times,” and how that suggests he may have been reevaluating his role in Orpheus’s fate. How he could have acted differently. And with that, I think it made him consider Calliope’s reproach in a new way. It doesn’t seem like too much of a stretch to me that Dream would feel like his hands are not fit for holding Calliope’s anymore.
ANYWAY. That was a whole lot of probably incoherent chatter and I hope at least you enjoyed reading it, anon. Anyone reading this, feel free to send me asks about songs that remind you of the characters or dynamics that I post about often. Although I have to say, if it’s a Taylor Swift song I probably won’t listen to it, sorry.
Thanks again for the ask, anon!!!
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atropa belladonna || orpheus || mm.3 || re: accusing his fucking husband
“Shut up.”
Ben’s voice is hard as he says that. He’s been listening to the conclusions that the table has been coming to. He’s not stupid. He has a degree. He’s a highly intelligent person who’s more than capable of following a path of deductive reasoning, and Ben is keenly aware of what people are trying to get at without saying it with their words. Bo, Fumie, and Haruki’s the only one who has the nerve to say what they’re all fucking thinking.
They’re entitled to their opinions, even if their opinions are dead wrong and utterly fucking ridiculous. He’ll gladly point it out. No problem.
“Your conclusion is flawed to the core. Not a single bit of it is conclusive--in fact, I’m ashamed to even have to give it a modicum of attention, but it has to be quashed so that we can move on to actually finding an answer, I suppose, so fine.”
He spits the last word, his hand squeezing his husband’s, having flipped over from holding his knee to lacing their fingers together. Ben’s eyes drift confidently between each person seated at the table, and his voice has lowered from it’s near-shout volume to a level that speaks of years of standing before a podium and presenting arguments.
His face is not that of denial; rather, it’s of a man who is firm in his convictions. It's a simple fact.
“You’ve all described Caleb, yes, but isn’t it a common observation that two people share those traits? You’ve effectively described Bo as well. Rather convenient that it’s Bo who stated so certainly that he was number 3 on the chart when the ego could easily be used to describe Caleb as well. We all simply went along with his conclusion, but I’ve decided it’s time we push back against it.
The point with Perennial: Caleb easily could have noticed something amiss with them without the use of magic, and he’s not exactly one to mince words, so it goes to reason that he could have easily been the one to cause the crisis that required a reset.
Convenient that Bo is also British, isn’t it? And he admitted it himself that he was able to parse information that no one else here likely could from the research.
In regards to the notice with the strange spelling, Sasha easily could have made that sign. On the other hand, the people working together clearly have a rapport between them, don't they? Glassbreaker and Timekeeper? It could be a note from one to themself, saying if they leave without something then Bo, as Timekeeper, would notice. An inside joke. Nothing more.
I'm not saying it's Bo: I'm just saying you're all not bothering to examine anything in-depth or from different angles. Do that, hm?”
As he lists his points, he remains calm, but, as he continues, he can’t help but laugh through his words.
“And--And to your point about something happening to me, I’m right fucking here, aren’t I? I’ve been here the whole time! If something ‘worse’ happened to me, I think I would bloody know about it!
He wouldn’t keep that from me. He can’t lie. Everyone has seen that, everyone knows that, so, then, explain how he kept this from me--this whole mess--for months. You can’t. And don’t say ‘oh, you just don’t know him, he can lie’. I’ve known him for almost thirty years. No one here other than Caleb himself gets the fucking right to claim they know him better than me.”
Having at some time leaned forward in his seat during his last point, Ben sits back and lets out an aggravated puff of air, muttering something about “ridiculous” and “fucking barmy” under his breath.
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I miss live theater! I'm getting antsy about it! Idk about broadway, but I think once the weather gets better we really need to start looking into outdoor shows. Like, some shows are impossible to do outside, I get that, but there are plenty that are doable! Smaller, localized outdoor performances of shows would be cheaper to put on and safer for an audience, plus would put a lot of artists back in work like...come on people Please who do I write to to get this ball rolling
- Hair. Hair literally,,,,doesn't even Have a set and for the most part the hippies are supposed to be out in a field. The only thing I could see being a problem is the snow machine for 'the flesh failures' but like...not impossible to set that up. Put the show in an actual field and the show gets even more interactive than it already is! Sell customed themed face masks with the tickets! Blankets for the audience to sit on can be spread out around the cast at safe distances. oooh and can you imagine how cool a night show would be??? yelling 'LOOK AT THE MOON' while the moon is actually out? I'm getting literal chills imagining the draft card burning scene right now, it's dark and they shut off the other lights so the trashcan is the main source of light and Claude singing right over it....chills, I tell you.
- Hedwig and the Angry Inch. It's literally a concert?? any outdoor concert pavilion would work? hell, if that's to pricey to rent out, in the show the concert is supposed to be in a parking lot lmfao so the cheaper the venue the better. You know how sometimes James Corden does a bit where they put on musicals during traffic??? That is SUCH a Hedwig vibe idk you could have a LOT of fun staging that show outside
- Rent. First of all, pandemic, housing and renting crisis, depressed young adults who desperately want hope for the future, so much else like...I'm sorry a Rent revival would slap so hard right now. The only set Rent ever has is like, a table and a scaffolding, maybe two tables if you're lucky. You can set that up anywhere. Fuck, find an actual empty lot for it. absolute vibes. Scatter the life support people throughout the audience. Whenever Mark isn't 'on stage' have him walk throughout the crowd filming people. Angel can be playing the tub drums while people enter the area and find their seats. When Roger leaves the apartment for the first time he actually fully leaves the show area until Christmas Bells starts up. The homeless characters can be scattered around the audience...like it's Easily good
- Hadestown. Okay listen. since I saw Hadestown I've wanted to see it as interactive. And what I'm proposing here is definitely crazy but NOT impossible and I feel like it would def draw an audience if only out of curiosity. Okay so like...have the show move. Like, there's an area set up for the bar in the beginning, tables strewn around with the audience and cast sitting together (at a safe distance ofc) so it feels like you're really IN the show. and when the story moves past that setting...so does the audience. Like, following Eurydice as she gets lost and dies (oof Hermes trying to get through to Orpheus can be like pre-recorded or in a different area so you can only Hear them while watching Eurydice) and then like listen....what town doesn't have an abandoned railroad track. I know it's an out there idea but would it not be so COOL to see all the railroad scenes staged on an actual railroad? Oh God and for the end the audience is once again following Eurydice, only seeing Orpheus's back until he turns around a second to soon....tell me you wouldn't get so wrapped up in the drama of that moment? hello? managing to pull off a production like this would simply fuck so hard I'm sorry
I'm tired so I'm stopping this post for now but like....I miss theater so much please let's just get safely creative please
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Danny Phantom au you been working on?
x I'm a slut for good musicals and Greek mythology so I've had the though of a Hadestown AU for my ship. Of course Hades and Persephone would be Vlad and Tayonna ( I really just need an excuse to five him tattoos) but I was up in the air if I wanted Danny or Tucker as Orpheus but Sam was totally Eurydice. If I made Tucker Orpheus then Danny would be prefect as Hermes (let's be real Danny totally has a God complex)
Difference from the musical though:
In Wait For Me reprise Vlad would be the one to ask "Can we try again?" And Tayonna is the one that says "it's time for spring we'll try again next fall" simply because I wish for the man to beg....😌
Sam realizes she's not getting out even if they try and she's already accepts her fate
The fates (who ever they should be) play a larger roll because they are awesome.
Tayonna isn't a drunk but she does supply it, she always makes sure Vlad is looking to piss him off
x College professors AU where Danny is the biology and astrology professor that gets mostly along with everyone and befriends both Tayonna the history and women studies professor and Vlad the chemistry and business finance professor. And Danny has to play peace keeper between them whenever they are near each other because Vlad won't shut up and Tayonna is too stubborn to stand down.
x Everything is the same except Vlad I'd an actual fucking vampire pfff
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“this is literally a shit show god help us” was the name of the google doc that this pic was on. Aka Eurydice takes embarrassing pictures while encouraged by Persephone
Annika here! This was inspired directly by the conversation Danielle and I had that went like
“I’d take pictures like that”
“I’d get drunk and cheer you on in the corner.”
This is pure crack but please enjoy.
“So...first anniversary is coming up. What’s the plan?” Persephone teases, nudging Eurydice with her shoulder. She’s swirling a wine glass, the deep plum color of the wine nearly spilling out over the top.
“Hmmm? Oh.. haven’t really thought of it.” It’s honestly not on her mind. “It’s on thanksgiving Persephone, not the most romantic of holidays. Besides..we get married in a month anyway.” Eurydice finishes writing the words onto her notebook before the train of thought leaves her. Only a few short assignments come between Eurydice and her degree, Christmas, and her wedding.
“Well you two clearly did not have any trouble finding romance last year..” Persephone comments, gesturing to the sleeping three month old Eurydice cradled in her arm, a direct souvenir from their prior thanksgiving festivities. “And I would really rather you didn’t celebrate the same way, because Melody is precious but you don’t need any more.”
“Oh, like you didn’t invite me over with ulterior motives that day.” Eurydice shuts her book and shoves it haphazardly in her bag, before settling into the booth more comfortably before her shift began that night. “We don’t want to spend money on anything...we are literally getting married in four weeks.”
“Well..doesn’t mean the romance needs to die before it starts…” She finishes her wine, and at once a coy smile slips over her features. “I have a brilliant idea. Tonight, after closing, come on down to the bar…” Persephone sits her glass down and holds her hands out, making grabbing gestures for the baby. “What size are you now? C..D?” Persephone gestures to Eurydice’s chest with a finger, and a raise of the eyebrow.
“Why does that matter-”
“Regardless, here’s the plan. You, bring your little milf body down to the bar after closing. I’ll bring the camera, i’ll go buy you something a lil sexy to wear..” Persephone smiles as she takes Melody, kissing her head before holding her sleeping body closer. “You and me, we’ll do some home made presents I promise he won’t forget.”
“Are you...Persephone!” Eurydice’s skin flushes pink as she registers what persephone is suggesting. “I am not taking..those...kind of pictures. Let alone in this bar. Let alone with you!”
“LIsten. All i’m saying is he won’t be expecting it and it’s the gift that keeps on giving if you know what I mean.” Persephone winked, smiling down at little Melody with a teasing grin. “Just hope it doesn’t give you another one of these. I’ll be down here tonight, right after closing. Tell Orpheus you have to help close and re-stock.”
“You’re ridiculous. Why would he want to see pictures, I’m literally right here…”
“Trust me.”
Regardless of her hesitance, she did stay late in the bar that night. She had Melody against her shoulder, filling out an order form for the next day when Persephone strolled in- Persephone and a small entourage of people.
“Seph, what the fuck! You said it was you and a camera!” Eurydice is suddenly flustered at the idea of..exposing..herself to so many strangers in an attempt to get a semi-sexual photo out of it.
“Well..It’s me. And my photographer. Grace does all our pictures, has for years. And these are just her assistants to help with lighting!” Persephone tosses a little pink bag in her general direction, far too small to contain anything of any substance. “Gimme the baby, go put that on.”
Eurydice caught the bag and her eyes went wide. “Persephone. How much did you spend on this-”
“It’s my anniversary gift to you, not like you won’t wear it again. Besides, I feel like it’s my job to keep the romance alive since it was my dinner that you decided was a good reason to have a three day fuck-fest upstairs. Go. Change.” Persephone reached her arms out and simply grabbed Melody, quickly holding the sleeping baby to her chest to keep her asleep as long as possible.
Eurydice glared, before slipping into the bathroom down the small hall. When she didn’t emerge after a few minutes, Persephone took it upon herself to knock. “You can’t hide in there forever.”
Persephone wasn’t expecting to open the door to see heavy tears running down Eurydice’s face, or to see her clinging so tightly to the silk robe. “I can’t go out there in this...look at me, Persephone.” Eurydice tilted her head back to try to keep the tears in her eyes, blinking violently to keep them at bay. “I’m spilling out of the top, and it doesn’t cover all the stretched out skin and- I can’t take a picture like this…” She is shaking her head rapidly, chest heaving with the impending panic.
“Hey, hey, Eurydice, baby.” Persephone steps closer, taking her face in her hand. She holds the young girl’s cheek, and kisses her forehead gently. Slowly. “You are absolutely beautiful. The top, thats how it’s gonna fit honey, i’m sorry. You can thank Melody here for that. But you get to do things for her that noone else can, Eurydice.” She turned her to face the mirror, keeping one arm around her shoulders. “You made a person, Eurydice. You made a little person a year ago, who loves you more than anything. Think of it as the anniversary of that.”
Eurydice nods, but her hands still grasp desperately at the ends of the shirt, holding it tightly over her middle.
“Here. Change of plans.” Persephone decides, running her hand over Eurydice’s short hair. She gently shifts Melody back into her arms, the infant in her constellation colored pajamas now covering the black lace on Eurydice’s chest. “Come on. What’s a milf without a baby, right?”
Persephone leads her out, and helps her step up onto the bar, fixing the straps on Eurydice’s shoulders and the golden bow on Melody’s head at the same time.
She whispered something to her friend, through her eyes never left Eurydice, who looked at her daughter like she was one of the stars on the onesie she wore.
Yes, there were pictures taken, though the night is more of a blur to them both than they expected.
Persephone, midway through a bottle of tequila, screaming endless encouragement of “God you are fucking HOT, Eurydice. I get it, I totally get it. Spread your legs or something..I don’t know, you’re fucking hot, own it!”
Eurydice passes her baby back and forth between Persephone and herself, actually finding herself smiling at the antics of her friend throughout the night.
“It’s probably a good thing Melody is so clingy, you’d have another by now.” Persephone teases as she hands the fussing girl back to Eurydice at the end of the session, Melody now long past ready for bed, ready to sleep in the arms of her mom. Persephone ignores a call for the tenth time that night, dropping her phone into her coat pocket, though Eurydice notices how her fingers itch for it.
“You got somewhere else to be?” Eurydice teases, settling her sweater back over her head, wanting nothing more than to climb into bed besides Orpheus upstairs.
