#i also appreciate the symbolism of the light fading into darkness the moment she moved out of frame and left his world

[cherylblossom]

“I don’t want to forget about you, or about us.”

[r0ugesun]

Can you write about a witch reader × aemond? Like he was lost after a battle of God eyes in the wood and then he found the reader, and then she help him with his wounds?

Thank you so much for your request. I apologize for the delay, and I appreciate your patience. I hope this meets your expectations :>

(Also shout out @moonstruksandco for helping me with this she’s my irl wife my moon and muse❤️)

Witch!Reader x Aemond Targaryen

No warnings

Synopsis: After a fierce battle above the gods eye, a wounded Aemond finds refuge with Y/N, a reclusive witch, who offers healing in exchange for something that will help guard the forest. They find solace amid the chaos of the ongoing war.

“You have lived too long uncle”

“On that much we agree.”

The battle above the God’s Eye was a clash of beasts, dragons roaring fiercely at their riders’ command. Smoke and flames thickened the air, war cries echoing across the sky like distant thunder.

Vhagar expertly maneuvered around Caraxes, their talons intertwining in a deadly dance. Though old, Vhagar's experience in combat was undeniable, but she struggled against the agile younger dragon. In a swift moment, Caraxes snapped his jaws onto Vhagar’s neck, giving Daemon the chance to leap from his saddle, Dark Sister aimed at Aemond.

But Aemond’s death did not come however, Vhagar twisted and writhed in caraxes grasp until her fire engulfed Daemon, sending him and caraxes into the depths of the lake.

The forest beyond was a twisted labyrinth, ancient trees clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. The aftermath of the battle left the land charred, a silent witness to horror. Bloodied and broken, Aemond staggered through the underbrush, pain eclipsed only by the grief in his heart. His mighty dragon vhagar lay dead below the water, her sacrifice weighing heavily on him.

As darkness threatened to consume him, a soft, ethereal glow broke through the shadows. Driven by instinct, Aemond forced himself toward the light.

He stumbled into a secluded glade, where a dilapidated stone house covered in ivy stood, a beacon amid the gloom. The air was infused with the scent of incense and flowers, a sharp contrast to the stench of sulfur and burnt flesh he’d left behind. A lone figure, cloaked in black, tended to a moonlit garden. She turned, her eyes reflecting the light like constellations.

“Who goes there?” Her voice was a haunting melody stern, yet oddly soothing.

Aemond collapsed at the edge of the clearing, vision fading. “...help…me,” he gasped.

The woman crossed her arms, her expression one of clear annoyance. “The spirits always send me their messes to clean up.” she muttered under her breath.

Without a word, she stepped aside and helped him in, though her demeanor was far from welcoming. Aemond staggered into the warmth of the cottage, the scent of herbs and something unidentifiable filling his senses. The woman guided him to a wooden table, but her touch was far from gentle.

“My name is Aemond,” he managed, though his vision was blurring.

She rolled her eyes. “I know who you are, Prince Aemond. I am Y/N. Sit still and don’t make this harder than it already is.”

Aemond watched as she moved around the room, gathering supplies with quick, irritated motions. She mixed herbs with practiced ease, creating a paste that she applied to his cuts and bruises. Her touch, though skilled, was brusque, and the pain began to ebb away under her care despite her apparent displeasure.

Then darkness took him. When he awoke, he found himself in a dim room, shelves lined with mysterious vials and tomes in a language he didn’t recognize. The woman was beside him, applying a green salve. It stung at first but soon numbed his pain.

“You saved me” Aemond rasped.

Her nod was slight, her gaze steady. “Your wounds are grave, but you will not join the Stranger yet. I will heal you.”

He studied her intricate symbols etched into her tunic, her skin shimmering like silver in candlelight. “Who are you? Why are you alone in these woods?”

“I am y/n” she said, her voice edged with irritation. “I tend to the animals. They need me.”

Aemond’s eyes narrowed. “You tend to the beasts of the forest? You’re not just a healer, are you? You’re a witch.”

She she looked at him sharply “That’s one name for it. I am whoever the forest needs me to be sometimes a healer, sometimes a protector. And sometimes, something more.”

His expression softened as she unfastened his tunic, revealing deep, angry wounds across his muscular torso.

“These wounds run deep. Can you truly treat them?”

“Trust me” she said, fingers hovering over his scars, her voice unwavering. “The magic flows through me, but it requires something in return.”

Taking a deep breath, he felt the weight of his decision. “Very well. Do what you must.”

Y/n’s fingers grazed his skin, warmth radiating from her touch. “Close your eyes. Breath deep.”

As he obeyed, a surge of energy enveloped him in q blend of warmth and power flowing from her into his wounds. He sensed the whispers of the forest, and for the first time, he allowed himself to believe in something beyond mere survival.

When the healing was done, she stepped back, her eyes searching his. “I need a scale from your dragon” she said, her tone more serious.

His eye snapped open, suspicion and curiosity mingling. “For what purpose?”

“There’s an ancient spell I need to complete” she explained. “One that requires the essence of a dragon. With it, I can enhance my powers and protect this land from the dark forces encroaching upon it.”

He hesitated, the pain of his dragon’s loss still raw. “Vhagar lays at the bottom of the lake, I fear I won’t be able to reach her.”

"Not a problem, I can brew a potion that will grant you the breath of the sea, allowing you to reach her without pause." she replied. “Will you do it?”

Aemond’s jaw clenched as he nodded, the weight of her request heavy on his heart. “I will……I thank you for your help.”

“Come” she said, she gathered her ingredients with practiced grace. the air thick with the scent of herbs and salt Wisps of smoke curled from a small cauldron as she kindled the flame beneath it, the fire dancing in rhythm with her murmured incantations.

She crushed silvery seaweed between her fingers, releasing a shimmer of iridescent essence, and added it to the bubbling brew. Next, she sprinkled in powdered pearls, their luminescence casting a soft glow around the room. As she stirred with a carved wooden ladle, the liquid transformed into a deep azure, swirling like the depths of the lake.

With a final flourish, she dropped in a glimmering shard of moonstone, causing the potion to shimmer and pulse with an ethereal light. “Drink this by the lake, and you shall breathe as easily as the currents flow”

As he left her hut, determination and sorrow fueled his steps. The scale of his recently fallen dragon, an ancient spell, and a witch’s power, this journey was far from over.

With a steady hand, Aemond raised the shimmering potion to his lips, the cool liquid gliding down his throat like a gentle wave. Instantly, a rush of warmth enveloped him, filling his lungs with a strange, invigorating energy.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped toward the water’s edge, the moonlight reflecting off the surface like scattered diamonds. He plunged into the lake, the cool water wrapping around him like a cloak. As he descended, he felt the potion working, granting him the ability to hold his breath as he swam deeper, propelled by determination and the promise of what awaited him below.

As Aemond descended further into the lake’s depths, the water grew darker, illuminated only by the faint glimmer of bioluminescent creatures. Suddenly, he spotted Vhagar, her massive form resting peacefully on the silty bottom, surrounded by a tranquil stillness. Beside her lay his uncle, the visage of his former glory entwined with the majestic shape of Caraxes, their bond transcending even death.

A heavy heart weighed on Aemond as he approached, the sight of Vhagar once a fierce and fearsome beast now appearing serene in eternal slumber. He felt a bittersweet pang of longing, knowing the dragon had once soared the skies with him.

With a quiet determination, he swam closer, carefully reaching out to take a few scales from Vhagar’s side, each one a testament to their shared history. As his fingers brushed against her scales, a profound sense of reverence washed over him, mingling with grief and the echoes of lost love.

Hours later, Aemond returned, a scale from Vhagar in his hand. The witch y/n took it reverently, her eyes softening. “This will do,” she murmured.

Together, they ventured into the heart of the forest, where Y/n began her incantations. The air thickened with magic as she worked, the scale glowing with an otherworldly light. Aemond watched, his heart heavy yet hopeful.

As the spell reached its climax, the forest seemed to come alive. The trees swayed as if in reverence, and a deep, echoing roar filled the air. Vhagar’s spirit emerged, majestic and powerful, her essence blending with the forest. She became its guardian, a spectral presence that would protect the land.

Aemond felt a profound sense of peace. Vhagar was gone, but her spirit lived on, safeguarding the forest. He turned to y/n, gratitude in his eyes. “Thank you” he said softly.

She looked up at him, her stern expression softening. “Vhagars sacrifice will not be forgotten. This land is safe now, thanks to both of you.”

Days turned into weeks as Aemond recovered under Y/N’s care. Her initial annoyance with him faded, replaced by a grudging respect and something more tender. They spoke of many things of dragons and magic, of loss and hope. Aemond found himself drawn to her strength and independence, while she began to see the depth of his pain and the vulnerability beneath his warrior exterior.

One evening, as they sat by the fire, Aemond reached for her hand. “You’ve done so much for me… I owe you a debt I can never repay.”

She met his gaze, her eyes soft but still guarded. “You owe me nothing. I did this for the forest….And perhaps, for you as well.”

He leaned closer, his voice a whisper. “Y/N, I’ve come to care for you deeply. More than I ever thought possible.”

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away. “Aemond…our lives are so different. I am bound to my duty to the forest, to its magic. And you… you are a prince, with duties the war isn’t over”

“There’s nothing left for me there” he said, his hand gently cupping her face. “What matters to me is here, with you.”

Y/N closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. The fire crackled softly beside them, mirroring the flame igniting their love. “Then stay” she whispered. “With me.”

Their lips met in a passionate kiss, the spirits of the forest their only witnesses to their new bond. Despite the chaos of the world outside, they found each other, a love as fierce and enduring as the magic that surrounded them.

For the first time in a long time, Aemond felt truly happy.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 28 - ao3 -

The answer, it turned out, was paint.

It wasn’t an answer that Lan Qiren would have anticipated in any way, shape, or form. He had been under the impression, as had Lao Nie, that Wen Ruohan had stopped painting long ago. After some teasing by Lao Nie, the man had even off-handedly confirmed it at a private dinner they’d shared at a discussion conference – there had been more than usual planned in this past year, accounting for the fact that all of the Great Sect sect leaders (except Wen Ruohan) were unusually young, and therefore active. And although no one acknowledged it as a reason, everyone knew that it was also meant to help calm the concerns of the smaller sects regarding the chaos in their Great Sect leaders’ personal lives, between Jiang Fengmian losing his servant to his beloved or possibly the other way around, Lao Nie’s extremely bizarre marriage situation, and Lan Qiren stepping up unexpectedly to the position of sect leader on account of his brother’s retreat from the world.

According to Wen Ruohan, it hadn’t been anything in particular that had made him stop painting, only a lack of time and then of interest; there had been a severe crisis some time ago, long before either of them were born, and he had been obligated to devote himself exclusively to those affairs for an extended period of time. When he had finally resurfaced, years later, he had returned and found an old painting sitting there half-finished, and staring at it, realized that he was no longer the same man who had begun it.

He had never painted again.

Lan Qiren was unsure if this was a real story or not – Wen Ruohan, he had learned, seemed to consider the truth about his past to be little more than a gentleman’s agreement between friends – as it seemed to be an especially pointed reminder aimed at Lan Qiren’s situation in particular. 

Lao Nie had certainly taken it as such, throwing in his own concerns about Lan Qiren’s work schedule, and when even Cangse Sanren had joined the growing mob of all the rest of his friends, Lan Qiren had finally, if reluctantly, agreed to defer to their concern. He’d finally taken a step back and reorganized his duties as sect leader, standing his ground against the elders and insisting on having more time to devote to his own interests, including those outside of his work as a teacher – music, study, quiet contemplation, even maintaining his training with the sword, despite the fact that he would never match his brother as a sword cultivator.

It had, in fact, made him a better sect leader, less prone to working until he burned out, and he was grateful to his friends for their wisdom and steadfastness in the face of his stubborn grief.

At any rate, though, Wen Ruohan was no longer the painter he had been in his youth, and the hints of burning that marked all such paintings that Lan Qiren had seen suggested that the transition had been an unpleasant one for him. It was a surprise, therefore, to receive, as a gift from the Nightless City, a painting in that immediately recognizable hand which was so freshly made that Lan Qiren imagined he could still smell the grinding ink.

The painting depicted a dragon amidst a misty bamboo forest, its massive coils interwoven throughout the bamboo until it appeared almost part of the earth from which they sprung, or alternatively that speared through from above by a rain of spears; in its claw it held a beauteous dragon pearl, shining bright against the dark haze that surrounded the rest of the painting, and its eyes were fixed upon it as if it had forgotten all else.

The pearl, Lan Qiren presumed, was himself, given Wen Ruohan’s fondness for comparing him to one, which Lan Qiren still did not entirely understand – while he knew it was a sign of Wen Ruohan’s appreciation for him, and an indication that he treasured him, he thought that the particular choice in the type of precious stone was likely to be due to the fact Lan Qiren largely preferred white and grey and silver for his clothing. 

(Privately, he had determined that one day, out of sheer spite, he would wear an outfit primarily composed of blue for no other reason than to give the other man a shock; he just hadn’t found a reason yet to justify the expense of having such clothing made when he would only use it the once.)

Similarly, the dragon was the symbol of imperial might, of overweening power and influence and even arrogance; naturally that would be Wen Ruohan himself. But as for the rest of it – the lonely but beautiful bamboo forest, often associated with moral integrity and loyalty, yet juxtaposed in this painting as piercing spears, penetrating the dragon’s hide as if attacking him – the dark mist that seemed to envelop the dragon, held at abeyance only through the light of its pearl –

Lan Qiren did not understand.

There were too many meanings possible, and he did not know how to differentiate between those that were there and those he only wanted to read into it. There was nothing for it, but that he would need to ask the artist himself what was meant.

When, as expected, an invitation came a few days later, requesting that Lan Qiren visit the Nightless City in his capacity as Wen Ruohan’s sworn brother, Lan Qiren accepted.

There were all the necessary pleasantries when he arrived, of course. No longer could he just slip in through the back door, a younger brother come to leech off some resources from an elder; he was the Lan sect leader, and that came with certain obligations even on a casual visit. There were a few formal procedures, and then dinner with Wen Ruohan and his wives, with whom his dynamics had completely reversed – Madame Wen had thawed towards Lan Qiren on account of his new position as sect leader, which guaranteed that he would never be able to move to the Nightless City and thereby obstruct her personal power, while the new concubine, former maid, seemed to think that his involvement in her ascension to the position she now held was a matter of embarrassment, resulting in her wanting to snub him whenever possible.

Wen Ruohan largely ignored their antics, his eyes fixed on Lan Qiren throughout their meal, and afterwards, he had finally dismissed them all and taken Lan Qiren back to the small study he preferred to use for their time together.

“The painting you sent was lovely,” Lan Qiren said, playing a little with the cup of tea that was warm and aromatic in his hands. “You have lost none of your skill.”

“I rebuilt it,” Wen Ruohan corrected, looking amused. “You ought to have seen the first few efforts; I think I wasted enough paper to feed a small family for a year.”

Lan Qiren smiled at the thought. He could scarcely imagine Wen Ruohan struggling the way he described, making an effort and finding his ability wanting; still less could he have once imagined Wen Ruohan having admitted to that fact in front of another.

It was a little like what Lao Nie had said, that between the two of them they were excavating the residual humanity left in Wen Ruohan, slowly and methodically moving aside stone and dirt in order to find the treasures lurking beneath.

“I like it even more, then,” he said, and decided to be a little bit bold. “I like knowing that you thought of me for as long as it took you to make it.”

Wen Ruohan’s eyes curved in delight. “You need not be concerned on that score,” he said, his voice still calm and unhurried as always. “You are not so easily expelled from my thoughts, now that you have entered them…ah, little Lan, little Lan, you make me impatient! I had made plans on how to broach the subject with you, and yet now that you are here, I find myself rushing forward, intent to get to the point like some savage Nie.”

A savage Nie of whom he was exceedingly fond, he did not say, and Lan Qiren managed not to roll his eyes at him.

Instead, Lan Qiren put down his cup and folded his hands in his lap. “Don’t hesitate on my behalf,” he said, then added, a little dryly, “I’ve had enough indirect statements to last a lifetime.”

“Welcome to politics,” Wen Ruohan responded, just as dry, but his smile faded and his expression grew more intense; he stood and came closer to Lan Qiren, looking down at him for a long moment before taking a seat beside him. “Qiren, why are you here?”

Lan Qiren blinked, a little confused by the question, but before he could put together an answer, Wen Ruohan continued. “You are sincere and true to yourself; you follow your sect’s rules because you believe in them whole-heartedly and wish to live up to their strictures. Yet do they not say Do not associate with evil?”

“I don’t think you’re evil,” Lan Qiren said. “I think we disagree on what actions constitute evil, on what divides good from evil, and that you are more comfortable walking closely along that line than I. I think that there will be many times in the future where we disagree once again on what is or is not the straight path, and what is the crooked, but – fundamentally, I don’t think you’re evil.”

He considered the question for another moment longer, then added: “And if you were, what is there to do about it? You’re still my sworn brother, bound by oath and blood, and that makes you my responsibility whether I like it or not. Even if you were evil, the only thing that would be left for me to do would be to try my best to lead you out of the dark and back to the light.”

Wen Ruohan was watching him again. His red eyes were narrowed a little, his gaze as intense as it had been when Lan Qiren had been little more than a child, although experience had made it a little less overwhelming.

“You know that I see you as a pearl in the palm of my hand,” Wen Ruohan finally said. His voice was low and intimate, and Lan Qiren shivered to hear it. “A treasure I never expected to find, a gem of such surpassing purity that I fear it will burn me to dare profane it with my touch. Time is eternal; the pearl flows, the jade turns, and yet I remain, walking my crooked path and you your straight broad bridge, shining with righteousness. I see you and yearn for you both day and night, and even in my dreams…”

He reached out and put his hand on Lan Qiren’s. “I would have you be mine, if you would have the same.”

No hollowed-out puppets soon to be discarded here, Lan Qiren thought nonsensically, and swallowed.

“I am yours,” he said carefully, pronouncing each syllable at a time. He had to get this right, he thought, and he would only ever have this one singular chance to do so, or else he’d lose something as bright and shining as the pearl Wen Ruohan was always comparing him to. “I am your sworn brother, as you are mine; I will always be yours.”

“I know,” Wen Ruohan said, and it seemed for once that Lan Qiren had expressed himself clearly rather than muddling it up: he hadn’t misunderstood him into thinking that what Lan Qiren had said was a rejection. “If I were not one of those evil men that your rules warn you against, I would find it in myself to be content with that. But I am, and I am not.”

Lan Qiren wet his lips with his tongue. “You know what I told you,” he reminded him. “About how I – I could compromise myself if I had to, if it made you happy, but I don’t want to have to. That is not who I am, what I am. I don’t want to have to bend and yield. I don’t want to break under the weight of love the way my brother did.”

Wen Ruohan was watching him, patient and waiting.

“I’m not comfortable with that type of intimacy, the type shared between lovers since the start of time,” Lan Qiren finally said. “I don’t want it intrinsically, and I don’t think I want it logically, either. More than that, I don’t think, having never wanted it before and not wanting it now, that I will ever want it. My brother once compared me to a block of ice or a mountain lake frozen over in winter, frigid, and there was something true to what he said. There is no heat that will make me melt as others do…and yet.”

“And yet?”

“And yet you are not the only one who wishes to possess.” He met Wen Ruohan’s eyes. “I, too, would have you be mine.” 

His stupid Lan sect heart, burning a hole in his chest; it should have been enough to make him forget his own wishes and be willing to give in, to want to give everything to his beloved no matter the cost to himself, but it wasn’t – he wasn’t. And yet, at the same time, he judged his own affections to be no less than his brother’s for all that they were quieter and less flamboyant, understated rather than loudly proclaimed

Wen Ruohan leaned forward, bringing their faces closer together. “Then why don’t you claim me?”

“Because I cannot offer you what I should,” Lan Qiren said truthfully. “What you would expect –”

“And when,” Wen Ruohan cut him off, “have I ever cared for the expectations set out by the rest of the world? Would I have done half the things I did if I cared for the world’s conventions and determined my aims through their lens?”

Lan Qiren had to admit that he had a point.

“I know what you are,” Wen Ruohan said. “To taint you would be to ruin my own pleasure, to force you would be to deny myself – and I never deny myself. I am greedy, little Lan; I am not content with what the world would have me want, not when I can have what I really want.”

“And what is it that you want?”

“Lao Nie told me that he told you about his wife,” Wen Ruohan said. “How he stayed and she went, and they were still happy…I want that, with you.”

Lan Qiren frowned, not understanding.

“I want you,” Wen Ruohan told him, and his long-fingered hand traced over Lan Qiren’s cheekbone. “I want to have you, to own you, to keep you. I want to possess you down to the marrow of your bones; I want every inch of you in every way that I can have you. I want you to be mine – and I don’t need to fuck you to have it.”

Lan Qiren stared at him.

Wen Ruohan smile was like his smirk, triumphant and arrogant, certain of his impending victory. “If I want sex, I have my wives or Lao Nie for that, don’t I? To my wives I have only promised power, which I have given them. As for Lao Nie, I know now that he cannot promise me his heart: he is too facile, too free, too easy with others – he is compelled to share not only his body, which I wouldn’t mind, but also his heart, and I find that I am as unwilling to share in matters of the heart as you are to share your body.”

He shifted closer yet again, until their eyes were level with each other and their breath intermingled in the air between them.

“You will not be like him,” he said, voice dark and certain. “You’re barely willing to divide your attention to things you consider less important than your particular interests. Your heart is your clan’s curse and its treasure, taking you to the heavens and casting you down to the hells – if you give me your heart, full and entire, it will be as if you have removed it from your chest and put it in my hand. No one else will have any part of it, not like this, not in this way. It will only be me.”

“That is true,” Lan Qiren said. “I love no less deeply than my brother. My heart is a placid lake with a surface as clear as glass – you can see everything therein. Within it, there are only my interests, my nephew, my few friends, and you.”

Wen Ruohan’s smile widened.

“What exactly are you thinking?” Lan Qiren asked. His heart was beating in his chest so fast that it hurt. “If you want the assurance, you have it already: I am yours, and you are mine, and it would shatter me to let you go now. Is that what you want?”

“It is.” Wen Ruohan laughed, and it was full of pleasure. “Ah, little Lan! It is, it is.”

“What does it change?” Lan Qiren asked. “How is it different from what we have already?”

“It changes everything,” Wen Ruohan said simply, and Lan Qiren thought about and felt that he was right. “Knowing that you are mine makes it easier to release you into the world, to watch you shine and others see it; let them all look and know that it will never be theirs. All good things in the world are mine, and you are the best among them.”

“Pretty words,” Lan Qiren said, aiming for dry but probably just coming off as short of breath. “I’m a little more interested in the practical.”

“I would have you share my pillow while you are here,” Wen Ruohan said. “I do not need you to share your body with me, but I would have your company as a husband has his wife’s…and there are things that can be done without involving your body, depending on your tolerance.”

“Oh? Like what?”

Wen Ruohan grinned. “As it happens, that’s a matter I’ve given some considerable thought to…”

Lan Qiren rolled his eyes, and felt the heat in his ears fade a little; he appreciated the small reprieve from the emotional intensity, the humor breaking the tenseness of the moment.

“You know I find you beautiful,” Wen Ruohan said, and this time his hand came to rest on Lan Qiren’s cheek, his thumb brushing over his lips, and as quickly as that the reprieve was gone. “Perhaps you would permit me to find my own pleasure beside you, gazing upon you, or even invite another to share the bed while you busy yourself with your work – you are never as beautiful as when you are focused, your soul and mind wholly absorbed in your passion for the subject. Perhaps I would invite you to read a spring book for me, spilling out dirty words in that cool tone of yours that you use regardless of the circumstance, so that I might torment myself with hearing you at any time and think of that…I have a thousand and one ideas, little Lan, and I would try them all to see which ones you like and which ones you don’t, to yield to your preference and glory in so yielding.”

None of that sounded like something Lan Qiren would dislike, he thought to himself; it really was only his own personal involvement in the act that he truly objected to. And if Wen Ruohan had Lan Qiren’s heart and Lao Nie’s body, and both their friendship besides, perhaps even he in his ceaseless ambition could find a way to be satisfied with what he had for a time.

“I would like that,” he said honestly.

“Then having gained a cun, I will take a chi,” Wen Ruohan said. “I would like to kiss you.”

Lan Qiren swallowed.

“…all right,” he said. “You may.”

And he did.

[heartofether]

Episode 15 - Elderberries TRANSCRIPT

[You can listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts, or go to our “Listen” page if you’re on desktop.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

[LOWER-PITCHED AND SLOWER THAN NORMAL] Please state your message.

[THEME SONG PLAYS.]

VAL

Three-eyed Frog Presents: The Heart of Ether.

[THEME SONG FADES TO A STOP.]

[PHONE BEEP.]

[INT. THE POPPY GARDEN MOTEL, AGENT MAY AND JUNES’ ROOM, EARLY MORNING.]

AGENT JUNE

Oh, is it on? I dunno how this recording device works. Would have been, like, ten times easier to just record on our phones, but, eh.

Anyways, it’s just me right now, which means I get to do all the talking. Guess I should, I dunno, talk about the mission? Daughtler?

Oh! I know. There’s this candy store downtown that displays massive gummy bears in the window, only it’s so hot outside that the bears have started melting. It’s some mix of disturbing, but also hilarious? Seriously, those bears look so sad, I can’t help but laugh.

Let’s see. Say, what’s that stupid thing he always says? [DRAMATICALLY MOCKING AGENT MAY] This is Operation Saturn, phase 1.2. Conducted by Agents May and June. All recordings are property of the—

[AS AGENT JUNE TALKS, THE DOOR IS HEARD OPENING AND CLOSING. THERE ARE FOOTSTEPS AS AGENT MAY WALKS IN.]

AGENT MAY

Here’s your coffee.

AGENT JUNE

Much obliged! Oh, you got it with oat milk, right?

AGENT MAY

[SLIGHTLY BITTER] It cost extra, but yes.

AGENT JUNE

Aw, hell yeah.

[AGENT JUNE TAKES HIS DRINK.]

AGENT MAY

I’ve never understood the excitement behind alternative milks.

AGENT JUNE

Hey, I’m lactose intolerant. Not that that would stop me from consuming dairy in most scenarios, but oat milk hits, alright? You should give it a shot.

AGENT MAY

I don’t put milk in my coffee, just sugar.

AGENT JUNE

Mm. Gross.

AGENT MAY

[HE HUFFS A SIGH.] Well, I’ll stop judging your coffee order if you stop judging mine.

AGENT JUNE

I’ll agree to that, sure.

[HE TAKES A SIP, THEN] See anything of note in the coffeeshop?

AGENT MAY

[UNCOMFORTABLY] Maybe. There was this girl sitting at a table. She was wearing all-black, which is strange considering the weather.

AGENT JUNE

Uh, ever heard of fashion? Dude, you literally wear a suit every day! No wonder you overheat. I mean, why do you think I skip the blazer?

AGENT MAY

[IRRITATED] At least I wear my tie correctly.

AGENT JUNE

I leave it undone on purpose, alright? It’s a statement.

AGENT MAY

Do you know how to tie a tie?

AGENT JUNE

[DEFENSIVE] Yes!

[AN UNCOMFORTABLY LONG PAUSE.]

AGENT JUNE

So, there was this girl in the coffeeshop.

AGENT MAY

She seemed fairly young. Must have been in either high school or college. She was staring at me over her laptop the whole time. Like she was, I don’t know, stalking prey. It was like her eyes were knives, and she was trying to carve my flesh off.

AGENT JUNE

So, she defo wasn’t just idly looking or whatever. Like, you’re pretty sure she was thinking about killing you?

AGENT MAY

Well, there’s no way I can know for certain, now, is there?

[A BEAT.] She was wearing a black fabric surgical mask, though.

[A TENSE PAUSE.]

AGENT JUNE

Do you think she was—?

AGENT MAY

I can’t say for sure.

AGENT JUNE

I mean, it might have been an accessory, but we’re in Daughtler, Washington—

AGENT MAY

I’m not going back there to check. Okay? If we see her again, maybe we can consider interviewing her, but I don’t feel comfortable going back to see her.

AGENT JUNE

[UNDERSTANDING] Alright.

[AGENT MAY SIGHS.]

AGENT JUNE

[CONT.] Alright. I won’t force you.

AGENT MAY

I—I appreciate that.

[THERE'S A PAUSE.]

AGENT JUNE

Uh, how’d you sleep?

AGENT MAY

About as well as I could in a car seat.

AGENT JUNE

Okay, I can’t just keep letting you sleep in the car. It was kind of funny at first, but now I just— [HIS SENTENCE TRAILS OFF IN VAGUE STUTTERS.]

AGENT MAY

[BEAT.] Well?

AGENT JUNE

I feel bad! Alright? I mean, look at me, I have this whole room to myself, and meanwhile, my partner is sleeping in a company vehicle that may or may not have bloodstains in the backseat.

[BEAT, THEN] Actually, I’d love to talk about those weird dark stains later, because uh, what, but I’ll let it slide for now. It’s still gotta be super uncomfortable, though.

AGENT MAY

We could always take turns.

AGENT JUNE

No, what I’m saying is I don’t think either of us have to sleep in the car! There has got to be a better solution.

AGENT MAY

The Foundation already declined giving us a second room, or trying to transfer us to a larger one. Trust me, I tried.

AGENT JUNE

Dammit.

[A LONG PAUSE.]

AGENT JUNE

It's king-sized, you know.

[ANOTHER LONG PAUSE.]

AGENT MAY

Do you think the motel has spare blankets? I think I could try sleeping on the floor.

[THOUGH UNSEEN, AGENT JUNE LOOKS INTO THE CAMERA LIKE HE’S IN THE OFFICE.]

AGENT MAY

…I’ll go down and ask later.

AGENT JUNE

Good idea.

[A BEAT. THERE'S SUIT RUSTLING AS AGENT MAY CHECKS HIS WATCH.]

