#mythictold

┊𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐝 ⸻ + ⸻ 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐠𝐧𝐮𝐬. ╱ 𝐏𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 ┊

𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝𝐬 𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐰 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝.  windows down, allowing for the warm breeze of the utah evening to flow through the suv.  idle chatter from the oldest boys came from the farthest backseat. a glance up into the rearview, he can see their amazement at the scenes going by their windows. the youngest two were fast asleep in their carseats with the oldest of the youngest three quietly playing with a toy in her hand to not wake her younger siblings. the drive itself wasn’t too bad ⸻ 𝑜𝑓 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑡𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑛 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝘩𝑒𝑛 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑝𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑟𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐𝑟𝑜𝑠𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑦 𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝑠𝑖𝑥 𝑘𝑖𝑑𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝑜𝑤. he didn’t mind, it gave him time to think ⸻ to consider the choices that were laid out in front of him. 

a glance to his side towards the passenger seat. 𝘩𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑘 𝘩𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑙𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑏𝑟𝑒𝑒𝑧𝑒, 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑢𝑛 𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝘩𝑒𝑟 𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠 𝑎 𝑔𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝘩𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑𝑛’𝑡 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑔𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝘩𝑖𝑚 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑏𝑢𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝘩𝑒 𝘩𝑎𝑑 𝑤𝘩𝑒𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑚𝑒𝑡. attention returns to the road, a path he’s driven thousands of times before from the moment he had a license in his wallet. it was a 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚞𝚝𝚊𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚠𝚊𝚢, cars pass at random intervals and the scenery continues to sprawl on by. 𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐨 ⸻ he can hear ashley singing along quietly to 𝑖 𝑡𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑜, it brings a smile to his lips. a memory repeats in the back of his mind, driving the same road with his father listening to the radio and singing along without a care in the world. 

the values of family his parents instilled in him reflected in his children ⸻ who might not all be his by blood, but 𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚖𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜. their family was a blended one, but it was theirs and he wouldn’t have it any other way. his father taught him everything he needed to learn about life and family on the farm tucked back against the hills of utah. 

‘𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑦 𝑖𝑠 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛’ 𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑦, 𝑑𝑜𝑛’𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑡. 𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑦 𝑠𝑜𝑛, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑. 𝑛𝑜 𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑜𝑛 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑎 𝑓𝑖𝑔𝘩𝑡, 𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑟𝑔𝑢𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡. 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑝𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘 𝑖𝑡 𝑜𝑢𝑡. 𝑎’𝑖𝑛𝑡 𝑛𝑜 𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑔𝑜𝑖𝑛’ 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑎𝑑 𝑎𝑡 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑑𝑎𝑦.’  he remembers that conversation as if it had happened the day before. he was upset and angry, around eight years old ⸻ same age as his boys were now.  he got bucked from a young filly, his mother tried to comfort him but he wanted none of it. he was angry with himself for falling off the horse. he’d said something mean and stormed off. his father found him down by the training pen watching the same filly prance around angrily. ‘𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝘩𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒, 𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑦. 𝑠𝘩𝑒’𝑙𝑙 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑚 𝑢𝑝 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢.’ after an angry huff from his son who was as quiet as he himself was, his father laughed. ‘𝑠𝑜𝑛, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑜𝑤𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑚𝑜𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟 𝑎𝑛 𝑎𝑝𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑦. 𝑖 𝑢𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑟𝑦 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑓𝑖𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑒, 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑔𝑜𝑡 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛’ 𝑡𝑜 𝑑𝑜.’ 

swallowing that memory, he pulled onto a quiet dirt road. fields on either side grew with wild flowers reaching for the evening sun. he’d been quiet since he pulled onto the long stretch of highway. he’d hadn’t seen his father since ⸻ 𝚊 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝. ramon was familiar with 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 but the other children weren’t. ramon had spent the first half of the drive explaining excitedly to ashley, henry and rosie about his their grandfather. explained about the horses on the farm and the barn, spoke for hours about the things he remembered doing there growing up. 

pulling into a long drive, the car came to stop in front of a large farmhouse. off to the right in a field stood a barn painted red with white trim ⸻ 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝘩𝑜𝑟𝑠𝑒𝑠 𝑖𝑛 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒 𝑎𝑠 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑟𝑎𝑛 𝑎 𝑓𝑖𝑒𝑙𝑑. 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑘𝑜𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑤 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑓 𝑡𝑜 𝘩𝑢𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑢𝑝. sounds he knew all too well. for a moment he sat in silence, a long breath exhaling before pulling the keys from the ignition. “alright.” the first time he’s spoken since turning onto the long stretch of highway.

