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the-final-sif · 4 years

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interview about writing processes

Hey Lady Sif,

thank you for taking time for us and agreeing to answer our interview questions.

Since this was of short notice we decided to change the deadline to June 19.

We hope the time frame suits you.

Here are our questions:

Can you shortly describe us your writing history? How did you start off? How did you come across fanfiction?

Do you have a writing philosophy that helps you overcome challenges in writing?

Could you describe your writing environment? (workplace, prefered writing tools, fandom discourse, discourse with friends)

What inspires you to write and post in and for a fandom? What triggers your headcanons? Does your educational background influence your writing?

In how far does your fandom experience influence your writing?

In how far do you work with others to create fan content? And what ideas do you integrate in your writing?

Are there certain steps you take/decisions you make when/before responding to a post/prompt?

When and why did you decide to host writing events like your fake fics event? What was the purpose and how did you approach the title prompts?

How would you describe the difference between writing alone and writing spontaneously with others (first in creating fan theories and headcanons and second in creating fanfiction)?

Do you think knowing that others read and can comment on your texts subconsciously influences your writing?

What motivated you to create a story where your readers can decide for an ending (name)?

Is there anything else you consider important in your writing process that you would like to tell us?

Thanks again for your time and effort, we are very much looking forward to your answers!

If you’re interested we’ll keep you updated on our findings.

Kind regards, Dana and Helena

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Can you shortly describe us your writing history? How did you start off? How did you come across fanfiction?

I started writing when I was very young! I was a huge reader, and even before I was writing stuff down I was a storyteller. It’s a really important part of my family & how we communicate with each others and others.

My first experience with fanfiction was when I was,, 7 or 8? That sounds about right. I hand wrote a fanfiction called “ShoppingCats” which something between warrior cats and Cats vs Dogs, but also made primarily of my OCs (+ a handful of warriors characters I liked). I still have most of it, it’s sitting in my desk drawer in it’s original binder, since my mother saved it.

I came across fandom spaces / online fanfiction in 2012 with fanfiction.net, and published my first fanfiction in 2013 (under Rosae-Sif on fanfiction.net). I’ve taken breaks as my interests changed & life got chaotic, but I’ve always enjoyed retelling stories that I hear and changing them to suit me more / explore new themes, so I’ve stuck with it after all this time.

Do you have a writing philosophy that helps you overcome challenges in writing?

Yes! I write for myself above all else. It’s fun to write stuff for other people sometimes, and I like getting feedback and what not, but I never let that be the focus of my writing. I always try to write what I want to be reading, so when I go back and reread what I’ve written, more often than not I find I’ve produced something that makes me happy, and that helps keep me going when a lot of other things couldn’t.

Could you describe your writing environment? (workplace, prefered writing tools, fandom discourse, discourse with friends)

Uhhh, I don’t really have any one set thing. I mostly write on my laptop, sometimes I use a notebook + pen. I have 5$ fountain pen that I got that I really love when I have writer’s block.

I think the most consistent “workplace” for me is actually discord/my friends. Almost all of my AUs/fics/ideas start as me storytelling (either typing things out or out loud) to someone else. That’s where the spark comes from, and then that slowly is refined through several iterations until I have something I like.

I really like taking long walks with headphones & nobody else around. That’s when a lot of the very early forms of my favorite ideas come to me. It’s a key part of my writing process the few times I get stuck on stuff too. I just go walk till I figure it out.

I don’t really get involved in discourse much. I like debating people, but I try to stay away from destructive stuff and just have my own fun corner where I create things. I’m in fandom for fun, and I refuse to let me experience be tainted by people who try to turn it into Discourse Central.

What inspires you to write and post in and for a fandom? What triggers your headcanons? Does your educational background influence your writing?

As I mentioned before, I write and post primarily for myself! I have a lot of ideas in my head all the time, and things I want to see, so I create those things and then put them here. It’s fun when other people interact with me + add onto my ideas + create things in response!

My headcanons are usually just kinda,,,, coming out of my brain. I think it’s just how I am. I have a question or a thought and I start looking into it and before I know it, a whole new thing has come out of it.

I think my family actually influenced a lot of my writing style more than anything else. I mean, I was homeschooled for a long time, and my parents were very encouraging of whatever weird projects I was creating (my dad once even let me cut down and drag actual brambles into the basement to create a warriors style fort). I was allowed to dress however I wanted (during high school I worn nothing but PJ pants b/c they were most comfy for me, and also I had/have several capes that I would rotate through), I was allowed to dye my hair (still do! it’s current a side shave in red + purple + blue!), and I was encouraged to just,,, be weird and happy. I think that shows in how I write. I pursue the ideas I want to go after, I indulge myself, I commit to thinks and I focus more on what I want to write rather than what I feel I should write.

That being said, a lot of science nerding that comes out in my writing is def from my educational background. I’ve got a bachelors and stuff. I did take some writing classes, but to be honest, I think my fanfiction experience influenced those a lot more than they influenced my fanfiction (years and years of writing constantly and quickly paid off in college where I would BS papers the night before and get top marks on it).

In how far does your fandom experience influence your writing?

Hmm, I don’t think it does that much? I mean, for the BNHA fandom in particular, I think that seeing all the cool content + ideas other people create really keeps my brain chugging along and creating new things, and god, having seen people make fanart and fanfiction for my stories has been one of the best feelings I’ve ever experienced, but I don’t think that’s really changed how I’m writing.

At my core, I’m still doing the same thing my 8 year old self was doing with her pencil and that binder full of paper. I take the strange thoughts out of my head, and I follow them onto the paper until I create something that makes me happy.

I’ve had some negative experiences of course. I mean, everyone does. They’ve all been fairly minor, mostly just people trying to tell me I’m wrong about stuff that’s either in an AU that’s already not supposed to be canon, or stuff I’m right about. Most of the time it’s just annoying. Sometimes it’s concerning. I ignore or delete the annoying stuff, I don’t want to give it any of my time or attention.

The concerning stuff I try to reply to. It’s been rare, but sometimes I get comments on certain fics trying to tell me what’s being depicted in my fic isn’t abusive when it absolutely is. I try to correct that and link to resources when I do get that. I usually don’t get a reply, but a few times I’ve had people realize that what they thought was normal was actually abusive behavior. I’m happy that I’m able to help people come to that realization.

In how far do you work with others to create fan content? And what ideas do you integrate in your writing?