AGENT MAY

We should head out soon.

AGENT JUNE

You’re really glued to that watch of yours, huh?

AGENT MAY

Excuse me?

AGENT JUNE

Not that it’s bad, you just check it a lot. I don’t really know what watch etiquette is, but I think you look at it more than most people do. I’ve also noticed you tend to look at it more around specific times? Is there a reason, or—?

AGENT MAY

[MORE SERIOUS THAN THE CONVERSATION WARRANTS] It’s none of your business. Perhaps I simply prefer to keep on schedule. Let’s go.

AGENT JUNE

[SLIGHTLY CONFUSED] Oh, um, okay. Sorry. [UNDER HIS BREATH] Jeez. Let me just—

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

[ANOTHER BEEP.]

[INT. THE OPEN EYES BOOKSTORE BACKROOM, EARLY, EARLY MORNING.]

HOLLY

Are you recording?

PHOEBE

Yes, yes, I am.

HOLLY

Kind of weird to be doing this so early in the morning.

PHOEBE

I’m sorry, I know it’s super early. Night just felt…well, it felt more dangerous, I guess? Even Grandma Doe recommended not doing it too late. I wanted to get it done before the shop opened, though.

HOLLY

Oh no, I don’t mind. I guess people usually just consider night to be “the witching hour.”

PHOEBE

This isn’t really witchcraft, though, is it?

HOLLY

Guess not. Most modern witchcraft is a lot more…chill, I guess?

PHOEBE

Right. [A BEAT.] Do you think it’s really a good idea to be doing this in the back room?

HOLLY

Well, it’s not like we have anywhere else. It’d be super shady if we did it right outside, and your forestry friend would be pissed if we went out into the woods to do it.

PHOEBE

[NERVOUS] There’s so much paper, though. I mean, we could easily set the whole thing alight. My apartment’s really small, I know, but maybe we could—?

HOLLY

Don’t worry about it. We did a pretty good job clearing stuff out to make space, I think. It should be fine, I mean, a lot of the most flammable stuff either got moved out or shoved against the wall.

Besides, didn’t she say that it might be good to do it here for like, symbolic purposes?

PHOEBE

Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right. [SHE CHUCKLES.] Maybe this will finally give me incentive to organize everything.

HOLLY

[SHE LAUGHS, SOMEWHAT NERVOUSLY.] If this works, then hopefully you’ll be able to do that anyways.

PHOEBE

That’s true, yes. I, um, guess we should get started. Can you read the directions?

HOLLY

Of course.

[HOLLY IS HEARD UNFOLDING A PIECE OF PAPER.]

HOLLY

[READING] The purpose of all of this is energy. You are lighting fire to produce energy. You are grinding berries and eating them to produce it as well. Ether functions under this key desire for vitality. If you can understand this simple principle, this keen need it has, it will treat you much more kindly.

By designing this ritual for you, my hope is that it will spell out as clear as day to Ether what you are trying to achieve. It rarely gives people what they want, rather it gives what it sees fit for them. You must steer it in the correct direction, or else it will choose a different fate for you.

These instructions are similar to what Valencia and I did, as well as symbolic for what you hope to achieve. However, nobody has ever developed an exact science for how these rituals function. We may only rely on guesswork and hope. While I would like to develop more specific procedures and instructions, I do not know if I ever will. Perhaps that could be your task.

[BREAKING READING] Could I skip her whole monologue? We already read it, and I don’t think it’s important in-the-moment.

PHOEBE

Sure.

HOLLY

Cool.

[SHE FLIPS THE PAPER.]

HOLLY

Materials needed: Yarn or string to create a casting circle. Some people use salt, but it produces an awful mess. Several circles of yarn around you and your workspace will work just fine.

PHOEBE

We did that already.

HOLLY

Yup. [READING AGAIN] Three white candles with words carved into them. It does not matter what the words are, they simply have to be legible and completely cover the candle. No numbers. I just wrote out song lyrics on that one.

PHOEBE

Oh, that’s neat! I, um, did poems I like.

HOLLY

Cute. [A BEAT.] A lighter or match of some kind. Someplace to safely burn paper—we got a metal bin, so we’re good. Did you turn off the smoke alarm?

PHOEBE

I did, yeah.

HOLLY

Let’s hope the place doesn’t burn down, then. [CHUCKLE, THEN] I’m joking, I promise. It should be fine. [SHE CLEARS HER THROAT.]

A book—you will be tearing out each individual page, so to save time, I suggest a children’s book. A bowl or container of some kind. Elderberries, I recommend you cook them beforehand, but make sure none of them are pre-mashed. Something to mash the elderberries with. Finally, a few drops of your blood, or something to draw blood with. That’s what the sewing needle is for, right? You sure you don’t want a blade? I have a pocket knife.

PHOEBE

[UNCOMFORTABLE] I get nervous around knives, but thank you for the offer.

Oh—actually, I wanted to ask, um, where did you find elderberries? I couldn’t find them anywhere.

HOLLY

I asked the bartender down the street.

PHOEBE

Huh.

HOLLY

Yeah, they make all sorts of weird cocktails. Are you ready? Once we start, we can’t stop until it’s complete.

PHOEBE

[WITH WEIGHT, NERVOUS, BUT DETERMINED] I’m ready.

HOLLY

Okay.

[HOLLY FLIPS THE PAPER AGAIN. THERE’S A PAUSE.]

HOLLY

Phoebe?

PHOEBE

Yeah?

HOLLY

Whatever happens, I—we’ll be okay, alright? No matter what. I’ll make sure of it, I swear.

PHOEBE

[TENDERLY] Thank you.

[THERE’S A PAUSE AS THEY ARE HEARD KISSING. HOLLY TAKES A DEEP BREATH.]

HOLLY

Create a circle around— Okay, we already did that. Um, Start by lighting the candles.

[PHOEBE IS HEARD LIGHTING A MATCH AND LIGHTING ALL THREE CANDLES.]

HOLLY

Tear each individual piece of paper out of the book. One by one, burn each piece of paper using fire from the candles. Once you have burned each page, burn the cover. Do not attempt to put any of the fires out. This tedious process shows care and dedication. The blood in later steps is there for a similar purpose.

[PHOEBE IS HEARD TEARING PAGES OUT OF A CHILDREN’S BOOK AND LIGHTING THEM ON FIRE. THERE’S A LONG PAUSE AS SHE DOES SO.]

PHOEBE

Good thing this book only has twenty pages. [A BEAT.] What’s next?

[PHOEBE IS STILL TEARING PAPER IN THE BACKGROUND, AND THE BURNING SFX GOES ON FOR SOME TIME.]

HOLLY

Uh—place your elderberries in the bowl and begin mashing them in a clockwise motion. As you do this, speak out loud and ask Ether to grant you knowledge and the ability to see what others do not. There should be no misunderstanding in what you are trying to achieve, and if you have garnered Ether’s attention, it should have already decided what it shall do with you. [MUTTERS] Fuckin’ weird.

[PHOEBE CEASES HER PAGE-TEARING.]

PHOEBE

The book is done. Pass me the spice grinder with the berries?

[HOLLY PASSES PHOEBE THE SPICE GRINDER.]

PHOEBE

Thank you.

[PHOEBE IS HEARD GRINDING THE ELDERBERRIES.]

PHOEBE

[WHISPERING TO HERSELF] Ether, um, whoever or whatever you are, if you are listening to me, please grant me knowledge. Grant me the power to see what others do not. Let me see and know everything.

[THERE IS A RINGING HEARD IN THE BACKGROUND AS HOLLY SPEAKS.]

HOLLY

If this works, the words on the candle should begin to—holy—God!

[HOLLY STUMBLES BACK.]

PHOEBE

Glow?

HOLLY

[FREAKING OUT] Yup? Uh—they’re actually glowing, what the—

PHOEBE

[OVERLAPPING] What’s next?

HOLLY

Sorry, sorry. [SHE RUFFLES THE PAPER IN HER HAND.] Mix a few drops of your blood into the elderberries.

PHOEBE

Pass me the sewing needle.

[HOLLY PASSES PHOEBE THE NEEDLE. SHE PRICKS HER FINGER.]

PHOEBE

[UNDER HER BREATH] Ow.

[SHE LETS A FEW DROPS COME OUT, SUCKS ON HER FINGER BRIEFLY, THEN MIXES HER BLOOD IN.]

HOLLY

Drink the elderberry mash. You must consume every bit of it, or at least as much as you can.

PHOEBE

[GROWING IN A MIX OF PANIC AND EXCITEMENT] This is it—I mean—wait, I’m about to consume my blood, that’s weird, but—this is really it.

HOLLY

[ENCOURAGING] You can do it.

[PHOEBE IS HEARD DRINKING THE ELDERBERRY MASH. THERE IS A PAUSE.]

HOLLY

If successful, the candles will—

[THE CANDLES ARE HEARD EXTINGUISHING.]

HOLLY

…blow out.

PHOEBE

[SLIGHTLY SICK] I think I got it all.

HOLLY

How do you feel? Is—has anything changed?

PHOEBE

I feel…I feel like there’s a part of me that was never there before. Like, my internal self expands farther out than my physical self, like I’m floating, it’s—I need to go lie down.

HOLLY

I’ll take you upstairs. It worked, though?

PHOEBE

I think it did. I mean, Grandma Doe said I would feel some sort of immediate change, but the rest of it would trickle in slowly. I feel different, though.

HOLLY

[SLOWLY, CAUTIOUS] Does this mean you’re not human anymore?

PHOEBE

[A BEAT.] I haven’t thought about that. I mean, I think I might just kind of be human plus? I’m not sure. Grandma Doe was still mortal, after all—she felt pain, she got ill—her mind was just super advanced. Does that make me inhuman?

HOLLY

I…I don’t think so. I think you just have mind powers or whatever.

PHOEBE

I’ll think about it later. I’m just going to try to get some sleep before the shop opens.

HOLLY

You don’t even have to open today, you know. People will understand if you just say you’re ill. Or I could run it for today, since there’s usually less traction on weekdays.

PHOEBE

[SINCERE] Thank you.

HOLLY

Of course.

PHOEBE

[SHE SIGHS.] Okay, time to—

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

[ANOTHER PHONE BEEP.]

[INT. IRENE’S HOUSE, MIDDAY.]

IRENE

I just got home from work. Apparently, Phoebe did that ritual early this morning. It went well, from what Holly told me, though Phoebe’s been taking the day off to rest.

Oh, and they also posted that advert on the bulletin board yesterday. You know, for someone to develop Valencia’s film.

That’s not important right now. You know what is important?

This morning, at work, I opened up a folder on my computer and guess what was in it? A new audio recording where there shouldn’t be one. Guess the technological gods have decided to be generous today.

I decided to wait until I got off to listen to it. It’s dated shortly after the incident, so I think it might be important.

Besides, work has been…well, different, since the Spread. I haven’t told Carol or Aden that’s what it’s called, though. The whole incident brought us closer together, but I think that’s a double-edged sword. They know me well enough, now, I think they can tell I’m hiding something. Aden definitely knows I am—I mean, what I told him was pretty cryptic, but Carol I think just…knows. She’s just like that. [SCOFF] Maybe that’s part of her motherly instincts.

Right, that’s beside the point. Back to the recording.

Here goes nothing.

[IRENE CLICKS ON THE FILE.]

[PHONE BEEP.]

[INT. DRIVING, LATE AT NIGHT.]

[THERE IS THE AMBIANCE OF DRIVING DOWN A DESOLATE FOREST ROAD AS THEY TALK.]

UNKNOWN GIRL

Does it work?

ROSE

I believe so.

UNKNOWN GIRL

[SHE SNORTS.] About as well as a cheap cell phone from Walmart could, I imagine?

ROSE

It just has to be able to record and make emergency calls. I’m not too worried about it. Thank you, again. Really, I owe you.

UNKNOWN GIRL

Hey, I didn’t buy it. I just walked into the store and handed your money to the guy behind the counter. It’s not a big deal.

[DULLY SKEPTICAL] You’re trying pretty hard to cover up your tracks, you know. Destroying your phone, not wanting to be seen in public to go get a new one, only paying in cash. Almost makes it sound like you’re a criminal or something.

ROSE

[FRANTIC] I’m not! I swear, I’m not.

UNKNOWN GIRL

No need to get defensive. Look, I get it. We all have reasons to want to disappear. I’m surely in no position to judge.

You know, I know we haven’t known each other for long, but I feel like we might actually have a lot in common.

ROSE

Why is that?

UNKNOWN GIRL

We both don’t know where we’re going, or why.

ROSE

[UNDER HER BREATH] Oh, I know why.

UNKNOWN GIRL

So you do have a reason?

ROSE

It’s not a big deal.

UNKNOWN GIRL

Your secret’s safe with me, you know.

ROSE

It’s nothing. Really. Just…do you have to know or—?

UNKNOWN GIRL

Well, do I have any reason to?

ROSE

No, but do you even have a reason to be helping me?

UNKNOWN GIRL

[DEADPAN] What can I say? I’m a generous soul.

[A BEAT.] Say, why did you want something to record with, anyways?

ROSE

I, um—it’s stupid.

UNKNOWN GIRL

Try me.

ROSE

It’s—well. I guess I don’t want to be forgotten? I want some way for people to find out what happened to me when…if…you know. There’s…if something does happen to me, there’s at least one person who deserves to know.

UNKNOWN GIRL

You think you’re going to get yourself killed?

ROSE

I don’t know. I suppose it’s better to be safe than sorry?

UNKNOWN GIRL

But you have someone you know will want to listen. [CONNECTING THE DOTS] You weren’t a loner before you left, were you? You left someone important behind, and now you feel bad. You owe them an explanation.

ROSE

[UNCOMFORTABLY] Yes. Right. I guess.

[A BEAT.] I don’t want to talk about this anymore.

UNKNOWN GIRL

Who did you abandon?

ROSE

[RAISING HER VOICE SLIGHTLY] I said I’m done.

UNKNOWN GIRL

Alright, alright.

[A BEAT.] If it makes you feel better, I’ll let you prod at me a bit.

ROSE

[HESITANT] Where did you get your name? Wednesday is such a unique name, I don’t think I’ve ever heard it outside of stories.

WEDNESDAY [UNKNOWN GIRL]

It’s certainly no ‘Mary,’ is it?

ROSE

I mean, obviously. My name’s pretty basic.

WEDNESDAY

I actually chose it after I left home. Not like that, just never liked the name my parents gave me. Kept the last name ‘White,’ though. It has a ring to it.

ROSE

Was there a reason for it, or did it just sound nice?

WEDNESDAY

When people meet someone with a weird name, that tends to be the thing that most grabs their attention. “I met a girl named after a day of the week today, isn’t that bizarre?” I didn’t want to be remembered for anything I didn’t want people to see. If one thing was going to stick with them, it would be my name, but not quite the face that goes with it. Just the girl with an odd name.

ROSE

So you want to be forgotten?

WEDNESDAY

Not forgotten, but I want control over the memory of me. I want to fade away into obscurity, but not obscure enough that it’s suspicious.

ROSE

[KIND OF UNCOMFORTABLE] You’ve thought about this a lot.

WEDNESDAY

When you’re like me, you have to.

ROSE

Wh—what does that—

WEDNESDAY

[OVERLAPPING] Do you need me to stop at the gas station up ahead?

[THERE’S A SLIGHTLY TOO LONG PAUSE.]

ROSE

Um, yeah, I have to—

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

[INT. IRENE’S HOUSE, EARLY EVENING, THE SAME DAY.]

[THERE’S A LONG PAUSE.]

IRENE

[STILL PROCESSING IT AS SHE SPEAKS.] Okay. Okay! This is definitely a start. A great start, actually!

Okay, let’s see, uh—after you ran away, you destroyed your phone—no wonder the police couldn’t track it—and then you went with some person named Wednesday.

That’s definitely a start. If I can figure out where Wednesday—White, was it?—yeah, Wednesday White. I know Wednesday probably isn’t her legal name, but I might still be able to find her somewhere. If I can find Wednesday White, I might have a good shot at finding you. That’s great news!

[A SLIGHTLY TOO LONG PAUSE.]

IRENE

[HER ENTHUSIASM DYING] I don’t trust Wednesday, though.

[A BEAT.] Okay, maybe I shouldn’t be so skeptical. I mean, you’re not an idiot, Rose. You wouldn’t hitch hike with just any random stranger. Would you? Doesn’t even seem like you gave her your real name, she called you ‘Mary.’

[SHE HUFFS A SIGH.] Maybe I’m just being defensive. Still, she seemed off, didn’t she? That whole thing she said about her name just kind of rubbed me the wrong way. She prodded a lot, too. Almost as if she wanted to make you uncomfortable.

I could be reading into it too much. I guess I won’t know until I find her. Hopefully, she didn’t fade into obscurity too much. There’s gotta be some record of her existence online. If I’m lucky, she might be on social media or something. Who knows? Lots of time has passed.

[A PAUSE, THEN, SOFTLY] That person, you—were you recording for me? You wanted me to know you hadn’t abandoned me on purpose. [HURT] And here I was, thinking you would just leave without reason. That you had betrayed me in some way. I’m—Rose, I’m so sorry—

[JUST AS SHE SAYS “SORRY,” HER PHONE BEGINS VIBRATING. SHE PICKS IT UP.]

IRENE

[SKEPTICAL] There’s an unknown number calling me.

[SHE ANSWERS.]

IRENE

Hello?

CALLER

Hello? Is this the person who posted an ad outside of Open Eyes Bookstore?

IRENE

Oh! Um, yeah, that’s me. Wow, I didn’t expect to hear from someone so fast.

CALLER

I’m an observant person. I like to make my rounds throughout the town. You’ll never know what you’ll find, after all. Or who.

Anyways, you have some film that needs to be developed, right? Well, it just so happens to be your lucky day, because I have a dark room.

IRENE

That’s fantastic. I can pay you however much you want, just—

CALLER

[OVERLAPPING] Oh, that won’t be necessary. I’m studying photography, so the experience is payment enough. No worries!

IRENE

That’s very kind of you, thank you.

CALLER

Of course!

Oh, where are my manners? My name is Sadie. Sadie Creed. And you are…?

IRENE

Irene.

SADIE

Irene! How cute. Where do you want me to pick up your film?

IRENE

Um, I’m sorry if this sounds rude, but I would prefer to meet out in the open? Is that a problem?

SADIE

Not at all. How about Lemongrass Park?

IRENE

That’s actually perfect, yeah.

SADIE

Great! I’m happy to meet you tomorrow night at 8:00, if that time works for you? I know that’s a bit late, but I work at the candy shop until then.

IRENE

That should be fine, yeah.

SADIE

Looking forward to it! Pleasure doing business with you, Irene. Bye-bye!

[SADIE HANGS UP.]

IRENE

Huh. Well, I guess that solves that.

Time to go find Wednesday White.

[PHONE BEEP.]

[RECORDING ENDS.]

AUTOMATED VOICE

Today's quote is: A wave of grass engraves upon the stone: ‘There is more than one good way to drown.’

Sylvia Plath in "Epitaph in Three Parts," 1955.

[OUTRO MUSIC AND CREDITS PLAY.]

MICRO-COSMOS PROMOTIONAL AD [written by Jesse Smith]

[THERE ARE STATIC NOISES.]

ATHENA

This is Communications Athena Romero of OEC #0137-F recording from a… still, unknown location on the infant planet Ophiuchus-22. Though I have my… well, rational, doubts, something in me feels as though this transmission might actually be reaching someone. Might just be desperation, though. Most likely just desperation. Regardless. We would appreciate any and all OC representatives or employees, or individuals otherwise receiving this transmission, to please send a response. We have been recording mandatory and otherwise necessary emergency chronicling logs for days now. Please.

[WE HEAR MILES'S FOOTSTEPS APPROACH.]

MILES

(distant) Athena, are you sending out another transmission? They’re not going to-

[C41 APPEARS WITH THEIR USUAL PING.]

C41

Shhh, let her do her thing, Miles. She needs to set her character up correctly for the new listeners that are hearing this promotional advertisement.

MILES

The new— what?

C41

What?

MILES

What are you talking about?

FELIX

I believe what Cal is doing is called “breaking the fourth wall,” my friend.

MILES

Breaking the what now?

C41

Oh, just forget about it.

[MILES GROANS; WE HEAR ALEX APPROACH.]

ALEX

What about a promotional advertisement?

ATHENA

Guys, could you… [SIGHS] I am trying to finish this log, so could you please give me a moment?

ALEX

Sorry, Starshine, I just got a little caught up in the whole “self-aware and breaking the fourth wall” thing.

ATHENA

It’s… fine.

C41

If I were you, Athena, I would close your log out by telling the listener to tune in to Micro-Cosmos: A Science Fiction Podcast, wherever you get your podcasts! The show is created by a crew of LGBTQ+ people, and features strange infant planets, brief romantic scenes before epic tragedy, cool sci-fi terminology, and adorably talented AI units, like myself!

ATHENA

Micro-?

C41

More information on the show can be found on its website: “microcospod.space”, OR its Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr, or TikTok, which all have the handle “@microcospod.”

MILES

… uh huh.

[THE CREW SITS IN SILENCE FOR A SECOND.]

C41

That’s just what I would say, though.

MILES

… Cal, we really need to figure out what is going on with this new phase of yours.

[misterewrites]

Unlikely Allies (Welcome to the Underground

Hey everyone! E here hoping you are all safe and sound. Sorry for the delay. The original plan was for me to update every two week because of my various responsibilities but a lot of things ended up happening so I had to delay this chapter a bit. Also there has been a shift in my job that might affect the release date of this chapters as well so hopefully I can keep up the whole two week deadline but as a word of warning delays might happen.

Thank you for reading this project of mine. I really appreciate it and I am so glad it's doing so well. Feel free to Reblog, share, comment all that jazz I love reading them and remember this story is also on Ao3. Stay safe, wear your mask, wash your hands and take care of yourself and your love ones! Have a great week! E is out!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27814297/chapters/71425041

Story so far: One day into the Underground proper and Abigail has already been chased by strange creatures into an unexplored tunnel and a creepy house that screams trouble. Trapped within, the group runs into a paladin wandering the darken halls. Despite the stranger's calm demeaner, Oliver claims he's nothing but trouble and little does the group know how correct he is. 

_____

“No by the way” Oliver narrowed his eyes at the man before the trio.

The stranger tilted his head quizzically “No?”

“No” Oliver repeated firmly “We’re not interested in your righteous cause or your god.

The stranger chuckled darkly “What righteous cause?”

“You’re a paladin in an evil creepy house in an unexplored tunnel off the beaten path.” Oliver explained “That only means one thing: Trouble. Solius I take with the whole…”

He gestured to the faded sun symbol splashed across the dented armor.

“Aye” The paladin answered with a nod “I am Fen, judgment of the sun god Solius on this mortal plane.”

Oliver raised an eyebrow sarcastically “Solius is the god of sunshine, rainbows and redemption. I wasn’t aware of he added judgment to his resume.”

“He hasn’t” Abigail mumbled.

Neither Oliver or Fen paid her any attention.

“Your mocking is common among the faithless” Fen growled softly.

Oliver gave a noncommittal shrug “If you want to believe in a higher being in exchange for some magical whatevers, that’s a you problem. I’m good with my music.”

“Bards” Fen spat out distastefully.

“Paladorks.” Oliver replied with false civility.

Abigail and Archibald watched the barbed exchange carefully, unsure what exactly was going on.

Abigail’s knowledge of paladins was sketchy at best: Like clerics, she knew their drew their magic from the deity they have chosen to follow. Good and bad gods existed in equal measure in this world and each ruling a domain such as light, dark, night, murder, redemption. Unlike the clerics, who often were healers or at the very least practitioners of powerful magics, paladins were their god’s warrior on the mortal plane, protecting their flock or routing out their enemies with religious fervor and steel.

Abigail was only familiar with Solius due to her family’s livelihood. While not particularly devoted to the sun god, her parents often left offerings in his church in the town to help ensure a good harvest for the year.

Speaking honestly, Abigail was never sure how exactly clerics and paladins drew their magic from a god or how exactly gods worked. She had heard the elders endlessly argue whether the gods were divine or simply higher beings who were beyond the comprehension of mortal beings. It was frankly above her thought process and she rather focus on questions she could answer such as what she was going to eat that day and if the bloodblooms needed more or less water.

“So.” Oliver began tiredly “How much danger are we in?”

Abigail and Archibald shared a concern glance

“I’m sorry, did you just say we’re in danger?”

“Yes” Fen answered bluntly “Much danger.”

“Much danger?” Abigail couldn’t keep stop her pitch from rising “Danger!?”

Oliver gestured to Fen “Of course we’re in danger. A paladin’s here. An experienced

paladin.”

“How do you know he’s…?”

The question died in her throat as she got a good look at Fen: A longsword hung sheathed at his side, his armor worn and nicked dozens of scratches and dents across the faded symbol of a sunburst. At first she thought his left arm was draped in his riding cloak, hidden out of sight but as he pushed the hood from his head and adjusted the cloak with his right hand, she realized with an icy chill that he had no left arm.

Archibald shifted uncomfortably beside her.

“I lost it in a mighty battle.” Fen answered the group’s unasked question “I had it removed when a cursed creature bit my arm.”

“Cursed creature?” Abigail thought for a moment “Like a werewolf? Wait, there’s werewolves down here? How would that even work?”

“Mystic moon energy. Let’s move along.” Oliver chimed in “What are you hunting here in the dark?”

“Wait I want to know more about the werewolves!”

“Demon” Fen stated, ignoring Abigail’s inquires.

“We’re in its prison, aren’t we?” Oliver rubbed his eyes wearily.

Abigail stopped dead in her tracks “Demon?”

Fen remained silent but nodded in conformation.

“Demon.”

“For fucks sake. Can we leave?”

“Guys, there’s a demon here?”

Fen paused thoughtfully “I do not know but I would recommend against it. The sealing power of this place is weakened. If it were to escape….”

“Yeah, yeah.” Oliver cut him off “Innocent souls consumed, bloodshed, the standard spiel.”

Fen glared openly “How carefree it must be to hold nothing sacred.”

“Not all of us wear our bleeding hearts on our sleeve.” Oliver coldly replied.

Abigail cut in between them “There’s a demon here?!”

“Yes, I thought we made it clear. Keep up farm girl.”

“How are you not panicking?!”

“Survival instinct” Oliver explained simply “You can panic when you’re not about to die.”

“Speaking of, remember not to in a moment.” Fen glanced towards a darken hallway, drawing his blade quietly.

Something changed. The air, calm and still, became tense and uneasy. Goosebumps ran down Abigail’s spine as a sense of dread filled every inch of her body.

She wasn’t the only one who felt the shift: Archibald stood closer to her, one hand his bow the other on her shoulder, his breath steady yet stiff. Oliver held his lute in a death grip, his fingers curved in anticipation and ready to pluck the strings at a moment’s notice.

“It’s coming” Oliver whispered carefully to the others, his gaze fixated on the hallway before them.

At first Abigail was unsure how the bard knew that: the house was dark and the dusty air swirling about made it hard to make out anything beside silhouettes of furniture and decor.

Then she heard it: Thud, thud, thud of uneven footsteps as the demon lumbered ever closer to the group. The scraping of wood against something seemed impossibly loud in Abigail’s ears as she tried to shove down her fear from bubbling out of her throat.

“What the hell….?” she murmured as the creature shuffled uneasily into the room.

Oliver scoffed “Yes it did come from hell. Thank you farm girl.”

“Even now? Seriously Oliver?”

“It’s how I cope.”

The demon was humanoid, 7 feet tall with splotches of bruising across its deep red skin. The form was a strange mixture of heavily muscular and malnourished. It wobbled into the room, its thinly skeletal left leg being dragged along uselessly. It flexed its thick muscles threateningly as it held a massive weighed club up with little effort. The demon studied the others with sunken flaming eyes, its skin loose and pulled over the skull like an ill fitting mask. The wispy strains of reddish black hair swayed back and forth.

Abigail’s throat dried as the room became warm and stuffy almost as if this creature’s presence alone corrupted the air around them.

Abigail coughed a little, trying to clear her airway from the heat “What is that thing?!”

“No idea.” Oliver shrugged, clearing his throat as well.

“I thought you knew everything!”

“Not even close farm girl.”

“Then why do you act like it?!”

Abigail snarled but before she could strike at the bard, she felt Archibald’s hand gently squeeze her shoulder. She turned to face him and saw him breathing deep and slow.

He was right. This was not time to let her feat lash out everyone around her. She needed to stay calm if they were going to get out of this in one piece.

The demon tilted its head curiously at the group before it. It spoke deep and gravelly with a tone that was questioning but no one knew what it was asking.

“Maybe it’s asking if we come in peace?” Abigail chimed in hopefully.

“Tis a beast from hell. Do you really think it is asking for peace?” Fen scolded harshly.

Abigail’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment “I can dream alright! It’s my first time dealing a demon from the 7th pit of hell! Forgive me if I’m holding on to childish questions cause I’m trying not to freak out here! It’s how I cope!”

The demon grumbled its question again eyeing each person carefully.

“Watch for its left hook.” Fen cryptically offered.

“What?”

The demon shrieked, rattling the house violently before reaching out with its left hand. Without warning, the arm stretched forward towards the group, the skin wrinkling and pulling loose.

Abigail froze as the sharp nails grasped wildly in her direction.

Archibald moved, shoving Abigail out of the way but ran straight into the hand’s grasp. It dug its claws into his armor though luckily it hadn’t manage pierce skin.

“Archie!” Abigail cried, fumbling uselessly for her knife.

Fen and Oliver jumped into action: As the arm pulled back to drag the helpless archer closer, Fen grappled Archibald, holding on with all his strength. Oliver pluck his lute with a dramatic flourish, gold musical symbols filling the air for a moment. Abigail flinched at the clashing notes played but the demon’s reaction to the dissonance was far more explosive: Its face contorted and recoiled as if it Oliver had physically attacked it. Its body shuddered and its claws loosened their grip. Fen jabbed his blade into the demon’s grip over and over again until it released its hold on Archibald.

