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hlizr50 · 3 years

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Gwynriel Week Day 2 - Favorite Headcanon

Bow or Bleed

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-Gwyn-

Gwyn examined herself in the mirror, turning her hips and looking over her shoulder. She was technically covered, but also decidedly not, navy chiffon so dark it was nearly black waterfalled down her legs, the milky skin of her leg exposed by the hip-high opening. The top of the gown had long sleeves and a deep neckline past her breastbone, but it was also sheer – strategically placed beading and applique crept up her stomach and over her breasts. It was certainly the most scandalous thing she’d ever worn.

Azriel had warned her before the meeting with the High Lord, nearly three weeks before. Times were peaceful – something they were all thankful for – but Rhysand wanted to remind the denizens of the Hewn City of the Night Court’s might, introducing the new division of their defenses. Therefore, the three female leaders of the Valkyries were requested. Her mate had kept her hand firmly gripped in his for the duration of the discussion, and that silent support was just one of the many reasons she loved him. So was his deference to her decision. That was something that had been a little more difficult to achieve, the shadowsinger being as protective as he was, particularly where Gwyn was concerned.

They had discussed in depth what she would find in the Court of Nightmares and the expectations that came along with being in attendance in a position of power. And while, in the three years they had been together, they had explored any number of intimate situations and dynamics in the comfort of their private home, it was Azriel who had suggested that Gwyn be regarded as the dominant one of the two.

The inhabitants of the Hewn City know that I am to be feared. And I want them to see the woman who has tamed the infamous spymaster and cower. Not only from a perspective of your safety, but to be perfectly frank it would be incredibly arousing.

She had laughed at that.

And so Azriel and Gwyn had painstakingly discussed every detail, the two of them valuing preparedness and knowledge above all else. Where would they be expected to stand? How were they expected to interact with the rest of the inner circle and the Valkyries? He came with her to dress fittings, discussing how the fabric would move and working with the Valkyrie and the seamstress to ensure she looked tempting enough to draw attention, but covered enough that she wouldn’t be constantly pulling and tugging. They had even come home with a replica of the skirt so they could train together, for the unfortunate possibility that violence might become a necessity.

So here she was, with her chosen sisters, examining herself one last time before their entrance into the Court of Nightmares. When she looked up she found Nesta at her shoulder.

“Ready, Gwyn?” The redhead could see the faint glimmer of concern in her friend’s eyes.

A reassuring grin crinkled the freckles dotting the former priestess’ nose and the corners of her eyes. She trailed her fingers over the hilt of the dark blade sheathed at her thigh, drawing strength from its weight and the lingering power from the hands that wielded it. Gwyn nodded, the copper waterfall of her high ponytail brushing past her ears and cheeks.

“Let’s give them a show,” Emerie quipped with a smirk.

Gwyn regarded the two females that had been at her side, constant support and friendship and love over the past four years. Nesta was a queen in every sense, beautiful and dangerous, with a neckline that dipped even lower than her own. Her gown fit tight against her, black velvet rich and luxurious. She wore her weapon for everyone to see, the sword Ataraxia hanging from the black leather riding her hips. Her leg was also revealed by a near-indecent slit in the midnight cloth, the tightness of the dress pulling the ends apart and baring it for all to see.

And then there was Emerie, who had opted for pants, tailored just right to show off the strength in her legs. Black silk fell loosely from her honey brown shoulders creating lovely drapes over her front and baring her smooth muscled arms. The back of the garment only met at the small of her back, letting all appreciate the ripples and cords of muscle and the incredible wings that marked her as Illyrian.

Emerie smiled wryly, ready to intimidate, but it was Nesta who pushed open the wooden doors with as much force as she could muster. Gwyn was inwardly satisfied at the sound that cut through the cavern. She lifted her chin and fixed her gaze forward toward the raised dais, where the High Lord and Lady sat enthroned in dark power. She would not turn her gaze toward the shadowsinger as they strode in, footfalls synchronized as if they marched into battle. She kept her head lifted, near-arrogant smirk on her wine-painted lips.

But, Mother, could she feelhim. The flicker of power, the gold thread between them taut with heat and tightly coiled desire. Gwyn didn’t dare a glance, but she could feel the burn of his hazel gaze – likely now closer to molten gold – roaming over her.

The three Valkyries stopped at the foot of the dais, Nesta in front with Gwyn and Emerie at her shoulders. When they each fell to one knee before their High Lord and Lady, the copper-haired warrior could feel the cool, moist air prickling the skin of her now-exposed thigh. But she didn’t feel exposed, even with so much less of her covered than she was accustomed to. She didn’t feel weak, even as she bowed in the midst of this infamous court. She was a wholly different person from the quaking priestess that had been rescued from Sangravah, and it was this court that had helped build her up. She was a warrior, a Valkyrie, one of eight Carynthians to ever exist, and now she was a general. And through all that she had become a sister, friend, lover, and mate, and it was those bonds that truly gave her strength.

They rose and turned to face the court, and Gwyn did her best to observe nonchalantly. So many leering stares, expressions of disgust – so many fragile males opposed to the concept of powerful women.

“The Valkyries were legendary in the Great War, and we are pleased that these three females have resurrected their practice and built new ranks.” Rhysand’s voice was rich and dark, like the velvet that clung to Nesta’s skin. “As their skills have improved and their ranks have deepened, the Valkyries have been inducted as an official division of the Night Court defense. Even in times of peace we all know that it is imperative to remain dedicated and prepared. These three females join the ranks of my Inner Circle as generals, and they will be respected as such.” There was a pregnant pause after his statement, the court regarding the three of them, sizing them up. “Any word or action against them will be counted as a word or action against myself or the High Lady. And while all of the denizens of the Hewn City understand how I manage those slights, let them rest assured that these women will exact their own justice.” After one more glower over the crowd the females split apart, turning toward their respective mates.

That’s when she finally laid her eyes on the Spymaster of the Night Court, clothed in black leather and swathed in shadows. The angles and planes of his face, in this dark place, made him impossibly more beautiful. He was an imposing creature when he needed to be, and in the Court of Nightmares he would only be seen as this man of malice – an angel of death.

With near-glowing eyes fixed on her and her alone.

-Azriel-

This plan could have been a grave mistake.

Not because Gwyn wasn’t absolutely breathtaking and fearless, and not because he didn’t believe that any male would think twice before approaching her with the shadowsinger apparently on her leash.

No, this plan was very potentially a mistake because Azriel wasn’t sure he would be able to keep himself from swathing them in shadows and ravishing her in the middle of the damned great hall as soon as she was within arm’s reach.

He’d known what the dress would look like on her tall frame – he had accompanied her to consultations and fittings, ensuring that his mate would feel comfortable and safe during this foray into the sinister underbelly of the Night Court. The inspiration for Amarantha’s domain not-so-long ago.

To say that the idea of Gwyn stepping foot in this place had given him pause would be a grievous understatement. His shadows had twirled around his wings in agitation when Rhys had informed him, but he also knew that his mate was not the same girl he had rescued from Sangravah those years ago. He had agreed to let her hear the request and decide for herself what she would do, and he would be happy to do everything in his power to ensure that she was prepared.

The female that faced him now was nothing short of a queen.

Azriel found himself thinking back through the times that he had been rendered breathless by her astonishing beauty – more times than he could count. The first time he’d seen her in the Valkyrie leathers he thought he might have to leave the room, lest he melt into a heap on the floor before her. Their first Starfall together his shadows had frozen around him as he remembered how to breathe, her dress and eyes outsparkling the heavens. The evening of their mating ceremony, where a simple silk shift had sent tendrils of inky mist dancing and had nearly set his soul on fire.

Before him was a warrior, confident and ferocious. And his. Her skin was moonlight against the darkest blue the seamstress could find, curves barely concealed beneath lace and beading that had been expertly placed to toe the line between demure and deadly. Makeup was not something the former priestess indulged in often, but the wine-red that painted her full lips tempted him to lick his own and the kohl lining her teal pools only seemed to set them ablaze. The high ponytail was somewhat unexpected, but it was the sight of the blade strapped to her thigh – so dark it seemed to absorb any light that dared touch it – that had the breeches of his leathers tightening considerably and his twirling shadows thickening.

Truth-teller.

Neither of them needed weapons to be deadly, but that didn’t mean they would venture into the Court of Nightmares unarmed. And there would be no better way to send a message to any who dared covet his mate than for her to brandish the deadly blade that was known throughout the continent.

Gwyn strode toward him, head held high. She had schooled her expressive eyes into cool indifference, something she had likely learned from him, but Azriel could spy a glimmer of mischief. She was enjoying this game, and he was more than content to play it with her. He lowered his chin and dropped to one knee as she approached, and his shadows could hear the whispers of stunned onlookers as the spymaster placed himself firmly beneath the Valkyrie in the hierarchy. A wry grin curled his lips as he watched those exquisitely formed legs come to a halt before him and the hand at her right hip present itself. He kept his gaze fixed on the speckled flesh of her knuckles as he raised his own scarred hand, cobalt siphon flickering, and grasped her fingers before leaning in to reverently press his lips to her knuckles. He could feel the golden warmth of her satisfaction in his chest, sparks of desire intermixed.

When he released her hand it moved to his face, two long elegant fingers landing under his chin and pulling it upward. Lifting his gaze, he found her face alight with fierce confidence.

“Shadowsinger,” she purred, applying more pressure to encourage him to rise before her. Their stares were transfixed in the eyes of the other as he did so, her hand only moving far enough to land in a possessive grip toward the back of his neck. He couldn’t hide the smirk that crawled over his lips, enamored as he was with the predatory confidence that she wore.

“My lady,” he murmured, dipping his chin. “You look absolutely exquisite.” The slightest pink blossomed on her cheeks, proving that she was not completely immune to his charm. She circled him and stepped up behind him onto the first stair to the dais, keeping her palm on is neck. He had to stifle a groan, reveling in her possessive touch and the heat of her at his back between his wings. Her breath snaked across his ear and his skin pebbled, her lips like a phantom touch over the shell of it.

“You are beautiful and dark, as always, love,” Gwyn whispered before dipping her chin and pressing those soft painted lips just below where the sharp line of his jaw met his neck. His breath shuddered and his mate gave a soft giggle. “Your shadows are quite… friendly tonight.”

“Well, lovely general, I can hardly be expected to control them when you make it so difficult for me to even manage myself,” Azriel breathed.

“Hmmm. You do make an excellent point.” She gripped his jaw and pulled it to the side to claim his lips with a bruising kiss. When she released him he nearly drowned in the teal pools that captured his gaze. He could see the challenge there, the desire, the pride. He loved when he could glimpse those things in her expression, when he could put those feelings there. Gods, the way it felt to bow before her, to be the one she trusted to submit to her will. It was a distinct possibility he wouldn’t survive the night.

“I know you have duties, Shadowsinger,” the Valkyrie stated softly, dropping her fingers from his jaw. His permission to leave her side, to stride through the shadows and dark corners of this hall to ensure that members of this court still understood the price of disrespect and the power of fear. He turned, tucking his wings tight to avoid striking her. He meant to look back into those piercing, starlit eyes, but his gaze caught on Truth-teller at her thigh. He lifted a mottled hand and settled his palm over the hilt, letting his callused fingers brush delicately over that tempting sliver of porcelain flesh. Leaning down, he brushed his mouth over the peek of skin just above his thumb.

