#I feel here prescense at times and I hear her voice in my head

[lycanthrotea]

Akua and Videl visit Odd

“Did I prevent our house from partially catching fire yes, was extremely badass of me absolutely, but it is also definitely not worth the story I got from it. The second worst rebound of my life coupled by record high heat nights?  Well probably not as bad as what you’re feeling.”

“M? I mean yeah that sounds.. “

Odd had trouble dragging himself up. He’d been trying to pay attention, after all, he much felt better with Akua and Videl’s visit and enjoyed talking with them. The drowsiness began to make it difficult but he wanted to continue.

“Congratulations Vivi,” Akua leaned playfully on Videl, “Your story was so long he almost fell asleep.”

“Thanks.” Videl said to Akua flatly, not a moment before Odd piped up, indignantly but still papibly tired

“No I didn’t!”

“Almost! It’s ok you can say he talks too much.. I’m kidding!” She said responding to Odd’s immediate annoyed look, “Videl is fun and that’s why I date and/or tease him.”

“Or?” he said playing along.

“A-Ny-Ways!” Akua began loudly with a playful  pushing away of her boyfriend, “We’ve been here a bit and you’ve already had dinner, meds ,aaand visiting hours are almost over. I imagine you’re feeling pretty tired right now. So maybe we should call it here and pick up again tomorrow?”

“What?! Augh… come on just a bit longer- it’s so boring over here..”

“Weeeeell Videl, needs to get more interesting stories and I need to find some jokes that don’t get you guys giving me a nasty look.”

“But hey, we’ll try to come back a bit earlier tomorrow if you’re up for it.” Odd seemed to almost curl up with a quiet, and exhausted “Fine.” It wasn’t hard for Akua and Videl to pick up his particular and unusual upsetness, they kind of expected something like that to show itself at some point. He was out most of the day before, but when Akua came to check on him he had apparently been so terrified and disoriented he had become quite violent and left a few bad scratches on a couple nurses. The last hour or so he seemed rather normal- tired, complaining about how boring and annoying the hospital setting was, but he didn’t really bring up anything that alluded to that, or show too many signs of unusual anxiety, he actually relaxed quite a bit with their prescense, but their needing to leave seemed to strike something in him.

“Or we could come separately so you have more time with either of us!”

“Mmhm..” Oddmund felt himself sinking back into the oppressive anxiety being here gave him. Videl gave him a sympathetic smile and hand on shoulder, but he shrugged it off.

“I don’t have work tomorrow so I can just pop on by, bring a book and come up whenever you’re feeling up to it.” Akua reassured with a sing song voice. She hid her mounting concern. “Is that all right?”

A quiet nod. Videl went on talking about Something as they picked up their bags but he didn’t really hear it.

“Well then. Odd, see you tomorrow.” It seems almost as if he would go into a quiet slump, but Oddmund felt his heart beat faster, a weighted terror crawling back over him. He hated it here. It was all these thoughts flooding and nothing to distract him from it— and Odd was one who grew accustomed to distractions, constant activity. He was weak and felt even worse, forced to reflect upon his overworking habits that got him here, vague memories of his violent outburst, his loneliness,— and he sure didn’t feel like interacting with any other patients at all. He tried to read but he couldn’t shut his head up enough for it, nor could he concentrate in the first place anyways with the head throbs. And of course those memories of his previous hospitalization. His left arm seem to ache, purely psychological— his whole body ached— but it was just a reminder of that long uncertainty, that nightmare of a monster that shredded his body, The pain, tears, and everything that came after that landed him here. Long recovery and sadness and anger and loneliness. He didn’t want to stay here much longer and he didn’t want to close his eyes and enter a possible abyss of nightmares powered by his feverishness. It happened earlier- and it was too soon to go again.

“Wait!” He managed to pull himself to the edge of the bed clinging to the sheet and reaching out. There was a light buzz of his limiter processing the outburst. “Don’t leave! It’s- so boring! I’ll-“ his voice cracked, eyes teary, face reddened by his internal temperature. Akua and Videl had not yet turned away but paused- they both knew well enough it was a delicate situation, Akua more than he- But she said enough to him about Odd’s less savory attitude sometimes. Though, she always knew there was something about him that he never wanted to talk about, but that little grump still her friend. Thinking fast, Akua cheerily went. “All right, all right we’ll stick a little longer. Or at least you know as long as they let us.” Careful not to acknowledge the emotion behind the outburst.

Videl joined quickly, “Well, I can’t say I mind being wanted heh, I just thought you wanted some space. Sorry Chief.”

“Oh.” It was half an exhale, as he slumped back down no longer being able to hold himself up. Almost as if the burden was lifted, he felt his head get heavy- or light. He forgot what he was thinking, and thought he heard something about something or other in...

Akua quietly bounded toward his bedside, ears out catching his slowing breath. With a claw she lightly poked his arm to test a reaction. Nothing. She spun on her feet and striked a cute pose for Videl.

“Smart.” Videl uttered quietly.

“Now you are going to hurt your back this way.” She whispered as she cautiously rolled Odd back onto his back. He made a small sound but was already quite out. She pulled the blanket back above his chest and skittered back to Videl with a- “Let’s go!”

[sophiathebanished]

.

[ptergwen]

hi val can you maybe write something about the reader being dared to kiss peter/tom/arvin (you choose) since her friends knew that she has a big crush on him, but once she did he seems disinterested after which makes her sad, but what she doesn't know was after she kissed him, he practically runs to his friends freaking out that the girl he's had his eyes on this whole time just kissed him??

kiss and tell

w/c: 1.8k

warnings: like one swear and awkwardness

a/n: yeeee i went with peter! this is adorable :,)

“i can’t!” you scold betty and her annoying smirk. you’re bored at lunch, so liz suggested the three of you play truth or dare. you’d made the mistake of choosing dare. in your defense, betty is the nosiest person in all of midtown, so you thought you were dodging the bullet and guarding your deep dark secrets. how could you have known she’d make you do... this?

“that’s so, like, forward. he’s gonna freak out.” you glance over at peter’s table to see what he’s up to before you possibly scar him. he’s laughing along at a heated conversation ned and mj are having. the way his face lights up, and his eyes crinkle as a smile crosses his features, it gives you butterflies throughout your whole body.

“in a good way,” liz grins her most charming grin at you. it’s not working this time. you roll your eyes up to the ceiling. “i thought you liked him,” betty huffs, gesturing over to peter and keeping her eyes on you. “all you do is talk about how he’s so cute and smart, and his lips look so soft-“ “i never said that!” you look at her with wild eyes. liz bites her lip to hold in a laugh. “the last part, i mean,” you clarify in a murmur.

liz puts a hand on you and pats your shoulder knowingly. “you’ve probably thought it, though. i’ve seen you checking them out.” there have been quite a few times your gaze has landed on peter’s lips, watching them curve while he talks to you about some new science theory he’s excited to share. you end up zoning out and pretending you retained any of what he said. betty puckers her own lips at you.

“you wanna kiss him,” she insists in a sing song voice, resting her chin on your other shoulder. “i’m doing you a favor.” “you’re really not gonna change the dare?” you sigh, your friends leaning on you in support. liz taps your cheek. “so, you don’t wanna kiss him?” “there’s no way,” betty comments from your side. “no, i...” you start, focusing in on peter again.

he meets your eyes across the cafeteria. his smile fades slightly, then a shy one is replacing it, ned dragging him into his and mj’s debate. you turn back to liz and betty.

“i do, but do you think he wants me to?” you ask them both, and they share a you have to be kidding look. “only one way to find out.” liz gives your shoulder a nudge. betty beams at you. “i triple dog dare you now, so you have to.” considering your options, you bounce your leg up and down. you’ll either get the nicest rejection ever from peter or a kiss back. you can handle this.

“ok, i’ll do it,” you decide, betty clapping her hands and squealing. liz throws an arm around your neck. “yay! i love love.” “let’s calm down,” you giggle so she doesn’t get too carried away. you and peter haven’t even established that you like each other. “i’m calm, i’m calm. do you need to borrow chapstick?” she offers, betty simultaneously pulling a tube out of her purse. “or lip gloss?”

you’re appreciating their over involvement now.

“both,” you breathe out, letting them get you ready for your big kiss.

liz and betty send you good luck wishes in a hushed tone while you make your way to peter’s table. mj went to get a snapple, and ned went with her so they could continue whatever argument they’re in. that left peter by himself. it’s almost like this is meant to happen.

“hi,” you greet peter, making him look up at you with raised eyebrows. he notices right away that your lips are shiny, more so than usual. a color that you always seem to bring to his face takes over his cheeks. “hey. you wanna sit?” he gives you a small smile. you return it. “yeah, sure. thanks.” instead of taking the bench across from him like he assumed you would, you find your place next to him.

he doesn’t mind.

“how’s your day been?” you wonder, body turned towards him while he answers. peter scrunches his nose. “kinda busy. i got so much homework in spanish tonight, and i’ve been putting off this essay about...” you do the thing you do every time he goes off on a sort of tangent, watch his lips. lucky for you, that’s the whole point today. “i don’t know. all i have so far is the intro-“

you cut peter off with a kiss. liz and betty cheer to each other the second it happens. peter doesn’t move, only freezes up as you press your glossy lips to his and grab his shoulders. it takes a few seconds for you to realize he’s not kissing back. his arms are stiff at his sides, eyes wide in shock. absolutely humiliated, you pull back, moving as far away as you can.

“fuck, i’m sorry. i should’ve asked you first,” you apologize, voice shaking. you’re already getting to your feet. peter blinks a few times, grounding himself back in the moment. “no, no. it’s okay. i-“ “that was weird, i know. you don’t have to lie or make me feel better.” he furrows his eyebrows, in a way that seems regretful even though you’re the one who messed up. “i’m trying to tell you, y/n. it’s fine. we-“

ned’s voice fills the room, making you snap your head in his direction. him and mj are coming back. you need to get out of here before you embarrass yourself even more.

“i’m gonna go. i’m sorry,” you mumble out, running back to your table, where liz and betty are instantly asking what’s wrong and if you’re alright. peter licks his lips that are now coated in your gloss and clenches his jaw. he’s pissed. not at you, at himself. it’s clear because mj brings attention to it when she sits down.

“what’s up with your face?” she narrows her eyes at him, popping the cap on her snapple. ned elbows peter in his spot next to him. you were just there less than a minute ago. “you okay, dude?” he checks. “no.” peter closes his eyes in frustration. “what’s wrong?” ned kicks mj’s foot under the table so she’ll stop making out with her drink and help him.

“i... y/n kissed me,” peter admits, sounding oddly upset about something everyone knows he’s been hoping would happen. “she what?” ned gawks. “isn’t that a good thing?” mj points out. “you love her.” “like her,” peter corrects and chews the inside of his cheek. “whatever. shouldn’t you want her to kiss you?” she takes another sip of snapple, passing this off to ned.

“yeah...” is all ned says. he awkwardly rubs peter’s back while mj tries not to snort. “that’s not the problem. i didn’t kiss her back, and she took it as me not being into it,” peter shakes his head as he recounts your weird moment. “which i was,” he tells them for the record. ned makes a funny face at him. “so why didn’t you kiss back?” “no shit she ran away,” mj mutters to him. she saw that part.

“because i wasn’t expecting it!” peter frowns at his friends’ reactions and at what he did. “you guys know how much i like y/n. i can’t believe i screwed this up so bad.” mj squints in mock confusion. “i can.” she quickly drops her sarcasm for encouragement after that. “ok, seriously. just go find her and apologize.” “maybe kiss her this time,” ned chimes in.

“if she really likes you, she’ll get it.” mj smiles genuinely, nodding back at your table. ned gives him a push forward. “you got this, dude. come tell us all about it after.” a rush of confidence enters peter from their advice. he’ll fix this. “thanks, guys. here i go.” he shoots up from the table, ned and mj getting back into their debate once he’s out of sight.

betty is hugging you way too tightly when peter gets over there. she goes on about how much peter sucks, overcompensating because she’s the reason you kissed him. you only hum in response. you don’t have the heart to tell her you blame yourself. only liz notices peter come over, so she talks on your behalf. “oh, hey,” she says drily. “hey. can i talk to y/n?” peter gets out, twiddling with his thumbs nervously.

she has to decide if she’d rather go into protective friend mode or let him. from your unenthusiastic responses to betty’s hate rant, she figures you’d like to hear him out.

“come on, betty,” liz takes her arm suddenly, betty trying to pull it back. “what? why?” “i’m gonna buy you ice cream. let’s go.” that’s her cover. peter shoots her a look that says thank you, liz pressing her lips into a line and dragging betty along. betty sees peter standing in front of your table and glares at him, liz walking faster. you don’t get the chance to ask them where they’re going because they leave so fast.

the bench dips down on one side of you, making someone’s prescense known. you’re surprised to find it’s peter. you talk first.

“if you’re gonna apologize, don’t. it was my fault-“ “you never let me finish earlier,” peter interrupts, the hint of a smile on his face. his clammy hand links with one of yours. “what were you gonna say?” you ask quietly, peter threading your fingers together. your heart is racing at the simple touch. “that i like you,” he replies at the same low volume. “and, that i wanted to try again.”

he’s sitting a lot closer to you than you realized. you welcome it, your hands in between you two on the bench. “i like you too... try what again?” you question, although you hope and pray it’s what you think. “kissing,” peter says what you were hoping and praying for. “wasn’t ready the first time.” you’re about to go into cardiac arrest as he rests his forehead on yours, curls brushing your face. a few broken up breaths escape him.

“can i?” he nearly whispers, warm hand still gripping at yours. “yeah,” you agree before your eyes flutter shut. he wastes no time, parting his lips and brushing them against yours gently, you reciprocating. he kisses as sweetly as he is, his free hand on your cheek and fingers careessing your skin. your other hand ends up on the back of his neck. you grin against him, lips detaching momentarily so you can engage him in another kiss.

peter doesn’t hesitate to kiss back this time, nose nudging yours as he moves in more. you tug on some hair at the nape of his neck and laugh into the kiss, reminding him you’re in school. he pulls back with a chuckle, but keeps his forehead on yours and your hands in each other.

“sorry. got too excited,” he laughs out, you leaning into his open palm. “i told you don’t apologize.”

liz and betty joined ned and mj at some point. the four of them are whistling at you and yelling out suggestive jokes. they’re too much. but, to be fair, you owe this all to them.