Hmmm, I’ll be honest, I’m not quite sure how to answer this one. I don’t exactly work with others when creating my fan content? All of my writing (save one RP collab homestuck fic from ages ago) is done by me exclusively, and most my ideas are also mostly from my own brain. Although I will say one exception to that is @windschildfanfictionwriter whose an amazing bnha writer I chat with fairly frequently when I need help figuring something out.

It’s less of “working” with people, and more discussing things/ideas, and being excited about stuff. Sometimes literally all I need is someone to be my rubber duck while I talk about an idea for 2-3 hours to get it solidified. People in my discord server often help me by betaing (editing/reviewing) my wips. My adhd means I often make weird mistakes, and they’re wonderful at helping me catch that.

As for ideas I pull into my writing, it’s hard to pick out specific ones. I think I kinda create + absorb + integrate lots of stuff at once. A lot of the times my ideas don’t come from things other authors write, but instead come from things other authors didn’t write. When I see an thought/idea/thread in a story that isn’t followed up on, or isn’t handled how I think it should be handled, that often inspires me to either use a similar base concept or similar thought but in the way I wish it had been done.

Are there certain steps you take/decisions you make when/before responding to a post/prompt?

Not really? I tend to just go with whatever comes to me or what I already had prepared. I’m rather impulsive, so unless it’s a delicate subject matter, I roll with whatever’s going on.

I do always make myself take a step back before responding to stuff that annoys me/any sort of anon hate. I have to remind myself it’s not worth the effort and I should focus on positive/fun stuff. I’ll admit though, I have a very combative nature that can get the better of me sometimes. I’ve gotten better at that though! Hooray for proper adhd medication to help prevent destructive stimulus seeking behavior and therapy! Although I do still like to debate stuff for fun, I just don’t let myself get hostile about it.

When and why did you decide to host writing events like your fake fics event? What was the purpose and how did you approach the title prompts?

Oh, I just saw the post and thought it looked fun so I reblogged it. Stuff like that is mostly an impulse more than anything else.

I just kinda went with the flow for the titles. God, I got so many of those, I still have a lot of them sitting in my inbox, most of which I probably won’t ever post. For the ones I did do though, I picked ones that sounded like fic titles I would actually use, and then asked myself what sort of story I would use that title for. Then I just kinda wrote whatever came to me.

How would you describe the difference between writing alone and writing spontaneously with others (first in creating fan theories and headcanons and second in creating fanfiction)?

Hmmm. This one is also a bit hard. It’s rare I truly “write alone”, most of my stories start as a form of oral storytelling and then are adapted to “proper” writing. Most of my theories/headcanons start the same way.

You’ll notice a lot of my posts start with “Also” “Okay” or “I’ve been thinking” or “You know”. When I’m writing my headcanon/theory posts, it’s all written very conversationally because I’m still following my family’s storytelling in a way. It’s a public post, but I’m not just making statements to a void. I’m still talking to people, addressing them, leading them through stuff. It’s just how I communicate on a very fundamental leave.

I’m still writing for myself, I’m creating for myself, but I’m doing it with others. I’m telling a story constantly, and sometimes I’m telling that story to myself, but I’m still telling it to someone.

I think you can read that in my fics, with the perspective I tend to use. I use limited third person POV, but when I’m writing, I try to write it how the character I’m writing from the POV of would tell their own story. I’m not just describing what’s happening, I’m letting this character tell their story through their own voice, to others, to me. It’s a core part of my writing, and that makes it hard to say that it was ever really written alone.

Do you think knowing that others read and can comment on your texts subconsciously influences your writing?

I mean, it’d be impossible for it not to. But I don’t think it influences me that much. I’m still writing for myself most of the time, and I hold onto my bullshit tightly. I don’t change my writing based on what I think other people want to see from me.

That being said, it’s still something I think about. It’s more of a conscious choice, but specifically regarding my stories that have abuse in them, I try to connect in elements of realism and common underrepresented traits/habits of abuse (which I do try to check via research when I can) and ensure that they are then called out as what they are. I’ve gotten a number of comments/asks/discord messages from people telling me that my works helped them realize they were in a crappy situation / understand what they were going through, and that’s something that’s important for me.

I think The Green Eyed Monster is an example of that, where I explore platonic stalking/obsession/pressuring. It’s something I don’t see taken seriously often enough, so I wanted to frame it in a serious but realistic light and make it clear that what was happening was wrong and harmful. I wanted to explore this concept, but I purposefully did it in a way that I hoped would help others who might’ve dealt with it on some level understand it for what it was, and I think it really shows. In the comments of that fic, there’s a lot of very personal responses/stories from people who went through similar experiences. I think that’s important, so it’s something I try to do when I can.

The other thing is I do 100% put references/lines in certain stories with an evil grin on my face knowing that a certain handful of my commenters are going to rip their hair out over it, either because they have no idea what I mean by it, or they know exactly what I mean by it. But hey, I’m a hurt/comfort writer at heart, so you can hardly blame me.

What motivated you to create a story where your readers can decide for an ending (name)?

Oh, uh, “Seven Year Old Katsuki Has The Ability To Kill A Grown Man And No Concept Of Legality”.

I actually can’t remember the exact inspiration for this one? I think I saw uhhh, Markiplier, playing a text adventure game, and I got curious about creating something similar.

I considered using a platform meant for text based games, but true to my family’s long history of needlessly complicating things and creating things where they aren’t meant to be created out of some mix of spite and creative hubris, I decided I wanted to make it on A03 instead. I looked up a style formatting guide, and went to work.

That whole project took like 1-2 months, around school work and everything else. It was created entirely using links that sent you to the next page. That’s it. That’s the only ‘code’ functionality I had to work with. So I made a whole paper map of the routes, separating them out into “steps” and then created unique text blocks for each step based on prior choices. I used a secret point system for one of the main routes, and ended up with 97 unique steps, and 155 different text blocks/variations.

Fun project. A03 was having some trouble/going down right after I released it, and to this day, certain members of the discord server still blame me for that as I was forcing the website into bullshit it was not meant to contain.

Is there anything else you consider important in your writing process that you would like to tell us?

Nothing I can think of off the top of my head. Other than maybe I have an African Gray named Cecil, and sometimes when I’m not ready to share an idea with humans, I’ll talk it out with him first. He’s an excellent listener sometimes, and by that I mean he’s usually ignoring me or I’m giving him scratches and he’s not paying my rambling any mind.

Though sometimes I get lucky and when I finish up a point and ask for his opinion, he’ll just look at me for a moment and say “I love you.” He does it because I’ll always cave and give him treats since I’m weak for him, but it still makes me smile.

