#and the time ive hoped and hoped and sent silent prayers that the door remains closed

[pien-art]

Today’s painting! (May 8th, 2023) Untitled for now, 24x30 cm, oil paint on canvas.

I post more of my traditional art on instagram !

[sinistergooseberries]

A Goodbye

Not beta read or anything. Literally the most self indulgent thing ive ever written. enjoy. inspired by @rambheem-is-real 's nsfw posts that got the horny wheels working.

Pairing: Varadeva

NSFW

*****

Khansaar, 2010

There it was. Laid out in front of them like an animal's carcass.

Love had never been easy for Varadha. Love had always been an enemy, a weakness and every other attribute that tainted that word. It ate away at him like a disease and spit him back out like phlegm. When love did not want him, it made him its weapon.

So he looked at its corpse. Beaten, ragged and dirty, as it was meant to be. He was the one who had ended its life, so why was he feeling like a gaping hole had been made in his heart?

And why did love look so alive in his eyes? Why did it writhe and dance and reach out and pull Varadha towards him? Why did it seem to want to live when he kept killing it? Why couldn't it just go?

"Varadha," said Deva.

"Go." A piece of his heart turned to stone as he said that.

"Varadha, listen-"

"Get out. If I ever see your face again, I'll put your head on a spike and hang it at Khansaar's doors. Go."

Well, it had achieved what he wanted it to. That writhing love stopped its dance in Deva's eyes. In its remains, all that was left was a rising anger.

Good. At least he would go out of this world in the wake of that love. No death would be more respectable.

But Varadha knew Deva more than he knew himself. That anger, so familiar to him, cooled down, replaced with another emotion

It wracked him to his bones.

Don't leave me, he wanted to say. I love you. Love me back. Please.

But he stood his ground.

Deva turned around, and walked out of the room. The entire place descended into silence. No one spoke a word. The sun set.

Varadharaja Mannar became King.

***

Khansaar, 2017

The corpses that lined the border of Khansaar reminded him of another time, when burning bodies were all you could see around you.

He could also see Deva on top of the cliff.

Love still felt like a punch to the gut.

How untamed could something be? How could it still be alive, with all of its guts spilling out? How could it be alive and fight to burn and writhe, when blobs of its blood had fallen for 32 years?

And why did it need to haunt him of all people?

Deva was just as beautiful as he had been all those years ago. Even as Varadha prepared for a proper death this time, he couldn't help but look at the one man who made him feel like he was at the heights of pleasure and in the depths of despair at the same time. How could he not when Deva looked at him with storms in his eyes?

Varadha wanted to ease them. Ease all of his worries away. He didn't care about that Aadhya girl, he didn't care about anything. He just wanted Deva to look at him with those eyes of his. He wanted to drown in them, lose himself in them and then kiss the man's head, caress away the lines on his forehead and love him like he had always wanted to.

"Get me his head," he said instead.

All the people at his disposal marched out, perhaps hoping for an intense battle.

Well, he had just sent a hundred men to their deaths. He made a silent prayer to Katteramma to forgive him.

It didn't take long for the men to be disposed of. Deva was quite singularly focused on murdering anyone involved.

As Varadha sat in his throne, the doors burst open, and in bulldozed the man.

He couldn't help it - he never could when Deva was near - he noticed Deva's minute details without even having to try. It was like a built in mechanism that couldn't be removed. A little scar there, a bit of rugged scruff here, a small mole that had been the highlight of his days during their childhood.

"Varadharaja Mannar," began Deva.

Varadha shook himself out of his little trance. What use was it being in cahoots with a dead love?

He lifted his hand to stop Deva - no, Devaratha - from continuing.

He looked at everyone else in the court. "Get out. All of you. This is between me and - Devaratha." His jaw clenched.

Everyone filed out in a few minutes. The court room, which had been filled with clamouring noise earlier, fell quiet.

Neither of them said a word. Both of them knew what the other was thinking.

Deva put his weapon down. He raised his arms up in surrender and walked towards the throne.

Varadha didn't move an inch.

His footsteps echoed in the courtroom as he made his way to the throne. Varadha's heart constricted just a little bit more with each step.

Deva stopped at the foot of the stairs. His gaze was laser focused on Varadha.

"Devaratha," Varadha said.

"Where is Aadhya?" asked Deva.

"It doesn't matter. She never did, did she?" Varadha smirked. "It was never about her."

"Then give her back." Deva's face contorted, fury radiating off him in waves.

Varadha let out a chuckle, humourless and dry. That fury would go back in again, simmer in his insides. Old habits.

"Come on, Deva. We both know how these things work. I can't give her to you, unless you give me something in return," he said instead.

Deva's fist clenched. "What do you want?"

"You."

Deva's expression went from fury, to confusion, to - something else, and then finally seemed to settle on a decision. Deva raised an eyebrow at him, as if he was asking something.