[statticscribbles]

Siren

Supernatural AU! The Coopers and the Blossoms are two of the oldest Vampire covens, when the Lodges, a small but powerful coven enter, and the Southside pack keep the peace; Everyone seems to push Archie Andrews and his budding magic to the side; a mistake with far more deadly consequences than anyone realizes.

Archie wasn’t like Betty, or Cheryl and that suited him well enough, he never liked the idea of hurting anyone, even if Betty assures him they only partially drain willing humans; that it’s nothing more than a bloodbag every few days. Archie refuses to look at Cheryl whenever she glides around them in the hallways. She mumbles under her breath how being a vampire has given her too much fondness for red. Betty prefers pink and Cheryl mocks her for ‘being diluted’ even in colour choices.

Archie doesn’t care enough to entertain the fight; or the half serious flirting and jokes about draining him both ways from Cheryl. Jughead and the rest of the Serpent’s will take care of any real problems; normally the prescense of the werewolf pack is enough to keep Cheryl’s more open nature at bay; and Archie can tell she never really means it; it’s her teasing, a way to show her friendship. Jason Blossom keeps to his sister’s side almost exclusively and Cheryl almost forces him to leave and spend time with Polly; the eldest Vampire from the Cooper’s; both having been matched as partners from when they were created; a truce to calm the tense rivalry that the younger werewolves from the southside can’t handle.

Veronica despite being new to the vampire covens has taken surprisingly easy to the hierachy and truce that the Coopers and Blossom’s formed under the eye of Toni’s grandfather and now FP Jones. Still her parents whisper warnings and assure her to only feed from those they give her. Nobody comment on how desperate they seem to control her, or how obviously she can see through them. Despite the annoynace Cheryl possesed for Jughead and his pack, she made an expception for Toni; the one time Reggie had called her a lapdog in front of Cheryl was the first and only time; it was also the first time Archie had see Cheryl actually using her powers, Reggie frozen stiff as Cheryl seemed to step directly behind him with her speed.

Archie knows not to go down by Sweetwater river, his dad always warns him about the siren’s that will drown you faster than you can blink; and how if they don’t kill you the hidden currents will. Of course he can’t help himself when Cheryl invites everyone down to a calmer part. He assures his dad that with both the vampires and werewolves around there’s no way there will be any sirens.

Archies not sure what’s possesed him but he can’t help sinking his bare feet into the water. “Archie be careful; don’t want to have to explain to your dad why your feet are missing.” Jughead laughs and Archie rolls his eyes. “Nothing’s going to happen Jughead.” The werewolf rolls his eyes lounging on the grass with Betty. Toni and Cheryl are off farther up Archie can’t hear what they’re saying but by how everyone else; gifted with super hearing are grimacing he’s glad. Archie lurches backwards as the figure floats up, the woman with her short curled hair plastered to her face soaked from the current, a dark blue and green cloak blending into the river’s colours she grins rows and rows of teeth shimmer as she hums. Archie nudges himself farther forward sinking up to his knees in the water.

“Archie- Archie be careful-“ Both Jughead and Betty chide him like he’s a child they don’t bother looking up all his movement his splashing in the water; the sounds scaring away anything dangerous they assume. The siren opens her mouth humming once more and everyone moves panicking. “She wants you to sing with her.” Veronica states and everyone shakes there heads. ‘Archie don’t if you-“ They don’t finish as Archie hums back the song she started. She returns it adding more and Archie matches her once again. “Archie you shouldn’t!” He turns slightly; watching Veronica and Cheryl leaning forward, fangs exposed.

“Siren’s are murderers; you can’t Archie.” Betty nods and Archie can feel himself growing tired, her voice is soft and warm. “Archie; come back to the shore.” He nods turning around and everyone waits expecting the Siren to make a grab for him; they reason he’s not far enough into the water. “Stay here.” Everyone freezes turning to the siren who’s voice hisses from disuse. “I can’t.” Archie shrugs looking disappointed and the Siren looks confused. “Please. Stay. Stay!” She claps humming more. “Finish the song.” She hums repeating what he’d just sung to her. Archie shakes his head. “I’m sorry I can’t.” Jughead’s inching closer ready to grab him but the siren sinks under the currents before he can splashing Archie in the face. “Did you just survive meeting a siren?” “I guess.” Archie grimaces coughing. “Did you swallow the water? Archie? Archie!” Jughead growls pulling him up to the shore as Archie hacks and coughs, spitting  blood onto the ground. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah must’ve gotten something in my throat. Weird.” He shrugs standing before he stumbles shaking off the dizziness that cloaks him. “Archie?” He can hear Betty’s voice but it distorts as if from underwater. “Jughead do something!!! He’s not breathing” “I can’t! One of you should bite him! We can’t make it to the hospital and-“Archie grimaces turning back to watch his friends crowding around. “I’m fine guys, I’m fine stop-“ Archie watches himself lips blue and he can hear the water swirling in his lungs. He shivers before crouching over himself and nudging his hands into his own.

He wakes coughing and heaving spitting water and bile into the river’s edge. “Fucking shit man. What the fuck.” “Siren’s are magic, she might’ve cursed him; we should bring him to Curdle; so he-“ “I’m fine guys. Seriously.” Archie stands relieved he’s not dizzy. “I’ll let my dad know. I promise and-“ Archie doesn’t understand why his mouth goes dry for a second and when he looks up to see everyone staring at him he frowns. “What?” “You looked like you were about to puke.” “I guess I was?” He shrugs and they let him lay down in the back of the car, Veronica stroking his hair.

“Hey Mr. Andrews.” Archie wakes to hear Betty talking to his father, he peers from the window watching as his father’s gaze travels and lands on him; relief on his face. “Don’t worry Betty I’ll bring him in myself. Come inside; I made dinner.” Archie nods dragging himself from the car. “Dad?” Archie wake in the middle of the night, head pounding, he cringes when his dad turns on the light. “What’s wrong son?”

“My mouth hurts.” “Your mouth?” Archie nods before he coughs, cringing and hacking as he leans over the trashcan Fred supplied to vomit. “Hey it’s okay just a little puke.” “Are those teeth?” Archie jerks back, and Fred pulls the trashcan away before he can say anything. “There wasn’t anything in there Arch; just puke. Go back to sleep.” Archie nods letting himself curl into his bed.

He doesn’t know why he’s being so much of an idiot but he hefts his guitar up and starts the walk down to Sweetwater River ten minutes after his dad turns his light off. He sighs sitting at the river’s edge and dipping his feet in. “I’m sorry I couldn’t stay earlier. I brought my guitar, I don’t know if you know what that is but-“ “Of course I do. Silly boy; you think me so old I don’t know what my very blood is made of?” “Guitars?” Archie frowns and laughs in relief at the laughter that bubbles over his feet in place of the faint ripples as the woman appears once more. “Music; can’t you feel it. Oh, you’re sick; poor little one. Come; the water will make you feel better. Water is healing after all.” “Water is healing.” Archie repeats. He sighs letting the air bubbles float to the surface as he sinks below it. The woman smiles at him grinning and he smiles back, confused when she shoves him to the surface.

“What?” She pushes her fingers to her lips and nudges him to the shore, towards her guitar. “Sing for safety.” “Archie? What are you-“ “Jason?” “Yes I was out for a walk and; are you swimming?” Archie shakes his head cringing as water droplets splatter onto Jason’s white shirt. “I was singing I just-“ “Sing for me then; so I wont be lying when I say it. We both know Cooper’s can detect lies.” “Right vampire super powers.” “It’s just their charm; how Cheryl and I is everyone is fond of us; despite our actions.” Jason grins his fangs flashing. “Sing for my super then. We both know the Blossom’s are too fond of red. You’ve been drained before you know it’s a pin prick.” His grin deepens and Archie sighs, strumming his gitaur.

He’s not sure who moves first; or why but Archie starts coughing he can feel the blood dripping from his mouth and how Jason’s grin vanishes his eyes turning fully black as he scents it. “Jason wait.” Archie reaches back unsure what he’s gripping for but he feels the water’s cool touch and he watches Jason retreat, scowling. “Wait is Sweetwater River actually holy water? Are you serious?” “Running water idiot. It can kill us if we try to move over it.” “Seriously?” Archie can’t help but laugh, his blood drying and Jason returning to normal. “Sorry I don’t normally loose control but-“ “It’s okay redhead; I get it.” Archie laughs. “I can still sing if you want?” “Please do.” Archie relaxes now that Jason’s not going to kill him and he starts to sing; he’s not sure what he’s singing only that the way it reverbs in his chest and through his own nerves is probably more calming that necessary. He looks to see Jason swaying before he hits his knees on the ground.

“Jason?” Archie watches as Jason stands and nudges Archie, sitting at his feet leaning his head on Archie’s knee. “Sing more.” “Uh okay, can you move? It’s a little weird to.” Archie nods when Jason lifts his head. Archie continues singing watching as Jason seems to look almost sleepy. While Vampires don’t need to sleep he knows they can; and he wonders if maybe they need music to go to sleep. He continues singing, finishing the song and smiling when he can hear clapping, he steps back towards the river nodding to the woman. “You’re untrained.” “Yeah I’ve never gotten lessons or-“ “No untrained.” Archie frowns. “Yeah I know I’ve never- “Archie frowns when he can feel water dripping on his neck; he swats at the woman’s hand confused when there’s nothing there. He steps from the water, back towards Jason and his chest aches.

He returns too often; he knows this. Jason does not bother him and neither does anyone else he wonders if the river is warded to keep people away; and his lack of magic is what allows him to be so near it. The siren appears to him often, talking and mumbling coaching him to sing and he slowly finds himself not fearing her; not that he ever thinks he did but it’s no longer fear when she does not appear, there’s no relief when the water ripples he can sense her, the thrum of her song mirrored in his own heartbeat, in the way the river sings back to him.

It takes him two weeks to notice the dampness first. How his clothes always feel slightly cold, slightly wet as if they haven’t dried fully. It’s Toni who points out if he’s feeling okay and he nods, wiping what she thinks to be sweat from his brow; he knows its just river water, he can’t recall the last time he went swimming but he reprimands himself for doing it so close to school.

When Sweet Pea punches him he’s not sure what to do, how his body reacts automatically spitting blood and then hissing in anger. He can feel the sound, the notes of fear bubbling from his chest and when he looks to Sweet Pea he finds the werewolf looking away. He’s humming under his breath noticing everyone moving closer to him ; he notices how they move away once he stops.

He pukes twice more, once in the school bathroom, watching a handful of teeth swirl down the drain; when he rushes to the mirror to check he finds rows and rows of sharp needle like teeth growing from where his human ones once were. His dad doesn’t say anything after the nurse calls, he doesn’t say anything when he drives them down to Sweetwater and Fred seems to physically grow sicker and weaker as they walk towards the shore.

“Dad?” “I’m fine son. I’m fine.” Archie can hear laughter but as his dad follows him down it turns into sobbing. “No! Leave, leave leave!” “There’s no need for that.” Fred hisses between clenched teeth and Archie watches confused as blood seeps from his side. “Dad?” “Just an old wound nothing.” Archie tenses he can hear movement;  and he watches the Siren moving on land. “You can heal him right? Like you fixed me?” “Nothing was wrong with you. Come, we can try.” Archie follows nervously and watches as the water seems to wind up his fathers side. “I’ve done what I cant but he’ll have to go to Curdle to be fixed.” “Okay we’ll go now and-“ “Oh no dear one; you don’t leave.” “No but-“

“Archie; you didn’t think he’d be healed for free did you?You have to stay; you must.” ‘But I; you said. Please; he can’t get there on his own I have to-“ “No.” Archie glares at the siren snapping his teeth and hissing; the siren looks mildly impressed but uninterested as he quiets. “That was a cute attempt but nothing worthy of barganning.” “If you let me take him I’ll come back. I swear I –“ “And how do you think I ended up trapped here in the first place? Letting someone chain me to the river.” “As you would do to me?” Archie snarl and the siren smiles. “Of course; your father and I have shared custody after all; and you’ve missed so many vacations.”

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[stattic-writes]

Siren

https://statticscribbles.tumblr.com/post/639099629845233664/masterlist

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[dwindlingashesburnt]

"Secrets" vs Secrets

I tell myself I'm an open person who tries to, and wants to, discuss stuff about myself and preferably receive the same from others. But I don't, not really, I share "secrets" but not secrets

I share, for example, laughing as though it's funny, how I and H never really talked until A joined the group. How A made our friendship group work

I don't share how scared and jealous I was. How I didn't know A well, and was divided between being angry on her behalf for her shitty ex-friends, or angry at her, because H was the only one I had even if at that point we barely counted as acquaintances, and I was really scared A and H would go off and I would be alone again. Or how, at times, I thought H was better than A or vice versa and wanted to be friends with one of them and the other to leave. How sometimes I felt so guilty for that. How sometimes I didn't feel guilty for it at all, but knew I should, and wondered if that made me a bad person

I share how I feel like when I'm alone with Iz, we both become really awkward and never really manage to have a decent conversation alone. I don't share how I sometimes get caught up in the differences, because I worry they mean we're not as close or I won't act as though we're as close as Iz believes us it be, because I struggle with how little she talks about deep feelings, how she isn't a fan of physical affection, but am equally aware that just as I feel as though she's failing to speak my language on those levels, I'm just as highly aware that I'm utterly failing to make hers when she makes jokes or comments, and sometimes I don't understand them, or I understand them literally but can't tell if that's what she means, what she may mean if the meaning isn't that literal. I'm overly aware that in my admittedly limited circle of about 6 friends,she's the only one who isn't white, and I'm overly aware of my stupid lack of knowledge there and the subconscious tendency for me to be slightly racist and not even realise for a long moment, and how I try to fix that, but maybe not hard enough? What if she picks up on it? What if I fuck up badly and say something awful? I'm a pathetic coward for not being able to address her about this to her face, I know, but I equally fret that if I did force myself to tell her this or ask her to call me out if I do mess up, that this may be overstepping a line - I know for example that many lgbt people get angry when people ask a lot of questions in a poor manner, for acting like they have no choice but to sit there and be a source of information instead of a person. Does the same apply here? Would I be doing that to Iz? I do not want to hurt her. As much as I don't understand her, I like her, I consider her a friend...I feel awful for thinking about her like this. I don't know how to fix this, or if it needs fixing - maybe as far as she's aware, there's nothing wrong except mild awkwardness, and I just need to fix my issues on my own time. I don't know

I share how I don't really want to go to the school counsellor or whatever because I don't think they address such serious stuff, I have always been given the impression that they address things like exam stress and bullying only, and that even then they dont address it very well it seems. I share how I'm worried things would get back to my mother

I don't share how I'm also afraid it would get out to my friends, the decent people in my family, the school. I don't share that I'm afraid if I went, the counsellor would write everything I say down and then take it back, report every word to my mother, my abuser - and I'm aware this is in all likelihood a ridiculous fear but it is a real fear to me. I'm scared that, even if no specific information got back to my parents or family, they may be informed/find out I'm going to counselling at school, if not why or anything - and I hate and fear the idea of that. I don't know HOW I'd get to see a counsellor at school, meaning I'd like to have to go via teachers and leading staff, meaning many of the staff would know. I don't want them to know. I don't want anyone to know. I don't want it. I'm scared I'd go to it, and the counsellor would either tell me nothing was wrong with me and send me away without help, or tell me far far more is wrong with me than I think there is and make me have to confront that. Or they'll tell me it's something entirely different from what I expect, or they won't be what I expect, or they'll call me out on my redirecting, or they'll look at me and say okay. You've told me all your problems - you've revealed you know what they are, often why they are, you've considered what you could do to solve them. What have you actually done to try and solve them? And I will be forced to look right at them and say I have done nothing, or as good as nothing. Because it is true, as much as I like to claim otherwise. I could do so much more.