#sif speaks #sif answers #my writing #long post #if there's anything else #just let me know!#submission

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imagine-loki · 4 years

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Soulbonds and Fairy Dust (rewrite)

TITLE: Soulbonds and Fairy Dust (rewrite) CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 10/?

AUTHOR: nekoamamori ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine one of the fae has been helping the Avengers, jumping in to help them on missions and vanishing before Shield can bring her in. Loki joins the team and convinces her to come talk to the team and consider joining before Shield takes more drastic measures. RATING: M NOTES/WARNINGS: This is a rewrite of the original work of the same name. Also on AO3 here

Loki gave Sigyn a warm smile, just as glad as she was that the soulbond was accepted, that their bond was there and only going to grow stronger. “So, what exactly does this mean?” He asked and she could hear the touch of worry in his words.

She looked up at him confused and shrugged “How should I know? You mother is sending the texts to you room,” she reminded him. They’d both get more information about the soulbonds whenthey could study them properly. Sig realized that she might have also been misinterpreting what he was asking of her. He wasn’t being particularly clear, which was strange for his silver tongue and spoke to just how upset he was.

He sighed. “I meant what does this mean for the two of us? Where do we stand in our relationship?”

Oh. She’d definitely been misinterpreting what he’d been asking.

“Geez, Lokes, you know how to ask the hard questions,” she sighed with sarcasm in her tone. That made Loki smile. It was just like old times. “We just found each other again. This,” she gestured to the green power lines on her arm “Doesn’t mean we have to rush into anything more than having my best friend back,” she was hesitant in her answer, afraid it was going to offend him. What if he wanted to jump right into more? She wasn’t sure she’d be opposed, but she wasn’t quite ready to jump straight from having her best friend back to having more. It as too much all at once.

Loki nodded in agreement and seemed to share her sentiments. He wasn’t one for rushing in and didn’t want either of them feeling pressured into a relationship they weren’t ready for. “I can live with that. It would be better to get to know each other again rather than rushing into things,” Loki wasn’t irrational and knew how to think things through, unlike a stupid oafish Thor.

Sigyn sighed in relief that he was reasonable and rational, unlike his idiot brother. She was also glad he wasn’t offended. However, she couldn’t help smirk at him. “How long until you start insisting I wear you colors?” she teased. She knew the tradition well. Ladies on Asgard wore the colors of the noble gentleman she was being courted by.

He smirked in reply and it felt like old times. “Technically, you already are,” he replied, indicating the green swirls of power up her arm.

She couldn’t help giggling in reply. “Yes, technically,” she agreed, looking at the beautiful lines of shining green magic on her arm.

Loki looked concerned. “Do you plan on hiding her mark?” He asked. He wasn’t planning on hiding his. He was still shocked that he was worthy of a soulmate, even though that wasn’t how it worked at all. But he was beyond pleased with the development. He had her, his Sigyn, back from the dead, back in his life, and apparently his soulbond, his soulmate.

He wouldn’t lose her again.

She shook her head and with a shimmer of power, her dress shimmered so it had short sleeves. “No, I only hid it earlier since I wasn’t sure if you wanted to keep it…” she told him softly. She didn’t want to upset him, but he had to know. He just gave her a gentle understanding smile. She noted that the power lines on his arm were evident and displayed.

“Green really looks good on you, darling,” he told her warmly, admiring the swirls of power. He was correct, of course. Green looked fantastic with her coloring, her pale skin, sidhe red hair, and tri-tri-colored green and gold eyes.

“That’s a good purple on you,” she replied. It was a dark royal purple that shimmered in power up his arm, spiraling beautifully as it did.

“It’s not really part of my color scheme, but I like it,”

“It’s even more obvious because it’s not part of you color scheme, Lokes,” she pointed out with a smirk. Though something caught her attention, a noise down the hall. She grabbed Loki’s hand. “C’mon!” she told him and ran, dragging him into running after her. In that moment, she was completely the Sigyn he remembered from his childhood.

He laughed and let her drag him along, hurrying to keep up with her, though his stride was much longer than hers. “Where are we going?” He asked as he laughed and ran with her.

“Away from the oaf’s moronic friends,” she replied jovially as she ran. They could both hear them now at the end of the hallway as they ran in the opposite direction. When Loki could hear them too, he picked up speed, sweeping her up in his arms in one smooth motion. She made a small surprised noise and wrapped her arms around his neck automatically, grateful for his longer stride to get away from the morons. Loki took a few steps and teleported them both to his suite.

They were both still laughing when he set her carefully back on her feet. “I figured you wanted to hang out with them about as much as I did,” she told him as she fought to catch her breath from laughing so hard.

Loki finally managed to compose himself. “Very true. They are my least favorite people in this realm. Besides the Allfather, of course,”

“Unless she’s changed, Sif isn’t bad,” she reminded him. Sif had been her friend as children. “The moron boys however…"

Loki nodded in agreement. “Sif is the only exception,”

She gave him a warm smile, then looked around his chambers appraisingly. Some things had changed over the centuries, of course, but it was similar enough to feel the same as it had all of those years ago.

“Bring back any memories?” Loki asked, noting her gaze around the room.

Sig nodded. “Being back here, I’ve been remembering a lot of things. It helps being home,” she replied warmly.

“Good things I hope,”

She smirked. “Mostly. Except for that thing with the bilgesnipe…” she teased

He laughed, clearly recalling the incident as well “That was not entirely my fault, you know,”

She wrinkled her nose. “Liar,” she smirked at him.

He pointed a finger at her with a mock glare. “Do not pull my trick on me, little one,” he warned her firmly, though his eyes were full of mirth and teasing.

She laughed and stuck her tongue out at him. “You can’t lie to a fae, Trickster,” she teased in reply.

“Two lie detectors in one room. Oh joy,” his teasing continued with sarcasm in his tone.

She huffed. “At least you can lie,” she grumbled. Unlike most of the fae, she could lie, but it wasn’t easy and she wasn’t good at it, so she tried to avoid it whenever possible.

“I would not be me if I could not lie. Imagine, the god of lies not being able to lie. Preposterous,” he scoffed at the prospect.

She giggled. “Preposterous indeed,” she agreed. “Instead, you just can’t lie in front of me,” she enjoyed the teasing torment of her Loki. She was fae and could smell a lie just easily as Loki could.

He wrinkled his nose. “Annoying fae magics,” he mock-grumbled.

She couldn’t help giggling at him again. “It’s good for you to have someone around you can’t lie to,” she continued teasing him. It was fun and felt like home and normal.

“Not when you are the god of lies. It ruins my whole reputation,” he whined playfully. She didn’t know how rare it was now to see Loki being playful. To her, it felt like home, felt like old times.

