#spark/ash also said this but most importantly...me

[compasivos]

if lady amber has a million fans, then i am one of them. if lady amber has ten fans, then i am one of them. if lady amber has only one fan then that is me. if lady amber has no fans, then that means i am no longer on earth. if the world is against lady amber, then i am against the world

[stories-i-guess]

Exzanthous’ Rise: Entry 5

Okay, so… Frosty said that it was gibberish. It just says: “E X Z A N T H O U S” which just sounds kinda stupid. But he decided to try looking into it, which was also stupid. He has this weird idea that humans have a society far more advanced than the elves. But I read books on them, and they just have a bunch of dictators that fight a whole bunch, more smog then the North Pole, they make ice melt by LOOKING at it, and they all hate one another! I have no idea why he calls himself a “realist”, because clearly WE’RE the realistic ones, the North Pole is paradise! Yeah! Yeah. Infinite treats and toys, serving papa, helping the children, and uhm… lots of pretty lights!

I mean… yeah, the smog gets to be a bit much, yeah. And the lights are a liiiiiittle hard to sleep with at night but…

Oh just forget it!

I hate how we have to be stuck in the cold! I hate how all of my accomplishments are just because I’m Santa’s daughter! I HATE S-

The diary slammed shut.

Sparkle jumped back from it.

“Ohhhh, nonononononononononono!” She began to panic as she paced about the room. “Stop it, Sparkle! Stop it! You know what happens to elves who write those things! Papa is… great! He’s wonderful! Charitable! No saying those things! Got it? Good! And now I sound even more crazy than normal! Because I have been talking to myself! Thank goodness no one is around…”

She pulled on her favorite scarf, the one with blue and purple stripes leading down it, and blue Pom-Poms on the ends. She decided she needed some air, so she stepped outside of Santa’s house.

As she walked around town, she began to notice the things she always did when she started to think like this. The ash covering the igloos, the broken reindeer stables left abandoned, the overcrowding in the one stable that remained, the stark lack of adult elves walking around due to them all being at work, and most importantly: the air of despair.

She walked over to the reindeer, looking for Moose. She saw Redolph and Rudolph, his little brother and father.

“Oh, Spark!” Redolph shouted in cheer when he saw Sparkle. Redolph was always picked on a bit, for getting her father’s red nose, except in his fur. Hence his name. Sparkle, having been told of this hundreds of years ago, knew not to look at his fur. “Moose went out gathering, cuz he gave me his food rations from Santa…” Redolph explained.

Sparkle nodded, aware of the regularity of this. In her head, she thought things that no elf should think. Things like, Santa should give more. She aggressively shook her head, trying to shake some sense into herself.

“Redolph, you know she doesn’t like being called Spark.” Rudolph chastised. He looked apologetically at Sparkle.

“Oh no! It’s fine! I don’t mind that much!” Sparkle assured them. She pulled a last-minute smile out from nowhere, just so that she could make sure Redolph wouldn’t feel any worse.

She said bye to the two, looking for Moose’s regular moss spots. Eventually, after three hours of walking, she found him.

“Heya Moose!” Sparkle shouted. She jumped over to him with excitement. He gave her his reindeer grin, which only made her smile get bigger. People often forget what a good smile can do, because when both parties are smiling truly, they make the others’ smile even truer.

“Sparkle! What are you doing out here? It must’ve taken you forever to find me!” Moose exclaimed.

“It wasn’t that hard, only a few…” Sparkle cut herself off, realizing how worried Moose would be if he knew she had been walking in the freezing weather for hours. “Uhm…”

Moose immediately caught on though. “Sparkle! You may be an elf, but even Elvin body heat can’t withstand this for too long! You could catch hypothermia!” He started to nudge at her with his nose.

Sparkle struggled to hold back her giggles as he nudged her, saying, “No I won’t! And stop poking me like that! You know I’m ticklish! Fahaha! Moose! I’m fine! I’m not --fahaha!— sick!”

“C’mon, Sparkle! You have to take care of yourself! Even if your Papa is Santa, you can’t be magically healed through, I don’t know, familial love? Whatever! You can still be hurt!” Moose wasn’t going to give up, and Sparkle knew that.

The two began to walk home. Sparkle knew, deep down, that Moose hadn’t gotten any food for himself. She needed to ask Santa to give more food to him. Or else…

No.

She wouldn’t think of that, not now.

Not unless there was nothing else.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Fame With No Shame | Part Three

A/N; I think at most there will be one more part to this series, and that will be the reveal of Luke and the readers relationship to the public. Thankyou for all of the requests for this series, please enjoy xx

Summary; in the midst of an interview, there is talk of (Y/N) dating a member. The interviewer is keen to find who is the lucky gentleman within their ranks, but can Luke remain steady though the enquiries about his girl?

Brushing his hands down his black clothed legs, Luke sat upon the seat, eyes interpreting his composure. His face was slightly flushed, aware that his hair was a bouquet of messy curls, the state of his redress had not gone unnoticed by the hostess nor his curious band members. All were wondering of whom he had hassled sexually with before this set, but nothing was mentioned, at least not yet.

A small part of him wanted to let the world know of his relationship status, and more importantly, whom he was entangled with. But it would all be released in due time, he would just have to remain both vigilant of letting anything slip and patient. The rumours could manage to infuriate and humour him all at once, so many fans had claimed to know the identity of the woman in his life.

There were many suspicions, although they were only proven by the hope and dedication of all kinds of people on sites such as tumblr and wattpad, that his lover that was concealed to their eyes was not a lady at all. It was perceived that it was a bandmate; a dear friend of his, that he was sleeping and taking midnight strolls with.

That of course was not the truth, the shipping had been dragging on for years, he sometimes wished that the guesses could be correct all by their own. (Y/N) however was amused by how much it infuriated him, and all of his frustrations would dissipate at the sound of her glorious laugh, and in the end, all that was left was for him to join in and relax.

Things between them were certainly going good, to say the least. He had never felt so elated to see someone pour themselves a mug of coffee, or tie their shoelaces. It wasn’t hard, and hadn’t been difficult for him to admit the facts – he was in love. If there was any evidence that they existed, he was sure that he had found his soulmate.

She understood not only his emotions, but his springs of motivation, the ideas that would creep in the middle of the night or whilst he was in the bathroom for songs. His process was normal to her, because she experienced the same waves of inspiration, the urge to write what flowed to mind and execute lyrics until they were sure enough ready and sounded right to be released to the rest of the world.

And together, that was like the universe had combined the two creators for a reason, to make a beautiful sound, an eternal symphony that would play on forever and a day. If people knew about them, it could disturb the state of their peace, the security that they found within their relationship. And that would be the most tragic and morbid interference that either of them could ever experience.