I share little about how I used to be so convinced supernatural stuff was happening, how some things my sibling said seemed to match up. How unsure I am about hat was telling happening, in hindsight - was it real, dream, hallucination, daydream? I was losing time at that point in time - was I passing put for some reason, or just forgetting, or what? I half convinced myself at the time it was linked to supernatural - was this my way of covering up what didn't make sense to me? I know this was a time where I was increasingly reliant on "thought processes", as far as I know faced no physical danger but did face immense emotional stress constantly - I was convinced I could be killed any moment - and I was losing time and it felt like I was slipping out of control and then there was that night where I was not in control of my body. But someone else was and I could hear their voice and a sliver of their intentions without a full view of their big picture and I remember screaming panicking flailing at the back of my mind while at the same time, at the same time I was them and I was drifting and idle and my smile was unnatural and felt wrongwrongwrong and I was looking for the key to the window, and so too was I my body just empty, just moving, while these two within were in conflict, and I remember finally a voice, a third that was not mine or theirs, and it made them retreat, and I was in control, and I was shaking and felt like I was in shock afterward. The dreams, too. How I have wondered for a while now whether, at that stage, had DID. If that was even a possibility, or what could have caused it to happen - whether, if I did have DID, if that means that there is bad stuff I dont remember still? Wondering whether it even matters now, as I seem not to lose any time now, as I seem to have somehow fixed it. Wondering if, if I did have it, maybe I didn't 'fix it' - maybe I'm still losing time and whoever may or may not be in my head with me just got better at hiding information that would indicate as such for the sake of the system being healthy. Wondering how close I pushed myself to that stage with my refusal to deal with anything, whether if I do or did have DID, how much of that is/would be my fault. During that night I had been messaging an online friend the whole time, even when it didn't exactly feel like it was me typing - I want to discuss it with him, badly. I wonder if he remembers. I wonder if he actually knows or realises what had been going on - how, although in retrospect I realise I probably would have been unlucky to even break an ankle, I had been so scared they would find the key and open the window and jump and I would be dead with no prescense more than hysteria trapped in my own head and watching. How I sat there afterwards and a while after, when it had processed, I felt trapped and scared - so terribly scared - and desperate and actually...rather bitter or angry. Because this was a time where I felt my control and free will were practically non-existent, self harm used to make me feel I had control but then people took that from me, so that night...When that person took control and seemed like they were aiming to commit suicide, they took the last two things I felt belonged to me - my mind, and my death. I was angry and scared and desperate, and I felt so trapped I wanted to scream because it felt like everything was closing in on me so tight I wanted to rip my skin right through and climb out of it, I could barely breathe, and I'm not sure but I think I had a panic attack then (?)

I share little bits about this, but not the full extent of it - I don't DO enough and that scares me. I'm scared I'll end up alone and starving and useless because I don't do enough to socialise with the people I hace,p or nake new friends, or learn to cook or naythibg else I need. I frequently struggle even to get the things I WANT done. I'm scared there's simething wrong with me.

I have no sense of time. I don't know why - when I searched it was suggested this could be part of being subject to emotional abuse and gaslighting, depression, or dissassocitation. I know the first two are relebent to me, I don't know about the other two but I'm fairly certain if thet arent relevent now then they used to be. I struggle with things because of this - I can't tell what happened when, Ive literally said that something that turned out to have happened less than two weeks ago happened about two years ago, and vice versa.

I have massive issues with control: I make decisions either to comply entirely with what people suggest/order or do the exact opposite of what is suggested/ordered, far far far more than I actually judt make the desciison that I want or seems sensible, meaning I effectively dont have control over my decidions. I constantly lose the battle agaunst my own mind. I go into exams every day absolutely exhausted because whenever Im at all stressed, my automatic response is to deprive myself of sleep in order to prive to myself that Im in control, that I wont heed the orders of any people I know, society, or my own fucking body if it disagrees with me. But this is one area where Im veey very very wrong, especually since despite my tendency to deprive myself of sleep, I function awfully on even as much as 5 or 6 hours sleep - it makes my brain fuzzy, I function on autopilot, I strugfle to tune in or concentrate or eat......and of course thsi makes me feel out of cobtrol, so I sleep even less

I struggle to distinguish between what i genuinely want, and what are self destructive thoughts. For example - hypnosis - is this self detsructive of me or not? I don't know. I know when I used to be obsessed with the idea of bdsm, that was self destructive, tying together things I wanted and things that would harm me badly in all sorts of ways together - now I'm still attracted to incredibly specific ideas of powerplay, but I camt figure out if thats a genuine want Ive separated from all he rest, or just the new disguise my self destructive tendencies are now wearing. Same with ideas of sex - explicit references to sex, as in acyual genitals an dstuff, makes me feel uncomfortable, grossed out, unsafe, nervous. But I like stuff that is intended to be expicit or pornographic - but stays almost entirely as mental games, and feelings, no physical stuff or sex stuff please. But wheres the line here? I don't know.

(This is tmi but sometimes I get really frustrated, and feel very alone and angry and ashamed....because with vague stuff like I mentioned, I enjoy it, I get pretty aroused, it's good. But if I try to deal with it, like masturbate or anything, it ruins it because then I feel gross and unsafe and very much like I want to cry. So although I want to be able to enjoy myself sexually, it inevitably ends either in failed masturbation making me want to cry, or in me eventually losing interest in the activity but my body fails to correspond properly so I'm forced to be there, struggling to distract myself from how my body is still aroused, and feeling increasingly ashamed and self pitying and stupid while that's happening. Neither are good and I hate it because I know I can like, feel all hot and nice and stuff, but there is no way i can have that without it ending in misery one way or another. And of course both make me feel very distanced from my body, inevitably making me feel very very insecure)

I used to age regress. Not sexually, but just...to deal with things. Because my problems are generally big, overwhelming and complex, I was able to put them in the box of "grown up stuff" in my head, and it wasnt the same as repressing it or ignoring it - it was still very much there, and I was very much aware of it, but it just didn't register as important to me while in 'little space', which meant I was able to relax, feel safe and happy and vulnerable without fear for a few hours, and then I could gradually ease myself back into opening that box up again and be able to deal with all of it in a much better fashion because I would be so much calmer, with a clear head.

Except obviously, when i was in little space I acted childishly. Not overwhlemingly so, I don't think? But I'd speak weird, and be very overenergetic and stuff, and I'd be a bit jsut different. Problem was....I had nobody to take care of me when I was in little space, and nobody made me feel safe to even be around - even if they didnt know what was happening, some people like my mother were deliberately cruel about my acting immature and whatever, some friends just...questioned it a lot and asked me to calm down a lot, and some theoretically were absolutely okay with it but just seemed so obviously to be humouring me......It upset me a lot to get that sort of reaction in little space when I was so much more vulnerable emotionally. And it just...escalated. very quickly, the constant mantra of "they hate me they hate me they hate me why am I here I shouldnt be doing this they hate me they hate me" had infiltrated my little space as well as my normal life and I could no longer just file it away in the "grown up box" for an hour or three

I tried only age regressing on my own, but as a kid I was afraid of being alone, and now I'm afraid of being alone, so ultimately all it did was make me feel helpless, incredibly lonely and put me in a state emotionally vulnerable enough that what I would normally get over fairly easily quickly had me hysterical. I also started losing control of going in and out of it? Easing myself in and out of it was vital for it to actually help me, but I started rapidly falling into little space as I became more and more distressed and panicky and miserable in normal life, and equally (largely due to other people, but then after due to my own emotions) started crashing after little space instead of gradually easing out of it - which not only undoes any and all good that little time may have done, it also makes me feel unsafe, empty in an awful way, miserable, and overall awful.

Eventually I stopped regressing at all

And that made me pretty miserable - because while i found other ways to solve issues, I lost the ability to just put it on pause for a while. I almost never am able to relax, I sometimes relax more than other times, but when I stopped regressing I lost the only time I felt safe enough to relax COMPLETELY. And while I know at least some of my friends and family love me unconditionally, and are proud of me, feeling it is another thing entirely - and when I was little I was absolutely certain on that, and that carried over into normal life giving me confidence. Now i don't have that.

The other day A, me, an english teacher and a classmate were discussing stuff in class, and it somehow got onto people who identify as an age (??? Never heard of that before and personally think it makes no sense, but anyway) and that led onto age regression as a method of coping?

I spent most of that part of the conversation feeling like I wanted to participate, but equally wanting not to sound too passionate or knowledgeable because he was there, a TEACHER was there, and I could feel A's eyes on me, god I was so aware of A and so terrified she'd turn around and say she hated me.

But. But that conversation made me want it again, and feel sad about it because I know I can't- like literally, I cannot, it's been plagued with bad stuff enough that I don't feel able to and I'm constantly so incredibly tense and feel do unsafe I cannot relax enough to slip into little space and haven't been able to for probably two years, but i have no idea, because as previously mentioned I'm crap with time. It also made me kinda wanna mention the fact that I used to do it to my friends? Idk

I'm just. I'm very very aware that while I want to be, and lie to myself saying I am, an open person, I'm aware there's a lot of stuff I keep quiet (thid is oh so little of it) and what's more, I lie about the little things. CONSTANTLY. So. So I'm a fake.

I just....I don't know

I don't know what more to write

[featherymalignancy]

Tender Jar: An Elriel Experiment                            

            “Like a jar you housed infinite tenderness, and the infinite                                              tenderness shattered you like a jar”                                         -Pablo Neruda

Synopsis: Six months after the war, Elain is still mourning all that the cauldron took from her, and it’s only Azriel she trusts not to judge her for her brokenness. However, when she has a vision concerning both Lucien and Graysen, she steels her courage and braves first the Spring Court and then the Mortal World, Azriel at her side. When lines are drawn and Elain is pushed to her emotional limit, she must decide whether she will let her past shatter her or give in to the desires of her tender heart.Warnings: Elriel with brief Elucien. NSFW. Contains some graphic depictions of sex and foul language, and minor violence.

See The Masterlist here

                          Previously on Tender Jar…

“Az,” she said, daring a step forward to brush her fingers to his broad back. As always, he stiffened when she made contact. He’d been careful to keep their physical contact to a minimum since that night in his room, and she tried not to feel stung at how much her touch clearly repelled him. “What is it?” she pressed. "Has something happened?”

He didn’t respond, though his wings flared slightly in agitation, the way Illyrians' often did when they were experiencing some extreme emotion.

“Is it something I—“ she began, but she was cut off as he abruptly turned, wings snapping to his back as he backed her against the wall and kissed her.

Part VI: Azriel

Azriel winnowed deep into the hedge maze at the Southern end of Tamlin’s lurid estate, wrapping himself in darkness and snarling his pained frustration. When he was done, he let his body go limp, resting his forehead on the cool lip of a nearby fountain as he tried to gentle the roaring hiss of secrets the shadows whispered into his ear. He’d trained for nearly half a millennia to master them, and normally with his unassailable control, they were easy to filter. However, what happened with Elain had fractured his composure, and with the floodgates broken, Azriel was struggling not to drown in them.

Your absence has been noted. Three sentries disbatched to follow. The wraiths are with the girl. The Autumn lordling is looking for her as well. He suspects—

Azriel let out another pained snarl, struggling to overpower a foreign sensation clawing up his chest that was making it difficult to breathe. He hadn’t felt anything like it since the day the Illyrians had dragged him out of his father’s house screaming nearly six centuries ago. He took a shuddering breath, fighting to lower his pulse. It was only after he mastered the feeling and took a full, deep breath that he recognized it for what it was: the urge to cry.

Azriel had once heard Rhys describe him as a creature of icy rage, and his brother was right; Azriel had always kept himself cocooned in ice, because to him, heat was nothing more than pain. Heat was the scorch of the oil on his hands as they caught alight. It was the ruination of his flesh, the smell of his skin as it burned off his bones. Heat was the look in Morrigan’s eyes as they fell on Cassian that day in the camp, and the searing pain when he’d learned that she had chosen his best friend over him.

So Azriel plunged his heart, ravaged by all he’d seen and endured, into a darkness so frigid that it too had burned, and he’d held it under the cold until it had hardened to bitter ice, and nothing could touch it. Not his desire for Mor nor his hatred of his brothers, and not the searing knowledge that in both instances, he’d been unwanted, unworthy. The numbness, though imperfect, had worked, and for hundreds of years his heart had remained that way: savagely frozen, impervious to heat.

But Lucien had been right; Elain was like Spring. She was the warmth of new beginning, and like all wintery things, Azriel’s frigidity had thawed under her careful touch. She’d done it with her smiles, and her fragile courage, and her enduring belief that no matter how bitter the winter, the flowers would bloom again at the turn of the seasons.

He’d known it had been happening for awhile, known it since the day he’d risked everything to go to Hybern and rescue her, and had tried to guard himself against it, but the last few weeks had completely undone him. Seeing her smile at him, hearing her laugh and cry—both of which were so achingly honest—it had all worn away what little resistance he’d still had.

And tonight, when he’d seen her with Lucien, watched them dance and heard the shadows whispering to him the offers the spoiled little lordling had made her, Azriel had felt a heat, unfamiliar and dangerous, blooming in his chest.