Demon snarled hungrily as the arm snapped back into place.

“Archie, Archie I’m sorry I…” The words died in Abigail’s throat as he gave her a comforting smile.

“Don’t worry farm girl.” Oliver shouted, pulling at her cloak to get her moving “It happens but if you’re not good at fighting…”

“Get good at getting out of the way.” Abigail whispered back as she allowed the bard to pull her to the side.

Oliver faced Abigail questioningly “Oh you know the saying? That’ll save time.”

Abigail remained silent. Arthur used to tell her that when he joined the knights.

Fen pushed forward, sword drawn with Archibald close behind.

Archibald fired an arrow, attempting to cover Fen’s approach but it bounced harmlessly off the demon’s skin.

Fen lunged forward, swinging wide and cutting a deep gash across its chest but the beast countered, aiming its club towards the paladin’s head. He ducked, tucking under the demon’s outstretched arm and backing off.

“Oi paladin! Where’s your holier than thou smiting divine power?” Oliver called from behind a chair.

Fen didn’t reply, too busy deflecting the demon’s club with the flat of his blade. He drove his blade deep into the creature’s shoulder but the demonic entity ignored it completely. It gripped him tightly by the armor and lifted off his feet. Fen tried to push the sword deeper but it wasn’t slowing the demon.

The demon bent it shoulder in an uneven angle as it raised its club just above Fen’s head. It gave toothy smile, its fangs glistening in the dark while preparing to deal the finish blow.

It staggered backwards as an arrow struck its eye. It bounced off same as before but the demon was caught unaware and reacted instinctively.

Fen took his chance. He reached into his hood and smashed a vial of clear liquid across the stunned demon’s face.

It howled in pain as steam rolled off its burning face. The demon dropped Fen as it wildly flailed about, smashing anything nearby to splinters.

It shouted in its infernal tongue before crashing into the doorway, breaking a chunk of the wall off and retreating deeper into the house.

Archibald shakily leaned against the wall to catch his breath while Oliver approached Fen, his jaw tense with anger.

“What’s the big idea?” Oliver poked the paladin’s chest “What scam are you running?”

Fen’s face twisted in anger “Scam? How dare you speak to me like that!”

“Stow it.” Oliver snarled “You are not a paladin.”

Fen rose to full height, glaring with unrestrained rage “I AM A PALADIN! THE CHOSEN OF SOLIUS!”

“Former chosen.” Oliver spat out.

The anger drained out of Fen’s eyes only to be replaced by shame.

Oliver clenched his fist “I knew it. This isn't some mission for a higher power. This is a suicide run trying to get back in your god’s good graces! He renounced you, didn’t he?”

Abigail stood rooted in place “Is that a thing?”

“Yeah. It’s a two way street. You devote your life and existence to a god and they grant you the power to do so but if they happen not to agree with how you do things then bye bye divine magic. That’s why he wasn’t smiting it with holy energy.”

Fen said nothing.

“God this is why I hate paladins.” Oliver fumed “You act better than anyone but you’re as a big a sham as me!”

“I am nothing like you.”

“You lost all rights to your high horse pal. Now what’s the plan?”

“The plan?” Fen repeated in confusion.

“Yes focus.” Oliver replied “The plan to deal with the demon. I assume you have one or did you come in here expecting to kill it with your normal boring self?”

Fen scoffed “I am not completely brain dead. Of course I have a plan.”

“Which is?”

“The seal.” Fen awkwardly started “If we can strengthen the seal, we can weaken the demon enough to put it to sleep.”

Oliver rubbed his eyes “And of course you don’t know where it is.”

“It is well hidden for a reason.”

Oliver let out a tired sigh.

“We’ll help” Abigail jumped in “We can’t let that thing escape into the Underground.”

“And we don’t want to die.” Oliver chimed in.

“That too."

Archibald looked uneasy but resigned. This wasn’t what he signed up for but he really didn’t have a choice.

Fen raised an eyebrow “And that is it? You’ll do it out of the goodness of your heart, bard?”

“Of course not” Oliver admitted “But the sooner we get this done, the sooner I don’t have to deal with you.”

“Finally we are agreed” Fen murmured.

Abigail sighed “I wish I didn’t have to deal with Oliver anymore.”

Oliver clapped his hand together, completely ignoring Abigail “Alright, let’s see what we’re working with. How many vials of holy water do you have left?”

Fen blinked in surprise “Three but how did you…?”

“Don’t bother.” Abigail mouthed.

“Alright. Give them to Archie. He can dip his arrows in them.” Fen rolled his eyes sarcastically “And what will I use oh great amazing leader? My sword is not enough to slay the beast and I need time to apply the water as well.”

Oliver stepped closer, staring eye to eye with the paladin as he pushed his lute into his hands “If you lose this, I will kill you.”

“And what am I suppose to do with this? Play a song about friendship and love? Overcharge for a children’s rhythm?” Fen mocked.

“No you idiot.” Oliver pulled away “You beat him back to hell with it.”

Fen stared at him utterly lost.

Oliver knocked on the surface of the lute “It’s magic.”

Fen couldn’t contain his surprise despite his loathing of the bard

“Your lute is magic?”

Oliver rolled his eyes “Yes. It’s not a sword or a spear but at least you’ll be able to hurt him some. At least enough for me and farm girl to find the seal.”

“Me and who now?” Abigail shook her head “Wait, your lute is magic? Why is that important?”

“Demons are naturally resistant to mortal weapons” Fen explained as he held the lute aloft, getting a feel for its weight “It would be like attacking them with a butter knife, Painful but ultimately an empty gesture. But magic, whether spells or items imbued, can bypass their nature. Holy magic would be ideal hence the holy water.”

“But we work with what we got.” Oliver finished “And can you fight farm girl?”

Abigail shifted her foot shamefully.

Oliver snapped his finger “No. Don’t do that. Nothing wrong with not knowing how to fight. I don’t.”

“But you know magic!” Abigail argued “That’s more than me.”

“Look I don’t like you.” Oliver admitted “But beating yourself up isn’t going to save us. Yes I know magic but I’m not going to be tossing fire or lightning out of my fingertips. That’s not how my magic works. Finding that seal is just as important as Archibald’s and Fen’s job.”

Abigail glanced towards Archibald. His face was grim but determined.

“What’s your job Archie?” Abigail asked gently, unable to keep the worry out of her voice.

Archibald punched a fist into his hand.

“You’re planning on fighting? That thing?”

Archibald nodded firmly.

“Archie, you can’t be serious! What if it hurts you? I promised Cecilia I’d keep you safe! Archie…”

Abigail stopped as the archer wrapped his arms tightly around her. It was warm and gentle. Tears formed in her eyes. It felt nice to be hugged again. She hadn’t been hugged in such a long time she forgot how calming it was.

He pulled away, giving her a soft smile.

Abigail still wasn’t happy with the situation but there was little choice left.

“Alright.” Oliver spoke with an edge of finality “While you two keep the demonic asshole distracted, me and farm girl will find the seal and try to strengthen it.”

“Farm girl and I” Abigail corrected.

“Seriously?”

“No, I wanted to mess with you. It’s how I cope.”

Oliver glared “We need to move fast. Once the seal is strengthen we’ll need to make a break for the exit as soon as possible because I am not dealing this place longer than I have to.”

“Do you even know how to strengthen ancient seals?” Abigail asked

“No idea but I’m a quick study.” Oliver admitted.

Abigail glanced out the grime covered windows “That’s not very comforting. And what if those shadowy creatures are out there still?”

“That’s a for later problem. Let’s focus on one life or death situation at a time.”

“Fun” Abigail replied glumly “I’m really enjoying my time in the underground guys.”

“That’s the spirit farm girl!

“I hate you so much right now.”

[kingsboroaurora]

Discord Thread | Berora

FT. Aurora & Beth ( @bethanyrob94 )

DATE: August 23rd, 2020

SUMMARY: Aurora comes over to Beth’s place to have a serious talk with her. She confesses that she has feelings for her and asks if they want to make things official. Rora receives an answer she isn’t expecting and feels like her heart got ripped out of her chest.

TRIGGERS: mentions of bipolar disorder, mental illness, and PAIN

It was pretty obvious at the point that Beth really, really liked Aurora. She wanted to date her. God, she wanted to date her so bad. But she was so terrified of relationships at this point. She just had so many thoughts going through her bad and such a negative experience with her last relationship she never really thought she’d be ready for one...ever. At least not right now. Beth was freshly showered after work and had her favorite pair of comfy Lulu Lemons on. Her and Aurora were sat across from each other on Beth’s couch. She liked having Aurora’s company, especially since Ellie moved out. Her tiny apartment had been more lonely than ever lately. Aurora always brightened her day. “I completely agree....I mean I could pick apart the symbolism in that book all day.” She mused, dipping a California roll in soy sauce and tossing it in her mouth with the chop sticks. “Have you practiced using chopsticks since I taught you?” She chuckled.

Each and every time that Aurora and Beth would hang out, they only seemed to get closer and overall more comfortable with one another. The other had asked if she wanted to spend her evening with her and she said yes without any hesitation. Sitting on her couch, she ate the takeout they had ordered and she was enjoying this time with her. “You know, I actually have! Here let me show you and you can tell me if I’ve improved at all,” she let out a chuckle as she grabbed for her chopsticks and went to grab another piece of sushi.

“hey there you go!” She exclaimed with a laugh. That was so endearing and overall just really fucking cute. Beth actually taught her something, and aurora cared enough to practice it. Beth was probably overthinking the fact aurora bothered to learn that because Beth was the one that taught her. “Impressive.” She joked, looking over at the blonde and smiling when their eyes met.

"See, I'm getting there," she pointed out, finishing the roll and swallowing it. God, sushi had became one of her favorite things to order for take out. It was light and she was about to mix and match the different kinds of rolls she might want to try out. It was nice that Beth also had such a strong liking to sushi, the two had so much in common. "Thank you, thank you. How has your week been by the way?" she asked her.

Beth looked down at her food when her crush asked her how her week was. "Fine." She began. "Honestly, good. Like...New York has been so good to me. I haven't been this happy in a while. I'm close with my sister, I'm going to be an aunt soon, I have a really good job, and..." She paused and looked up at the blonde. "I obviously really like spending time with you." She said shyly. She gave her a quick smile then looked back down at her food because now she was blushing. Dammit.

”I’m so happy that things are going well for you, Beth. You deserve it and deserve to be happy,” she replied with a nod of her head. Beth was something she had gotten close to in a rather short amount of time but somebody she already cared so deeply for. “That feeling is mutual, but I think you already know that,” she gushed out. Aurora, just ask her already she thought to herself. Just do it. Of course she knew she enjoyed being around her, no shit.

Beth flushed. Hearing Rora saw all of those amazing things about her - like how she deserved to be happy and the blonde liked spending time with her. It just made her heart flutter. Beth reached out to grab her hand and squeezed it lightly. Bethany leaned in to give Aurora a soft, yet passionate kiss. She brought her free hand up to cup the back of her neck and pull her in closer. She pulled away after a moment. "Sorry." She mumbled. "You just looked so damn cute I couldn't help it." She mused.

Aurora hadn't been expecting Beth to kiss her with that much passion, but it was a sweet surprise. The blonde accepted the embrace, closing her eyes just for a moment to enjoy it. "Oh god, don't say sorry to me," she let out a giggle. "You're a good kisser and I think I'll always appreciate that."

Her look of embarrassment turned to one of joy when she told her that she was a good kisser. Bethany giggled along with her for a brief moment until a flip switched. "Yeah?" She said, a tiny smirk growing on her face. "I could kiss you again, if you wanted." She said with big, pleading, brown eyes.

"You know what?" Aurora raised a brow, a playful smirk forming on her lips. She was liking where this was headed. "I wouldn't be opposed to that, at all," she added on, drawing closer to her once more. The blonde tucked a piece of the other hair behind her ear, looking into Beth's eyes.

Beth blinked several times when her brown eyes met the younger’s blues. She smiled, trying to keep herself from blushing a rosy shade of pink. She bit down on her bottom lip before placing another kiss on the other woman’s lips, this tone with more passion. Her hand found the woman’s waist to bring her in a little closer.

Aurora let Beth deepen the kiss, feeling her arms wrap around her waist as she pulled her in closer. She was about to get lost in the moment when she realized she hadn’t gone over to her place to make out. As much as she just wanted to do that, her actual goal was to have an honest chat with her. Do the thing she’s been putting off for so long. Pulling away, she smiled at Beth. “I’ve, uh, been meaning to ask you something...,” she muttered out.

God, this was really what Beth was dreading. She knew this was coming soon, and she knew exactly what this question was going to be. And yes, she wanted to be auroras girlfriend so fucking bad. She was just perfect for Bethany. Literally everything the brunette could ever want in a partner. The Canadian pulled away and cleared her throat as she sat back. “Yeah?” She asked, hesitantly.

Aurora took a deep breath. She had been waiting for what seemed like a million years to ask this, even though the two of them had only known one another for a few months. The blonde knew that she just needed to rip the bandage off and fucking ask her, so that is what she was going to do. “Look, I really like you. Like, so much. I was wondering if you maybe....wanted things to become official between us?” She asked. God, it was now out there in the open.

Beth actually blushed when the blonde asked her that question, even though she knew it was coming. She was still taken so off guard. She just didn’t expect herself to feel this way; so excited, so full. Things felt so right with Aurora. More right than any relationship she’d ever been in. Say yes, Beth. Smiling, the physical therapist opened her mouth to speak. “Y — um...” Her smiled suddenly faded. “I mean...” She hesitated as he’d heart fell into her stomach and she felt like she was going to vomit. “I don’t think I’d be a good girlfriend. Like...I’m still having a hard time...my ex...he...” she couldn’t form a complete sentence and her anxiety was getting the best of her.

Aurora was only expecting Beth to be hesitant when asked such a huge question. She had opened up to her about some of her past relationships and how she was still trying to heal from them. The last thing she wanted to do was pressure the other to do something she wasn’t ready for. Yet, she felt her heart dropping to her as Beth started to talk. “Um,” she stuttered a bit. “Are you not ready?” She asked.

Beth’s heart literally fell into her stomach. She really fucking liked Aurora, and genuinely didn’t want anyone else. They were cut from the same stone and Beth felt like she could understand Aurora without her even having to speak. There was never a time where she was around the younger when she wasn’t smiling. Until now at least.”Rora...” She began, putting her feet on the floor and facing forward. She hunger her head. “I really like you. But my ex fucked me up so bad.” She admitted, blinking several times. She took a deep breathe. “And I haven’t told you this, but I have bipolar disorder. And i really struggle with it. And i have anxiety and depression which I’m sure you could’ve guessed by now.” She rarely told anyone this information. There was really only one other person in Kingsboro that new that about her, and it was Ellie. “I’d be a really awful girlfriend. And I know I’ve opened up to you a lot. And I trust you. But I don’t know when I’ll be ready for a relationship. I’m just...he honestly traumatized the fuck out of me and I don’t think I’ll be able to be a good girlfriend.” She admitted, finally looking over at the teacher.

This conversation sure wasn't getting easier. While Aurora was appreciating Bethany's honesty, it still hurt getting a response like this. Ava, Alison, and anybody else in her life that she had spoken to about her potential relationship with the other girl had reassured her that everything would be fine. That only an idiot would say no to someone like her. Yet there she was, in the midst of being rejected. Feeling her throat close up, it was almost like she couldn't speak. "I," she muttered out. "I....should probably go," she shook her head, trying her hardest not to cry. God, this was so hard.

Beth just wanted to curl up in a hole and stay there forever. Dark, alone and where no one could ever find her. She was on the verge of fucking tears as Aurora got up to leave her apartment. She brought her legs into her chest and held the tightly, laying her forehead between her knees. She took a deep breath. “Okay. I’m sorry.” She her voice was muffled because she couldn’t look up. She’d cry if she did. She was so mad. SO mad. Her ex had really fucked yo her chances of ever being happy again. She wasn’t going to stop Aurora from leaving. She knew if she stayed things would only get worse. “I’m really sorry.” She repeated. She felt like she had completely lead the younger on; told her how much she liked her, liked being around and loved kissing her. What a tease, Beth. She probably hates you now.

[atamascolily]

Appointment in Sawarra, 1/?

First scene of a new Inheritance fic set just after the Thrawn trilogy, featuring Luke Skywalker, philosophical musings about the Jedi, and botany. You know, my usual jam.

I had a good experience serializing Desert Places on this site, so perhaps posting things here as I write them will encourage me to keep going instead of stalling out, since the chapters are long, and my need to finish something is strong.

Luke Skywalker leaned against the wrought stone balcony on the rooftop of the Imperial palace, taking in the red-streaked alpenglow of the snow-covered Maranai Mountains fifty klicks to the south. Skyscrapers lapped at the feet of the two peaks, but the mountains themselves were relatively pristine, one of the few vestiges of natural life on the entire planet, and the contrast was striking.

This wasn't to say there wasn't any development--this <i>was</i> Coruscant, after all--but none of the exclusive restaurants or vacation homes were visible at this distance without macrobinoculars. Even as artificial lights winked on and off like flickering stars as the sunlight faded, the mountains themselves plunged into shadow, cool and dark and silent in the approaching night.

Whenever his heart itched for adventure, and he was too busy to get away from Coruscant, Luke would rent a speeder and fly out to the Manarai. He'd zip over the peaks themselves, flying as low as he dared, heady on the adrenaline rush that came from life-or-death decisions and reckless instinct. Sated, he'd ditch the speeder after a few hours, and wander the winding trails through the remnant forests on the lower slopes of the mountains on foot before flying back to the Imperial Palace for yet another round of politics, bureaucracy, or an equally frustrating combination of the two.

The chaos of the last few years hadn't left much time for exploring, but the mountains remained a refuge in his own mind, if nothing else. He'd toyed with the idea of building a private retreat out there someday, but life kept pushing him in other directions, and he'd never gotten around to it.

Luke liked people, but as his rapport with the Force deepened, he found himself craving silence and stillness to fully recharge--both in short supply on the never-sleeping capital world. The Force was present in all the hustle and bustle of the billions of life-forms all going about their business, no less so than anywhere else in the galaxy. Yet sometimes he needed a break from the traffic and the crowds in order to hear <i>himself</i> think, let alone the quiet whisper of the Force's guidance--which was far more elusive than not despite his training.

A retreat in the Manarai would also put him closer to the newly constructed Orowood distric and the apartment Leia and Han had purchased there. It was part of Leia's ambitious vision to create a hub for the Alderaanian diaspora. In addition to the massive Orowood Tower, she'd supervised the planting of thousands of its namesake trees, complete with the famous iridescent lichen on their bark. Luke wasn't sure Leia would ever move out of the Imperial Palace for good, but he was glad for her to have a project to distract her when the Council was too mired in petty arguments and infighting to get anything done.

As far as Luke could tell, the success of the Orowood scheme hinged entirely on his sister's ability to persuade the skittish remaining Alderaanians that Corcuscant was no longer the Empire's target--a hard sell after Grand Admiral Thrawn's recent siege. The peace settlement with Admiral Pellaeon in the aftermath of Thrawn's assassination at the Battle of Bilbringi might yet convince them--if it held. Only time would tell.

To be honest, Luke wouldn't blame the Alderaanians for taking their chances elsewhere skepticism. Three years ago, when the Alliance had first re-taken the planet, he'd argued against setting up the new government here--or at the very least, not in the Imperial Palace. In his mind, the symbolism was all the more reason to start afresh somewhere else.

Since then, however, he'd come to appreciate the virtues of this bustling city-planet and the Palace itself--in large part thanks to the woman he sensed approaching from twenty meters away.

"Hello, Skywalker," Mara Jade said crisply, leaning against the balcony beside him. "I have to sweet-talk yet another government official into listening to the Smuggler's Alliance latest shipping proposal in...." She glanced at the chronometer on her wrist. "Thirty minutes. So make this quick."

Luke managed to hide a grin, but it was difficult. Since he'd persuaded her to accept the position of official liaison between Talon Karrde's new organization and the New Republic three months ago, there had been no shortage of meetings. To be fair, Luke had gone to plenty of those himself, despite having no official position in the New Republic's military or government since he'd resigned his commission after the Mindor campaign. There had been no shortage of press conferences, planning sessions, and mopping-up actions, and everyone wanted the Last Jedi involved, even if his role was more ceremonial than practical.

At least Mara was accomplishing something <i>useful</i> in her meetings. Even in such a short span of time, she'd managed to make quite a name for herself among the New Republic bureaucrats. They might curse her as a hard bargainer, but they respected her as much as they feared her. Both attitudes went a long way towards smoothing out the previously rocky relationship between legitimate and illegitimate--just as Luke had hoped when he nudged Mara into accepting the job.  

Yet somehow the two of them had managed to carve time out to train together at regular intervals--even if she groused about her workload every time they met.  

"Thanks for coming on such short notice," he said, gesturing to the fading sun. "I used to watch the sunset all the time when I was a kid, wishing I was somewhere--anywhere--else. Now here I am decades later, right where I always wanted to be, and I don't know what comes next."

Mara snorted and shifted her weight. The lightsaber clipped to her belt--that had once belonged to Anakin Skywalker--shifted against the balcony as she moved. She had taken to wearing the weapon openly these days, which could only make the bureaucrats even more nervous than they already were. Seeing it visible made Luke's heart beat faster, even if he couldn't articulate why.

Gifting it to her hadn't been Luke's most subtle gesture. But it had been a way for him to honor and thank her for saving his life several times over--as well as an invitation to continue her Jedi training in the future.

Mara Jade's relationship with the Jedi Order--and Luke himself--was... complex, to say the least. She had grown up in the Imperial Palace, trained since childhood to be the Emperor's Hand, the silent, subtle executioner of his will against enemies and traitors alike. Palpatine had channeled her fledgling abilities to mold her into a perfect servant, one who could hear his voice anywhere in the galaxy and respond accordingly. The Emperor's dying wish had been for her to murder the man he'd claimed was responsible for his death--Luke Skywalker, last of the old Jedi and first of the new.

Suffice to say things had not gone according to plan.

"Spare me your existential angst," she said, turning back to the sunset. "As far as I can tell, there's nothing to complain about. C'baoth and Thrawn are gone, and the war is over. The peace treaty with the Empire might actually last. What's left to figure out?"

Luke extracted a black velvet bag hanging from his belt and held it out to her. "Have you ever seen anything like this before?"

She accepted the offering gingerly. "What is it?"

"You tell me."

She opened the bag and squinted inside before spilling its contents onto her palm. A knobbly brown lump emerged, along with half a dozen smaller black orbs jammed neatly into its indentations.

"It's organic, whatever it is," she said at last, shoving it back into the bag and handing it back to Luke. "Looks a cone off of some sort of tree, but not a species I recognize. And seeds, perhaps?"

"You're right, it <i>is</i> from a tree," Luke said. He carefully re-attached the bag to special pouch across from his own lightsaber. "Are you sure you haven't seen it before?"

"Positive. Why?"

"The Jedi Order planted these trees at all of their temples," Luke said. "As far as I know, they were wiped out along with the Jedi as part of the Emperor's purge. There was at least one here on Coruscant and I thought maybe you--"

Mara shook her head. "Must have been before my time. I never saw or heard anything about them. But Palpatine and Vader must not have been as thorough as they thought if you have seeds. Where did you get them, anyway? "

"There's a tree on Dagobah that Yoda took me to see before he died," Luke said softly. "I went back to visit it again before facing Vader. This time, there were seeds, so I took some. And I promised... I promised to plant these seeds, to bring them back along with the Jedi Order."

His voice trailed off, lost in the memory of that encounter, of all the possible futures he'd witnessed in the moment he'd accepted the seeds.

Mara's voice cut abruptly into his meditation, drawing him back to the present. "I fail to see what the problem is, Skywalker."

Luke gathered himself together. "I grew up on a desert world; I don't know anything about plants. If I screw this up, it might be a long time before I can get seeds again--there can be decades, centuries even, between harvests. I--I was hoping that you might know something that would help me."

A long pause. He took a deep breath and plunged ahead. "I don't know who else to ask," he said at last.

Silence stretched out between them as they pondered this admission and its implications. Finally, Mara stirred. "What about Karrde?"

"I thought he dealt more in people than plants."

"He doesn't know everything, but's worth a shot," Mara said. "Information <i>is</i> his business, after all. He has access to all kinds of sources that you don't get if you follow legal channels. And he's full of surprises."

Luke raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I suppose he might know something about botany--he built his base on Myrkr around a giant tree, after all. But can I afford his services?"

"You get what you pay for with Karrde," she said. "Besides, I think he owes you a favor after you rescued him from Imperial interrogation."

"I had help."

"So let's say you bring the trees back," Mara said, turning away from him. Her role in Karrde's rescue was still a touchy subject, given that she'd been coerced into betraying her boss to the Empire in the first place. "What then? Do the Jedi just start popping out of the woodwork?"

"I don't know," Luke admitted. "The two go together in ways I don't fully understand yet. There's an old saying that when the student is ready, the master appears. But I'm not even close to being a master yet. I don't even know if I'm <i>ready</i> to take on students yet."

She shot him a puzzled look. "You're not such a bad teacher."

From Mara, this was high praise and he took a moment to savor it before plunging ahead. "But you already know so much. In some ways, you have more formal training than I do. It's more like I'm just... reminding you of what you already know than teaching anything new."

Mara winced, and Luke didn't need the Force to know what she was thinking. The four years between Palpatine's death at Endor and joining Karrde's organization had been brutal for her, not in the least because her Force abilities had gone haywire in the trauma. It was only in the last year--the last few months, really, after their victory at Wayland--that she'd been able to find any kind of peace.  

"I think you're getting ahead of yourself," she said at last. "We can keep working until you build your confidence back up--and since I don't see a queue of eager students lining up, you might as well work on this tree business. Take my advice and talk to Karrde. See what he says about it."

"How do I sign up for an appointment? I hear he's pretty busy these days."

"Aren't we all." Mara rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, I'll get you in."

"Thank you," Luke said, and meant it.

"And if you're worried about money, I don't think he'll set too high a price," she added as she turned away, off to the next meeting. "He doesn't even want credits from you, anyway.  More likely he'll ask you for a favor he can call on later the next time he's in a jam, assuming he asks for anything at all."

He winced. Karrde's favors tended to be... interesting. "I was afraid of that."

"Oh, come <i>on</i>. You tried to bargain with him for your freedom back when you had <i>nothing</i> but the clothes on your back and he was contemplating whether to sell you to the Empire. How could this be any more awkward than <i>that</i>?"

Luke had to admit she had a point.

[queen-ofthe-pumpkinpatch]

The Reluctant Countess: Chapter Five

Also available to read on Fictionpress under the same name. (There’s a link in my sidebar.)

Story Summary: When another plague outbreak arrives on the shores of the Black Sea in 1667, wealthy merchant’s daughter Rosalind is forced to flee her comfortable life for the relative safety of a remote village in the Carpathian Mountains. But she soon finds the humble village harbors a sinister secret and a haunted past.

A “Beauty and the Beast”-inspired vampire story, rated T for some violence. (The romance itself is going to be rated PG.)

Rosalind did not know what else to say to her aunt without contradicting her. They finished their gruel in prickly silence, broken only by the clink of their spoons. She could feel Ioana watching her with a frustrated intensity, but she chose not to acknowledge it. She could try to respect the superstitions of others, but she could not agree to live in fear and ignorance like her neighbors did.

           The world is much wider and greater than any of these people will ever know, Rosalind thought. Maybe if they traveled more than a few miles from home once in a while, or read a book other than the Bible, they would understand.

           As they washed up the dishes from their breakfast, they heard a voice outside that signified Faruk was also awake. Ioana drew aside the threadbare curtain. Faruk was on his prayer mat, presumably facing Mecca, and bowed in prayer.

           Rosalind could hear her aunt muttering something under her breath about “heathen worship” and “devilry,” but before Ioana could march over and interrupt Faruk’s invocations, Rosalind held her back by the elbow.

           “He’s saying his morning prayers, as we just did ourselves,” she pointed out quietly. “There’s no harm in it.”

           “I said he could stay in this house,” Ioana said in a clipped tone. “That doesn’t mean his foreign rituals are welcome.”

           Dear God, I hope Faruk cannot hear our conversation from here, Rosalind thought, groaning internally. The walls of this house were meager enough that it seemed likely.

           Rosalind could only speak a little Arabic that she had picked up from her tutors, but it was enough to understand the substance of Faruk’s prayers. If an appeal to reason and tolerance did not move her aunt, then perhaps an appeal to her familial duty would.

           “Aunt Ioana, it’s a prayer for the dead. He’s praying for my father’s soul; they were good friends. Please leave him be.”

           I know you aren’t as cold and hard as you pretend to be, Rosalind wished she could say, pleading instead with her eyes. Her aunt exhaled in a sharp gust, and as if expelling her annoyance in the same breath, her taut posture relaxed.

           “When he’s finished, tell him the stable needs cleaning,” Ioana said.

           “So what will you do now?”

           Faruk paused in his shoveling and looked back at Rosalind over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

           Rosalind shrugged, keeping her eyes fixed on the fresh straw she was strewing over the stable floors. “I mean, you’ve fulfilled the promise you made to my father, haven’t you? You’ve delivered me safely to my family. But I doubt you were planning on remaining here indefinitely. Your education and skillset aren’t exactly in high demand here.”

           “No, I suppose they are not,” he agreed with a wry smile.

           “So will you…will you be going back?” Rosalind could not keep her tone as nonchalant as she wanted.

           Faruk sighed heavily. “Constanta is not safe at present. The quarantine is likely still in effect. But you are right, I did not intend to live permanently in Vseník.”

           She bit her lip. She wanted to ask him, please don’t leave me alone here, you’re my only friend, but she knew how selfish a request it would be. He had a life of his own to lead, and he had no reason to sequester himself in some backward alpine village that did not welcome him.