Hate online was strong, and (Y/N) suspected that neither of them were prepared to take the mixed responses to their newfound and blooming romance. Each of them individually received the expressions of resenting opinions, through messages, through posts, through the loop of the internet. It was never ending, the trolls were headstrong and stubborn, they didn’t want to be stopped, and any reply that they got in turn only made their day, encouraging them to cackle away at the fact that they drew a celebrity’s attention and time away from more important matters.

“And we’re live.” The hostess of the radio show confirmed, settling more comfortably into her plush, swivel seat, as she set her digging eyes into the men that were seated around the platform of a small, recorded station. “My name is Heidi, and we are here on HotRadio, with the one, the only, Five Seconds of Summer.”

Luke adjusted his headset, leaning closer to the microphone so that he was close enough to allow his reviews and answers be heard better than when he was reclined back, awaiting the start of the recording. “So now tell me boys, how was it working with (Y/N) (L/N) for your new single, Flashes.” He gulped at the mention of her name, this wasn’t the best situation, considering that he could accidentally allow some classified information slip, and spiral through the channels of the web.

“She was amazing!” Michael blazed in with his initial impression of her, a jolly grin spread across his lips and chin. “We’ve been fans of her work for so long, it was a dream to finally work with her.” His hands waved as he spoke, confirming his excitement, although working with (Y/N) had already been and gone.

“Yeah.” Ashton bobbed his head, agreeing with his friend. “She is such a talented woman, we don’t do many collaborations singing with other people, but all four of us can definitely admit that she was such a great sport. She put so much work into the song, from lyrics and notes, there is a bright future ahead of her.”

The boys speaking of her made Luke want to purposely trip in his secrecy, they had no expense from gushing over her in such an idealistic way. However if he were to join in, he’d risk the exposure of the relationship. (Y/N) would be mad at him if he were to do that, so he rubbed his chin, feeling the growing prickles of stubble against his guitar picked hands.

Heidi smiled, they were eager to tell her their what appeared to be honest opinion. Yet there were still more details that she and the fans sought; answers. There were so many questions that were lingering, waiting to be spoken aloud in the recorded air.

“Was there any romance sparked between one of you and (Y/N)? How about you Calum?” It was typical, the enquiries about the song itself, that was supposed to be the main attention of this interview , it wasn’t about love, or feelings or whatever.

The thought that Calum, out of all of them, was the one considered to have gained her affections made Luke bite the inside of his cheek. Sure, Calum was single, but so was he, or at least was in the media’s eyes, and before he met (Y/N).

Luke’s frown was subtle, but it was still there! And everyone was oblivious to his disconcerting expression, all because the spotlight shined on the bassist, and the idea that he, out of all them, was privileged enough to have possibly shared a bed or the exchange of numbers in the static noise of the track.

Cal cleared his throat, ruffling the collar of his shirt, as though there were a reason for him to be fanning himself. “I mean, I’m not one to disclose that personal information.” That son of a bitch, Luke thought. From his response, something had obviously occurred, it was too bland for an answer.

That was until said boy began to laugh, spewing a humoured chuckle from his mouth whilst looking Luke dead in the eyes. The opposing man could only frown, his face hardened by the strong crease that went down the centre of it.

“Too bad she already has a boyfriend.” Michael chipped in, the guitarist’s attitude and statement not only making Luke paranoid, but also worried. What if he were not the only one that had grabbed the affections of (Y/N)?

 To begin with, it was clear that she was a bit of a player, and he had no problem with it, there was nothing wrong at all with a woman embracing her sexuality, it was even kind of sexy. But now they were partners in a relationship, and he could only trust her to be faithful.

Mikey’s words had not only drawn the intrigue of the lead singer, but also Heidi, who was leant forward in her seat, the dimples in her face prominent as she was presenting glee from hearing first time news, that was broadcasting on her radio channel.

“Are we permitted to be told who the lucky gentleman is?” How she hoped that the revelation would be unconcealed during this very interview, personally the woman was curious herself, but also the thought of the views skyrocketing encouraged her desperation for an answer.

Ash smirked, his eyes fluttering through his trio of bandmates, this was certainly entertaining for the rest of them also. Except one from the looks of it, Luke was gnawing on the outer portion of his lip. This was getting to him, just as they wanted. They knew, all along, what was occurring between Luke and the talented lady.

She had been a crush of his for a long time, and it seemed that she shared that affliction of interests, by being attracted to the natural blonde himself. It was noticeable to the boys from the first time that (Y/N) had entered the studio, their eyes navigated to the sight of the other, and their attention had to be drawn for the pair to look away from one another.

“One of us.” The eldest member replied, and Luke realised that in that moment, he had not been as discreet with the entire dating ordeal as he thought he had. They’d quickly realised that there were strings attached when Luke began to miss their nights out clubbing, and said he’d prefer to stay in and watch a movie – alone.

However, it was not a solitary activity, and binging television was not all that the promiscuous man was partaking in. The symptoms that brought light and revelation to Luke and (Y/N)’s involvement was matching marks of red suction bites around the circumferences of their throats, that eventually healed and could be concealed, however the boys could see right through their efforts.

And then there was the undebatable evidence of smeared lipstick scorned across their lips, a shade which consisted perfectly against one another, from nudes to striking reds, the pigment that streaked against Luke’s vigorously hungry lips consisted to be suspiciously similar to the original prominence that was lined and filled on (Y/N)’s own petalled mouth.

“Oh.” It appeared that the prying interviewer had not even put any efforts into hiding her pleasantly condemned grin, every detail that was slipping through the teeth of the men gave her some kind of joy.

She had somehow hit a gold mine with the answers that her pay check curiosity had earned her. There was so much going on behind the scenes that had never been revealed, and it seemed that all would be exposed, on HotRadio! “Are we granted to know which one of you is the lucky man?”

Luke shifted in his chair, gripping onto the arms with his painted nails. He was prepared to hit rock bottom in this deep deep ocean that he had swam himself into, yet a snicker left Cal, bringing all afraid and all too alert attention to him.

“I think not, we can keep a secret for a little longer.” His eyes paced slyly over to Luke, sending him an all knowing wink.

He sighed, he lived to fight another day.

[itsclydebitches]

I don't think agree with that though. You can use a older franchise without it being made for the audience that grew up on it. The new pokemon series doesn't need Ash to be a adult in a "mature" pokemon story. A new teen titans doesn't need to be like the original or care at all about those who grew up on the originals. It's just a kids show using characters new to them in the same way the OG titans were new to us, even though even older fans grew up on the comics.

