TW: MENTIONS OF SUICIDAL THOUGHTS



Life has come fits and starts since the broken woman awoke alone after that terrible day with the bears; giving and taking from her whenever it sees fit. When she had seen Víðarr in the forest all those months ago, Tove had actually believed that things would change between them. She had confessed her love and why she was so angry that he had abandoned her and the woman had blindly assumed that things had changed between them. But you know what they say about assuming things… it makes an ass out of you and me.

Just as quickly as he had entered back into her life, the Shadow had walked right back out and left her to pick up the pieces of her broken heart all over again. Then, just when she thought he was truly gone, Tove had laid eyes on him at the pack challenge. Víðarr had won the right to establish the pack he so desperately wanted since they first met… and he hadn’t even realized she existed. There were others there, supporting him, men and women alike, and that is when the scarred woman know that would never be anything, so she buried her heart on that field.

It was easy to slip away without anyone noticing and she had returned to the lands of the pack that tolerated her where she cried for what felt like days. The emptiness that had been growing inside her since the day Bodin died had reached its final tipping point and the woman knew she was in danger of losing herself. Since that night, she has set things in order, making sure that her presence would not be misses in the pack. It was easy enough since no one noticed, or seemed to care about her decline as the older woman begin to fade away.

She ate less and less, took care of herself less and less until her ribs now show under her lackluster coat. The pride she once took in the galactic coat now gone as she simply wishes to no longer exist. It was easy to slip out of Valta’s lands, hell, no one even cared about what she did anymore, and that is how she finds herself here. A cold breeze ruffles her dull coat and sends a shiver to race along her spine as Tove stares down at the waiting death. The calm water beneath her hides the sharp rocks and icy chill that lies just below the surface.

Tove stands at the very edge of the cliff, the sheer drop a mere pawstep away and she toys with the idea of how easy it would be to simply step out into the open air and join Bodin in the afterlife. Yet, her brother had died fighting and she knows that he is in Valhalla, while this would only land her in Hel. Once again, she curses the wolves that had saved her, wishing that they left her die with her brother but she has come to know just how much life loves its chances to fuck her over. Maybe this is what she deserves, the endless torment of Hel surely cannot be worse than her life spent here in waiting.

Still, she cannot bring herself to step off the edge and that is where she stands. She is a mere  hairs breath from death and all she does… is hesitate.


"Tove Baade"

Things had been difficult. Difficult, complicated, messy. Messier than Víðarr would have liked, messier than he could have even anticipated. Though he had every intent of returning for Tove things had... they'd gotten out of hand. Now he'd let her down not just once, but twice. Víðarr needed to come to grips with that, but it hadn't... hadn't been the right time. Messy turned into messier, and now? Here he was, unable to explain that. Unable to explain everything that had happened in the year since he'd returned. The pups, the band, the incident with Hattori, and now? Now he'd managed to achieve the thing that he'd wanted from the first time he'd set foot in this strange land. And now he needed to go back for her. But then there was Tenshi, his promise, his intent with her and... was it right to go back for her? Víðarr's chest squeezed, and he didn't know what to think. What to think, what to feel, what to say? Hell, he never knew what to say. The viking's steps were slow, taken with intention, as he walks. It's an effort to clear his head, an attempt to think. Víðarr needed to think. What was he going to do, what was he going to say? There was no right thing, there was no right answer. She'd come to see him during the challenge, she'd been there. There were too many things for him to think and for him to feel in that moment. Anything more would have driven him over the edge, Víðarr couldn't have processed it then. But as he wandered the Cliffs, he can smell her. Smell her on the breeze, smell her on the wind... no. It's as if he'd willed Tove into existence. The shadow pushed it from his mind, unable to come to grips with that. He couldn't have just willed her into being, no. But as he continues on, the scent gets clearer. Víðarr could see her now, as well. Coming into view at the edges of his vision, but she was too... too close to the edge. Much too close. Approaching downwind, the shadow doesn't want to startle her. Doesn't want to spook her. No, instead he calls out, tone far more gentle than usual. "What are you doing?" A question. That was all. Trying to process what exactly he's seeing. "Speech"