“It’s my damn husband. He knows where I am, but Junie won’t sleep now that she knows i’m gone.” She rolls her eyes, though Eurydice can see through the cool exterior.
“And you say mine is clingy- at least she’s only three months old!” She holds her hands out to take Melody for the last time. “Go. I’ll see you tomorrow, Junie’s waiting.”
Persephone nods and grabs her bag, wiping at her eyes quickly. “Night, baby.” She says to neither Eurydice nor Melody specifically.
“Night Seph..oh. And thank you. I actually think I had fun.” Eurydice rocks slightly with melody, offering a tired but genuine smile.
“I know you did.” She teases as she leaves, hand going for her phone as soon as she was out the front door of the bar so she could call her insomniac daughter.
Eurydice kisses Melody’s head, locking up the back door of the bar, before climbing the quick flight of stairs to her home.
Orpheus was awake in bed, strumming an old guitar he had been trying to tune. His eyes lit up when he saw them coming, her spot in the bed already turned down with her favorite pajamas ready. “Hey! Long night?”
She kisses him, passing Melody to his chest effortlessly, before grabbing the pajamas to put on after her shower.
“You’ve got no idea.”
Persephone was right, Eurydice learned a week later on Thanksgiving morning when she handed him a wrapped album, full of some of the pictures from that night.
Yes, his eyes went wide when he saw one of her with his bandana around her neck. Yes, his heart stopped beating momentarily when he caught the wide angle shot of her on laying the bar top, eyes closed with a skirt rucked up around her hips.
The ones that really got to him, though, were of her with their daughter against her chest, eyes trained on the baby in her arms. Ones that somehow looked like the most natural thing in the world, despite the makeup and raunchy clothes she wore.
She should have expected that he’d slip one specific one out, to keep in his guitar case. One with her sitting cross legged on the bar top, a gauzy black skirt spread around her. She held Melody with both her hands, their bodies perpendicular to each other. He couldn’t tell anything about Melody’s expression, though he knew it must be a smile the way it always was when she was with her mother. No, it was Eurydice’s face that caught his eye. The way her eyes sparkled, even in the black and white photo, and the way her smile spread across her face as she so clearly was speaking to their daughter some words of love.
“You are so so beautiful, Eurydice.” He is not usually at a loss for words, though he is when he leans in to kiss her, both hands going to her waist to pull her closer, to pull her ontop of him as he laid back.
Yes, Eurydice decided, she would have to thank Persephone later.
#modern au#hadestown fanfic#hadestown fic#hadestown modern#Annika writes#persephone#eurydice#persephone and eurydice#my fave friendship
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do they give each other hickies and if so who gives/receives and what are the muses reactions ?? (i hc eurydice gives them to orpheus but i’m curious to know what y’all think)
Oh you know Eurydice likes to give Orpheus hickeys. The first time it happened though... oof that was an experience.
Orpheus was watching the movie. He swore — he was paying attention up until he felt her fingers on his arm. She was touching him gently, but he could feel her eyes on him too. Eurydice and Orpheus were curled up together on the big chair she had in the corner of her apartment, her legs thrown over his, and her back against the arm of the chair. Some cooking show was playing on her laptop as they sat together, but while he was still watching, her attention waned.
Her fingers intertwined with his and she leaned in, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.
“Orpheus,” she whispered, her lips against his arm, pressing kisses against his shoulder, working her way up and across his collarbone.
“Mmhmm?” He mumbled, trying to make it seem like he was still focused on the screen, when all of his focus was on the way her skin felt against his.
He could feel her smile against his skin for a moment before she shifted, moving to sit in his lap. His arms went around her, as if second nature to want to hold her close, to keep her steady. He clasped his hands behind her and rested them on the small of her back. “Has anyone...” she trailed off, pressing a kiss to his jawline, tugging a little on his bandana.
He bit his lip and his eyes fluttered a little, his attention entirely on the way her lips felt as they explored his jaw, on the feeling of her tugging him closer. She started to undo the banana and he squeezed her waist.
“H-has anyone what?” He asked, a little breathless. He could feel her smile, feel a little puff of air against his neck as she laughed, pulling the bandana off his neck, and dropping it behind the chair. She pulled back to look at him, bringing one hand up to cup his cheek.
She looked at him with a mix of stars and hazy lust in her eyes, and he looked back at her, his eyes bright, wide and fluttery. She smiled at him pressing her mouth against his for a moment. This he knew how to do. He knew how to kiss her, how to meet her where she was. Their kisses were like waltzes and he was the greatest partner she had ever had. When she pulled away his eyes were half shut. She smirked and stuck to her original plan.
“Has anyone ever given you a hickey?” He blinked at her and, half afraid of what his voice would sound like, simply shook his head. It must have been the right answer because Eurydice’s eyes lit up and she went back to kissing his jaw, sucking slightly at points. But it was when her lips found the spot on his neck that she loved, he understood what she was doing.
Oh. Oh.
Orpheus’ head fell back, and his grip on Eurydice tightened. She relaxed into his frame and continued sucking on that one spot on his neck, just relishing in Orpheus’ uneven breathing. She alternated between pressing open mouth kisses across his neck, hot and gentle, and pulling sections of his neck between her lips. When she used her teeth the first time, just nipping him slightly, she won the jackpot.
She heard his breath hitch, before a soft moan found its way out of his lips. She smiled against his skin, her semi assault on his neck not faltering. Hearing him moan, hearing him speak his pleasure into existence using that damn voice of his was something that affected her in ways she had never been affected before. She felt like she had won a prize every time she was able to elicit a moan like that — full bodied, honest, and just a little broken.
She spent more time than she would have liked to admit with her mouth on his neck. By the time she was ready to move on, Orpheus had moved from moaning, to whimpering, her name frequently crossing his lips. When she sat back on his legs, she was able to admire her handy-work — eight or nine little love marks, blooming the softest shades of lilac and rose on his pale skin. She knew from experience that tomorrow they would be violet, magenta, but she had taken enough care to place them in the direct path of the bandana he wore everyday.
He felt her lean back and his head rolled to the side. His eyes were needy, his lips red from where he had been biting them. He looked positively radiant — this unconventional mix of soft and sharp. Like he wanted nothing more than for her to continue doing whatever she wanted to him. No, with him. She might have staked her claim on him, her little signatures peppering his neck, but this was their dance.
“Eurydice,” he said, his voice thick, catching in his throat. She smiled brightly, leaning in to kiss him gently for just a moment.
“Take me to bed, Poet,” she said, pulling back from their kiss just enough to whisper against his lips. He nodded and wrapped his hands around her thighs, shifting to stand, with her wrapped around him. He held her close to him, his forehead against hers, as he carried her the few steps to her bed.
* * *
Orpheus woke up to the incessant vibrating of his phone. Eurydice was curled into his chest, his front pressed against her back, and he so didn’t want to move her from her position. She looked so peaceful, sleeping in his shirt, hands gripping the blanket. And so he tried to ignore it, instead choosing to wipe the sleep from his eyes and lay back down. The phone kept buzzing. And buzzing. Soon enough it woke Eurydice from her sleep. She whined and turned in his arms, pressing her face against his chest.
“Make it stop, Poet,” she murmured, sleep mingling with annoyance in her voice. He pressed a kiss to her head and reached over to grab the phone, answering the call without looking to see who it was.
“Hello?” he whispered, not wanting to disturb Eurydice any more than he already had. He felt her curl into him further, her head finding its way under his chin as she held him close to her.
“Oh my god,” he could hear laughter from the other end of the phone. Thalia. “We’ve woken Romeo!”
“Thalia?” Orpheus murmured, confused as to why his aunt was calling him. And even more confused as to why he could hear two or three sets of laughs in the background.
“Hey Kiddo, did you forget you were coming with us for brunch so that we could plan for Euterpe’s birthday?” Orpheus’ eye widened at that, his body tensing up and alerting Eurydice to the fact that something was wrong.
“Oh, Thalia, I’m so sorry, I-I-I got distracted last night and—“ Orpheus removed himself from Eurydice’s grasp, much to her annoyance. She growled low in her throat as he got out of bed, but her frustration quickly turned to annoyance, and sadness, as she lost the warmth of her Orpheus.
“It’s okay, Kiddo. I texted Hermes and he gave me Eurydice’s address. Urania, Cory, and Erato are with me, and we’re meeting Poly there. We’re outside Eurydice’s building now.”
“I’ll be down in two seconds, I promise! Wait for me!” He said, searching for his clothes on the floor, throwing on whatever he could find.
“We will,” he heard Thalia chuckle before hanging up.
“Wanna tell me what that was about?” Eurydice said, sitting up in bed, rubbing her eyes. Orpheus was frantically looking around for his shirt until Eurydice spoke, and when he looked up at her, he was greeted with a vision.
Eurydice’s hair was messy, her bangs flying out in all directions. Her eyes, soft and sleepy, held worry in them as she looked to him for an answer. His t-shirt was hanging off her shoulders and Orpheus hated the next thing he said before it even came out of his mouth.
“That was Thalia. I forgot I was meeting her this morning. She’s outside. I need my shirt back.”
Eurydice looked taken aback for a moment, frozen. Of all the things she was expecting to hear come out of Orpheus’ mouth, those four short sentences were maybe the most unexpected. She must have stalled for a moment too long, because Orpheus moved from the end of her bed up to sit beside her.
“‘Rydice, they’re downstairs. I’m so sorry but I need to go,” Eurydice nodded, pulling his shirt over her head, leaving her only in her lace bralette and thin pyjama shorts. He leaned in to kiss her quickly, gently cupping her cheek, before pulling his shirt over his head. It was then that she noticed the problem.
“Shit, Orpheus,” she said as he leant down to pull his shoes on. “Orpheus, you need your bandana, where is it?”
“Eurydice it’s fine I don’t need it, I’ve already made them wait long enough.” Eurydice shook her head, looking at the damage she had done to his collarbone and his neck the night before. Oh gods he’s going to see his aunts like this.
“No no no, Poet, I think you should find that bandana,” she said, a sense of dread creeping into her voice. She moved to get out of bed, but Orpheus just brushed her off, instead coming closer to her. He gently placed a hand on her waist, and out of habit she put her hand on his cheek, as he leaned in again to kiss her softly.
“I’ll text you later,” he said smiling, before letting her go and running out the door and down the stairs. And there Eurydice was, left standing in her apartment, as her boyfriend went to visit his family with six or seven hickies in full view.
“Oh fuck.”
* * *
“Don’t. Say. A. Word,” Urania hissed, urgency in her voice. It shocked her sisters, but they knew better than to argue with each other when one was so insistent. When Orpheus stepped into full view of the car, there was a collective half-gasp-half-giggle from the other women in the car.
“What are you talking ab— oh my god,” Thalia said, gripping the steering wheel, trying to hold back a laugh.
Urania unbuckled her seatbelt, hopping out of the car. She turned to her sisters and once again, venom in her voice, said “don’t say a single fucking word.” She turned and waited for her nephew to approach her.
“Urania,” He said, a little out of breath. “I’m so sorry. Eurydice and I were distracted last night a-and I forgot to set an alarm.” She smiled at the tall kid, and reached up for a hug.
“No worries, Starlight. Just glad you could make it,” she said, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. She kept thinking about how Orpheus said ‘Eurydice and I’, as if it was one word. EurydiceandI. No separation. And it looked like, if Eurydice had her way, she was trying to remove all spare space between them.
“Okay, you get the front seat. No room for your long legs in the back,” Urania said, making Orpheus laugh, before sliding in beside Erato. She watched Orpheus get in, watched Thalia reach over to ruffle his hair before he turned around to smile brightly at Erato and Cory.
The drive to their favourite brunch spot was loud, which was the only way Orpheus knew his family to behave. What started as a story about Cory’s latest performance quickly turned into giggles and other anecdotes. When they arrived at the restaurant, they saw Poly waiting out front, waving to them with a big smile on her face Urania hopped out of the car quickly to run up to her sister.
“If you say anything, I will end you, Poly, I swear,” she whispered next to her ear as she hugged her close. Urania could tell the moment that Orpheus got out of the car by the way Poly gasped slightly. Urania let her go, watching her skip over to the car to wrap Orpheus up in a hug.
When they were all settled inside at their table, coffee and tea in front of them, the family quieted just slightly. Cory stirred her tea, Thalia sipped her coffee. Orpheus took a small sip of his orange juice, as Urania started to talk.
“What did you and Eurydice get up to last night?”
Orpheus almost choked on his orange juice, but saved himself and put the drink down. All the women could see the slight blush creep onto his cheeks.
“We watched a movie for a bit,” he said, his eyes on the menu in front of him. “And then we…. w-we hung out and went to bed.”
“Did you have fun?” Erato asked from beside him, leaning forward to rest her chin on her hand. She smiled at him, with just a glint of mischief in her eyes and it was only a bit unsettling for Orpheus. Orpheus didn’t have a chance to respond before Urania started talking again.
“Cause it sure looks like Eurydice did,” she said into her cup of coffee. Orpheus looked around the table, completely wrapped up in his confusion. Poly wouldn’t make eye contact with him, Cory had dissolved into giggles, her head fully resting on the table. Orpheus made eye contact with Thalia who, with a smile on her face, gestured to her neck.
Orpheus’ hand came up to his own neck, and accidentally pressed his thumb into one of Eurydice’s love bites. Oh no, Orpheus thought to himself. In an instant, his mind flashed to last night, to Eurydice pressed against him, claiming him, to Eurydice this morning, insistent on him wearing his bandana.
“Oh my gosh,” Orpheus said, closing his eyes, his hands coming up to cover his neck, as his aunts finally burst out into laughter. Thalia was wiping tears from her eyes, and Urania smiled smugly at Orpheus. He sunk down in his chair, pressing his chin forward, ignoring the sting of one of the larger hickeys.
“I didn’t… we… s-she just…” Orpheus tried and failed to find words to explain the marks on his neck. He let himself fall over onto the table, hiding his now red face in his arms. A chorus of ‘aww’s came from his aunts, and he felt someone reach over to ruffle his hair (probably Poly) and felt an arm wrap around his back.
“Hey Orpheus, it’s okay! We’re just having a bit of fun,” Erato said, rubbing circles on his back. The laughter died down, and the five women watched him with smiles on their faces. “No need to get embarrassed! We think it’s cute.”