You absolutely can change up old stories — and creators obviously do — I'm just saying no one should be surprised if adults are disappointed in the creation when it airs. And I think that disappointment is valid. Really, I think we're talking about two very different things here. There's a massive difference between adults becoming so obsessed with children's media that they try to cut the kids out of it completely and adults who say, "Hey, you made a really bad cartoon and I wish you hadn't because the original means a lot to me." What this conversation hasn't considered thus far are the good reboots that please both adults and kids (and getting enjoyment doesn't have to be because it's "made for" the adults in terms of grittiness. Adults enjoy standard cartoons too): Scooby Doo, Batman, and She-Ra to name just three. In most cases it's not really about the adults feeling like the cartoon isn't allowed to change, it's about the adults recognizing that the creators were trying to get by on nostalgia and nostalgia alone. They didn't handle the material respectfully and they didn't create a new story that could stand on its own. To be blunt, it's just bad, and both kids and adults recognize that. There are, as said, absolutely outliers here who take their nostalgia way, way, WAY too far, but they are actually outliers. Most adults love getting new content for a beloved series, whether it's updated for adults or still aimed at kids... provided that story is treated well. If you're not going to treat it well, why did you mess with something an entire generation loved rather than just creating something new?

Take Cruella, for example. Who is this movie for? By all surface logic it's for kids. It's a Disney film based on another, beloved Disney film. Anyone who hears the most basic premise for this prequel would go, "It's about Cruella from 101 Dalmatians? Yeah, that's obviously for children. Who else would it be for? Why are all these adults up-in-arms over a kid's movie? Get a life!" But, well, it's not a kid's movie. Not really. The live action aside, it's now PG-13 (as opposed to G) and it's 2 hours 14 minutes (as opposed to 1 h 19). Take a look at the official trailer:

Are there reboots, prequels, and sequels designed to breathe new life into an old story and update it for the kids of today? Absolutely and often those stories are great. But there's also a trend of taking what was previously kid's media and not updating it for just adults, but actively trying to appeal to both. Which is when we run into trouble. This trailer doesn't look anything like a kid's movie. From the cinematography to lines like "I guess they were always scared I'd be a psycho!" it's very much aimed at adults, but the subject itself, this character, is supposed to be for kids. It's a Disney movie, but Disney is no longer synonymous with children. Perhaps most importantly, Cruella is getting... mixed responses, to be generous. As said, a lot of adults' reactions come down to whether these beloved stories are treated well and when they're not, people are rightfully frustrated. We can't use "It's not meant for you" as an excuse here because who else is a trailer like this meant for except adults? It's less "I don't want kids to have anything. This is my story. Hands off. It needs to appeal to me and me alone!" and much more, "The creators clearly want me to be a part of this audience, I am arguably their actual target audience as opposed to the kids, and now that I've watched this I'm... I'm extremely disappointed. You took something I loved and did it dirty. I don't like it, I'm not sure if kids can even watch this... so who is this story for? It was pretty clearly for me, but now I'm being told my opinion doesn't matter because it's actually just for kids."

At the end of the day yeah, any creator has the right to change up old franchises to their heart's content — and often times those changes do exceedingly well. Personally, I'm very glad they exist. But if they do badly, if the original spark is discarded, if there's no new and epic spark to replace it, if there's confusion about who is even allowed to criticize the story (is it really for kids?) then those creators shouldn't be surprised when there's pushback. They knew what they were signing up for. They deliberately picked those beloved franchises because of the nostalgia. The flipside of that is, if they get it wrong, adults will criticize the show rather than praising it like they'd hoped.

[lyallblacklupin]

I am fighting for you.

Remus can’t easily escape the most heart-wrenching memory from his mind that was clinging stubbornly, only making his transformation worse; Sirius Black fighting alone against seven hooded opponents, the red sparks suddenly hitting his chest, and the screams echoing the alley. How can Remus forget the fact that those howls craving nothing but death, were of the most foremost person in his life, the only hope, only dream, only love, only the reason to keep living in this war. Sirius was his everything and the only thing. 

Just for once, he wanted to live...

Just for once, he wanted to unfeel the pain...

Just for once, he wanted to love without fear...

Remus was lying crumpled on the floor, the pool of his blood beneath his wounded body. The sharp breeze of the cold dawn swishing from the opened window of the Shrieking Shack, that spasmed his already trembling, naked body. He peeked from his one of his heavy eyes to see the deteriorated window that was hanging on its rusty hinges, waving in and out, back and forth by the currents of the wind, and the sky was light blue as if witnessing an almost twilight sky, except it had started getting brighter. The view was quite scenic enough for Remus to distract him from his physical pain. However, the pain was not just physical.

He barely acknowledged the severely maimed hand of his own that was laying lifelessly before him. His wand was not far from his reach. He could grab it and cast healing charms at his wounds and he could apparate back to his flat. It was all physically possible, and yet very unwanting.

No one had come to accompany him on his full moon, and he was not mad. He was just tired, and so was James who was fighting for his wife and son, and Peter who was fighting for his dying mother, and Sirius...who was he fighting for?

Suddenly, the previous day enrolled before him, again.

"NO SIRIUS! COME BACK! APPARATE BACK!"  

Remus was shrieking like the way he had  never shrieked before, the blood dripping from his forehead, trickling down his eyelid, didn't bother him because they were outnumbered by another troop of death eaters who had apparated right after James had taken an unconscious Lily back in the nearby shop in Diagon Alley. There was fire, jets of red and green sparks, ashes of the burnt shops that once used to glitter with vivid colors and had the whiff of excitement for going to Hogwarts.

And then there was Sirius in the middle of the alley, fighting alone against seven hooded opponents. His eyes were hard and furiously fixed on the masked people. Remus could see how Sirius' wand was not relaxing for a single second, blocking every curse, jinx, and hex.

He wanted him to stop! He wanted him to come back! He wanted him alive! Why was he not listening to him? Remus' throat felt thorny because of screaming pleas for Sirius to come back. No voice on earth was going to stop him, no jerk was going to make him retreat from his charge. What was he fighting for?

"WHAT ARE YOU FIGHTING FOR!?" Remus cried.

Sirius abruptly stopped and his widened gaze fell on Remus. And that was when a bitter voice yelled, "Cruicio!"

In the fleeting moment, Sirius' body thrust to the ground as the red spark hit him in the chest. And then, there he was violently twitching, jerking, reaching nowhere, his eyes rolling, his screams were echoing in the alley.

"KILL ME! KILL ME NOW!"

Remus' chest was tight, and his already trembling body felt a strange shudder when that memory replayed in his head. He was struck with the most bitter realization; This was it. This was his reality. This was the true picture of his life in which he had to suffer with infinite amount of pain in every way possible, especially by watching the pain of his loved ones, and above all, Sirius.

Something broke inside him—like his ribcage suddenly lost the strength that held him and his stiffened muscles slumped down in defeat as he sobbed over his misfortune. His howls were making him realize how much he was torn inside. His tears were dissolving in his blood, and he wanted everything to stop, the war, the suspicion, the terror, the agony of being a werewolf, a terrible lover, and...just himself. He wanted to end...die. There was a voice inside him saying that  there was a life beyond death where he could live without pain, love without fear.

Just for once...only for once...was it too much to ask?

Crack.