“ramon… behave yourself, no getting the other three in trouble. Wilbur and Reggie will be keeping an eye on you four. stay out of the pens, you know the rules.” with a long'𝑖 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑜𝑜𝑜𝑜𝑜𝑤, 𝑑𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑦.' he gave @mythictold a small smile as he climbed out the car. after opening the back door, he helped rosalie down out the car and reached in for a sleeping ollie so he could collapse the seat rosalie was sitting on to allow the older three to climb out.

a glance across at helen, nick watched her retrieve a sleeping amelia from her carseat before he grabbed the diaper bag tossing it over his shoulder and closing the door. oliver sighed against his shoulder before settling back into sleep, tucking his arms between himself and nick.

‘𝑅𝑒𝑔𝑔𝑖𝑒.ᐟ’ he can hear ramon shout before jumping into the older mans arms with a laugh then introducing his siblings to the older man. Wilbur came up with a nod. ‘𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑚𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑣𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑒𝑛 𝑎 𝑏𝑖𝑡 𝑏𝑢𝑠𝑦, 𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑦 𝑏𝑜𝑦.’ he says with a chuckle, turning to helen and tipping his hat. ‘𝑚𝑎’𝑎𝑚.’ 

“something like that. " he replies with a chucjle of his own. "this is my wife, helen. my boy, oliver and my daughter amelia. Ramon is over there with my son henry and my girls ashley and rosalie.” a moment settled as ollie shifted again, tucking himself further against nick. “how is he, wilbur?” he asked, nodding towards the house.  Wilbur gave a shrug telling nick basically ‘𝘩𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑠 𝘩𝑒 𝑖𝑠. 𝑠𝑡𝑢𝑏𝑏𝑜𝑟𝑛 𝑎𝑠 𝘩𝑒𝑙𝑙.’ a soft laugh is offered. “thanks. on the porch?” another nod before the old farm hand is heading towards ramon and the other kids his gaze shifts to helen and amelia. “ready?”  

This is the Venus of Willendorf, one of many prehistoric “Venus figurines” that date back over 25,000 years. She wasn’t sculpted for vanity or validation, she was likely revered as a symbol of fertility, abundance, and divine femininity. These figures were icons of life force embodying fertility, protection, sustenance, and survival. Her exaggerated curves weren’t flaws… they were divine signatures. They symbolized the power to bleed, to carry, to birth, to feed, and to endure. This ancient form reminds us that our bodies were once sacred before they were branded. Our curves once meant creation.

"Legacy is not a blessing; It's a burden."

ᛟ [The Burden of Heirs] ᛟ

--A Nine-Act Mythic Tragedy filled with love, loss, and choice

ᛜ

Queer-led • Pagan Hearted • Brutally Human

ᛜ

→ Epic Fantasy, Endless Ships, Earned Transformations

→ Honest. Devastating. Brutal. Captivating

→ Where Norse honor meets royal secrets

ᛜ

Welcome to the story we've been dying to tell...

The gods will not forget your name once you've joined us.

ᛜ

"Act I: PEMBROOK" Coming Fall 2025

“Shhh!” The tone was soft, and he shook his head gently as Moira’s eyes fell on him again. He could tell she was panicking, but that would get them nowhere. She needed to stay calm – just like the was trying to; even managing to give her the flash of a smile, that might have been lost in the dim light of the caves they were currently hiding – stuck? – in. Panic would get them nowhere. It would cause him to bleed faster, and it would minimise both of their chances to survival. If Moira ran off, she could get lost in the cave system – she could be found wandering alone through the system by their attacker, who might have more time to aim then, as he had with him now. – Not the first time he had been shot, even though he wasn’t TECHNICALLY on active service any more. There was something about it that actually made him smile again; a strange smile, that couldn’t quite decide whether he was amused or bitter about it. Nevertheless, it was gone quickly, as he tried to sit up a little more, leaning against the stone wall behind him. He had hoped it would be just a graze this time, but now he wasn’t sure if he had been so lucky.

“I need you to keep calm, Moira – that’s something you can do for me.” Continued to keep his own words calm, too. That was how it always had worked whenever he had been working for young soldiers lacking experience. He hadn’t been the one shot then, but it was still worth trying. There wasn’t much else he could do anyway.