           “Of course, it would be a waste if your vast knowledge and inquiring mind was trapped here, where they won’t be appreciated,” she said, forcing a smile. “Will you be going home to Istanbul, then?”

           He hesitated. “I will. But not yet. There is still a portion of my promise that I have yet to fulfill.”

           She looked at him inquiringly.

           “I told your father that I would see you well-married and settled before I moved on,” he admitted, his eyes crinkling at the corners as if anticipating her displeasure. “Since he was not able to discharge that paternal duty himself.”

           “Ah.” Rosalind felt her stomach sinking. “I’m sorry, Faruk. You might be waiting a long time.”

           She was not utterly opposed to matrimony, or even to the idea of a practical match. She had always assumed that someday she would need to choose someone level-headed, financially stable, and preferably from a good family. Her father had hoped their money, tainted though it was by trade, might even tempt a landowning family to make an offer.

           But he had always, always insisted they would find a husband Rosalind could respect, and even grow to care for.

           Passion is what drew your mother and I together, her father had told her when she turned sixteen. It wasn’t sensible and we were much too young, too poor. I don’t want that kind of uncertainty and danger for you. But I don’t want you trapped in a union that suffocates you, either. Your mind is too sharp to throw it away on some dull clod. We’ll find a happy medium, my girl, I know we will.

           At the time, that prospect had seemed realistic. Under the present circumstances, however…

           “Somehow I doubt there’s a suitable husband for me among the dozen or so bachelors in this village,” Rosalind said with a nervous laugh. “At least, by my father’s standards.”

            Faruk sighed, leaning on his shovel thoughtfully. “Perhaps we will both be pleasantly surprised.”

           After the stables were cleaned out and the horses fed, Rosalind was sent to the cistern in the town square to fetch water. It must have been a customary chore at this point in the morning, for there was already a long queue of women, young and old, with jugs and jars balanced on their hips or on top of their heads. There was much chattering and friendly gossip among those waiting their turn. But when Rosalind joined the line, the two women nearest ceased their spirited discussion and stole furtive glances at her.

           Rosalind stood tall and firm, refusing to blush or appear cowed. She would not be embarrassed by the rudeness of others.

           She had almost reached the front of the queue when a hush fell suddenly over the women. They all seemed to be looking at someone behind Rosalind. She did not seem remarkable to Rosalind—a woman of about thirty, auburn hair tucked back into a white kerchief, muscular arms from lifting and laboring. She wore a homespun gown and apron just like the other women here. So why did the crowd part at her arrival, and silently let her pass to the front of the line?

           It did not seem like they favored her out of respect, for the other women watched her with narrowed eyes. As the stranger passed, Rosalind saw a silver charm gleaming at her neck: a hand reaching out with pinky and thumb extended, an eye inscribed in its palm. It was a symbol to ward off the Evil Eye, which Rosalind had seen Jewish women wear back home.

           When the Jewish woman passed her again with a full jug of water, she briefly caught Rosalind’s gaze. She had largely ignored her rude Christian neighbors with placid defiance, but she paused for a moment at Rosalind. The expression in her hazel eyes was not one of curiosity, or even hostility, but seemed oddly like recognition and pity. Before Rosalind could unscramble her thoughts enough to speak to the woman, she shook her head once as if resigned, and continued on.

           What was that all about? Rosalind wondered. There was something unsettling about the interaction, as if the woman had known something she herself did not.

           One of the matrons in front of Rosalind bent toward her and whispered, “That’s Judith. She works for Him. Our Lord, I mean.”

           On her walk home, Rosalind tried to simply focus on not spilling her precariously full jug of water, but she could not shake the prickling feeling on the back of her neck. She did not believe in omens; she was a skeptic. She was inclined to search for natural and rational explanations before turning to superstition and magic. But the atmosphere of this village was so strange and disconcerting that her stomach twisted constantly with apprehension.

           Something was wrong here. And she almost dreaded finding out what.

              Exhausted by her chores that day, Rosalind fell asleep almost the moment her aunt blew out the feeble candle. But she did not find rest or oblivion.

           Her dreams were meandering and endless. She felt like she was falling backwards through a deep, narrow shaft in the earth, the sunlight up above fading to a tiny pinprick, nothing to catch her fall but empty space. And as she tumbled through that dark tunnel, the air grew colder until she lost all feeling in her fingers and toes. There was nothing but the dark and the cold and the smell of freshly-turned earth.

           Her dream-self screamed and screamed, but no sound escaped her dry throat.

           Waking was a sluggish, gradual process. First she became aware of how stiff and rigid she seemed to be lying. It felt as if her bed beneath her had been replaced with a slab of stone. The surface beneath her fingertips was damp and slick. The air smelled musty and stale. Rosalind was disoriented from her dreams, and before she dared open her eyes, she tried to sort through what was real and what was just a nightmare.

           It was all just in my head, she thought with a swell of relief. How ridiculous I was to be so terrified! But it felt so real at the time. When I open my eyes, I’ll be in the bedroom with my aunt and Faruk.

           Dim, flickering golden light met her eyes when she managed to wrench them open.

           She didn’t know this place.

           She was still in her fine linen nightdress, but someone had placed a woolen blanket over her. The hard, smooth surface under her turned out to be a stone dais; the flickering light came from the circle of half-melted candles around her. On either side of her were two stone sarcophagi topped with intricate marble effigies—on her right, a veiled noblewoman holding a rosary studded with glimmering rubies, and on her left, an armored knight clutching a sword in his only hand.

           On the clammy rock-hewn walls was a bas-relief carving of skeletons holding hands in a courtly dance. Beneath it, the admonition Memento Mori.

           Rosalind sat up slowly, trying to get her bearings. What am I doing here? Looking at the moisture on the rough walls, she wondered, Is this some kind of…tomb or catacomb underground?

           Before she could contemplate the potential horror of a premature burial, her roaming eyes were drawn to a dark corner. Someone was watching her in silence.

[lizartgurl]

Perfect Marks (Aqualad x OC Soulmate AU)

Word Count: 6200+

Summary: Write something on your skin, it appears on your soulmate’s skin as well

My sole goal of joining tumblr was to make decent Kaldur content and this shows it. I don’t think I’ve ever written anything this fast-paced, and I had no idea a one-shot would turn out this long, but I really enjoyed writing it!

Based off of @the-shadow-of-atlantis‘s soulmate au for Kaldur and her oc, Annabella (x) and inspired by @writing-yj‘s The Bird Tattoo xreader  series (x). You guys are both incredible writers, and I love reading your fanfics :)

@staar-sailorr @super-spoiler @lesbianstargirl @flamebiirds @princes-jasmine (please let me know if any of you do not want to be tagged in my oc fics in the future. i’m just tagging you for now becuz)

The morning of her first day of high school, Emma Grayson screamed.

Half of Gotham must have heard it, if not the entire manor. Rick, just down the hall, skid right into the bathroom door trying to help.

“Emma, what is it?”

“Just look!” Emma shrieked, shoving her arm in his face. Her little brother's eyes went wide at the thick black marks winding up and down both her arms.

“You and Roy went out clubbing last night and didn't bring me?” He asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

“Well how do you know we didn't sneak Wally with us?” Emma snapped.

He shrugged, leaning against the doorway with an insufferable smirk that he couldn't hide. “Wally and I are too tight for him to leave me out of any shenanigans.”

Bruce materialized in the doorway before Emma could smack Rick, and sighed as he saw the marks on her arms.

“You don't remember getting any tattoos yesterday?” He asked.

“No.” Emma shook her head.

“And you're not hungover, so you probably wouldn't have blacked out,” he murmured, taking Emma's arm in his hands to examine the marks. “Do they hurt at all?”

Emma shrugged. “They itch a little, but not painfully.”

Bruce nodded. “They must be your soulmate's markings then. Probably tattoos.”

Emma sighed. She herself wasn’t very artistic, so she never would have drawn something so elaborate on herself, but she never took into account that her soulmate might be. And if they were tattoos, that meant that even if her soulmate showered five times a day, they would never come off of either of them. Emma was absolutely terrified of needles and vowed to never get a tattoo. She never thought she'd be paired with someone who got those giant sleeve tattoos, much less tattoos at all.

“Get dressed, make sure you don't have anymore. Richard, you go get dressed too. I'll see you both downstairs for breakfast in a minute.” Bruce instructed.

Emma locked the door behind them and bravely faced her reflection in the silver-framed mirror. They each started on her hands, snake heads, with no embellishments other than an eye and an open mouth. The snakes then twisted around her arms three times and continued on to her shoulders. After taking off her PJs and turning around a couple times, she found that they connected, arcing down to her lower back.

A few minutes and a couple puffy eyes later, she met Bruce in the dining room, taking her usual place across from Rick.

“For you, Miss Emma.” In addition to her breakfast platter of eggs and bacon, Alfred handed Emma a jar of concealer that matched her skin tone.

Bruce wiped his chin of jelly from his toast. “With tattoos of this size, keeping them hidden is vital to your secret identity. Not only would people try to replicate the tattoos to claim to be your soulmate, they would also connect Finch and Emma Grayson with the similar tattoos.”

Emma nodded, and began to apply the concealer to the back of her hands. Her school uniform and her Finch uniform already had long sleeves in case of such a situation. Now the rest of her wardrobe would follow suit. At least Gotham was miserable, cold, and wet ninety-nine percent of the time.

Alfred dropped Emma and Rick off at Gotham Academy before taking Bruce to the WayneTech offices, and Bruce made a big show of seeing his children off on their first day of a new school year for the all-seeing public eye.

“We can look more into them tonight, Emma. How about that?” He offered with a winning smile, a last attempt to cheer her up.

“Sure,” she smiled back. Rick had already run off for the building with the middle school classes. Emma was moving up to the high school building this year, with grades nine through twelve.

She plopped into the open seat between Barbara Gordon and Lucas Fox in first-period chemistry.

“Hey, Emma! How you doing?” Babs asked, sounding peppy and upbeat.

“Long morning.” She groaned.

“As always on the first day of school, huh?” Luke asked with a chuckle.

Emma giggled too. Her friends knew just how to cheer her up, even if they didn't know what was going on.

“Emma?” Barbara was squinting at her hands, “Are you wearing-”

“Good Morning!” The chem teacher trilled along with the bell, and Barbara forgot what she was going to say.

Head cushioned in her arms in the edge of the second row, Emma snuck a look at her two closest friends, who both had their sleeves rolled up to their elbows in the warm classroom. She had to settle for just taking off her sweater.

Luke and Barbara were the two smartest students in their grade at prestigious Gotham Academy, which rubbed off on Emma. They were both in the computer science club. Luke was in robotics club, and wanted to be an engineer like his father, Lucius Fox, head of the R&D department of WayneTech. Barbara's father was Police Commissioner James Gordon of the GCPD, and spent every spare moment in the library. Emma took to joining her, and Rick and Luke would join them.

Instead of paying attention to the long list of safety procedures that Doctor Crane was going over, Emma spent first period thinking over whether or not to tell her friends. Would someone overhear? Would they let things slip?

It would just have to be another secret she kept from them.

~

Bruce was gone from the time that they got home to late at night, so Emma persuaded Rick to help her look through all the books that the Manor’s library had on Soulmates and their markings, so long as they got to watch Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark while doing it.

Most of the books Emma read were general knowledge. Whenever you wrote or drew something on your skin, it appeared on your soulmate’s body as well. Mostly it was just notes and reminders, doodles in the midst of boredom, but tattoos were a popular tactic to try and find your soulmate quicker, by looking for the exact replica of your tattoo on someone else.

There were several books on the language of markings, symbols ranging from elaborate to simple that could send a certain message to your soulmate were they also well-versed in the language of markings. Emma didn’t find anything resembling her soulmate’s markings in any of those books, so she tossed them on the floor with Rick’s books, which had slid off his lap after he fell asleep shortly after Indy entered the Well of Souls.

Sighing tiredly, Emma shut off the TV, but the excitement of her soulmate’s markings and the first day of school all rolled into one left her exhausted, and she never wanted to leave the sunken cushions of her favorite TV couch.

Shrouded in night, the room faded into darkness. Emma removed her sweater to use a blanket, and stopped.

“Rick,” she whispered, jabbing him in the shoulder.

“Huh?” He asked, “Is the movie over?”

“You fell asleep, but look,” She held out her arms, bare beneath her t-shirt. The black, geometric shapes were now outlined by a faint blue glow, reflected on Emma’s face. The light itself seemed almost alive, and thought it could have been the lack of sleep, Emma thought she saw it swirling around the room, back and forth like an ocean’s current. Beautiful and powerful. Magical.

Rick laughed giddly. “That’s so cool!” He said, suddenly awake.

Emma laughed too. Maybe her soulmate’s markings weren’t so bad after all.

~

Weeks passed without them fading. Bruce had been right about them being tattoos. They itched like fresh tattoos, though the ink wasn’t in her skin. Alfred gave her a soothing skin balm to rub on her arms before she went to bed each night, guided by the blue lights. They made the perfect night light, though Emma had long since outgrown such things. She’d jolt awake from a nightmare, only to have the magical light envelop her with a tingling sensation somewhat like an electric shock. It was comforting, like a never-ending hug.

Sometimes, on patrol, when Bruce wasn’t looking, Emma would take off her glove and let the snake-head glow, smiling somewhat as she showed it all of Gotham City. Her soulmate must really like snakes, and if they cast the light that her tattoos did, maybe they were a magician like Zatara.

Emma desperately hoped that her soulmate was a hero. She wanted to be able to tell them everything, to share both parts of her life with her soulmate.

“Woah,” Wally gaped appreciatively as Emma showed off her right arm in the seclusion of a back alley in Star City, just outside the “Arrow-Cave,” or the “Quiver,” which Ollie was convinced would catch on.

Roy nodded, but from the way his lower lip jutted out as he slowly nodded, it was clear that he was impressed by whoever had etched these tattoos.

“Show us your tattoos again, Roy.” Emma said. She rolled her sleeve back down, cutting off the light.

Roy rolled up the right arm sleeve of his shirt, exposing the small constellation on his shoulder. The big dipper, or the bear and the birds according to those who had generously raised him. It was a permanent reminder of his childhood and what he had learned with them. After Emma smiled, he showed off the tattoo on his left shoulder. The one from his soulmate.

It was a perfect circle, a shield, he insisted, with the head of Medusa and several wriggling snakes spreading from the center. The Aegis, Athena’s shield. Obviously his soulmate had a penchant for Greek mythology.

“I’m thinking of getting a tattoo,” Wally lounged against the brick wall.

“Oh really? What would you get? A hot dog?” Rick asked, balancing in a handstand on top of the fence that cut the alleyway in half.

“Ha, ha.” Wally huffed, offended. “What would you get, Boy Wonder?” He demanded.

“A bird, duh.” He flipped in the air, landing neatly in front of Wally, “A robin, to be precise. Right behind the ear.”

“What about you, Emma?” Roy asked. “If you got a tattoo, what would you get?”

Emma leaned back on top of the trash can, using her arms to prop herself up. “Probably a music heart, with the treble and bass clefs twisted into the shape of a heart.” But she still wasn’t certain. That didn’t seem special enough compared to her soulmate’s tattoos, or Roy’s tattoo, but it was the best that she could come up with in two seconds.

Rick and Wally were still bickering. “So if it’s not a hot dog, what is it then? Nachos?”

“No! It’d be  the digits of pi, stretching from my right hand to my left, like Emma’s!”

“Nerd.”

“Geek.”

“Aren’t those the same thing?” Roy asked as the younger two continued to yell. He knew better than to expect an answer.

Emma shook her head, grinning at the secret she was keeping, this one more for her own amusement than out of necessity. Rick had sketched out where he wanted his tattoo earlier, and now it was hidden beneath his raven-colored mop. And when Wally had taken off his mask to eat some of Ollie’s cookies in the safety of the Quiver, Emma glimpsed a few wobbly sharpie lines in Rick’s non-artistic peeking out from under the bright red hair. Wally was too distracted to notice it for himself, and it was hidden beneath his lightning bolts whenever Rick had been looking at him.

The next day at school, chem class was cancelled because Doctor Crane was missing. Emma and Babs went to the library while Luke finished his homework in the computer lab. Alysia Yeoh wrote her phone number on Barbara’s hand in black pen as the three discussed Harry Potter and the New Hunger Games movie. Then in the middle of civics class, the same ten numbers jumped out at Emma, faint on the back of Luke’s writing hand and nearly made her spit out her strawberry lemonade.

She texted Roy in glee so she wouldn’t blurt out and ruin the surprise for Luke. He let her, though he wasn’t really the kid of person that got obsessed with soulmates.

Emma, however could not wait to meet her soulmate.

~

Batman called in Flash and Aquaman to help out with a new villain, calling himself “Scarecrow”. Finch was texting Roy with updates every five minutes, and managed to catch the end of Aquaman’s reply as the Batmobile roared towards the Harbor.

“I will be bringing an apprentice of sorts with me.”

“You have an apprentice?” Batman asked. His monotone betrayed no surprise.

“A recent development, I will admit. It will not be a problem, will it? I want to get him started as soon as possible, and after all, Flash and yourself have sidekicks of your own, as does Green Arrow, some of them younger than Aqualad.”

“I take it that’s his name, then?”

“I take it will be fine, then?”

Robin snorted. It wasn’t every day that they heard a member of the Justice League sassing Batman. Typically, Wonder Woman was the only person who could get away with that, on account of her lack of weaknesses. Aquaman may or may not pay for that comment sooner or later if he didn’t watch his back.

“Meet you at the rendezvous point.” Batman cut off the transmission, glaring at his kids in the mirror. Finch only shrugged back at him. Her tattoos were itching again.

Flash pulled up seconds before the Batmobile came to a complete stop.

“Ha! We were here first!” Robin cackled.

“Only counts if you’re out of the car, boy wonder,” Kid patted him on top of his head. Emma grumbled, wishing that Roy were here, so at least she wouldn’t feel like an outcast to their flirting. She pulled out her phone again.

“Finch, phone away. Scarecrow can track the signal.” Batman instructed. She shoved it securely in her belt pocket.

“So how long did Fish man say it’d take him?” Flash asked.

“He’s probably taking the scenic route to show Aqualad around,” Robin piped up.

“Aqualad?” It was Kid’s turn to be surprised now.

In answer, there was a splash from the docks, and Aquaman flew out of the water, crouching in a majestic landing a moment later. A smaller splash followed, with a much less graceful landing that nearly sent the poor “Aqualad” stumbling back into the water.

“Woah!” Finch lunged forward, grabbing his wrist.

“Th-thank you, my lady,” He fell over himself to find his balance, bowing as courteously as he could with sea legs.

“Oh, no worries!” Emma insisted. “And- and you can call me Finch, please.”

“Apologies,” He said immediately, “I am afraid I am not used to the surface yet, it is still very new to me.”

“You will get used to it, Kaldur’ahm,” Aquaman gave a broad smile, clapping his new protege on the shoulder.

“Robin, Kid Flash, I would like to introduce my protege, Aqualad.”

“Cool!” Kid sped over, nearly shoving Finch to the side to shake Aqualad’s hand. “I’m Kid Flash! The coolest superhero around, but you can call me Wally when we’re off-duty.”

Robin saluted. “I’m Robin. Call me Rob. And you’ve already met my sister, Finch.”

“Yes, I have. It is wonderful to meet all of you.”

“Well, there’s also Speedy, but his mentor has a hot date with Black Canary tonight so they’re all currently unavailable,” Kid Flash snickered as their mentors discussed the issue at hand.

Finch gave him an elbow in the gut. “So, Aqualad, how long have you been working with Aquaman?” She nodded towards the adults, and Aqualad followed her indication.

“How are you working with Aquaman?” Robin asked, “I didn’t know the guy had any kids.”

“He does not,” Aqualad assured him. “I am one of his subjects. About two weeks ago, Ocean Master and his followers attacked Atlantis. Though he appeared to best Aquaman, my friends and I, students at Her Majesty’s Conservatory of Sorcery, were able to distract Ocean Master long enough for our king to recover. To show his gratitude, he gave us the opportunity to become his protege. I was the only one who accepted. I have spent the past few weeks training with my king and learning more about the surface world, the dangers it faces, and the threats to Atlantis.”

“Hey, kids! Gather round!” Flash beckoned them over, and Emma groaned inwardly at being called kids. They were on the younger side of teenage years, yeah, but the work they did was anything but childish. Unless you were Wally, and then you could be immature about anything.

While the adults had the dangerous job of actually going in after Scarecrow, the kids were designated to the much less dangerous assignment of patrolling the perimeter to make sure that Scarecrow nor his recently-acquired henchmen got away.

Finch didn’t mind it that much, she could get away with being lazy when Batman wasn’t looking over her shoulder every second, but Kid and Robin were a little upset at being left behind. They mirrored each other, chin propped up in one hand each.

“Why did Batman need to call us in again?” Kid asked. “I mean, isn’t he always like, ‘Bleh bleh, I work alone, bleh bleh,” He imitated the dark and scratchy voice of a vampire.

“Scarecrow’s only weapon is his fear gas, and he’s trying to figure out how to transform that gas into a liquid to infect Gotham’s water supply, and maybe the whole coast, and he needs someone in forensics who can track the fear gas chemicals super-fast, like your uncle. I’m pretty sure Aquaman invited himself along when Flash blabbed about the possibility of the coasts being affected.” Robin listed off.

“Well, the oceans are Aquaman’s responsibility. He takes that very seriously,” Aqualad was the only one of them standing at attention. His eyes were used to the dimness of the water, giving him an edge in night-vision. “He is a very good king, and he does not wish to let down his people.”

Finch set aside her phone. “It sounds like you really respect him.”

“I do. He has been very kind to my family. I admire his heroism for Atlantis and the world.”

Emma’s mind suddenly swelled with curiosity about Atlantis, but before she could ask, the doors of the warehouse they’d been staking out blew open to smoke, and about ten dark-clothed thugs ran out, coughing violently.

“Is that fear gas?” Kid asked.

“Nah, that’s probably just Batman’s smoke pellets.” Emma shot her grappling cord at a tower of cargo containers. “Try to keep up, Gentlemen!” She sang, swinging off towards the escaping thugs. She landed on one, taking him out. Another got a kick to the jaw, and the other hit her in the back. She staggered forward to regain her balance, alone against nine. Maybe she should have waited for the boys, that way she wouldn’t have been alone in facing them.

The thugs said nothing, but grunted, swinging and lunging at her as she danced around them, doing what she could to stay out of their grip and take advantage of any openings.

“Finch, look out!” It took a moment for her to register the almost-unfamiliar voice before Aqualad shoved her out of the way of a thug sneaking up behind her, getting trapped in the bear hug grip instead. Aqualad refused to lose his cool, and took a deep breath. A blue glow started at his shoulders, twisting down his arms, and letting out a burst of bio-electricity that stunned his captor with a scream.

“Woah,” Wally’s eyes were wide with admiration.

Emma’s eyes were wide too.

His tattoos glowed a warm blue hue.

And they matched the marks hidden on Emma’s arms.

~

“Emma, get up.”

“No.”

“We’re gonna be late for school.”

“Go without me.”

“No.” Still in his PJs, Rick took a flying leap at Emma’s queen-sized bed and bounced until she threw off her covers and started bouncing with him.

“So you met your soulmate, huh?”

Emma bit her lip before she could bite back with a “You too”.

“I thought I was ready to meet them, but I guess I’m not,” She said, still bouncing.

“Well, you don’t have to tell him. Not yet, anyways,” He pointed out. “Me, however, I’m not gonna be able to hold this in for very long.” Emma suddenly wanted to shout out that Wally was Rick’s soulmate, but she held herself back.

“It feels wrong,” Emma said, landing on her butt. Rick landed next to her, bouncing a couple times.

“He’s from Atlantis. He should have been soulmates with someone from Atlantis, someone who understands his tattoos and markings and their cultural significance,” She traced the tattoo up her right arm, an eel, not a snake. Aqualad had told a nervously curious Wally last night. After the fight and noticing Aqualad’s tattoos, it was like someone had flipped a switch from casual to awkward. She couldn’t even look at him without turning bright red. According to the marks on her skin, this was the man she was destined to spend her life with, to fall in love with. And she had known him for less than a day.

“You could always learn more about Atlantis. Ask him, talk to him.” Rick pointed out. “I think Bruce gave Aquaman a water-proof cell phone for AL to use. I can look up his number if you want-”

“No, I can ask him next time we team up, thank you very much.” Emma interrupted.

She sighed. “It probably would be a good idea to start there, though.”

Rick hugged her, his arms around her neck. “It’ll all work out, you’ll see.” He promised.

Emma hugged his arms, holding her little brother. “Thanks, Rick.”

“Master Richard! Miss Emma! You’re going to be late for school!”

~

The team was formed a few months later. Roy refused entry to the kiddie club, leaving an opening for Superboy and Miss Martian, neither of whom had any markings for themselves or from their soulmates. Emma was ecstatic, though both she and Aqualad missed having Speedy around. Artemis came next, an arrow tattoo wrapped around her bicep, and Speedy became “Red Arrow”, to show that he was moving on.

In the Junior Justice League base of Mount Justice, hero aliases were traded for civilian ID’s and nicknames. Wally remained the only one in confidence of Finch and Robin’s secret ID’s, but other than the three of them, there was Conner, Megan, Artemis (yes, it was the same as her hero name), and Kaldur.

Kaldur’s maturity and level-headedness got him elected team leader, in charge of organizing missions and getting the ragtag team to work together. Emma found herself sticking close by to help out with paperwork and discussing team problems and training with Kaldur. Not just because she wanted to get to know Kaldur, but because she felt so comfortable with him. She could talk to him about how red skittles were clearly the best out of all skittles, and he would listen intently. She could ask him a rhetorical question and he would answer patiently, or he would help her find the answer. He put time and effort into her, and she did the same. He was still studying and experiencing Surface Culture, and Emma loved explaining things to him.

Time set aside for mission discussions more often than not turned into these discussions of almost nothing. Kaldur was quite businesslike, compared to everyone else, at least, but Rick insisted that he “melted” around Emma.

“Still think that fate made a mistake?” He asked.

Emma shrugged. “I feel guilty for hiding it now. What if he thinks I only spent time with him because he’s my soulmate and not because...” She trailed off.

“Because you really care about him?” Artemis asked, loudly sipping a can of pineapple juice stolen from Wally. She and Megan knew, of course. Those things tended to happen when you shared a locker room.

Emma shrugged. “I just don’t think I’m ready yet.”

The others were, though, and she could tell.

“It’s not their secret to tell.” Roy told her over the phone. “If any of them so much as blurt the world ‘soulmate’ in Kal’s direction before you give the okay, I’ll kick all their butts.”

“How do you put up with it?” She asked him. Roy was basically a best friend to both Emma and Kaldur. Keeping it a secret from one of them had to be hard.

“I’ll admit, it’s hilarious seeing you two blushing and talking like that and he apparently doesn’t get a clue.”

“You jerk!” Emma threw a pillow at the wall to substitute for throwing one at Roy.

“Seriously, Em,” His laughter had faded, “You like him, don’t you? And he likes you. What do you have to lose by telling him?”

~

Nothing. She had nothing to lose. Or did she? She couldn’t tell, and it drove her insane.

“Is something bothering you, Finch?” Aqualad asked.

“Dragonfire,” She reminded him, flexing her new wings. A gift from her old friend the Joker.

“Yes, of course. My apologies,” He still bowed his head formally. Emma liked it when he used Atlantean mannerisms.

“It’s okay, I like that you still call me that sometimes.” She liked it so much her stomach tickled. She passed it off as her new powers being irritating.

Raquel overheard, and like the others she had it.

“We have to set them up,” She declared to the team while Kaldur and Dragonfire were off doing “important paperwork”.

“Agreed,” Artemis pounded her fist on the island counter for emphasis.

“But how are we going to convince Dra that she should tell? The longer she waits, the more nervous she gets.” Wally said

“Shouldn’t we let them decide?” Conner tried to say.

The PA switched on in a burst of static. “Team, report to the mission room.”

According to intel from Batman, Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow, had escaped from Arkham Asylum and was hiding somewhere in Miami, Florida. The team’s mission was to find Scarecrow and whoever was helping him, and make it hard for Scarecrow to hurt anyone until Batman and the League could come in and deal with Scarecrow themselves.

While everyone else donned a tank top to go with their shorts, Emma stuck with her usual long-sleeved shirt in the Florida sun.

“Are you not hot in that?” Kaldur asked.

“I’m fine,” Dragonfire insisted with a smile. Several girls walked past, admiring Kal’s tattoos, and Emma turned away, just a little bit jealous. Of course, it was her own fault for not being more open about their marks in the first place. The team was split up patrolling the city. Kid Flash and Robin scouted out the perimeter, Superboy, Miss Martian, and Artemis had the malls, Zatanna and Rocket had the streets, and Kaldur and Dragonfire had the beach. They walked in silence, side by side through the warm sand, keeping an eye out for any shady or straw-like figures.

And then Kaldur reached down and took Emma’s hand.

“Huh?” She didn’t realize that she’d said that out loud, as if he’d said something she’d misheard.

“I thought that it would sell our inconsequential appearance if we pretended to be a couple,” He said, “Is that alright?”

Emma smiled, thankful that her blush was hidden beneath her sunglasses and the brim of her floppy straw hat. “That’s just fine,” She assured him.

It wasn’t awkward, and it certainly wasn’t boring when Kaldur was around. There was no doubt about it, Emma knew that she was in love.

And then there were screams.

Emma tried to stop the crying child that was running down the beach, but she only screamed louder and ran in the other direction, avoiding anyone who reached out or stopped to try and help her, until she finally fell to her knees, curled up in a little ball. More kids were appearing with those symptoms, jumping at every little movement or sound. Fear gas.

No time to wait for the League, Dragonfire and Kaldur sprinted the way the kids had come.

“Aqualad to Team, come in, the symptoms of mass fear gas have been spotted on the beach. Rendezvous at our coordinates ASAP.”