“Wine, my lady?” He straightened and grinned crookedly at her flushed neck and chest. She dipped her chin in confirmation and he turned, striding into the throng of revelers. Hopefully his High Lord didn’t expect him to listen too closely. It was peacetime, after all, and he had to contend with every delicious image of Gwyn flashing through his mind. Hopefully his shadows would pick up on anything glaring and drag his attention out of the gutter.

He had retrieved two goblets and turned back toward the dais when he felt a twinge of anxiety in his chest, tightening the golden thread that connected the Shadowsinger and the Valkyrie. He weaved quickly in and out of the dark swaths in the hall, his shadows carrying to him the echoes of words between her and a yet-unknown male.

“…quite an actress, priestess…”

Azriel quieted the snarl that threatened to push through his lips as he rounded a pillar silently, finding Gwyn’s back pressed against it and the male – one of the darkbringers, he realized – doing his best to tower over her. He stayed silent, tucked into the darkness. He had vowed not to intervene until it became obvious that she couldn’t handle the situation. And while he had felt the moment of uncertainty in their bond, his mate looked calm and nonchalant – if not a small bit annoyed.

“Although I find it difficult to believe that a timid acolyte from the library sanctuary could best the Spymaster. They say the women in the great library have experienced great horrors, but perhaps if you warm the bed of the angel of death, you’re into that kind of thing.”

The male had lifted a hand to Gwyn’s face, making to touch her. And quick as the wind she had Truth-teller in her hand, blade against a particularly sensitive part of the male who thought he could dare to insinuate what he did, much less dare to touch her. Azriel saw the rage sparkling in her gaze, all traces of anxiety and annoyance gone.

“Think very carefully about the next thing you say,” she hissed. When the male tried to smirk and play it off she pushed the blade the slightest bit deeper, the edge biting into the leather of his pants. “I am a general. I won the Illyrian Blood Rite. I have bested far more intimidating creatures than yourself. So do ask yourself if you want to test your luck.”

Azriel’s lips twisted into a sadistic smile, basking in the glow of his mate’s strength. Her eyes darted to him for a split second, and the male’s eyes followed. The color drained from his face when he saw the rippling shadows twisting and rising like flames over his shoulders and wings. But a push against the dagger at his crotch shifted his attention back to Gwyn.

“Hear me now, brute,” she seethed. “I do not always keep my Shadowsinger so tightly leashed. And he does not take kindly to unimpressive, brainless males touching the female that he belongs to.” My Shadowsinger. The female that he belongs to. Mother above, those words went straight to his already-straining cock. “So I hope that little thrill that pulsed through your undoubtedly underwhelming dick when you thought you could intimidate me and bend me to your desires… I do so hope it was worth it.”

The male stepped away with hands raised, but the copper-haired queen kept her blazing stare on him, dagger still ready in her hand.

“Shadowsinger, I hope you have that wine,” she cooed, sheathing the weapon when Azriel stepped to her side. He offered her the goblet and then offered her an arm, muscles and shadows tremoring from barely contained fury. His instincts warred within him, an urge to rip the male limb from limb against the desire to whisk his mate into an alcove and plunge his tongue between her legs until she was screaming his name. He wasn’t sure if he had ever desired her with such a feral male pride, and from the heat blooming across her chest he could tell that she could feel that pulsing need through their bond. But her breathing was slightly more shallow than normal, and he remembered that nervous twinge he’d felt before she’d nearly castrated the man. The spymaster let them to a darkened corner, shadows swallowing them and hiding them from prying eyes and ears.

“Are you alright, songbird?” All pretense and games were gone, leaving only the soft voice of a protective male concerned for the love of his eternity. He took her wine glass and set both of them on the stone floor. When he straightened he pinned her with his gaze and raised callused fingers to trace the freckles on her cheek. Gwyn sighed a calming breath and leaned into his touch.

“Yes, love. I was nervous for a moment, but I think I handled things quite well,” she smiled widely. He released a dark chuckle of his own, stepping into her and pinning her gently against the wall. Azriel tilted his head and leaned down, pressing his lips against the sensitive space under hear ear. Nipping at it, then flicking his tongue over the spot to soothe it, smiling against her soft flesh as he felt her gasp beneath him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more aroused in my life, Gwyneth Berdara,” he uttered into her neck, voice low and guttural. He pressed his hips against her, letting her feel what she had done to him. “When you called me yours, when you said I belong to you… Gods, nothing has ever been truer.”

Azriel dragged his lips wantonly over her jaw toward her mouth, nipping at her bottom lip when he got there. He was on fire for her, every inch of him aflame with want for his warrior queen. He crushed his lips into hers, tongue beseeching. She gave in without pause, and he greedily pulled at her lips and tongue. He wanted to breathe her in, needed to taste her.

“Azriel,” she gasped, but he continued pouring himself into her, only stopping when her hands cupped his face gently. He pulled back and took in her swollen lips and lust-darkened eyes. “We need to behave, remember?” The shadowsinger groaned, earning a musical laugh from the Valkyrie. He leaned his forehead against hers.

“Fine,” he growled. “But as soon as we get home, rest assured, I will have you. And I want you to keep Truth-teller on that pretty thigh.”

Gwyn’s cheeks turned crimson and his throat rumbled with approval. He pressed a quick, hard kiss into her lips before stepping back, giving her some air to cool the heat on her face. Swiftly, he scooped up their wine goblets and offered his elbow to her.

“Ready to terrorize more unsuspecting males, my lady?” Azriel grinned wickedly, and she threw her head back, a cackle erupting from her throat. She tucked her starkissed hand into the crook of his arm.

“Always, Shadowsinger.” Quickly, before he let his shadows disperse, she pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek. “I love you.”

The bond burned golden fire in his chest, swelling with love and contentment and bliss. “I love you, too, Berdara.” He murmured, and then they were in the throng again, the music and revelry of the Hewn City swallowing them. He let his shadows wander and listen, but his attention was focused on his mate for the remainder of the evening. He marveled at her confidence, her strength, the pride she felt at being able to conquer this moment. Feyre may be his High Lady, but Gwyneth Berdara was his queen. And, if tonight was any indication, he would gladly bow before her for the rest of his immortal life.

#gwynriel fanfiction #gwynriel week #gwynriel fanfic #gwynriel supremacy #gwynriel

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maguayans · 3 years

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@writersnet event 1 · april 2021 / mythology

Title: A Glade of Lights

Word Count: 1.4k+ | Warnings: Crime, Dark

Deep in the forest, through a barrier, there was a glade where his demise awaits.

There was a graveyard with no crosses and tombstones. It was located deep through the thick woods and greenery of the forest. A clearing where the moon served as its marker, for those who’d want to lead themselves astray and for him.

No prayers were offered, no candles were lit. Even if anyone did, it’s not what they wanted. Its existence remained a mystery. The villagers stood countless warnings around the forest to keep everyone safe. And no one ever went there, not since few town daredevils never came back.

The civil guards stationed in the village were on the lookout for a criminal, a serial murderer. He was the first one in the history of the entire colony. He was a menace, targeting women and children. No matter who they are, how rich or poor, as long as they’d satisfy him. Their pleading cries and muffled screams for help were music to his ears. No one had escaped his grasps.

He was fast like the wind, slippery like an eel. A master of disguise too. On most days, he would be an Indio, a sweaty native plowing the fields, seemingly hard at work, but attentive to any unfamiliar onlookers and civil guards out of uniform. Sometimes, he’d be an Ilustrado, prim and proper. One of the young men in line for succession clad in suits, privileged with the highest quality of education available. And no one would ever think such a man would taint themselves with blood and crime. An immature notion, really. Around these parts, intellect comes with power. And power deranges a man.

No one knew what he really was.

With the number of lives increasing than their arrests, the civil guards grew mad and strict. They were ordered to patrol for longer hours, even beyond the pay grade they received. The first murder was that of a native woman, but no one seated in law enforcement cared. Not until a Principalia had demanded his daughter’s assailant be found. Ever since then, civil guards had taken records of every murder committed with the same motif.

Tonight, he was on his third kill of the year, seventeen overall. He carved the number on the back of the body, keeping count of his deed. And a reminder of his pursuers’ incompetence. The blood streaming off the woman’s body colored the white sheets like art often seen inside the Galleons.

With his bloody shirt and knife in hand, he carefully slipped out of the victim’s home. But the natives have prayed every day and night for his arrest; and for Sitan to take him to the depths of his punishing realm and make him suffer after he dies. And when he heard the shouts of civil guards, he ran.

His fast steps took him through the farming field towards the forest, confident of his speed to stir away from the bullets’ path. No one had ever caught sight of him before, and he’s determined to keep it that way.

He rustled through many bushes and skipped over dead woods. The forest was oddly loud, as if the guardians were helping him escape the guards. Or perhaps protesting his inhumanity.

Then, everything went silent—no stridulating of crickets, footsteps of the civil guards, or even the low howl of the wind.

He passed through the barrier, finally.

The moon shined brightly where he stood as he composed himself. The civil guards seemed to have lost their way when he reached the clearing. But he remained on alert. The area was quite odd, it looked as if it didn’t belong with the rest of the forest. It was a world of its own.

And it felt too familiar to him.

A thin mist was masking the woods around the clearing and the dew sparkled like crystals reflecting the moonlight. He felt as if the guardians of the forest were indeed helping him escape his demise.

But he stood corrected.

A floating ball of blue ligh—No, a floating blue fireball appeared in front of him. He was frozen, the proximity of it too close.

Everyone who grew up in the village, in the entire archipelago knew what it is. To outsiders, it could only be a mere weather phenomenon. But to natives and believers, they’re much more than what the current science perceived it to be.

Santelmo, a fireball soaring above ground. The same one in front of him right now. He never believed those folklores. Those tall tales. Stories elders used to tell children to keep them inside at night. Deranged narratives fishermen rambled on while they drown themselves in Tubâ.

Natives believed that a Santelmo brings bad luck to those who’d see it, causing confusion and misdirection, especially to travelers. A creature derived from the soul of those who was murdered, their graves unmarked in isolated places such as this mystic glade.

Another fireball appeared behind the first one. Then another. And another one, until the whole clearing seemed to be filled by its blazing blue light.

Slowly, the first one turned to face him. Its calm visage and long limbs finally in sight. It had a face of a woman, much like the one he encountered earlier; the blood of her still drying on his clothes, sticking on his skin.

Something was drawing him to touch the glowing creature. And he did. True to what the stories told, the fire didn’t burn him, but he felt extremely cold; colder than the sea at night.

He held the creature in his hands, completely captured by its light. The Santelmo’s eyes opened abruptly, startling him. He took a step back but he couldn’t remove his hands. He was starting to feel much colder than a moment ago. Its long limbs reach out to his face, imitating his action. That’s when he realized, he was done for.

What he didn’t know about these particular Santelmos, was that they existed for a reason—revenge. And this glade was made specifically for him.