.🐝  *  ―  let’s bring some more positivity to the rpc by brightening someone’s day ! anonymously or not, send 💕 or ( ‘HEART’ ) for me to randomly pick one of my mutuals and write at least two things about why i love seeing them on my dash, writing with them, talking to them, etc. /always accepting

This one is for two people, because they are a package deal. I want to note that it is such a joy to read their threads on the dash, and to plot our fun lil group verses with both of them. <3

@mythictold Brandy first because I have known her 34859856897 years. Brandy you you might be one of the most iconic people in the dwrpc. The way Amanda tapping!13 is ingrained in all our minds from your very first blog to now?? Only you could've thought of that and executed that vision with such perfection. You are such a genuinely funny person, fiercely protective of your friends and insanely talented on top of all of that. I love your enthusiasm for writing, and teaching, and acting. Everything that you do in life, you put your whole heart and soul into, and that shows !!!

And ohmygoD how can I not mention Moira and Helen? Moira first because gosh, the way you created this brilliant, adorable genius that is Moira! I love that you show her excel in her field but struggle with holding onto this great legacy of her mother, brother and grandfather before her. I love that, because it feels so real and so honest and heartbreakingly beautiful. Moira has become an irreplaceable part of the UNIT rpc because you poured so much life into making her. And then there's your Helen, who blends so seamlessly into multiple universes that it's enough to make us question, wait, wasn't she in that show all along? I swear she was??? It's such a true talent to be able to do that not only multiple times, but to do that so well. <3

@lorestold And then there's Gray ! We haven't known each other as long, but it feels like forever because you are just so easy to talk to and so open, honest and such a joy! You're also such a creative powerhouse. Honestly. I love that it'll be 3am for you and you're still coming up with the newest best plot ever and it'll be the most detailed, carefully laid out, exciting thing we've all ever heard of and yet, despite this entire world you've created in like 0.2 seconds, you are still so open to plotting with everyone else and merging ideas to form something else new. Your enthusiasm for writing is infectious, and I mean that in the best way possible.

It extends to your characters too, the way you have fully fleshed out backstories for your ocs? Incredible. I'm obviously gonna talk about Nick because he's the character I'm most familiar with of yours. Gray, Nick is an incredibly detailed character. I love that you've allowed him to grow over time, allowed his story to develop and unfold so organically. He is so wonderfully real. And your 12? I know you keep saying you're still getting the hang of him but he sounds so much like 12 already that I'm excited to see where you go with him next. I love that you already have the most intricate lil headcanons for him. The snacks hc? I love. big fan. thanks. <3

@mythictold gets a starter! ft. medea

𝐀 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌 𝐒𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄 𝐒𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐌𝐒 𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐑 𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐒. a dash of humour , perhaps , for the doctor has never been one to stick so easily to the linear flow of time. time , whom presently stands before her within a sea of colourful wildflowers. greeting their dearest to this distant alien world flourishing with life yet to gain sentience.

┊𝐍𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐝 ⸻ + ⸻ 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐝. ╱ 𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐫 ┊

𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐞 ⸻ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬. 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧’𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫. 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲’𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞. 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧? 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬? 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. 

something he’s kept from helen. he’d mentioned it once before, that much he remembers from the first twenty-four hours. those eyes, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒃𝒆𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒄𝒍𝒂𝒘𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒉, before he was thrown through a steel door. nick remembers the apology. the sadness in white glow of the eyes. the lies he has told ⸻ 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚢, and yet he has done the complete opposite. words still whisper to him in his dreams, the cold that surrounds him in the dreams that used to terrify him. 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝘩𝑒𝑙𝑝. 

most of the day had come and gone. 𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒚 ⸻ a quiet place to gather his thoughts. ignoring his phone, and those who had come by to speak to him, including ramon. hands work to write 𝚊 𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍. the intricate designs leaving behind a message spoken to him. his mind riddled by the message spoken to him in whispers as he lay on the ice in a growing pool of his own blood. 