Orpheus knew that there was no malice or venom behind the words and laughter of his aunts — in all honesty, they were thrilled that Orpheus had fallen in love, and with a girl as sweet and lovely as Eurydice. They loved getting to watch him in this state, and their hearts ached for their big sister, who would never get to see how blindingly happy Orpheus was. But it still made him feel embarrassed.
“You alright, kiddo?” Thalia asked from the other side of the table, reaching her leg over to nudge at his foot. Orpheus just groaned in response, sitting up. His face was bright red, as he looked down at the table. He thought about Eurydice the night before, and how she had been so excited to cover him in kisses and marks the way she did. He thought about it and couldn’t keep a little smile off his face.
“… I didn’t know they’d leave such visible marks,” he mumbled, biting his lip and reaching for his juice to take another sip.
Urania snorted at him, shaking her head. “She was sucking on your neck, kid, what else did you expect?”
#Eurydice likes to stake her claim on her boyfriend#orpheus likes it too#the muses just find the whole thing quite funny#dust bowl fic#orpheus#eurydice#thalia#urania#terpsichore#erato#polyhymnia#hadestown au
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darling, dearest, dead | part three
Title: darling, dearest, dead
Rated: M (language, violence, sex, character death)
Words: 13.1K
Pairing: Sweet Pea x Jones!OC
Summary: Sweet Pea stares at her for a moment longer, fingers curling at his sides, as if he wants to touch her but knows he can’t. Not really, anyway. “You’re going to have to let me go,” he says, so much softer than she’s ever heard him before. His throat bobs with a harsh swallow, his dark eyes locking with hers. “You have to let me go, Sweetheart.”
She shakes her head, eyes squeezing shut tightly. Her throat goes tight, eyes itching and rimmed red. “I can’t,” she tells him. Fingers ghost against her cheek, close and cold and coaxing her to look at him again, and when she finally opens her eyes Sweet Pea smiles down at her, a broken little thing.
AKA: The Orpheus and Eurydice Retelling no one asked for.
Chapters: One | Interlude One | Two | Interlude Two | Three
Chapter Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6bUbgQXcS5iyznAkuJMnXJ
AN: This fic has been over a month in the making and I’m so excited to finally be sharing it with everyone! This fic is also available over on AO3 (link removed because tumblr sucks) if that will be easier to read!
There’s a reason for the coiled serpents on their backs. The Ouroboros. A snake that eats its own tail. Self-devourer. In the old Norse myths it appears as the serpent Jörmungandr, which grew so monstrously large it could encircle the world and grasp its tail between its teeth. It means unity. Completion. And in the old ways it means immortality. An eternal return. The continuous renewal of birth and death so many struggle to break free from.
It’s hard to keep a snake from coming back.
Jubilee’s hands shake as she watches her mother. The other woman avoids her gaze, still watching the moon from outside the window, a waxing crescent not even half full. Gladys slides from the bed, shaking her head and Jubilee stands slowly. “Are you saying there’s a way to bring him back?” Again, she’s ignored, and Jubilee’s throat grows tight. “Mom?”
It’s almost too much to process all at once. A blood-bond. The Old Gods. The Worm Moon. Rebirth. Sweet Pea might be able to come home. She can bring him back. It’s too much and not enough all at once. Her mother still hasn’t explained how it can work, still in awe over the blood oath and what that means for them. So few people are able to bind their blood—their souls. So few are willing to try. It’s rare among those who practice the Old Religion. And the Old Gods aren’t ones to forget so easily.
When Gladys does glance at her she’s almost apologetic. She turns on her heel, mumbling something Jubilee can’t make out before suddenly throwing open the bedroom door and slipping down the hall.
“Mom!” Jubilee rushes after her, nearly tripping over Hot Dog as the dog leaps from the bed. She stumbles around the corner, on her mother’s heels as the woman heads for the front door. “Hey!” Jubilee shouts after her, reaching out and grabbing Gladys by the elbow, yanking her back around. “Mom, you don’t get to do this! You don’t get to just—”
“Jubilee?”
She cuts off abruptly, gaze snapping to the side and latching onto the concerned blue eyes of her younger sister. Jubilee’s breath catches in her throat as JB looks at her over the back of the couch, nestled into the space between Jughead and their father. It’s been too long since she’s seen the other girl, with both JB and their mother missing the funeral last month. JB called, of course, but it wasn’t the same as seeing her in person.
FP rises slowly from the couch, brows knitting in concern. “What’s wrong, Sweetheart?” He glances between Jubilee and Gladys, the tension between them palpable. Jughead stands as well, skirting around the edge of the couch and taking a step towards her as Jubilee’s hands start to shake.
Her eyes flicker around wildly, unable to stay on any one of them for long. It’s still too much to process and a migraine is building in the back of her head, but she clings to that bit of hope. The Worm Moon. “Tell them,” she chokes out, a hard edge to her tone as she levels her mother with a harsh glare. “Tell them.”
Hot Dog whines at the sharpness of her tone, and Jughead reaches for her, fingers curling around her wrist gently. “Gladys?” FP turns to his wife, confusion swirling in his gaze. JB’s gaze stays locked on Jubilee, and briefly she wonders just how much her sister might know.
Jellybean Jones has always had a way of knowing things she shouldn’t.
Gladys sighs, arm still firmly locked in Jubilee’s grip, though she makes no move to pull away. She looks at FP first, searching his gaze for something. After a moment she seems to find it and straightens slightly. She clears her throat. “There may be a way to bring Sweet Pea back,” she tells them, turning back to Jubilee, “by making a deal with the Old Gods.”
It doesn’t take long for the fighting to start. The Joneses have always been an argumentative bunch: quick to anger and too headstrong for their own goods. And FP and Gladys have always disagreed on matters surrounding the Old Religion. The fighting reached a peak when Jubilee was fourteen and wanted to learn about the Gods and the power rippling through Fox Forest and Sweetwater River. FP never wanted his children involved, but there was nothing he could do to stop them. He’s never quite trusted the Pagans in Riverdale, less so after Clifford Blossom and the blood sacrifice that he found himself involved in. But it’s been years since then, and he’s always respected the Old Gods. He knows how dangerous it can be not to.
They haven’t fought like this in a long time, absolutely vicious in the way they tear into each other, not since JB decided to follow the way of the Old Religion as well.
Jubilee fiddles with the leather jacket strewn across her lap, tracing the worn patch that’s been there for nearly as long as she can remember. The snake stares back at her, coiled tight and teeth bared, ready to lunge and suddenly she feels so, so alive. More alive than she’s been in weeks.
JB and Jughead are settled on either side of her on the couch, both rattled by Gladys’ claim.
The pain in Jubilee’s head grows and she tries to ignore it, but the shouting makes a dull ache spread through her entire skull.
“What the fuck are you doing, Gladys?” FP spits at his wife, who simply stares back at him, as collected as ever. “Telling her shit like this right now?” The rage in his expression is heavier than Jubilee has ever seen from his before. FP would get mean when he used to drink, and he would raise his voice, but never like this.
“I’m telling her things she needs to know,” Gladys responds lowly, voice even, “which is more than what you’ve done.” It’s a barbed insult, laced with venom, and FP’s jaw clenches, his hands curling into fists at his sides.
He shakes his head, sending her a grin that’s too tight with too much teeth. “Don’t,” he warns her. A humorless, disbelieving chuckle slips from him. “Don’t you fucking pin this on me.”
Gladys purses her lips, not wavering from her spot in the center of Jubilee’s living space even as FP begins to pace, too aggravated to stay still. She’s always been the collected one, too calm, too still. Her quiet has always been more unnerving than FP’s often explosive personality. Again, she considers her words, choosing each one carefully before reminding FP that, “she was under your care.”
FP flinches, something wounded flashing in his eyes, but it’s gone just as quickly. “And where the fuck were you? Huh, Gladys?” he asks her, voice suddenly low. He stops pacing, taking a single step towards her. “Where the fuck were you all this time?”
She sucks in a sharp breath. “You know why I had to—”
He doesn’t let her finish. “She needed you!” FP snaps at her, gesturing wildly towards Jubilee, who tightens her grip on the jacket tossed over her lap. “I fucking needed you!”
Gladys spits something back but Jubilee closes her eyes, blocking it all out as she plays with a loose thread on the Serpent patch.
JB links her fingers through Jubilee’s, squeezing tightly. Her nails dig into the back of Jubilee’s hand as the arguing grows louder. It’s been so long since the Jones family was all together like this, and Jubilee almost forgot how bad the fighting could get at times. Jubilee and Jughead were used to it when they were younger. FP and Gladys always used to argue. About Serpent business. About the Old Gods. The Jones family has always been opinionated. FP followed his own morals and Gladys was a force to be reckoned with.
Jubilee stares down at Sweet Pea’s jacket on her lap, at the ring she hasn’t had the heart to take off. It would hurt too much. Being in this house just hurts too much.
She takes her lip between her teeth, biting down until she draws blood, the lick of pain making her wince. It’s a dangerous thing, making deals with the Old Gods, especially the ones lurking deep in Fox Forest. They can be kind, but they’re also tricksters, manipulators. They play games without rules.
Her stomach flips, churning sickly, and the palm of her free hand presses to her belly, fingers tracing light, soothing circles.
A frustrated sound spills from FP and Jubilee glances up at her father. He rakes a hand through his hair, turning his back on Gladys and staring out the window, the sky beginning to grow dark. He murmurs something she doesn’t catch, shaking his head. There’s a note of disbelief in his voice when he says, “you want to let our daughter make a deal with a trickster god.” A short, breathy laugh slips from him and FP runs a hand down the side of his face.
“It’s her choice,” Gladys reminds him, more gently than before.
FP turns around to glare at her. “She could die,” he spits back, and it’s the raw fear there that makes Jubilee squeeze her eyes shut tight. Her palm presses harder to her stomach as it churns.
“She already wants to.” Jubilee’s eyes snap open, her head jerking up, and she finds her mother already staring at her, something indescribable in her gaze. FP reels back at the words and Jughead sucks in a sharp breath at her side, his hands curling into fists on his lap. JB squeezes Jubilee’s hand tightly, clinging to her. “I want her to be happy,” Gladys says, looking at Jubilee for a moment longer before turning back to FP.
“You think I don’t?” he asks her. FP looks absolutely broken, standing there in her living room, a shell of the Serpent King she remembers. There’s guilt in his eyes, shame, and Jubilee is suddenly struck by the realization that he’s blamed himself for what happened this entire time. “You think I wanted this for her?”
Gladys sighs. “That’s not what I—”
“You think I wanted her to—”
“That’s not what I said!” she snaps at him again, irritation flaring in her eyes.
“Dammit, Gladys, what were you thinking telling her—”
“What do I have to do?” Jubilee cuts her father off. JB’s nails dig into the back of her hand and Jughead tenses at her side, but neither say a word. FP snaps around to look at her, eyes widening slightly. Jubilee’s jaw is set, a stubbornness to her features that’s been muted in recent weeks. They watch her, on edge, but Jubilee’s eyes are on Gladys, who won’t look at her. “What do I have to do?” she repeats, louder this time.
FP shakes his head, shoulders slumping as he takes a step towards her. “Jubilee…” Whatever he was going to say trails off as her eyes meet his, wet and bright. The look she sends him is more hopeful than anyone has seen in weeks, pushing past the defeat that’s been clinging to her for the last month. It’s so much more alive and he has to turn away
Jubilee’s fingers slide away from Jellybean’s, her lips pursing. “If there’s a way to bring him back…” She turns back to Gladys, expression steely. “Mom, tell me what I have to do.”
Gladys keeps her gaze on FP for a long time, silent as Jubilee stares. Eventually, she sighs. “It won’t be easy,” she warns, finally looking at Jubilee.
Jubilee shakes her head. “I don’t care.” Gladys stares at her, searching her eyes, and Jubilee stares right back. Now that she knows there’s a chance that she can bring him back, however slim, she has to take it, with or without her mother’s help.
Finally, Gladys’ eyes soften just the slightest. She takes a step towards Jubilee, reaching for her. Jubilee stands from her spot between Jughead and JB, Sweet Pea’s jacket still clenched in one fist. Her eyes slip shut briefly when Gladys cups her cheeks, fingers cold as she brushes Jubilee’s hair away from her face. She sighs again, tilting Jubilee’s chin to meet her eyes.
“Give me one night,” Gladys whispers, thumb stroking her cheek. Jubilee frowns, opening her mouth to argue, but Gladys hushes her before she can speak. “There’s someone I need to speak to.” Gladys leans in to kiss Jubilee’s forehead, lingers for a moment.
She’s gone just as quickly, slipping out the door like some wraith. And Jubilee knows she’s gone to see Thomas Topaz.
In the morning there are thorns laying across the pillow where Sweet Pea used to sleep, not scattered like they should be but aligned in a perfect circle, like a crown. It’s a symbol of the full moon, an omen or perhaps a warning, Jubilee doesn’t know, but it makes her sick seeing them there. She considers throwing them away, breaking the circle, but she doesn’t dare to touch it.
Instead, she ignores it, goes about her business. She walks Hot Dog and works at the flower shop and spends several hours talking with Jughead and JB, catching up on the things they’ve missed. JB tells her about high school and Toledo and Jubilee talks about Sweet Pea and her pregnancy and all the plans they made together. It’s hard, talking about it, but she feels lighter after, better. And there’s hope there that maybe they can still have that future together.
When she returns home the thorns are gone.
Jubilee doesn’t question it. It’s easier not to. She doesn’t know what it meant and a part of her doesn’t want to know, but she resolves to ask her mother later in the night. If anyone knows what it meant it would be her mother. Or Thomas Topaz.
She knows little about the man, only that he’s Toni’s grandfather and that he has a connection to the forest much like her mother. He’s not a Pagan, not in the same way that Jubilee and Gladys are anyway, but there’s something special about him. He’s the kind of person that makes others nervous because they know too much. Despite that she’s always trusted the man, and he’s always been kind to her.