Once his eyes were locked with the Santelmo’s fiery ones, and his hand completely intact with it, he was sent to a deep spiral of memories. Reels of someone else’s life kept flashing in front of him at the speed of light. It felt like he was reliving her life from the moment her eyes laid upon the world until the moment she died.

But her death wasn’t natural. She was murdered. The poor woman was taken advantage of when she was sleeping. She was tied with the rips of her thin sheets to the frame of her wooden bed. She pleaded for him to stop, for mercy. But the man holding her down was getting worried the neighborhood would wake. He was quick to shatter the lamp on her bedside and used the largest shard to strike her heart and stop it from beating.

He was the man. He killed her.

The man stumbled back, out of breath and in excruciating pain. He was mortified, questioning everything he’d ever done. The pleasure all those crimes gave him was replaced with horror. Every hit he had on those women, he felt it too. And he didn’t want them for himself.

But it was too late for him to realize that. Too late to turn a new leaf, too late to ask for forgiveness. The gods had already sealed his fate.

The rest of the Santelmos, closed in on him., surrounding him with their cold heat and blinding blue light. All of them had their limbs reaching down for him, eager to have him a taste of what he had done. To feel the knife on his back, carving a number with a knife. To have him feel the blood spilling out of their bodies with his every strike.

That’s what they all wanted. Something a prayer nor a lit candle could never achieve.

Every blazing hand that touched him made him go through all their lives at once. He kept shouting for help, hoping the civil guards could hear him beyond the barrier of the glade. Whatever verdict they plan to cast upon him was certainly better than this.

There was no hope for him, not anymore. He took the hope of many, hope for a future. Hope for many things. So why would he deserve it?

His mind couldn’t take much more of it, but he kept feeling every emotion they had while still alive. The pain he caused coursed through his body until his whole being gave up, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

And died.

One by one, the Santelmos disappeared, their purpose finally achieved. The barrier of the glade was no more. And when morning came, civil guards had found the body of a man, crows gathered around him. He was the man they were pursuing all night. The man who was a serial murderer, the first one in the history of the colony.

And he will never kill again.

Glossary:

I threw a few terms in the story (all italicized) that might not be familiar to everyone who read it. So, here’s a list.

Civil guards – or guardia civil, the law enforcement during the colonial era in the Philippines.

Indio – a term Spanish colonizers used to refer to the locals and natives of the archipelago, usually with the intent to insult.

Ilustrado – basically those who were able to avail education during the colonial era.

Principalia – the noble, ruling class.

Galleons – in the story, I was referring to the cargo ships used in the Galleon Trade.

Tubâ – a Filipino alcoholic drink made from the sap of palm trees. I tried it before, not my drink. LOL.

Sitan – basically, Satan, guardian of Kasamaan (which is Hell.)

Santelmo – I describe this creature as a blue fireball, with a face and long limbs. In the illustration of this book, a Santelmo looked like this:

A note from Aye:

Thank you for reading! I met the deadline! Honestly, I was struggling to finish this very very short story. I hope the story was an interesting read and I hope it was okay overall (especially to writersnet. Thank you for having this event! Hope y’all are well and having a great day/night!) This is the first time I’m submitting my work for a writeblr event so I’m kind of nervous about it.

Again, thank you for reading. Have a great day/night!

#writersnet #writersnet.0421 #writeblr #writeblr community #writers on tumblr #writing #writeblr event #ecwffs #[thank you for sparing the story some time.]#short story

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writingarchangels · 5 years

Text

Lost & Found (Michifer)

Pairing: Michael/Lucifer

Characters: Michael, Lucifer, Chuck & Amara

Word count: 1.7K

Triggers: scared & sad Lucifer, I guess? Pain, hurt, angst with a happy ending

Square: Amara

Mod tag: @heavenandhellbingo

Jealous at her brother's creation - the first Archangel - The Darkness decided to give this 'creating' a try herself... but the end results are not as she hoped. Yet this terrified blinded creature might just end up becoming quite something after all.

I want to try doing that too, The Darkness thought as she was watching her younger brother fussing over the thing he had recently created. God had called it an 'Archangel' – whatever that might mean really – and seemed to be pretty darn proud of it. When she had tried to get a better look at this so-called Archangel, God had pulled it away and out of her sight. All she managed to see of it were wings. Blue wings.

Because her brother was being a dick and wouldn't allow her to look at this being, she had gone off in a fit of rage and went to try to create something on her own. She just wanted to be able to call something her own – and possibly rub it in her brother's smug face that she could do more than only destroy.

How hard can it be?

Creation is hard, The Darkness discovered early on. No matter what she tried, or how she attempted to do it, she never quite got it right. The first twenty tries or so her creations simply exploded or spontaneously combusted before she could give them life. It took her another hundred attempts to be able to create something that lived at all. But even then, they just kept on dying no matter how badly she tried to keep them alive.

Frowning, she looked down at the hunched shape before her, waiting for the inevitable moment it would die too, but that did not happen. For a while, she simply waited to see what would happen, but nothing seemed to happen. While it wasn't exactly moving around – even though she had given it limbs and even wings – it did stay alive. It didn't come close to her brother's creation, but it was something and it came from her.

Curiously, she kneeled in front of her creature and poked it in the hopes of receiving a reaction. A terrified screech came from the creature and it scrambled away from her as it made itself as small as possible, six pink wings wrapping around a shaking body. "I'm not trying to harm you," The Darkness frowned, wondering if it was even able to understand what she was saying. Did it even recognize her as its creator? Did it even know that it directly came from her?

"Can you even understand me at all?" She tried again, trying to speak in a gentler tone now.

The creature did not show any signs of understanding her. It pulled further away from her and it was scrambling and feeling around as if it was terrified of something. Of what, she didn't know. Taking a closer look at the creature, she realized that it was blind and unable to perceive anything. Its eyes were looking ahead but unable to perceive anything.

The Darkness frowned, reaching out to her creature to try to help it. She figured she would be able to fix its eyes. However, the moment she touched it, the creature screeched and hit out at her with its pink wings. Startled, she dropped it, which made the creature attempt to dart away, limping as it did so. The Darkness was disappointed to discover that her mere touch had nearly destroyed its seemingly sensitive skin with black goo oozing out of the areas her hands had touched. It had ripped the skin right off. It might be alive, but it seems to be rather frail. It probably won't survive long on its own, she thought to herself, growing disappointed at yet another failure at creation. She would never be able to achieve what her brother did.

Looking down at the fumbling creature with the broken skin and trembling wings, she tried to think of what to do with it. Should she destroy it or simply leave and abandon it? Whatever she chooses, the result would be the same; it would die. But would she be the one to strike it down? Watching it trembling and fumbling around like that, she wasn't sure if she could. And if she destroyed her creation, wouldn't that only end in proving to her brother that she could do nothing else but destroy?

And thus The Darkness left and abandoned her frightful and flawed creature to its own fate.

It hurt. Everything was hurting. A silent cry leaving his lips, the newly born creature curled in on itself, every movement of its muscles splitting open his skin. But it hurt more when he wasn't curled up he was quick to learn, so he pushed through it. He lifted the long things on his back – he didn't know what they were, but they felt soft and comforting, and so he placed them around his broken skin.

There was a voice, presumably speaking to him, but each time he flinched away from the voice. And then the voice touched him, and it hurt. And so, he had cried and tried to get away. He grew scared of the being he couldn't see but who could hurt him so easily. And then the voice left, and he was all alone. And he wasn't sure what was worse.

He laid waiting for a while, wrapped up in the soft things that grew out of his back. But no one seemed to go to him again. Feeling completely lost and having no idea what to do, he cried silently to himself as his tiny body shook.

Michael twisted in his father's hold as his tiny fluffy wings flared out. He had been sensing it for a while now, a feeling deep in his very being – as if something had taken hold of his grace and was tugging on it.

He needed to know what it was. Therefore, the tiny angel jumped out of his protesting father's arms and went to investigate. Or planned to, at least. For his plan was disrupted by his father grabbing him again. "Michael, don't wander off. It's dangerous out there," God told him with a light scowl.

"But there is something out there and they need my help! I can sense it!" Michael retorted, struggling against the arms holding him.

"Michael," God started to say, "there's nothing out there. Let along something that would actually need help with anything. So please, just calm down."

"No!" Michael protested.

Seeing that the tiny angel wouldn't calm down anytime soon, God sighed and decided he might as well let Michael have his fun. "Very well," he said, "go look for this creature, but I will be going with you." He wasn't about to let this Archangel he had spent a lot of time on wander off on his own and possibly get lost in the dark. Michael clearly wasn't about to let that be said twice and jumped out of his arms, blue wings fluttering, and then he was off, apparently knowing where to go. God was left running after the angel.

He wasn't alone anymore. Curling in on himself, he tried to make himself as small as possible. He might be overlooked that way. It didn't seem to work, for something seemed to sit down in front of him. "Father, what is it?" A voice called out. Stilling, he listened, shocked that he seemed to be able to understand it at all. He couldn't understand what the first voice had said – the one who had hurt him – but he could hear this one just fine. Another voice spoke, another voice he couldn't understand. But it sounded displeased. He winched away, afraid that this voice would end up hurting him as well.

"I like him!" The kind voice spoke. "Can he be my friend?"

The soft things on his back shuddered and he lifted them oh so slowly. He kept them around himself, but he listened. Something was placed over him and he tensed up, expecting there to be pain, but it never happened. What was placed over him was soft and warm, just like the things on his back, and he found himself leaning into it and taking comfort in their presence.

The other voice said something, and then there was a bright light, which even he could partly see with his blind eyes. He shrieked and flinched away. A noise of protest came from the kind voice. "Father, no! Please don't hurt him!" The voice called out. He was aware of something leaning over him, but they didn't touch him.

"Let him live!"

The light dimmed, and the other voice replied with something. Shaking fearfully, a tiny noise came from the small creature as he attempted to hide in the soft material that was still draped over him. "I will take care of him and raise him if I have to, but please, save him and give him a change."

The light came closer and instinctively, he tried to get away. It was scary, and he didn't want to get hurt. "It's alright," the kind voice told him, "he's going to help you and make you feel better."

You promise that? He couldn't speak the words aloud, but the other being seemed to understand him just fine. He didn't know how it worked - but there seemed to be a kinship between them. They understood each other and deep down, both felt just as lost and scared as the other did.

"I promise."

And so, he decided to trust him and allowed to light to gently touch him, to fuse with his being and create something new. Something beautiful and fair. Something which would never have any equal whatsoever. The pain disappeared as his skin got stronger. Eyes tinting a bright red, he would be able to see the world and the wonders it contained. Created from both light and darkness, he had been lost and stumbling... but then he was found.

Gingerly placed in a pair of outstretched arms, he twitched slightly with his eyes still closed. He needed a moment to get used to his new, stronger form. "Take good care of him, Michael. He has been through a lot, so he will need a lot of love. Do you know what to call him?" A voice said, and he realized that it was the voice belonging to the light.

"I get to name him?" The one who held him, Michael, asked.

"Of course."

Almost carefully, he opened his eyes and blinked up at the face hanging above him. The sparkling eyes and a loving smile. His own pink wings fluttered happily. "I think I'll call him Lucifer."