“Kid Flash to Aqualad, Rob and I found the remains of a lab used to create fear gas about five miles inland.”

“Tag and bag the evidence, then come help us,” Dragonfire instructed. More and more people were screaming out of fear now, not just the kids.

They spotted Scarecrow out at sea, on a rickety old boat bobbing on the waves that were becoming more and more tumultuous every second. Had the clouds been that dark and ominous a second ago?

“Hold on!” Kaldur shouted. Emma wrapped her arms around his torso as he dove into the waves, holding on for dear life as he made for the boat like a torpedo. He shot out of the water and Emma spread her dragon wings, dropping him on the ship like a bomb. Scarecrow threw canisters of fear gas at both of them, but Emma fried them with her electricity, negating the anxiety-inducing abilities. Her fists crackled and her hair billowed with static as she hovered above the ship like a bird of prey, providing cover as Kaldur fought off Scarecrow’s guards. Emma went for the big man himself. It was strange to think that this was her old biology teacher, but given how teachers were treated in America, she really couldn’t blame him. She swept in with a hook to the jaw, sending him stumbling backwards.

“How do we stop it, Crane?” She demanded, going for intimidation. The guy liked fear, right?

“Such power...” Crane hissed, “Tell me, child, what scares a god like you?”

Emma shot him in the arm with another lightning bolt. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Scarecrow grabbed at her shirt, tearing off some fabric. She threw him off with another blast of electricity that tore her shirt even more. It wasn’t made of the same durable stuff that her uniform was.

“Dragonfire!” Aqualad shouted, “I think we have been exposed to minimal effects of the fear gas!”

“Probably!” She agreed, ducking under Scarecrow’s hit. “Try to stay focused! You can fight it off!” She promised.

She turned back to Scarecrow, who now had an aerosol-like can pointed at her face, and sprayed before jumping over the side of the boat. His henchmen follow suit, and Dragonfire heard the sound of a submarine roaring away below the choppy waves.

“Dragonfire!” Aqualad caught her as she rubbed at her eyes, coughing violently.

“Dragonfire, Finch, hang on, you can fight it,” He urged, setting her down on the

Emma heard none of that, her ears were too clogged, no matter how she tried to shake off the fear gas.

She looked down at her arms, the sleeves of her shirt completely gone. Kaldur looked down and saw them too. He quickly pulled away, backing up several steps.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Finch’s voice quavered, echoing in her ears as Aqualad swam in and out of her vision.

It cleared long enough to see the disgusted look on his face.

She was out cold before she hit the water.

~

Emma awoke tangled in soft white sheets. She hugged herself, running her fingers against the rough ink. They itched more than ever now, reminding her of what happened on the boat.

Kaldur hated her. He had to. She hated herself.

“Good, you’re awake,” Black Canary smiled down at her kindly, approaching the side of her bed.

“You’re all right,” She said at the sight of tears flooding Emma’s eyes. “The fear gas should be just about flushed from your system by now. Aquaman and Batman are helping to oversee the cleanup of Miami Beach, and even though Scarecrow’s escaped, no one was killed. Wonder Woman and Flash are making sure that everyone receives a vaccination for the fear gas.”

That did little to assuage Emma’s rapidly beating heart. “Is Kaldur-” She stopped herself, “Is Aqualad okay?” She whispered.

Canary’s smile brightened. “That’s right! He’s your soulmate!” She patted Emma’s bare arm, “Just one moment, I’ll go get him for you.”

“No, Dinah wait-!” The door whisked shut behind Dinah before Emma could finish.

She leaped to her feet, shaking like jello. She had to get out of there, she couldn’t face Kaldur like this. She grabbed a change of clothes, lying on the counter, and tripped over her big feet. Seconds before she smacked into the linoleum, strong arms with too-familiar tattoos caught her, lifting her up.

“Hi,” Kaldur said, giving a small smile.

Emma pushed him away, falling back into the bed. “Go away,” She demanded, throat thick with tears.

Kaldur’s eyes went wide, glancing between his tattoos and the marks on Emma’s arms. “Finch? Are you alright?”

She shook her head, “Just leave me alone!”

“Finch, what is wrong?”

“Don’t call me that!” She screamed. “I get it, I’m not what you wanted in a soulmate, I’m sorry to disappoint you,” She sobbed.

“But even if you hate me, I have to tell you that I love you. I have been since I met you, before I even knew that we were soulmates.”

Now, Kaldur’s face was screwed up in confusion. He was usually so passive, it was strange to see him like this.

Having said that, Emma was unable to keep her mouth shut. “I love your sincerity and your honesty, your kindness and how much you care. I love your curiosity and fascination with every new thing you find out about the surface world. I love your patience and your smile and that little laugh you make when Rick and Wally are kidding around because we know they’re soulmates but they can’t tell. I didn’t want to tell you I was your soulmate because I wanted to make sure you liked me for me, and that I liked you not just because you were my soulmate.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and gripped the blanket in her hands, worried that it might tear if she held it too tight, but it was better than letting the tears she was holding back burst out.

There was she soft pad of bare feet on tile, and Kaldur’s rough but gentle hands brushed some hair from her face.

“I do not hate you, Finch. It would be impossible for me to do so.”

She gasped and opened her eyes. A few tears fell, but Kaldur helped her wipe them away. “I have loved you for a long time, but I hope you can forgive me for not coming forward with my feelings before.” He paused, taking her hand in his. “I was afraid that if you were not my soulmate, you would not be open to dating other people.”

She almost laughed, throwing her arms around him. Kaldur returned her embrace.

“I love how kind you are as well. Your impatience is endearing, and I find it amusing how I seem to be the only person you are patient with. I love how you are always so happy and smiling. I love how stubborn you are, and your commitment to justice for those who need it.

“And I love the fact that you are my soulmate.”

~

“Are you seriously getting nachos?” Artemis asked, looking at the stereotypical designs that were offered at the most popular tattoo parlor in Happy Harbor. “A lightning bolt would be ten times cooler.”

“Lightning is fleeting but food is forever,” Wally said, attempting to sound old and wizened.

“Yeah, at least until you eat it,” Rick snickered.

“I think I might get lightning,” Emma said. “Or maybe a tiny dragon.”

“Definitely get a dragon,” Raquel agreed, “There’s like fifty heroes who have lightning iconography. You’re the only one who’s got dragon wings.”

“What about Man-bat? Or Blue devil?” Wally pointed out.

“Dude, they’re a bat and a devil, not dragons.” Zatanna said, coming back from her seat with several magical sparkles sprinkled around her wrist like a bracelet. A few moments later, the same style appeared on Raquel’s wrist to go with the white comet on her forearm.

“My turn!” Wally declared with glee, hopping up to the table Zee had been at. “I want the first seven digits of Pi on my ankle,” He said, settling on a price with the tattoo artist.

“What about you, Conner, what are you getting?” Megan asked.

“I can’t get anything here, I’m too strong, but Clark has some tech at the Fortress he can use to put the Superman symbol on my bicep if I really want it.”

“And you do, don’t you?” M’gann giggled.

“Yes, I do.” He nodded firmly. “What are you getting?”

“I don’t know! There are so many cool designs!” She squealed.

“What do you think, Kal? It’s gonna be your tattoo too,” Emma leaned against his shoulder, wearing short sleeves in the summer for the first time in two years, arm in arm with her soulmate.

Kaldur held up the piece of paper he’d been doodling on. “How about this?” He asked, pointing to a small drawing in the corner. A pair of dragon wings, just like hers.

Emma beamed and kissed his cheek. “Perfect.”

[sockablock]

Five times Caleb fell into the past and one time Molly helped him not to (inspired by this amazing drawing by @midnigtartist, read on AO3!)

---------------------------------

Things Left Behind

“I suggest you tell me the truth,” says Caleb, and before he even realizes what’s happened, there’s honey at the tips of his fingers and dripping from his tongue. The warm buzz of arcana, like bees or vibrating bowstrings, hums against his teeth for just a moment, before the spell leaps from his mouth and sinks into the squat, crooked-faced man standing before him.

Luckily—or perhaps not—Febron shakes away the accidental magic easily, and shoots Caleb an angry glare.

“I am telling you the bloody truth, you bastard, so keep your bullshit to yourself. I don’t appreciate you tryin’ to mess with my mind like that, you hear me? I said I’d guide you, and that’s what I’m doing, so if you don’t like it, you can piss off into the bloody swamp yourself.”

And as he shoves past, mumbling furiously all the way, Caleb can’t help but blink, still in shock, and hold his hand up to his eyes. The weak sunlight cutting through the clouds is just enough to reflect gold off the honey coating his nails. He hurriedly wipes it off against his faded coat, and flicks his wrist like it’s drenched in poison.

“It was a good try,” says Fjord with a shrug. “You had the right idea.”

“Danke,” mutters Caleb, but he can’t be sure that he did.

---------------------------------

Tonight they have a map spread out across their table in the small-town inn they’ve chosen for an evening’s rest. Jester and Molly are at the bar, picking up drinks, and Yasha stands closely by in case of trouble. In the booth, Nott holds her flask loosely with one hand, Fjord has a tired look in his eyes, Beau stares at the slightly-wrinkled paper with a thoughtful expression.

“We could cut through here,” she says, drawing a line across the valley with her finger. “It’ll be faster, that way, and easier on the cart.”

“Nein,” says Caleb immediately, shaking his head. “The armies will be using that path to cut across the empire to Xhorhas. Legions move slowly, prefer large tracts of flat land for travelling, and besides, we would run a large risk of running into decorated officers and important military figures there, whom I am sure we would like to avoid. This valley is the preferred route for many of Rexxentrum’s more renowned regiments.”

The low lamplight flickers in the silence.

Beau speaks first. “Why do you know that?” she asks.

Caleb balks, slightly. Under the table, his fingers twitch. “I do a lot of reading,” he says quietly. “I learned it from a book.”

“Really?” Beau raises an eyebrow. “They just throw military shit into books and let people read about it? Isn’t that, like, a security risk, or something?”

Caleb fidgets with his sleeve. “Apparently.” His tone is even more hushed now. “Perhaps they do not anticipate enough people would care to read about them.”

“Caleb is just that smart,” Nott says matter-of-factly, and a wave of gratitude washes over him. “He knows everything.”

Fjord grins, and gestures at the map. “Where do you recommend we go, then, o wise man?”

The edge of Caleb’s mouth quirks up into a tiny smile, and he points at a thin pass through a series of mountains. “Through here,” he says firmly. “We are a small group, and will do fine on this path, so long as we watch out for bandits.”

“That won’t be an issue,” says Beau, cracking her bandaged knuckles. “We eat bandits for breakfast.”

“I sure hope not,” grins Molly as he plunks a tray of flagons onto their table and slides into the booth on Caleb’s right. Jester and Yasha follow, scooting in next to Fjord. “I’d prefer sausages, if anything. Bandits always taste so bland.”

And Caleb, now looking steadfastly at the map, reaches for a mug, sighs, and schools his expression into one of calm and peace. He hopes it is convincing.

---------------------------------

In the quiet of their bedroom, Nott curled up on the mattress, Frumpkin slumbering peacefully at her side, Caleb’s eyes flash open. He stares up at the ceiling for just a moment, before sliding out of bed and pulling coat down with him. He takes a seat on the wooden floor, spreads his spellbook open on his lap, plucks three objects out of his pockets and sets them carefully down on the ground in front of him.

This conjuration is complicated beyond reason, he knows this, but right now, for some reason, in this strange flash of pure, unadulterated confidence, he also knows that he is one of the most powerful and most talented mages of his generation. He has mastered arcane rituals, conquered impossible rites, controlled the elements with ease and taken lives with a flick of his wrist. This is nothing. He has always been the golden child, he knows this, and right now the symbols and glyphs and syllables and gestures line up perfectly in his mind—he will not waste this opportunity, and he closes his eyes.

The ink in his book begins to glow a faint silver, and when he opens his mouth and the whispers come, they strengthen, brighten, leap from the pages and dance over the ivory, the marble, and the tiny spoon on the ground. He raises his hands, curls his fingers in the air, and they too come alight, he traces the outline of a door before him in the air, and with a firm snap of his fingers, it shudders into being. He sees a golden doorknob, elegant carvings in mahogany wood, a glass window in a small semicircle, he can feel the warmth beyond, the safety it holds, the pride in his endless ability and unrestricted talent—

—and then, without any ceremony, the door vanishes. The light fades. The room is dark once more.

For a few moments, Caleb only stares at the empty space in front of him. Then he shoves his spellbook out of his lap, and buries his head in his hands.

Between silent, wet sobs, he can hear a quiet voice hissing its angry admonishment into his ears.

“Failure, worthless, why did I ever waste my time with you, what have you ever accomplished, you are nothing, this is inexcusable, you are nothing, you are nothing, you are—”

There is a small hand on his back, and when his head jerks up he sees the wide, glowing yellow eyes of Nott staring back at him. “It’s okay,” she says quietly. “It’s alright. I…um…it’s okay, Caleb.”

She wraps him into a hug, and he hangs his head against her shoulder. “I am sorry,” he says softly. “Did the magic wake you?”

She shook her head. “Your whispering did. It was in Zemnian, so I didn’t understand it, but it didn’t sound so good. I…I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Behind him, outlined in the moonlight, are the scattered objects from his spell, and his fallen book. He closes his eyes. “Not really, spatz,” he sighs, and tries for a small smile. “Thank you, though. I…I mean it. Thank you.”

She nods, and hugs him tighter.

---------------------------------

A blinding burst of purple light means Jester has summoned her lollipop, and is about to rain hell down on the stone giant. But then its massive, gnarled club slams into her side, and her limp form goes scattering across the rocks and slows to a standstill at the cliff’s edge. All of them immediately whip around to look, and their eyes go wide as the giant hefts its massive club for a second, fatal strike against their fallen friend.

“Kill it!” Fjord screams, voice visceral with anger, “Kill that thing, right now, kill it!”

Caleb’s eyes glaze over. Perhaps it was something about the words, or the cadence of Fjord’s command, or the sight of a fallen ally, but instantly his fingers blacken like charcoal and his veins glow with fire and five roaring spheres of bright-white flame are rocketing out of his hands and soaring towards the giant, all five striking its head and setting it ablaze. It screams with agony, clutches desperately at its burning face, until it drops to its knees and the clubs tumbles away and the giant falls silent and the only sound left is a strange gurgling, and the final crackle of embers on skin. And then just smoke, and the acrid smell of burnt flesh.

Later, when Jester thanks him profusely for saving her life, when they clap his back and congratulate him on his quick shot, he only feels terror. The smell does not go away. Its screams ring in his ears. His friends’ hands all blur together until six become three: a boy’s, a girl’s and another, older, gripping tight and full of icy pride.

---------------------------------

He doesn’t know why, when it happens. One second, everything had been fine. And then the dried grass had turned into hay, the wood had melted into the frame of a horse-cart, and the stars above suddenly looked like they had a lifetime ago, over the slumbering village of Blumenthal in the peaceful Zemni Fields.

And then suddenly, as he snaps his fingers, all he can see is a raging inferno, and just as the sparks jump towards the fire-pit, he lunges forward and snatches the embers out of the air with one hand.

It hurts. Caleb hadn’t burned himself like this in years, not under the careful tutelage of his teacher, not under the watchful eyes of the academy, not even out in dirty city alleyways, after the asylum, after fire had stopped being his friend.

This pain is almost foreign. Even with his keen, keen mind, Caleb had nearly forgotten what it felt like.

And then the animalistic side of him screams out, shakes his palm, and the rest of the Nein instantly drop their own camp-making preparations and rush to his side.

“Are you alright?” Nott asks frantically.

Caleb slowly unfurls his hand. In the middle of his palm, shining bright and angry against his skin, is a massive, terrible blister, glaring, black at the center where the sparks had hit.

“What happened, dear?” Molly asks incredulously. “What did you do?”

He shakes his head. “I…I am not certain. But…it hurts, a bit.” His breath hitches at the end, slightly, and he winces.

“Here,” Jester says, beginning to reach into her bag, “here, I’ve got—”

Molly cuts her off. “I’ve got it,” he says. “The rest of you should go back to getting ready. Alright?”

They all exchange tentative glances. Then they shrug and do so, Nott the last to leave after giving Caleb a calming pat on the arm. And then she too vanishes back to the corners of their campsite, leaving tiefling and wizard alone by the stone circle.

Molly pulls out a bandage and a small jar and with Caleb’s permission, unscrews the lid and takes two fingers and spreads a salve across Caleb’s palm.

It is cool, and Caleb instantly feels better. His shoulders untense, slightly.

“What is that?” he asks.

The tiefling’s lips quirk into a smile. “Burn remedy,” he says. “I’m surprised you don’t carry it around, what with your tendency to use flames, and all.”

Caleb sighs. “I don’t usually injure myself like this,” he says softly. “It usually doesn’t hurt.”

Molly finishes applying the cool medicine, and pulls out a roll of bandages. He begins wrapping it around Caleb’s hand.

“What happened this time?” he asks.

Caleb pointedly stares at the ground. It is Molly’s turn to sigh. “You don’t have to say anything, if you don’t want to.”

Caleb shakes his head. “It was an accident,” he relents. “I…I panicked, for some reason, and tried to stop the fire. I am not sure why. I have done this hundreds of times before.” The last sentence is laden with frustration.

Molly shrugs. “Sometimes it takes a hundred times for something to sink in. For you to realize things. Sometimes it happens right away.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow. “What is your meaning?” he asks.

Molly chuckles, and ties of the bandage with a small knot. “Nothing at all, my dear,” he says. And then he looks at the firepit, and back at Caleb. “Will you be trying to light that again?”

Caleb considers his hand, now thoroughly wrapped. Despite the balm, something still stings. “I…I am not sure,” he says. “I do not want to.”

Molly nods, and reaches into his bag once more, before pulling out a piece of flint, and a flat stone. “What if we tried using this?”

Caleb blinks with surprise, and then looks apologetic. “I…er…I do not know how to use that.”

Molly raises an eyebrow. “Really? Not at all?”

Caleb’s expression turns sheepish, and his cheeks color. “No, Mollymauk. I have never, er, I have never needed to.”

Molly laughs at that. “Come here, dear,” he says, motioning for Caleb to move forward and take the objects. “I’ll show you.”

He accepts the flint with one hand, holds the rock with the other, and sits closer to the firepit. Molly moves behind Caleb, and then leans so that their hands are touching.

“Is this alright?” the tiefling asks, rather close to his ear.

Caleb’s cheeks are colored for an entirely different reason now, but he nods. “Ja,” he says, it is fine.”

“Alright then,” grins Molly. “Here we go.”

It takes a few tries, Molly’s fingers wrapped around Caleb’s and chest pressed into his back, but eventually sparks leap when they strike their hands together, and a small fire blooms into life at the center of the pit.

After a second, Molly moves away.

Caleb glances at his hands, now darkened, the fresh bandage grey, and then back at the fire. Its embers did not come from him. This feeling is more confusing than pain from a burn. He…he truly cannot remember the last time he worked for flames like this. Strangely, it is satisfying. This is not something fed to him by books, or forced onto him by the academy, or shoved into his arms by Trent.

This is honest.. This is safe. This is his own.

His own and…and…

He turns to Molly, and when he glances up at the firelight dancing in Molly’s ruby-red eyes, there is no fear, no sickening pride, no suffocating expectations and no empty promises.

There is only warmth.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

There is a wide grin from the tiefling. “Of course, dear. Anything for you. Why don’t you hold onto those, for me? Next time you don’t feel like magicking a fire, just use that.”

Caleb looks back down at the flint and stone in his hands. He smiles a tiny, tiny smile.

“I will.”

And, next time, he does.

[teen-titans-imagines]

East of Eden pt 10

Jason Todd & Daughter! Teenager! Reader

A/n: omg I’m pretty sure there is only one part left to this story, but who knows!! Maybe there might be a sequel ;D BTW, this part was heavily influenced by the songs Duet [again] and Honeybee, both of which you can find on the playlist!! Thanks! Also, if you figure out the symbolism the song used within this part has, and where it’s from, I freaking love you <3

Comments are appreciated and are key. Please comment. It helps with motivation and efficiency. Thank you!

—

Part One / Part Two  / Part Three / Part Four / Part Five / Part Six / Part Seven / Part Eight / Part Nine / Part Ten [Here] / Part Eleven [FINAL]

—

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Family, Drama, Action, Fluff Rated: Mature Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Blood and Gore, Swearing, Graphic Depictions of Physical Abuse, Emotional Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Graphic Injuries, Nightmares, PTSD, Trauma, Hallucinations, Just read with caution please

—

Author: Teen-Titans-Imagines

—

-JASON’S POV-

As Jason watched (Y/n) twitch and move, Jason noticed there was a black substance filtering out of her eyes, nose, and mouth. Feeling sick, Jason wanted to ask what the fuck that shit was. However, Nazeem, seeming to sense his silent question, whispered to Hasan.

“I knew it...he has indeed infected her. Hasan, my disciple, warn the others. They must know of the sign Al-Muharriq has sent us.” 

Hasan nodded before running off, and Jason frowned deeply. Who the hell was Al-Muharriq? Looking back to (Y/n), Jason watched with wide eyes as the black substance suddenly turned a glowing gold, disappearing after a moment. The chanting slowly stopped, and Jason could see a slit in the cocoon form. Just as (Y/n) was about to fall out, Jason made a split-second decision, and ran up to the pool.

“Jason, no!”

“Jason, stop! You’ll be killed if you step into the water!”

Nazeem called, his voice furious and worried.

“You are not pure, Jason! You cannot step into those waters!”

Jason, ignoring the protests, ran across the surface of the lagoon, almost tripping when he realized he wasn’t sinking into the water. Skidding on his knees, he caught (Y/n) within his arms, his blue eyes widening as the strange fluid that slipped from her form felt ice cold to the touch. 

For a moment, it was silent. (Y/n) did not move. She did not blink or breathe. Instead, she laid lifeless within his arms, and it made Jason feel as though he had failed her once more. The breaking man whispered, gently shaking the girl as he held her tightly within his arms.

“(Y/n), sweetheart...wake up. Come on, baby girl. Wake up.”

However, she did not blink. She did not breathe. She did not move. Tears filled Jason’s eyes, and he sniffled, trying his hardest not to sob as he shook her once more.

“Come on, baby...wake up. You gotta wake up now.”

When (Y/n) continued to lay still, Jason cried, burying his head into her shoulder as he held her tightly. 

Finally, the Red Hood had been broken. Not by enemy hands...but by the lifeless ones of his own flesh and blood.

-READERS POV-

It was warm. So, so warm. The darkness had faded, and all that was left was a blinding white light. Where were you? Raising your and over your eyes, You found it did nothing to shade you eyes. However, as the light faded, you were aware of music faintly playing. 

“ Oh! Say! Let us fly, dear Where, kid? To the sky, dear Oh you flying machine Jump in, Miss Josephine “

As the white light faded, you noticed that you were in the foyer of a home, one that you had never seen before. To your left, stairs led to a second story, and you noticed the music was coming to your right, where double doors stood. You noticed a strange glowing reflecting from the white curtains covering the inside of the room. 

“Ship ahoy! Oh joy, what a feeling Where, boy? In the ceiling Ho, High, Hoopla we fly To the sky so high.”

Cautiously, you looked around, making sure no one was behind you, before you slowly reached for the door, almost jumping at the cold feeling of the metal. As you slowly opened the doors, your eyes widened when you saw the back of someone’s head. Their blonde hair was familiar, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. 

“Come on, now. There’s no need to be shy of your own grandmother, is there?”

“Come Josephine in my flying machine Going up she goes! Up she goes! Balance yourself like a bird on a beam In the air she goes! There she goes!”

Was this heaven? Did you die and given the allowance to ascend? As you slowly walked to the front of the couch, you spied your grandmother; the grandmother you had never met. However, what struck you as odd was that she was aged. Wrinkles lined her face, and her blue eyes had become lighter from age. Her lips curled back into a kind smile, and she whispered.

“Come, let me get a look at my gorgeous granddaughter.”

Hadn’t she died young? Hadn’t she died when your father did? Surely, she should be young, right? You watched as she beckoned you over, but you didn’t know if you could move. Shock was running through your veins, and you blurted out. 

“Is this heaven?”

“Up, up, a little bit higher Oh! My! The moon is on fire Come Josephine in my flying machine Going up, all on, Goodbye!”

Your grandmother laughed, her head falling back slightly, and she replied, a hand coming to to her chest.

“Well, in a way, yes. You’re here for a moment before your heart gets restarted by the gods that are helping you.”

“I’m...dead? I’m dead right now?”

“One, two, now we're off, dear Say you pretty soft, dear Whoa! dear don't hit the moon No, dear, not yet, but soon”

You sat down beside your grandmother as she sighed, running a hand through your hair. She replied, her blue eyes taking you in like a freshly made painting she had never seen before. 

“Yes, but it is only temporary.” 

Her eyes teared up, and she whispered.

“Oh, I’m so proud of him. What a strong and beautiful young lady my little Jason has created.”

You blushed in embarrassment, and mumbled. 

“I wouldn’t go that far. Though, with all due respect...how are you here?”

“You mean why aren’t I in hell for the things I’ve done?”

“You for me, Oh Gee! you're a fly kid Not me! I'm a sky kid See I'm up in the air About you for fair”

You ducked your head, and she chuckled. Your grandmother replied, continuing to look you over 

“Some things are better left unsaid...but to satisfy that curious cat you have within you, I will explain something for you. Ambrose Bierce once wrote within his work ‘The Unabridged Devils Dictionary’: ‘Redemption, n. Deliverance of sinners from the penalty of their sin through their murder of the deity against whom they sinned. The doctrine of Redemption is the fundamental mystery of our holy religions, and whoso believeth in it shall not perish, but have everlasting life in which to try to understand it.’ Do you understand?”

For a moment, it was silent, and you nodded after a moment. Your grandmother smiled before whispering to you. 

“Redemption nor Salvation are never given, my child. It is earned. ”

“Come Josephine in my flying machine Going up she goes! Up she goes! Balance yourself like a bird on a beam In the air she goes! There she goes!”

You sat back in your seat before looking at the grammaphone that was playing, your lip caught between your teeth. You murmured. 

“You know, I thought that this whole journey was for salvation from a sin I had committed...for something that I did wrong. When I was being shown my memories, I realized that it wasn’t about that at all.”

“Oh? Is that so?”

You glanced at your grandmother before you eyes hardened, lips pursing. 

“Yes. I know now what this journey was about. This wasn’t salvation. This was healing...healing from the things I never healed from...forgiving for the things I never forgave...and understanding why.”

“Up, up, a little bit higher Oh! My! The moon is on fire Come Josephine in my flying machine Going up, all on, Goodbye!” 

Your grandmother smiled softly, replying.

“I believe there is more to it than just that. There are many things that you still don’t understand nor know. In due time, you will...but for right now, you’re time is still not done.”

Your eyebrows furrowed and she winked at you. Sensing that her philosophic words were done, you asked. 

“Grandmother, why isn’t my mother here with you?”

Your grandmother smiled, her fingers nimble as they played with a lock of your hair. 

“Your mother is in her own heaven, my dear. A heaven created just for her.”

“A heaven of her own?”

“Yes. Her heaven that contains all the memories of you and Jason. She’s very, very proud of you, as am I. We’ve both been watching you, my dear.”

You widened your eyes and whispered in disbelief.

“My...my mom’s been watching over me?”

“Come Josephine in my flying machine Going up she goes! Up she goes! Balance yourself like a bird on a beam In the air she goes! There she goes!”

Your grandmother smiled widely before she winked once more, her eyes mischievous as she instructed. 

“Close your eyes, my dear.”

“What? Why?”

Doing it anyway, you frowned when you heard the sound of wind. What was going on? When nothing else happened, you opened your eyes carefully before gasping. In your grandmothers place sat your mother, her smile warm and loving as she gazed at you with her familiar eyes.

“Don’t you remember? I’m not going anywhere, my dear.”

You teared up and whispered. 

“Mom? Is that really you?”

She smiled before wrapping you up in her arms, your sobs muffled by her warm chest. Your mother whispered. 

“It’s alright, my dove...it’s alright.”

“I missed you so much. God, I dreamed of this so many times! Is this real? Are you really real?”

Your mother pulled away, saying.

“What’s real and what is not is up to you only. I don’t have much time, but I want you to know that I am so proud of you and your father. God, especially you. You’ve gone through so much, and still remained that strong little girl I know.” 

She smiled, that familiar twinkle within her eyes. 

“And boy, you are so much like your father, it is quite unsettling. I’m...I’m so blessed to have been given such an amazing daughter to raise with an equally amazing man.”

You sobbed out, holding her as if she was your life-line. 

“We miss you so much, Mom. It’s never been the same without you.”

“But you two made it work to the best of your abilities, and that’s all I could have ever asked for, my Tater Todd.”

You laughed quietly at the ridiculous nickname before your mother kissed your forehead. 

“I must go now, but do know that I love you so much. More than anything in the world. You tell your father to get his head out of his ass...and that I love him so much as well. You hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She smiled, kissing your forehead again.

“That’s my girl. You be good, now...and go save that crazy world of yours.”

“Up, up, a little bit higher Oh! My! The moon is on fire Come Josephine in my flying machine Going up, all on, Goodbye!”

As the song ended, the world around you faded

-JASON’S POV-

His form was still hunched over her. How long had it been? A couple of seconds? Perhaps even a few minutes? Jason pulled back to take a look at his daughter, his hand caressing her face when all of a sudden, she coughed, water and fluid spewing from the crevices of her lungs and out her mouth. Jason jolted, alarmed by the sudden sign of life, before gasping. 

“(Y/n)! Oh my god!”

She coughed more, clearing herself of the intruding liquid before her eyes slowly opened, looking around in a daze. When (Y/n) gazed upon Jason, Jason’s eyes widened. She whispered in a hoarse voice, raspy from irritation.

“I...I saw her.”

“Who? Who did you see?”