After Sweet Pea’s funeral, at the Wyrm, he took both her hands in his and murmured something in an old tongue she didn’t recognize. He kissed her brow and told her to have courage. She didn’t understand it then, maybe she still doesn’t, but courage is the one thing she’ll need during the Worm Moon.
By the time her mother returns it’s dark, close to midnight, and the moon is shining in through the window at the front of the trailer, the curtains drawn open wide to let the light in. Jubilee is sitting at the counter in the kitchen, a glass of water in front of her and one of whiskey across the counter. Gladys doesn’t say a word as she slips in through the front door, letting it close softly behind her and shedding her coat. Hot Dog runs up to greet her, tail wagging and Gladys runs her hand through the old sheepdog’s fur, scratching between his ears.
When she finally settles on the other side of the counter Jubilee leans back on her stool, bare feet brushing against Hot Dog’s back as he lies beneath her.
“Why did you go to see Thomas?” she asks her mother, fingers tapping against the countertop. Jubilee glances up at Gladys, watching as she lifts her glass, swirling the contents absentmindedly.
She’s quiet for a while, contemplating an answer before taking a drink. “To find out if anyone has done something like this before,” she answers eventually, frowning down at the glass.
Jubilee nods slowly, accepting the answer. If anyone would know it would be Thomas. He’s been in Riverdale since he was a child, and his family even longer than that, since before Riverdale was even settled. “And have they?” Jubilee’s eyes slide to the window, her skin crawling as it stares back. She rips her eyes away. “Has anyone ever tried something like this in Riverdale?”
Gladys shakes her head, downing more whiskey. “Not recently,” she murmurs, setting down her glass. She crosses her arms, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the counter. “Jubilee, you have to know this is taboo, even for us.” It’s a gentle reminder. There are lines they shouldn’t cross—that they can’t cross. “Bringing someone back it’s…” She trails off, shaking her head.
Chewing her lip, Jubilee closes her eyes. A part of her thinks she doesn’t care. It’s Sweet Pea. If it means saving him she would do anything. But the larger part, the rational part, knows she needs to be cautious. “And did you learn anything?”
“Rumors mostly,” Gladys tells her, tracing the rim of her drink with a finger. “But Thomas’s grandfather…” She looks at Jubilee pointedly, waiting for her to finish.
“He brought someone back?” Jubilee frowns, burying her toes in Hot Dog’s fur. She never would have expected that from any of the Thomas Topaz or his family. They’ve always been respected on the Southside of Riverdale, especially among the practitioners of the Old Religion, but have stayed on the cusp of it. Thomas especially tends not to involve himself in certain matters.
“Supposedly,” Gladys corrects, pursing her lips. “But this was years ago, back when Fox Forest was awake.” Her lip curls back, her eyes narrowing. None of them like thinking about that time, back when Riverdale was more wild, more dangerous. Back then sacrifices were more popular, a dark thrum of power settled beneath the soil. There was a time when a blood cult existed in Riverdale and people practiced the black arts. “It was put to sleep for a reason,” Gladys continues, looking at Jubilee. “Some of the deep magic… it was too much, too powerful.” Her gaze shifts to the window. “Clifford Blossom almost woke it.”
Jubilee stares down at her glass. “Clifford Blossom wanted power,” she reminds Gladys.
Gladys hums. “He did.” She takes another drink from her glass of whiskey, swirling the rest of it. “He almost unleashed a monster. It would have ripped through Riverdale and razed it to the ground.” Her shoulders slump with a sigh. “We were lucky to stop it in time.”
A shiver wracks her as she thinks about that time.
“Did Thomas say anything else?” she asks instead of dwelling on it, feeling queasy at the thought of Clifford and Jason Blossom and the darkness that nearly overtook the town. When Gladys shakes her head Jubilee decides to get to the point of things. “How does it work? People don’t just come back from the dead.”
Gladys hums her agreement. “No, they don’t.” She shifts, leaning back in her seat. “Normally this wouldn’t be possible, but the Worm Moon is…” she trails off, searching for the right word. “It’s powerful,” Gladys finally settles on.
Jubilee snorts. Every moon is powerful in Riverdale, some more so than others. The full moons are always a strange time in this town, the residual magic from Clifford Blossom’s mess bubbling up with nowhere to go. “As powerful as the Blood Moon?”
“Not usually.” Gladys finishes off her glass and rolls it between her fingers. “The Blood Moon, it’s darker,” she tells Jubilee. Her head cocks to the side as Jubilee wraps her arms around herself, fiddling with the sleeves of her over-sized sweater. “You felt it didn’t you?”
She nods, pressing her palm against the side of her stomach. That static feeling from back in January, when all of this began, comes back to her. “There was something in the air,” she recalls. “Like electricity. It only stopped after we…” Jubilee closes her eyes as the sensations come back to her: his lips moving against hers, the hands on her hips, a shaky breath against her throat.
Her throat closes up at the memory of his touch. The hollow ache in her chest grows bigger.
“You quelled it with Sweet Pea when you bled for it,” Gladys explains, fingers drumming against the side of her glass. She sighs through her nose and her fingers go still. “Fox Forest has always been hungry. A damn greedy bastard.” Jubilee glances at her, tensing at her mother’s words. Gladys meets Jubilee’s gaze, tracing the rim of her glass with one finger. “But that’s not what you want to know,” she notes, drawing an old symbol of protection against the side of her drink.
Jubilee leans forward, bracing her elbows against the counter. “How can I bring him back?” It doesn’t make sense to her. If the Worm Moon had that kind of power… “Wouldn’t more people have done that if it was possible?”
Gladys leans back, fingers tapping against the countertop in a rhythmic pattern. “It’s a very rare thing, Jubilee,” she explains, suddenly looking tired. “There are too many things involved with bringing someone back properly.”
Wincing, Jubilee curls her fingers into the loose fabric of her sweater. She’s heard the stories. People brought back with no souls, empty husks of what they were, nothing more than a puppet. Necromancy is the one thing the Riverdale Pagans have never dared to play with.
She mulls over her mother’s words, the rarity of bringing souls home intact. “You mean the bond?” Jubilee glances down at her lap, facing her palm upwards to see the thin scar on her palm. Even now she can still feel it ache at times, a phantom pain tying them together.
A blood-bond.
“That,” Gladys agrees, nodding slowly, “and this is only the second full moon since he died.” She snorts, ceasing her tapping with an unamused frown. “The Old Gods may not follow time as we do, but they do have their rules.” She meets Jubilee’s eyes, leveling her with a look more serious than before. “This is nothing more than good timing,” she tells Jubilee, and the underlying message is there. You’re lucky. “Do you know what’s happening next week?”
Jubilee’s eyes narrow as she tries to recall anything, but her sense of time has been skewed over the recent weeks. The dates have begun to blur together, weeks bleeding into each other until she’s lost track of everything but the phases of the moon.
“No,” she finally tells her mother, shaking her head slowly.
“This year,” Gladys says, reaching for the bottle of whiskey left out on the counter, “the Worm Moon is on the first day of spring.” She pours herself another glass, setting the bottle down a little too hard. “That makes it special,” she tells Jubilee, lifting her now filled glass. “Have you ever heard the Greek myth of Hades and Persephone?”
“King and queen of the Underworld.” Jubilee shrugs, looking at her own untouched glass. “She ate pomegranate seeds and was unable to leave.”
Gladys shakes her head. “Only in winter,” she corrects. “In spring she returns above ground, setting the course for the shifting of seasons.” Jubilee nods along with the words, remembering the story. The Greek myths are less popular in their circles, but well known none the less. “We have a similar myth.”
“I remember.” It’s one of the lesser myths, particular to those of the Old Religion and not well known by any means, but Jubilee always loved it. Gladys would tell it to her at night when she was unable to fall asleep. It was a somber story, a goddess of spring wed to the Lord of Death, the end of all things, a forbidden romance.
She can’t remember how it ends.
“On the first day of spring a doorway is left open between us and death,” Gladys reminds her, staring out through the window at the rising moon. “Briefly, of course.”
Jubilee purses her lips, following her mother’s gaze. “So if this doorway exists why make a deal with an Old God?” she asks, eyes narrowing just a tick. Gladys turns back to her and Jubilee rips her eyes away from the moon. “Why risk that?”
The Old Gods are unpredictable. Most are kind, but there are tricksters, and making deals—making contracts—is something most of them won’t do unless there’s no other options. There’s too much to lose.
Gladys’ dark eyes bore into her own, a heaviness there that Jubilee has never seen before. A chill crawls down her spine as her mother stares straight through her. “To make sure it doesn’t close behind you.”
Her breath catches and her fingers dig into her palm.
The pair of them sit in silence for a long moment, Gladys drinking her whiskey and Jubilee staring at the condensation on the side of her glass. “They left a circle of thorns on my bed last night,” she tells her mother eventually. Gladys’ eyes flick up to meet hers, hand stilling mid-air. Jubilee levels her with a heavy stare. “Does that mean anything to you?” Gladys purses her lips but says nothing. “The Worm Moon. Rebirth. That means Fox Forest is waking up isn’t it?”
Gladys is quiet for a long time. “Let’s hope not,” she says before downing her drink.
The week passes painfully slow to Jubilee. Each day stretches out long and she feels shaky by the end of each night. The Jones’ don’t talk about the coming full moon, but Jubilee can feel the weight of it pressing down on her, a heavy presence resting on her chest, making it hard to breathe. It’s almost suffocating. Jughead is a little too nice and FP is a little too quiet. Jubilee hates what she’s doing to them, but it’s Sweet Pea. It’s Sweet Pea and she would do anything if it meant keeping him safe. Bringing him home.
Her nerves are on edge, but there’s hope there as well, and that’s more than she’s had in weeks.
More than that there’s something off putting in the air. Like with the Blood Moon she can feel it, a dull, electric thrumming that crawls beneath her skin. It’s muted, and no one else appears to notice, but Riverdale feels restless all the same. Jubilee isn’t sure what to make of it. A warning, an unrestrained energy coming from deep within the forest. It leaves her uneasy.
Her mother said that a doorway would open, and perhaps that’s what she’s feeling, the entire earth shifting beneath them, something in the forest changing.
Perhaps Fox Forest knows. The Gods know what happens in their woods, and Jubilee has bled and prayed and wept there, and those things aren’t so easily forgotten. And if they have forgotten Jubilee will make them remember. She’s afraid of nothing anymore. There’s nothing that Fox Forest or the Old Gods could take from her when she’s already lost her heart.
She has nothing left to give.
The morning of the Worm Moon Jubilee wakes to flowers blooming in the cracks of her floorboard and knots tied in her hair. While she would normally tug out the knots, today she leaves them be, keeps them for a little luck. Again, there are thorns on Sweet Pea’s pillow, a single curved stem this time, like that of a rose.
Jubilee doesn’t touch it.
The flowers crawling through the floorboards are tiny and white and look like those that grow on blackthorn trees. The sight of the delicate little petals makes her hands shake. Anger curls inside of her, but she swallows it back, forces it down. She’s had enough of strife and misfortune.
The thorns and flowers may be bad omens, but she won’t let them stop her.
The sky grows dark and that static in the air grows increasingly stronger until it makes her skin itch.
Jubilee closes her eyes, curling her legs beneath her on the bed. She’s wearing the same deep burgundy dress as the last time she went into the woods, her dark hair left to spill around her bare shoulders. She has Sweet Pea’s heart in her hands, held close to her chest, and the color of it bleeds into her dress. The thin, gold lines curling around the bauble are too bright.
She doesn’t react as her bedroom door creaks open slowly. Her mother slips into the room, quiet as ever. Her eyes flit around the low lit room, lips twisting into a frown when she sees the flowers sprouting from the floor. Gladys is careful to avoid them
Gladys watches silently as Jubilee traces one of the swirling gold vines decorating Sweet Pea’s heart. The bauble pulses dimly, warm and so much more alive than it was before. “He died,” Gladys reminds her suddenly. Jubilee’s hands fall still. “Pulling his soul back… there’ll be a darkness around his heart. Like a scar.” She shifts on the bed, facing Jubilee directly, lips pressed into a firm line. “Death will leave its mark. Not all of him will come back.” Gladys takes Jubilee’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “He won’t be the same.”
“I don’t care.” Jubilee smiles at her mother, a sad, broken thing.
Neither of them will be the same, but that won’t make her love him less. They’ve been through too much together for anything to drag them apart, even if it is something like death. It won’t change the way she looks at him and it won’t change the parts of her that have loved him for longer than she can remember. He’s always been ingrained in her, in her veins and imprinted on her skin.
When death took him, it took a part of her too.
Neither say anything else as Gladys looks at her, contemplative as Jubilee continues to trace the smooth surface of the bauble, cradling it close to her chest. Her eyes move over Jubilee slowly, lingering on the delicate lines inked onto her collarbone that weren’t there last they saw each other, and then down to her stomach. It’s with her gaze resting there that Gladys presses her lips into a thin line, the steely look typically residing in her eyes dimming to something much softer.
They haven’t mentioned her pregnancy in all of this, though Jubilee knows they should. It’s dangerous enough with just her. There are things that could go wrong.
“Are you absolutely sure about this?” Gladys asks her, reaching out and taking one of her hands. She laces their fingers together, squeezing tight as her eyes flit back to Jubilee. “Because, Baby, once you do this you can’t come back.” There’s something almost nervous in Gladys’ eyes, a little strained as she clings to her daughter.
Jubilee takes her lip between her teeth, worrying it as she considers what her mother is saying. Her voice cracks when she finally says “I can’t breathe without him.” The admission only makes her chest ache harder, a force curling around her ribs and squeezing until she chokes. “It’s like there’s a weight on my chest,” she murmurs, still stroking the bauble with her fingers. “An emptiness.”
Gladys sighs and squeezes her hand again. “That’s the cost of giving your heart away… of losing it.” Her hand slips away from Jubilee’s and Gladys wraps an arm around her shoulders. “He took it with him.” Jubilee’s shoulders tremble and a sob sticks in her throat. Gladys hushes her, stroking her hair away from her face. “I never wanted this for you,” she whispers in her ear as she draws Jubilee close to her chest.