Varadha watched him squirm. In a twisted way, he felt a bit of triumph. He bet Aadhya couldn't decipher all these minute expressions.

"Come," he said.

Deva took a few cautious steps, wariness shrouding his form. Varadha, as usual, just watched.

One step. Two. Three. Four. Five.

The man was right in front of him. He could smell his sweat and the remnants of gunpowder. He could feel the heat radiating off of Deva.

Varadha's breath caught.

Deva seemed to register that, and a small smirk made its way onto his face. And Varadha, as usual, traced every movement that Deva made.

Eventually, their eyes met. They had to. It was inevitable for them to look at each other like the other held the answers to the universe. It was inevitable that they would search for the answers to their unspoken questions in each other's eyes.

Deva's eyes dissolved into something soft. Varadha - he was helpless. Even if he wanted the harshness of vengeance or past anger to take over his heart, Deva could simply look at him and he would forget everything.

That's just how it was.

God, he was gone. He was delusional. That was the only way he could explain - whatever this was.

How badly messed up it was that he was imagining Deva getting closer to his face, as if he was about t-

What the fuck.

***

Deva was kissing him.

Lips were pressed against his own, bearing down on them.

And Varadha's lips moved. He didn't remember it clearly. Perhaps it was the little bit of whiskey he'd had in the morning.

But Varadha moved. He put his arms around Deva's neck and kissed him back. He bit Deva's lips, opened him him up.

The sensation of his tongue felt sent a jolt through Varadha and heat pooled low in his groin.

He had longed for this. He had longed for it like a parched man in a desert for water. He wanted to be engulfed in Deva's scent, completely surrounded by it. He wanted to kiss this man to pieces, kiss him into submission.

He pulled Deva onto his lap, not leaving his mouth for even a second. The gasp that escaped his mouth just riled Varadha up.

He wanted the man to whimper. To moan and gasp and writhe against him. He wanted him to lose his control and give in.

Well, only one way to do it.

Varadha parted from his mouth. He pulled Deva by the ass and thrusted up, grunting as he did so. Deva gasped.

"Y-you fucking bastard," the other man gritted out.

"Mhm?" Varadha hummed as he rubbed their crotches once again.

Deva just kissed him again, forcefully parting his lips and biting down on them.

Varadha moaned, the pain mixing with the pleasure and making everything hazy around him.

That distinct smell of Deva clouded every other sense of his, and the only thing he could feel was the touch of his lips, the heat of his breath and that heady, heady pleasure.

Deva separated them, and a string if spit extended between their lips. Deva was breathing hard, and Varadha wasn't any better.

Deva's eyes were dilated, and the look in his eyes spoke more than he could ever express with words. Varadha's eyes trailed down to his lips, so plump and kissed. He caressed them and felt Deva suck in a breath.

God, he was beautiful.

He pressed a haphazard kiss to Deva's lips. He didn't move away after letting go. Instead, he let their temples touch.

It was a simple act, a simple touch. Yet it felt like he had finally come home, and had been laid to rest. The hand that had been on Deva's lips, now became intertwined with his hair, pulling them closer to each other. Deva sighed.

He didn't know for how long they stayed like that. Everything felt a bit hazy, and his cock wasn't in the mood for calming down either, throbbing as it was.

Deva seemed to have regained some of his senses. He leaned forward and kissed Varadha's temple. Then his eyes. Then the tip of his nose. The apples of his cheeks. The space between his upper lip and his nose. He peppered kisses across his jaw.

He reached Varadha's neck, and that is where he chose to stop. Varadha looked to the side, and caught Deva staring at him. A small smile came into Varadha's vision.

Oh.

Oh.

Next thing he knew, Deva was kissing his neck, licking it, biting it, loving it. All he could hear around him were little gasps and moans. Deva was grunting as he played with the sensitive skin on Varadha's neck.

Varadha ground against Deva, craving that sweet release. He kept thrusting and rubbing, Deva's erection an acute reminder of his arousal. He wanted this just as much as Varadha did. A little bloom of possessiveness occurred in his heart.

His hand, which had been around Deva's neck, now made its way to his crotch. He palmed the man's erection.

Deva bucked up against his hand, and the moan that came out of his mouth went straight to Varadha's cock. He pressed down on Deva further, bringing out more of those.

Not once did Deva let go of his neck. At one point, he did something with his tongue that almost made Varadha come in his fucking lungi.

He pulled him away from his neck. Deva looked dazed and was about to dive back in, but Varadha pulled at the man's hair. Deva let out a moan.

He looked so fucked out. They hadn't even put each other's cocks inside each other. Something warmed in Varadha's heart at that.

Deva got up. Varadha stopped himself from whining at the loss.

Deva kneeled in front of him.

"What-"

"Shh. Let me do my thing." He placed a finger on Varadha's lips.