“Guess you’ll have to keep me on your good side then so I don’t betray your lies,”

He gave her a warm, genuine, smile. “I think I can manage that,”

#Loki #Lover #Submitted fic #submission #soulbonds and fairy dust #chapter 10 #rewrite #nekoamamori

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your-highnessmarvel · 6 years

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California ~part three

Summary: She had always wanted a future of power and fulfillment. She’d always imagined she would be a woman of conviction, a woman to choose how her life would lay ahead of her. Yet sometimes, things are arranged for you, and there is nothing to be done but to go gentle into the night.

A/N: Sorry this is late. I like sprained my neck lmao??? GUYS LISTEN PLEASE: I lost my list of tags, so if you asked me to be tagged in this and you are not, PLEASE MESSAGE ME PERSONALLY AND I WILL MAKE SURE YOU ARE AND FOR THE UPCOMING CHAPTERS.

Parings: Loki x OC, mentions of Thor x Sif

Word count: 3954

Warnings: language, slight dub/noncon touching and kissing, mentions of smut.

Banner made by me. Pictures are not mine.

TAG LIST IS OPEN

The days and weeks that followed were a whirlwind of duties and expectations. Cali was submerged into a tidal wave of new information, dresses, speeches, and dinners. Her first week spent as Loki’s betrothed consisted of her sitting in tight-fitted green dresses at dinners, smiling and waving at all the Lords and Ladies of Asgard. She hated it. Her hair was always done up, her cheeks pink, her lips glittering with sticky lipstick. She hated the corsets and the flowy dresses and the dances. But mostly, she hated him.

He was always constantly touching her; her knee, her elbow, her hand. The God of Mischief always had his fingers on her. Whichever way he could, his hand would either close around her wrist or linger on her fingers. Yet everyone could clearly see the discontent written all over Cali’s stiffened features.

Countless times, in that first week, she’d get scolded by her mother. “Tell your face to look happier,” she’d growl as she swung passed her daughter, the latter dancing quite stiffly with her fiancé.

The ring was a grotesque thing; blue and huge, sparkling on her ring finger, heavier than any jewelry she’d ever worn. Loki had given it to her at a very public dinner, on the last day of that very first week. He’d been handed a speech, which had obviously been written by someone else, and had rehearsed it before her like a serenade. And no one had been a better actress than Cali herself. She’d gushed and whined lowly at his words, smiling grandly for the entire reception hall to see. She’d pretended to wipe away a tear, feigning love and extreme excitement. Then they stood on the banister, their hands intertwined, smiling proudly for the cheering crowd.

As soon as that night ended, Cali tried to scrub every single inch of herself to get the smell of him off her.

“You’re going to have to wear that ring every day now,” her mother said over a quiet family dinner. They sat in casual attire around a steamy pot of lamb stew. Ragnar sat across from his wife with their daughter in the middle.

“It’s a burden,” Cali grumbled after she’d swallowed.

“If you don’t wear it, Cali, the Allfather will not be happy,” Ragnar answered, poised at the right of his daughter.

She looked upon the glittering blue gem on her ring finger and pouted. “I hate it.”

Nevertheless, she found herself wearing it to every other event in the next weeks; dinners, dances, speeches, and paintings. Nothing was more painful than standing for hours on end with Loki, while a small old man tried to paint them.

In the next weeks, they were expected to just appear places together. He had only seen her in tight gowns and up-do hair and makeup, so when she waltzed in wearing black trousers and a black, long-sleeved armor top, he was pleasantly surprised. He kept joking about her pants, or her shirts, which totally annoyed the young woman.

They were obliged to appear as a couple to conventions, organizations, and meetings. They were expected to be holding hands and smiling at each other, which they did which much discontent. On the inside, Cali felt like she was burning into a whining and displeased heap.

And then there were those strange times when they were locked in a room together for “privacy”. They were expected to have moments to their own, as society did not see anything wrong with physical contact before marriage. They called it healthy.

Cali’s mother was more ecstatic than ever. She had an excuse to visit the castle everyday to prepare the wedding. A date had been set, not even considering Cali and Loki, of course. By the end of the summer, they would be wed. So that left Cali with a surprising one month to herself, before she was ultimately someone else.

She didn’t feel like herself though. After the threatening words from Loki at the ball, she held a sour feeling in her stomach. At any time, if the Allfather or anyone noticed how false or unrequited their “love” was, her whole family could fall to ruins. The fate of her family rested in the palm of her hands, literally. One wrong move, one daring move to defy the order, and Odin would slam his spear, sending her entire family into a mess.

Today was another day of that messy, fake touring. There was a counsel meeting, which Cali was always allowed to go to due to her father being one of the richest and most important man in Asgard. Of course, Ragnar had seen it fit to wait for Loki’s arrival, so the trio could enter. Ragnar, wearing a black glistening suit of armor, strode before the pair. His dark eyes were glittering, walking before the future royal couple, as he grinned from ear to ear.

Cali was forcefully following with a sarcastic, yet sincere smile to those who don’t suspect anything. She was wearing a tight green t-shirt with gold embroidered armor, courtesy of her mother, who believed green would satisfy Loki. She had on a loose pair of black trousers, which was decorated with tight straps to harness blades of all sorts. A short blade was just above her ankle and a longer, sharper blade strapped around her thigh. She’d decided on black boots, not the traditional booted-heels her mother always wanted her to wear.

“Always ravishing,” Loki gritted between his teeth as they entered the meeting, all heads turning their way. He was being sarcastic and mean, but to those who couldn’t hear him -which was everyone else- he seemed to be whispering endearing words into his fiancée’s ear.

“As do you, my prince,” the girl grumbled back. He was wearing a dark blue, long-sleeved sweater, knitted details embroidered into the material. He had on a glistening black armor plate that shone under the bright sunlight that was seeping into the hall. Black trousers completed his look, while his raven hair was pushed back behind his ears.

“Ah, Ragnar, Cali, and Prince Loki!” declared the head of the counsel, Arvid, as the trio walked in. Loki gave the crowd amassed a beautiful, sparkling white smile that would have dazzled Cali if she hadn’t felt the disgust settle in the pit of her stomach.

Cali had attended these meetings with her father since she was twelve, hence she knew exactly what they would talk about. Meetings like these, non-urgent and solely for the benefit of no one, took place monthly. They’d talk budget, jobs, unemployment, and current societal problems.