Jubilee curls up against Gladys’ chest as her mother strokes her hair, kissing the side of her head. “I didn’t think it would hurt like this,” Jubilee chokes out. She squeezes her eyes shut, trembling. The bauble thrums in her hands, so much like a heartbeat. It’s steady, a rhythmic beat that she knows all too well after so many years.
“I know, Baby,” Gladys breathes back.
The pathway to the Godswood is always changing. There’s no clear path leading to the heart of Fox Forest. It’s too dangerous for that with so many people living in Riverdale. Too many with ill intentions. Ever since Clifford Blossom summoned The Beast with his own son’s blood the tree has been cloaked, hidden away from those who would seek it out. People become lost this deep into the woods. They stray from the path, walk in circles for hours until they walk back out of the forest miles from where they went in, though they couldn’t possibly have gone that far. The Godswood is only found when it wants to be.
And it lets Jubilee find it.
The grass is longer than it was in January, thick and soft and it tickles at her skin as she steps into the clearing. The tree’s roots stretch out wider and the great white trunk is bigger, with branches seeming to sway in a breeze that isn’t there. The leaves rustle in the darkness and the tree hums lowly. Scattered whispers fill the forest. An old tongue long forgotten.
Her stomach twists as she leaves the safety of the edge of the forest, one hand fisted in the fabric of her dress. The clearing is bathed in pale light, the Worm Moon nearly at its peak above the Godswood. A great shadow is cast, stretching wide across the ground, inky wisps reaching towards her.
Jubilee stops at the edge of it, hesitating before she steps into the shadow. She casts one last fleeting look at the moon before she’s engulfed in darkness. The shadows flicker around her, twisting on the ground like they’re alive as she approaches the Godswood, her eyes kept low to the ground in respect. The whispers as she nears the tree and the air grows colder. A shiver wracks her form, but Jubilee clenches her jaw, refusing to let her nerves consume her.
Small, white flowers bloom in the places where she steps.
Clouds cover the moon and the clearing is plunged into a blackness so deep that the darkness hummed with it. The whispers from the Folk cut off abruptly and Jubilee stills, a dozen feet between her and the Godswood. The looming tree looks larger than before, threatening, and the shadows cast by the branches flicker.
An icy hand grips her empty chest and squeezes. The breath is torn from her and everything goes still and quiet. The electricity that’s lingered in the air all week dissipates, replaced with something hollow that makes her ache inside. It’s something she’s only felt once before, sitting there in the snow after the Ghoulies left her, Sweet Pea’s body lying mangled on the ground. For a moment everything was raw and bleeding, her heart ripped from her chest; but then it stopped hurting. A numbness washed everything away.
Jubilee wonders if this is what death feels like. A nothingness from which all else springs. Perhaps she doesn’t want to know.
The clouds drift and the area is one again bathed in pale light.
Slowly, Jubilee reaches behind herself, hand sliding along the belt looped loosely around her waist. Her fingers find the hilt of the small knife her mother gave her for this night. A delicate thing. Thin, with a light etching of vines and roses lining the dull top of the blade. The blade itself is attached to the hilt with filigree of the same swirling vines.
It’s impractical. Pretty, but breakable.
Jubilee holds the knife out in front of her, holding her other palm aloft, faced up towards the moon. The scar from the Blood Moon is stark against her skin. A shaky breath slips from her as she places the delicate edge of the blade against the palm of her hand between her thumb and first finger, lining up the blade perfectly with the healing scar there.
The forest is quiet.
This time, Jubilee says nothing as she drags the blade across her skin. Blood bubbles up from the cut and her fingers curl inward, liquid dripping to the ground from her tight fist. The blood disappears against the roots of the Godswood, soaking into the earth, and Jubilee shivers as it runs in trails down her palm.
It’s an offering to the Old Gods as much as a reminder. Jubilee has bled for them before and she’ll continue to bleed for as long as it takes. And she waits. The moon overhead reaches its highest point and the knife in her hand flashes silver.
The Worm Moon is clouded over once more and the grove is overwrought with shadows. The darkness encases her and Jubilee sighs, lowering the knife back to her side.
There’s a skittering sound off to her right and she sees something move out of the corner of her eye. Jubilee tenses, holding her breath as a branch snaps somewhere in the darkness. She doesn’t dare move, even as a low breeze stirs, ruffling the tips of her hair gently. Goosebumps erupt across her arms as a warm breath ghosts across the back of her neck, a presence at her back. Her eyes squeeze shut at the feeling but it’s gone just as quickly.
Something snaps directly behind her and Jubilee whips around, the Godswood towering over her at her back as she glares into the surrounding trees, seeing nothing though she feels something there, watching.
“I know you’re there,” Jubilee calls out into the darkness, voice loud above the silence. The rustling and murmuring stop abruptly and Jubilee almost wishes they hadn’t as the darkness presses in around her on all sides, suffocating her. For the briefest of moments it’s all too much. Too heavy. Too quiet. Too empty. And that hollow feeling in her chest grows and grows until it almost consumes her, but she swallows it back. “Come out where I can see you.” It’s a challenge, a dangerous one at that, but Jubilee’s patience has worn thing.
She’s had enough.
“It’s been quite a while,” a voice says behind her, “since someone came seeking me.” It’s a low tone, smooth and warm, like honey, but she knows better than to be deceived by something so gentle. She knows what kinds of Gods lurk in the deep woods, the tricksters, the benevolent, the one they call The Beast.
Jubilee doesn’t know which one is speaking with her now. Most days it’s the benevolent, the playful, the good-natured tricksters, but full moons can bring out those locked away deep in the heart of the forest, banished to the shadows.
She prays she hasn’t made a mistake as she stills, blood dripping down her fingers, the knife still clutched in her other hand, ceremonial and much too delicate. It’s not a fight she’s here for. It’s a bargain. And she isn’t afraid. Courage, Thomas Topaz whispered to her. Jubilee clenches her jaw, her dark eyes hardening as she turns back to the Godswood.
Eyes lock with hers, white and glowing and empty in the darkness. Those eyes stare down at her, peering straight through her and her breath catches in her throat. It doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, and Jubilee is pinned in place under its stare. A silhouette is all she can make out, the moon still hidden behind the clouds. The figure is tall, dwarfing her in size, slim and vaguely human in shape.
Behind it the branches of the Godswood move, bending to something that isn’t there.
Panic wells up inside her at the sight. The crushing, aching feeling in her chest grows and she trembles without meaning to under the weight of the Old God’s gaze. It
“Hello, little dark one,” the shadow greets her. It’s head cocks to the side and Jubilee realizes it isn’t branches moving: it’s antlers. It stays hidden in the shadow of the tree, a wraith, nothing but those glowing eyes showing through the dark.
Her mouth goes dry as it looks through her and Jubilee’s skin begins to crawl the longer it holds her gaze. The shadow doesn’t blink, doesn’t move, doesn’t seem to breathe. Instead it waits, watching Jubilee for a long moment. She steels her nerves, willing herself to speak but the presence of the Old God steals her voice away.
Her hand clenches tighter around her knife and she thinks if she could see the shadows face it would be smiling.
“You look very much like your mother,” it continues when she doesn’t speak, still not moving. Jubilee’s chest goes cold at the observation, her lips twisting into a deep frown.
Even now, Jubilee knows little of her mother’s dealings in the forest. She has her suspicions, but she would never dare to ask. Their kind do what they need in order to survive and worship, even if those things may be reprehensible. Still, it makes her nervous how the spirit seems to recognize her, even if not by name.
Jubilee swallows down her nerves, straightening to her full height, trying not to feel so small beneath the shadow’s gaze even as her hands shake just the slightest. “I’d like to make a deal with you,” she says, firm as she stares into the creature’s pale eyes illuminated in the darkness. She feels foolish as she says it. There are few reasons for people to venture so far into Fox Forest at night.
“I know, little one,” it calls her again. There’s almost something smug about it, placating in the strangest of ways.
It moves then, stepping away from the tree but never leaving its shadow. It straightens, revealing itself to be taller than she thought, and she shivers as the cold night air curls around her, his shoulders left uncovered from the wind that picks up around them.
“The doors of death are open tonight.” The forest begins to whisper again around her, little wisps of words reaching her ears and a sound like laughter. Jubilee clenches her jaw, glaring at the shadow as it continues to stare at her. The murmuring grows louder and louder, more urgent, a warning, and Jubilee can almost make out—
The shadow cocks it’s head to one side, the antlers sprouting from its head suddenly looking bigger, more pointed at the tips, moss and leaves clinging to the bone. “You seek safe passage.”
Jubilee hesitates before responding with, “I do.”
The Old God nods slowly, a gentle hum coming from it. “You know the rules,” it tells her. “Something cannot come from nothing.”
And the trees around them hiss blood for blood. The sound rattles around the forest, passed between the trees until the words swell into a great cacophony of sound only to cut off abruptly.
“How much are you willing to pay?”
Jubilee purses her lips. “As much as it takes.”
She thinks the God smiles at her again. “Brave girl,” it murmurs, low and praising, almost fond in the strangest of ways.
“Tell me what I have to do,” she demands of the spirit, swallowing down contempt.
It observes her for another long moment, and though it has no pupils Jubilee can feel its gaze drag along her form, looking her up and down. Her stomach twists sickly the longer it stares and Jubilee places a protective hand over her belly, shielding it from the creatures gaze. She knows what it may ask of her. She knows the stories, how the wood folk and the Old Gods would steal children from their beds, replace them with something inhuman and wrong. Not for the first time, Jubilee considers what she may be risking with this deal, what it could ask for, but it’s too late for that now.
“Your shoes.” Jubilee falters, hand dropping back to her side at the response. She frowns, looking up at the creature questioningly, searching for a glint of humor in those hollow eyes, but finds nothing but a vast emptiness peering back into her.
“My shoes?” she repeats slowly, still watching the looming beast standing before the Godswood. It’s an odd request, but that isn’t all too uncommon for the folk. They like to play tricks, jokes, cast curses that make people talk in rhyme or forget what they’ve misplaced. They’re fascinated with the little things. “That’s it?”
It shifts its head to the other side. “For now.”
She tenses at the implication, but she has no other options. Slowly, she reaches downward, one fisting in her dress and she lifts the hem. Jubilee slips off one shoe and then the next, gaze never once shifting from the shadow beneath the tree. It doesn’t move to take them and Jubilee takes a breath before forcing herself to move closer. She slips under the shadow of the tree but the Old God still doesn’t react. Jubilee tosses her shoes into the waiting darkness and they never touch the ground.
It reaches out a hand towards her and the clouds above begin to shift, moonlight peaking through, just enough to scatter through the twisting branches of the Godswood. Dark, clawed fingers stretch out towards her, long and thin, and the pale skin of the creature moves as if something is trying to claw its way out.
Jubilee fights to keep her fingers from trembling as the Old God takes her bleeding palm in its hand, the contract sealed in blood. The contact lingers for a moment too long, but she doesn’t dare to pull away first.
The spirit releases Jubilees hand, and the blood dripping from her skin clots, the scar beginning to form once more. Her now bare feet flex against the ground, the grass cold beneath her, a thin frost covering the earth.
The Old God sends her one last linger look before stepping aside and revealing a hole in the center of the Godswood, a hollowed out space where the heart of it should be. She doesn’t dare to look at the god as it steps into the moonlight, allowing her entrance through the doorway.
Hesitating, Jubilee stares into the darkness, no end to it in sight. The trees begin to whisper around her once more, softer, encouraging, and without meaning to Jubilee comes closer. The darkness calls to her, beckoning, and she lets it pull her in deeper until her bloodied palm presses against the rough bark of the tree. She stops just before entering, shivering as a breeze wraps around her, wind coming from inside the hollow trunk.
“Stay on the path, little one,” it warns her, surprisingly gentle.
Jubilee slips the ceremonial knife back through her belt, lifting the hem of her dress as she steps up, placing one foot on the lip of the hollow, ready to descend. “How long do I have?” she asks the Old God as it watches her in the corner of her eye.
It turns away from her, staring up at the full moon, soft light now flooding the clearing. Its antlers quiver, moss and dirt flaking from the ancient bones. “Until the sun rises,” it answers after a moment, not turning back to face her again. “Better hurry.”
Nodding, Jubilee stares into the darkness, a slow, shaky breath slipping from her. “Thank you.”
Those hollow eyes shift back to her. She can feel it. “Little one,” it whispers as she slips into the shadows, “don’t look back.”
The ground beneath her is cold and damp but solid as Jubilee lets the darkness swallow her, the moonlight from the glade dimming the further she wanders down the stone path. It’s a tight space, a tunnel winding down lower and lower until she isn’t sure there’s any end at all. Jubilee has never been claustrophobic, but it’s hard to breathe in the narrow passage between the rocks and it makes her dizzy.
Distantly, she considers this may be a trick, but she’s always known the Gods to be true to their words. A deal in blood is something that can never be broken. The Gods may not be fair or just, they may not have morals, but there are rules, ancient and carved in bone. The old laws are firm and even the Gods wouldn’t dare to defy them.
Besides, Jubilee knew what she was getting into. She knew the risks and she was willing to take the change regardless of the consequences. Perhaps that makes her foolish, or reckless, or desperate, but she doesn’t care.
Stepping into the darkness feels like coming home.
Jubilee loses all time wandering down the dark path. It’s slow going, the tunnel leading to the underground full of sharp turns. Her fingertips trail along the wall beside her and small rocks dig into the flesh of her bare feet, but the sting of it doesn’t stop her as she continues.
Undergrowth forms behind her as she moves. Wildflowers bloom in the cracks of the pathway and ivy crawls along the walls, trailing after her. The hem of her dress catches on thorns, tearing at the fabric, but Jubilee pays it no mind, trying to peer through the darkness even after the light goes out.
Whispers rise from the depths of the underground, ancient spirits rising from the old bones resting in the earth. They speak in a language she doesn’t understand, soft as they string words together, until it becomes a soothing hush around her. The voices almost sing, a low, melancholy sound as she walks into death. It’s a warning perhaps, or an old song long forgotten. Perhaps the souls of the lost are cry out for help she could never offer them.
Acushla, they whisper after her. Darling. Pulse.