This is probably the last time I'll love you went unsaid, but they both understood it.

He took away his hands to work on Varadha's lungi. He untied it, and looked him in the eyes while doing it. Varadha didn't shy away.

Deva looked down at Varadha's twitching cock, the thin cloth of the boxers the only thing separating it from him. He licked his lips.

Varadha palmed his cock through his boxers, little moans escaping his throat.

Deva looked mesmerised by it all. It made Varadha feel a certain type of way.

He placed a hand on Varadha's. They moved together, touching where the other didn't, rubbing where the other didn't, caressing where the other didn't.

"Don't look at me," Varadha breathed in between gasps.

"Where else will I look?" Deva murmured.

Varadha didn't know what to say to that, so he concentrated on Deva.

Deva pulled down his boxers, and Varadha's cock sprang up. He hissed at the sudden sensation of cold wind.

His - whatever - seemed to notice and came to his aid.

"It's aroused," said Deva.

"Shut the fuck up and suck it," replied Varadha.

And Deva did just that.

***

Aftermath

"Did you just have sex with him?" asked Aadhya, her eyebrows shooting up to her hairline. She had the most incredulous expression on her face.

Deva, to save his ass and reputation, did not reply.

"You did," she said in disbelief. "Oh my god, you went and fucked your fucking ex. What the actual fuck."

Deva stayed quiet.

"Unbelievable," she said.

After a few minutes, though she asked, "Was he that good?"

*****

ummm so that was that. i just wanted an excuse to write porn yall. i hope its not all bad. i hope u find some alright things!

[bananapie99]

Leaving Home

Part I of my new Home series

Part II here

Part III here

Part IV here

Inspired by Welcome Home from Bandstand the musical

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Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers (brother) x Reader

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The scraping of a key in the lock jolted you back to reality. Your hands flew to the chest on top of yours and shoved back. Quickly you attempted to straighten out your dress and rake your fingers through your hair. You straightened his tie and desperately swiped your hand over the lipstick smudged onto his lips. Your hand found its home back in your lap from wiping around your own mouth just as the door swung open. A silent prayer danced across your lips as your brother’s eyes came to meet yours from the doorway.

“You’re home early,” you noted in what you hoped was your usual tone.

He shrugged off his coat casually. “Got lucky today I guess.”

I don’t think he caught on to what he practically just walked in on....

The man next to you on the sofa cleared his throat. “Busy day punk?”

“You wouldn’t believe it Buck. I’m just happy to be home now.”

Just as you thought you were off the hook, your brother seemed to pause mid thought.

“Buck, why are you here? I thought you weren’t gonna be by ‘til tonight.”

No.

“Oh, ya know punk, I was just around. Thought I’d stop by and see how your sister was doin’.”

“Steve, when is he not here?” You try to say it casually, with a little laugh in your tone.

That seemed to satisfy him. “Alright I’m starved,” he said walking down the hall. “What’s for dinner tonight (y/n)?

Dinner. You hadn’t even thought about that today. You were a little...preoccupied.

“Umm...” Your thoughts were interrupted by a nip at your collarbone. You shoved your elbow towards Bucky and let out a soft growl. “Not now James.”

He let out a laugh and threw his hands up in surrender.

“I was thinkin’ I would just heat up the meatloaf from last night. I’ll get that goin’.”

As you stood from the couch to head towards the kitchen, Bucky made a grab for your waist. You stumbled back a step but he was quick to catch you on his lap.

“Beautiful and quick on her toes,” he whispered into your ear. Heat rushed to your cheeks, his warm breath brushing your neck sent a tingle down your spine.

Pulling yourself together again, you pushed off him. “Still not the time. Care to help me in the kitchen?”

“Baby doll, you know I don’t cook.”

“Well at least keep me company?” You batted your eyelashes and held your hand out towards him.

Rolling his eyes he replied “how am I supposed to say no to that face?”

With a smile, you risked a quick peck to his cheek. Heavy footsteps approached and you dropped Bucky’s hand, making a beeline to the kitchen. Pulling the leftovers out, you strained your ears to try and catch what Steve and Bucky are talking about, listening for any clues that your brother was not as clueless to what he walked in on as he seems. Sadly, your hearing has never been amazing, so you were left praying for the best.

Lost in your worry and preparing the meatloaf, you jumped out of your skin as familiar hands slid across your waist. Out of fear that Steve would hear, you managed to choke on your scream.

“James, stop it! Steve could walk in and see.”

“You think I’d let him catch me with my hands on his baby sister? That wouldn’t end too good for me baby doll. He’s got a headache, said he wanted to lay down for a bit.”

Bucky’s hands on you, his chin resting on top of your head softened the blow of Steve not joining you for dinner. Feeling the sudden slump in your shoulders, he squeezed at your hips.