He immediately recognized the familiar footsteps, the strong scent, and the heartbeat which suddenly panicked him. How can he wish to die when he had one person who loved him more than they loved themselves?

"Merlin...Moony..." Sirius murmured under his breath, as he rolled Remus over so that his back was against the floor, exposing his bare chest. Sirius' eyes were tensed but he was wearing a poker face. Remus knew that he was pulling himself together just for him.

Padfoot doesn't cry when Moony cries, he will not yell when Moony yells—even if he yells completely unfairly—that was the rule because that was how they had been able to make this far.

Remus was just serenely studying Sirius' face: Those grey eyes were concentrated in casting healing charms all over his body, his nostrils were flaring but there was no hint of anger on that face, just deadpanned, he was frowning at the very unexpected wounds, his mouth was formed in a thin line, and his dark hair falling in his eyes which he didn't bother tugging behind his ear. He was so, so beautiful. And then the memory flashed in Remus' brain, again, and suddenly Sirius Black looked ten times more precious than he was right now. Remus didn't realize a whimper escaping his mouth until Sirius' eyes stopped to meet his.

Remus felt his heart skipped a beat, but there was a strange sense of satisfaction in exchanging a long stare. He could stare at him forever. He lifted his trembling hand and reached for Sirius' hair as he tugged a thick lock behind his ear, and a tear escaped Sirius' eyes.

"Don't leave me." Remus whispered.

"Selfish, are you?" Sirius' voice was hardly recognizable. Remus nodded, despite the pain in his heart, he knew how raw Sirius would become when he had been hurting. Sirius' plain expressions exchanged with the helplessness. Remus' hand was still tracing his damp face.

"Let's run away, then. Far away. Just you and me." Remus said, wanting to be just as raw as Sirius.

Today they were not being fire and water. They were being fire and fire, water and water. This was going either going to end in flames or a raging flood.

Little did Remus know, Sirius started sobbing as he shook his head. They were eventually back to being themselves. This was how it always ended. Either of them would break, and the other is there to pick up the pieces.

As much as broken Remus was, physically, Sirius was wounded deeply as he cried. He had never cried when Remus was suffering. He had known how to stay strong, but this time he was quivering in between his sobs.

"We wouldn't have to return, you know. Let's do this." Remus was also silently crying, but that didn't mean that he was ignoring Sirius shaking his head in disapproval. He held Sirius’ forearm to sit up, and he wrapped his aching arms around him.

"Don't do this," Sirius whispered in his hair.

"Then why do you make me do this?" Remus pulled away to face the other in the eyes. "Why do you throw yourself into hell as if you are searching death and wanting it to hit you!?

He was suddenly speaking so loudly and Sirius was looking down at their hands. Remus had wanted to say those words to put some sense into Sirius, but few hours after the dueling, he himself had disapparated to the Shrieking Shack when the wolf inside him had started to signal his arrival. In the meantime of his transformation, he hadn’t forgotten the dueling, the cruciatus curse hitting the love of his life, and most importantly, the urge to see him in one piece before him.

"As if you completely forget that I am here too! At your side. You don't even acknowledge the fact how much your actions would hurt me! Your pain is my pain, Sirius Black!" He poked him harshly on his chest. "You don't let only yourself be dead, but you also kill me! You don't fucking realize how much I love you! You fucking dumb tosser! I can't watch you die! I can't let you get away from me! I can't live without you! Why don't you understand!?

Remus' chest was heaving raggedly. He had forgotten about his wounds, and now he was just staring at Sirius' glistening eyes. They were leaking tears so silently. He looked so small and vulnerable. Remus held his face in his hands and pulled his forehead to his lips to press a chaste kiss there.

"I am sorry." Sirius' raspy voice sent a shiver down to Remus' body.

"I want to get out of it. But I don't think I can without you. I want to protect you like you have your whole life. Let me protect you, please."

"I'd die for you-"

"I don't want you to die for me!" Remus grabbed Sirius' wrists and tugged him close at his eye level, "I want you to live for me!"

"I'm responsible for this, Moony." His voice was weak and muffled because he had slipped his head in the crook of Remus' neck.

"What are you talking about?"

He met Remus' eyes. "I know...I can't say if I disagree with you because I don't. But then when I look at you, James, Lily, and Peter, I feel like I owe you all. My own blood is out there killing innocent people..."

Suddenly, everything was making sense to Remus; the hard glare of Sirius while he is dueling with those masked death eaters, the concentration that would be keen to linger when he disarms them, aiming charms and spell on those masks which could reveal their identity and Sirius would either sigh in relief if Regulus Black isn't behind that mask.

"I feel like I am responsible for every life because my blood is aiming to kill the people I so dearly love, Remus. I can't give up on you so easily. I don't care about myself!

“You can't see me dying, can you? I saw you on the verge of death every month since for years and I still do, but I cannot fight that miserable fate. I actually thought when I was twelve that I could find a cure for your lycanthropy. I actually believed that one day I will be the one to take the pain away from you. I was so naïve. Now these people, who are also my unfortunate family, are trying to kill you. I can’t stand that.

“So you asked me who am I fighting for? I am fighting for you."

Remus opened his mouth to speak but the words died in his mouth. Sirius had left him utterly speechless.

"You don't care about yourself," He spoke after a lingering silence, "but I care about you so you have to care about that."

Remus knew that his words sounded very stupid but Sirius chuckled and shoved him in his embrace.

"I love you, Remus John Lupin. I love you more than anything. And I promise that I will be careful for you, just for you because I don’t want to hurt you in anyway."

“You better not,” Remus leaned close and pressed his forehead against Sirius’. “Otherwise, I won’t share my jumpers with you.”

“A little less tyranny, Moony, I’m fragile!”

[justimajin]

A Lone Wolf’s Howl ☾ Epilogue 

⇾ Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

⇾ Genre: Angst, Fluff, Action

↳ Werewolf AU

⇾ Words: 4k

⇾ Warnings: spoilers for endgame 

⇾ Summary: Jungkook and you have been like two peas in a pod for the majority of your lives; whether it was going through the ups of downs of the horrid teenage change, to transitioning to the racing world of attempting to be adults. Simply put, you’ve been inseparable and glued to each other’s sides longer than you can remember. But one fateful day seems to completely change everything you had faith in and you begin to wonder if there was ever a time where you and your best friend even knew each other’s true colors.

⇾ A/N: Last part of the series!! Thank you for all for reading and I hope you enjoy ^.^ 

gif credit.

⇾ Moodboard Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11(M) Part 12 Epilogue — in the making process

The dreary ash clouds begin to part, separating from each other when the sun peeks through the shadows. Its rays shine down on the six exhausted wolves, their forms immersed in a vicious bath of blood and sweat as they are surrounded with fallen forms, black eyed wolves and sword wielders alike.