(Y/n)’s eyes closed slightly as her head lolled slightly to the side, the exhaustion clearly still within her body. Jason gently pulled her face upright again before she coughed once more, saying after a moment of silence.

“I saw Mom.”

Jason froze, and his eyes widened, tearing up as he asked quietly.

“You...You did?”

“She said...she said to get your head out of your ass...and that she loves you, you prick.”

Jason let out a small sniffle, his heart swelling from what (Y/n) said. Was it true? Did she really see her mother? Did she really see his ex lover? That was something his old flame would definitely say. Jason bit his lip before looking at the setting sun, the orange rays making his eyes seem white.

‘Thank you, (M/n)...I love you and miss you so much.’

Closing his eyes, his eyes squeezed tightly, Jason held back sobs. Looking at (Y/n), Jason whispered as he carefully picked her up. 

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Please? It’s freezing balls in here.”

Jason laughed lightly before turning, walking upon the surface of the water once more before walking to the steps. When he got to Nazeem, Nazeem seemed to look ashamed. Jason asked in curiosity. 

“What’s wrong, Nazeem?”

“I...I underestimated you, Mr. Todd. There is darkness that surrounds you...unnatural and foreboding. I believed that the gods would smite you for walking upon their waters...but I underestimated the power a fathers’ love for their child can have. Your love for her...it makes you pure just as your strength and faith within (Y/n) keeps her spirit alive. I underestimated you both. I am sorry.”

Jason was stunned into silence before he shook his head, muttering back. 

“There’s no need to apologize. You were just doing your job...and really, I should be the one apologizing. I took my anger out on you and your apprentice because my worry for (Y/n) clouded my judgement on whether or not this was alright. You were only trying to help, and I guess I was jealous I wasn’t the one helping.” 

Nazeem chuckled before replying, grasping a blanket a Follower had grabbed for (Y/n) and draping it over her. 

“’Actions speak louder than words,’ Jason Todd.”

Nazeem placed his hand upon Jason’s shoulder, simply saying to the surprised man.

“The gods led you here for a reason, Jason. They let you sail their skies, trek upon their earth, walk upon on their waters, and allowed you to feel the first light of dawn. If that is not a sign that you are meant to be here, then I’m afraid that I do not know what would be.”

Jason’s mouth was shut, and Nazeem looked at (Y/n), who had fallen asleep out of exhaustion. He smiled softly.

“That spirit of hers is strong, Jason...never allow her to lose that light within her.”

Jason nodded, holding (Y/n) closer to his chest. 

“Yes, sir.”

Nazeem smiled before saying sincerely.

“May the Gods light your path.”

With that, Nazeem and the followers left, leaving just the batfamily within the room. Dick announced.

“Ok, that was crazy. I thought you were gonna get fried like a fish or something.”

Damian rolled his eyes before smirking. 

“Not bad, Todd. Not bad at all.”

Jason smiled slightly at Damian before Tim rubbed his face. 

“I’m gonna be stressed out for the rest of my life. Write this on my grave: ‘Cause of death: got too stressed out because of Jason’s suicidal bullshit.’ “

The boys laughed before Bruce instructed, gesturing with his head. 

“Alright, you three. Back to the jet. I need to speak with Jason.”

They boys grumbled, but walked out one-by-one. Bruce looked at Jason before sighing.

“Nazeem mentioned things that I never had any ability to discuss...but after this experience, I do believe that I must say it as well.”

Jason, who had become weary, frowned deeply.

“What’s up with you, old man?”

Bruce sighed once more before admitting.

“I was never a father to you. At least, the father that you deserved. Nothing will ever be able to excuse my mistakes, and I do not want them too. You were right...about me and Damian. I would do the same for him, but I would do the same for all of you. You are just as much my son as Damian is. I underestimated you a lot, perhaps overestimated you as well.”

Bruce took a shaky breath, but Jason was alarmed, asking. 

“What are you trying to say, Bruce?”

Bruce bit his lip before finishing.

“What I’m trying to say is this: even though I know that no amount of these will ever suffice for what I did...I’m sorry. I’m sorry for that night.”

Jason was stunned, his eyes wide as he stared at Bruce. Was this really Bruce? Was this really the man he knew? Bruce cleared his throat slightly before adding. 

“...and I also want you to know that I’m proud of you, son.”

Jason’s jaw clenched as tears refilled his eyes, and Jason shook his head, trying to keep it together. However, Jason was unable to stay strong, and collapsed to his knees, sobbing out as memories flashed through his head of the pain...of the explosion...of Joker. Bruce was quick to gather Jason and his granddaughter up into his arms, whispering with his own tears falling as he kissed Jason’s temple. 

“I love you so much, Jason. God, I’m so sorry.”

Jason unhooked (Y/n)’s legs from his arm to hold onto Bruce, his face buried within the older man’s shoulder as he cried. Jason didn’t know he had needed that until now. As him and Bruce cried, he was unaware of the small smile growing upon (Y/n)’s face, her heart swelling with love and pride for her family, no matter how dysfunctional it could be.

-

[PART ELEVEN]

Permanent Tagging List/East Of Eden Tag List (these have honestly just turned into the permanent tag list laksdf;alksdf whoever was tagged for JUST east of eden, please tell me so I don’t mistakenly tag you in anything else I post):

@amnahs9695 @cuddlysteven @voltaiire @shuris-wakanda @@euphoricgukk @prancingdestiel @frida-marie (it’s not letting me tag you) @rcbinwcrld @thatawesomenerdygirl @hi-this-is-my-blog (It’s not letting me tag you) @addicted-to-dc @crazyfreckledginger @jasonsredhoody @conspiracy-teen @an-all-write-life @maroongoon

[correspondencearchive]

1. Hong Hong & Alex Paik

Hong Hong and Alex Paik discuss paper, the exiled body, and resistance vs interdependence

Hong Hong, Composition for an Emergent Brightness and Its Lesser Return, mulberry bark, dust, hair, pollen, fiber-reactive dyes, repurposed paper, water from Lake Erie, and foliage: Milkweed and Winged Sumac, 87 (H) x 90 (W) x 36 (D) inches, 2020

Alex Paik (AP): One thing I am especially drawn to in your work is your commitment to paper, a material that we are both deeply interested in. Paper is its own living and breathing material that bears the scars and memories of anything it comes in contact with -- the leftover grooves and scratches from graphite, the slight buckling and warping from being exposed to water, or even fading as it is exposed to light. You talk about this quality as it relates to the body and the experience of diasporic and exiled bodies. Can you speak a little more about this relationship?

Hong Hong (HH):

The process of making paper relates to three different kinds of bodies.

The Biological Body: In papermaking, the body is a soft machine. Papermakers use their bodies to transform different materials into paper by intentionally exposing them to heat, weight, water, time, and gravity. Hand paper formation involves a specific sequence of steps, which are repeated each time paper is made. Like choreography, it is an act that vanishes. The surface of paper is the sedimentation of these movements and gestures. It gives form to the biological act of living. You speak of leftover grooves of graphite, and the slight buckling and warping from being exposed to water. There are also often lines where each sheet has been folded and unfolded. These qualities, over time, reveal how we touch the world and how the world touches us: existence is additive and reductive.

I also think about the horizontal and vertical axis a lot. We defy gravity to walk upright. We give into gravity during rest: our bodies are prone when we sleep. We can say the same of our bodies during the process of dying. The floor and wall components in recent work reference these two distinct states of being: 1) The horizontal (intuitive): where we acquiesce to physical circumstance and where we dream 2) The vertical (rational): where we attempt to assert our agency and make decisions

My Own Body: I was the first grandchild born to my grandparents. I was a girl, but they were not disappointed with me. My mama, apoor, gonggong, and I all lived together in the same apartment. This is not unusual in China. My grandmother used to make me stand against the wall, so she could mark my height once a week. It was always a joyous occasion.

My grandparents are no longer with me. I wonder nowadays: How can I perceive and understand my own changing boundaries without them? How does a single body locate itself in a room or in a landscape? So, I work outside daily, on a surface that measures a little less than 12 ft x 8 ft. These dimensions are the exact distances I can reach without losing control of my balance. The lengths have changed over time: I’ve lost about two to three inches in the last four years. They remind me of time and of life, as the effort it takes in order to cross both.

There is an intimacy to making paper: I think about my apoor measuring my height against the wall. This is not legible to others. But that’s okay.

The Exiled Body: There is an old Chinese myth about the beginning of the world. In a time before time, all that existed was an egg and a giant who slept inside of it. His name was Pangu. His repose was the universe. His stillness was the one and the all. His body was an origin and an end. One day, he wakes up. In darkness, he swings his axe to separate the sky from the earth. He slowly pushes the sky away from land. After thousands of years, he dies. His hair becomes forests and trees, his eyes are the sun and the moon, and his voice is thunder. I’m fascinated by notions of world-building and stories of how we came to be. I don’t think that this is surprising, given that I immigrated to the US when I was young.

Exile, for me, has always been about the irrevocable distance between myself and something else. Distance is blue. That’s why this color surfaces a lot in my work. Blue is also the sky,, which is everywhere, no matter where I am. The sky is a taciturn blue passing over everyone. There is something sad and comforting about its ubiquitous silence. Exile is also about the legibility of my body and experiences. Abstraction is anything that is mediated by symbols. The body begins as a collection of material, the same way that landscapes do. I think identity is both an experience and an image, read or seen by others.

I travel to faraway places to make paper. These  journeys to make paper in different locations are attempts to reimagine my own experiences in border-crossing. In some ways, it is also tied to ideas of navigation and a continuous sense of movement from place to place. A lot of my recent work consists of four different sheets of paper tacked together to form a floor and ceiling work. They reference the cardinal directions. I work outside. All the work puts my body in spaces where I am estranged from myself and separated from my identity. This is somehow necessary. All work is the work of this body. All work is a search for this body. Therefore, all work is always the same work.

AP: This is so beautiful. When you talk about the horizontal/vertical shift it makes me think of Yi Fu Tuan’s Space and Place, where he talks about babies going from prone to walking and how that relates to a baby’s sense of agency and place in the world. I certainly feel this conversation between agency and acquiescence happening in your work and your process, especially with how you are manipulating paper/letting paper be manipulated. You are working with paper not so much as a metaphor for the body but as a body, and the intimacy of seeing the record of your body in relation to the paper’s body comes through quite clearly: a marker of time, and a measure of your body as it shrinks over time.

Hong Hong, documentation of complete environmental pour, Vermont 2019

AP: Was there ever a shift in your work when you went from using manufactured paper to making your own, or have you always made your own paper? What is important to you about the papermaking process?

HH: I’ve never worked with manufactured paper the way that I do with handmade paper. Manufactured paper functioned, for me, as a substrate. I’ve always been interested in drawing and painting as processes of accumulation, where each action has the potential to become an abstract temporal measurement (like a breath or the swing of a pendulum). I also love materials that can hover between object and image. I like the flattening that happens in representation. I also love dealing with gravity. I don’t think these processes are separable or different: they are ultimately about the transformation of energy into form. I think I was able to make the jump between painting and papermaking because of these interests.

I learned how to make paper when I was in graduate school. I went for Painting (long story short: had to go to grad school because of visa issues). In graduate school, I felt alienated from the history of painting, as it was presented by a primarily white institution. Papermaking seemed to offer something different. It seemed to say that what I was learning about and exposed to, is not the only narrative. I also kind of loved that my painting professors hated it! I love that paper, before anything else, is an object. I loved that I had my own memories of burning holy paper at temples when I was young. I believe objects have the capacity to materialize complex beliefs into concrete things (value) that are tangible and exchangeable. They carry tacit values about specific moments in time. The conditions for the production, usage, and erosion of objects are both personal and collective.

Hong Hong, The Mountain Which Does Not Describe a Circle II, mulberry bark, sun, dust, hair, pollen, fiber-reactive dyes, repurposed paper, water, and foliage: Loblolly Pine and leaves from an unknown tree, 91 (H) x 128 (W) inches, 2021

AP: This idea of something hovering between object and image is something I think about, too. My geometric units function both as images and as the material with which I build each installation. In terms of composition the temporary nature of each iteration of my pieces resists the idea of a static composition and links the image to the potential of the materials (the folded painted geometric units).. When I was making paintings I never felt comfortable making an image out of thin air -- I always needed some sort of resistance (like projecting old video game screenshots) as a way of having something to work against. The white of a canvas is very different from the white of paper (even if it is manufactured). To me the white of a canvas feels like starting from zero, while the white of the paper already has a sort of history and aliveness to it to respond to.

When I decided to move to only working with paper over ten years ago it felt like I had come home. I was especially drawn to the way paper softened the geometric forms I was working with. Looking back now I think it has to do with never feeling like I quite belonged in the (white) history of art and painting specifically and wanting to find a way to approach and relate to this history from another perspective. I still love and appreciate a lot of Western painting, but I don’t think I can ever go back to it. It’s so funny how people talk about paper as a “humble” material, only because it makes me think about how Euro-American painting is perhaps, by extension, the opposite lol. Our work is fragile and easily damaged. I am ok with my work having a finite lifespan, and I think about how presumptuous and egotistical it is to be a painter who wants their work to live on forever. To me the idea of paper being “humble” is more the product of wanting to privilege other materials and traditions than any sort of inherent humility in paper itself.

HH: My partner, Jamey, is a painter. He’s reading a book called Almost Nothing. It’s a collection of writing about precarious practices. He told me a phrase yesterday that is really beautiful: “the syntax of weakness.” Openness to touch is the first condition of any object’s creation. Mark-making is only possible when a material chooses to absorb a gesture or a movement. In some way, it is about acceptance. A sheet of paper is the same as a boulder or the moon: they are changed by heat, pressure, impact, and time. Their malleability and porousness leads to material instability. In this way, all things engage with the act of writing their own histories. To live is to disappear: form records this disappearance.

Making paper is an arduous, physically demanding process. It depletes my resources each time it occurs. Something is born, as I die. For me, manual labor is a way for time to enter into my body. It returns me back to matter. This quality of impermanence is also in the body of the work. I, like you, was largely uninterested in the plasticity of paint. I also wasn’t necessarily interested in its immortality (I say this, and I love the work of so many painters). I didn’t know it at the time, but I wanted to work with something that is alive. This is also why I choose to work outdoors. You speak of resistance, and I feel that too, when I make paper. Limitations are wonderful. They tell me where I am.

I feel it when it rains on my work. I feel it when I go to new places and the object cannot come into being the same way it did in a previous location (do you sense this, when you create installations?).

AP: I do! Each space has different lighting conditions and a different scale, which I unconsciously and consciously adapt to as I am onsite building the installation. Sometimes I literally have to work around/against awkwardly placed outlets and “architectural features.” At other times there are even time constraints -- if I am traveling or only have a certain amount of time to finish due to childcare/scheduling/etc.

Alex Paik, Partial Diamond (Slice), gouache, colored pencil, paper, nails, dimensions variable, 2019, installed at Praxis New York, 2019 (approx. 5.5 x 6.5 x 11 feet)

HH: Everything changes due to season, humidity, weather, and millions of other factors that sort of seamlessly flow together to become landscape, and our tactile and sensorial understanding of it. For me, making paper separates experience into its distinct, constituent parts: sun, heat, collision, water, foliage, weather, gravity, etc. And the paper, once dry, stitches these segments together to form a whole. When I make paper, I feel something pushing back at or rising up against me. In a way, I’m fighting it. But I want to be accepted by it too. There is a simultaneous sense of absorption and alienation. In a recent interview with Artmaze, Bridget Mullen was talking about painting and they said that alienation teaches us empathy. Now I think of that when I work.

I love painting. I also love what you said about painting being the process of creating something out of thin air. I think of what I do as painting, if painting is a depository process and not a creative one. I think that life can be irrevocably difficult, but there are moments when the world is still and beautiful, like a drawing. That’s what I love most of all. A lot of my work is about erosion, alienation, exile, etc. But it is also about pleasure and happiness. I always wake up early in the day and start working at dawn, in the blue-dark. I feel the sun on my back and the coolness of the water between my hands. I feel the temperature rise. The wind shifts. Parts of me can disappear in those moments. Like painting, papermaking unfolds within quotidian time. Sometimes time can be unwavering in its perpetuity. But sometimes time becomes significant and bigger. It touches on the eternal and transforms into something unfathomable and long, like the sky. I am free here. I belong here. No one can take that away from me.

Can you speak more about resistance, as it relates to your work? There is a sense of vibrational geometry in your improvisations and installations: how is this related to the imagery you were working with in your paintings? Can you also tell me more about the temporary nature of the work? How do the compositions come into being (you speak of feeling)? Do they only come into being once and never again? Are parts disassembled and reassembled (reincarnation) to become other pieces? What perspectives did your decision to work with paper bring you?

I wrote a lot! It’s a nice day here.  

AP: I love it! So I’ll answer your questions in reverse order. My modular installations are made up of hundreds of the same geometric form, which are then hung up with nails temporarily on a wall when I have a show. Now that I think about it, in a way I am also making my own material like you are making paper. Each resulting composition is a unique iteration or performance of the same piece that will never be repeated in exactly the same way. In other words, the piece itself (a collection of individual units) has no static form or image but rather only has the potential to combine and recombine into almost endless combinations. I saw this great quote by Sanford Biggers recently that talks about how the basic logic of patchwork/quilt making is “to constantly be rebirthed in a new form, using the same materials.” And that is a very succinct way of describing what my work is about. And although these new relationships and forms are on the surface primarily concerned with shape and color, they become metaphors for speaking about other types of rebuilding - whether it is the way that a nation can reassemble itself with the same flawed individuals or how we as individuals can rebirth ourselves constantly using the same elements of our identities, either through code-switching depending on the social context or through sustained unlearning/relearning.

I think less about resistance in my work but more about interdependence. That resistance of paper as a living material can also be described as an interdependent relationship -- I can coax it into certain shapes by folding/gluing/painting but then the paper also responds by warping, sagging, etc. The installations themselves have an interdependent relationship with the walls and the lighting -- the forms need walls and lights to reflect their painted colors onto. What is most visible when looking at my work is actually not the material itself (the paper and folded forms) but rather the results of this interdependent relationship: the reflected, hazy color.

HH: I love thinking about the work as “a collection of individual units that has no static form or image”, but rather as “potential”. It breaks down barriers between the inanimate and animal, object and art, as well as the past, present, and future.  I also love thinking about resistance in the context of interdependence. This is a helpful framework with which we can not only consider and approach ourselves, but also larger systems: political, social, geographical, mythical, etc. 

Alex Paik, Partial Equilateral Triangle (Two Right), gouache, colored pencil, paper, nails, dimensions variable, 2020, installed in studio, 2020 (approx. 4 x 8.5 feet)

Hong Hong is a visual artist whose practice spans craft, painting, and earthwork. Born in Hefei, China, she immigrated with her family to North Dakota in 1999 and earned her MFA from University of Georgia in 2014. Hong has exhibited at Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art, Georgia Museum of Art, Real Art Ways, Art League Houston, Penland School of Craft, and Jewett Arts Center. Her projects have been reviewed by Art21, Hyperallergic, Virtual Asian American Art Museum, Art New England, Southwest Contemporary, and Glasstire. Hong is the recipient of fellowships and grants from National Endowment for the Arts, MacDowell, Yaddo, Houston Center for Contemporary Craft, Connecticut Office of the Arts, and Foundation for Contemporary Arts.

www.honghong.studio @honghongstudio

Alex Paik is an artist living and working in Los Angeles. His modular, paper-based wall installations explore perception, interdependence, and improvisation within structure while engaging with the complexities of social dynamics. He has exhibited in the U.S. and internationally, with notable solo projects at Praxis New York, Art on Paper 2016, and Gallery Joe. His work has also been featured in group exhibitions at BravinLee Projects, Lesley Heller Workspace, and MONO Practice, among others.

Paik is Founder and Director of Tiger Strikes Asteroid, a non-profit network of artist-run spaces and serves on the Advisory Board at Trestle Gallery, where he formerly worked as Gallery Director.

www.alexpaik.com @alexpaik

[sheps-shepherd]

@aiko-namina

SURPRISE BITCH I WAS YOUR SECRET SANTA AND YOU DIDN’T EVEN KNOW WOOOOOOOOOOW

You asked for a fluffy epilogue SorMik fic. I give you kinda sorta not that.

I think you’ll appreciate what I ended up doing. I really hope you like it! Merry Christmas!

Also this is a song fic! Kinda! So when you see the ~:~ symbol, click on the link and listen to the song as you read! There are two songs and I very intricately placed them to fit in the story so don’t go past the second symbol until you’re done with the first song! I’ll know if you do and I’ll be offended so don’t. 

Kay enjoyyyyyyyy! 

The feeling of the room hit Mikleo before he’d even opened his eyes. It felt hot and stuffy, like a blast of dragon breath had hit him square in the face. But instead of a dragon, it was an array of colorful lights, swirling and flashing from the ceiling onto the floor below. He was standing in the shadow of some kind of overhang, protecting him from the beams of blue and pink, but the other patrons of the room weren’t so lucky. Yet they didn’t seem to mind, and moved around in sweaty clusters of people with smiles on their faces. Mikleo didn’t get what there was to be happy about in a room that felt so claustrophobic and disgustingly warm with all its occupants and brightness.

But there was some part of him that did. The aura of the room made Mikleo feel something he hadn’t felt in a long time – so long that he no longer knew the name of that feeling. Just that it made him feel a little more… alive.

“Why did you take us here?”

“I didn’t. I just went for it, and this is where we ended up.”

“Were you trying to go somewhere else?”

“No place specifically other than here.”

It was hard to hear over the music playing somewhere else in the room. When was the last time Mikleo had heard music? Longer than the last time he’d felt anything besides the warped content he’d been living in. But he didn’t recall ever hearing music that sounded quite like this: so powerful and upbeat. Not that he could really recall what music normally sounded like to him.

A group of people on the rainbow-lit floor in front of them suddenly moved away, giving Mikleo a much better view of the rest of the room. It was largely the same as the small piece of it he’d been seeing before, yet his attention was drawn to a group near the middle. At first glance, there was nothing special about them – just another sweaty group of too-happy people. But that feeling was tugging at Mikleo’s chest, and as he watched, a familiar head of snowy white hair bobbed into view.

He inhaled sharply.

“That’s–?”

“Yeah.”

Mikleo dared to glance over. Sorey was looking away from him, presumably at the same  group Mikleo had just been watching, and no doubt seeing the same thing. There was a furrow nestled between his eyebrows and a stiffness to his shoulders that portrayed his discomfort.

“I don’t see you, though.”

“I’m in there somewhere.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m never far from you.”

The world proved Sorey right: like clockwork, a just-as-familiar face bounced into Mikleo’s view, a smile so brightly placed upon his face it would put the sun itself to shame.

It made Mikleo feel sick. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sorey’s stance shift.

Sorey looked perfect under the blinking lights, like he was meant to be there. His brown hair was as messy as ever, his bangs slightly curled from the sweat collected along his brow. It looked like he was supposed to be wearing a suit of sorts, but lacked a jacket to match his pants. His dark blue dress shirt was unbuttoned at his throat, and his black bowtie hung loosely around his collar. And his vibrant green eyes were like sparkles, shining brighter than any light in the room, matching his grin as he moved to the beat of the music alongside…. Rose. That was Rose, dancing next to him, her long black dress swishing around her ankles as she matched Sorey step for step.

It was good to see her again. It was good to see her and Sorey together again. Mikleo hadn’t seen that in a long, long time.

~:~

As the thrill of the song faded away, Sorey and Rose high-fived and laughed through a bout of heavy panting. They were swallowed up by bodies as the other people in their group moved around, hiding them from Mikleo’s sight. As they all made a new cluster or walked away, a new song started up, this one much softer and slower. And Mikleo suddenly saw himself standing awkwardly on the floor alone, looking incredibly out of place in his crisp white suit with his turquoise bowtie. He watched himself bite his lip and gaze around almost hopelessly, before he turned to walk back across the room.

“Mikleo!” Sorey appeared again, pushing his way past a few groups of dancing people to get to the open space where Mikleo was. “Mikleo, hey, wait!” His hand closed around Mikleo’s wrist, making him pause in his steps and turn to look at him.

Rejuvenation, Mikleo decided, staring hard at the spot where Sorey’s fingers touched him – the other him. That’s what this feeling is. Beside him, Sorey didn’t move. Mikleo didn’t think he was even breathing.

On the floor, Sorey seemed to be fumbling for something else to say. Mikleo could see his throat working as he tried to wrestle words out of his mouth. The other Mikleo waited patiently for him to finally speak. “Will you…. Will you dance with me?”

“Why don’t you ask Rose to dance with you?” Mikleo replied, with absolutely no hesitation, his words like a whip that took no prisoners. Sorey winced a bit. “She is your date, after all.”

“Mikleo….” Sorey looked ashamed for a moment, but quickly shook his head in protest. “This is stupid. It’s our senior prom. We should have come together, and instead we’re fighting. I’m sick of fighting.”

Mikleo looked away. “You seem to be having a perfectly nice time anyway.” It seemed like he was trying to tug his hand free, but Sorey held onto him, twisting their fingers together defiantly.

“Not as much as I would be if I knew I was here with you.” Sorey’s shoulders dropped sadly. “I know I’m a bad boyfriend and I didn’t handle what happened very well. And I’m sorry. But…. Give me a chance to be better?”

For a moment, as Mikleo watched himself close his eyes and take a long, deep breath, he thought for sure he’d say something he didn’t want to hear. He hadn’t wanted to come here to see himself  and the love of his life at a bump in the road – he lived eternally in such a bump. He stared at himself so hard he could feel a strain behind his eyes, willing himself to make the right decision.

But he was pretty sure that had nothing to do with the other him’s eventual response.

“You’re not a bad boyfriend,” Mikleo said, so softly that he could barely be heard even beneath the already-quiet music. He looked back up at Sorey, who was giving him a grateful smile. “I didn’t handle what happened well, either. I don’t blame you for anything that happened. I started it all, anyway.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is.” Mikleo took Sorey’s other hand in his, holding them between their bodies as they stared at each other, Sorey the classic full-head taller. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you with Alisha.”

“I’m sorry I gave you a reason not to trust me.”

“You didn’t.” Mikleo brought their joined hands to his chest. “I…. I was just jealous. Of you and her. And I took it out on you.” Sorey grinned, and Mikleo’s cheeks went pink, bleeding through the tint of the lights. “Yeah, yeah, go ahead and poke fun. I deserve it.”

“Hey, did I say anything? Besides, what I think you deserve….” He took their joined hands back, guiding Mikleo’s to lay on his shoulders before resting his own over his hips, “….is a proper dance at your senior prom with your awful boyfriend.”

“I told you, you’re not awful.”

“Mediocre, then.”

Mikleo giggled and shook his head. He curled his arms further around Sorey’s neck, and Sorey curled his arms further around the small of his back, bringing their bodies closer together. Sorey rested his forehead against Mikleo’s.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“We should go.”

Mikleo blinked out of his trance and looked back over at his Sorey, who had stood silent beside him until now. “What?”

“If I’d known it was going to send me to a place like this, I wouldn’t have brought you with me.” Sorey’s already-crossed arms tightened across his chest. “You didn’t need to see something like this.”

“Why’s that?”

Sorey didn’t answer. Mikleo didn’t need him to.

“Let’s go.”

Rejuvenation.

“Dance with me.”

For the first time since they’d arrived, Sorey looked over at him. His red eyes flashed even in the dim lighting of the overhang.

“What?”

Mikleo pointed to where their other selves held each other and swayed, eyes closed and completely in love.

“Dance with me.”

“Don’t be stupid. We have to go.”

“I want to dance with you.”

“We’re going.”

“No.”

“Mikleo–!”

Mikleo reached out and grabbed Sorey by the front of his cloak, gripping the black fabric tightly in his hands. He pulled on him, hard, forcing Sorey to take a stumbling step closer to him. Their gazes met in a stalemate: Mikleo’s full of determination and Sorey’s of annoyance.

Mikleo knew full well that he really had no control over whether or not Sorey took them back – it was his power, not Mikleo’s – but the fact that he hadn’t done so already gave Mikleo some kind of hope.

He brought his hands up and wrapped his arms around Sorey’s neck, glancing sidelong at his other self for a reference. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d held Sorey so innocently, without the promise of lips on skin or hands groping flesh. Mikleo was jealous – jealous of the other him who got to hold Sorey whenever he pleased. It made him feel guilty: jealousy was a feeling he still knew quite well.

With a start, Mikleo realized the song had ended, and their other selves had ceased their dancing as a voice boomed through the room. “All right, Glenwood High! It is now officially time to announce this year’s prom king and queen!” Cheers and applause of excitement rang out, and with a defeated sigh, Mikleo stepped back.

Only to be caught around his waist and prevented from moving any further. Mikleo looked up in surprise, but Sorey’s face was the blank slate it normally was, revealing none of what he was thinking. His red stare bore into Mikleo, so intense it sent a shiver down his spine.

“The ballots have been counted! I am pleased to introduce your king and queen…”

With the arm around him, Sorey pulled Mikleo close again, until they were chest-to-chest. His other hand came to rest on the middle of Mikleo’s back.

Mikleo had forgotten what it felt like to be held so tenderly by the one he loved.

“There isn’t any music playing now.”

“Do you care?”

“No.”

Mikleo laid his head on his shoulder, cheek pressed to the curve of Sorey’s collarbone, his hands coming to rest back on his chest.

“….Sorey Shepherd and Alisha Diphda!”

~:~

More cheers. More applause. Mikleo could still see their other selves, and watched them – watched Sorey’s bright green eyes go wide as he double-taked between the Mikleo in his arms and something Mikleo couldn’t see. The other Mikleo laughed and shoved at him, yelling over the roar of the crowd to go. Sorey grinned and made to bolt away, but Mikleo was quick to grab his wrist.

“Wait! Fix your bowtie!”

Sorey looked down at himself, quickly bringing his hands up to hastily attempt to redo the buttons on his shirt. Mikleo’s hands went to his throat and fumbled with his bowtie. Through giddy laughter and knocking fingers, they managed to get Sorey looking presentable. Only then did Mikleo allow him to run off to the other end of the room, and out of sight.