“Chin up cookie. You’re all decked out and now we can have a nice little dinner for two.” He spun you around to give you a real kiss. Whether you were dizzy from the spin or the kiss was anybody’s guess.

The rest of the night was a bit of a blur between the wine and Bucky. Steve must have decided to call it a night and never made an appearance. Even so, you two tried your best to keep your voices low and your hands to yourself... mostly.

A little past midnight Bucky decided to head home. “Wish I could stick around, but I don’t want your neighbors thinkin’ you’re a different kinda dame, baby doll.”

More intoxicated by the wine than him, you stumbled to the door of your apartment, steadied by Bucky’s hands, to let him out.

“Goodnight (y/n), I’ll see ya tomorrow.” He pulled your hand up to his lips and left a soft, lingering kiss. “Lock the door behind me.” With a wink, he disappeared into the night.

Somehow you found your way to your bed and fell asleep as soon as your head hit your pillow.

You woke up with your head throbbing, dreading opening your eyes. Then a noise caught your ear. You could not understand the words being spoken, but it was definitely two men talking. Steve and Bucky. The thought of seeing Bucky provided the necessary motivation to try and get up. No way were you getting all dolled up feeling like this, but you found your way to the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth. You cleaned off the smeared makeup left over from yesterday and just added a little mascara. Yesterday’s dress was all wrinkled from sleep, but it would do for now. Following the mumbles, you found your way to the living room where Steve and Bucky were seated on the couch.

The sight in front of you seemed foreign and you could not pick up on what it meant. Bucky’s head hung low in his hands, a piece of paper seated next to him, your bother’s hand on his shoulder.

“It will be okay Buck.”

Your eyes zeroed in on the paper again. The longer you looked at it, the deeper it sunk into the cushions, the heavier the air got in the room. Suddenly you felt off-balance. When did the stars start coming out with the sun?

You woke up on the couch, Steve and Bucky’s faces coming in and out of focus. Finally your eyes locked on Bucky’s and that was when you broke down, sobs shaking your whole body. Both men put a hand on you in concern.

Bucky spoke first. “Baby doll, what’s wrong?”

“You- you c-can’t leave. They can’t m-make you go.”

The words were tangled in your throat, fighting their way out.

“I’ll be okay (y/n), I promise. I’ll be home before you know it. I could never leave my best girl.”

You were too upset to register the implication of what was just said, but Steve was not.

“Your best what?” His tone was caught somewhere between shocked and indignant.

“Steve, I’ve been tryin’ to decide when to talk to you...”

“You- You’re with my sister?”

“You gotta understand, I love her, I really do.”

Silence is deafening. You had never understood what that meant until now. Somehow you sat yourself up on the couch and reached for Bucky. He moved closer, taking a seat next to you. The rough pad of his thumb wiped at your tears, pleading with them to disappear. You collapsed into his chest, no longer afraid of what your brother might think, instead afraid of losing the man you love to your country. Steve remained quiet, observing the two of you. He watched you relax into Bucky’s arms, your sobs softening to whimpers. He saw how Bucky stroked your back, how he fingered through your hair. He saw Bucky’s lips moving near your ear, the words inaudible to him, but seemingly soothing to you. Steve’s body relaxed with your heart rate. When you turned to face Steve, his heart shattered. Your face puffy from crying, mascara staining your cheeks, your arms extended to Steve. He knelt in front of you and pulled you into him.

“It’ll be okay (y/n). He’ll come back to us. He’ll come back to you.”

You could not bring yourself to look at the paper, could not bring yourself to ask when he had to leave. Bucky opened his mouth to speak.

“Please,” you whispered. “Not yet. Don’t tell me when. Not yet.”

He nodded and kissed the top of your head before pulling you back into his chest.

Bucky did not leave Steve and your apartment that day, even decided to stay the night. The men would be lying if they said they were not worried about you. Something broke in you upon arrival of that letter. That night before bed you finally asked.

“Buck... when do you have to go?” Tears threatened to spill over but you fought them back.

“In a week baby doll. We have time.”

A week was no time at all. A week to live a lifetime. It could easily be the last week at home for his lifetime.

Stop it. You cannot think like that right now. Bucky is here, safe in front of you. What comes after this is not yet your concern. Love him now. You squeezed Bucky tight, as tight as you could. He hugged you back, gentler but just as desperate. His hands slid around your waist to hold you there. He started rubbing up and down your back as he felt your chest start to shake.

“No need for tears cookie, not tonight. I’ll be right here waitin’ when you wake up.”

The next few days went by quicker than you would like. Before you knew it Bucky was leaving tomorrow. How can that be correct? He just got his letter yesterday.