Lucifer tilted his head as the other replied, "Why's that?"

"Because he's my light."

Tags: @luciferstempest @gabrielsbackbitches @jgvfhl @staycejo1 @blakechaos08 @qslucid @i-miss-balthazar

IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED AS WELL, JUST ASK!!

#heavenandhellbingo #spn head canon #michifer #lucifer #michael #spn fanfiction #I still don't know how to properly tag my stories #angst with a happy ending #angst #fluff

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ausp-ice · 5 years

Text

Worlds and Fandoms

Other Info Posts: About | Tags | Characters (TBA)

|| Original Worlds ||

Nēr Light

Nēr Light follows the logs of Sier Avaren as they work in the outpost Arcana on the alien planet Archeiah. All life there possesses ichor - a dark blue liquid - instead of blood, which absorbs the mysterious energy called "starlight" that radiates from the core of the planet.

Based on a dream I had about alien vampires and dragons.

(main blog: @ner-light )

#ner light

#ner - content of nērs. #null dragon - content of Nulls. #archeiah - content of the planet environment and such.

See this post for more info on the characters.

Primary characters: Sier Avaren, Elyra

________________

Khimaer

Khimaer is a world of magic with an advanced, globalized society established across it. Humans are born without magic, but it slowly grows within them until they have the potential to be transformed by it. [Wiki]

#khimaer

#khimaera #espira #khimaerian - humans, khimaera, and espira that exist in this world.

Primary character: Eirien Ward

________________

The Auspicium

In the beginning, there was nothing. Then, a single soul came into existence. That soul expanded a domain around it, and manifested a body out of its own void energy. That was the first dragon of Void.

Later, within the domain of Void, souls of Time and Space sprung into existence, and their domains created a space where physical existence was possible. More dragons, more domains - light and dark, then water, earth, fire, air, ice, lightning, nature, etc.Essentially, a dragon creates a domain and a body for itself, and some can only exist within the domains of others.

Every Void dragon can create its own universe, but one universe can have more than one Void dragon.

A species known as Travelers have a similar energy-based existence, but do not create domains and are able to travel from one to another. Auspice, my dragonsona, is something like both a Void dragon and a Traveler at the same time.

#the auspicium

Notable characters: Auspice (dragonsona)

________________

Ephemera

The dimension that Eso comes from - he is a will formed from billions of esphers of an alternate dimension, Ephemera. This dimension is closely associated with natural forces, such as wind, rain, rivers, trees, earth, etc. It is populated by countless whispering wills known as esphers, each attuning to the natural energies that bridge the physical plane with their own. When multiple esphers attune to the same force, they gather together and link their wills, forming a sort of hive mind and becoming exponentially more powerful. These links may be transient or long-lasting. Occasionally, they bleed out into the physical plane, leading to some sightings of “fairies,” “will-o-wisps,” “spirits,” etc. Most remain rooted in Ephemera. An entity of cohesive will is known as an ephemeral.

Eso is a very unusual case, in that every espher formed a (more or less) unbreakable bond, and in crossing over to the physical plane, he manifested his own body and becoming a single, united entity. He can still feel his siblings on the other side of existence, but he finds the physical plane fascinating, in contrast to his eternity as separated, whispering wills.

#ephemera

Primary character: Eso

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| Shared Worlds |

Ragtag World

A ragtag world of design-traded OCs and the OCs we made of that.

The world is approximately 50 years into the future. Around our time, 2019, magical beings were being discovered by humanity.

Magical society had, before, run completely separately from human affairs. There are independent factions and civilizations, but there's something like a United Nations for them that regulates their activity. Some magical societies hid within human society, others were completely isolated.

Eventually, the magical UN decided to come forward and reveal the existence of magic. There was social upheaval, of course, but the end result is now magical and human society living side-by-side, with collaboration for regulation. Some parts of society are relatively untouched by magic, still, and the truly magical civilizations are more often than not still concerned with only their affairs.

#ragtag world

Primary characters: Arith, Fahl

________________

Redivivus

A world in which the mysterious Redivivus parasite has begun to manifest in humanity. But is it so wrong to simply desire to live?

The world of Redivivus parasites is a world created by friekeshow (dA) and shared with me and a number of others.

#redivivus

Primary characters: Zion Decius, Jess Zhu

________________

| Mythicologie Projects |

Worlds and projects created in a certain group of my friends.

________________

Pokesona

Pokemon personas for many of my friends.

#pokesona

________________

Witchsona

A world of witches (not just sonas!), with lore master as ayzenigma.

#witchsona

________________

Inner Demons

A project of Ava’s Demon personas.

#inner demons

Me: Cie Alra, Refa Stiriacier

___________________________________________________

|| Fandoms ||

Don’t Starve OCs: Wren Curtis, Wraith

Hollow Knight (blog @elk-and-thearchivist ) OCs: Elk, Wiki

Endless Space 2 OC: Lambda (Riftborn)

Ava’s Demon OCs: Cie Alra, Refa Stiriacier

#info post

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the-hilda-librarians-wife · 6 years

Text

A Weirdo Like Me

Part one of the Between the pages series!

Series summary: A sketchbook ship series, about the two most beautiful and smart women in Trollberg fell in love...

Fic summary: How I imagine Johanna met the Librarian. Sometimes life copies art...

Read it on ao3

It was probably the best book she’d read in a while, she had to admit.

Tales of romance had never held much of Maven’s interest, the librarian always having favored tales of magic and adventure over emotional drama, of heroes and villains over lovers. But this one had something she did appreciate in a book, and that most romances didn’t have:

It had substance. A plot. And most of all, it presented the reader with something to learn from the story.

Her eyes danced avidly across the pages as she read the tale of the outcast who had been shunned by her new village, simply because of being who she was, to find an unbelievably strong bond with a fair maiden just as odd as her. She had found this book just this morning, in a corner of the library she had never given much attention. She hadn’t taken her eyes out of it since then.

The bell of the café’s door jingled above her head as she entered. “The Poet’s retreat”, as it was called, was her favorite spot to have a coffee between her shifts at the library. More than once she had asked the town hall to allow a coffee machine at her working space, and more than once they had refused. But she didn’t complain. The calm, softly lit café would do.

She was admiring the beautiful use of adjectives the author had made when she collapsed against something and felt a burning sensation on her chest. Maven shrieked, and rose the book above her head, in an attempt to protect her newly found treasure from whatever had just hit her.

But as soon as she took her eyes off the book, she realized it wasn’t a whatever, but a whoever. Short chestnut curls met a red sweater, and her brown eyes were wide with alarm, her mouth covered by her hands.

When she looked down, Maven realized where the burning sensation was coming from. Coffee. Wonderful.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry!” The lady who had spilled the beverage on her apologized. “I- I can’t believe this! Oh, I’m really sorry, I mean, you were the one reading and I was the one who bumped into you, are you all right? And the book, it-“

“Madam, it’s fine.” Maven put her hands in front of her in a gesture of surrender, trying to calm down he woman, who had began speaking so fast she couldn’t even understand. “I have a change of clothes in my workplace” she lied, knowing fully well what would happen is she would use a cleaning spell on her grey cardigan, and maybe on her shirt too, she didn’t know how deep was the damage.

The woman before her took a deep breath, realizing she had lost it for a moment. “I’m very glad to hear that. Will you at least lay me pay you a coffee, then? I need to get myself another one, anyway.”

Maven thought it through for a moment. On one hand, she had always preferred the serenity of being by herself to the chatter of a stranger. On the other hand, who was she to refuse free coffee? Her book could wait a little, she decided.

“I suppose I will.” She answered with a small smile on the corner of her lips, and the woman replied with a stunning one of her own. “I’m Johanna, by the way.”

The librarian quirked an eyebrow, and tried the name on her mouth. It rolled pleasantly off her tongue, leaving a sweet taste. Sweet as her aura, she realized as she focused on the welcoming pink light she could see surrounding the woman if she concentrated. A trustworthy person, then. Being a witch had it’s perks.

“Maven” she offered the name as well as the hand that wasn’t holding the book for the stranger to take. Johanna’s warm skin contrasted with Maven’s cold one, sending a ligh shriver down both of their spines.

“Nice to meet you. You can seat down somewhere if you like, I’ll go get it”

On that note, Johanna went back into the short queue for the cashier and Maven headed to a small, secluded table on the darker part of the café, where she usually seated. When she had settled down, she opened her book on the page she had left off, realizing with relief that it hadn’t been damaged. Sweet stranger or rude stranger, if you messed with her books you were on Maven’s enemy list forever.

“What are you reading?” Johanna asked when she appeared at the table out of the blue, making the librarian jump.

“Nothing” the raven haired woman answered, as “ a romance about lesbian witches” didn’t seem like the right answer to start a conversation.

“So, Maven, I think I’ve seen you before, but I can’t put my finger on it” The older woman said as she slided a cup of coffee to her and Maven rested the book on her tights, away from prying eyes.

“The library?” Maven suggested, now remembering seeing the woman. On the arts section, if she wasn’t mistaken.

“Oh yes, the library!” Johanna snapped her fingers as she remembered. “You’re the librarian!”

“Indeed” Maven snickered into her cup as the bitter hot liquid flooded her senses. Her mother had always taught her to enjoy tea, the beverage being so handy in witchcraft, but she could never say she liked it over coffee without lying.

“Oh it must be amazing! Nowadays it is so hard for someone to work with what the love! I’m a graphic designer, see, and since I’ve moved back into town, I haven’t been able to get a job.” She finished the sentence less upbeat than she had began, and Maven felt a streak of sympathy towards her.

“The world works in a system. Society is a machine. And they’re both designed to kill artists. It’s not easy being such a real thing in such a fake world.” Johanna looked at the young woman in the eye, wonder written on the designer’s face. “This world is filled with people who destroy. You should be proud of yourself to be someone who creates. Job or not.”

Johanna sighed and let out a small laugh. “That’s... well that’s beautiful. I’m glad someone shares my thoughts.” The designer took a sip of her coffee and stared outside trough the nearly transparent curtains over the café’s window. “People usually say I’m a weirdo because I think like that”.

So, another misfit , Maven though. She was growing fonder of the woman by the minute. “Don’t let them get you down. No-one ever made any difference by being like everyone else.”

Once again, Johanna smiled, and the dark table seemed to light up. “You have pretty words, don’t you, Maven?”

“Oh, I didn’t say that. P. T. Barnum did.”

Johanna’s head tilted slightly, the smile lingering on her lips. “Well, I’m not sure about other people’s lives, but in my life I can make a difference.”

“How so?”

“I have a job interview today. I’m hoping to get a good job, at least good enough to leave the department store I’m working at.” Johanna whispered in a conspiratorial way, as if sharing a secret.

“What time is the interview?” Maven asked, looking at the wall clock across the café.

“Um, half past five, why?”

“If I were you, I’d stop talking to me right now” Johanna narrowed her eyes, thinking the conversation was being quite interesting, and wondering if she had somehow offended the new friend. “You’re five minutes late.”

Johanna’s eyes widened and she got up abruptly, nearly spilling coffee from her paper cup, and looked at her watch. “Gods, you’re right! It was nice to meet you, Maven!”