Almost two hours later, Arvid dismissed the counsel with absolutely nothing changing, and Cali was more than happy to return to her books and music. She got up a bit too fast, earning herself a couple sideways glances from the Lords and Ladies amassed, but nonetheless completely ignored her betrothed and walked out. She was annoyed beyond any point in her life, especially with Loki sitting beside her, man-spreading, index tapping on his knee restlessly.

“Cali,” the said prince drawled as he came in stride beside her. He had a devious smile on his lips, his hands clasped behind his back.

“What?” she muttered under her breath. They were now faraway from the crowd dispersing. No one would hear them unless she screamed.

They exited the hall, climbing down the stairs leading to the outside corridor, the view of Asgard’s ocean glittering far ahead.

“I would like to invite you to walk through the gardens with me,” he said, but the tone in his voice felt thick and mischievous. It felt like he was trying to fool her. It reminded her of the other night, at the ball, when he’d said filthy words to her that still haunted her dreams.

“I don’t think so,” she muttered, feeling the hot sun on her skin.

“It’s rude to refuse the prince,” he countered, stopping her with a hand on her elbow. She looked up at him from under her dark brows, orbs a swirl of anger and annoyance. “It’s even ruder to refuse your future husband.” The smirk that stretched on his lips made her wrench her elbow from his grasp with more force than necessary.

“Is that how it’s going to be?” she gritted. The corridor was empty, but she was afraid to raise her voice in fear of alerting anyone downstairs or in the rooms nearby.

He shrugged innocently. “I don’t see what you’re talking about, honey,” he cooed mockingly. She wanted to slap him, like every other time she’d been in his presence, but this time she felt her fingers twitch. He must have guessed her next move or glimpsed her digits moving for he took a subtle step back. “Please, accompany me?” His eyes took a softer turn, brows lifting as he extended his elbow for her to take.

She considered him for an instant. He was too tall for her and too skinny. She didn’t even like men with long hair and especially not men who were divas like Loki. The God was conniving and ruthless, two characteristics that she hated above all when mixed together. Loki was selfish, sneaky, and envious. How in the world was she supposed to share her life with him? How was she even supposed to fall in love with a man as such?

However, she took his elbow anyway, deciding that the fate of her entire family was more important than the questions she was still debating.

“Good girl,” Loki grumbled, and she gave him a hard look.

“Watch what you say,” she told him, mouth tight with each word. She hated the way he spoke to her sometimes, like she was his property.

He stayed quiet as he carried her along. As they made their way outside, they met servants and castle inhabitants, just like Cali was going to be in a month. Servants smiled widely and scurried away, yet the nobles and important visitors stayed to chat with the future royal couple. Cali forced smiles and polite answers, assuring them that she was, yes, totally enamored by her prince.

“You’re a rather impressive actress,” Loki said as they were far away from Niflheim nobles. The pair was now entering the gardens, which was an archway of white roses and a stone path that led into the maze.

“If I don’t sell the show, your father will have my family cut off,” she grumbled.

“If you think my father will cut you off just on the pretense that someone saw you unhappy, you have severely overestimated him,” Loki answered with a huff as they passed under the archway. “He was trying to intimidate you.”

Cali frowned, clenching her teeth as she looked around. The gardens were an especially special collection of flowers and plants. Asgard had a soft spot for nature and preserving diversity. Among the beautiful cacophony of smells and colors, roamed the bugs. Their miniature little bodies sparkled in the sun as they zoomed by her face, buzzing by her ear as she gently swatted them away.

“This marriage is the key to keeping Vanaheim under wraps,” Cali continued, ignoring the faint buzzing by her head. “If we don’t show solidarity and a desire to strengthen the peace between Asgard and Vanaheim, the Vanir risk catching on to this phony wedding. They might rebel again.”

Loki sighed. “If you think the Vanir will be watching our every move instead of Odin’s and Thor’s, then you haven’t been listening in meetings,” he answered. She hated the way he spoke to her; like a stupid child. “This wedding is the final string in this whole ploy of peace. The peace treaty doesn’t stand on the shaking boulders of this union, Cali. My father and brother have agreed to many more propositions from the Vanir.”

“So I can just end this wedding then?” She stopped in her tracks, her hand still wrapped around his elbow, eyes searching his face for any semblance of manipulation.

He frowned, shaking his head slowly. “If you do that, then the peace treaty is called off,” he answered. “They might not really care about how we stay together, but they do care about us staying together. I explained it before. Our union represents the conjunction of the two worlds.”

Sighing, she continued walking by his side, his body strangely closer to hers. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, the outline of his waist, the strong muscles coiling in his biceps. He might be sly, she thought, be he wasn’t weak. He was broad shouldered, with a wide chest, and impressively nice hands. She just wanted to see him as ugly, because she could never love a man who held such a hideous personality but had the physical elegance of a pure God.

“Cali, we’re getting married in a month,” he said suddenly as they entered the shadows of the maze, the cool air brushing on her exposed neck.

“I didn’t forget that,” she grumbled sarcastically. He tugged on her hand, bringing her eyes up to look into his.

“If there is something you are hiding,” he started, “this is the time to tell me.”

Her brows creased as she once again stopped in her tracks. They had halted near the exposure of the mid-length archways. When she was little, she would come here when her parents were at meetings and she’d sit on the arches, her feet swinging in the air.

“What are you talking about?” she asked, slipping her hand from his elbow, standing away from him. His eyes were glittering in the sun, his skin looking like porcelain in the glow.

“With all this hate you have towards me and this wedding, I could only deduce that you are in love with someone else,” he declared. The sun was outlining his sharp figure, making him look bigger in that long-sleeved shirt.

Cali shook her head, unable to comprehend what he was trying to pry out of her. “You think I’m in love with someone else?” she asked.

“That’s the only option I have,” he answered.

“Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I just don’t want you?” Her words were dripping in venom, but they didn’t seem to hurt him like she had intended them to.

With his head jerking to the side, he took a dangerous step forwards, sending her almost tumbling back to avoid knocking into him. The backs of her thighs grazed against the arch, her butt almost completely sitting on the granite.

“You know,” he said lowly, his voice turning into something somber, “I don’t think you should speak to me that way.” He was dangerously close. She could feel his breath on her hair, the heat from his body, and almost the pressure of his chest on hers. Refusing to look up, her fight training came back, and she went to push him away, but his hands wrapped effortlessly around her wrists. He kept her hands between their bodies as she looked up, noticing the aggressive and bitter look in his green orbs.