Steve was kind, understanding of the new relationship between you and Bucky. Well, new to Steve. The two of you had been sneaking around for a while. You had been scared your relationship would ruin their friendship. You loved Bucky, but you would never put your happiness before the two of them. They had been inseparable your whole life. Whether Steve would have always taken it this well or if it was a result of the letter, you would never be sure. Knowing Steve, you believe he would have gotten to this place eventually, it just might have taken a little longer under normal circumstances. You caught the two of them talking and laughing the night before, same as always. That warmed your heart. Both of the men had been so concerned with how you were handling the letter, you were worried they had not processed the information for themselves. As the thought crossed your mind, you caught the little sniffles and chokes mixed in with their laughter.

Bucky was acting different today. How could you blame him? He ships off tomorrow for training. It’s 1943, by now you all knew the statistics of those shipped overseas. Holding onto hope was necessary to not just collapse then and there, but that was an exhausting task.

You got all dolled up that day for Bucky. You put on his favorite dress, which had actually been a Christmas gift from him the year before. It was beautiful. The dress was navy blue with a scoop neck that showed off your collar bones. The sleeves ended just above your elbows, the waist cinched in with a matching belt, and the A line skirt landing just above your knees. You spent extra care on your makeup this morning, though you are sure the mascara will not last the night.

The morning and afternoon went by as it would any other day, the three of you pushing the inevitable to the back of your minds.

Around four o’clock that evening Steve asked you to run an errand. It seemed inconsequential given the circumstance and you argued it could be done in a few days. Steve insisted it be done now, and indignantly you left the apartment.

You arrived back around forty-five minutes later, errand completed. As you inserted your key into the lock, you picked up music coming from inside. Once the door opened you instantly recognized the tune, Glenn Miller’s “Tuxedo Junction,” your and Bucky’s song. The lights were low, candles everywhere. You did not remember owning this many candles. You followed their glow and the music into the dining area. There Bucky was seated, dressed in his best suit, waiting for you.

“James, what’s goin’ on?”

“Sit down baby doll.” Bucky got up from his seat to pull out your chair.

As you sat down, he pushed your chair back in and leaned down to kiss you.

“I should be doin’ this for you, you shouldn’t be doin’ this for me.”

He let out a low laugh. “No (y/n), tonight is all about you.”

This felt backwards. He was the one leaving for war, not you.

Steve appeared from the kitchen, two plates in hand. He sat one in front of each of you, then retreated back towards the kitchen.

“Steve where are you goin’? You should be eating with us.”

“Tonight is for you, (y/n). Bucky and I had our time while you were out.”

With that he disappeared and you and Bucky were left alone, just the food, music, and candle glow to keep you company.

The two of you were silent for a while, afraid speaking would ruin the illusion that this was just a romantic night in with one another, and not possibly your last.

Bucky was the first to speak.

“(Y/n), you know I love you, right?”

“Of course James, why would you even ask that?”

“I know we’ve been dancin’ around what tomorrow means.”

Your heart dropped at the mention of it. He noticed the change in your demeanor and reached a hand across the table to hold yours.

“Baby doll, I love you more than I thought a man could ever love anything. You make up my whole world. Without you, there is no life I want to live.”

“James...”

“Promise me you’ll be waitin’ for me when I get home.”

“Of course I will James. My heart leaves with you tomorrow.”

“(Y/n)... I talked to Steve, asked for his blessing.”

His blessing? You are both adults, there is no need to ask for a blessing to love one another.

He stood from his chair and took a step closer to you before kneeling.

Oh.

“(Y/n), I know there’s no time before I leave, but when I get back...” He reached into his coat, fingers pinching an object. His hand came back out and the object caught the candlelight, creating a little sparkle like in a dream.

A ring.

“When I get back, will you do me the honor of marrying me? Since our first secret date I knew you were the one, cookie. Please make me the happiest man on Earth.”

You lunged forward, taking his face in your hands and kissed him as tears streamed down your face.

“Yes, James. I am yours forever and always.”

He slid the ring onto your finger. It was beautiful, elegant in its simplicity. For such a small ring, it weighed heavily on your finger.

When I get back he had said, but he meant if. If I get back.

Please God, bring him back.

The night was again a blur, made up of wine and Bucky. Your Bucky. That night he slept with you, tradition be damned. Steve did not even bat an eye as you led Bucky towards your room. All of the ifs weighed heavy between the three of you.

Morning came too fast, and Bucky gathered his things to leave. You did not bother with makeup this morning. It would all be gone before he even stepped out the door. You stayed in bed while he got everything in order. He found you there, wrapped tight in your blanket and clearly lost in your thoughts. He slid behind you, placing an arm over your waist, pushing his face into the back of your head, clinging onto your scent.

“It’s time, baby doll.” He spoke just above a whisper.

No. Not yet. It’s not fair.

At that moment you broke again, violently, much like when you first saw the letter.

“Shhh, it’s okay cookie. I’ll be back in a jiffy, just you wait. I’ll write ya a letter every day. Cross my heart.”

Knowing this was even harder for Bucky than it was for you, you forced the tears to stop. You forced the sobs silent, and you turned to face Bucky.