She stumbles through the darkness for minutes, hours, the time bleeding together without the Worm Moon to guide her. She’s lost to time and panic strikes her in the center of her chest. Jubilee could already be too late. She doesn’t know how long the winding path between her world and the underground is, or how long it might take to get back. It could be a fool’s errand she’s on, but Jubilee wouldn’t know until it’s far too late.
She has until the dawn, until the sky bleeds with color with the first rays of light. Seven hours roughly, from when she entered the woods just shy of midnight. She can make it. She has to, there are no other options, none that she’s ready to accept.
The voices follow her down the winding path, nipping at her heels, and the thorns continue to tear at her skin and dress, cutting into her legs, but she pushes through, ignoring the pain and the panic, letting the pull of the bond guide her as the path begins to branch, letting it take her home to her heart, to him.
So she wanders through the darkness, trusting her soul to find him even now. She could recognize him anywhere.
She comes across a door. Large and dark, golden filigree tracing along the outer edges. There’s something behind it, and the blood-bond urges her to move forward, but she hesitates. A dark energy thrums on the other side, and Jubilee knows what she’s reached.
The Doors of Death.
Sucking in a sharp breath, Jubilee shoves the doors open wide. They creak and moan as she forces the to open, but allow her the entry she demands.
The room she enters is unlike anything she’s ever seen, but not unexpected. It’s dark, lit by dim flames along the walls of an open cavern. It’s cold and damp and the air smells of the deep ground, musky and thick. The trail of wildflowers following her ends where she’s pushed open the doors, the blackthorn turning to thorn when she steps over the threshold.
The air is still this far down, and there’s a pressure on her chest, a ringing in her ears. She feels numb again this far into the earth, through the doors of death, empty inside.
That emptiness vanishes when she sees him.
He’s standing with his back is to her, but she knows it’s him. Jubilee would recognize him anywhere, in any life and any death, through it all.
The breath is knocked from her lungs when she sees him there, tall and shoulders broad, dressed the same as he was that night in the park. His flannel is ripped and worn and he’s covered in dirt, but he’s as perfect as she remembers. And more than that he’s real and there and it’s like pieces of herself are coming home when she looks at him.
Jubilee steps further into the room, the doors staying open wide behind her. She walks down the steps leading down from the door slowly, unable to shift her eyes away from him as he stares off into the darkness. Her dress slips out from where it’s been caught in her fist, hem dragging across the floor as she descends the steps, drinking in the sight of him.
When she reaches the bottom there’s only a dozen steps between them, but he still feels too far away, within reach but not nearly close enough. Jubilee stills there, staring at his shoulders. He’s taller than she remembers, broader, and it must be a trick of her mind.
“Sweet Pea,” she calls out gently, softer than she means to, hesitating only a few feet away from him. She prays this isn’t a cruel trick, that she hasn’t made a deal for nothing.
He glances over his shoulder at the sound of her voice, confusion flashing in his eyes when he sees her standing there. For a moment he doesn’t move, only looks at her, drinking in the sight of her. “Jubilee?” he murmurs, turning around to face her slowly. Disbelief flickers in his dark eyes.
“It’s you,” she breathes. “It’s really you.” She takes another step towards him, but freezes suddenly. Sweet Pea flickers at the edges, as the flames along the walls move, a shadow in his own right. He’s faint, not all there. It’s only his soul she’s seeing now, a ghost. “Oh, Sweet Pea,” she says softly, chest aching for him.
He takes a step towards her, eyes raking over her frame rapidly, checking to see if she’s okay. “Jubilee,” he says again, tasting her name on his tongue. “Baby, what are you—” He cuts off abruptly and something like horror flashes in the depths of his eyes. “No,” he shakes his head, “no, no, no—you can’t—”
“I’m okay,” she tells him gently, reassuring as she takes another step. He looks at her like he doesn’t quite believe it. “I’m okay.” She reaches for him when they’re close enough but her fingers only graze his before slipping away, as if he isn’t there at all. He’s cold and shadows bloom under his eyes, making him look tired, thin in the face. Her fingers itch to reach out and touch him, to pull him down to her and keep him close, but she can’t and that kills her a little inside.
Sweet Pea is the one to reach out. His long fingers just barely ghost against her cheek. Jubilee can almost feel him there, the memory of his touch blooming on her skin. He stares at his hand, at the space left between them. It’s too much. He can’t touch her. “I’m dreaming,” he decides, shaking his head as his hand drops back to his side. Sweet Pea’s shoulders slump, defeat shadowing his eyes.
His expression makes her heart break. Jubilee tries again to take his hand, but he slips through her fingers, more shadow than man. “You’re not,” she promises, shaking her head when he takes a half-step away from her.
Around them the flames flicker, shadows dancing along the walls. They reflect in his eyes, making them glossy. He towers over her, searching her own eyes, cagey and nervous before they slide back down her frame. It’s like a physical touch and she shivers beneath his gaze, wanting nothing more than to hold him to her, but she can’t. He seems resigned to this as well, fingers flexing at his sides, an impatient habit he’s had for as long as she’s known him. Jubilee has always found it endearing.
“How are you here?” Sweet Pea murmurs, returning to her, stepping in close until he’s nearly pressed flush against her with and she has to crane her head back to look him in the eyes. The tips of his fingers drag along her spine through her dress as he reaches around her. Goosebumps erupt across her skin at the gentle touch and she closes her eyes as his hand moves higher. Sweet Pea’s fingers curl through her hair and it’s as close as they can possibly be given the circumstances.
A slow sigh pulls from her lips as his fingers work through the tangles in her hair, his hand cupping the back of her neck. “It doesn’t matter,” she tells him, forcing her eyes open to meet his once more. Her palms slide up his sides and she fists his flannel in her hands.
And it doesn’t matter, not to her. How she’s here isn’t important. All that matters is that she’s found him. Even now, just looking at him, she can feel the missing pieces of herself coming back together. The hole in her chest doesn’t close, not completely, but it’s enough. Somehow it’s enough.
“Baby, what did you do?” Sweet Pea asks her, shaking his head, brows furrowing. His hand loosens in her hair and he starts to pull back, but she tightens her grip on his shirt, bowing her head and refusing to meet his eyes.
“I made a deal,” is all she tells him, avoiding his questioning stare. Sweet Pea goes rigid against her as he sucks in an angry breath, hissing between his teeth. His hand drops from the back of her head and he steps away from her, glaring down at her. Her eyes rise to meet his and she returns his look, pursing her lips as his jaw flexes in irritation.
He shakes his head. “No.”
Jubilee sighs, wrapping her arms around herself as he steps away from her. She should have known better than to think he would make this easy. He’s never been anything but stubborn. Already she knows what he’s thinking. He’s always been a martyr. He’s always tried to protect her, even at the cost of his own life. And now he thinks he needs to do so again. This time she’s not going to let him.
“Sweet Pea,” she coos, trying to placate him, reaching for him again, but he takes another step back.
“Jubilee, why would you—”
“I had to,” she snaps, cutting him off. All of that anger that’s been building in her chest over the last month spills over. She lost him. She almost lost herself. And Jubilee can’t do that, not again. “And don’t you dare tell me you wouldn’t do the same damn thing.” Her eyes squeeze shut and she takes a deep breath to steady herself. “It was the only way to make sure…” Jubilee shakes her head, looking up at him again. “You can come home,” she tells him, barely above a whisper. “Come home,” she begs, eyes glossy.
Sweet Pea looks down at her, apologetic, and she knows what he’s going to say even before the words leave him, and her chest squeezes painfully “No, Jubilee.”
“Sweets—”
“I won’t let you be bound to their rules,” Sweet Pea tells her firmly. There’s resignation there, defeat. He’s already given up, exhaustion in his eyes. The fight has gone out of him after so long underground.
Jubilee swallows down the growing lump in her throat, her stomach flipping, unsettled by her nerves. She curls tighter around herself. “Don’t do this,” Jubilee pleads again, releasing a quivering breath.
Sweet Pea stares at her for a moment longer, fingers curling at his sides, as if he wants to touch her but knows he can’t. Not really, anyway. “You’re going to have to let me go,” he says, so much softer than she’s ever heard him before. His throat bobs with a harsh swallow, his dark eyes locking with hers. “You have to let me go, Sweetheart.”
She shakes her head, eyes squeezing shut tightly. Her throat goes tight, eyes itching and rimmed red. “I can’t,” she tells him. Fingers ghost against her cheek, close and cold and coaxing her to look at him again, and Sweet Pea smiles down at her, a broken little thing that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“You can.” His thumb brushes against her lips before his hand drops back to his side. She shakes her head again, and Sweet Pea breathes out her name, a trembling gasp as he leans down, forehead pressing against hers.
“I can’t,” she repeats, louder this time, voice cracking as a sob wells in her throat. Her hands come up to cup his face, pulling him down closer as she pushes up on her toes, wanting to stay there forever. “I don’t know how to do this without you.”
His breath fans over her face and his knuckles slide across her cheek, brushing her hair away from her eyes gently. “Jubilee,” he sighs. His shoulders slump but he still doesn’t cave.
Jubilee’s stomach lurches sickly once more. “Come home?” she asks him. His thumb brushes against her lips again. “I need you.” She searches for his free hand, hooks her fingers through his and guides his hand to her stomach. Jubilee presses the flat of his palm against her still flat stomach. “We need you,” she corrects herself and he goes still against her.
Sweet Pea sucks in a sharp breath and pulls his forehead away from hers slowly, putting just enough space between them to look at her. His eyes search hers questioningly. “You—” He cuts himself off before he can say it out loud, glancing between her face and his hand on her stomach. “Jubilee?”
For a second guilt wells inside her. It isn’t a lie, but it feels like she’s manipulating him, tricking him, but she doesn’t know else to get him to follow her. How else to get him to stay with her.
“I won’t leave without you,” she tells him, placing her hand over his and watching the emotions that flicker in his eyes, shock and awe and so much affection it makes her chest hurt. His fingers spread wide, covering as much of her stomach as he can. Jubilee slots her fingers through his, so close to touching him. “I’m not losing you.” Her thumb brushes the back of his hand. “Not again.”
He’s quiet for a moment, staring down at her hand covering his. “You won’t.” His free hand cradles her cheek, thumb sweeping across her skin, and she sighs at the gentle touch, the feel of his calloused palm against her, rough and familiar, something she’s dearly missed since she lost him. Jubilee leans into him, eyes fluttering shut as he leans down to press his lips against her temple, lingering.
Eventually they pull away. Jubilee keeps her fingers locked through his and he grips her back twice as fierce as leads him to the doors, walking backwards and pulling him along with her. He follows willingly, letting her guide him, trusting her as he always has.
Jubilee forces herself to turn away from him, staring up at the open doors before her, the pathway that will lead them both home.
He slips through her fingers again, and a voice in the back of her mind warns her not to look back at him, not to turn around no matter how much it hurts not to. Because she’s only just found him and she couldn’t handle losing him again, not so quickly. Not after everything they’ve gone through. They deserve to rest now.
A hand settles low on the center of her back, Sweet Pea holding her steady as she hovers just outside of the doors leading back to their world. His hand slides around her, the tips of his fingers just grazing the side of her stomach.
“I’m right here, Baby,” he whispers against her ear, breath fanning across her skin. “I’m right here.” His touch disappears as she steps through the doors, and panic rises in her throat, but she swallows it back, trusting him to be there.
The cold air of the tunnel surrounds her once again, and the trail of flowers blooming in the cracks between the rocks greet her. And she runs. She isn’t afraid anymore, not of falling and not of taking the wrong path. There’s magic in these tunnels, deep magic, the kind only found in the forgotten corners of the world, the kind that has to be locked away. And it’s because of that deep magic that Jubilee doesn’t stumble in the darkness. She doesn’t fall or slip and the thorns on the ground stop reaching for her, retreating into the darkness from where it came.
Jubilee doesn’t know how long she runs, her lungs burning, legs aching, but eventually they reach the hollow in the Godswood, left open like it was promised to be. The Old God kept it’s word to her; and Jubilee is going to keep her’s as well.
She owes them that much.
Even now, she can’t quiet believe it. She can see moonlight and the pressure from the deep ground recedes until she can breathe again. Jubilee feels more alive than she ever has before. It doesn’t change what happened that night in February. It won’t stop that shadow from settling over their hearts, but at least they’ll be together again.
They’re going home.
Just as quickly her joy dissipates and her steps slow, the end of the path only a few steps away.
She can’t hear him behind her.
Sweet Pea has never been a silent person, tall and strong and heavy on his feet, even when he would try not to be. But she can’t hear him, can’t feel him there behind her, and it makes her blood run cold. They’ve come to far for him not to be there, and Jubilee can’t help in when raw fear rips through her. Her hands tremble as she comes to a halt, eyes squeezed shut tightly.
She wants to look, to check, but the Old God’s warning stays her. She knows better than to ignore it, not when it could mean losing him forever. If it takes him again she won’t come back.
Jubilee takes a deep breath, forcing down the panic that he might not be there. She murmurs a prayer in the old tongue as she braces her hands against the edge of the hollow of the tree, the doorway opened wide for them to slip through. She still can’t feel him behind her, can’t hear him, but she pushes down her doubts, having faith that the Old Gods will keep their bargain.
Slowly, she slips back through the hollow, sighing as she feels the cold, damp grass beneath her. Jubilee steps out into the moonlight, the Worm Moon still shining overhead, dawn far off. They’ve made it. A breathless laugh tumbles from Jubilee’s mouth, a genuine smile spreading across her face. Jubilee twists on her heel, already reaching out for Sweet Pea.
The shade following behind her disappears and everything goes black.
She wakes at the base of the Godswood, gasping for breath with an ache in her chest.
Jubilee is on her stomach, lying prone across the forest floor with her long skirt tangled around her legs, her feet bare and damp. Dirt clings to her dress and to her skin, as if she’s crawled straight from the earth. Leaves and needles from the pines stick to her, biting into her skin from the forest floor.
Above her, the sky is still dark, the sun only just beginning to breach the horizon. The sunrise flickers through the trees, casting shadows across the ground.
Jubilee pushes herself up onto her hands, her stomach rolling at the sudden movement. She sucks in a sharp breath, pressing her palm against her side as a sharp stab of pain rips through her side. It leaves her breathless and gasping for a moment, her entire body aching suddenly.