It was anger, first and foremost, anger towards the cauldron for granting an unworthy vulpine like Lucien Vanserra Elain as a mate. It was also jealousy, the same he’d felt towards Cassian when he’d bedded the female he loved. It was the white-hot pain at the realization that just as it had been with Mor, it could’ve been him that Elain had chosen, but wasn't.

More than anything, though, it was desire. He wanted Elain, had wanted her for a long time, and as he'd listened to his newly-revived heart pounding hot blood into his ears, he’d been nearly overcome with the need to have her, mind, body, and soul.

And when she’d come to him, when she’d left Vanserra to seek him out, he'd snapped. He’d spent centuries honing his control, teaching himself patience and restraint, and she’d shattered it all in a single evening.

He could still feel the soft material of her gown under his fingertips, and the press of her gorgeous breasts against his chest. And when she’d touched his wings, Cauldron damn him, he’d been ready to push up her skirts and fuck her in the hall, he’d been so blinded by want.

But had only taken two syllables from her to bring it all down, and in point of fact, it had been perhaps the only word capable of breaking the fugue her touch and taste had thrown him into.

Lucien.

And the way she said it, the desperation and need in it, it had broken Azriel. He felt all of it—everything he’d spent centuries holding at bay—crash into him all at once.

Whatever slow, slouching agony Azriel had endured over Mor, whatever lessons he thought it might have taught him about managing disappointment, hearing Elain say another male’s name while she was in his arms had been so much  worse. At least with Mor, he’d never allowed himself to touch her, or to fully acknowledge just how badly he wanted her to return his affections, however pathetic and unrequited. That last little distance—that barest stretch of dignity he’d retained by not seeking her out—had been his salvation through centuries of wanting.

But with Elain…

He’d ceded the majority of hope he’d ever had of not wanting her for the rest of eternity when he’d let her touch his wings that night in his bedroom, and he’d yielded the rest when he’d kissed her tonight and let himself fully imagine what it would be like to be loved by her, to have her always at his side.

He let out yet another pained snarl, banging his fist on the fountain’s lip so hard that the water within shuddered in fear.

The shadows continued to roar in his ears, but even through the chaotic, cacophonous disappointment eddying his thoughts, he felt something foreign lurking at the edge of the poisonous fog that made up his mental shield, seeking permission to enter. He rolled his neck and let go of his strangling grip on the shadows, allowing the presence into the antechamber of his mind.

What the hell is going on? Rhys’s voice echoed. Mother’s tits, I can feel you seething from here.

Azriel clenched his jaw but didn’t reply. He couldn’t bare to voice what had happened, even knowing Rhys of all people would understand.

Talk  Rhys commanded. What’s going on? Is Elain alright?

"She’s—beautiful, brave, in love with another male—she’s fine."

And you?

“You know me.”

Yes, I do. That’s why I’m asking.

Azriel felt the prescense in his mind rallying its strength, seeking to gain further entry.

“Get out my head,” he snarled, snapping at a tendril of Rhys’s power with a barbed one of his own.

Then tell me what’s going on with you! I can feel your distress from Velaris!

“I’m not distressed.”

Unhinged, then. Seriously, I—

"Can you never mind your own damn business?”

Azriel felt Rhys’s energy change, felt it sharpen and grow dark.

I’m still your High Lord. Tell me what’s going on or I swear to The Mother Az, I will unleash Nesta Archeron on you. Or maybe I’ll have Cassian kick your ass, I haven’t decided.

"Go ahead,” Azriel snarled quietly.

He could take Cassian and they both knew it. Besides, a few broken ribs would be a welcome distraction from the evening so far. Anything to numb the memory of Elain's hands sliding through his hair, down his chest...

Is it Vanserra? Has he—done something? Said something to you or Elain?

"He’s a child; I can handle him."

Yes, but does he need handling?

"It’s nothing,” Azriel replied, clenching and unclenching his left fist. He needed to hit something. Or better yet, someone.

Fine, Rhys snapped. But I want you back in Velaris in three days, or I will send Feyre and Nesta to sort whatever this is out.

“We leave for the mortal lands tomorrow. Depending on what happens with the boy, we could be back in Velaris by sundown.”

I will hold you to that, then.

“Fine,” Azriel said. “We’ll speak when I return.”

There was silence on the other end of the sinuous connection, but Azriel could feel Rhys’s presence linger.

Az, are you sure you’re alright?

“I said I was fine.”

Is this about you and Elain?

Azriel’s throat ached with the effort of keeping his voice even.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You don’t have to lie to me, brother. I see the way y—

Azriel snapped down his shields without so much as a goodbye, feeling with grim satisfaction as Rhys’s voice was smothered by the dark fog.

He stood alone in the darkness for several more minutes, fighting to force his pain back into the icy chest he’d kept it in all these years.

Some sick, tortured part of him yearned to go to Elain even now, to hear what she’d been about to say when he’d disappeared. She’d kissed him back, after all, and the way she’d touched his wings with such careful intent and writhed against him…

No, he wouldn’t. She’d made it clear enough where her heart lay. He wouldn’t burden her with the odious task of formally rejecting him, and he couldn’t trust his fractured composure not to betray him. No, he would stay here until he could master himself, even if it took all night. He had no choice but to face her when they left the following morning, but he promised himself that by then, he would be in control again. He didn’t have a choice: their mission was far from complete, and the journey would only get more difficult from here.

He forced all the tension, all the frustration and pain, from his shoulders and back, down his arms and stomach until the power of it was concentrated in his scarred hands, his favourite reminder of just how unworthy he’d always been, always would be. He snarled, and he felt the lip of the fountain strain beneath his grip, a thin tracery of  cracks spidering through the marble.

The violence of it made him feel—if not better—at least less manic, and he let out a shuddering breath, head hanging low enough that he felt his shoulder blades touching, his wings forming a dark mandorla behind him that shielded him from prying eyes. Tamlin's sentries where still trying to sniff him out, the shadows warned him. Azriel let himself fade deeper into darkness. If someone were to pick a fight with him now, he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold back from tearing them apart, and he didn’t relish in the prospect of igniting a war with Spring over something so petty and selfish.

He tensed when he felt a shadowy presence appear behind him, but he forced himself to relax as Nuala approached. She stopped a measured distance away, waiting calmly for him to speak.

“Report,” he said, forcing his voice flat.

“Three sentinels were dispatched to find you, but they have been misdirected. The Lady Elain is in her room, and Cerridwen is with her.”

She paused, and he knew what she was hesitant to say.

“And the Autumn lordling?” he asked for her.

“Still at the festivity. Though he’s begun to make inquiries after her. Would you like me to…keep him distracted?”

Azriel clenched and unclenched his fist, tempted—so bloody tempted—to say yes. Because he’d seen the way Lucien had been looking at Elain, heard the subtle offer he’d made her. Not that Azriel could blame the spoiled prick for wanting Elain. She was his mate, after all, and she was so unbearably beautiful—the most beautiful female Azriel had ever seen. Even now, he could feel his own desire for her roiling like poison in his gut.

“No,” he bit out after a beat. “Just…keep an eye on him, and tell me where he goes.”

Nuala paused again. She’d been in his service enough to know his moods, and she must sense how black it was at present, how snarled and jagged the usually polished edges of his demeanor had grown.

“And if he should come to My Lady’s room?” she asked finally.

Azriel felt a surge of fetid emotion swell at the thought of Lucien’s hands on Elain, his lips on her bare skin…

“If she wishes to invite him in, that is her choice. I am her companion, not her keeper.”

He felt Nuala’s consideration as she debated commenting. He prayed she wouldn’t. He knew he’d trained her too well and that she’d seen too much of what had passed between him and Elain not to know the score by now, but he couldn’t bear the humiliation of all of it being dragged into the open.

“And you?” she said at length.

He felt more than heard as she chanced a small step forward. Not close enough to touch him, but enough that he could feel her shadows, cool and nimble, twining with his.

His own surged at the quiet caress, rising to whisper her silent invitation in her ear.

Ask her to your bed. She will not refuse. She will be attentive, she will—

Azriel turned, forcing himself to meet Nuala’s obsidian eyes. It would not be the first time he’d bedded her, but this was different. He could sense her offer, though sincere, was perfunctory, not born of any real desire for him. He wouldn’t be so selfish as to use her sense of duty against her. She was a loyal lieutenant, and she deserved better than to be a stand-in or a warm body. Besides, even if he hadn’t respected her as much as he did, he doubted bedding another female could lessen the pain of wanting Elain.

“I’ve heard the scouts report of trouble along the Northeastern border,” he said in answer. “I want to find out more before we leave. If Beron Vanserra is up to something, I would know what it is before we leave here.”

She nodded, stepping back dutifully.

“Of course,” she said, giving a small bow. “I will stay here.”

He nodded too, wishing he could find a way to express his gratitude to her without losing his grip on the reigns of the weak bit he’d managed to wrestle between his pain’s sharp, stubborn teeth.

“Thank you, Nuala,” he managed, and she inclined her head again.

“Anything, my lord.”

He bristled at the title, an ill-fitting moniker only the wraiths ever forced on him, despite centuries of protestation. Unable to find the strength to fight her on it tonight, he unfurled his wings in tacit farewell, offering her only the barest nod before exploding into the night with a leathery boom.

Azriel stayed awake until dawn, flying unseen over the territory, all the way to the outskirts of the Autumnal border. There he listened to the scout’s reports of what they’d seen, of the few Autumn spies they’d caught lurking to close to the demarcation line between their two terrorities. None of them seemed to know what they wanted, even Tamlin, who showed up to receive reports of his own just before daybreak. Lucien, Azriel noted, was not with him, and Azriel tried to assure himself it was because he was no longer Tamlin’s emissary, and that despite their professed friendship, he was no longer privy to Tamlin’s secrets. It was a desperate hope, but Azriel clung to it, not able to bear the alternative. He’d heard nothing from Nuala after he’d left her, but she seemed to understand the situation well enough that she likely would have withheld any information she knew would hurt him, unless it compromised Elain’s safety.

Azriel arrived back to his room in the early hours of morning, feeling weary to his very bones. He’d expected to have a better grip on his emotions by now, but he still felt hollowed out and raw. A few more days, he reassured himself. It was only a few more days, and when he got back to Velaris, he’d beg Rhys for something—anything—to take him out of the city and away from Elain and Lucien for a time. He hoped the distance might lend him perspective, and peace, and that when he returned, he and Elain could go back to the friendship they’d shared before all this, just as he and Mor had done so many centuries ago.

It was the prospect of losing that, he realized, that scared him more than having to watch her mate another male. He wanted Elain, yes, he likely always would, but it was her spirit—her soul—he loved best about her, and it would be worth any other pain to be allowed to keep spending time with her as they’d done in the months after Hybern’s defeat. He only prayed now that she would accept it, and that as her mate, Lucien would find the restraint to bear it.

Once in his room, he practically tore the fine velvet jacket he still wore in his haste to get the garment off. It still smelled faintly of Elain, he realized, and the scent had been quietly driving him to madness all evening, even as he struggled to get her out of his thoughts. He tried not to breathe in as he wrestled the monstrosity over his head, but he couldn’t escape the whisper of rose and magnolia that brushed against his senses. Even now, even after everything that had happened, he could feel his body react to the smell, to the memory of her soft body undulating against—

He growled, ripping off his boots and hurling one at the wall hard enough to crack some of the gilded moulding. Satisfied, he prowled into the bathing room, filling the tub with scalding hot water and generous amounts of eucalyptus to cool his sizzling nerves. He still didn’t feel entirely in control of himself, and he feared what would happen if he faced Elain with anything other than full restraint.

He felt his shadows rise in a flare, whispering to him as he settled into the bath.

The lordling did not visit her during the night, but he is with her now. They are sharing a private meal. She is calmed by his presence.

Azriel considered this before pushing the shadows outward, letting them slip from beneath the door and slither across the hall, until they could hear what was being said in the room beyond.

“You retired early last night,” Lucien commented. His tone was light, carefully observational, but the shadows could sense the underlying desperation in the question.

He suspects, they whispered to Azriel. He fears that Elain sought you out. He wishes to reassure himself.

“I’m sorry,” Elain said in response to Lucien’s unspoken question. “It’s been a trying few weeks, and I just wanted to be well-rested for our journey.”

Lucien remained silent as he considered. The shadows noted his elevated pulse, the way he seemed to fight to keep him muscles relaxed.

“I hope it isn’t because of what I said,” he finally managed. “I would never want you to feel as if I expect…“

He trailed off, and the shadows drank in the younger male’s quiet desperation.

“I don’t,” Elain assured him, and there was a soft affection in her tone. Azriel knew she could sense Lucien’s distress as well, and it wasn’t in her nature to allow someone to flounder in their own pain, particularly not someone with whom she shared such a holy bond. “I am flattered you find me so...“

She trailed off, and the shadow noted as Lucien’s heart rate continued to climb.

“I do,” Lucien said in a soft, intent voice. “More than any other female I’ve ever met. Elain—“

Azriel let out a pained snarl, withdrawing his shadows to avoid hearing any more. He watched as they bled into the water of the bath instead, leeching the it’s warmth and mirror-bright reflection until the water was obsidian and bitterly cold. Azriel forced himself to remain for several minutes, letting the chill center him. Only when he felt his muscles begin to go numb from cold did he let himself get out, dressing with brutal Illyrian efficiency. Even still, he felt his fingers trembling slightly as he attached Truth-teller to his leg. He flexed his hands several times in an effort to dispel their shaking.

He could do this. He’d faced far worse than this in his life, and he wasn’t seventeen anymore. Rolling his shoulders and letting his wings flex in agitation, he finally tucked them to his back, feeling better as he slid his sword home into the sheath along his spine. He was free from the insidious restraints of court, he reminded himself, and it made him feel a fraction less manic. An hour, tops, and he would be free of this place and the mess he’d made for himself here. If he was lucky, it would be a hundred years before he was forced to return here, if not longer.

Touching Truth-teller’s hilt to steel his nerve, he crossed the hall and knocked on Elain’s door.

“Who is it?” Lucien called, and Azriel grit his teeth in irritation.

He debated a sharp retort, the same kind Vanserra himself would have given were their positions reversed. Instead he merely admitted himself, closing the door behind him with a soft snick.

He forced his eyes to pass over Elain in an assessing arc, as if merely insuring she was safe and suitably outfitted for travel. In reality, seeing her, having her scent wash over him, was the most exquisite agony, a twisting of the knife the previous evening have jammed into his gut.