The last words were practically shouted, as she was already at the door when she said them. Maven shook her head fondly. “I can say the same, Johanna”, she whispered.

The librarian put her book on the table once again, making sure her cup was out of the reach of her elbows to prevent a catastrophe, but she couldn’t bring herself to pay attention to the flowered language or detailed descriptions of a magical, far away land and the two women who dared defy its rules.

Not when every time the main character spoke she heard Johanna’s voice.

Not when every time her lover spoke, she heard her own

#hilda #hilda the series #hilda netflix #hilda librarian #johanna #hilda’s mum #sketchbook ship #sketchbook fanfic #hilda fanfic

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bellatrixobsessed1 · 6 years

Text

Wan High Weeping (Part 40)

Dies a little on the inside because I can’t remember if I gave Katara and Sokka a last name already. Wishes I had my notes document and hopes that I didn’t, because I couldn’t find one while combing through my previous chapters.

Also, like Sokka, Yue has been aged up for the sake of the plot. I really wanted to give her a place in all of this.

Azula dropped her suitcases by the stairwell. The manor had such a different aura than the one Ozai’s took on, right down to the aromas. As opposed to sharp spices and incense, the house smelled of violet and lavender and other floral odors she didn’t have names for. It smelled fresh, even approaching the last week of November. She was dropped off with a stern lecture about making the most of things, being as so many strings had to be pulled to get her there so quickly. But she was in no mood for making the most of things; not only did she have to worry about adjusting, she had to worry about the charges she was going to be pressing on Chan and Usha. Moreover, she was in a constant state of dread. Somehow he would get to her.

She knew that he would.

Ursa had money but Ozai had more of it. His lawyers would be better. They would have her sent right back to him and she didn’t know how to feel about that. More than anything she craved the affection he used to give her. Even though the academically outstanding part of her screamed against it, Azula clung to the hope that she could still make things right if she could just fit herself back into the image he desired. But, lord did the prospect terrify her. He would tear her apart for the grief and struggle she was causing him now.

She stood awkwardly in the doorway, not sure if she was supposed to enter and make herself at home or if she was supposed to wait for her mother to greet her. She thought of retreating back to her car. But then, where would she go? Back to the hospital? She could pester TyLee for a place to stay, but that look became her just as poorly as binging in front of everyone had. She also couldn’t imagine that her relationship with the girl had been repaired enough for that to happen. She shut the door and opted to leave her luggage where she had initially set it down for the time. She wandered further into the house, trying to get a sense of it.

There were paintings everywhere of lush scenery and sprigs of rosemary. On hallway coffee tables were vases teeming with jasmine and lily. She wondered how long it would take before she came across a picture of Zuko. But then, her mother had cut Zuko out just as readily as she had cut Azula out.

She came to the backyard veranda. The door leading out to it had lacey white curtains that fluttered in the deep autumn gusts. The garden must be magnificent in the spring. There were so many trees, she could only imagine their flare and splendor a few weeks ago--painted with the fiery hues of autumn. She could only imagine how green and rich they were months ago when the air was still hot with summer. Now they were simply dead, spindly and twisted against a stonewash sky. Dead, grey, bleak, and waiting for snow to come and re-awaken their glory. But somehow they were still beautiful, forlornly beautiful.

Azula’s fingers curled around the veranda railing. It was lined with budding winter rose and amethyst ice, their vines and leaves brushed against her palm.

Ursa never stuck her as a gardener, but then, she’d never put much thought into the woman since she divorced Ozai and filed a restraining order. No thought save for wondering why the woman never bothered to reach out. Perhaps it was that she was afraid that her ex-husband would track her down through she and Zuko. It seemed logical enough, Ozai had the money and material to do so. Still she had a sneaking suspicion that she didn’t want to hear from Azula.

She recalled Zuko mentioning an anonymous call or two every so often, a few months after the woman had fled, but he never picked up numbers he didn’t know. After that, the calls stopped coming. She hadn’t expected her mother to try to get in touch with her, she was too much like the man her mother had fled from.

Until now, she had put it out of her mind entirely, the sting of being unloved by her own mother. Now it was just another glaring failure amid the rest--perhaps it had been the first indication that she would fall and amount to nothing.

Azula reached out to touch a low hanging branch.

“There you are.” Came a voice. Hearing it for the first time in years was haunting. The timbre of it was so startlingly similar to her own. “I saw your suitcases, but couldn’t find you.”

“I never tried to find you.” Azula spat, harshly. She would love to know how much effort the authorities had put into doing so.

She heard Ursa sigh. “Can I help you carry your things to your new room?”

“Do I look helpless to you?” She grumbled. “You can tell me where my room is.”

Ignoring Azula’s protests, Ursa picked up two of the few suitcases and led her daughter up a few flights of stairs, to the third floor. She motioned down the hall. “I decorated three rooms for you to choose from…”

Azula’s tummy fluttered at the thought that her mother had gone out of her way to do so. She fought to cling to her anger. To her dignity. “I’m sure you would have redecorated the whole house for Zu-Zu.”

“Azula…”

She made her way past Ursa and dropped her suitcases into the third room. The one painted in soft shades of blue. Wallpaper trim depicting silvery and turquoise blue strands of lightning caught her eye. The room was furnished simply; there was a canopy bed draped with pastel blue organza fabric and an organized heap of silk pillows that rested atop deep blue silk sheets. Next to the bed sat a white night stand with a crystal lamp in the same shades. Off in the corner was a sizable bookshelf that probably came with the night stand. A decorative velvet rug blanketed white carpeting. She figured that the rest of the decor was up to her. “When you were little, you liked to have strings of lights hung in your room. I didn’t know if you still liked those so I bought some for you just in case.” She motioned to a few boxes. “You can go through those and see if you want to use any of it.”

Again, Azula’s stomach knots. The woman remembered what she liked as a child. Ursa was making it harder than she had anticipated, to hold her grudge. She reminded herself that the woman hadn’t even tried to reach out to her.

Azula’s curiosity got the best of her so she rummaged through the box some. She spied organza curtains to match the canopy as well as dark blue velvet to match the rug. Ursa was giving her options. And that was only the things she had bought for this room. “I like these.” She stated simply, lifting up the velvet curtains.

Ursa picked them up. “Would you mind giving me a hand?”

She didn’t want to, but she didn’t want to risk not having curtains either, so she picked them up and helped Ursa arrange them. That would do for the time being, she might finish adding her own style to the room later. Frankly she liked to think that this was a temporary arrangement that she didn’t need to invest much time into.

WIth the curtains in place, Ursa stepped back to inspect them. When that was done she decided to inspect Azula who folded her arms over her chest. Ursa’s expression dimmed and she reached an arm out. Azula swatted the had away with a curt, “don’t touch me.”

The woman’s face darkened further. “He hurt you.”

And Azula knows that she had caught a glimpse of the fading bruises Ozai had left on her cheeks.

“What did he do?”

“Nothing that you tried to protect me from.”

.oOo.

Xi River Academy was very different from Wan High. From the layout to the deep scarlet and vivid gold colors. Wan High took a wolf-bat hybrid for its mascot. What Xi River had was more of a crest. A gold plate with elegantly engraved tiger lillies. If Azula were to guess she’d say that they’d simply take a tiger for an animal mascot if requested.

The campus itself was different, much more elegant. A cobblestone path led to a fine brick building with faux gold embellishments. A stark contrast to Wan High’s concrete foundations. It didn’t occur to her that Xi River Academy could be a private institute until she was swept up in a crowd of girls. Only girls. A female only, student body. At once, she wondered why her father had left her to a shabby public school when he could have sent her here, or at least a place like it. A two hour commute to and back would have been a hassle.

It seemed to settle more and more, that he didn’t care for her as much as she though he did.

The elegance of the academy only distracted her from her fears for a brief, yet merciful, window. As soon as the awe faded, it settled in that she was in a new crowd. A crowd that had never seen her at her best. The notion that they’d only see bruised, chubby, tired eye’d version of her was more than enough reason to retreat. Even more so, knowing that this would be their first impression of her. She could bury herself in all of the make up she wanted, it wouldn’t hide what she sought to cover the most. Suddenly her new uniform felt so tight and constricting. She could already feel the weight of their judging gazes--heavy and scrutinizing.

She tried not to speak with anyone and no one tried to speak with her. She opted to pass on finding her locker until after hours. The school was too large and she had a class to get to. She hadn’t anything to fetch or put into her locker anyhow.

She entered the class room as quietly as she could, lingering about, trying to scope out what seat hadn’t already been claimed. A poor plan in retrospect, when she found herself being the last woman standing. Her new literature teacher walked in. “You must be Azula.” He noted quietly. His voice had a familiar ring to it, one that she couldn’t quite place.

Has gaze was soft and inviting enough, blue eyes scanning the classroom. “It looks like you get to sit next to Zirin.” With a light smile he added a very quiet, “good luck.” A little louder he said, “perhaps Ms. Nishimura will pay more attention to the lessons with a stranger sitting next to her.” This roused a round of chuckles.

“Or…” Zirin spoke up. “Ms. Nishimura will neglect the lessons to get to know the stranger.” Another round of laughter.

“Feel free to give her a nudge or two if she becomes a pest.” The man rolled his eyes. His demeanor struck Azula as familiar, just as well has his voice. Still she couldn’t place where from. She turned to take her seat but he stopped her. “Before you sit, would you mind introducing yourself? Name and...hmm...something you enjoy doing in your free time and a fun fact.”

Fully aware of the eyes on her, Azula muttered her name. “I used to play volleyball.” It wasn’t a very fun fact, but she added, “and then I broke my ribs.”

“I’m sorry to hear it.” Her teacher apologized.

Azula shrugged and headed for her seat. She wished that they would stop staring at her. She no longer liked being a spectacle.

“I believe you all are really going to like Azula.” The teacher proclaimed. “Considering we will be taking a break from our very engaging read…” a collective groan resonated about the room, “...to go around the room and introduce ourselves.”

“Hell yeah.” Came a mutter from behind. “Anything to avoid reading that hell novel.”

By the end of the hour her brain was loaded with names and faces she probably wouldn’t remember the next day. She supposed that she’d just have to get used to them, as she would everything else. Again her new teacher stopped her as she was leaving. “Can I talk to you for a moment.”

Azula frowned to herself and perhaps her dissatisfaction was apparent because he added, “don’t worry, I’ll give you a hall pass.”

She re-entered the classroom.

“I just wanted to introduce myself, since the bell rang before I could.”

Azula stood silent and waiting.

“Though I feel like I know you decently already.” This, Azula didn’t understand. “Katara, has mentioned you a lot.” And her heart thrummed against her chest. “You are that Azula, correct?” She could already feel her grade in this class dipping.

“Depends, what did Katara say?”

The man laughed and then his face went hard. “She pointed you out a number of times on various social media, usually while crying…”

Azula let herself go numb, she was already off to a horrible start.

“Which is why I was surprised to hear that she was worried about you.” He paused. “If you need to talk about anything, I’m here after hours on most days.”

“I don’t need to talk about anything.”