“I love you James.”

“I love you (y/n).”

With his help, you got out of bed and headed towards the front door. Steve was sitting on the couch, waiting. He stood when he was the two of you. Bucky walked over to him and gave him a hug. Both men teared up, praying this was only a temporary goodbye.

“Don’t do anything stupid ‘til I get back.”

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.”

One last embrace and they let go.

Bucky turned back to you and opened his arms. You leapt into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. You buried your face in him, your turn to memorize his scent.

He kissed your head and you looked up. Steve was right there, but neither of you cared, and I doubt he did either. Bucky kissed you, long and deep, trying to make up for all the kisses you will miss between now and who knows when the war will end. The kiss of a lifetime.

He set you down, wrapped one arm around you again in an attempt to delay his departure. He released you, hand landing on the doorknob. He twisted it and pulled the door open. One last look back.

“Come home James.”

“Before you even have time to miss me.”

With a wink he closed the door.

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Requests are open!

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Tags: @belladonnabarnes @moteldwelling

[casualcatte]

[Story] Egress

Egress

“My Lord, Cohorts I and VIII are moving through the palace as we speak, but the ranks of void-sent are endless.  There must be a portal somewhere giving them unfettered access to the inner halls!”  A Centurion tapped a finger upon the map laid across the table; the halls and rooms of the Inner Palace delineated clearly. “Most likely the Magus’ Bailey, the confluence of leylines there are strongest, easily exploitable by these aether-supping monstrosities.”

Valerian sas Camena rested his closed fists upon the map, knuckles wrinkling the parchment beneath. “Send Cohorts IV and IX to keep those demons busy until the Primus can reach the Bailey.” His eyes bore into the lines of the map, their blue-grey depths clouded by the ruthless decisions he was forced to make this day. There was no other choice, however, if there was any hope of keeping Aurora alight.  Sacrifices, hard as they were, had to be made.  “Issue the order, Centurion.” He commanded when the armored soldier beside him hesitated.

“... yes, my Lord,” came the drawn reply. The Centurion approved of it no more than he did, but like him understood the necessity of it.  “I will join the First Co--”

“You will not.” Valerian said firmly. “Your duty is first to me and my family, is it not? I need you to get Valeria out of here before the void-sent overrun the Living Quarters.” He looked up at the armored soldier; the visage of the battle-hardened commander melted away for the briefest instant, the concerned, drawn face of a father gazing on in entreaty. “I must know she is safe.”

The Centurion saluted. “It is ever my honor to serve the House of Camena.”  Turning on a heel, the Centurion strode away from the command table, booted heels click-clacking with a militant, metronomic precision. Exiting the double doors, one gloved hand lifted, flicking in a single gesture at the wrist.  Another armored soldier fell into step alongside the Centurion, though the armor was not as silver and resplendent; his cloak a indeterminate grey compared to the royal blue, a notable difference in their ranks.  The orders that issued forth from the Centurion’s helm were clear and unmistakable.  “Tessarius Laevinius, I leave His Lordship’s protection in your hands. Do not fail me.”

“Never, Centurion!”  The Tessarius saluted, turning smartly on his heel to double-back to the war room to position himself near-at-hand to the Lord-Chanter.  Clear blue eyes within the Centurion’s helm watched this obedience only briefly, expecting no less of tried and tested men. 

As the Centurion passed from the Militant Wing of the palace into the more common halls, the screams of dying and wounded men filled the air along with the screeching wails of things far more sinister.  The Living Quarters would be down the hall to the main entry, then left and onward, deeper into the heart of the palace. With luck, the void-sent would not have gotten that far.  With the hazardous nature of magic, the Magus’ Bailey was set apart from the main body of the palace, just off the main courtyard. If the Centurion’s assessment of the situation was correct, which it often was, then the void-portal was somewhere within the Bailey and the void-sent were flooding the main courtyard and gaining access to the palace commons through weak points like the kitchens or the ballroom.

They were well-prepared and well-aware of the weaknesses in the palace design and several Legions had been left in both places to stymie the advance of their ancient enemy.  Or, at least, that had been their hope.  These void-sent were powerful, far stronger than anything they’d yet encountered. The Legions were quickly being wiped out to a man, leaving next to nothing behind.  Battlefields did not afford one the luxury of panic or doubt.  Again, sacrifices had to be made for the good of all. 

Turning at the intersection of the Main Entry, the Centurion made for deeper into the palace, seeking out the charge with which they’d been entrusted.  A single, fat ahriman flapped its way in a side door, one likely leading to the main dining hall and onward to the kitchens. Its singular, blood-shot eye turned the Centurion’s way. 