�� “Loki what-“

He interrupted her by shushing her, orbs round and brows furrowed. His fingers were pressing painfully into her flesh, his knuckles white with strain, causing her to whimper ever the slightest. The pit of her stomach involuntarily pooled with heat, watching as his lips parted, eyes dropping to her mouth. “We should be doing these things,” he whispered. The gravel under their feet squeaked as she tried to struggle out of his grip.

She had been almost forced to kiss him on the cheek before, or to hold his hand, or to let him show signs of tenderness. But those were just for the audience that was watching them, not in private like this. When they were encouraged to stay together privately, they wouldn’t even speak to each other. Loki would remain cold and distant, reading, while she took her pencils and drew in her own corner.

But this was something utterly different, taking her by surprise. He leaned in until her breasts were crushed by his chest, until his nose touched hers. She could practically see where his pupil met the swirling emerald of his irises.

“You smell wonderfully,” he muttered, shuddering as he inhaled, one hand letting go of hers to caress her cheek. She flinched, stuttering nonsense, completely taken off guard by his forwardness. Her heart was beating ferociously against her chest, her breathing accelerating the more he stayed close to her.

“Loki…” she mumbled when his hand slid down to her neck, fingertips grazing her flesh.

He was really doing this in broad daylight?

“No one is coming,” he hushed, eyes hooded slightly. “No one will see.” She shook her head, but she was unable to make any sudden movements. The heat, that disgusting heat, in her stomach made her legs feel like two tons. The hand still wrapped around her wrist was holding her flush against his hot body.

While she struggled as slightly as she’d ever before, his hand slid down her chest, over the curve of her breast until he reached her hip bone. There, he deviated towards her ass until his hand was fully cupping it. “Sit,” he growled. She winced when he pinched her butt, shaking her head, trying to push him off once again.

Suddenly, he roughly gripped her by the hips and hauled her until she was fully seated on the arch, the skin at the back of her thighs burning from the harsh manhandling.

“Loki, no- ‘’ She struggled, trying to step down, as he parted her knees and settled between, face as stoic as if he was trying to figure out a math problem. She was beginning to panic, her heart racing, blood roaring in her ears, chest heaving with every harsh breath she could take.

There was something hot at the apex of her legs, some involuntary reaction her body was exhibiting, but when Loki’s thigh brushed against the heat, he took it genuinely. His eyes made the briefest of contact with hers, and then he was forcefully gripping her face and crushing their lips together.

A loud whimper left her mouth, but Loki swallowed it, and the parting of her lips allowed him to slip his tongue into her mouth. Cali squeezed her eyes shut, hands gripping on the hard muscles of his clenched biceps. His tongue explored her mouth, dominating hers, his lips molding to hers as he wished. He patted her tongue with his, the wetness of his mouth arising an unwanted heat in the brunette’s stomach. She’d never actually kissed anyone before, but the warmth and moist texture of his mouth was not what she had expected. He wasn’t just kissing her; he was devouring her.

She thought she could just sit there and kiss him back, but when his hands moved from her jaw to cup her shoulders, she knew he had something utterly different in mind.

She broke away from the kiss slightly, panting, eyes down in both shame and anger. “Loki stop,” she breathed. Her lips hurt from the pressure of his mouth, her teeth aching, her tongue unable to form her words correctly.

He didn’t listen, nudging her face with his until his mouth was back on hers. She felt like putty in his hands as they slid down to her breasts, cupping them gently, kneading them between his fingers. A guttural groan resonated in his chest as he pressed harder onto her mouth, his hips briefly shifting forwards. Panicking, utterly unaware of how to stop him, she tried moving away. Yet the movement of her hips sliding forward on the granite made her hot crotch meet the hardness forming in his pants. One of his hands quickly snapped up, gripping her chin painfully, breaking the kiss.

His shoulders were heaving along with his hard breaths as his gaze found hers. “Don’t do that unless you don’t want me to stop,” he panted, his voice rough and unmeasured; truly wild and uncalculated unlike she was so used to seeing him. The hand still on her breast gripped her hip and pushed her away from his erection. Then both of his hands buried in her hair, pulling her head back until she was gazing up at him in both horror and shock. He leaned forward again, spraying kissing under her chin, on the sensitive flesh of her neck, swirling dangerously around her jugular. The gravel under his shoes whined the more he pressed into her, searching for any kind of friction. The muscles in his back coiled as she pressed her hands onto the back of his shoulders.

She balled his shirt into fists, squeezing until her nails pierced the material and broke at her skin. His mouth was hot and wet, inviting yet repulsive on her skin. She was feeling overwhelmingly conflicted. Her body was reacting treacherously; heating, panting, wanting him to do to her whatever he had in mind. But this was Loki; a man of destructive nature. Everything he held close would suffocate under his terribly dark presence. That volatile preference towards chaos and pain would turn to dust those who dared to adventure too closely. She could not want him, and she most certainly could not love him.

She used all her might to push him off, the sudden lack of heat making her skin bubble with goosebumps. He stared at her from a couple feet away, lips red and swollen, cheeks pink, panting like he’d just run a marathon. “What are you doing?” he growled, white canines peaking from under the soft pink flesh of his lips.

Panting, the girl rose to her feet, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I said stop,” she breathed.

His eyes fell briefly to the ground, until his mouth turned into a smirk that made her insides coil with rage. He’d just done things to her, which she hadn’t wanted, and now he was smirking? He slowly reached out, fingers skimming her forearm, eyes endearingly scanning the outline of her body.

“But I want to,” he cooed. Disgusted, she swatted his hand away, aggressively walking out of his reach.

“Don’t you dare do that again,” she growled, turning to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. He came to stand before her, and roughly gripped her chin.

“I will do what I want, when I want, with who I want,” he snapped back, face so close to hers she thought he’d kiss her again. Wrenching his hand away, she turned, leaving him in the dust of her footsteps as she jogged out of the maze.

The wedding was in a month. In thirty days, she’d be his and vice versa. He’d have all the rights in the world to want to bed her, to touch her, to do all the things her body wanted, but that her mind refused. She’d have all the rights in the world to refuse him, but to what extent? They’d be paired by the sacred bonds of marriage. They would be expected to birth heirs, to love each other like proper man and wife.

No matter how long or how ruthlessly she would refuse to let him have her, the world would still watch, knowing that the bond was false. If she remained untouched, her belly empty of an heir, the Vanir could take it as a reproach.

Cali would do anything for her mother and father, despite them having conspired behind her back. She still loved them more than anything in life; more than herself. But was she really capable of sacrificing her sanity for the reputation of those who’d wronged her?