Elain was dressed in a simple gown in midnight blue, which set off her creamy ivory skin and made her brown eyes seem almost gold. Someone—likely Cerridwen—had plaited her hair down her back, and even now, Azriel had to fight down the urge to run the silken rope of its length through his fingers. He settled for flexing them instead, letting his expression grow harder as he turned to Lucien.

“Alright, let’s hear this plan of yours.”

Lucien had—to Azriel’s furious chagrin—kept their travel route to himself for the past several weeks, insisting that its secret needed to be guarded until it was absolutely necessary to divulge it. Azriel had bristled at the enduring insult of the gesture, of the suggestion he either couldn’t or wouldn’t keep the stupid, spoiled lordling’s secrets if asked.

Lucien crossed his arms.

“We winnow to the coast, and take a ship to the continent from there.”

“A ship?” Azriel repeated incredulously.

“A clever invention to safely transport one across a body of water,”  Lucien replied in a glib tone, giving Elain a small wink that had Azriel seeing red. “Have you truly never heard of one?”

Azriel loosed a soft growl, fighting to keep his wings from unfurling to express the full measure of his agitation. It was Illyrian instinct to show one’s wings when challenged, and the urge was especially strong when a contested female was present. He’d already slipped up and done it once in front of Vanserra. He couldn’t afford a second time. Besides, he reminded himself, there would be no more contesting for Elain’s favor from his end.

“We don’t have time for your childish games, Vanserra,” he warned in a quiet, deadly voice. “It’s more than a week to the kingdom by sea, and we’ll be vulnerable to attack.”

“Attack from whom, Shadowsinger? No one knows where we’re going.”

“Tamlin knows,” Azriel shot back coolly. “That’s more than enough threat for me.”

Lucien bristled at the insult to his friend, and Azriel felt his fury growing. How Vanserra could stand there, after everything Tamlin had put Azriel’s family through—put Lucien’s own mate through—and still defend the prick, Azriel would never understand.

“The kingdom’s borders are warded,” Lucien said prudently instead. "Vassa’s guards have orders to shoot anyone who tampers with them on sight.”

“Leave that to me,” Azriel said. “I can get through a few wards.”

“And if you do?” Lucien said. “How will you explain our presence at court if we simply appear out of thin air?”

“Perhaps if I’d known this was your plan three weeks ago, I would have an answer to that question.”

“Spare me. You couldn’t even—“ Lucien began, but Elain cut him off.

“Please, let’s not fight,” she said, worrying a pair of soft riding gloves in her hands. “Azriel, if Lucien says this is the best way, I think we ought to trust him.”

Azriel felt the knife sinking in just that much deeper, and he had to keep himself from flinching at her words, and the realization that lay behind them. It was Lucien she trusted, Lucien she’d chosen to follow.

“Az,” she said, and he stiffened at the gentleness of her tone, and the intimacy in evoking a diminutive he’d only allowed a handful of people to ever use. “Please.”

He couldn’t help it; he glanced up at her, and the look she was giving him was enough to make him regret it. Her expression was a bare echo of the pained one she’d given him the previous evening, after things had gone so terribly wrong between them. Still, he couldn’t find it in himself to undermine her decision by refusing to honor it, and anyways, he wasn’t sure he could resist attacking Vanserra if they kept arguing.

“Fine,” he said, needing to get out of this room, out of this damn territory. “But if something should go awry, Vanserra, know that it’ll be on your head.”

Lucien rolled his eyes like the petulant child he still seemed to Azriel, and he had to fight not to spring at the other male. He flexed his left hand to keep it from straying to Truth-teller’s hilt.

“Make your preparations, then,” Azriel said. “We’ll leave at nine bells.”

Lucien bristled at the command in Azriel’s tone, but he ignored the younger male, letting his eyes pass over Elain and hoping she couldn’t see all the things he was still longing to say. 

With a bare nod to her, he left the room, crossing into his own and making for a small table in the back arranged with a number of ornate liquor bottles. Not bothering with one of the crystal glasses, Azriel unstoppered one and took a long, bitter swig. It burned going down, but he ignored the cloying taste, taking another sizable draught, then another.

“Is that wise, My Lord?” a soft voice echoed. “You have a long journey ahead of you.”

Azriel didn’t turn, but he did set down the bottle he was holding, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He hadn’t eaten since dinner the night before, and his empty stomach rioted in protest at the liquor now heaving in his belly.

“Not now, Nuala. Please.”

“I would not see you make yourself sick, My Lord.”

Azriel grit his teeth, even as his stomach continued to roil.

“If I wanted a lecture,” he said. “I would have brought Morrigan.”

She didn’t reply to this, and Azriel knew her training was telling her she’d said what she needed to.

“I need you to go back to Velaris,” he said. “The plan has changed, and Rhys needs to be informed.”

“My Lord—“ she began, but he turned, holding up a hand.

“It’s not a dismissal, Nuala,” he assured her. “But I don’t have a way to reach The High Lord, and I gave him my word that I’d be back in Velaris by last light.”

It wasn’t strictly true, he could drop his mental shields and call out, but he was still having some difficulty keeping his shadows on a leash, and he didn’t want Rhys to know, though he likely already suspected.

“You could send Cerridwen,” she pointed out.

“I could,” he agreed. “But I am sending you. Can I trust you to follow my orders?”

She nodded, and he felt a whisper of her darkness brush against his in a gesture of silent comfort.

“Thank you,” he said, and she nodded again, already blurring into shadow.

Azriel let out a long breath when she was gone, resisting the urge to take another swallow from the bottle. Nuala was right, it was a long journey, and he wasn’t Cassian; he knew better try and drown his problems in liquor. In the end, they never died, only resurfaced gorged on drink.

Retreating into the bathing room, he washed out his mouth instead, splashing cold water on his face and neck.

The High Lord waits in the Receiving Hall. Your presence is expected. The guard has been doubled, and they grow restless.

Steeling himself, Azriel strode from the room, trying to ignore the faint lingering scent from the night Elain had healed his wings. Without even fully realizing it, he’d been preserving it, not allowing it to fade. It had been a foolish decision, especially as it tortured him one final time, but he couldn’t help clinging to it, nor could he deny that with the exception of the night before, her familiar aroma had helped him sleep better than he had in decades. Centuries, even.

Letting the door slam shut behind him, he swiftly made his way down to the Receiving Hall, where Elain, Lucien, Tamlin, and—indeed—a small army of guards awaited.

“I’m not accustomed to being made to wait, Shadowsinger,” Tamlin said in greeting, and Azriel only clenched his jaw in response. He was so close to freedom, there didn’t seem much point in souring it by punching the smarmy bastard in the face.

There was a beat of charged silence before Lucien stepped from Elain’s side, extending a hand to his friend. Tamlin accepted the gesture, and the two males gripped one another at the elbow before embracing.

“See you soon, Tam,” Lucien assured him, pulling away. Tamlin didn’t reply, but his expression was warmer than usual, and when his eyes fell on Elain, he held out a hand for hers.

Elain hesitated so briefly Azriel was sure that only he and the shadows noticed before slipping her gloved hand into his. Tamlin pressed a courtly kiss onto the supple suede sheathing her knuckles.

“It's been an honor, Elain Archeron,” he said in a flat, cordial tone. “And I was right in my predictions. Despite your…” he glanced up at Lucien. “...situation, I have been inundated with requests for your hand in marriage, Princess of Thorns or no.”

Lucien let out a low snarl Azriel himself only barely managed to keep back.

“Tell me the hands,” Lucien said, tone acerbic. “So I can cut them off.”

Tamlin gave a light laugh, and Elain used the opportunity to retract her hand and retreat back to Lucien’s side.

“Don’t worry, Lucien,” he chided, the bitterness edging back into his tone as he watched his friend press a reassuring hand to Elain’s back. “It seems you have little to fear where your mate is concerned.”

Elain flushed scarlet, and Azriel felt his own temper straining at the leash. He knew that Elain already felt enough pressure to fulfill expectations and mate Lucien. It made Azriel’s blood boil to see her goaded about it. Or perhaps that was simply his jealousy rearing its ugly head at the prospect of Elain becoming another male’s bride. No, not another male, he reminded herself. Her match, Cauldron-divined and Mother-blessed.

It was here, while Azriel was still fighting to keep his expression blank, that Tamlin’s eyes slid to him and went cold.

"Tell your High Lord that I expect an invitation to his fabled city of stars. I think after this visit I’m owed the same plunder of secrets that my territory just endured from you.”

Azriel felt his ire bend to near breaking. The shadows told him he was on dangerous ground, furiously noted the rising heartbeats of the soldiers around him. He crossed his arms to keep from going for Truth-teller, and his back was screaming with the effort of keeping his wings tucked in behind him.

"The next time he leaves my High Lady’s bed for more than an hour,” he spat quietly. "I will be sure to let him know."

Tamlin unsheathed his claws and snarled, and Azriel felt his siphons flaring, all the pain and frustration of the previous evening sizzling under his skin, trying to fight free.

“How dare you,” Tamlin seethed, and Azriel only bared his teeth, wings tearing open in obvious challenge.

He would apologize to Rhys later, he thought as he felt the sentries moving in on him. As long as he didn’t kill anyone, he doubted Tamlin would have the balls to go to war over this.

“If I may,” Elain interjected breathlessly, sliding from Lucien’s side until she was in Tamlin’s line of sight, blocking his view of Azriel. Azriel’s agitation grew at seeing the female he loved so close to those lethal claws. “The Shadowsinger doesn’t speak for Rhysand or my sister. If it’s an invitation you’ve been waiting for, then perhaps you’d accept one from me on their behalf. Come for the Winter Solstice and dine as a guest of honour at the High Lord and Lady’s table. I think you’ve find they are both eager to mend the hurt between your two households.”

Tamlin considered Elain, chest still heaving, but something in her expression must have assuaged him, because after a second his claws retracted. Or perhaps it was simply her loveliness that had turned him. It was no exaggeration that she had a face designed to bring males to their knees, a face so exquisite in its rendering that the Cauldron itself had fallen in love with her, besotted enough to give her a gift It granted few others.

“You’ve taught her well, Lucien,” Tamlin said after a breath, still drinking Elain in. Azriel could sense her revulsion, but it didn’t show on her face as she continued to hold the High Lord’s gaze. "I accept your invitation, Lady. And you,” He turned back to Azriel, who let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding since Elain jumped in Tamlin’s path. "If you ever step foot in my territory again, your life will be forfeit. That’s a promise.”

Azriel, feeling at the end of his rope, simply wrapped himself in shadow and vanished, trying to calm himself down, cool the burning in his chest that had ignited the minute he’d heard Elain leave the party to come after him. He winnowed to the first checkpoint he and Lucien had agreed on, flexing and unflexing his fighting hand as he paced.

At the sound of a small pop he turned, sneering at Lucien as he advanced.

"What the hell is wrong with you?” Lucien said, shoving Azriel and nearly unraveling his tenuous control.

“Don’t touch me,” Azriel seethed, itching to teach this stupid, arrogant, unworthy welp the same lesson he’d been itching to teach the High Lord.

"Whatever it is you’re sulking about Illyrian, I suggest you get over it."

Azriel bared his teeth, wishing Cassian was there to knock the prick on his ass.

"I don’t sulk,” he snarled quietly.

Lucien gave a bitter laugh, ignoring Elain’s fretful glance darting between the two males.

"What’s wrong?” he jeered, making Azriel see red. "One of your wraiths refuse to suck your—"

Azriel flexed his power the same way one might a muscle, and his siphons flared, a Quarterstaff of blue admanant appearing in his left hand. He twirled it deftly as he used his right had to block a burst of autumnal fire before swinging it with blinding speed, knocking the spoiled lordling to the ground. Quick as an asp, he’d halved the staff into two wicked batons, turning to square off with Vanserra where he now stood, blade drawn.

“Stop!” Elain cried, breaking the blinding rage Azriel had slipped into. He could see the batons’ azure glow reflected in her eyes, and he let the power slip until they disappeared. “Lucien’s right,” she continued, gaze harder than usual. “That’s enough.”

Lucien was still snarling as he pulled her away from Azriel, as if to protect her. And she—Azriel felt the vice in his chest tighten. She let him, let him sweep her behind him.

Because he was her mate. Because they’d been made—designed—to protect one another from outside threats, just as they were doing now. And Azriel—he was that threat. He’d often felt uncomfortable in his own skin, especially with his scars, but he’d never felt so monstrous as he did watching Elain avoid his gaze from behind Lucien’s shoulder.

“Let’s go,” Lucien said, turning his back to Azriel and igniting Azriel’s savage Illyrian instinct to drive Truth-Teller between the bastard's eleventh and twelfth vertabrae, piercing his heart and severing his spine in one deft move.

Azriel felt another wave of acrid jealousy course through him as Lucien smoothed the tail of Elain’s braid between his thumb and forefinger, and in an instant he had his wings unfurled, flexing them wide before leaping into the air.

“Wait!” Elain cried, her hair whipping in the gust he’d created. “Where are you going?”

Away from you. Away from your scent, your smile, that pleading look in your—

“To scout ahead,” he said flatly. “I will meet you at the harbor no later than midday."

“Stay out of sight,” Lucien warned. “We’re close enough to the coast that Tamlin could claim plausible deniability if he had one of his sentries shoot you out of the sky."

Azriel bared his pearly teeth in a snarl.

“Let him try,” he said before shooting through the cloud bank and out of sight.

It was colder the higher he climbed, but he found the farther he got from Lucien and Elain, the easier it was to breathe. He let the chill soak into his skin, his hair, willing it to cool his blood. He could do this, he’d done it before, for almost five hundred years. That was different, though. So, so, different.

With Mor, he’d been little older than a child, unsure of himself and unable to control his desperate emotions. Besides, he’d been given a small reprieve from his pining for her when, sometime during Rhys’s exile Under the Mountain, Mor had come home one evening smelling of wine, sweat, and female desire and dropped, drunk, into Azriel’s bed.

At first he’d thought it was her own, and the realization that she’d come from another male’s bed had nearly undone him. However, as he’d lain there, trying not to breathe her in, he realized that while there was a foreign scent of desire clinging to her, it too was female. It was in that moment that the shadows whispered to him the secret he’d somehow never been able to see.

She’s taken a female lover, not her first. She is perhaps falling in love, and comes to you because she trusts you, thinks you a safe harbor.