Similar to a snap of fingers, the colour in Namjoon’s orbs slowly dissipates when they make contact with the brightening sky, the blue hue seeping away the gold in his eyes. Reverting back into their comfortable brown, they narrow into the far distance when hope begins to dwell in his eyes after so long.

The fog vanishes; a caramel brown wolf trudges its way as it limps over to the pack of wolves, which instantly peek up their heads and dash over. There’s an arm hanging over his side, the wolf holding the body in place with its canines until it completely collapses, its eyes finally fluttering shut when the six wolves around him are unharmed and most importantly, his family.

***

You wake up with a harsh gasp, body aching when it feels like someone has just drowsed you within scorching fire, the heat in your veins drawing hot tears to your eyes. Vision distorted; your ears are blocked when you can only catch onto the faintest of movements with mumbles in the background that you don’t have enough energy to decipher.

The pain only escalates, as if someone had pricked a thousand of needles through your skin, tugging at the opened flesh until a low scream is pulled out of you. Your whole body jerks from the movement, shoulder bumping into another when a familiar scent floods through you, granting you a desperate amount of relief when the throbbing doesn’t stop.

Fluttering your wet lids open for the briefest of moments, your vision focuses to view damp black locks, his eyes screwed shut as he breathes slowly next to you. His cheek is pressed against the pillow and he’s completely bare from waist up, but your eyes catch onto a glimpse of crimson splayed all across his back and suddenly the need to shut your eyes soars up again.

Threading your hand slowly underneath the sheets, you take a deep breath when your hand touches his, letting your vision cloud completely once again.

***

“Y/N.”

A faint pressure is on your shoulder, pushing you back and forth, “Y/N. Wake up.”

You groan, turning in the opposite direction when you can hear an audible sigh, “I know you can hear me Y/N. It’s time for you to wake up.”

Both your mind and body are equally exhausted, the last thing you want being to awaken either of them. However, the next words the voice gives out has your lids tugging up right away.

“Don’t you want to see Jungkook?”

Your brows furrow, the bright light sharply meeting them when you blink a couple of times, the room finally coming into clear view. Your eyes dart over to the man standing in front of your bed, his arms crossed as he lets out a sigh.

“You’re alright now. There’s no need to worry.” He smiles, creases appearing near his lips when he rakes a hand through his blue hair.

“J-Jimin?” You croak, voice coming out low and hoarse. He wraps an arm around you instantly, assisting you in getting up when you take in the empty room, not recognizing it.

“W-Where am I?”

“This is a room where we treat injured wolves. After what happened at Crimson, we brought you and Jungkook here, as well as some of the others to get treated.” Jimin explains.

The word ‘Crimson’ brings icy chills to your warm body, a shiver cascading through every single fiber despite you fighting against it. You overlook the prickling sensation, mind desperate when it sparks at the sound of his name.

“J-Jungkook, where is he?”

“He’s fine.” He assures you, “We brought both of you here together, but he was moved to a different room to rest when your treatment was taking longer.”

You raise an eyebrow at that, eyes immediately enlarging when you take in your heavily bandaged arm, barely seeing an inch of skin beneath it.

“What happened?” You question, mind still feeling numb from everything that occurred, wondering if it was just a mere illusion or actually part of a fragment from your reality.

“After you and Jungkook left, the rest of us followed through with the plan and took care of the remaining slayers and rogue werewolves.” Jimin explains, “Although we were fine in the beginning, their numbers suddenly increased and Namjoon suspected they knew about our attack, but then Jungkook came and told us you were keeping their leader preoccupied.”

You nod, the events linking together with a steady line, “Thanks to him we manage to pull through, until he said he was having a bad feeling and get to you as soon as possible.”

“Right when we were getting closer to victory, Namjoon saw Jungkook and you come back, but before we could even ask what happened, he collapsed and both of you looked badly injured.”

He points to your arm, wincing, “It was cut open and there was blood spilling out everywhere. We managed to stop the bleeding for now, but I would be careful if I was you.”

Humming, you recall being close to winning before the Elder had slashed your arm, rendering you immobile. However, your mind only seems to hinge onto a particular set of words, especially those mentioning the person that managed to bring you back in one piece, despite also being heavily injured from your fight.

“Jungkook.” You whisper, eyes wide with surprise, “Can you take me to him?”

Jimin nods, kneeling down so you can loop your mobile arm around his neck as his hand rests on your waist, tugging you up and letting you put your weight on him. He slowly walks, meeting your pace when he opens the door and brings you into the hallway.

The volume inside your mind is raised, thoughts swirling around blank flashbacks you have from defeating the Elder to Jungkook bringing you back. You feel faint, recalling how enraged you had felt when the Elder had simply brushed off all she had conspired, her thoughts void when you couldn’t come to believe what she had done to you and your family.

You also feel sick, your body recoiling when thoughts surrounding her demise enter your mind. The scene flashes past your eyes like its on repeat, a wrangled image of you sprouting out the sword before plunging it into her form, watching her dissipate right in front of you.

Despite the room being warm, a shiver runs down you involuntarily. You keep your weight against Jimin, appreciating that he was letting you because you knew you would have fallen right then and there if he hadn’t. The door opens and you’re greeted to a similar room you had waken up in; brightly lit with white walls and lined with several beds.

Your eyes roam around until they freeze, landing on the individual currently slumped on a bed, his back facing you.

Jimin seats you down on the opposite bed, letting go of your weight when your eyes catch onto Jungkook’s form spurring, shifting underneath the sheets.

With a nod of his head, Jimin quietly closes the door on his way out. Your eyes remained glued to the person in front of you, a faint smile emerging on your lips when you hear a low yawn.

When his eyes come into contact with yours, an instant array of relief hits you, noticing that although they seemed more tired than ever, they were still alive and healthy.

“Y-Y/N?” Jungkook mumbles, shifting himself to sit up. The sheet falls down his torso and your eyes instantly latch onto the sheer number of bandages surrounding him, the bulk of it all attached to his back.

Moving your eyes up to say something, you notice he’s doing the same thing with you – eyes stuck on the way your arm is barely visible.

“Are you okay?”

You blink, recognizing the traces of concern leaking into his eyes. However, you do know his question is targeted towards more than just inquiring about your injuries.

“I followed through with the plan.” You blankly state, “Crimson is gone.”

You don’t realize Jungkook’s beside you until the bed dips, his hand reaching out for your own. “You saved us.”

His voice doesn’t waver, saying it more like a well-known fact. There’s a small smile on your lips, looking up to gaze at him when he gives you an approving nod. The door outside creaks, causing both of you to shift your sight to the man standing at the corner.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

You shake your head and Namjoon takes it as an answer for him to come him, however the smile on your features fade when there’s a shining blade on his side, the familiarity immediately flooding through all of your senses and leaving you paralyzed.