The man nodded. “My daughter came home crying you know…”

Azula didn’t want to hear anymore, she didn’t want to know how much damage she’d caused.

“...When she thought you were dead.”

That wasn’t where she thought he was headed and it took her aback.

“She saw that you were on my roaster and asked me to make sure you were doing alright.”

Azula swallowed. “She asked about me?”

He nodded and held out his hand, “Mr. Nanouk. But feel free to call me Hakoda, everyone else does.” Azula returned the handshake. “Welcome to Xi River, if you need to know anything about the school, feel free to ask. I’ve been working here for over ten years now.”

Azula nodded. “Thank you, Mr. Nanouk, I’ll keep that in mind.”

She turned to leave again, halting when he called, “Oh, one more thing.”

She looked back.

“Katara is having a little welcome back party for Sokka, she told me to let you know that you’re invited.”

Azula wondered just how many times she would be left with an optimistic but nerve-wracking flutter in her belly. The little reminders that, perhaps, she had been seeing things wrong all along--that people did care for her. They startled her and put her off guard just as much as they comforted her. She wasn’t used to people being so outwardly affectionate with her. Their gentleness had her somewhat flustered, silently so. She appreciate the sentiment very well. Even still…

“I’ll think about it, I have a lot going on right now.”

“I can imagine.” Hakoda replied.

Between all of the lawsuits and the transfer...and her mother…

Even without that baggage she wasn’t exactly up for another party. It would only bring back vivid images of the night she had made up her mind that it was time for her to go. She felt obliged to add, “it’s nothing personal, I’m just tired of the party scene.”

.oOo.

The lunchroom was crowded, everyone was well into their routines. Everyone save for her. She was alone again and this time she didn’t have a Teo. All of the tables seemed full. She tried reading faces, looking for the most inviting one. Her eyes fell upon someone who she could write off right away, she carried herself in the same way Usha did. In the same way Azula herself used to. With any luck she could just bleed herself into the background until her time at Xi River Academy was through. Unnoticed would be better than what she had at Wan High. Evidently, she was already unsure if she could manage that. She decided that she would pass on lunch today, she didn’t want to make that kind of scene on her first day. She’d been eating too much at the hospital anyways.

“Hey!” She spied a waving hand. It took her a moment to realize that the display was directed at her. It was that Zirin girl. She didn’t see any other options so she answered the girl’s gestures. “Earlier today you mentioned that you used to play volleyball?”

“Yes.” Azula replied, taking a seat.

“I just so happen to be a member of Xi River’s team!” Zirin declared, “and I’d like you to meet the rest of the girls.” She motioned around the table. “This is Ikue, Chinami, Shoko, and Ryoko.” They were quite a variety. Ikue with her side shave and Ryoko with her black and white dye job. Chinami was a small and adorable thing, smaller in height than even she. And Azula was probably the smallest woman she knew. Shoko was a heavier girl, the kind she would have targeted before her accident. “And this is Nagako.” She pointed to the most unremarkable girl of the group. She wasn’t unattractive by any means, she was more or less ordinary. “She just quit the team.”

“Why?”

“Eh, I get tired of doing the same thing all the time.” Nagako replied. “Besides, practice ate all of my free time.”

“In other words, we could use a new player.” Zirin offered.

“You don’t want me on your team.” Azula mumbled.

“Sure we do.” Zirin insisted.

“I’m no good anymore…” Azula trailed off. “I haven’t played since my accident.”

“That’s fine, we suck anyways.” Ryoko shrugged.

Chinami agreed. “Yeah, we lose pretty much every game.”

“Xi River is known for our outstanding academics not our sports program.” Ikue put in.

“We can all suck together.” Zirin declared.

“I can’t wait.” Azula grumbled.

“So you’ll join us then!?” Shoko asked.

Azula sighed, the more she mulled it over, the better it sounded. She supposed that joining the team would buy her at least a little more time away from her mother. That alone held an appeal. It would probably do her well to at least try to get back into things. And from the sound of it, she wouldn’t have to worry about looking like a fool alone. Still, the idea of putting herself back on the court in such an out of shape state was daunting. It practically screamed for mockery. “I’ll think about it. I have...things to do after class.”

She certainly wasn’t ready to confess that she was going to therapy. Outpatient had been the decision, with a heavy warning that if she gave even the slightest indication of self-harm she’d land herself a prolonged inpatient stay.

“What do you have to do?” Zirin asked. “Coach is usually pretty good at working around schedules.

“I’m still trying to get settled at my mother’s ma...place.” Azula lied, also deciding that it was probably better to leave her status out of the equation.

“I’m sure coach can work with you.” Zirin said again. “I’ll let her know that you might be interested.”

“Don’t jump the gun, Zirin! She hasn’t said yes yet.” Shoko spoke.

“I know, I know. I’m just going to mention it. No guarantees.”

Ryoko looked to Azula, “did you forget your lunch?”

And so it began. “I did, yes.”

“Want some of mine?”

“I think I can last the day.” She had lasted much longer than that and she would do so again. She looked at her knuckles, the scabs had just begun to flake away and she was going to pick them again. She had to, or else she’d never see her trim figure again. She noticed that the conversation was going on without her. It seemed that way anyhow.

“So, why did you transfer to Xi River?” Chinami asked.

“I. It wasn’t my choice, my brother ran away from home and the CPS got involved.” She supposed that a half truth couldn’t do much damage.

“I’m sorry.” Chinami replied.

Azula waved her off, “we didn’t get along anyways, I’m sure I’ll see him again some day or another.”

.oOo.

She didn’t know why she was doing this to herself, but curiosity was gnawing at her. She didn’t know if it would be better or worse to know exactly how much damage her hospital stay had inflicted. She searched the bathroom, finding no scale. She wondered if her mother had been informed of her diagnosis. She had to have been. Azula grimaced, now she had no way to gauge if she was on the right track. No way save for a glance in the mirror. A mirror that tells her that she had, indeed, grown even softer since her stay.

Turning away from the mirror, she stipped off her uniform and tugged on her day clothes. Clothes that fit just the same as they had before she had landed herself in the hospital. She smoothed the wrinkles out of her shirt quickly ran a comb through her hair.

“Are you sure that you don’t want me to come with you for your first session?” Ursa asked.

“I’m more than capable of doing things on my own.” Her grip on her car keys tightened.

“I just thought that you might want some support.”

“Where was your support when I was in the hospital? Surely they told you how I got there?”

“Yes.” Ursa confirmed. “I know that we...I didn’t leave on the best terms with you. I was afraid that showing up would have made things worse for you.”

Resentfully, Azula noted that her mother wasn’t wrong. A sudden appearance from her probably would have set her off again. She found herself entirely conflicted. “You could have at least tried.” It stung, in retrospect that she hadn’t. Azula knew that she would have turned her away, but at least Ursa could have used an attempt as proof of care. “It wasn’t worth it to you, was it? You knew that I’d turn you away so you didn’t waste your time.”

“Azula.” Her voice is annoyingly level. A stoic demeanor so agitatedly like her own. “I didn’t want to upset you.”

But she had. “I’m going to be late.”

Not that she was actually eager to get to her appointment.

.oOo.

It was hard to believe that her therapist wasn’t completely burnt out already. Thirty minutes into their hour and a half long session and Azula hadn’t said a word. They could make her attend, but they couldn’t make her speak. The woman, Yue, was nice enough, but Azula had no interest in spilling to a stranger, what had taken a good while for Teo to pry out of her. The woman only knew what the other doctors did; that she refused to eat and threw it up when she finally caved. That was all she needed to know.

She had already tried asking how her first day of school was, how she was adjusting to her new home, and if it was difficult to settle in. She tried asking what had driven her to take the pills and if death was what she had really wanted. It took everything in Azula to not, shout that, of course she didn’t really want to die. And then the woman was bold enough to ask if her struggle with bulimia went hand in hand with the attempt.

Each question struck Azula with more unease and fury. Fury she refused to express so openly. The woman was trying many tactics. She tried firm questioning, she tried kind questioning. She tried telling stories of other patients. She tried speaking of her own experiences. She tried returning the silence.

“You’re a pretty girl, Azula.” Now she was trying flattery. She was only saying it because she had to. Azula resisted the urge to correcter with an, “I was a pretty girl.” She wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. “Can you help me understand why you think that you need to throw up?”

Azula hated her bluntness, it made her almost uncomfortable. Evidently she didn’t even know why the woman needed to ask, it was very plain to see. The woman was just taunting her, trying to coax a reaction. She wouldn't so readily give one.

“Does it have anything to do with your father? I am aware that child protective services have gotten involved in your case.”

That struck a nerve. “It has nothing to do with him!” She might as well have said that it had everything to do with him. Yue’s face told Azula that she knew it too.

“He put a lot of pressure on you, didn’t he?”

She tried to save herself, but she probably only dug herself deeper in. “He didn’t say anything I didn’t agree with.”

“So you put pressure on yourself too. Whose idea was it?”

“Was what?” Azula scowled, folding her hands over her chest.

“Did you make the decision to start throwing up yourself, or did your father suggest it.”

She didn’t like that question either. Even less, she liked the implication that she could be forced to do anything she didn’t want to do. “Of course it was my idea! It was only supposed to be once or twice. I just needed to...fix myself to make the team.”

“The team?”

She was saying too much. Maybe she could redirect the conversation. “I was in volleyball.”

“Volleyball.” Yue nodded. “A good sport. Which playing position was your favorite?”

She allowed the conversation to drift away from her disorder. “I enjoyed them all. I was good at them all.” She thought for a moment. “I liked being the setter or the outside hitter the most.”

Yue nodded. “I don’t know that much about volleyball, would you mind telling me what those positions include?”

Azula took no issue in discussing this. Ideally she could chip away the rest of the session time.

She launched into an in depth explanation of the six positions and the game play. Doing so only took up about twenty minutes. Leaving her with a good forty-five left to kill. She tried to think of anything she may have missed. But Yue came up with something faster.

“So you started throwing up to get yourself back in shape for the team? You wanted fast results, correct?”

Azula groaned to herself. “Yes.”

“Understandable.” Yue replied. “But have you seen any changes since you started?”

At first she was inclined to fess up and say no. She would have rather said no instead of coming to the dreadful realization that, if anything, she had seen her weight go up. She shifted uncomfortably. Another mistake, Yue picked up on the motion quickly. She loathed her for it, she was just as good with mind games and reading people as Azula herself. She was going to have to tread with more care.

“You’ve probably seen an increase haven’t you?”

Azula remained silent, but at this point, even that spoke volumes.

Yue’s face hardened and Azula knew that she was done playing nice. Kindness, hadn’t worked up to that point. “Throwing up doesn’t get rid of all of the calories, Azula. It doesn’t even get rid of most of them.”

Her discomfort swelled and would only continue to do so as Yue kept speaking.

“You do realize that there have been many studies to show that a good number of bulimics reach their highest weights during the cycle.” She paused to let it settle, drawing the quiet out for a good while. “Purging is only an illusion. It makes you feel like you’re preventing something, but that isn’t the case. Is it, Azula?”