It didn’t lessen the sense of unworthiness he’d always felt where Mor was concerned, the feeling too deeply ingrained to be erased in a single evening, but it was at least a small reprieve. It had still been painful to learn she’d bedded the Lord of Day during the war, but he also knew Mor well enough by then to understand why she’d done it. He was still waiting to hear it all from her, but knowing that it wasn’t Cassian she’d chosen, but freedom from her future, had been a balm.

But what he’d done last night…

With Mor, it had been misguided infatuation, and one that she’d always been careful not to encourage. With Elain, he could no longer deny that he was catastrophically in love with her, and it was a feeling he knew not even eternity would ever diminish.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus on the boom of his wings and the howl of the wind to calm himself. He’d been foolish to think he could ever go back to being her friend, and the realization rocked him so thoroughly he nearly lost his balance and tumbled from the sky like a felled bird. He’d ruined the best and most perfect thing that had ever been his when he’d crossed that line between them last night and taken advantage in a way she perhaps hadn’t even understood. He didn’t deserve her or her friendship, and he could no longer be around her, would have to do everything in his power to keep her away.

He was spent by the time he reached the coast and spotted the small schooner docked and waiting for them. It was crewed by mortals, he realized, all of whom bore Vassa’s crest. They all shrank back as Azriel landed on the deck, but he ignored them, grateful at least that to hear that Elain was taking a nap below. It meant that she was safe, and that he would be spared the agony of having to face her for at least a few more hours.

Giving the deck a final assessing sweep, he made to take back to the skies. If he stayed away long enough, she would be asleep again when he returned.

So he flew aimlessly back and forth up the coast, half-heartedly checking for threats and making sure to give the wards at the mortal shores a wide berth. Lucien had been right when he said they were well-protected, though Azriel would never admit as much  aloud. It needled at Azriel, another reminder of his failure to infiltrate the other queen’s courts during the war, a failure which had cost them 78 lives in the attack on Velaris. As he ruminated on his own shortcomings, and the fact Lucien had not only managed what he couldn't, but that his alliance with Vassa and Elain’s father had likely helped turn the tide during the final battle, he felt himself fraying at the seams. It was no wonder Elain preferred him, mate or no. He’d done what Azriel could not; he’d saved them.

It was dark by the time he arrived back on the ship’s deck, back aching from so many hours in flight. He ought to rest, he could feel the lack of sleep tugging at him. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to go below decks. On top of everything, he realized he was eager to get back to the Night Court lands, and being under the stars, dim though they were in this part of the country, helped ease some of his distress.

As he stood, eyes closed as the night breeze rustled his hair, he felt his shadows rise, hearing their whispered warning a moment too late.

“We thought perhaps you weren’t coming back.”

Azriel fought not to tense as Elain’s sweet earthen scent washed over him. It was the most exquisite agony to be this close to her again, especially in a darkness so like the one they’d held each other in last night. Unsure of what to say, he didn’t reply, nor did he look at her as Elain swept forward to stand beside him. Her hair was unbound, and he felt it’s phantom brush on his arm, even through his leathers.

“So is this your plan?” she said softly.  “To simply never speak to me again?”

He clenched his jaw, fighting the tightening in his throat again.

“What would you have me say?” he finally managed, his voice a hoarse croak. “Tell me, and I will."

She gripped the rail so tight he could see her knuckles through her ivory skin. Gone were the tears from last night. He could tell from her hammering pulse she was angry, perhaps angrier than he’d ever seen her.

"Tell me the truth,” she said, grabbing his arm so he was forced to look at her. “Tell me what you feel for me."

Azriel’s jaw ached from the effort of keeping the truth from tumbling out.

I love you. I will love you to the end of darkness itself.

"You have my loyalty and my respect,” he said finally. "You know that."

She gave a whine of frustration, eyes growing glassy.

"That’s not what I want from you!"

“What do you want, then?” he breathed in muted pain, wishing he had the strength to brush the tear that escaped down her cheek without pulling her into his arms and never letting go.

"Your honesty!” she snarled. "You say that we are friends, but this—“ she gestured to the space between then. “This is not friendship. And neither was what happened last night. So tell me the truth, Azriel: what is it you feel for me?"

"I respect—

"You’ve already said that! That’s not what I’m asking, and you know it!”

He was choking, drowning in the ocean of snarling, foaming, broken nothing that lay between them. The distance, which had been merely an unbridgeable canal between them before last night, was now on treacherous sea not even the stupidest soul would dare cross.

“Elain, I—I’m sorry."

She stamped her foot, more tears falling.

“Damn your sorry!"

"What is it you want from me, then, if not an apology?” he begged, panicking at the realization that she would not stop until she’d wrenched the truth from him, and his last bit of dignity with it.

"The truth!” she repeated, voice a touch pleading now. “Why did you kiss me the way you did? Why did you kiss me at all? Please, Azriel, help me to understand!"

“I—“ he began, nearly gagging on the three words he was dying to say to her. He made the mistake of glancing down at her devastating beauty, at the heart-rending warmth in her eyes. If he told her, she would try and forgive him for it, tell him it didn’t matter, and he couldn’t bear it.

Better she think him a cad than a heartsick pup. Better she hate him than pity him.

The hideous lie burned on his tongue, but he forced it out.

"You are a very desirable female, and I…I am not blind.”

She recoiled, and the horror on her face, the humiliation and pain, drove the knife home, cleaving his very being in two.

“You don’t mean that,” she breathed, bringing a hand to her chest as fresh tears welled.

“Elain,” he began, and he could see the barest glimmer of hope in her eyes that the male she’d admired, her friend, was still there. Azriel wanted to be that male for her, but he just…couldn’t. Couldn’t find the strength to spare her this pain by offering her the ugliest and most broken of all his truths: the female he loved did not—could not—love him back. “I’m sor—“

His neck snapped to the side as she hit him with all her fae strength, and his cheek burned from the pain of it. Still, he made no move to stop her as she drew her hand back and slapped him again.

“Elain—“ he pleaded, sense flooding in to drown his own selfish pain and urge him to set things right. To tell her the truth, no matter what it cost him.

It was too late. She hit him a third time, the force of it hard enough to break the skin. When he forced himself to look back at her, her face was a mess of tears, but as he instinctually reached for her, she backed away, the horror and sadness replaced with a scalding emnity that burnt him to cinders.

“You have no honor,” she snarled through strangled sobs. “And you are not the male I thought you were.”

“Elain—“

“I hate you,” she seethed, wiping at her eyes as she retreated into the darkness. “Never speak to me again.”

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[cavennmalore]

War Storm Fanfic

I just thought of this right now and decided I was going to write this. Please forgive me for any errors, canon-wise or wotherwise; I do not have my copy of War Storm with me right now. If you like this, please like, reblog, or comment what you think!

When the door shuts, I finally breathe a sigh of relief. 

I had spent all day in agnoy, the weight on my chest threatening to overwhelm me. Now, I trade one weight for another. The feeling of slient stone would signal panic in anyone else, but for me, under the cover of silent stone is the only place I feel like myself. Well, what’s left of myself. 

Her voice dims, fading to the background. Her wild shrieks blending in with the rest of the sounds that plauge my mind. I would ask someone from House Merandus to check on it, make sure that this isn’t actually my mother’s doing, but that would be revealing weakness. Those vultures would do anything to exploite my weak spots. Even rip apart their own blood. Not that I’m not used to whispers tearing their own to shreads. 

You let her kill me! She wails. You let that Red bitch kill me! 

I rub at my temples. “No, you let her kill you, mother,” I mutter aloud. 

My muscles tense automatically. If she was still alive she would take control of my body, make me a living statue. Then, she would walk real close and cause a loud, sharp noise to screetch through my head. My vocal chords stuck in place so could not scream. She would whisper in my ear somehow perfectly clear, even over all the noise, “Do not disrespect me like that. I am trying to make you better, trying to make you a king.” She would leave me there, suffering in silence, until she got what she wanted. I’m sorry, I would think, over and over again until it was to her satisfaction. Until it was sincere. Only then she would let me go. 

Bu she isn’t here. And somehow, that hurts worse than any of the pain she could have ever caused. 

The pain in my chest starts back up again. It’s as if my heart is on fire. It probably is; she isn’t the only one I lost today. 

Fate is a real bitch. It favors those who seem to want to make my life hell. It was bad enough losing Thomas, but losing my mother on the anniversary of his death was too much. This is the first year I mourn for both of them at the same time. 

My skin burns. My collarbone feels as if the skin was on fire from the inside out. Ashes burn against my throat. Fames tingle against my hands, these possibly real. My lips hurt worst of all. Thomas touched me in so many places, his chin perfectly sitting in my collar bone, his fingers dancing against mine, but my lips were his. My lips he devored, my lips that plunged us all into this hell that we’re living--he treated those lips as if they were gold. 

My whole body aches in agony. My mind belonged to my mother, but my body belonged to Thomas. 

But they are both gone, so I guess my body and my mind belong to me now. Or whatever’s left of me. 

I sag against the stone wall. All day I could hear whispers around the palace. Reds and Silvers alike warning each other about the Mad King in a foul mood. I was an inferno, raging at everything in my path. People parted from me; nobody wants to be anywhere close to a bomb that never seems to stop going off. But now, all I am is tired. I can barely manage a spark, let alone an inferno. 

For a second, I let myself imagine. Here, only for a moment, I let myself pretend that it’s Thomas I’m married to, not Iris. I pretned I live in one of Jon’s dead realities, a far off world where Thomas can be my husband. Not my servant, like we planned, but my true partner. I can almost see him crouching in front of me, one of his big, goofy smiles and shaggy brown hair. He would have taken my hand and told me everything is going to be alright. I probably would have believed him; he had a way of making everything sound believable. 

I close my eyes. This could never have happened. He was Red and I am Silver. He is dead and I am alive. 

He is at peace and I am still hurting. 

But I was always hurting. 

I have a splitting headache. That’s the price I pay for letting myself think of him. After I came home from the front, a husk of myself, Mother was determined to rid me of him. Despite her past failures at erasing romatnic love, she believed this time that she could do it. After all, she was a surgeon with the mind. I was just glad the pain would finally stop. 

Instead, it turned phsycial. Splitting headaches clung to his prescense whenever he crossed my mind. I was holed up in my apartment for days, plauged by both physical and emotional pain. That’s when I discovered how truly pownderful silent stone could be. 

Most Silvers stayed as far away as they could from it. Its effects were suffocating, like drowing on dry land. When I was younger, Mother would throw me in here if I misbehaved. It was torture. But after days anguish, the silent stone was my salvaton. It made the migraine recced. Finally, the pain was dulled to something tolerable, something I could manage. My head was clear, and Mother’s mental claws couldn’t touch me. 

That’s why she restricted my exposure. I was almost never allowed to be near it. My only relief came from a small piece of silent stone I hid in my room. I clung to it during my worst moments, it’s white dust coating my pale fingers. 

I still keep that small block in my room. The only thing stranger than a king with a throne of silent stone is a king with a bedroom built of it. Now, though, when I’m feeling truly pained, I can just come here, and be whatever is left of myself. 

I wonder if Thomas would still love me. After everything I’ve done, would he still care for me as he did that broken boy so long ago? 

Probaby not. 

The ony person who could ever love me was Mother, and she’s gone now. 

That’s right, she whispers like a snake, I am the only one who ever truly cared about you. Not your Father, not Cal, not Mare, but me.

She’s right. I can’t help but miss her more. The bond between a mother and son is unbreakable, stronger than anything. 

Oh. 

It hits me like a bolt of lightning. I know what Cal’s next move is. 

Harbor Bay. 

[engagedtobefree]

Phase 7: The Truth

Monday - I get to work about 10 minutes early so I can talk to Greg. I ask him about his baby shower and we talk about it a bit. Then, before I have a chance to take the conversation where I want it to go, he asks me how my weekend was. I go back to my desk after our conversation and I submit to my fate of having to ask Joyce if Scott is married. I decide to do this after I have a conversation with Scott, so that it doesn’t appear as if I’m asking out of the blue. This way if she asks me why I want to know, I can just say something about his behavior, taking it off my shoulders and putting it on his. I start to wonder now if she also noticed Scott’s interest in me, hence the “you look guilty” statement she made toward him on 2 separate occasions as he was talking to me. Since the Super Bowl was last night, I don’t expect Scott to come in, especially because he said he probably wouldn’t if the Eagles won. It’s getting closer to 9 and he always comes in between 8:20 and 8:30, so I decide I’ll just have to wait until tomorrow to execute my plan.

But Scott comes in at 9:30. He’s in his office talking to Steve and Chris all excitedly about yesterday. I decide it’s probably a good idea to listen to their conversations as much as I can, in case Scott mentions his wife. And he does. I don’t hear exactly what he says. All I catch are the words “my wife”, but that’s all I need to hear. I instantly see red. I feel anger. So it’s true. Scott is married. I can safely assume there is no divorce or anything on the horizon. His wife still has their wedding photos up on Facebook. She loves him and as far as she’s concerned, they’re happily married.

I am livid. I want to flip him off. I want to scream. I want to curse him out. For 9 weeks I have been falsely assuming Scott is single and interested in dating me. For even longer than that I had been noticing him looking at me, watching me, and even walking by my desk a few times to look at me. And all of that may have been more frequently than I was noticing. For 8 weeks I had been flirting with him, believing I could have him eventually. And as the weeks have dragged on I have gotten more aggressive in my pursuit, and he reciprocated. And he’s fucking married. 

I feel so wronged. He has assumed I’m stupid. He assumed I would never find out. He assumed he could keep this going. What else has he assumed? I don’t get any opportunity to approach Scott until right before lunch, which is probably a good thing because I calmed down a lot, so much so that I feel sad, disappointed, even a bit numb. I had been texting 2 friends during this time, and I let out a lot of emotion and blow off some steam, and get out so many of the thoughts racing through my mind. I am on the verge of tears at one point.