“What you did wasn’t easy Y/N.” Namjoon says, “The rest of us were fighting against something we’ve fought against before, but you had to fight against your own home. An essential part of you,” He reaches out to take your hands, placing them onto the crafted designs of the sword, “Which I don’t want you to ever leave behind.”

Drops of water begin to stain the metal, now cleaned and established before it was raised against you. It was a sword that welcomed you in with open arms, that steadily grew you in the person you were today and guided you up until this point. It’s not a vague or torturous memory, just a simple part of you now.

“It was retrieved afterwards, so all of us thought it would be best if you kept it.”

“Thank you Namjoon.”

Your voice comes out low, but it holds such a large amount of solace within it that Namjoon smiles, watching you clutch onto the sword as if your whole entire life depended on it.

***

The sword is perched up onto the wall, a faint smile on your lips when you take a couple of steps back to view it.

“You want this one?” She questions, turning to you puzzled.

You furiously nod, hands clasped in front of you, “You told me I need to choose a sword soon. I choose that one.”

She chuckles, shaking her head when you maintain your determined stance, “This sword belongs to me Y/N.” She explains, “You will need to find a new one to choose.”

“But there’s no other sword like yours!”

She sighs, her long robes following her when she examines the fine walls of lined sword, plucking one right after contemplating, “Here. This one will be your choice.”

You frown, taking the fine blade within the palms of your hands, “It is similar to the one I have.”

She raises her sword and your eyes spark, a huge grin lining your lips.

The Elder smiles, “We’ll match.”

There’s a similar grin on your lips the longer you stare at the sword, but it’s mixed in with tender reminiscence. With a heavy sigh, your sliver eyes shift, looking at the framed picture of two woman hanging right beside the sword.

A roaring fire is in the background, the living room filled with an irreplaceable glow when you stare up at two pairs of eyes. One of them has brown orbs, warm and gentle, hands moving closer to engulf you into a surprise hug.

Giggles tumble out from your lips, getting spun around with excitement as you wave your small arms around, before being placed onto the ground again. The brown orbs continue to watch you, until they are soon joined by another pair, tender eyes gazing at you.

Instead of brown however, these orbs radiate with a bright glow of silver.

A dreary sigh escapes you, eyes glued to the walls and thoughts being whisked away with pieces of memories, lost in your own world until a voice suddenly draws you out of it.

“Y/N?”

Your head snaps up, eyes trailing over to a confused Jungkook staring at you from the door, dressed in a black hoodie as he munches down on the popcorn he pops into his mouth.

“Oh, Jungkook.” You grimace, “Sorry about that. Did you start the movie already?”

He shakes his head, walking over to you and offering you a piece of popcorn, “I was waiting for you, but it seems like you were somewhere else.”

He stares up at the wall, his eyes flickering over until they land on the picture frame.

“She has your eyes.”

“She was a slayer.” You lightly laugh, “We all have the same eyes.”

Jungkook follows you when you walk out of the room, closing the door behind you. “Except for you. You have that double colour thing going on.”

“Yeah, thanks to someone.”

You grin but Jungkook scoffs, “I already told you, it was wolf instincts!”

Walking over to the couch, you plant yourself down and Jungkook does as well, “Because of your instincts, I’m stuck with you for the rest of my life.”

Jungkook stops snacking, pouting as he whines, “Is that such a bad thing?”

“We’ll see, depends on if you can treat me right.” You lean over to grab some of his popcorn, cheekily shoving it in your mouth.

“You weren’t saying that when we spent our first night together.”

Your jaw drops and Jungkook snickers, causing you to snatch up a pillow and toss it over at him. Unfortunately, your aim is horrible compared to your sword wielding skills and you miss, causing it to hit his bag of popcorn which spills all over the ground.

“Y/N, my popcorn!” Jungkook exclaims when there’s a puddle of the snack all over the carpet. You plant a hand against your mouth, trying to conceal your giggles until Jungkook is suddenly lifting you up, causing you to squeal when he drags you over to the kitchen.

He plants you down onto a chair, crossing his arms.

“I lost my popcorn because of you, so you have to make me more now.”

“Oh come on.” You whine, yet still grab another bag to pop into the microwave, “Don’t you want to watch Endgame? It’s such a great movie, actually in one scene there was a part whe-“

His sleeve clamps over your mouth and he glares at you, “No spoilers!”

You frown, punching the numbers into the microwave, “You spoil everything for me anyways, why does it even matter now?”

“Because I waited to watch this since forever!” Jungkook protests, “You can’t go around watching movies if you’re in a pack and have to protect them.”

“You make it sound like I had all the time in the world too.” You grab the piping hot bag out, tossing it into his direction, “Which I actually did, because I managed to watch it.”

“Without me though.” Jungkook mumbles, opening the bag eagerly. You snicker when he takes a mouthful out, hurriedly stuffing it in his face.

Getting up, you’re about to tell him that you should probably start the movie right away before he whines about it again, but the doorbell rings and draws your thoughts away.

Furrowing your brows, you stare at the door before turning to Jungkook. He dons the same confused expression, hand paused halfway through his popcorn bag in silence. “Did you call someone over?”

“No, you?”

“No?” You question, carefully threading over as Jungkook puts the bag away, quickly shuffling after you. Light pulsates around your palms, slowly forming when you grab a familiar black umbrella near your door, gripping it tightly in your hands. A low growl is heard from behind you and your eyes catch onto Jungkook glaring at the door, canines on full display.

You both quickly stand on either side of the door and you throw him a silent look, to which he nods.

In an instant, the door is pulled open and both of you move within a flash, glowing umbrella raised and hands covered with brown fur.

However, the man before you is left in frantic wails, staring at the two of you as if the very sight paralyzed him. “T-The pizza y-you ordered.”

A shaking box is handed over to you and immediately the two of you freeze, the umbrella drops flat onto the ground and canines retract when the man shuffles up, running down the hall as fast as he can.

You remain there frozen, until Jungkook moves to pick up the pizza from the ground and reads the tag, “Ordered by Y/N L/N…”

Uncomfortably shifting, you give him a sheepish look, “I knew you were coming over so I thought it’d be nice…”

Your voice grows small, realizing that perhaps if you had remembered your own order, the delivery guy wouldn’t have experienced the heart attack you were so close to unleashing onto him.

Jungkook just chuckles, amusement in his eyes, “I think it’s about time we realize that not everyone’s out to get us.”

You muse at that, a soft smile on your lips when he walks back into the apartment and you shut the door, “You can’t really blame that on us though.” A wistful sigh escapes you, watching Jungkook eagerly open the box to beaming when he realizes you’ve ordered his favourite, “Adjusting back will take its time.”

He nods, agreeing with you instantly but you laugh when you see a slice already settled in his mouth.

***

You reach over, straining your hand when the soft material meets your fingertips. Snatching one out quickly, you bring it over to Jungkook, who gratefully grabs it as tears continue to stream down his eyes, small sobs leaving him.