Folding her legs beneath her as she sits up, Jubilee brushes her long, tangled hair away from her face, staring up at the tree. The hollow is gone, the doorway sealed, just like it should be. Her eyes sweep across the clearing, but nothing has changed, everything as she can remember.
She’s alone.
Sweet Pea isn’t here. He isn’t here.
Her hands shake, fingers digging into the soft earth and she looks around wildly, but there’s no one there. No one but her. A sob bubbles up in her throat, tearing from somewhere deep in her chest before she can stop it. Her entire body trembles with the force of it.
She’s failed. She’s lost him again, if she ever had him at all.
Her heart breaks for the second time in as many months. Jubilee can feel it rip from her chest and shatter just as it did before. It leaves her empty inside, drained, and Jubilee can do nothing but curl into herself and cry. Exhaustion settles into her bones and she leans against the Godswood, wishing it would open once again and swallow her whole.
Movement at the edge of the clearing catches her eye and Jubilee snaps around, going very still when familiar, glowing eyes lock with hers from the shadow of a tree. The Old God stares back at her, blending in with the trees so seamlessly that Jubilee knows she’s only seeing it now because it wants to be seen. She waits for it to move again, or speak, or gloat if this has been a trick all along, but it only watches from the edge of the woods.
What do you want? is what she wants to ask, to scream at it if it’s here to taunt her. Because she’s suffered enough. Because she can’t do it anymore. “Where is he?” Jubilee chokes out instead, her mouth dry and her tongue thick and heavy.
It shouldn’t be able to hear her, not from so far away, but the Gods head tilts to one side as it regards her with an empty expression. “Where all deals are made,” it tells her, voice soft and close, spoken into her ear and making her shiver. It doesn’t linger, turning away as soon as the words reach her.
It disappears into the trees, a shadow.
“Crossroads,” Jubilee breathes back.
He wakes with her heart in his hand, gasping for breath with a burning in his chest.
Sweet Pea breathes for the first time in over a month and the cold March air stings his lungs as they expand. He inhales too deeply too soon and wheezes, sputtering out a hacking cough as dust stirs inside him. Dropping onto his back, boneless and exhausted, Sweet Pea stares up at the sky, watching as the color above bleed red and gold in the early morning light.
For a moment he can’t remember where he is or why he’s here. He’s lying in the dirt, surrounded by tall grass with the last traces of snow melting away and wildflowers crawling out of the earth to take its place. Fox Forest looms off in the distance, the air still and quiet. It’s peaceful so early in the morning, all of Riverdale still asleep, the day only just beginning. A fog is settled over the fields.
And then he remembers. The cold night in the snow. The Ghoulies. Promising Jubilee everything would be okay. He remembers the pain, the deep ache that settled inside him, the snapping of bones. He remembers when it stopped hurting and everything went dark for the last time, waking somewhere unfamiliar and cold, an emptiness inside of him.
Sweet Pea remembers he was dead.
He trembles with the realization, feeling sick as it comes back to him. His time in the underground was brief compared to most, but the chill of it still clings to him tightly, buried inside him so deep he’s afraid it will never come back out. Sweet Pea tries to piece it all together, but his memory of the place is foggy. The days ran together, all sense of time lost to him. It’s the emotions that stay with him. The anger. The fear. The pain. The feeling of his heart being torn from his chest.
On the good days he remembers Jubilee, bright and beautiful with her hands on his skin and her lips on his, only for her to turn to shadow and slip away from him.
His gaze shifts to the side, locking on the small, glass sphere nestled in the palm of his hand, pale and silver and whole once again. Even after all months it’s been his it still seems so fragile against the rough skin of his hands, the glass so thin and breakable. His chest seizes up as he looks at it, his throat tightening. His tattooed thumb traces one of the delicate, swirling green vines creeping along the sides of it.
The bauble warms in his hand, beating for the first time since that night in early February, and his long fingers curl around it to keep it safe, nearly covering it completely.
Sweet Pea wonders if she ever got his.
Slowly, he pushes himself to his feet, struggling as the shift in balance makes his stomach roll. Mud and leaves cling to him as he stands, his clothes ripped and worn, blood staining the old flannel shirt wrapped around his frame. Rocks and twigs dig into the soles of his feet.
He spins in a slow circle, breathing heavily as he takes in the world around him, so, so alive. A breathless laugh tumbles from his mouth and his grip on Jubilee’s heart tightens just a fraction, the familiar weight of it comforting.
He’s in the middle of two roads, old and worn, dirt with grass beginning to grow along the path once again, caught in the place they meet.
Jubilee finds him at the crossroads.
He’s standing with his back to her once more, staring up at the sky as the sun rises over the field. He’s a silhouette from so far away, facing the sunrise and standing in the intersection of two old roads, waiting. The long grass is bathed in light that reflects off the low hanging morning fog, the world beginning to stir around them; everything turns gold.
Her steps slow as she walks down the road behind him, kicking up the dirt. He doesn’t notice her there, too busy looking at the sun for the first time in nearly two months, soaking in the light around him. A slow smile quirks at her lips. She can’t see his face, but she can imagine the joy in his eyes.
Jubilee wraps her arms around her middle, leaving the hem of her skirt to drag against the ground, uncaring of the tears in the fabric or the blood sticking to her skin. The cut across her palm stings, having reopened sometime in the course of the journey downward. It hurts, but she’s alive. They’re both alive.
In this moment nothing else matters.
She stops when there’s only a few feet of space between them, simply watching him for a moment, though there’s nothing she wants more than to hold him, to feel him against her and never let go. “Sweet Pea,” she says gently, calling out to him in a sweet voice.
At the sound of his name, Sweet Pea looks over his shoulder, eyes locking on hers. His expression brightens when he sees her standing there. He turns slowly, eyes never leaving hers as he faces her directly. “Jubilee,” he whispers back, the words lost in the space between them. He looks at her like she’s a dream, like he’s asking if she’s real.
She nods jerkily, a sob sticking in her throat as she laughs. A smile lights up her face as their eyes meet and a warmth blossoms in her chest. He continues to stare like he doesn’t quite believe she’s there, and Jubilee murmurs his name again, taking another step towards him and reaching out with one hand.
Sweet Pea is faster. They collide in a messy rush and Jubilee throws her arms around his neck as his wrap around her waist, yanking her right off the ground. She laughs again, clinging to him as she buries her face against his shoulder, dangling a foot off the ground as he crushes her against him. His grip is tight around her middle, fingers digging into her hips so hard it hurts, but he doesn’t care. He’s there and real and holding her together as she sobs into his shoulder.
He chokes out her name again, whispering it against her hair as he leans into her. Sweet Pea places her back on her feet, bending down to her height. For a moment they both just stare at one another, unable to move or breathe. Jubilee’s arms unwind from around him, her hands cupping his cheeks. Sweet Pea’s eyes slip shut briefly as her soft fingers graze his skin.
She says his name again and he pulls her flush against his chest, lips meetings hers in a desperate, wanting kiss. She sighs against him, feeling like she’s whole again for the first time in months. Her arms wrap around her tight, surrounding her, and his mouth chases hers as he tilts her head back. Jubilee’s fingers fist in his hair, holding him against her as he deepens the kiss, drinking in the sweet honey and raspberry taste of her.
Sweet Pea holds her steady with one arm banded around her back and her hands move lower, sliding around to cup his cheeks and cradle him close to her.
He doesn’t pull away until their lungs are screaming for air, and even then he doesn’t go far. Sweet Pea presses his forehead against hers, breath shaky against her lips.
“I found you,” Jubilee whispers when she’s caught her breath. She doesn’t realize she’s crying until the hand on the back of her head slips around to her cheek, his thumb sweeping across the skin beneath her eye.
Sweet Pea chuckles, low and throaty and her heart skips in her chest. “I’m home,” he tells her, kissing her gently.
#riverdale#sweet pea x oc#sweet pea imagine#sweet pea fic#oc: jubilee jones#swubilee#fic: darling dearest dead
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Random Wondy Series Thoughts, Part the Third
Third part of Woman of Truth, here we go!
Part One
Last Time:
Themyscira being revealed was shut down hard by Etta and the Holliday Girls (all of them Scions), who fought Phobos. Zeus went Hank Pym on Hera, and Ares demanded his kids increase their plan. Meanwhile, Hippolyta did the 2017 arc, and Diana won the games, leaving Themyscira as Phobos summoned Decay to hunt her and Etta down.
Onwards!
We open on the boat, the six Holliday Girls including Etta explaining the general state of life for a demigod, establishing a) Camp Half-Blood and Camp Jupiter exist, and b) the Holliday Girls are a quasi-Hunters of Artemis by way of sorority. We also get introduced to the rest of the Girls, who are:
Glamora Treat, a Scion of Athena who spends a lot of time gazing at Diana and her swimsuit.
Lita ‘Little’ and Thelma ‘Tall’ Rhodes, twin Scions of Mercury and the only two Romans. Tall is currently in the midst of an existential crisis, because she was the tallest of the group at 5’11” until Diana and her 6’2” came along, whereas Little just thinks Diana’s really pretty.
Gell Osey, an unclaimed Scion who spends most of her time glaring at Diana.
Gay. No, seriously, that’s her name. She calls herself Gay because she grew up in the Bible Belt with an unmarried mother and a predilection for being a tomboy, and thus a lot of people saying she should ‘look prettier’ so that ‘people don’t get the wrong impression’. She legally changed her name, just in case they hadn’t gotten the wrong impression yet. She’s also, incidentally, a Scion of Callisto, and literally has two mothers.
Etta keeps making reference to a ‘doctor’, and when Diana asks just says that she’s the ‘smartest person I know’. She further explains that she’s not a Scion, but has forgotten more about mythology and lore than any Scion will ever know.
Steve asks about his co-pilot’s face melting off, and Diana explains that the co-pilot was actually a Keres, a spirit of war released from Pandora’s pythos, musing that Ares must be controlling them somehow.
Cutting to Areopagus, we see it explained: the Keres are attracted to Medusa’s Heart, and Phobos and Deimos then bind them, building what is effectively an army of war spirits for Ares. Kydoimos appears and says he’s found Orpheus’ Gateway, leading the three to disappear.
As the party arrive at Gateway City, Diana gets to have her fish-out-of-water comedy moments, though not too many – whilst Diana doesn’t understand stuff like American culture and what a hot dog or ice cream are, she does understand what watches, cars and marriage are.
When Gay makes the mistake of assuming Hippolyta and Phillipus are married, Diana explains that the Laws of Themyscira state the monarch cannot marry – hence for Hippolyta to marry she would have to abdicate the throne. Hippolyta has offered, but Phillipus won’t hear of it.
Eventually, they arrive at their destination – the house of one Julia Kapatelis, the ‘doc’ Etta keeps referring to.
However, also present is one Professor Barbara Minerva, a former student of Julia’s and the second smartest person Etta knows.
Etta starts stumbling over her words, which Steve lightly ribs her for – what, Diana gets no reaction, but one sight of slacks and she’s done for?
Steve and Etta, btw, are that sibling pairing. At some point, Diana is going to compare them to Artemis and Apollo.
Both Julia and Barbara are fascinated by Diana, Barbara a bit more… possessively than Julia. It’s established that Barbara and Julia had a falling out over Barbara’s compulsive need to seek out knowledge, even stuff she should by no rights be seeking out. Essentially Barbara is Indiana Jones and Julia is more Mau from Terry Pratchett’s Nation. We’re also introduced to Vanessa Kapatelis, who almost immediately starts hero-worshipping Diana.
Then everything changes when Decay and a horde of Keres attacks.
This fight scene seeks to establish several things: that Steve is woefully unprepared and outclassed by almost everything else, that the Holliday Girls work well as a team, that despite Steve, Julia and Vanessa being half-delirious through Decay’s application of the Mist Barbara is completely unaffected, and that for as good a fight as the others might be putting up, Diana is a fucking beast. Some individual action beats:
Glamora directing the entire fight from the sidelines – seriously, even Diana defers to her judgement, albeit only because Glamora knows how to utilize Gateway City’s architecture in their favour.
Tall and Little being really good both at paired combat and at stealth and sabotage.
Etta Charmspeaking Decay at one point, though Decay quickly shrugs it off.
Gay animating a small wooden bear she carries around to grow to massive size and defend the mortals, possibly with a Bible reference.
Most importantly for later, Gell making all the Keres turn tail and run with a single smirk.
Diana throughout her fight trying to talk Decay down, getting her closest when she jury-rigs a lasso out of a stray cable.
Regardless, Decay is eventually killed, and Diana, to the confusion of the Holliday Girls, starts praying for Decay to find peace. Diana explains that Themyscira values all life, even the monstrous, and gives a brief overview of the Medusa myth – with the added information that Athena turned Medusa into a gorgon to protect her.
Cut back to Olympus, where Athena and Aphrodite are watching the process. Aphrodite snarks that that would have been a splendid plan if Athena had actually explained it. Athena tells her to be quiet, then muses that they need to advance their plans, given what Ares’ sons are doing.
Speaking of which, we then cut to Phobos, Deimos and Kydoimos arriving at Gateway City, where, they reveal, Orpheus’ Gateway is located (Orpheus’ Gateway being a way into the Underworld that can only be opened by music.) Forcing a Keres to play a harp, they enter the Underworld.
Back on Olympus, Athena and Aphrodite walk into Hephaestus’ forge, where the crippled god is working. Him and Aphrodite bitch at each other for a bit, where it’s revealed that they have been divorced since the early 1910s, a fact that has apparently driven Hera nuts. Aphrodite is also really embarrassed about her previous association with Ares. Impatient, Athena asks Hephaestus if he’s ready, to which he sighs and says yes.
Back at the Kapatelis Household, Vanessa is geeking out over Diana, whilst the Holliday Girls gang up on Gell and ask her what that whole ‘turn back an army with a smile’ thing came from. Gell shrugs, says she doesn’t know, then asks Etta if she’s sure they can trust Diana. Alarmed, Etta asks her why she would say such a thing, and Gell shrugs and says she just has a bad feeling about her.