She felt her cheeks color. The facts that Yue laid out, leave her feeling naked and helpless. She wondered if coming here was a good idea at all. It certainly didn’t feel like it. Perhaps Yue really wanted to set things in stone because she continued. “Your doctors wouldn’t release any details of your stay. But I imagine that, at some point, your hands must have been swollen. Maybe your ankles and your jaw too. Do you know why this is?”

Azula shook her head.

“It happens because your constant vomiting leaves you dehydrated. Your body is trying to cling to the water it has.” She paused again, leaving it to turn in Azula’s mind. “Your throat hurts, doesn’t it.”

“Not as--not that badly.” Her unease was making her speech less careful.

“Not as much lately? Do you think that, that could be because you haven’t thrown up recently.”

She did, but she wouldn’t say it.

“It has only been a little over a week since you’ve last thrown up, and you’re already feeling that much better for it.”

Azula swallowed a lump in her throat.

“You’re lucky the tooth decay hasn’t begun to set in yet. And luckier still that you haven’t developed any intestinal problems. Or heart problems. I’m sure that your doctor has talked with you, at least a little, about electrolytes.”

Lord, was she tired of hearing about those. “Heart problems?”

“Among other things, yes. Low potassium can lead to heart problems.”

And lord knew that they had tested her for that in the hospital. She stared at her arm, a faint patch of pink still decorated the area the IV had jabbed into.

“Of course, those are long-term effects. I would guess that you haven’t done any permanent damage yet, but that can easily change. Do you think that you will be able to make the team with an irregular heart beat or kidney failure?”

The question answered itself.

“You wanted instant gratification. You wanted fast results. Do you like the results you’ve seen?”

“No.”

Her head dipped.

And Yue’s expression softened. “Of course you don’t. You’re hurting yourself. Do you know what will get you fast results?”

Azula looked up.

“Exercize.” Yue replied simply. “You enjoyed volleyball, you still enjoy it, right?”

“I think.”

“Pick up the ball again.” Yue replied. “And if you still like the game, then weight loss should come very easily and naturally to you. From the sound of it, you have a very natural talent.”

“But I’m hungry all the time.” She couldn’t imagine that, that would do her any favors.

“That’s what happens when you restrict your diet. You start to think of what you can’t have, you hold off and hold off until you can’t take it anymore. And then when you do eat, you eat to make up for days of not eating anything at all.”

It seemed so simple, she feels like a fool for not thinking of it on her own.

“You’ve gotten into a habit, Azula. The sooner you break it, the easier things will be.”

“But--”

Yue left her with no room for that. “Right now you’re going to have to rip the band-aid. Typically I go easier on patients, but I feel like babying won’t work on you, will it? I don’t think you want to be babied.”

“I don’t.” She agreed.

“So I will be blunt with you.”

She didn’t want any babying, but she didn’t particularly want her to be so straightforward either. Yet, it was what she needed.

“I want you to start eating again. Like you used to before…”

“I broke my ribs.” Azula filled in.

“I want you to start eating like you did before you broke your ribs.”

It sounded easy enough. It should have been easy. “If I do, I’ll just...” Azula trailed off.

She didn’t need to finish for Yue to gauge the direction. She’d probably seen it dozens upon dozens of times. “ You’ve thrown your body into starvation mode. Right now it is going to cling to everything you put in it. So yes, you’re right, you probably will see another increase in your weight.” At least she wasn’t sugar coating. “Eventually your body will get used to a healthier diet and you’ll level out again. After that, it gets easier--you’ll start to see the drop you’d like.”

Azula’s fingers tighten over her kneecaps.

“I’m willing to say that if you stick to a regular volleyball and workout routine, the gain will be minimal, perhaps it won’t happen at all.”

She didn’t know if she believed that.

“I promise you that if you go back to the very basics, a healthy diet and regular exercise, you’ll see much faster results than throwing up will ever get you.” She paused. “So, let me ask. How do you want to do this? Do you want to take baby steps or do you want to rip the band-aid.”

“I want to rip the band-aid.”

Yue nodded. “If that doesn’t work then we’ll have to take baby steps.”

“Fair.”

“Alright then.” Yue clapped her hands together. “We’re running short on time so I’m going to take you through this quickly. I’d like you to join the volleyball team again. Start slow if you have to. I’d also like you to follow a diet plan…”

.oOo.

It was a lot to absorb and that was only their first session. But she had requested tough love. Apparently their next session was going to focus wholly on re-learning nutrition facts. She supposed that, that wouldn’t sting too much, it would do her well to have a more concrete understanding of such. The only thing she had going for her was that she didn’t have the burden of stress-related eating habits.

She fell upon her mattress. It was hard enough handing Ursa, of all people, that night’s meal plan. Granted the woman was in ass kissing mode and eagerly accepted the task of cooking it. Azula rubbed her hands over her face. She was completely unready to face another possible spike in her weight. She was frustrated to the point of misty eyes. She could smell the crisp of chicken, it met her nose so invitingly. Her empty stomach yearned for it. Habit alone left her feeling disgusting for craving it so badly. She sighed, it was going to be a tedious task to sort out what a normal food craving felt like verses the impulsive uncontrollable desire.

Apparently, that was going to be a topic of discussion in the next session as well.

Azula loathed to admit it, but she wanted to see Yue again. The woman was firm with her in a way that didn’t leave her feeling ashamed of herself. She was forceful but she left the final decision with Azula. The woman could talk all she wanted about eating well, but at the end of the day it was on Azula to follow through. “You can make me empty promises if you want. At the end of the day you’re only going to hurt yourself. No matter what you choose to do with this diet plan, I’m going to go home, watch some Netflix, and pet my cats.”

But something told her that it would hit Yue hard if Azula fell deeper into her disorder.

Ursa shouted up that the food was ready.

And Azula felt absolutely ridiculous; she shouldn’t feel this nervous about a simple dinner. The kind she used to eat without issue. That’s what she clung to as she ate her share. That she wasn’t over doing it, that this was normal. That this was the amount everyone else ate, a decent cut of chicken with a side of corn and a glass of orange juice.

With an empty plate, she pushed her chair in. She headed back to her room with an impulse to purge. She halted in front of the bathroom and forced herself past it. She attempted to turn her thoughts elsewhere. So she opted to text Teo and TyLee about her first day. And she let Katara know that she was still deciding if she was up for a party.

The window between their texts left her with too much time to think. So she stood up again, picking a fight with Ursa ought to do the trick.

She wouldn’t have done it if she knew her mother was going to just stand and listen. Stand listen, and sometimes agree.

She threw accusation after accusation. “You never loved me.”, “You were selfish.” “You left us behind.” The woman would occasionally flinch. “You didn’t even try to contact us.”

“I was selfish.” She agreed, after Azula’s onslaught. “And I was afraid. I was afraid of your father…”

“You were afraid of me.” Azula muttered.

Ursa drew in a sharp breath. “You’re a lot like your father. The way you talked to your brother…” She trailed off. “I was afraid of you, yes.” The confession was like a slap in the face. “But I still loved you then. And I still love you now.” She laughed to herself and Azula couldn’t fathom why. “I can’t believe it took me so long to realize that you’re more like me than him. Believe it or not, I have some fire too, Azula.”

Azula furrowed her brows. “Then why didn’t you try to talk to me?”

“I did. You had me blocked. Every time I found your number, you blocked me again.”

The confusion Azula’s her face so closely resembled Ursa’s expression. Because she swore to God, that she had done nothing of the sort. She hadn’t even blocked Chan and Usha. Much less her own mother.

“I don’t know why I didn’t take you and Zuko with me. It was bad enough hearing that Zuko was in rehab.”

Azula couldn’t tell if Ursa was talking to her still or if the woman was musing to herself.

“And then I find out that you were in the hospital. And with bulimia...what was he doing to the two of you?”

It truly settled in, how dire the situation was. What had he done to her?

“I should have stolen you both away.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“I had no money. It was all his, I lost everything in that divorce court. And they weren’t going to award two children to a mother who couldn’t even feed herself.”

Azula stole a look around the manor.

“I worked really hard and got really lucky” Ursa noted her glance. “I’ve been working on a novel since I met your father. It just so happened to gain a large following overseas…”

She could fill in the rest.

“It had a movie adaption. It should be released here, some time this year.”

“Why didn’t you come find us then?”

“I thought that you were happy with Ozai.”

“I was…”

“Until he wasn’t happy with you.” Ursa filled in. “That’s how it is with that man.” Before Azula knew it, she was in Ursa’s arms, the woman running her hands over her hair. It was such a stark contrast to Ozai’s coldness.

Azula fought to hold onto her resentment.

#Avatar #Azula #Zuko #Ursa #TyLee #Mai #Ozai #Katara #Sokka #Aang #Toph #Suki #Fanfiction

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valdim-heyworth · 6 years

Text

Hunting Samuel Teague - Karazhan Conclusion

Part 1 | Part 2

In relation to: Goodnight Rian, Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Wake Up Rian

Blessedly, outside the town of Strahnbrad, Theron Valteric had managed to help Valdim Heyworth to his feet. He'd helped get him moving again, made easier as the much larger beast shifted into his human form. Together, they rested only long enough to share information, and give Valdim's potion time to take effect.

Rian had fainted. She was in a coma. What he'd feared was all coming to pass, now, and he was moving too slowly to prevent it. Together, as family, the two gathered their things and journeyed to Karazhan.

The tower was just as impressive, just as intimidating as his first visit here, what felt like a lifetime ago. The rusted iron portcullis lifted with surprising ease, signifying that the rust had already been broken once recently - very recently. The whole structure reeked of dark magics, still.

Cautiously, the two magic-users entered, Valdim cursing under his breath, quietly, "Ligh'... I forgot what a place this is..." He shakes his head, “It still gives me chills.” Theron lofted his gaze around, "Now, yeah.. but it'd been a sight before the cobwebs." Came his muffled tone from behind his mask.

Valdim nods, looking over the dust and cobwebs. "It was, Theron. It was..." His wolf-eyes looked over the expanse before him. "Some gall, using Karazhan..." Theron glanced back towards the Worgen “Fitting really, with the Teague's being friends of the Guardian.”

“...Wonderful. I may 'ave known'im. 'Ow did Rian look, Theron?”

Theron canted his head this way and that. "Pale... I'd assumed it was from the trouble she had with delivery. Maybe I was wrong." He hadn't seen the memories from Pyrewood, hadn't realized the same conclusions that Valdim had. “I doubt it. Samuel Teague is close. An' he 'as your mother.”

Theron quickly spoke up, as they wandered through the seemingly endless halls of Karazhan. “When she fell..”

Valdim blinked, only half hearing his words, “Yes, Theron?”

Theron shook his head, "Rian, She's the strong one. For her to not respond.." He huffed a sigh and picked up his pace. Together they moved faster, Theron's boots creating a steady cadence upon the stone floor, Valdim's claws scratching upon it. “We'll stop 'im… Ligh'...I forgot 'ow big this place was.

Theron smirked, likely playing smart to distract himself from the reality of what they faced, “Ah, you've been places bigger than this.” They turned a corner, almost running now. A pile of skeletons and corpses long picked over by scavengers littered the base of the rickety stairwell.