You softly smile, the credits running down the screen as you remain huddled up in a blanket together, watching him sniffle and wiping the tears away.

“I wasn’t expecting Tony Stark to make you cry so much.” You comment, but he sends you a saddened look with still wet eyes, as if the memory was too fresh to even be brought up.

“W-Why didn’t you tell me?” He questions in exasperation, dabbing furiously at the tears that don’t stop leaving his eyes.

“Because you said no spoilers.” You shrug, “I held up to my word on that and– are you okay?”

He suddenly jerks his head to the side, whisking all the tears away in an instant that only has you raising an eyebrow.

“There.” He firmly states, as if he was proud of getting rid of the excessive water even though his eyes and cheeks were still marked with red.

“Do you want some pizza?” You question, leaning over to the half empty box next to you but he shakes his head, blinking his now dry eyes.

“I can’t believe I missed out on this.” He sniffles, a small laugh leaving his lips, “I should have just watched it when it came out.”

“Fighting against slayers and wolves, remember?” There’s a knowing smile on your lips when you lift the box up, moving it to the kitchen and ruffling Jungkook’s hair as you walk by.

“Wait,” He frowns, “When did you watch it then?”

“When I was staying at the pack house,” You wave your hand around, “Aside from training, I wasn’t really given anything else to do.”

“You should have just invited me to join you! We could have cried together!”

You laugh at that, giving him an absurd look, “You wanted to cry together? And besides, finding out you were a werewolf didn’t really help that situation much.”

“Oh.” He sets his lips into a firm line, “That’s right, but I would have still kept you company either way. We could have–“

His vision narrows, eyes latching onto why that fear-stricken expression on your features looked so recognizable, until it flickers inside him, “Just ignore it, it won’t hurt you Y/N.”

Your head instantly snaps up, seeing him give you an impassable look when you attempt to explain yourself, “I-It’s near the popcorn.”

Jungkook’s eyes suddenly widen and soon he’s lurching off the couch, dashing over to your side. “Where?”

A trembling finger is pointed near the counter, “T-There.”

Right when Jungkook turns, it moves, jumping onto the ground and scurrying itself safely underneath the fridge. You immediately jolt, hands tightening around Jungkook’s hoodie and he lets out a groan.

“Y/N, you’re a slayer.” He side-eyes your shrunken form, “You can use a sword, but you can’t get rid of a mouse?”

“It’s scary Jungkook.” You protest, jolting again when you hear it scratch against the wood. You shift closer to him, desperation leaking into your voice, “Please, just do something about it.”

He sighs, eyes looking around your kitchen, “Do you have a bucket or something?”

You nod, hurriedly walking in the opposite direction of the mouse to find it. Jungkook meanwhile stares at the bottom of the fridge, securing his hands firmly against the frame.

You soon reappear, a white bucket in hand, “I’m going to shake the fridge and scare it out. When you see it, put the bucket over it so it can’t escape, okay?”

“W-What?” You frantically whisper, the instructions going over your head until Jungkook moves and suddenly your arms are outstretched, the bucket sticking out.

A small blur of brown scurries across the floor, causing a squeal to escape you when the bucket falls and you place a heavy hand over your racing heart.

“You did it!” Jungkook exclaims, a bright wide smile on his features as you remain as solid as a statue, staring at the bucket speechless.

“I-I did.” You’re as pale as a ghost, but his words bring you out of it and you’re filled up with confidence, “I did!”

You slip out of it though when Jungkook tosses the bucket to the side, grabbing the small creature with his fingers as you gasp in horror. “What? I need to get rid of it.”

He walks around aimlessly with it, stepping out for a few moments as you slowly register the shock. Returning back, he shakes his hands together and shuts the door. “It’s gone Y/N.”

 You exhale in relief, waiting for him on the couch. He settles himself in the blanket again, arms wrapping around you. “We really need to work on this if you’re still scared. Mice is the last thing a wolf should be scared of.”

“I’m technically half-wolf.” You mumble, eyes slowly fluttering shut and lulling into sleep now that he was back, “So the other half of me is allowed to be scared.”

Jungkook softly chuckles, head resting against yours as he lets out a gentle sigh. It’s in moments like this he truly wonders if any of this was ever going to be possible, to have you by his side, to have you see him more than a friend, to have his identity revealed to you and for you not to run away, only to accept him just as he is.

Although you also had your fair share of secrets tucked away, he knows that despite everything – the anguish that initially sparked in your eyes when you found out, the large ripples forming within the clear water when it felt like you had lost all of the remaining pieces left in your relationship, when you were so close to having that cord completely snap, at odds with each other as there was a deep line separating you – both of you managed to be okay, resting in each other’s arms as if you hadn’t even been pulled away to begin with.

The thought alone makes his dazed eyes flutter shut, a smile on his lips when you’re back to where you had first started, this time together and having no more secrets to hide. 

[agent-cupcake]

Beastie and the Bard

Fire Emblem Three Houses - Dimitri x Reader (Chapter 3)

A symphony has four parts so does this, but it’s split because I’m lazy and didn’t anticipate the minuet to give me so much grief. Sorry for the wait, life is a lot all the time all at once, you know? 

Symphony Vittoria Opus 3, No. 1 I. Allegro A whooping shout echoed across the canyon, catching like fire upon a pile of dry leaves as the joyous sound spread across the triumphant troops. The bandit chef had fallen to Professor Byleth’s blade. The Blue Lions had won the battle of Zanado.

You felt dizzy, mentally dampened, and a bit confused at first.

“We won?” you asked nobody in particular, voice raised above the din of a few dozen voices talking at once. The man closest to you was smiling, nodding, speaking. You were slow in catching up, but you managed to make out his answer after a moment of focusing. Won, you had won. And then your ears were filled with the deafening sound of relentless noise and rushing blood, a roar of excitement that grew from within your own self.

You had won!

It didn’t happen in a steady turn, but in a sudden, jolting twist as all your focus and combat oriented energy changed to a joy for victory. It made you giddy, practically drunk on jubilance as the tension left your frame. Your head spun with a tipsy sensation of dizziness, a disconnect between mind and body. Some of it must have been the fatigue casting a haze over your mind as you emerged from the focused state of fighting. Past the overwhelming joy, you were aware that exhaustion had crawled deep into your muscles in a way it hadn’t during the practice battle, or even through your vigorous training exercises. It left your limbs in a loose and rubbery state, but not yet burdened with the aching pain you’d undoubtably face later. It made every sensation you experienced spark with particular interest to your racing thoughts, voices made that much louder and the blow of a cool breeze through your sweaty hair that much cooler.

It was similar to the high you felt after managing a difficult piece of music or finally pulling off a tricky sword technique, a swell of pleasant and overwhelming joy. A feeling too big to be contained within your limited body. A wild giddiness.