Julia and Barbara walk in with Steve, who explains they still don’t know why Ares would choose now to attack Themyscira – he’s checked in and the military is saying nothing, which means either they haven’t heard about the boat exploding or Ares is deliberately supressing the information.
Diana remains convinced that Ares must be attempting something in Patriarch’s World and wanted the Amazons to not be able to intervene. Etta mentions she heard tell of Ares being manipulated by something a couple of years ago – maybe that has something to do with it (yes, Lightning Thief happened the same way – this is going to come up later). Julia wonders why Decay came to Gateway City, leading the Holliday Girls to explain the deal – Gateway City has some of the largest examples of neo-Greek architecture in North America, and as such the Gods prefer to come here more than any other city except perhaps New York. It therefore necessarily has both a gateway to Olympus, and one to the Underworld – Orpheus’ Gateway. Speaking of which:
In Hades, the three sons of Ares are walking along, scanning the horizon for agents of Hades. Eventually, Kydoimos stops and says they’ve arrived. The camera pans to reveal…
The Doors of Death. Suddenly, there’s a flapping of wings and a hooded androgynous figure lands in front of them. Kydoimos demands Thanatos, for it is the Death God, stand aside
(Btw, whilst Thanatos is hooded for this episode, in every other appearance she looks like…
Death of the Endless. Also, whenever he shows up Morpheus is very obviously Daniel Hall’s Dream in a toga. Because I can)
Thanatos says nothing, simply takes out a sword. Phobos, Deimos and Kydoimos charge…
Olympus now, where Hephaestus, Athena and Aphrodite enter the council chamber and approach Hestia. Athena asks if Hestia will help, and Hestia replies that she will, but she will not aid in killing Ares. Athena smiles and say that’s okay, what she has planned for him will be much worse. Hestia turns to Hephaestus and tells him to hold out his hands. She collects a portion of Olympus’ Hearth-fire and, musing that she’s only done this once before, drops it in Hephaestus’ hands.
She warns him to not even attempt to speak untruths whilst holding or working the fire, because it won’t work. She then turns to Aphrodite, who is looking kinda gleeful, and warns her point blank to not even think about abusing that fact, because misuse of the fire will cause it to burn out. Athena thanks her, but Hestia has already turned back towards the fire, although on the way out she warns Athena to be careful – and, above all else, to not destroy the family.
Thus, Phobos, Deimos and Kydoimos’ fight with Thanatos is intercut with Hephaestus working the fire into a very familiar shape…
After extensive research, Julia discovers what might account both for the influx of Keres and Ares’ interest in Themyscira – the Doors of Death. Essentially the pressure-valve of the Underworld, opening the Doors even for a second would cause the worst of the worst to come pouring out the Underworld. Therefore, Ares wanted Themyscira for Doom’s Doorway – which could ensure the Doors remained open forever, resulting in endless war as the dead crawled out of the Underworld and Ares rose as the most powerful god of all.
(Whilst this is occurring, the Ares boyz win their fight and walk over Thanatos’ form to the Doors)
Suddenly, the ground is shook with a mighty earthquake, and there’s a flash of light as Hermes appears, saying that Diana needs to come with him. Diana trustingly places her hand in his and they both disappear to…
Olympus, where Zeus is holding court. This scene establishes something: Diana’s treatment of the Gods goes from loving devotion/submission (the patrons, including Hera) to grudging respect (Hephaestus, Apollo) to ‘hey fuckface, wassup?’ (Zeus and Poseidon)
With Ares not present, Zeus is forced to conclude that he was the one who opened the Doors. He commands Diana to find Ares and bring him to Olympus, with the patrons protesting that it is suicide. Diana, musingly, asks what opening the Doors means. Hermes informs her that although the Doors were only open for a second, the worst monsters and humans Hades has to offer still escaped and are now running rampant. Irritated, Zeus declares humanity not their problem, and not worth saving anyway, has everyone forgotten what they did without the Gods’ help?
Flashing back to Hippolyta, Diana sighs.
She looks at Zeus.
She says ‘No.’
She informs the Olympians that her intention is to secure the Doors, round up the escapees and only then, when people are safe, will she attack Ares, and that if they won’t help her she’ll do it herself. Apoplectic with rage, Zeus is about to command her again, when Hera steps up and says that she’ll have her support. The rest of the patrons and Apollo quickly follow suit, Hephaestus refusing because it’s Hera asking, although he does offer help. Faced with the choice of either losing face or risking war, Zeus agrees grudgingly.
Finally, the patrons step forward to offer her items to be used in this task:
From Athena, a circlet that will allow her to think faster than any human.
From Aphrodite, a breastplate that will allow her to project a low level glamour over her outfit (that can only be broken by spinning, yes this is a Linda Carter joke)
From Artemis, two bracelets that block any and all attacks.
From Demeter, a belt that increases her strength.
From Hermes, a gooey substance that can take whatever form she desires (he mentions he stole it from New Genesis)
And finally, Hestia warmly gifts her the Lasso of Truth, which will compel anyone, be they man or god, to speak truly.
Thanking them all, Diana give the Amazon salute and returns to Gateway City, starting to help with the damage. Zeus and Poseidon both storm off, and all but the patrons leave. Aphrodite asks if Diana is ready for the world, and Hestia says that they should be asking: is the world ready for Diana?
Sometime later:
Diana and Steve look out over a now rebuilt Gateway City. Diana asks what Steve will do now, and Steve admits that he’s thinking about returning to the Air Force. Shocked, Diana asks why, and he says that he feels he can do more there – under a different alias, he can find out how much Ares has infected the place, and who is able to resist him. He then asks what Diana plans to do, and she says she’ll take each day as it comes. Steve teasingly asks if this makes her a hero, and she admits all she knows of heroes are her mother’s stories of Heracles – she doesn’t want to be that kind of hero. Steve, a small smile on his face, says she needn’t worry – she’s definitely not. As a fire engine races past and Diana flies off to help, Steve admits that, whatever else she is, she’s his hero, this one they’re calling Wonder Woman.
We close on Areopagus, Ares watching Diana fly off, musing to himself that he can’t wait to meet her in person as he summons his three children to plan for his endgame – the destruction of Themyscira itself.
So, the pilot’s finally done. Thank you all for being so patient and, as always, any questions you have, just ask and I’ll do my best to answer.
#woman of truth#Wonder Woman#this took a while#the next bit will probably be a look at the gods of olympus and wondy's scoobies#(cause after the pilot it's basically buffy meets xena#then individual episodes of season 1#then 2 and 3#i really hope you like it
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Walking from Garenhoff to Divinities Reach was a pain in the fucking ass. By the time I reached the front gates my feet felt as if they were inflated balloons. If only that were the truth, it'd make the rest of the trip far easier. Of course I could take a waypoint like any sane citizen would however that shit cost money that was better suited for other items or ventures that could in turn grant me a greater payoff.
If tonight was any indication, my fortune telling booth would make a killing, not only recouping my costs, but bringing forth a windfall of at least triple what I put in. At first I was hoping to break a little over even, using this more as a way to get in good favor with the others at the academy. With this revelation doing such would only be a massive disappointment. All three readings gave me differed reactions, each giving pivotal insights.
With Caleb I saw that my act was engaging and enjoyable as he laughed off the reading heartily. Rose provided much of the same with a dash of audience participation, vocalizing what she felt each card meant to her, giving me a great deal to work with throughout the practice session. Key to this seems to be making it both vague yet specific enough that the guest can target in on a moment in their life. With Rose that was naturally the expulsion of the spirits within her, allowing me to build the rest of the reading off that. Admittedly that's easier to do when you know the people you are reading, but everyone has tells. I just need to be sure to keep my eyes and ears open.
Second reading was the most intriguing, showing that I could in fact be convincing. I'd thought Elle was merely humoring me with her questions regarding the validity of the readings. More I thought about it, less likely that seemed. Doing such would be entirely out of character for her. She was not one to humor nor intentionally make herself seem stupid. No, she held some level of belief in the words I told her. Why, I don't know. She of all people should know I'm merely bullshitting.
Somehow I feel it had less to do with what I said and more a timing of the words. There's no doubting that something got to her, be it needing to cut ties and retreat away from others or the distressing need to pass down her knowledge to another before it was too late. Two surprisingly go hand in hand despite their conflicting statements. You simply must look beyond the face value, looking deeper. Both told her something was coming.
With Elle there's no telling what that something may be. If she's as much like me as she seems to believe, her past is coming to swallow her up. Funnily enough, that's what my own reading told me, that I'd be reaping the seeds I'd sown. That to avoid it I needed to keep my eyes open to my surroundings, as if I never did that to begin with. Unlike Elle however I knew it was just a load of bullshit. All I'm doing is drawing a card from a deck, just random nonsense.
Doubt I'd even believe it if I got back to the academy with Elle in a body bag and that loon Matilda waiting in my dorm room to off me. Fact was fate and all that shit didn't really exist, just a bunch of bullshit people prop up to escape blame. We make our own choices, every choice having a consequence to it. People needed to stop sugar coating shit. Or on second thought, they should continue so people like me can continue to prosper.
Streets of the Reach were thinned, those out and about falling into one of two categories. People coming home from work or drunks who wouldn't know their ass from their hand. Either way they were heading to the same place, paying me no attention. It's one of the great things about this city, you could look like you were about to perform a ritual in the street and not a single person would give a fuck. Aside from maybe the Seraph, but they had better shit to do then hassle me. They also knew better than to mill about the part of the city I was heading.
It's amazing what a little bit of gold can buy. Most focus on the material goods and those were nice, really fucking nice, but the more sensible use of your wealth was accumulating power. Even that fancy pantsed buffoon Orpheus knew that. No one knew this more than Dick and I's employer, one so feared that few even spoke their name. Even if you were to tell, half the Seraph were likely on her payroll, you'd be dead before you even spoke a word.
Was frankly impressive I'd managed to deduce their gender. For as supposedly valuable as I was, very little made it's way down the pipeline to me. Made me respect her more, knowing full well I'd use that knowledge to my advantage. Unlike Orpheus, she kept her allies at arms length, all save for Dick of course. I still hadn't figured out how he'd become her right hand man. Maybe he was fucking her or her estranged kid. In time it wouldn't matter, nor would either of them.
Two men stood outside the entrance of Regallina's, some high priced restaurant used to funnel drugs and flesh to some of the higher level clientele in the Reach. Nobles never wanted to be seen as dirty, reputations being ruined if others knew their noses were filled with powder or they had a penchant for girls half their age. On this day however it was closed for a private party. Just so happens I had a guest pass, funny how often that's been happening lately.
Arms raised above my head as the shorter of the two men moved forward, moonlight shining off the bald dome of his head. Hands moved roughly along my body, doing a bit more than patting me down. If he were anyone else I'd of kneed him right in the balls, but you put up with a lot of shit when it came to business. If him grabbing my ass got me in the door faster, so fucking be it.
Second guard merely glared at me during the entire shakedown, eyes as dead as a risen. Wouldn't shock me if his heart was as well. If you were given the personal detail of Dick, you were a killer, someone who'd moved up the ranks of muscle. Another reason my trap stayed shut, you needed to know who you were needling. They wouldn't kill me of course, that would only end poorly for them however few broken ribs weren't out of the question.
Baldy motioned for me to follow his partner inside. Interior of the restaurant was nearly as extravagant as Orpheus's little tea house. Chandeliers hung from above, paintings that cost more than some houses filling the walls. Even the chairs were made of a well polished red wood, armrests available with a soft underlining cushion of a more cherry red. Wooden floors were equally as impeccable, looking as if not a single soul had ever stepped on them.
Entire restaurant was empty save for the one table occupied by Dick, wearing the only garb I'd ever seen him in, a well pressed black suit with a cream colored shirt beneath, tie a pale pink. In the middle of the table sat a bottle of wine, two glasses surrounding it. Utensils were set out both in front of him and across the table where a chair was pulled out, no doubt awaiting my arrival.
Dick smiled as I approached the table, reaching forward to place his wine glass in front of him. “Dressed to impress as per usual, Katrina.”
“You know me, I aim to please.” I took my seat opposite him, grabbing my own wine glass. “I wasn't aware this pressing matter you spoke of was a date. You do know there's not enough wine in the world to make me sleep with you right?”
Dick laughed, but far from the good natured variety. “Charming as ever.”
“Been hearing that a lot lately.” I extended my glass outward to be filled. “Even have noble women bending over backwards to please me.”
Dick popped the cork from the bottle, carefully filling both his and my glass a quarter of the way full. “I'm sure you'll enjoy attending the balls.”
“It's been the only balls I've been enjoying lately.” I leaned back in my seat, taking an elongated sip of the wine. “So what's the occasion?”
Dick swirled his glass, looking intently across the table at me. “Your recent actions have our employer intrigued, sensing a level of opportunity if you would.”
“That so? Let me guess, you want me to spread Gizbo throughout the school? A nice new client base, spreading to a city you once thought untouchable.” I took another drink, wine having a very strong musty taste to it. “I'll do it if my profit intake is higher than just 15%. I'm thinking closer to 25.”
“It always comes down to the profit margin with you doesn't it?” He smirked, resting his wine down on the table. “You'd do anything so long as your getting paid.”
“I believe my infiltration of the Blind Eye proved that.” I said sternly, warmth lingering within my throat, overstaying it's welcome.
“That was pleasure as well. Your relationship with your...” I cleared my throat, both cutting him off and attempting to battle back the flame scorching my throat. “Get to the point.”
“The point...” Dick chuckled, adjusting the placement of his tie. “The point is being made, you simply don't see it yet.”
Heat wouldn't subside, spreading down through my body, insides feeling like they were cooking inside of a range. Sweat started to streak down my forehead, throat feeling scorched, no amount of water in the world being able to quench the thirst. Hand holding my glass began to shake, control of my body very quickly departing. Before it did my fingers curled inward, tossing the wine at Dick, managing only to stain his shirt as my upper body clunked down onto the table, unable to move.
“Do you understand now, Katrina?” He lifted a napkin to his jacket, dabbing at the stain.“If it were up to me I'd of given a lethal dose, you are more trouble than you are worth. Our employer feels otherwise and I do as I'm told, trait you could learn from.”
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