There was no hesitation.  The weighted shield strapped to the Centurion’s right arm swung up and impacted with the side of the ahriman’s bulbous head, sending it careening into the wall. With awkward flaps of its wings, it managed to stay aloft, but it afforded it little opportunity to stop the Centurion’s advance.  Shield was followed by thirty-six ilms of tested, blood-stained steel that impaled directly through the side of the ahriman’s head, piercing its enormous eye in a horrific gush of blood and fluids.  Pulling the sword free, the Centurion slung the sword arm sharply for a moment, sending a smattering of blood arcing in a gory trail along the marbled floors.  Ichor from the creature continued to cling to the Centurion’s armor from fingertips to elbow, but they paid it little heed.

A femine scream broke the air and the Centurion’s helm snapped up to attention like a lodestone finding North. Breaking into a run, the soldier clang-clattered down the hall in search of the source of that scream. The pitter-patter of small, sandaled feet echoed down the corridors, but it was difficult to pin-point exactly where they emanated from. Turning blindly down one hall, the knight kicked in doors one by one, systematically clearing each room so as not to miss their quarry. Again, another scream resounded through the halls, hastening the Centurion’s pace. 

Light, let me not be too late… Shouldering through a door, the knight burst into a room where a Soul Flayer loomed over a small child curled up in a ball in the corner. Using what forward momentum remained, the soldier lunged forward, sword sweeping in a glittering, dangerous arc that slashed across the undefended back of the voidsent creature. It let out a malevolent shriek, turning its attention from the child to the armored knight that dared harm it.

Clutching a rod made of bone in one hand, it raised its arms and began to call upon the latent Fire Aspected energy around them. Taking the shield still bound to their arm, the Centurion brought the topmost edge of it upward into the Flayer’s forearms. If there was one weakness to most casters, it was that they needed to flail their arms to get any spell-work done. The bone rod flew from the Flayer’s hand, clattering across the marbled floors to come to a stop in the corner. Paying it no need, the Centurion advanced, stabbing forward in a brutal strike for the Flayer’s midsection. There was a momentary jarring as the blade bit home, the gleam of satisfaction lit the blue eyes beneath the Centurion’s helm.

“Go back to the Void that spawned you,” came the hiss beneath the helm. The longsword within the creature suddenly erupted into both Light and Flame, a searing blue-white energy that ate away at the Flayer’s flesh until it was naught more than a pillar of ash. When the Centurion pulled the blade free, the pillar burst into a thousand ashen motes, scattering across the floor. Sliding the blade home in its sheath, the knight turned toward the child in the corner.

Only to find her standing across the room, the bone rod in hand. A malevolent aura surrounded the child, an inky, violet darkness that made her pale features ghastly. The child turned, leveling the rod at the Centurion. “Tell the Lord-Chanter he is next.” The voice that reverberated through the room was wholly masculine and filled with dire portent. It was fleeting and the aura dissipated, sending the child slumping to the ground, unconscious.

“Valeria!” The Centurion cried out, one hand going to the helm and jerking it off as they threw it aside. Sweat-dampened, silver hair fell over the pauldroned shoulders, as the woman beneath strode forward to kneel at the child’s side. Carefully, she gathered the pale, dark-haired child in her arms, cradling her against her breastplate. “I have you, Valeria. I have you.”

The face that looked up at her was almost cherubic. A child so young should never know horrors such as these.  A fierce will to protect and shield this innocent soul filled the Centurion, as it had so many times before.  This was her charge, after all, and this was the future of all Aurora. It had been entrusted to her and she had sworn innumerable oaths that she would safe-guard it for as long as she lived -- and after.

Carrying the child out of the carnage of the palace, Justinia crested a hill that overlooked the city. The delicate spires of Aurora seemed almost tarnished in the inky chaos of the Void magic that filled her streets. Yet, eternally at its heart, the Mothercrystal shone like a beacon for those who could see her Light. As long as there was Light, there was hope.  As long as there was hope, there would be a future for Valeria.  Justinia would see to it.

For now, her duty was clear: get Valeria to safety and ensure that she grew into the woman all of them would need. Gazing at the city, Justinia bowed her head in a silent, momentary prayer for their safety and their victory.  They would need a city to come back to, after all.

Walk in the Light of the Crystal, my brothers, my sisters. We will see each other again…

[plasticgardenicons]

Revisionist Histories

I

…and so the boat people watched the sky for signs of rain.  Stories of old floods found their way around the ship as the wind circled around loose clothing and torn sails. In the crow’s nest a disheveled man with a torn tricorn praying for land, and below, prisoners and slaves in rat infested rooms waiting for hunger to take them or the gods of their land to come back and reclaim the withering flesh that at one time had worshiped in the sun, and sent offerings from fire in scented smoke.

Columbus watched the sun break into a thousand shards upon the water’s face. He dreamed of a holy conquest.  God’s blessing was to him a golden key to these new Indies.  King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella appeared in the pocket of clouds above the ship like proud parents.  