“You’re stupid, you know that?” Sorey’s voice came from over his shoulder, his voice practically a whisper to Mikleo’s ears with all the background noise. He shrugged in response.

“So are you.”

“I know.”

“This isn’t dancing.”

“It’s what you wanted.”

“I know.”

Mikleo closed his eyes. Everything else around him became white noise. Nothing mattered, nothing but the way Sorey’s cloak felt against his cheek or the way Sorey’s arms felt around his back or the way Sorey’s chin felt pressed to his hair. For a moment, Mikleo could almost trick himself into believing that he and his Sorey were no different than the him and Sorey they’d come to see. That there was no game, no power, no other home to return to, and he would pull back and look up and Sorey would be smiling at him with that sun-shaming smile of his that made his bright green eyes sparkle–

Mikleo opened his eyes. Their other selves were back in their spot on the dance floor, Sorey with a big and gaudy, red-and-silver glitter-covered crown now on his head. His black jacket that had been missing before was now on his shoulders, starkly contrasting Mikleo’s white sleeves. The music was upbeat and playful again, and they shook each other around as they danced, hands interlocked, wide grins on their faces.

And suddenly, Sorey tugged his hands free, brought them up to cup Mikleo’s cheeks, and pulled him into a kiss. Mikleo’s fingers caught the fabric of his jacket, holding onto him as he rose up onto his toes to better return the kiss without disturbing the crown atop Sorey’s head. Watching them, Mikleo couldn’t tell when their kiss turned from a real kiss to them just smiling against each other’s lips like complete and utter dorks.

Rose appeared from somewhere Mikleo couldn’t see, and shoved her way between the two of them, wrapping an arm around each of their necks and dragging them into a hug. Then Alisha was there at Sorey’s side, grabbing the rim of his crown when it threatened to topple off following Rose’s assault. She had a matching tiara nestled in her blonde curls, just as gaudy and glittery as Sorey’s. When Rose released them, she stepped up to Mikleo, wringing her hands together at her chest, and said something that was lost among the music. But whatever it was that she said made Mikleo smile, and he pulled her into a hug of his own. Behind them, Sorey and Rose exchanged relieved grins.

Sorey reached up and took the crown off his head, holding it high in the air as he shouted, “To senior year!” Whooping repeats of the cheer echoed through the room, and Sorey laughed. The crown went back on his head, and he picked Mikleo up, bent down and wrapped his arms around his waist and actually picked him up. And Mikleo was so happy he didn’t even scold him for it. He just laughed and squished Sorey’s cheeks between his palms and shook his head adoringly. He said something that made Sorey’s grin widen all the more, and he dipped his head down just as Sorey was craning his up–

A cloud of purple suddenly filled Mikleo’s vision. He blinked, lifting his head from Sorey’s shoulder as he watched it dissipate before his eyes. Gone were the bright blinking lights, the blues and pinks and yellows all replaced with shadowed corners and dingy stone walls. The loud music abruptly stopped, replaced with a bone-chilling silence. And the people – there was no longer a single person in sight. No groups of dancing friends, no Rose, no Alisha, no other him, and no other Sorey.

Nothing but the ubiquitous scene of a ruin wall that had made up his life for so long now that he’d forgotten what it felt like to see something new.

Mikleo stepped out of the embrace and looked up at Sorey, his mouth hanging open. But before he could utter any words of protest, Sorey was there again, taking him by the chin and pulling him back in and pressing their lips together.

It was soft and sweet, not hungry and desperate like the kisses Sorey usually gave him. It made Mikleo gasp in surprise, and Sorey held him almost painfully tightly, and Mikleo didn’t pull away from him. He didn’t even mind the harshness of his grip, because it had been ages since Sorey had kissed him so chastely, just because he loved him, and not because he wanted anything else along with it.

He reached upwards with the intent to loop his arms around his neck, but Sorey broke the kiss before he could. Mikleo looked up again, into his love’s glowing red eyes.

“Sorey–”

“Don’t ever ask to come with me again.���

Mikleo reeled back, and this time, Sorey let him. He ignored the shocked expression on Mikleo’s face, instead turning around to slink off down one of the ruins’ many hallways, to disappear somewhere and stay there until he felt like coming back out.

He stopped at the threshold of the hallway. His black cloak helped him blend into the darkness of the room, even its gold accents faint. But his eyes were bright as he looked over his shoulder, cutting through the dimness and staring right through him.

Mikleo couldn’t help but think about how the brightness in his Sorey’s eyes was so different than the brightness in the eyes of the other Sorey. So different from the way his Sorey’s used to be.

“It’s easier this way. If you just stay here.”

“Why do you go?” Mikleo asked, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “Why do you go if you don’t care?”

Sorey didn’t answer him. He turned back around and disappeared into the darkness of the hallway.

Mikleo brought a hand to his mouth and touched his fingertips to his still-burning lips.

He had no idea how long it would be before he saw Sorey again.

The bright multi-colored strobe lights had been turned off in favor of turning on the brighter overhead lights of the gymnasium. Large sheets of construction paper and piles of streamers littered the floor, as did the rest of the student council staff as they flittered about, removing decorations.

Mikleo was taking down the last of the balloons taped along the bleachers when that odd feeling dripped down his spine again. He pulled off the last red balloon and turned to glance over his shoulder, to the other side of the gym. Specifically to the shadow of one of the basketball hoops, the only one folded down from the ceiling that had been used to help suspend strings of paper stars. Mikleo wasn’t sure what it was, but the need to keep checking that particular spot for something kept niggling its way through his head. And every time he looked, there was nothing. Nothing but a crumbled napkin someone had missed when clearing the nearby tables.

He was probably just tired. And upset that that napkin was just sitting there. He should just go pick it up.

“Mikleo?”

A hand touched his elbow, and he looked over. Sorey was still wearing his ridiculous prom king crown, and had once again shed his jacket and tugged off his bowtie. Both were bunched up and stuffed under his arm, and Mikleo half-heartedly noted he’d have to stop by Sorey’s house at some point before his rented suit was due back to spiff both items back up.

Sorey smiled at him, and Mikleo forgot to make a sarcastic comment about his lack of clothing etiquette.

“Hey, Rose offered to take our picture outside, while the building’s still all lit up. Since, you know, we didn’t exactly get to the photographer earlier. Her new phone is probably the next best thing we can get.”

“You’re drenched in sweat and already half-destroyed your suit. You really want your picture taken right now?”

“Do I really want a picture with my boyfriend to commemorate our senior prom? Yeah, I really do.”

Mikleo rolled his eyes, but felt his lips twitch into a smile. “Fine. We did take a picture at your last soccer game anyway, and I guarantee you can’t smell worse than that.”

“At least I’m in a suit this time.”

They both laughed. Sorey took the balloon from him and bopped it towards the middle of the gym floor for someone else to take care of. Mikleo watched it float to the ground before looking back up at Sorey, surprised to find him staring rather intently across the gymnasium. He followed his gaze, but couldn’t figure out what he was staring at.

“Sorey?”

“Who’s in charge of raising the basketball hoop back up?”

Mikleo blinked. “Alisha. She’s the student council president, she should have the key.”

“She’s outside with Rose. I bet she forgot. C’mon, we can have a photo shoot while we wait for her to finish up.”

Sorey reached down and took his hand, lacing their fingers together as he began to lead the way out of the gymnasium. Mikleo went willingly, falling into step beside his boyfriend without even needing to think about it.

That feeling slipped back down his spine, though, and Mikleo cast one last glance at the shadow of the basketball hoop before they crossed through the doorway of the gym and it vanished from his sight.

“Everything okay?”

“I love you,” Mikleo said instead of answering. Sorey beamed at him, and as he lifted their joined hands and pressed a soft kiss to the back of Mikleo’s, he couldn’t help but think that Sorey looked like a true king, ridiculous crown and all.

“I love you, too.”

Mikleo’s heart fluttered. Being with Sorey always made him feel so wonderfully alive.

[habitants-of-haven]

Avery

The first I heard of Haven was a warning from the waitress at the diner I stopped at in Alberton. In Alberton, everything was normal. A small conservative town in a rural area at the base of the mountains - a peaceful place full of good people - good people if you looked and acted like they did, anyways.

"That town? Those people? They ain't right. Sometimes people who go there don't come back. Sometimes the ones who do come back go crazy, talkin' bout things they think they seen over there or covered in tattoos and piercings. You be careful, young lady. Wouldn't want to see you come back 'round spoutin' that sorta nonsense."

I smiled tightly and thanked her, assuring her I didn't intend to stay long. And I didn't, really. I was just on my way through, thinking of spending the night there - Haven was just another little town, just like Alberton, seemingly with a quaint little rivalry. And soon enough, I was on my way, graciously declining the waitress' recommendations of a lovely place to stay in Alberton owned by her parents.

Driving through the mountains you lose track of how many you've crossed. The roads zig and zag, around and over, up and down. They get too narrow just long enough that your chest starts to tighten going around the curves, looking down and seeing open skies beside you, and you can see yourself falling, crashing, dying - and then the roads widen, and you go down. It's exhilarating, just passing through these ancient hills, evading their call as they try to catch you in the web of trees and nestle you deep in the folds of the earth.

Caught up in that, I almost didn't notice my first glimpse of Haven. It's nothing special, really, not from that high up. Had you put a picture of it next to Alberton in front of me I can't say I could have identified one from the other. But something about it called to me, and I started grinning on the long winding road down the mountain to it, feeling somehow as though I was finally coming home.

I had been driving for almost 6 hours, and that was explanation enough for the strange nostalgia to me at the time. The sky was growing dark as I pulled up to the inn, the warm light shining softly on the logs looking charmingly rustic and cozy.

The woman at the front desk called her wife to help me bring my few bags up to my room while she rang me up, smiling kindly and "hope you find everything alright, son". I grinned at her and thanked her sincerely. The interaction stayed on my mind as I drifted off to sleep with a smile on my face.

I woke up that morning and rolled over to hit my alarm before remembering that I wasn't home and hadn't set one.

Surprisingly enough I'd woken up at a decent hour regardless, so I figured I'd treat myself to a real breakfast instead of the granola bar I'd packed. As I was standing in the lobby of the inn fiddling on my phone trying to find a nearby restaurant, the woman who had carried my bags for me the night before waved at me - Sylvia, according to what I'd overheard from a conversation the day before.

"Need any help? Recommendations or anything? There aren't all that many options but I might be able to give you some tips."

"Oh, that would be greatly appreciated - it's always hard to narrow things down when it's just me, thank you!"

She asked me a few questions, then with a wide smile and a glimmer in her eye pointed me to a cafe a short walk down the road - she mentioned it was an establishment mostly for locals, but that I might enjoy it. It was apparently run by one of the people in her knitting group, the existence of which further endeared her to me, as did her parting words - "have a nice day, sir!"

I was so caught up in the excitement breakfast and being gendered correctly that I payed nothing more than an idle glance to the tattoos of vines along her arms, and didn't really notice how they danced when she moved like leaves in the wind.

Walking around the town in the daylight, I could see some clear differences from Alberton. One that made me grin was that the graffiti, instead of being an assortment of slurs, was a mural of a dragon and a trans anarchy symbol that looked like it had been there a while. The town also just felt more...alive. Alberton was more jaded than sleepy, but this place, while not exactly bustling, was full of energy - neighbors chatting amicably, squirrels chasing each other through the trees lining the sidewalk, and colorful murals on all the buildings.

The cafe, Sylvan Sugar, was not one that was particularly easy to find without directions- it was located down a small side street that appeared to have a dead end, and had modest signage and what looked like a side door as the main entrance, but Sylvia's directions led me right there. When I walked in, conversations stopped, and I was met with a room of eyes looking back at me. For once in my anxiety-ridden life that was not the highest priority concern for me, because a lot of those eyes were clearly not human - some had horizontal bars for pupils like goats, others had feline-like vertical slits, and still others had no pupils at all. Furthermore, some of the customers had horns, tails, wings, fur, scales - one large fellow in the back notably had all of these going on at once - and still others looked completely human.

It was a little overwhelming in all honesty, but I'd already opened the door - I was hardly going to turn around and walk out, certainly not with everyone staring. As I made my way to a lone table in a corner, some of the eyes turned away from me, though I could tell everyone else was as aware of me as I was of them. It was tense, and strange, but I wasn't scared. I stared unseeing at the menu for a few moments, trying to process what I'd seen and looking from the corner of my eye at the surrounding patrons. Processing didn't really work, so I decided to just let autopilot take over and pretend everything was normal. I politely placed my order when a waiter sporting sharp teeth, gills, scales, blue skin, and webbed fingers approached with a notepad, and had a wonderful breakfast. The tension faded as it became clear to I and the others that neither party intended to do much of anything about the elephant in the room (metaphorical, I must mention - none of them seemed to share many traits with an elephant). I paid and left, tipping nicely, and not a word was said of the mind-blowing absurdity of the situation.

Making my way back to the inn, my mind started functioning again. By the time I'd arrived, I had concluded that my only option was to continue as if things were normal here as well. I'm really not one for confrontation, and as strange as the experience was, the food and service had been wonderful and I had actually enjoyed the cafe, so as I headed up I stopped by to thank Sylvia for the recommendation.

She greeted me as I approached the desk, "Hello dear! Did you find the place alright? It is a bit out of the way."

"Oh yes, found it just fine - best biscuits I've had in a while, really, thank you for pointing me to it." I smiled, gave a short wave, and turned to go up the stairs - but couldn't quite resist looking over my shoulder to say "The patrons were quite interesting. You have a wonderful town" before going upstairs. Just before I left, I saw her smile, and this time I noticed the way her tattoos moved - for a second I could see her skin as greener, more textured - as though she was coated in a layer of leaves and bark. I knew somehow that I was seeing through something, that she had maybe let me see through it - and I smiled back.

In my room, I had a lot to think about, but I decided to do it on the road. I felt a brief pang of remorse as I made that decision, but reminded myself firmly that I was just passing through, on my way to a better life west of here, across the mountains. While I'd felt more at home here than ever from the moment I'd arrived, and while I was still reeling from the shock of the days revelations regarding the existence of the supernatural, I was determined to change my life and get far away from where I'd come. It didn't feel right to stay. Not then.

So I left. Sylvia and Nora wished me safe travels, and said their farewells - which consisted of "we'll be seeing you". Somehow the words felt more intentional than a generic goodbye, but I payed it no mind as I bade them farewell in return.

I set off to the West, knowing this place would occupy my mind for a long time yet as I kept searching for something I couldn't quite put my finger on.

[misterewrites]

Marco Ubaldo Van Diaz (Monster Hunter AU/starcoween) part 1

Hey everyone, Mr.E here and I finally did it! I finally made my own writing blog  on tumblr! woo *throws confetti* I finally decided to just put my stories in one place so it’s easier for people to read. I felt weird about the idea to be honest but i decided it was for the best.

Story prompt of the day: Marco Diaz is a fledgling monster hunter. While on his latest contract, he stumbles into trouble and needs help to fend off another monster. However, is he willing to accept it from what lurks deep in the woods?

I love me my gothic horror. I love me my Castlevania, the witcher and van helsing, Dracula, old movie monsters and of course the curse of strahd dnd campaign  I’m doing. So what better for starcoween, my totally made up holiday i missed anyway? write my own version.  This is based on a few things. Dnd, van helsing, castlevania etc etc (the big bad is actually a reference to the curse of strahd) so there’s not really one source in here. Also it is darker than my usual stuff but i did still add comedic because that’s what I like.

So that’s it for me. I hope you all enjoy. I plan to get my stories on this blog asap  so they’re easy to find if you ever want to reread them. Also this second part will be a little late because I have birthday gifts to give out. So the next story I’ll do is spatz pirates au part 3. Also, let me know whatcha think of a certain character I have written for for the first time. have a great week! 

“I am here to witness your passing” the young man said, kneeing before the loose circle of candles that flickered back and forth with a hypnotic sway.

He was strangely dressed for these neck of the woods: A elegant black coat with a well kept red vest and white collared shirt. A black ascot tie wrapped snugly around his neck and a simple brown riding cloak draped over his shoulders. His boots were caked with mud from his travels though he carried a strange assortment of baggage: Two sheathed blades hung on his back, a bag slung around his shoulder with random pouches sewed onto his belt.  

“I beseech you: Move on from this world and lay your grudges to rest”

The crackling of the flames were the only response he received.

“Your spirit is weary, your anger is great.” Marco murmured gently under his breath, clutching the small doll in his hands carefully “I will put you to rest.”

He stood to full height, the icy breeze playfully tugging at his ponytail as he held his lantern close. With one swift movement, the doll caught ablaze and was flung directly into circle.

Marco’s face remained stony and indifferent as an inhuman shriek broke the quiet of the night. A blackish, oily smoke rose from the burning toy yet instead of rising to the sky, it remained, growing in size while humanoid shapes formed within. Hands clasping at empty air, long dark hair billowing through the haze, faces shifting between unparalleled joy and furious anger.

“Do not resist” Marco calmly spoke to the entity “I know it’s scary but you must let go or you will harm many.”

The shriek grew and grew, echoing through the darkened forest. The smoke began to form into a ghostly shade: a young woman with dark hair and tatter clothing. Her eyes gleamed with an ailing yellow glow, her skin was cracked and sickly, her teeth were sharp and curved like fangs. Her fingers shifted between human and beastly talons.

She focused on the lone man, hissing angrily under her breath but Marco remained unmoved by her threat. He patiently kept his gaze, refusing to break contact with the specter.

Without warning, she lashed out. Raising her arms, she lunged forward, hands tensed to wrap themselves against an unsuspecting throat.

The flames from the candles burned orange for a moment before blazing a righteous blue and as the ghostly shade approached Marco, a fiery torrent rose. Her hands scraped at the fire but it stung far worse than any flame she had ever known in life. White smoke curled off her body as the flames shrank but still glowed a pale blue.

“Sorry” Marco gave an unapologetic shrug “Holy candles and a magic circle tends to do that. Because you’re corrupted and all.”

The shade glanced downwards realizing she had been tricked. Beneath the burning doll was a circular chalk outline of complex runes and symbols that glimmered with the faint trace of magic now that they held a wayward spirit.

The ghostly woman thrashed but each time she drew closer to the candles, the fires rose, towering above her in warning. She tried smothering the flames that burnt her childhood treasure but nothing could halt the fire as it consumed the toy slowly.

Marco remained still until the doll was burnt to ash and a gentle wind scattered the remains.

The ghost began to gleam with a pure white light. Her skin cleared, her eyes now a pleasant green, fangs retracted until they became human once more. The clothing mended itself until it was pristine and elegant.

A woman no older than Marco replaced the vicious shade and looked gratefully upon him. He gave a polite, understanding nod as the woman vanished into dozens of tiny lights that quickly ascend into the night sky. The flames went out at once, the candles now waxy puddles as the magic circle’s glow faded.

Marco fished out a scroll from one of the pouches. What once contained unreadable magical runes he could never hope to decipher or read was now blank, its surface empty and bare.

“Another successful contract” Marco sighed appreciatively.

Marco had been training to be a hunter all his life and while his natural talent had gotten him far, he still was new to this line of work. Up to now, all he had really done was help rest some wayward spirits and stopped the occasional zombie horde. The wraith was the first real threat the Guild entrusted to him and while he was happy another soul was now at peace, he did not feel accomplished at his task.

“Hunters do not seek fame and glory” Marco recited the Guild’s manta “but it really does help getting jobs.”

Marco sighed while he began cleaning up the site, brushing the chalk away with his gloved hands and covering the dried wax with dirt when a scream rang out from the darkness. Not a ghastly haunted one but a very real, very helpless living cry for help.

Marco raced through the thickets and foliage of the forest, adrenaline surging into his tired body.

He broke through the bushes and nearly fell off a previously unseen hill in his haste. He flailed wildly, shifting his weight back and forth while trying to regain his balance.

“Okay!” Marco scolded himself “Don’t go running blindly through the forest, it might be a bad idea….”

His voice trailed off when he finally noticed the burning village below, battle cries, crackling flames and terrified screams filled the night in a macabre symphony.

“well shit that’s not good!” Marco cried as he raced forward, one hand reaching for his blade, the other grasping the air in an attempt to steady his footing making his way down to the hill.

He was roughly halfway through his heroic charge when his foot caught a grass clump and took a less than refined spill downhill. He tumbled for a moment or two before being flung through the air straight into a thick fuzzy body and knocking them both onto the scratchy dirt floor.

Marco groaned unhappily, covering his mouth as his stomach churned nauseously.

“Ugh, I hate motion sickness.” Marco gave an ungentlemanly burp before turning to the poor soul he crashed into “You okay?”

A chill ran down his spine as a deep, hungry growl responded to his question. What he mistook for hay was actually dark bluish gray fur that smelt of blood. He gulped nervously as the figure dug their sharp nails into effortlessly the earth. The face was not one of a friend or even human but a wolf’s with murder singing in its red eyes.

“Werewolf” Marco said matter of fact before snapping into action. With one fluent motion, he unsheathed his blade and swung for the beast’s neck.

Marco flinched as the blade bounced harmlessly off the creature. He glanced at his weapon and let out a frustrated moan upon realizing his mistake

“I grabbed the wrong one!” He scolded himself but there was no time to smack himself. The werewolf took advantage of the novice mistake and swiped angrily at the hunter. Marco caught the attack with the flat of his blade but the beast’s strength knocked him back onto the balls of his feet. The creature’s eyes narrowed in excitement as it prepared for one final lunge.

That was its mistake. Marco reached into his coat pocket, pulling out his hand crossbow  and sent its payload into the charging werewolf. It howled in pain, the slivered arrow head piercing its thick hide and burying itself deep into its body. It feebly tried to pull the bolt free but the sliver burned, intensifying the pain that coursed through its body.

Marco sheathed the steel blade he accidentally pulled and drew out the sliver one he meant to. The werewolf’s gaze fell upon the weapon, its polished blade gleaming in the moonlight.

For a moment, the world ceased to exist as the two combatants stared the other down, waiting for the moment to strike.

The werewolf broke the stalemate, dropping onto all fours and attempting to blindside Marco with its speed.

Marco scoffed as he brought down his sword into the creature, whispering a prayer as it fell dead at his feet.

Marco wiped the sweat off his brow when the world came crashing back in. What he thought was the werewolf’s primal animistic snarls thundering in his ears were actually echoing all around him.

“It’s a pack” Marco realized “A pack of werewolves.”

Marco pulled the bolt from the dead werewolf and broke into a run, a fearful thought nestling into his mind. He had never fight a werewolf before and this village was at the mercy of a bloodthirsty pack of them. He hadn’t the slightest idea how many were running around or if the town��s guard were ready to deal with such a threat.

Marco felt his desperation rising as he ran through city streets blindly. Fallen bodies, buildings ransacked or destroyed, the living scattered while the hungry howls of wolves came from all directions.

“A hunter out in public? Strange to see one not lurking in the shadows. Perhaps you’ve all grown a backbone.”

Marco skidded to a stop. His skin crawled as a thick, seductive magic blanketed the icy night and weighed heavily on his body.

The young hunter gripped his sliver blade tightly, searching for the owner of the voice but none could be found.

“Here hunter. Above your squishy mortal coil.”

Marco’s eyes hardened at the sight of the man perched lazily on a nearby rooftop: He was hardly much older than Marco with a handsomeness that was too perfect to be human. His raven hair short yet well kept. His pale red eyes glimmered with a dangerous charisma. He wore fine clothing, the kind Marco had only seen nobles or kings flaunt carelessly. His lean frame was draped in black cape with blood red lining that looked like it was dripping free of the fabric.

“Tell me hunter.” the man said with a conversational tone as he slid across the roof tiling “Are you a brave man? Or simply foolish?”

Marco resisted the urge to take a step back: whatever this man was, he was a threat and one that could not be taken lightly.

“Based on your reaction to my presence” The man sneered playfully “You were not sent to hunt me, were you?”

Marco remained silent.

“Hmm” The man stroked his chin thoughtfully “Interesting. I am Count Rictavio von Zarovich, local lord of the area. You can see my castle in the distance.”

Marco glanced where the man gestured and sure enough he could see a small piece of a tower peeking above the treeline.

“I was under the impression the castle had long since been abandoned” Marco replied. He thought frantically of ways to shift the situation in his favor but if he was facing what he thought he was facing, he would be lucky to escape unharmed.

“Ah mortals” Rictavio’s voice took on a longing tone “Your memory is so small.”  

“Well” Marco shrugged, eyes locked with von Zarovich “We all can’t be vampires, can we?”

“No” the Count smirked as two long pointed fangs slid down “We can’t.”

Marco’s body tensed as he tried urgently to recall all he could remember about the vampiric undead but before he could gather his thoughts, a howl scattered his thoughts.

He reached madly dove into his pouches, his hands agitated in a mad search for the one item that could protect him.

Another howl screeched even closer than before and out of the corner of his eye, Marco could see large shadows quickly darting out of the forest menacingly.

“Come on” Marco muttered to himself “Come on!”

Rictavio smiled joyfully which Marco wasn’t sure was a good or bad thing.

Marco didn’t stop even as impossibly large black wolves slowly drew closer, their red eyes alive with an unceasing hunger towards the hunter.

Marco nearly sobbed with relief as he pulled free the old, nearly destroyed scroll. He held it triumphantly and with a calm voice, Marco spoke the ancient language written on the paper. it crumbled in his hands while the magic it held took effect.

A shining translucent bubble formed all around him at once, shielding him from the pack and their vampire lord.

One wolf tried biting at the encased hunter but pulled away as a holy energy burnt at its jaw. The other wolves snarled and began circling him once more.

Rictavio looked amused “I have never seen such a shoddy protection spell before. You hunters are so uneducated.”

Marco twitched anxiously. Rictavio was spouting out knowledge about hunters like it was the weather. Most hunters didn’t have a drop of magic in them and magical scrolls and items tended to be rare personal possessions.

What made Marco nervous, however, was how the vampire knew how helpless he truly was: Head to head fights were often ill advised. Monsters and creatures were physically superior to even the fittest hunter. That’s why most usually study their prey, setting up ambushes and waiting for when the situation favored them. Even a hunter’s toolkit was prepared for battling a specific creature which is how Rictavio knew Marco was no threat to him. He was here for a wraith, not a vampire and his pet werewolves.

“The night is young” The Count spoke with an air of confidence “and that spell won’t last forever. This, my dear hunter, is where you die.”

“Well” Marco tried to muster a tone of assurance “You should probably keep count of how many wolves I’m going to kill. I got one earlier so the current count is one. Obviously”

“Humor is all your have now.”

“No” Marco disagreed “I got denial too. Really helps keep the edge off.”

“Your jokes are as terrible as your hunting.”

“Why don’t you come closer and find out?”

Rictavio made a motion to sneer again when, without warning, a warm gentle light basked the area in its illumination.

Marco was fine aside from his eyes readjusting for a moment from the sudden shift in lighting.

His foes were not so lucky.

Steam rolled off the wolves as they writhed in pain, their forms switching between their four legged and their heinous werebeast shapes. Whatever what was going was not what they signed up for and in droves they bolted and escaped into the darkness of the forest.

Rictavio lasted a few moments longer: His skin bruised and flaked under what felt like sunlight but he seemed unconcerned by the new development.

“Run hunter” he mocked with a toothy grin “and let’s see what remains when you return.”

And flourish of his cape, the vampire had vanished and in his place was a gigantic, monstrous bat escaping into the night.

The sphere of protection cracked and broke a few seconds later. The crackling of flames, sobs of sorrow and shouts for help were all that remained of the monsters.

Marco glanced where the strange light came from and found a cloaked figure standing near some trees, her hand outstretched still.

“Who are you?” Marco called, turning to face his savior.

The figure straightened up at once, her hand slipping under her riding cloak as she looked around.

“Who, me?” the figure gestured to herself.

“Umm…yeah” Marco nodded in confirmation “you’re the only one there. Who else would I be talking to?”

“That’s not true” the figure countered childishly “This tree is here. You should really apologize to mister tree.”

“I’m sorry mister tree.”

“Thank you!”

“Now, how did you do that?”

“Oh, you hear that?” the figure nudged the fallen corpse that lay near her feet “He’s talking to you. You should answer. Welp, it looks like you’re having a rather serious conversation so I’ll just get going. Okaythanksbye!”

and just like that, the figure ran, swallowed whole by the looming forest.

Marco frowned: part of him wanted to chase after her not only to properly thank her but also perhaps work out a deal about creating a new protection scroll. She was clearly a powerful spellcaster and her timing was perfect.

But he couldn’t just leave yet, not with the village so devastated. He needed to help the best he could and in any way possible. Guilt bit at him as his failure to repel the attack weighed heavily on his mind.  

The damage wasn’t as bad as he initially feared but that didn’t lessen the horrors remained. 12 villagers had died during the attack, a few were bitten but it was unclear if the lycanthropy curse had been passed on to them and some were missing, currently thought to have been carried off by the pack. Many buildings were severely damaged to the point of near collapse and those that weren’t still needed desperate repairs.

“Things look grim” the captain bluntly told Marco “the guard consists of twenty people and we can’t be everywhere at once. We don’t even have enough slivered weapons to properly fight off the pack and we still have the vamprye to content with.”

Marco scratched his chin thoughtfully “It is rather strange a vampire would be able to gain the loyalty of a pack of werewolves.”

“Is it? Such an alliance would be beneficial to both parties” The captain replied “The vamprye gets blood and the wolves meat…..”

“How long ago did he appear? Current rumors stated the castle was abandoned centuries ago.”

“About a month now.” the captain rubbed his eyes tiredly “He appeared without warning but at first it was simply that undead fiend. In his weakened state, he was far easier to fend off. But the next week he came with the wolves. It was a smaller pack then but we were unprepared. Since then, he has come once every week, terrorizing our simple village though I suspect he will return sooner than later.”