Standing on the edge of the abyss, staring down into the icy water that promises the sweet embrace of death; Tove feels her heart squeeze painfully in her chest. All this agony could end right now if she just steps forward, if she just… lets go. As she gazes at the still water below, it reflects her scared eyes back at her, taunting the woman, daring her to finish what she started as she continues to hesitate. Tears well in those duel-toned eyes, obscuring the woman’s vision of her own reflection. Life itself has left a bitter taste in her mouth, turning every moment into pure suffering until all she has left, is a longing for escape. Yet here she stands, the water below promising that sweet release she has spent so long wishing for… and she cannot do it.

Then a voice, familiar and haunting her memory, reaches her ears and every muscle in Tove tenses. Once again, life has found a way to fuck her over. She stays where she is, leaning over the edge and staring into the water below because she cannot look at him. If her resolve had already crumbling, the gentleness in his voice threatens to take it completely away. No, the woman hopes that, if she doesn’t look at him, she can do this. Emotions lodge in her throat, stealing away her voice as she blinks through the tears, the pesky water leaking out of her eyes to trace its ways over the scars on her face until it is freefalling through the air. The tiny droplets finish their journey, hitting the still surface of the water below and breaking apart her image as ripples cascade out.

Part of Tove longs to round on Víðarr and berate him for abandoning her again, for stealing away what little happiness she had found since the death of Bodin. But, even as she thinks about doing it, the woman knows that she the fault does not lay with him because, when it came down to it, she had believed everything he told her. She had given him that power and it is little wonder that he had walked away again. Her body is taut as she stands absolutely still, willing the man to turn around and leave so that she can finish what she had set out to do. But she knows him, knows that he won’t just leave without being told to, so her gravely tones, choked with emotion, whisper to the air, “Leave, Víðarr. Turn around and walk away right now. Forgot what you see.”

Truthfully, she hopes he will do as she commands because then she will be able to take that step and greet Hel with open arms. Tove had once confessed her love to the Shadow and now she wonders if he will ever be capable of loving her. She is broken, worthless and all those sweetly spoken words that day in the forest mean nothing when he keeps leaving her. All the woman had every wanted was to love and be loved by someone and Víðarr couldn’t even give her that. Her life isn’t worth anything. No one in the pack had noticed her seclusion or the way she was slowly wasting away. Even Kotori, who she had pledged her life to, did not seem to care about her anymore.

No, the endless torment that awaits her underneath the icy surface below is her best option. Paws stand on the edge, toes barely hanging off as she remains craned over the edge, waiting for Víðarr to leave so she can end her miserable excuse of an existence.


"Tove Baade"

She was dizzyingly close to the edge. Víðarr's knees shake, finally understanding what he sees. Finally knowing what's going through her head in this moment. He shook his head, stumbling closer to her instead of away. His head spun, his knees quaked. This was his fault. All of this was his fault. He knows it to be true, and he knows that he's caused this. All of the things that had gotten away from him in time, all of the things he hadn't been able to do or be for her. The guilt is building up in his chest, and he can taste it like heat at the back of his throat. Stumbling, nearly a whimper in his throat. It's almost childlike. Almost. Rarely does the shadow allow himself to look this down on himself, but it seemed... it seemed warranted. There are too many regrets, there are too many things he should say. Too many things he could, but would any of them matter? Víðarr bit back the urge to rush to her side, to grab her. It wouldn't do to be impulsive, to be hasty in this situation. His knees visibly trembling, the shadow shook his great, dark head. "I'm not leaving you." His voice audibly cracked as he spoke. "I know you were there, I know you saw me win." The shadow's voice quaked as he took one step, then another in Tove's direction. His head hung low, in earnest. For once in his fucking life, in earnest. "I finally did it... I have a home to offer you, like you deserve." There's a plea in Víðarr's tone. He is asking, but it's more than that. He's begging her to step back from the edge. He's begging her, pleading with her. Icy eyes wide, beseeching. "Come to me, come with me." Two separate requests, each more desperate than the next. Though the situation was messy and complicated, he cannot see her go like this. He can't see her throw herself into the sea. His voice quaked as he spoke, understanding at once the gravity of the situation. "Speech"