Tags: @shieldgirl95 @loki-god-of-my-life @fluasch @spudsandbandit @lloeppky @shaunamart @mandyfric18 @teresaoliva20

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embklitzke · 7 years

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Awakenings - Book Six - Chapter 12

The world ended on an August Sunday. This is the story of some that survived the end of everything.

Twelve

“You look like you’re a thousand miles away.”

Seamus turned toward the sound of his sister’s voice, managing a slight smile. He’d lingered beyond the walls even after Thom had headed in, lost in his own thoughts, turning things over in his head. “Maybe I am,” he said, looking away again, watching the western sky. “Just getting some air.”

“Mm.” Neve came to stand beside him, idly rubbing her hands over her distended belly. Seamus glanced sidelong, studying her for a few seconds. All of his healer’s training, long in the past but hardly forgotten, told him that she wouldn’t be much longer before she gave birth. “There’s plenty of air inside the walls, big brother. There’s something tugging on you. I can feel it.”

“Did Leinth send you?”

Neve laughed and shook her head. “Should she have?”

He allowed himself a brief hesitation before answering, his guts suddenly churning. “Maybe,” he finally said, then sighed softly, chafing his hands over his arms. “Maybe she should have.”

Her tone gentled, voice growing soft. “What’s the matter, Seamus?”

“I just have a bad feeling,” he murmured. “I said some things to Thom and maybe I shouldn’t have, but maybe he still needed to hear.”

“Like what?”

Seamus exhaled a sigh, staring out at the horizon. “I told him not to rely on the Hunt to protect everyone here. I told him that the walls weren’t going to be enough. I shouldn’t have said any of it, Neve. I’ve only gone and upset him and that’s the last thing he or any of the rest of us need.”

Neve was quiet for a few long moments, chewing her lower lip. “Do you really think so?”

“Yes. No. Gods and monsters, Neve, I don’t know anymore. I really don’t. There’s just—I have—I have a bad feeling. That’s all.”

“Maybe you should listen to it.”

He looked askance at his sister, startled and slightly unsettled. Neve stared back, one brow arching slightly.

“I surprised you,” she said softly.

“A little,” Seamus admitted, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. “You’re usually the one that counsels caution, not to listen to bad feelings that may not have basis in reality.”

She snorted. “Something tells me that your bad feeling probably does have basis in reality. You’ve seen more of what we’re going to end up facing than any of us, I think except for maybe Phelan and maybe Sif—and I’m not confident that either one of them have a better handle on what’s out there and may be trying to target us than you do, Seamus.”

He sighed and wrapped his arms around her, tugging her close to his chest and holding her for a few long moments. Neve leaned against him, wrapping one arm around him and squeezing.

“I’m here if you need me, Seamus. I know it’s been a long time since you had someone close to lean on and I know you have Leinth, but...”

Seamus pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I know what you mean, Neve. I know there’s things that I would rather not burden her with, but at the same time, I’m not certain I want to burden you with them, either. You and Cameron have enough to worry about as it is without adding any issues I may or may not have to the mix.”

Neve laughed a little and shook her head. “We have fewer problems on our own than you think, really. Mostly, we have the same problems as everyone else, though I think sometimes he considers taking me south to the other settlement, as if it’s safer there than it is here. I don’t think he’ll follow through on that thought process, though. At the end of the day, we’re safer here. I know that for a fact.”

“You sound very certain.”

“That’s because I am.” She gave him another squeeze before she gently extricated herself from his embrace. “When you want to talk about it, you know where to find me.”

Seamus didn’t stop her as she stepped away from his side and headed back toward the safety of the walls. He watched her retreating back, his heart giving a painful squeeze.

Something was coming, and he feared that he would be powerless to protect her and everyone and everything else he was coming to hold dear.

Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, Seamus began to walk. He moved along the length of the walls, walking north toward the collapsed arch that once marked the gateway to the small Midwestern university whose ruins had somehow become home. The tent city that marked the Wild Hunt encampment on the norther edge of the fortifications was relatively quiet. There was only a little movement, a few of the Hunt moving amidst the tents. It was between patrols; all was quiet.

For now, anyway.

His gaze lingered on the Hunt’s camp. In his gut, he knew that they wouldn’t stay forever, they wouldn’t keep protecting this place forever. That wasn’t the way they were made.

That wasn’t what the Powers intended for them. At the end of the day, it usually didn’t matter what the Hunt wanted. What mattered was what the world needed, what Fate decreed. There were likely some among them that thought that he never should have been released from his duty to them and there had been moments when he himself had begun to wonder if perhaps they were right. He had been apart from the rest of the world for so long, freedom from the Hunt was still surreal.

A shiver crept down his spine as he recalled Leinth’s soft-spoken words.

You can still feel them, can’t you?

He could and maybe—just maybe—he always would. They were still a part of him whether he liked it or not.

There were days he wasn’t sure which was the case.

His steps carried him beyond the encampment, down to the broken asphalt of the roadway, down toward the arch and the roadway beyond. Broken bridges lay to the east and not terribly far to the west he could see the new shoreline of the lake, glittering in the afternoon sun.

Something was out there. He could see it, could feel it.

It made is stomach knot, turn sour. His hands curled into fists.

“Gods and monsters,” he breathed, planting his feet and squinting into the sun. “Now what?”

“Was he out there?”

Neve nodded in response to Leinth’s question, slowly sitting down across from her at the small table in the tent where they’d been sorting through salvaged books. Leinth quirked a brow at her, studying her face for a few long moments.

“You seem tired.”

“I am tired,” Neve said, propping her chin up on a hand. “I’m always tired. I have a feeling that’s going to be my default state of being until these two are at least fifteen.” She ran a hand up and down her distended belly. Leinth smiled faintly.

“That’s possible,” she agreed, setting aside the stack of notecards she’d been writing on. They’d resorted to old-fashioned card catalogues to keep the books straight, but they were still trying to inventory them all before putting them into any sort of real organization. It was a project that Neve and Marin had spearheaded with help from Leinth, Jacqueline, and some of the others, one that Leinth had found particularly relaxing—and enlightening, all things considered.

Truth be told, though, she likely should have spent a little less time getting wrapped up in reading mythology books and a little more time actually helping catalogue what they’d salvaged.

Neve stared at her for a long moment, lips thinning. “Was it like that for you?”

“What?”

“Being pregnant. Were you tired all the time?”

Leinth smiled weakly and shook her head. “It was a long time ago, Neve. I barely remember what it was like.”

The words were a lie, though one that came easily but not without a flicker of remorse, of pain. She had discovered her pregnancy after Seamus had been given to the Hunt and she had made her own escape from her father’s court and a thousand eyes that would have been watching. That had been the easier part of it all.