Valdim frowned, “Not many,” he eyed the bones tightening his grip on his staff. He snarled, his voice like gravel. "I jus… ' I hope we're not too late ---”

“You've heard about the Ball? The massacre of the nobles? Think since the Teagues were here and lost, their blood in the halls would offer more to him?”

Valdim's eyes widened at the thought. It seemed like more than leylines were at play here. Samuel Teague had chosen this spot carefully. “Per'aps..." The Library grew ever nearer, even old memories of this tower had led him to believe as much. The pair of adventurers hurried, spurred by their desires to resolve this, finally.

Theron's eyes looked over the faded and cracked paintings along the wall. “Shouldn't be too much farther.” The Worgen paused, freezing for a moment upon entering the once-forgotten library. His fierce eyes look around, noting ancient tomes along musty bookshelves, wary, feeling a strange magic in this place.

Theron took in the library and its many tiers, various levels of elevation, seemingly endless in scope. "I... it's all a puzzle.." He muttered with frustration. Feeling the energy of the space, Theron motioned his hands over his collected mana-gems and loosed his own staff in preparation for anything to come.

A distant echo of a voice cried out, Valdim recognized from the memories, muddled by distance and the faint crying of a woman, “Where was your Light then…!? What good have you done, but fail and betray your family and vows? You will be released from your sin and born anew.”

Valdim snarled, feeling a rage fill him, the curse of Worgen. He holds his staff upward, blinking closer to the sound, trying to stay hidden behind rows of books. Simultaneously, Theron whispered a power word, fading to nothing more than a pale glimmer, gripping his own staff as he moved swiftly at Valdim's side through the bookcases, until they reached the stairs. It was as they reached the edge of the large cluttered study, they found their hunt had finally paid off.

Two large lumbering ghouls worked steadily, appearing nearly whole. One remained near a fireplace, as the other tinkering with supplies at the table. Between the two stood Samuel. Finally. His flesh only slightly rotted, appearing nearly fully restored. A foul profane chant beckoned from his lips, echoing now throughout the study. Laid before him was a woman, paled and grey, showing signs similar to the corpses found in Strahnbrad. Her wrists and ankles terribly bound as her head lazily lulled in protest to the Forsaken Lord's work.

Valdim cursed under his breath, furious at the man before him. His eyes narrowed, knowing who the woman was upon the table, immediately. Although they were so far separated, the sound of her pain filled him with rage. The Arcanist whispered towards Theron, "Get close. Stop th' ritual. I'll be a distraction." He suddenly swung from behind the shelf, an arcane blast launching towards Samuel Teague, hoping to make an impact.

"Samuel. This 'as gone on long enough."

Theron pressed forward not needing to be told twice. Reflex taking over, the younger mage suddenly pulled from where he stood to hide behind a closer bookshelf, as Valdim moved for his distraction.

Lord Samuel Teague glimpsed up from his chanting. A wry smirk pulling at his lips as the arcane blast collided and hissed against the barrier unseen. The forsaken offering a snide dip of his head continuing with the ritual.

The Worgen growled at that. He spinning his staff in the air again, summoning up his arcane reserves. "Perhaps y'didn' 'ear me, Sammy. I said this ends 'ere!" Another eruption of force, cracking loud against the Forsaken's barrier, carrying more force, and power than Lord Teague had accounted for. It all came down like shattering of glass. An angered sneer curled at the edge of his nose as he gave an upward nod.

Lady Elizabeth Valeric 's lips pulled into a tired smile. Her hidden messages had worked, her help had arrived. "You know.." Were the words that came from quivered lips. Who she was speaking to was uncertain.

Samuel Teague was close to finishing his spell work and refused to let it fail. The ghoul by the fire turned towards Valdim, pulling two hot pokers from the fireplace. Valdim blinked to the side, a shimmer of light here he once was. He frowned, muttering words of Arcane might, trying to counterspell the terrible Forsaken. Theron, seizing the moment, launched his own bolts of power, but neither seemed to affect the monster before them.

The woman on the table, Elizabeth, gasped and arched with a small cry, the shift in intensity of the spell work causing great pain. Her beautiful auburn locks began slipping to grey.

There wasn't enough time!

The Worgen considered another plan, embracing the beast inside him, instead. He growled, suddenly launching himself at Samuel, wicked claws outstretched. Valdim took the most direct path, charging the Necromancer, the Ghoul plunging two hot fire pokers into his side, as he surged past.

Samuel held fast against the assault, catching the beasts wrists. His chanting halted but the power of the spell held, waiting for the final words. "Mutt..." The man sneered and laughed, "Should have stayed away like a good dog!"

Theron rushed to the table where his mother lay as Valdim went for Samuel. The younger mage reaching for a stone to summon forth a barrier of his own. His gaze turned to Val with a nod as he prayed his own barrier would hold better than the forsaken Lord's had.

Valdim now felt the pain of the hot poker in his side, having burned terribly, piercing the thick flesh. That wound and the one from Strahnbrad taxed him. There was --- another method to silence him, end the ritual, and times were desperate. Baring his great teeth, the Worgen went for Samuel's neck, hoping to rip out the undead flesh. But teeth snapped just out of reach.

Samuel sneered at the Worgen, powerfully, beginning to laugh darkly as he was held, a rolling chuckle filled with darkness. Yet, the arrogance soon fell from his face as he felt his spell work falter -- interrupted somehow.

"What did you do?!"

(This happens simultaneously with the conclusion of this. https://rian-kestavin.tumblr.com/post/173202075261/good-night-rian-part-3 )

Light showered the study brilliantly and breaking away the shadow's hold upon this place. The weight of the dark magic shifting to the light. Theron flinched in the flash, raising an arm to cover his gaze as he held to the barrier around him and his mother's form.

Valdim had felt a weakness, a fatigue coming over him. He wounds were too much - but suddenly that light pouring through the room began to heal him, returning lost strength. Like a creature gone mad, Valdim started grinning, murmuring arcane words. His once-tired body began to glow with shimmering purples and blues, and arcane eruption exploding from his form.

Samuel now staggered in the Worgen's arms, the arcane burns beginning to tear at freshly restored flesh. The combination of blows brought the Forsaken lord to his knees. A grin pulled at his lips, torn away, "You're too late, you know.." He gasped out. "I die and you gain nothing, Dog." The ghouls stumbled back, hot pokers ringing against the stone as the undead creatures collapsed from the blast.

Valdim snarled, pulling back his lips, revealing his terrifying maw. He spoke quietly, the words somehow carrying weight in the room. "I gain satisfaction." Wicked claws moved to grasp upon Samuel's neck, tearing into the flesh, feeling the soft meat split between his fingers.

Theron watched, the Lord's laughter soon fall silent, his body jolting to get free of the tearing claws. He called out to Valdim, "The fire, Val! Finish this for good!" The younger mage gripped his staff working to hold back his own anger and hatred for the creature.

Valdim heard the words calling out from behind him, Theron, a voice of reason through the cloud of rage that he once so carefully controlled. The beast turned, throwing Samuel Teague's unliving corpse into the flames of the fireplace. The Arcanist, Valdim shrunk, his human form looking towards the heat with an insistence.

"Burn, Samuel Teague. You're long overdue." Valdim glances back at Theron, "Elizabeth?!"

The younger mage held his gaze to the burning and writhing Forsaken Lord. A blast of his final darkness billowed out in the heavy plumes. Souls he'd taken wailing to their freedom. Valdim turned back looking at the frail looking woman. Her life essence had been stolen - running on fumes now. There was a peacefulness that washed over her as she felt the spell-work cease. Stepping to her side, Theron's gaze looked her over with a pained expression.

"You can fix it, Val? Right?"

Valdim looks over the poor woman, noticing the peace on her features, a small frown on his lips. "I-I don' know. Maybe a priest. Per'aps..." He swiftly left her side, in a panic, moving back towards the book Samuel had been chanting from, frantically turning pages looking for some way to reverse the process.

Elizabeth Valteric moved her hand to hold Theron's as she met his gaze. "He kept his promise.." A slow smile found her lips. "Valdim?" She tried to sit up but found she hadn't the strength. "Theron give... give us a minute?" Came her tired voice.

Valdim flipped through pages with a continued panic, the fear swelling, unable to find anything, his heart racing in his chest, trying to find some way to undo what had been done. As she called out, his shoulders trembled, "No! Elizabeth. We can fix this---"

Theron blinked his glossy gaze, he freed his mask before leaning down and placing a kiss to the woman's brow.

"Val.. She wants to speak with you." he gave a gentle squeeze to her hand, "Hold on, Mum, yeah?"

He let his hands freeze, realizing the terrible weight of reality. The wizard turned slowly, walking over towards Elizabeth, shaking, now. Theron stepped back letting the two have their space. Valdim begins to speak, his words catching, meeting her eyes with tears. "I'm sorry..."

Elizabeth Valteric shook her head and reached a hand for his own. "Don't you dare." Her own eyes watered, "You saved them when I couldn't. I'm the one who should be sorry." Her green hues fell from his own as her regret pulled at her seeing this impossible man who hadn't a bit since the last she'd seen him so long ago.

Valdim places a hand against her cheek... So much to say. So much time missed. Except...

He reaches into a bag, retrieving a small glowing orb, placing it in her trembling hands, wrapping his own around her gaunt fingers. "I missed you." Vladim's eyes met her own, even at this moment, choosing the selfless option.

"These orbs store memories. You have..." He paused feeling emotion building, "You have a granddaughter named Serenity. Share a memory with her. She deserves to know who you are." He swallows, teardrops falling from his eyes.

Elizabeth Valteric blinked away her own tears, she was well familiar with how the orb worked. She gave a small nod. "You're not getting.. getting out of this." She spoke stubbornly, causing the hint of a smile to cross Valdim's face before she offered the last memory.

Playing out in the orb, now, the image of Valdim Heyworth playing with two young twins near the fireplace in their home in Willow Grove. A younger Elizabeth had been in her office and came looking for a distraction - It wasn't long before she was on the floor playing too.

Laughter and happiness.

She'd known many wonderful times but these days with simple enjoyment were her favorite.

Valdim leans over and presses a kiss against her lips, briefly, knowing that these were truly their last moments. After all this time. "Goodnight, Elizabeth. You can rest now. Theron and Rian are safe. I loved you Elizabeth, I always did." He stepped away, slowly, knowing Theron deserved his moment.

Elizabeth Valteric 's hand trembled slowly as she dared return the kiss. "I love you, too." Offering her last smile to him before he stepped free and allowed Theron to take his place. Looking to Theron, "You watch over him." She tried to offer as her son took her hand. "Watch over our family. I.." She swallowed once, "I love you... all..." Her hand fell still and the life left her gaze. Elizabeth was truly free of her torment.

Theron gripped his mothers hand tight. He was about to respond as she drifted away. His eyes dripping quiet crystalline drops as Theron moved to his knees. He hadn't any words as he quietly sobbed, Valdim pulling him into a deep, silent, hug.

((That’s a wrap! Thanks so much to @rian-kestavin! Tagging @theron-valteric for completeness, and @householt because of Rian’s involvement. Thanks for reading so much! ))

#house teague #house valteric #house kestavin #Sad Day

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