⊬⍜⎍ ⏃⍀⟒ ⏁⊑⟒ ⋏⟒⍙ ⏚⟒☌⟟⋏⋏⟟⋏☌, ⋔⊬ ☊⊑⟟⌰⎅. ⋔⊬ ⏁⟟⋔⟒ ⊑⏃⌇ ☊⍜⋔⟒ ⏁⍜ ⟟⏁'⌇ ⟒⋏⎅, ⎎⍜⍀ ⍙⟒ ⎅⍜ ⋏⍜⏁ ⌰⟟⎐⟒ ⏃⌇ ⌰⍜⋏☌ ⏃⌇ ⏁⊑⍜⌇⟒ ⎎⍜⍀☌⍜⏁⏁⟒⋏. ⊬⍜⎍ ☊⏃⍀⍀⊬ ⏁⊑⟒ ⏚⌰⍜⍜⎅ ⍜⎎ ⏁⊑⍜⌇⟒ ⎎⍜⍀☌⍜⏁⏁⟒⋏. ⎎⟟⋏⎅ ⏁⊑⟒⋔, ⋔⊬ ☊⊑⟟⌰⎅. ⏁⊑⟒⊬ ⍙⟟⌰⌰ ☌⎍⟟⎅⟒ ⊬⍜⎍. ⟟ ⏃⋔ ⌇⍜⍀⍀⊬ ⍙⟒ ⊑⏃⎐⟒ ⋔⟒⏁ ⏁⊑⟟⌇ ⍙⏃⊬, ⋔⊬ ☊⊑⟟⌰⎅. ⟟⋏ ⏁⟟⋔⟒, ⟟ ⍜⋏⌰⊬ ⊑⍜⌿⟒ ⊬⍜⎍ ⋔⏃⊬ ⎎⍜⍀☌⟟⎐⟒ ⋔⟒. 

a message for him and him alone. another message scrawled out in front of him, dark gaze looking over each letter. 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐜𝐢𝐭𝐲. 𝐥𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧. 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐚𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 ⸻ nick became consumed by the message. as more time passed, the more desperate the message became to him. a breath taken, eyes blink several times before the paper comes fully into focus. lump in his throat swallowed and pushed down. the message was clear to him.  ⏚⟒⋏⟒⏃⏁⊑ ⏁⊑⟒ ⟟☊⟒, ⋔⊬ ☊⊑⟟⌰⎅. 

nick wasn’t sure when he had left the table in the armory, the house was quiet. the paper with his message was clutched between his fingers. as he looked up again, he realized he was standing in @mythictold's study. brows crease together ⸻ 𝘩𝑜𝑤 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝘩𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑢𝑝 𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑒.ᐣ confusion riddled his features when his gaze finds her behind her desk. “i ⸻” words were lost to him. the paper in his hand shakes just enough to gather his attention as  his hands shake slightly. ⏚⟒⋏⟒⏃⏁⊑ ⏁⊑⟒ ⟟☊⟒, ⋔⊬ ☊⊑⟟⌰⎅. the message becoming haunting once more. 

stepping forward, shaking hands set the paper down on her desk. “the ice.” words are found after a long moment. ⏚⟒⋏⟒⏃⏁⊑ ⏁⊑⟒ ⟟☊⟒, ⋔⊬ ☊⊑⟟⌰⎅.  haunting him. the message was haunting him.  the thought of antarctica ⸻ the voices that whispered the message. “𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚. we need to go back, helen.” ⏚⟒⋏⟒⏃⏁⊑ ⏁⊑⟒ ⟟☊⟒, ⋔⊬ ☊⊑⟟⌰⎅. “we 𝑯𝑨𝑽𝑬 to go back. 𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑦 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑑𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔.” shaking hand reaches for a pen on her desk then reaches for the paper and quickly writes. ‘⎎⟟⋏⎅ ⏁⊑⟒⋔.’ nick reaches for another paper, in large he writes ‘☊⏃⏚⏃⌰’ before underlining the meaning. ‘𝐂𝐀𝐁𝐀𝐋.’ “I ⸻ we have to help them.” 

pen falling from his hand, eyes raised to her. “helen…” 𝘩𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑑𝑜𝑒𝑠𝑛’𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑝 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝘩𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑓𝑓𝑖𝑐𝑒. or where his day had gone. “something is wrong with me ⸻ 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠.” his skin felt as if it was crawling, pulling him back to where it all began for him, the very place he had been turned into what he was now. he didn’t know what language it was. 𝒎𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒖𝒃𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒄𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒅𝒂𝒛𝒆𝒅 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒕𝒆, knowing she’d know what to do. “please ⸻ “ he says. “𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒎𝒆.”