My opportunity comes as I’m leaving the bathroom. Right when you come out of the women’s room and turn down the hallway, the supply closet is there on the right, and Scott is in there looking around. He turns his head and I know he sees me, but I don’t look at him. I contemplate going back and cornering him in there so he has to face me, but I feel so empty, that I know the way I picture me doing it is not how it would happen. While I have confronted people countless times in my life, I am not naturally confrontational. I have to really work at it. It’s easier when I have emotions alongside my logic driving me to do it, but even then I may still have some nervousness. Right now, in this moment, I have nothing but my logic. I feel completely empty of all feeling. I go over to the printer to get my stuff and go slow, knowing that Scott is probably restocking the teas. I can hear him in the closet looking for them. Then he can’t get the door to catch and lock. Finally, fucking finally, he comes over to the coffee machine. He is elated, happy, smiling, probably partly due to our Super Bowl win yesterday and partly due to being able to interact with me. He says how he’s finally restocking the Jasmine Green Tea and he says something else, but I don’t know what. I comment on his Eagles shirt and he says he’s had it on since last night and laughs. I may say something else, but I don’t know. I look at him, standing there, smiling at me, most definitely happy to see me, and I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to confront him. I enjoy talking to Scott, I love flirting with him, I like the rush of interacting with him randomly throughout each day, I like the warmth his voice and laugh create inside of me, I like looking at his face, I enjoy the attentions he gives me. In this moment, I am second-guessing if I should go with my heart and talk to him as usual, or if I should go with my mind and do what’s right. “You’re married”. It comes out as half-statement, half-question. I am looking at his left hand, where there is never any ring. He has turned and is looking at me. I shift my eyes up toward his face. “Am I?” Scott doesn’t pose this question as if he didn’t hear me, but as if he is asking me if he is married. This throws me off. It takes my brain a few seconds to realize that it came out of his mouth wrong. I almost can’t breathe. “Yeah”, is the only thing I can muster. “Yeah, why?” He fucking asked me why, as if he doesn’t know why. There’s no need to play dumb with me. I shakily say, “Nothing” as I shift my eyes away, pull my lips into a thin line, and nod my head up and down. I wanted to add “You should have said something”, but my legs just carry me back to my desk. I don’t know what to do with myself. I want to say more, I need to say more. He is still at the coffee machine. I grab my cold coffee and walk down the large hall to the microwave, just so I at least am not stuck at my desk listening to him stock the tea. As I’m standing there, I hear someone start to come up the opposite, smaller hallway to the microwave. They pass behind me, I turn and look at the person as they walk away and it’s Scott. He followed me to the microwave. My only assumption as to why is that he was going to say something to me, but he chose not to. His ego must have won. Hell, he’s probably in shock too. Thought he could keep me wrapped around his ring-free finger for longer than this. Maybe he also thought if I did ever find out that I’d want him enough to not care. After I’m done heating my coffee, I start to head back down the large hall and hear someone not too far behind me. I turn my head to look and see it’s Scott. I turn my head back around so quickly that I don’t even get a solid look at him, but I don’t care. He was headed back down the small hallway.

My lunch is shortly after this, and Scott always takes his lunch right when mine is over (technically when Steve comes back from lunch, but my lunch is the same time as Steve’s). I am outside Joyce’s cubicle while I’m waiting till she’s finished on the phone, and my body is at an angle so that I am still facing her and also facing Scott’s office. I see him come out of his office, but he had just started to turn his head away when I shifted my eyes over to him. I didn’t have to turn my head and didn’t want to, which is why I stood at the angle. I didn’t want him to know I could see him if he happened to come out of his office.

I go into the warehouse twice, and neither time does Scott turn and look at me. I keep questioning why. Why did he do this? Was it because he liked the attention? Was it nice to know he’s still got it going for him at his age? Does he not get attention at home, and was just innocently enjoying it? (Highly fucking doubt that one, at least the “innocent” part). Did it really just make him happy to come into work and have a young, pretty girl, who he clearly finds attractive, show interest in him and be happy to see him every day? Did he ever intend to take this further, beyond the workplace, into an affair? I have no answer from Scott, and I probably won’t get one. I doubt I’ll even get an apology. If I have it in me later in the week, and if I’m feeling better, I could quite possibly find an opportunity to corner him, make him uncomfortable. Or should i wait to see if he chooses to approach me about it, which I know is highly unlikely cuz most men dont do things like that? Or should I just keep making my prescense known, like keep popping up as usual, but just not give him attention? There are so many ways I can approach this from here, but it’s way too soon for me to even know what I want to do.

At the end of the day, I always go up to get my lunch bag since I typically have something still in there (usually hummus) that needs to stay refrigerated. As I head up the stairs, one of the bathroom doors open. To my horror, it’s Scott. He doesn’t see me as he heads into the break room/kitchen. I’m not turning back around just because of him, so I keep headed toward my destination. He’s at the coffee machine. This guilty motherfucker, who always makes his end-of-the-day tea at the coffee machine by my desk, came all the way up here to make his tea so that he could avoid me. Joke’s on you, Scottie Boy, cuz we work literally within 20 feet of each other at all times. Can’t fucking avoid me forever, you coward. I don’t look at him. He starts to turn his head but sees it’s me, so he quickly turns it back. “Hey, Dana, what’s up?”. Still his typical greeting, just more quietly and with less enthusiasm than usual. In a soft voice, all I can say is “Hey”. I shouldn’t have said anything, but there is still a part of me that wishes I could continue what I was doing with Scott. After I grab my bag, I keep my eyes looking down as I walk back past him. I don’t want to look at him. Not out of shame, or embarrassment, or because he won, but because I’m so hurt. When I get back to my desk, not only am I shaking on the inside, but also physically. Scott has thought of no one but himself. He probably has no guilt. He never thought of his wife at home, or the woman at work smitten with him. Never thought how this would affect me at all if I found out about his marriage. And I know that he knows he cannot even say this has been casual flirting. This has been getting more and more involved between us as the weeks have passed, and who know how much more it would have developed. Our once-a-day greetings and slight smiles slowly evolved into big smiles, daily conversations, making more eye contact, standing closer and closer, and purposely going out of our way to interact with each other. Even me complimenting him and checking him out several times, which I know at least a few he had to see. And he has purposely left out mentioning his wife.

I leave for the day and his car isn’t started yet, so I’m guessing he will never be leaving on time ever again. I actually take awhile to get situated in my car because I’m trying to stuff mail that has been sitting on my passenger seat for days into my bag, and then I’m trying to get my iPod to play but don’t realize I have the volume shut off and the radio set to Disc instead of Aux. Joyce comes out and I wave to her. I’m still messing with my Ipod and my radio when the door opens again. I know who it is before I look. When I do decide to look, he’s already staring at me, coming slowly down the stairs. He has the coffee straw in his mouth as he does for 90% of the day, his shades are on, he’s got his tea in his hand. There’s something written on his face though, but I can’t place what it is. His mouth is moving in an odd way, despite chewing on the straw, almost like he’s about to say something, even though I wouldn’t hear him through the door. I lift my hand up in a good bye. Again, I know I shouldn’t, but my heart was so set on this man, I just can’t believe that this turned out to be the reality of things. He lifts his hand up back to me. I realize after this interaction that I had a sad, pained look on my face. I didn’t mean to, but yeah, in hindsight I know it was there. And I question myself: should I have waved? I don’t want Scott to think what he’s done is okay, but at the same time I realize that if I want to bring this up again, I need to remain somewhat open toward him. And I can’t help but be open anyway. It’s in my nature. I am vulnerable, and while yeah, it gets me hurt sometimes, I know being open and vulnerable have a lot of positives to them as well. And I just can’t help it. As angry as I have been throughout this whole day, as much as my brain keeps telling me he is a scum bag and complete piece of shit, I have grown quite fond of the man who on a daily basis would give me his greetings, his smile, his radiating face. It was all for me and directed at only me, and he made me feel special, despite any ulterior motives he may have had. It has been years since any guy has truly made me feel that way. And even though Scott wasn’t exactly honest, something about it all was still so genuine, something about him still seems so genuine. It doesn’t mean he’s not guilty or wasn’t doing something completely inappropriate and downright wrong, but I think that maybe Scott really enjoyed giving along with receiving. Maybe he also enjoyed seeing me light up and feel special, and liked knowing he made someone happy just by his presence. Maybe he also really enjoyed talking to me too. I have no doubt he enjoyed being on the receiving end more than the giving end, but I believe that he was also fond of me too. And there was definitely a connection between us. There still is. I felt it earlier at the coffee machine when he came over to me, and I think that along with my affections for him, that connection is what made it so hard for me to confront him. A small (very small) part of me wonders if Scott has felt any confliction or guilt about all of this. I doubt it, but I honestly can’t rule it out. Maybe he did develop some feelings for me and he’s wrestled with the morality of it (or not - he could’ve developed feelings and not wrestled with it at all). Does he love his wife? Is he happily married? Was he hoping for that sweet double-life of being a family man and still having some side action with a beautiful mistress? We interact out in the open for all to see at work. He was in his office all those countless times he turned to smile at me, risking the 2 men he works with noticing that. I thought I was the only one risking something here, but what if Scott was as well? And his face, his face always lighting up when he sees me. You can’t fake that. I may have gotten the truth about his marital status, but this is no less confusing than it was before.

I am writing all of this in real-time. It is Monday night, and I am sitting here with my aching little heart wondering where this is going to go. I know it will take me a bit of time to adjust to no longer flirting with Scott, or greeting him in the mornings, or jumping out of my cubicle to talk to him. It’s gonna hurt, and it’s gonna hurt because it matters. This has meant something to me. I don’t mind in the future being friendly with him if we cross paths. Will I talk to him like before? I don’t know. If i do, I run the risk of still being interested in him. I could get over this, start talking to him, then end up right back where I was before, completely smitten and charmed by him. Or I could get over him and not even care anymore, and go back to how it was way before all this, which was barely seeing him and interacting with him, and being okay with it. My fear is though, that despite how wrong I know this has been, what if the part of me that wants what it wants wins? What if I pick all this back up? I can’t see me doing that, as I really am a nice person, and I have never intentionally hurt anyone in my life, but this feels so abruptly over and left unfinished. That may be due to me not having an answer as to why he did this, or it could be due to something uglier. There is something in me that is thinking about how he wants me, despite being married. Do I carry that disgusting potential to be the other woman, one that is aware of the marriage but doesn’t care? And the answer is probably yes. I know we all get bad thoughts some times, bad urges, bad desires. Being a kind person doesn’t mean they’re not there. It’s not letting those things win that matters most. Scott has very much acted on something and been feeding into and contributing to something he should have put an end to a long time ago. I don’t want to be like that. I know I have made mistakes in my life and done things that are wrong, but what if I do something intentionally wrong? Am I a bad person? Am I a bad person for still wanting him? Am I a bad person if I somehow get wrapped back into this and don’t put an end to it again? Do I really want this man enough to not care about any destruction it could bring? I can be so obsessed with finding true love, and would my mind start to wonder if it’s this man, rationalizing that he’s just in a marriage with the wrong woman? A huge, huge part of me is saying, “Come on, Dana, you’d never do that. You’d never intentionally be with a married man and hurt another woman. And look, you’re aware of it. That’s good!” Then there’s another part of me, a smaller, quieter voice that is whispering, “There’s no harm in some casual flirting still. There’s no harm in letting him know what you want. We’ll just let him decide if it’s to actually be taken further or not.” A young woman fantasy of “He’ll choose me over his wife.” I am disgusted. I am so disgusted and I really hope that the better part of eventually squashes out this longing for him and I come 100% to my senses. 

This is still so sudden though, and I shouldn’t expect my longing for him to just disappear so quickly. I want it to, but I know what I’m like, and I know this is going to be difficult for me and that I’m going to be wrestling with these emotions for some time. I want him, and only time can me make stop wanting him. 

I hate this. I hate this so fucking much. I hate every little fucking thing about it.

[avalindin]

To Hell and back

Loki fic

Chapter 4: Plain and simple anger

_____

Previous Chapters: 1 2 3

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Her body arched as far back as her bones would allow. Her lungs filled with cold, fresh, putrid air as she gasped for breath. She slumped to the rough dirt underneath her with a grunt.

“The hell?”

She looked up, unable to understand the changed settings around her. Imogen stood as a small fragment inside a cave with walls high enough for the ceilings to disappear into darkness. Torches lined the walls in every direction. In front of her was a small pier with a long rowboat. She could spot a hooded figure but she could sense that it didn’t belong to the deep voice that helped her.

It held up its small hand and held it out to the boat. Sharp howls made her jump as she started to the boat. It wasn’t until she was next to it that she saw Nalek, Roysce, and August, all slumped and in a daze.

“Gus!”

The hand of the hooded figure stopped her.

“Payment.”

“Are you... Look at me, I don’t fucking have anything!!”

The hooded figure sounded as if he sighed and wrapped his hand around her neck.

“Payment.”

Imogen held on to his hand as she gapsed for breath. Her feet kicked back and forth to try and get some air for herself but it was of no help.

“Please,” she choked.

“Imogen!”

Her eyes were about to see Loki take a single step before he was stopped in his tracks by something unseen. The figure turned its’ attention back to her. He raised his hand up to eye level and snapped his fingers. Imogen dropped from his grip with the shattered bits of the golden collar to rain around her. She coughed herself silly and pushed herself up to her knees in fury.

“You could have just said give me the collar instead of choking me out!”

She rose to her feet and swung her arm forward. She wasn’t ready for the growl that dropped from her mouth or to injure the figure with the growing dark talons that had grown from where her nails were. Loki looked to Imogen as she shook in fear of her change.

She tucked her hand under her arm to not dwell on whatever she was. Loki kept his attention to her long after his own collar was broken and the pieces left where they fell.

The growls of Hela’s creatures grew closer as the figure stepped onto the boat. They both followed behind and sat on seperate ends of the boat. In the distance, the torches extinguished one by one, filling Imogen with fear as she took her brother’s hand.

“Don’t be scared. Everything will be alright. Hot Fuss.”

The figure raised his hands and moved in a fluid motion to make the boat move. August fell forward as Imogen caught him and rocked him with help of the boat.

“Come on. We didn’t get this far just to die on a Disney Criuse.”

Hela rounded the corner, riding on the back of her endless sea of creatures. She snarled, taking her time to guess which one she was going to skin first. The ferryman would suffer the most for sending her in the wrong direction. Probably to the suggestion of her pathetic husband’s powerful brother. She knew beneficantly married the wrong one.

The boat was so close as the first of her creatures made the peir and dove into the river for them. She stopped her parade once she heard the shrieking howls of her creatures as they slowly evaporated through the surface of the water. She scaled the rickety wooden pier and huffed in defeat. Again.

She was not used to the feeling of failure.

“Bastards!”

Imogen jumped at the scream of woman that stopped chasing them.

“What the hell does she want with us?”

“All that matters is that we put as much distance between ourselves and her.”

Loki looked back as the boat began to turn the bend. He caught the eye of the anrgy woman with dark hair. Her rage was familiar. He turned back and looked up to the void glares of the other men.

“What do you think happened to them?”

“I had to subdue them for the remainder of the ride.”