“My guild is three days away” Marco said thoughtfully “even if I leave now, I would still have to convince them to pool the resources together to fight this threat and travel back. At a very minimum I return in a week but why do you believe he will attack soon?”

“You, my dear hunter, are a toy to him” The captain spoke simply “He is a cruel and manipulative creature. He would slaughter us to draw you to his castle and quicken your return.”

“I should’ve never came” Marco murmured guiltily

The captain placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder “You did not know. You cannot fault yourself for such a thing. We can only do what we must.”

“Is there anyone who can assist me? I wasn’t exactly prepared to fight a vampire lord.”

“My guard are strong, brave warriors but we cannot leave the town undefended and I doubt the villagers would be so eager to wield weapons against the dead.”

The silence was thick, thoughts swirled in Marco’s head. A vampire count would be an undertaking of its own but a pack of werewolves…..

“Are you prepared to sell your soul hunter?”

Marco stared quizzically at the captain

The captain shifted uneasily “…There are two….women…in the forest that may be able to assist you…for a price.”

Marco caught the subtle contempt laced in the man’s voice “Not a fan I take it?”

“Witches” the captain said straight to the point “They live deep in the forest. Unholy beings with unnatural magic. We avoid them at all costs but if you wish to rid this place of the vampyre, they may be your only hope.”

“I’ve worked with stranger” Marco admitted “and I take it since everyone avoids these witches, everyone knows where to find them?”

The captain clenched his fist tightly.

“That is more homey than I’d expected” Marco told himself as he stood in front of the witches hut.

It was a simple hut made of wood and straw. A cozy light slipped out of the door frame as strange charms hung from the roof, swaying gently in the breeze.

As the young hunter made his way closer, the door swung open invitingly almost like it knew he was coming.

“Well…that’s not foreboding at all” Macro shook his head while he made his way inside “not in the slightest.”

“It wasn’t meant to be dearie but you’ve had a long night.” A friendly older voice called out to him.

“One you seem to be well aware of.” Marco answered as he finally entered the abode.

The interior of the hut was small but loving. A fire place in the corner, kitchen opposite side. A desk with several blank scrolls and books, strange, foreign plants and materials kept away in small drawers near a large cauldron and through the cracked door leading to another room, Marco spotted two humble beds.

The woman sat by the roaring fire place, a leather bound book sitting in her lap as she peered at Marco through her reading glasses.

She was a tiny woman, shorter than he to be sure. Her eyes were grayish purple color that gleamed kindly. Her skin was pale and her long poofy teal hair ran down her back. Two red spades graced her cheeks (witch marks Marco remembered). She wore a long purple dress with gray gloves and simple black footwear with purple socks. She looked more like someone’s mother than a powerful spell caster but Marco was not fooled.

“Take a seat.” The woman gestured to the chair across from her.

“Thank you” Marco nodded amicably as he dropped into the chair ungracefully

“Would you fancy a bit of tea? Or perhaps some coffee?”

Marco shook his head “I rather not.”

“Wary I see.”

“offended?”

The woman chuckled “not at all! It is expected when one wanders the forest. Dark, dangerous things live out here.”

“Since you know all about me, why don’t you introduce yourself?”

“of course. My name is Eclipsa.” the woman revealed “I am humble witch and nothing more Mr. Diaz.”

“How long have you been watching me?” Marco asked politely.

“Since you entered the forest of course.” Eclipsa gave a friendly smile “Can’t have strange man wandering about especially a hunter. Thank for you easing Nora. She was a good woman.”

“I was doing my job. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“So your words say yet your heart speaks otherwise. Helping a village is rather sweet of you.”

“It was foolhardy” Marco replied bitterly.

“Nevertheless sweet.” Eclipsa pressed “One does not cancel the other. Actions can be a multitude of things.”

Marco glanced about the home “The villagers don’t like or trust you.”

Eclipsa gasped mockingly “I would’ve never guessed such a thing! I kid of course. I am well aware of the villagers hatred of me but I wouldn’t harm them. Not like that vampiric friend of yours.”

“I’m surprised he hasn’t paid you a visit.”

“He tried.” the witch sipped her tea “But he quickly found out that was a very unwise choice. He’s avoided me since though I suspect he’s planning his revenge.”

Marco opened his mouth to continued when the door opened once again and a cheerful voice called out “Granny, I’m back!”

In walked the cloaked figure from before, a basket of colorful flowers hanging from her arm as she pulled back her hood. A long, flowing blonde braided mane tumbled free and Marco was momentarily awestruck by the young woman.

Her eyes were a sky blue with childish and rather endearing skulls as her witchmarks. She wore a black short sleeve blouse with pink trim and long flowing black skirt that stopped at her ankles. She wore practical mud covered work boots and the typical witches hat with a conical crown and wide brim. Hanging off the tip of her headgear was a home made stitched heart that gave her a rather adorable quality.

She took one step in, took notice of their guest (he knew she recognized him based on how wide her eyes had gotten) but never skipped a step as she nervously greeted Marco.

“Hello stranger I’ve never seen before!” Star gave a tense bow “W-what brings you to our humble…”

“Star” Eclipsa cut in “I know you went to the village.”

“Whaaaaaat?” the woman replied in a deadpanned, not so convincing tone “Me? The village? Nooookay I’m sorry but there was a fire. Screams! And they weren’t directed at us for once”

“Star, we’ve talked about this.”

“I know but….”

Eclipsa sighed “I know you want to go but it’s safer for you here. Now, we have a guest.”

“Right….oh. Oh!” Star pivoted on her heels and faced the hunter “May I offer you some food? Perhaps a drink?”

“No thanks” Marco softly waved his hand “Your grandmother offered me but thank you all the same.”

“You are welcome.”

“And thank you for saving my life.”

Star’s cheeks took on a pink hue as she gave a casual smirk “It was my pleasure. I mean I couldn’t just let them eat you! Well I guess I could’ve but it didn’t seem right.”

“Admittedly it wouldn’t have been a good day for me. Not fond of being a chew toy.” Marco chuckled.

Star giggled cutely “I don’t think anyone is.”

The two shared a small smile before a cough knocked them out of their stupor.

“Mr. Diaz.” Eclipsa gave a knowing grin at Marco’s reddened cheeks “I am aware why you have come and I am afraid I cannot assist you.”

Marco’s shoulders sagged in defeat “Without your help, I won’t be able to kill the vampire.”

“Perhaps but I am not a fan of needless conflict. I am just an old woman who wishes to live in peace.”

Marco sighed tiredly.

“Star, on the other hand, will be more than eager to join your quest.”

“Yeah!” Star nodded in agreement “I totally would.” She paused, finally processing what was said “Wait, I would? I mean yeah but you never…”

“I never let you go unsupervised my dear” Eclipsa explained “You are quite reckless.”

“For the last time that sprite startled me! The fire was not my fault.” Star quickly chimed in.

“Regardless how a fire did or did not spontaneously burst into existence matters not.” The older witch ignored Star’s comments “You will guide Marco and assist in his quest. You were planning on doing so anyway.”

The younger witch said nothing

“I know you dislike Rictavio far more than I but you cannot simply just attack a vampire. They are not like other creatures and to recklessly assault one will not end well. So better to send you with a trained hunter than have you unwisely sneak off on your own and get yourself killed or worse, turned.”

“Me? Killed? Turned?” Star scoffed at the idea “C'mon granny, I can handle myself.”

“Your grandmother is right.” Marco spoke up as he rose to his feet “Vampires are not to be trifled with so casually.”

“Actually she is my ninth great granddaughter” Eclipsa corrected Marco “It’s simply easier to call me Granny Eclipsa.”

Marco stared in disbelief “Just rolls off the tongue huh?”

Eclipsa let out a small laugh “You say great nine times and see how eager you are to do so again. So Mr. Hunter, I shall allow my Star to guide you. In exchange, you must ensure her safe return to me.”

“You have my promise.”

“Don’t you want to hear an or else? For dramatic effect?” Eclipsa rose an eyebrow.

“You are a powerful and educated witch. I am well aware what will happen if I do not fulfill my promise.”

Eclipsa gave a joyful smile “It is so refreshing to talk in such a straight forward manner. I do hope you survive. Such a nice lad. Well off with you two.”

Marco and Star looked at one another “What?”

Marco and Star stood outside with the same shell shock expression on their faces as the hut door closed behind them.

“So…is this what getting kicked out of a house is like?” Star joked.

“It feels familiar” Marco admitted “though most of the time I’m being tossed out a window. It’s nice to go through the door for once.”

“I don’t think that’s what windows are for….”

Marco shrugged “I would like to point out I never said I went willingly.”

“Why would you?” Star nudged him playfully “That’s way too much work.”

Marco tried to suppress a smile but it ended up spilling onto his face anyway.

“So, ready to take down a vampire?” Star asked curiously

“Not really but lead on witchy woman.”

“Okay but only because you would get so loooooost.”

Marco and Star stumbled out of the bushes. Marco wildly slashed and thrust his blade into whatever was chasing them as Star let out a frantic battle cry, flames pouring out of her palms.

The creature snarled in annoyance, taking one last swipe at the witch.

“Watch out!” Marco cried, pushing Star out of the way just in time for a large scaly  claw to narrowly miss her head.

“Back! BACK I SAY!” Star yelled, arcane energy crackling between her fingers.

The creature knew better than to pursue. It snorted before retreating into the thicket.

Marco and Star laid on the ground, her head on his chest, his arms wrapped protectively around her frame.

“I told you it was a dragon.” Marco scolded gently.

“Nah” Star shook her head “its got to be a salamander. Those things get huuuuge out here.”

“It breathed fire!”

“And your point is?”

“It wasn’t on fire. Fire salamanders always set themselves on fire!”

“What? No, that’s not how they work”

“I studied them! I fought one! I know how they work.”

“Psst, clearly your books are wrong.”

“Clearly you can’t tell a salamander from a dragon!”

“Aren’t they in the same family?”

Marco opened his mouth before stopping dead in his tracks “I…don’t know actually.”

“We should find out.” Star jumped to her feet and offered a hand to Marco.

He shook his head as he gripped it tightly and allowed his partner to lift him to his feet.

“So this is the castle….” Marco whispered “Well fuck.”

The castle stood high above their heads surrounded by cliffs. While it towered in the distance when Marco first saw it, now it loomed over them, impossibly large. Time ravaged banners fluttered helplessly in the winds, the ancient stone still sturdy and well built and a lonely road spiraled around the mountain was the only visible path. Any hopes of catching the count unaware were an impossibility.

“…Looks like we’re going to have to walk up” Marco murmured to himself, still lost in his thoughts. There must’ve been a way to some how reach the castle unnoticed.

“Well duh” Star rolled her eyes “It leads to the front door! How else are we supposed to get in? A window? Psst, those are waaaay too high up.”

“I was kinda hoping to get in unseen” Marco said “I don’t like the idea of Rictavio having time to set up for us. Can’t you fly us up or something?”

“I am a witch, not a bird. Besides the spell would only last ten minutes if I use it on the both of us and there’s no way we’re going all the way up there in that time. Come on, just take the path before you. The sooner we kick this vampire’s ass, the sooner everyone is safe.”

“Star” Marco shook his head “I don’t think you’re understanding the problem here. Vampires are powerful creatures. Even magic would have a hard time piercing their unearthly nature. We can’t just walk up to him and go ‘hey we’re here to kill you! Stand still please.'”

“Sure we can” Star waved off Marco’s comment “I’ll just sunbeam him and that’ll be that.”

“We need to be more discreet” Marco argued

“We need to launch an all out attack!” Star countered

“Recklessly charging is going to get us killed!”

“Recklessly charging has always worked for me!”

“How?!”

“I’m a witch!”

“That doesn’t make any sense!”

“You don’t make any sense!”

“Star, that literally makes no sense.”

“Well” Star turned on her heel and faced Marco directly “Make sense then!”

“Fine!” Marco shouted “Duck now!”

Star blinked in confusion “Wait, what?”

Marco dropped low to the ground, pulling Star downwards with him as a massive wolf leapt at them from the shadows, his jaw biting into thin air.

Marco drew his sliver sword but Star was faster on the uptake. She gestured to the wolf, her skulls glowing with magical energy.

The wolf struggled against some unseen force, muscles stiffening as they were frozen in place by Star’s spell.

Marco quietly stabbed the still, silent creature, holding his blade until it fell limp before him.

“Whew. Good acting Star.” Marco gave a grateful smile.

“Umm….” Star looked back and forth uneasily “yeah…was totally aware he was there.”

“Hey, you didn’t tell me you could restrain monsters.”

“Well you didn’t tell me…umm…..yeah!”

Marco shook his head as his eyes fell upon the wolf’s corpse, began forming in his mind.

“Hey Star…..can you make disguises?”  

[roguedreadwolf]

Pride and Despair

So, I need to start by saying I have never posted my writing publicly before. It has taken me a long time to work up the courage to do this, but here goes nothin’.

Translations at the end.

Any thoughts, tips, or feedback is great appreciated. It may be too late to submit for @submissivesolas, but it is still the 30th here, so I’m giving it a shot.

*throws on my dash and runs away as fast as possible*

Solas x Aelyn Lavellan

Skyhold was finally quiet. After a day full of activity, the residents and refugees now slept safe within the fortress walls. But Solas did not sleep. He enjoyed this time—when he could paint or read or study without distractions.

Tonight he was sketching, light but confident strokes dancing across parchment as he considered the next addition to his mural. The sound of charcoal scraping against the weave of the parchment was soothing, and had been doing an adequate job keeping his mind occupied from more distracting thoughts.

Such as his Inquisitor.                                

It had been nearly a month since he had abandoned her in Crestwood. His heart clenched at the thought, memories flooding back to him.

She had been breathtaking in the soft light of the hollow. With her fingers twined in his, a soft smile on her lips, and wonder in her eyes, he had allowed himself to hope; to picture a future with this woman who had captured his heart so unexpectedly.

So he had told her about the vallaslin; explained the truth behind the mark that she wore so proudly. She had calmly but resolutely asked him to remove her tribute, and he had cast the spell in awe of her. Ar lasa mala revas. Words that had fallen so readily from his lips lifetimes ago took on a new meaning when he said them to her. She was of the Dalish, and she was so much more than he ever expected. She was intelligent and curious, strong and compassionate, independent and patient. And she trusted him. She trusted him without knowing who he really was. Fen’Harel. The Betrayer. The Dread Wolf. The nightmare that stalked Dalish steps. When he told her that the history of her people had been wrong, she trusted him.

That thought had broken him—filled him with unimaginable self-loathing. How dare he ask this future of the woman he loved? And so, instead of telling her the truth, he had pushed her away.

In the following weeks he had seen little of her, but he knew she was in pain. He heard the whispers, the concerned chatter of her advisors and companions. And during their time together he had learned to read the look in her eyes as easily as he could read letters on a page. He had glimpsed anguish and confusion in them a number of times, but she was always quick to carefully conceal those emotions behind a polite but distant mask when she thought she was being watched.

Her pain was another line to add to his long list of failures.

A small, frustrated sigh escaped from him as he attempted to return his focus to the parchment.

Stunned, he realized he had drawn her. Abstract—to someone else it may have been anyone, but Solas knew her form better than he knew his own. He paused for a moment, eyes widened in surprised, then softly touched the tips of his fingers to her.

Ir abelas, vhenan…

A familiar sound from the scaffold above brought him back to himself.

“Hello, Cole,” said Solas quietly. Cole had come to the rotunda many nights in the past few weeks. During the day the keep was too busy, too loud for the sensitive spirit. The combined hurts of its inhabitants were overwhelming. He spent his days in the loft of the tavern instead. There, drink and sociable company dulled the aches he could so readily feel in those around him. But when the keep grew quiet and dark, he often visited Solas. They had spent many nights together in companionable silence; Cole occasionally commenting from the scaffold or the railing above, and Solas responding with guidance or support as he pursued his interests.

“It’s cold.” The spirit rocked slightly, looking at the murals around him but also beyond them.

Solas abandoned his current sketch and began a new one. He rolled the charcoal lightly between his fingers, waiting for inspiration to strike.

“It hurts. Hurts. Will it ever stop hurting? Too bright… hard to see.” Cole said quietly. He was rocking again, legs swinging below him from the edge of the scaffold.

Solas listened absently, charcoal moving across the new parchment. A wolf was taking shape, running through a forest of bare trees, away from a light near a lake.

“She is a symbol now, but she wants to be a person again. Lost. Everything is lost. Abandoned. Alone.” Cole often heard the dreams of those sleeping in the hold. Some were bound to be unpleasant, but Cole’s voice was frantic, more emotional than Solas was used to.

He paused, Cole’s words catching his attention. He turned his head slightly, eyebrows narrowing in concern. “Cole?”

“Spirits circling.” Cole was clearly agitated. Eyes wide, arms wrapped around his stomach. “Sometimes too bright, but now I can see. I don’t want to see. She should run, fight, but she’s tired…”

Spirits? Solas thought. He abandoned his sketch, standing to face Cole. The Inquisitor’s alliance with mages brought many of them to the secure walls of the hold. Possession was always a risk for mages, and it would be especially dangerous for the residents of Skyhold. “Cole, where are they?”

“In the Fade, but not. The floor is cold, but Despair is colder.” Cole’s eyes went wide, the words pouring out of him quickly. “Icy fingers on her arm. Breath on her neck. It reaches for the light in her palm… Don’t leave me. My love, my love.”

Alarm flared through him and his body went tense. No, that cannot be. She is not a mage. “Who, Cole? Who is it?”

When the spirit spoke next, his eyes were still distant, still speaking and feeling the thoughts of the dreamer; words tumbled out of him as quickly as they were conceived, answering the question inadvertently. “You call her vhenan.”

But Solas was already running.

He hurtled through the main chamber and through the vacant wing adjacent to her chamber, pausing only after he reached the door to her room. Doubt crept over him. He had not been in her room in weeks… entering without cause after what he had done to her in Crestwood would be painful for both of them. She was not a mage—possession was unlikely. Was he overreacting? It is possible, he granted, but Cole’s words were still fresh in his mind. He needed to be sure.

He knocked on the door firmly. When there was no immediate answer he knocked again. She was a light sleeper; it was unlikely she would sleep through the noise. He entered cautiously, closing the door behind him.

“Inquisitor?” he called softly. He reached the top of the stairs and paused, one hand on the railing. The bed was disheveled but empty. She was not here.

Solas sagged a little in relief. Perhaps she was at the tavern. She had been spending many of her nights there lately. And there were whispers that at the end of those nights she retired to Sera’s chambers rather than returning to the keep. Solas knew that they had become friends. He had wondered if she stayed with her for friendly comfort—perhaps it was painful for her to be in her bed without him. But another, more selfish part of him wondered if they had become lovers. Hot envy pooled in his chest, even as logic reminded him he had no right to that emotion. That she deserved happiness and comfort if she desired them.

He moved farther into the room. He knew he should withdraw, but this room was overpowering with the sense of her.

And, oh, how he missed her. He could smell her in the air—the scent of rain in a forest. Of green and sunlight.

Her room was a mess, which was uncharacteristic of her. It made him consider her mental state more thoroughly. Perhaps she was better at hiding pain than he realized. He would ask Cole to keep an eye on her.

His gaze was drawn to her bed. He was suddenly reminded of nights where he would wake her as he tossed in his sleep. She would sigh softly and press herself against him, viewing her unexpected wakefulness as an opportunity rather than an inconvenience. It was difficult for him to hear endearments from her when he was awake, and he always accepted her touch a little ruefully. But when he slept she could say the things he usually rebuffed. Her lips would find his throat, and chest, and shoulder. She would whisper all the things he meant to her. Her fingers would brush his cheeks, stomach, hands, and hips, watching as he responded to her touch. And as he stirred from sleep, already searching for her, she would finally kiss the space just behind his ear. And he would struggle to remember his own name, even as she whispered it into his ear.

His cheeks grew warm. He could not afford to think of such things any more, especially not here.

He should leave. It was late; she could return at any moment. But instead his feet carried him across the room to the open balcony doors. Cold wind whistled through them, disturbing papers on her desk. Many documents were already on the floor. But the balcony held memories, too—memories of a poignant question, a desperate kiss, a soft request, an ancient oath.

He closed the doors and finally turned to leave, but froze when he heard a small crackle of magic and saw a brief flash of green light.

She was there. On the floor next to her bed, barely visible in the heap of bedding that was wrapped around her, as if she had fallen from the bed and pulled the covers with her. Her hand was exposed and the anchor softly flared. But she was pale, and she was not moving.

No!

Solas rushed to her, panic sweeping through him. “Inquisitor!” She did not respond. He dropped to the floor next to her and gathered her in his arms, distantly realizing she was lighter than he remembered. He brushed the hair out of her face and felt her cheek. She was cold. But she was breathing. And he noticed her eyes flickered behind her eyelids. Anguish roared in his ears.

“The Fade. Hurry. Hurry!” said Cole’s voice behind him.

“You can hear her?” Solas demanded. He had not expected the spirit to follow him.

“Yes, not as bright, but she is quieter, too. She needs help, but I can’t go to her there. I can’t. I can’t.”

Solas lifted her gently and placed her in the bed. He curled up behind her, grasping her hand. Sleep felt very far away, but he must, he must.

Hold on, vhenan.

He forced his eyes to close, his breathing to slow. His face was tucked into her shoulder, her hair cascading around him. He breathed in her scent. Letting it fill his mind and chase his other thoughts away.

Once he was in the Fade, he found her quickly. He was always drawn to her here. She stood in a clearing, her back to him and her face turned up toward a bright moon in the sky. He noticed her body was rigid, her hands clasped at her sides. He was relieved to see there were no spirits near.

Solas moved toward her tentatively. “Inquisitor?”

Her head lolled back to look at him over her shoulder. The movement was strange… disjointed. Solas’s heart splintered. Her beautiful soft green eyes were gone. They were now black. No, please. Not her.

“Inquisitor, look at me,” he said firmly. Reminding her of who she was.

Return to me, emma lath. He did not say the words out loud. It was not fair for him to say such endearments to her any more.

She faced him, breathing hard. Her chest rising and falling as she repeatedly clenched her hands. As if she was testing them. She looked down at her left hand, at where the anchor should be, but it did not respond. She snarled at it.

Fear and understanding swept through him. He could not allow her to open a rift.

“I cannot let you do that,” he said. Her eyes snapped to him, lips curled in loathing.

“I must,” she replied, only it was not her voice. It was rasping and sharp, like the sound of a blade leaving its scabbard. “Clan destroyed. Home is gone. Face is bare. Alone. Not even a person anymore. Just a tool.”

“No. No, that is not true.” He was consumed by pain and guilt. My heart, my heart. Would she never stop paying for his mistakes?

“Of course it is!” she snapped angrily. “And you. You left.”

“Inquisitor—“

“DO NOT CALL ME THAT!” she shrieked, a piercing, horrible sound. A blast of ice hurtled at him, and he feinted just in time, the ground where he had been standing now frozen solid.

She rushed him, daggers appearing in both hands. Solas evaded, conjuring his staff immediately. She was wild fury, and she pursued him with a speed he had not expected. He deflected a blow with the middle of his staff before feinting again and casting a barrier.

“Aelyn!” he called.

She froze for a moment when she heard her name, body trembling, and then fell to her hands and knees. “Solas!” it was her—her voice. She cried out in pain, head flinging back.

“Hold on!” he was moving toward her when she held up her hand.

“No! Stay back! I can’t—“ but her words were cut off with a sob. She clutched her left hand, teeth bared and clenched. Green light erupted from her palm. “Ma helani!” She screamed, and his heart tore with the sound. Her head whipped back again, eyes screwed tight. The light in her palm went out.

“This is your fault,” she rasped as she rose to her feet. Eyes black once more. Frost and ice swirling around her hands. Aelyn was gone. Solas choked on a sob. A despair spirit would say whatever it could to break them both, but it was right. Of course it was.

But the anchor still was not working, he realized. She had to be blocking the spirit from accessing it, somehow. If she was still there, he could reach her again. “Aelyn, ma garas mir renan. I’m here,” he said.

But there was no flicker of recognition when she heard her name this time. Aelyn did not return. The spirit that claimed her body raised her hands, ice magic blasting toward him and encircling his barrier.

He would not fight her. She was still there, somewhere. She had to be. And he knew despair. Despair would feed her thoughts that would rob her of hope. And though despair was powerful, so also was it simple. He had to remind her that she had a future, and that she would find happiness again.

“Aelyn, you are not alone,” he cried over the crackle of magic surrounding him. She was advancing, and his barrier was weakening. “Your friends—they care for you. YOU. Not the mark on your hand. Think of Dorian, and Sera, and Bull. Cullen. Varric. Cassandra. And Cole. Cole sent me because he felt your pain.” She snarled at the mention of Cole, and the onslaught ceased. Her hands still reaching toward him, but the magic blocked for now. He could see she was shuddering with the effort of holding the spirit at bay.

“That’s it. Hold on.” He moved toward her slowly, hands raised. Her eyes locked on his as they cleared. She was afraid, but looking at him seemed to ground her. Warmth began flowing back into his arms and legs. Oh, how much he loved her. And he had been a fool.

When he reached her, he did not hesitate to touch her. He grasped her hands gently. She gasped at his touch. “Solas…” She was trembling, desperately fatigued from her battle with the demon. Spirits were gathering at the edge of the clearing, drawn by their battle. He needed to get her out of here, quickly.

“Vhenan,” he whispered.

He was stunned when she recoiled, body going tense again. “You do not love me!”

Before he could respond, the anchor flared and she clutched her hand again.

“Solas, the anchor. It wants the anchor, and I… I can’t—“

“You can,” he said. “Aelyn, look at me.”

Her eyes met his, full of tears, and they were afraid. “I am so tired,” she whispered. Her eyes slid closed, and tears fell down her cheeks.

“No!”

She took a few rapid steps away from him, crying out as the anchor flared and her eyes glazed black again. She grit her teeth, fighting as hard as she could to keep the demon from the magic that marked her palm, but her strength was failing.

“Solas, ma ghilana mir din’an,” she sobbed.

They were the same words Wisdom had said to him all those months ago, and it rent him apart. He called her name.

“Ar lath ma,” she whispered, and then she was gone. Her body convulsed, skin turning white, then grey, before his eyes.

He always knew he would lose her, but not like this, never like this.

Despair attacked again. He deflected and blocked, but he still could not bear to harm the body of his beloved, and Despair pressed that advantage.

It broke his barrier with a particularly strong attack. Solas was thrown back, and he grunted as he hit the ground.

He rose to his knees. He had made so many mistakes in his attempts to help the people. He was always fighting, always pushing against forces beyond his control, but things only worsened. And those he loved always paid for the price of his arrogance. Instead of accepting her love, he had pushed her away and into the arms of a demon. Damn his pride!

It charged, a cold shriek on its lips and daggers flashing.

Thousands of years he had lived, and he had never loved someone the way he loved her. He would not leave her again.

“Ir abelas, vhenan,” he sobbed, finally broken. “Ar lath ma. Ar lath ma.” He let his eyes slide closed, palms open at his sides, submitting to her at last.

He waited for the pain, for the force of her blow to find his chest, or throat. But it never came.

Solas opened his eyes. She had stopped, mere inches away from the killing blow; daggers poised, breathing hard. She was confused. “Flee!” she commanded. Was it a command from the demon, or from Aelyn? He could not tell.

But he did not. Instead he reached for her. She gasped in shock as his fingertips caressed her cheek. His voice was soft but sure. “I will not leave you, vhenan. Never again.”

She blinked, and her eyes were green. She cried out. There was a flash of blinding light, and great blast of cold wind as the air in front of him exploded. Solas was thrown away from her. When his eyes adjusted she was there, crumpled face down on the ground.

“Vhenan!” He crawled to her side and rolled her over, cradling her in his arms, one hand on her cheek. He rocked her, his hand moving to her neck and chest as he felt for a heartbeat. There! He poured mana into her, willing her to wake. Finally her eyes fluttered open, and a broken sob of relief left him. “You are all right. I have you.”

“Solas?” She looked up at him for a long moment in disbelief. Eyes widening as she realized where they were and what had happened. She had dreamt of him many times, but this time he was real. She could not help but wait to see the wall appear behind his eyes as he pushed her away again, but it never came. His eyes were open and vulnerable, and there was no trace of indecision as he gazed at her.

Finally, she pressed her palm against his cheek. His breath caught, and he leaned into her touch.

“My love,” he whispered.

She heard the promise behind his words. She leaned forward, capturing his lips with hers, and he could not stop the small moan that left him, but a moment later she was gone, disappearing as she woke within Skyhold.

He followed her to wakefulness. She was sitting up, looking a little stunned.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, already looking her over as he sat up beside her.

“I am all right,” she replied. His hands framed her face, and he looked at her in wonder, relief temporarily distracting him from guilt. She met his gaze, and her hands covered his. She loved him. He could see it in the way she looked at him. He could feel it radiating from her. He did not deserve it, but he would not reject it again.

But he would also not impose upon her either. He had hurt her, badly. And now he was in her chambers, and in her bed. He painfully recognized that she may no longer want him there. He looked down, hiding his eyes from her as he spoke.

“I hurt you. In Crestwood I did what I thought was necessary to protect you, but perhaps that was a mistake. I meant what I said: I will not leave you again. But I also will not presume that you desire my company. You have every right to demand distance from me. And whatever you command, I will obey.”

Aelyn placed her hand beneath his chin, coaxing his eyes back to hers. Her gaze darted back and forth, assessing him. “Do you love me?” she asked.

He never thought he would see her look at him that way again. He never thought he would get another chance to touch her. “Yes,” he breathed, voice low.

She pressed her brow to his, eyes closing gently. “Then prove it to me. Stay.”

“Ma nuvenin,” he whispered. His heart was whole.

Ar lasa mala revas = You are free

Ir abelas, vhenan = I am sorry, my heart

Ma helani! = Help me!

Ma garas mir renan = Follow my voice

Ma ghilana mir din’an = Guide me into death

Ar lath ma = I love you

Ma nuvenin = As you wish