The rain descended upon the ships and waves broke at the sides. The telescopes were turned inward and Columbus dreamed of a new place named for his rival—Americo Vespucci. Columbus dreamed of dolls and gods buried deep in the hearts of churches and great devastations of humanity raped and pillaged, holding on to the old gods disguised as Christ.

Americo, in the name of all that is money, bowed before great trees bearing bananas and plantains, he could smell the ocean on his breath and the people on his hands.  

 II

Listen, the people wailing jeremiads into the wind until the storm clouds of god grew grim and brought the sky down in hail stones and there was much gnashing of teeth. Above the clouds American fighter pilots joked and read radar screens diffused with light. American broadcasts sang of the homeland and anarchy and craterous dreams of homecoming.

In the sky the arch-angel Michael, perched himself on a cumulonimbus and began reciting the psalms: By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion. We hanged our harps upon willows in the midst thereof.

On a Nimbostratus next to him, Lucifer accompanied on the harp. The fighter jets whooshed beneath him.

If you listen, Michael told Lucifer, you could hear their prayers. Lucifer let out a single tear that fell like napalm and lit the earth beneath him.

I’m tired of the gnashing of souls and the cries of the despised and despaired.  I was truly hoping for a new dispensation, he said.

it wasn’t really part of the plan, Michael said, puzzled.

Because I would not kneel to those who made a monster of me?  I only remember millenniums now through degrees of pain.

Michael turned slowly, his wings drooping against the setting sun, I have a place in my heart for you.

Lucifer smiled, but there are no places like that left, he said, almost angrily.  

Michael remains silent.  Lucifer lets another tear fall.  The pilots cheer from their cockpits.  

 III

Slowly, as if the noise were creeping up to the top steps like auditory insects, Joseph placed his coat on the bed.  His brothers had wished for a coat like his. When he wore it he thought he could hear the voice of god.  The pigeons outside his window spoke in soft coos of indifference and the cars on 42nd street rushed down 10th avenue. In two hours he would be at the port authority and on his way to Memphis.  The sun poured through his window.  Joseph counted the money in his jeans.  Thirty-seven dollars and fifty two cents.  But he had the coat.

Staring into a mirror, its polyester dazzled him.  He imagined angels. He watched a man wrestling an angel through the night and heard the name Israel whispered from the heat pipes.  He saw great pharaohs and great cities buried in the sand.

Slipping on his sneakers and taking a last shot of whiskey, he shut the door of his hotel room, Rebecca, still sleeping, fifty dollars by her breast.  

 IV

Through the flames, Joan of Arc feels the presence of an angel. She looks up towards the sky. The men stand around her spitting, cursing, imagining her breasts naked in the moonlight and blaming such thoughts on the devil, who will burn with her naked breasts. Joan smiles. She smells the burning of her flesh. Her tears sizzle on her cheeks and rise in puffs of smoke and light. She no longer feels her legs.

Joan of Arc hears the cursing of the men in the background. She no longer inhabits their hell. Marilyn Monroe hands her a wooden bowl filled with water, everyone is cursed, she says, it’s OK, you’re good now.

Joan holds back tears by staring at her reflection in the bowl. She can smell her hair burning.  Marilyn watches the sticks grow flames from burning embers.  Joan counts her fingers and toes.  They can’t see god, Marilyn says, so they make everyone the devil. Joan smells her hands.  They smell like burnt logs.

 Joan of Arc and Marilyn Monroe walk along a road into the sunset.  I heard god before I died, Joan confessed, he said there would be no crying here.  I didn’t recognize the voice.

Marilyn looks at her smiling, I’ve been looking for a way through for a long time.

Where do we go now, Joan asks.

To a city in the moon, where the wounds of this world become stars.

 V

Helen of Troy sits on the shore. She dreams of being abducted. She dreams of Paris’ hands; his eyes.

I would’ve loved him better, Alice says.  She is sitting on a rock drawing pictures of walruses and carpenters.

--his love wasn’t real love.

--tell me again about the big horse, Alice finds a shell and traces it with her finger, I’ll tell you about wonderland and all the wonderful ways to alter one’s perceptions.

--Herodotus says the poets lied about me you know.

--What does he know?

--It hurt for centuries.  Men still read Herodotus.

 Alice places a cup of water on the beach.

--I can catch the moon in a glass of water.  This way I can visit it anytime I want.

--I’ve heard many strange stories about the moon.  Of cities more plentiful than Troy, with more riches than Persia.

--Oh pooh. Tell me again about the horse.

Helen thinks again about how men hated her, as if wars were ever really fought for beauty or love.

--I look at you Alice and think you could be my child, or you could be me.

--we are forever looking into our own reflection.

--If you love me then I can learn to love myself.  Then, these ships you see before you will sail away, without ever spilling blood.

--They’ll spill blood anyway.  Sit with me. Look at the moon with me. I will grow to trust you.