The figure reached up for the edge of its hood and pulled the dark fabric back to let a rolling wave of coiling and braided blond hair fall to its’ waist.

“Well,” sighed the figure as its’ voice grew maturely feminine.

Imogen could see the shock and disbelief in Loki’s eyes. The woman in the dark robes looked over the side to see her face in the black glowing river.

“Mother?”

“I’ve never been a woman before.”

“Before?”

“Yes, child. When I ferry, I can take the form of one taken to make the journey eased a bit.”

Loki didn’t need a memory to remember the devistation when Frigga was slain by the Dark Elves.

“Can you tell us what happened before we got here?”

“My master warned me of the harlot to step through the portal. She is a danger of sorts but no matter how hard she tries, she cannot kill him.”

“The woman that’s been chasing us?”

“Indeed. Her name is Hela. The firstborn daughter of Odin.”

A flash blinded his eyes as he could recall the events leading up to Ragnarok. He remembered everything, even the vengful glare of his entitled sister.

“Loki!”

The woman held up a hand up to Imogen to stop her.

“Do not interferre with him. He will be fine.”

His visions cleared. He straightened himself and for once, refused to meet the gaze of Imogen. She kept her own mouth shut as her eyes roamed the open caves around her. Her hand stayed tightly wrapped to August’s. She looked down to the water and could see the small ripples of light floating by. Few took shape, making her realize where they were.

“This is the river Styx.”

“Yes.”

“So you would be Charon.”

“Intuitive.”

“That’s why you took the collars.”

“Why,” asked Loki, ready to ease his way back into a conversation.

“That’s what we’re taught in school. The ferryman gets gold so that we can pass on the river.”

“Why not swim?”

“Because it’s not like the Mississippi. You go into the river and you die. Besides, I don’t know how to swim.”

“Actually, the river would age you within seconds. The water would be stolen from your skin. Your bones would break from the preesure. In the blink of an eye, you would wither and cease to exist. Any bit of living human would turn these souls wild.”

“Would it hurt?”

Imogen didn’t know why she would ask.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been in and no one has been that foolish.”

“Why can’t you swim?”

She looked over August’s shoulder to Loki.

“Because I just can’t. It’s complicated and if it’s all the same, I don’t feel like talking.”

“Fine. Ferryman, why were they subdued?”

“It was only minutes after Hela left that they appeared. So many colors fired from them. It was a raging fit to see them attack each other. I could not stand for such a thing so I put them in a trance. They should return to normal once the journey is complete.”

“Yeah, then they’ll start ripping each other’s throats out.”

“Someone has to know what happened. I don’t trust Roysce.”

“Nalek has some flaws as well.”

The shadow’s words filled her ears and it was every man for themselves.

“There is a traitor among you.”

It was survival now and she had to push her unknown feelings for Loki aside.

“Trust no one.”

“I want to get August off the boat first. He’s never lied to me but if something should happen, I want to be the one to deal with him.”

In the distance, she could see the river take another bend. The ceiling became visible as it narrowed down into a series of tunnels. Something wet touched her bare foot, alarming her. Her eyes everted down thinking there was a hole in the boat but she saw blood coated on the side of her foot. She followed the trail up past August to a pool resting at Roysce’s foot.

Loki caught on to her worry and looked to Roysce and his pale skinned body as it rocked form side fo side.

“Loki!”

“Remove his tunic!”

Loki steadied himself and moved as quickly as he could to Roysce. In the light of the dim torches, Loki could find the start of his wound and worked to make the bleeding stop. He’d forgotten about the shadows deal about his powers.

“I can restore your power and your memories, your highness.”

“Why couldn’t I use them?”

“Because you forgot the person you were. She didn’t teach you to cast with your head. You cast with your heart.”

In the prescense of such an omnious being, he felt small. Though Imogen had placed him aside to focus on the road ahead, he felt... human.

“How can I focus when my every sense is clouded?”

“You feel connected with the woman? That your aching heart is yours to lay as tribute at her feet. How sentimental for the bastard tyrant.”

“What?”

He wasn’t ready for the momentary fit of the shadow. It’s hand shot up and wrapped tightly around Loki’s neck as he fought to breathe. It only made the fingers tighten more. He could feel his face turn red as he tried to pry them away but the cold breath at his ear made him petrify.

“Nothing you do will change the past. You gave many souls that did not belong here. I can hear them screaming even now. Sooner or later, she will see the monster that you truely are.”

The shadow raised a nail and pressed it into Loki’s forehead. The long nail pierced his flesh and the further it went, the faster his body turned limp and the dreaded instances of the life he forgot. The shadow let go just enough to whisper in his ear one more time.

“Good luck winning her favor when she finds out the truth...”

He used his fear and anger to rip Roysce’s tunic in two and tie it tightly above his wound.

“We’ll get him off the boat first before he bleeds out. One of us has to know how to heal him.”

Charon was silent and stepped away from the blood as he used his powers to hurry and get his passangers off his damn boat.

“Do not let him bleed...”

“Loki, get him! I’ve got his legs.”

Imogen didn’t wait for the boat to reach shore as she pulled Roysce and Loki along to the edge. Loki was first off onto the pier with a steady hold to his companion. Imogen wasn’t so lucky. She took a single step slipped from the blood under her foot. Roysce’s leg and hers hit the side of the boat with a single drop of his blood to fall into the river.

Imogen could feel the boat rock wildly underneath her as she kept her hold on Roysce. The river blinded them as the brilliance started from the spot Roysce’s blood fell and spread out in every direction. Imogen tried to find her footing but was stunned to see herself float above the boat and the height of the pier but she wasn’t the only one.

Eaach of the group was lifted by Charon’s glowing hand as his feminine face twisted with anger.

“I told you not to let him bleed. Now, she can cross over the river. Get off my damn boat.”

Once his hand sealed into a fist, everyone was throw from the boat and into the side of the dark walls. Imogne tumbled to the ground on top of Roysce as Loki rushed to them.

“Move!”

He cupped his glowing hand to Roysce’s leg and used a spell to heal him before he could bleed out. Imogen reached to check him but was stopped by Loki.

“Don’t touch him. He is dangerous and we need to leave him here.”

“No one’s getting left behind. What’s the matter with you?”

Charon ignored the group and hurried to move his boat from shore.

“Oh, dear,” he sighed aloofly as his form began to disappear, “he will not be pleased to hear about this.”

Hela sat on the edge of the shore and tried to calculate how to cross the water. In the distance, her eye caught sight of the river as his darkness turned to light. A grin appeared on the corner of her mouth.

“To err is human,” she giggled as she drew her sword and stepped onto the surface of the glowing waves as it reached the shore.

Imogen jerked her arm away from Loki, not understanding why he was acting the way he was. The groans behind them made Loki shoot to his feet.

“We need to collect Nalek and August now. Tend to your brother.”

Imogen was a single step behind Loki as she felt a hand wrap tenderly around her ankle. She ignored Loki’s word and knelt over Roysce as he took his time to wake.

“Roysce? Are you okay?”

“Fucking bitch...”

“You were hurt but Loki healed you. We nee...”

Roysce’s hand shot up and choked the life from Imogen. He easily flipped her to the dirt and stradled her as she squirmed. A grin stretched across his scarred face that terrified her. The flirtacious look in his eye was now replaced with obession and so much need.

He saw in her own as they turned black from her powers.

“It a shame and frankly, that bastard should have let me bleed out. I’m really going to enjoy killing him but first things first. Try not to change on me, little viper.”

Roysce lunged forward and pressed his lips firmly to Imogen’s. If his grip to his throat was making it hard to breathe, then his added weight onto of her made it all the more difficult. She scratched and punched at him with no promise of him stopping. She could feel the growl from his throat on her lips. His hand slowly inched down her body to the edge of her tunic as tears spilled over the side of her eyes.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered, “I’m going to hurt you too...”

Loki helped August sit up as he fought his dizziness. Once his vision stopped spinning, he saw Loki and punched him in the nose. He knew it was well deserved from what happened on Sakaar.

“That’s for putting my sister in danger. I give you one rule and you fuck her over anyway! Where is she?”

Loki looked to Nalek slowly waking by himself. He could feel August shove him back. He followed the lean male’s angered glare to Roysce pinning Imogen to the dirt with the vengance he was afraid of. He though back to Sakaar and knew if Imogen had her memories, she would have stayed far away from Roysce. Before he could cast a spell to break the bastard’s neck, August planted his feet and blasted Roysce off her with a single blast of a deep percusion of his voice.

Roysce hit the wall, breaking a torch with is back. He cried out in pain as he swatted to put out the fire on his naked skin. Imogen choked and coughed to relieve the pain in her neck. Loki and August pulled her away and looked to the bruise marks on her neck. She flinched as Loki’s cold humming hand touched her skin.

“Don’t move. I’m almost done.”

She swallowed a single time and could feel relief in her brother’s arms.

“What the fuck was that?”

“I told you he was dangerous. Let’s go.”

A loud screech filled the cave as everyone rushed to cover their ears. It mirrored the same painful sound from the beginning of their journey. Loki grabbed Imogen and August by the hand and made them run. Nalek followed as he gathered his robes and fled. They ran alongside the river, their hearts pumping. The shrieks grew closer and so did the wall as they were left with no more ground left to run.

The river trapped them in and Hela was easily closing in on them. All they could do then was go up the wall to the tunnels above. They climbed the jagged rocks, not wanting to look back. Hela stopped and looked up as they tried to escape.

“How precious. I should really give them another second.”

She used it to make a needle from one of her shadows and aimed up. Hela flung her wrist and watched the needle fly up into the air. Nalek looked over his shoulder to the needle aimed for Imogen. He jumped to the rocks underneath her. It pierced him paining him for a moment as his head spun. He fought the fatigue and climbed higher.

Roysce was the last up the rocks as the shadows snapped and clawed below him. His veins were filled with fury and it helped him race up the wall. He was going to kill them all but he wanted to get to Imogen first. His body slowed from the blood loss, he remembered getting wounded by the old man. Such power he forgot.

His hand glowed red and Roysce raised it, feeling the flicker of red crackles. A chuckle fell from his throat as he whipped his arm back and flung a cluster of red lightning high up the wall. It missed August and Loki overhead by a few feet. With the force of Roysce’s powers, the group did teeter but none fell.

Nalek looked over his shoulder to the snarling young man. He reached the top first and helped to pull everyone else to safety. Loki helped August rest, leaving Nalek and Imogen for themselves. August sat up and Nalek grabbed Imogen. His guilt from taking Emmilette’s life was weighing him down but with Imogen being the strongest person, she would lead them out of Hell, but soon they would know.

Imogen was nearly over the rocks when she shrieked in pain as something sharp stabed her leg. Nalek looked down to Roysce with his hand around her leg and his glowing red nails dug deep into her skin. A ball of dark colored matter collected in his palm and knew what he was about to do was the right thing.

“Get off the wench, Bastard!”

He roared as he sent his hand forward with the matter to consume Roysce. He cried out in agony, his veins scorching as the dark replaced the red in his skin. Imogen could feel her leg burn from his nails. She didn’t want to look. Her feet shot down and knocked Roysce in his face. Nalek looked for her as blood streamed from his nose and his unconscious body let go of the rocks to fall into the growing sea of shadows below.

Imogen felt strange as Nalek pulled her over the edge and down the tunnel to Loki and August, both on seperate sides. With what was left of the light, he could see both men holding themselves back. Their faces turned red with each passing second.

“What’s happened?”

August turned his head and his bloodshot eyes.

“A-Anger...”

Nalek was thrown to the rocks. He shielded his good eye and tried to regain himself.

“I know it was you, Nalek.”

He saw Imogen’s silhouette taking its’ time to tower over him. There was no reason except to spare his live than to tell the truth.

“I-I am sorry. I didn’t have a choice.”

“She didn’t need to die.”

Her anger wasn’t subtle but it was beautifully controlled, striking more fear into Nalek. It was his good dead to not go unpunished. He deserved what was coming.

“You killed her,” stuggled August.

“Hell has no conception of time. When I gave her the water... I am sorry.”

“Don’t worry,” she growled as she began to heavily pant, “I’ll make you are.”

“No!”

Loki stopped in front of her and it only made things worse. She lunged for him, swinging wildly as August tried to pull them apart. When he did, he used her sister’s momentary confusion to show some mercy to Nalek.

“I hope she kills you slowly. Go.”

Nalek ran down the pitch black tunnel with his hands out in front of him as Imogen shot to her feet. Loki was stunned as August slowly advanced forward to his sister. The look of colorful madness was in her eyes as they glowed red.

“Okay,” reassured August, “Normally they go blue but I’m okay with change.”

“What was that?! The shadow said there was a traitor in the group and you just let him go?”

“Just take a breath.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

Loki blanked and saw Imogen dart down the tunnel.

“Shit! Follow her, go!”

Loki ran with August and summoned a beam of light to follow Imogen before the last of the torch light disappeared. August had some trouble but Loki backed away a bit between him and his sister to make sure neither got lost.

“It wasn’t her talking! It’s this realm.”

“What is it?”

“Anger. Can you stop her without hurting her?”

“I can if I must.”

A scream filled the tunnels as they followed the spell to Imogen. The ran until the tunnel ended, opening with what was an unreal sun shining down on them. She’d found Nalek and he, as well as her, was fighting to end the other. Loki snapped his fingers and sent them apart. August rushed for Imogen before could attack again.

He stumbled, crashing into her as they both fell over into the opening. Loki and Nalek cried out for the both of them. There was a second as a sharp prick was felt in the back of their head. The anger was gone. Imogen was now filled with fear instead of anger as she was August fell to the ground a few hundred yards below.

She wasn’t sure what happened. When she looked to August falling next to her, an instinct took her over. She exhaled and felt her arms stretch out on both sides. Her nails shortened and turned to talons. She leaned forward and wrapped her claws gently around each of August’s arms. Her red wings spanned out and lifted them both just short of the ground.

The force of her wings looped them up through the air to tumble down as Imogen was thrown from her transformation. She rolled back into her regular body and looked as the red in her disappearing feathers turned blue. She didn’t shake with the exception of her head as she tried to uderstand what had happened.

August laughed and slapped his sister’s shoulder.

“Yeah! That’s what I’m talking about. Look who’s back!”

“What the hell was that?”

“Immie, don’t you remember?”

“No...”

August rolled his eyes and wrapped his arms around his sister.

“Whatever. We’re still alive and that fucking counts.”

She enjoyed the warmth of August as she passed out in his arms.

_____

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