Tove stands on the edge, both literally and figuratively, as she remains focused on the water below. It is too painful to keep going, too much for her broken heart to turn and lay eyes on the man that has kept betraying her. Yet… he isn’t the only one. No, since the moment she had stepped paw in this cursed place, wolves have walked in and out of the woman’s life like she was a doormat. While the ultimate betrayal feels like it his burden to bare alone, in truth, it is the whole band’s fault.

Sure, he had found her bleeding to death near the body of her brother, dragged her back to camp and given her over to the healers but, in the end, they had all abandoned her. No one knew what to do with her when she awoke screaming in the middle of the night and, when she had finally walked away, they did not try to find her. Maybe she is a lost cause, doomed to this endless cycle of purpose and treachery as long as her heart beats within her hollow chest. She can feel the shadow’s trembling without even looking at him, knowing how this must look from the outside but she cannot bring herself to care.

Víðarr’s cracked words of not leaving her almost cause a bitter laugh to fall from her own quivering lips but in the end, all that escapes is a heavy sigh. He speaks of the battle and her gravely, broken voice whispers back, “Yes. I was there. I saw you win. You have everything you ever wanted. So please… go.” His words tremble and she turns her head away from the man as he offers her a home, begging her to come to him. Tove feels her heart squeeze painfully in her chest and a sob breaks out of his maw, her own legs quaking as the absurdity of all this comes crashing down around her ears.

Finally, her body sags backward and she pushes herself away from the edge, reeling back and away from the sweet embrace of death that awaited her below. Her body gives out, depositing her into a crumpled heap on the ground where she curls tightly around herself as her eyes snap firmly shut. She wills Víðarr away and wishes that she could make this whole stupid day go away. Right now, she cannot believe him when he says he wouldn’t leave her; she can’t when history has already shown her twice that he cannot keep his word.

Slight body quakes as she quietly sobs to herself, willing the man to run away and leave her sorry excuses for a life. Hell, she had released him the last time they met, told him to go and have a happy life but he had pulled her back with promises of love and a home. Tove curses her naïve heart for wanting to believe the only man she has ever loved again and vows silently to not make that same mistake now. Brokenly, voice shaking with raw emotion, the woman says, “Go away, Víðarr. There is nothing left for you here.”

It is true, because all that is left of the wolf that had once loved him, is an empty shell doomed to die alone.


"Tove Baade"

She buckled to the ground, but at least she'd stepped away from the edge. Víðarr shuddered as he spoke, moving to her side. Rushing to her, trying to prevent the trembling in his steps. He would not, he could not lose her. Not like this, not right before his eyes. Maybe it was selfish, but then, when it came to Tove it seemed he always was. Víðarr knows that he's fucked up, time and time again when it comes to her. But he's still here. He's still trying, he's still fighting. "I'm not leaving without you." The words are spoken at a growl. Víðarr doesn't want to leave room for argument. He is commanding, in these moments. Like he won't hear any arguments. He refuses, pushes back against her desire to push him away. It was true, he'd ruined things time and time again. Tove had gotten hurt because of him... but here he was. The viking king does not quit, and he does not give up on her. He can't. "You are still here. I will be too." The words carry weight, solidifying in his mouth as he says them. Víðarr sinks until he is sitting by her side, waiting. If she allows it, he will drape his muzzle over her shoulder while remains in a broken heap beside him. He will wait, as long as it may take, for her to rise again. Víðarr will wait. "Víðarr"