Keeping herself and the child safe afterwards—that had been the harder part.

But sometimes, hard things are necessary.

“Oh,” Neve said softly, then sighed. “Well. At least I’m close, right?”

“There is that,” Leinth said. She reached across the table and squeezed Neve’s arm.

Neve smiled and she smiled back, giving her arm another squeeze before letting go.

“All will be well,” Leinth promised, her voice soft.

“I hope you’re right,” Neve said.

Truth be known, Leinth hoped she was, too.

Neve reached for one of the books that stood stacked in front of Leinth. She ran her fingers along its cover, across the words printed on the spine in faded gold leaf. “He said that he’s got a bad feeling,” she said softly, staring at the book in her hands. “It used to be that when my brothers would say things like that, I’d take it with a grain of salt, but now...now I feel like I should brace myself.”

Leinth winced. “Was that why he was out there? Because he’s got a bad feeling?” Damnation, I shouldn’t have told him he woke me with his nightmares. The fact that he can’t remember them is doing worse to him than I thought it would.

“It sounds like it,” Neve said, setting the book down. “He seems distant again. It worries me.”

Leinth took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. “I’ll talk to him.”

“He asked if you’d sent me.”

A shiver worked its way down her spine and Leinth sighed, knuckling her eyes. “Did you tell him that I hadn’t?”

Neve nodded. “He said maybe you should have.”

Hell. Her lips thinned and she shook her head. “I’ll talk to him,” she repeated, then reached for another book. Neve put a hand on hers, stopping her.

“What are we going to do, Leinth?”

“I don’t know yet,” she said, rubbing at her temple. “But we’ll think of something. We have to. It’s like I said, I’m sure everything will be fine.”

Neve stared at her hands, chewing her lip. Leinth reached over to squeeze her arm.

“Now stop fretting,” Leinth murmured. “It’s bad for the twins.” She stood up and circled the table, stopping behind Neve to press a kiss to the top of the younger woman’s head. “All of this can wait. Go to Cameron and try not to feed on each other’s worry. He needs your support now, too.”

Neve sighed, looking up at her. “What’s going to happen to us, Leinth?”

“Whatever Fate wills,” Leinth said, then smiled faintly. “Unless we don’t find her plans to our liking, in which case we’ll scotch her plans and find our own way.”

She gave Neve another squeeze and walked out into the afternoon sun.

“What are you doing out here, my friend?”

Seamus took a slow, deep breath at the sound of Anselm’s voice behind him, though he didn’t turn. “One could ask the same question of you. You coordinate patrols these days. You don’t ride them.”

“Mm. They saw you go by and more than a few recognized the look on your face, old friend. Something troubles you.”

“A lot of things trouble me, Anselm.”

“Truer words are rarely spoken.” Anselm stopped next to him, followed his gaze out toward the lake, its waters rippling in the afternoon sunshine. “That does not change the fact that I am asking.”

Seamus exhaled, his hand curling into fists. Anselm kept staring straight ahead. These were signs the other man knew, recognized, and Seamus knew it.

Silence lingered between the pair for a long while before Anselm cleared his throat quietly.

“There is some whispering among the Hunt about her being here. They wonder how long it will continue and whether it is by choice or by artifice. Some suspect a coming betrayal.” Anselm paused, as if searching for the right words to phrase what he needed to say. “They have not forgotten what she did to the Ridden Druid.”

“I suspect there is far more to the story of her and Cíar mac Dúbhshláin than any of our brothers and sisters have dared to fathom,” Seamus murmured, closing his eyes for a moment. “You can assure them that she is here by choice—her choice—and that she has been welcomed by at the very least one of the Seers and my cousin, who has far more reason to distrust her than any of the Wild Hunt ever could.”

“I can say the words, but they may not believe them,” Anselm said, a hint of sadness to his tone.

“What would you have me do?”

“Do you believe it? Do you believe that she means no harm here?”

Seamus stared at the water, jaw tightening. That was really the question, wasn’t it?

But he’d seen what she’d done on the field and had to trust in that.

“They saw the sacrifice she was willing to make for us. They saw what Matthew did on the field.”

“They saw, but they don’t understand it.”

“Then their questions aren’t for me,” Seamus said, finally looking over at Anselm. “They’re for Matt.”

And powers only know if they’ll believe what he has to say—or if they’ll believe that he is who he is—or, more precisely, who he was.

Anselm sighed softly, crossing his arms. “They don’t know him, Seamus. They know you. You are their brother.”

Seamus shook his head. “He’s the Ridden Druid reborn. They know him.”

Anselm fell silent. His lips thinned. The silence lingered long enough that Seamus started counting the heartbeats, hearing each one echo through his head.

Bloody hellfire and ashes.

“Anselm.”

“Think about what you just said, Seamus. Then consider how many would understand and believe what you have said about Matthew.”

An explosive breath escaped his lips and Seamus closed his eyes. There was a part of him that realized that Anselm was right, that some of the Hunt would find it difficult to fathom what he knew was true, that souls that he had known in a long-forgotten yesterday had been reborn again in the world they lived in now.

And yet they can accept that some of us have lived for thousands upon thousands of years as part of an ancient group of soldiers.

He sighed.

Anselm put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “You have to be the one to explain all of this to them, Seamus. Besides, if it’s Matthew, they’ll think it’s some kind of trick, that she’s somehow ensorcelled him to say the words. It has to be you.”

“Bloody hellfire and ashes,” Seamus muttered, knuckling his eyes. “I’m trying to break free of that existence and all everything seems to be doing is sucking me back toward it.”

“Fate plays her hand carefully,” Anselm said, then smiled ruefully as he caught sight of the glare Seamus shot in his direction. “I don’t mean that she intends for you to be a part of the Hunt again, Seamus. Don’t take it that way. But we are in your blood—I fear we always will be. You don’t ride with us for as long as you did—you don’t lead for as long as you did—without a mark being left behind on your psyche and your soul.”

“I’ll talk to them,” Seamus said.

“It will help,” Anselm said.

Seamus simply nodded. Anselm squeezed his shoulder again before he turned away and headed back to the Hunt’s camp, leaving Seamus alone with his thoughts once more.

Awakenings is a fiction serial written by Erin M. Klitzke. It updates three times a week at http://awakenings.embklitzke.com. Full chapters will be released here on Tumblr once a week.

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#Awakenings #webfiction #Seamus Vaughan #Neve Vaughan #Anselm #Leinth #mythology in fiction #Webfic #fiction #original fiction #post-apocalyptic #web fiction

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