Oddly, the sun had barely descended past its watchful position straight above. It seemed impossible that hours hadn’t passed since you set out upon the canyon considering all that had happened. Then again, your mind recalled the entire battle as nothing more than a blur, a flurry of sword strikes and shouted commands slipping by in a matter of minutes.

There had been the cold and prickling anticipation as Professor Byleth performed his final inspection and gave orders, a shuddering dread as you lined up against the bandits with weapons that had never tasted blood, the fluttering anticipation when the charge was called, and then a surge of energy, strength filling your body as all you had learned in training took over and you fought your first battle with everything you could.

And now, victory.

You didn’t think about what to do next, sheathing your sword and beginning to move contrary to the tide of men. Towards the front line, searching the dissipating crowd for familiar faces. Or, really, just the one familiar face. Your expression split into a bright smile when you saw him, heedless of the exhaustion. Dimitri’s blond hair was messier than you’d ever seen it, even while training. It caught every drop of sunlight, shining gold even when sticking to his head with sweat, several bits swept away at chaotic angles. There was blood on his armor, his cheeks were spotted with a red flush from exertion, and his expression was a bit worn. But, most importantly, he was unharmed.

Right then, in your half mad mindstate, you felt a blind rush of affection. Excitement. Victory. Skipping on feet that felt lighter than air, you rushed past the few scattering ranks of your small force. Dimitri saw you, opening his mouth to say something, but you cut him off by throwing your arms around his shoulders, tilting onto the tips of your toes. Luckily, he was used to moving with a spearman’s firm stance, which was the only thing that stopped both of you from toppling to the ground. The recklessness of the action hardly registered. Impulsive and excited and bubbly with the vigor of life itself, you pressed a kiss to his cheek. It happened so quickly that the sensations barely registered; a whiff of the musky masculine scent of his sweat, the smooth warmth of his cheek against your lips, your hand brushing the back of his hair when your arms met around his neck; and then you were dancing away, smiling with a mouth on the cusp of releasing a bout of delighted laughter.

“We did it!” you said, uncaring of the childish sound of your victorious words. The fact that you had fought and won was more than the victory of battle, serving as solid proof that you were meant to be among the knights and students, that you were right in choosing your own fate. It meant that your father had been wrong. It meant you were supposed to be here. At Dimitri’s side, maybe. “I can hardly believe it. I was so nervous at first, but we did it! I did it!”

“That you did,” Dimitri said in a slightly stiff voice, a measured contradiction to your manic excitement. He had pressed his hand to his cheek, right over where you had kissed him. Was that displeasure you read in his widened eyes, or disgust? Maybe surprise, being attacked was an awfully good reason to lose composure. And more, was his face that red before, or had the color darkened his fair complection further? His hand dropped, being used in a casual gesture towards you. “And with energy to spare, I see,” Dimitri teased. Although he still seemed a little flustered, his blue eyes twinkled with laughter.

You giggled in response, a giddy and nervous sound. The situation was beginning to sink in. Firstly, it probably broke a dozen different rules of etiquette to have thrown yourself at him, and that was before you factored in the unspoken rules of friendship and boundaries his status afforded him. Not to mention the battlefield you stood upon, or the uncomfortable weight of the gazes of the remaining soldiers who lingered, or the fact that Professor Byleth stood nearby speaking to a knight, or that not even a dozen feet away laid the unceremoniously fallen corpses of the bandit chief and his main guard in puddles of drying blood-

No. You forced yourself not to look at them, unwilling to consider the dead in conjunction with the way you felt now. Instead you focused on Dimitri and the thread of enthusiasm that had brought you to him, refusing to allow embarrassment or doubt to make you fold now that you had already committed.

“I’m just so happy that we won!” you said as way of justification. “I never thought that I’d be able to do something like this… And I wouldn’t have been able to do it without your help so I wanted to thank you because if it hadn’t been for all that training I think I totally would have choked, but because of you I didn’t, so...” You let the thought drop there, your disorganized words rushed together just as badly as your thoughts. And then, what else was there to say? The jittery excitement was still thudding in your heart and making your hands shake. You wanted to apologize, but you also didn’t feel sorry, so you chose instead to settle for the middle ground. “Anyway, I… I should probably go back and help.” You gestured vaguely behind yourself, smiling like a fool for all that you should have at least tried to feel shame. “Um, see you, Dimitri! And you, Professor!” you called with a jaunty wave before turning on your heel. If eyes followed you, or if either responded, you didn’t know, and you were far too shy to check as you hurried up the steps to the top of the canyon where  the horses and knights were all congregated.

Embarrassment was easy in coming, but found little traction in the thrill that filled you as well. Victory was exciting in a way no song had ever properly described. Maybe more than any song could. And then there was the way your body buzzed, the warmth tickling your lips, and the way your heart pounded when you thought of how bold you’d been.

Victory truly was sweet.

Symphony Vittoria Opus 3, No. 2 II. Adagio

Victory, as it turned out, could hurt.

When Lord Lonato fell, it was with an awful, hollow stillness that came in the stead of fanfare or glory. This did not feel like victory, or at least any sort of victory you could be pleased with. Ashe waved away any of your attempts to console or help him, returning to the town alone to find his brother and sister. Even though you desperately yearned to, you didn’t dare follow him alone, knowing that you would be rejected as the enemy.

In the eyes of the townspeople, you were the enemy.

So you watched Ashe go, heart heavy and aching. It wasn’t Ashe’s rejection that stung, not exactly. What hurt the most was the knowledge that you, right then, were useless to him. Nothing you did or said would be able to help him, your words would fall on ears made deaf as they strained to hear the voices of the dead. Nothing you could do would ease his pain or set his world back to rights.

Just like your mother. You could picture her clearly right then, standing in a beautiful black dress above your father’s grave. Weeping because of her true, singular love for the man and the gaping emptiness in her heart that would never be filled without him. Like Ashe, your mother hadn’t wanted your help. To her, you had been nothing more than a reminder of what she could have had, what she was going to have before he died. That day, you lost your mother, too.

Would Ashe be the same as she had been? Would you be a symbol forever reminding him of the death of the man who raised and cared for him? Would he stay in a state of frigid misery, bound by the lingering hold of the dead and unable to move forward? You had only known him for a few months, yet the idea made your eyes hot and teary, a terrible feeling clenching in your chest.

No. You would figure out a way to prevent that from happening, you would not fail again.

Or so you swore to yourself, right then.

Turning away from the empty forrest road and that tremulous silent promise, you set out to find Dimitri. You didn’t know why. Certainly not to ambush him with a hug and kiss on the cheek as you had at the end of the last battle, or anything resembling any sort of excitement. For comfort, maybe. Maybe to ask for advice about Ashe. Then again, you weren’t sure you really wanted to supply a reason for desiring his company. More and more you’d begun seeking it out unprompted. You were friends, and that was definitely sacred and worth pursing. He shouldn’t have been special beyond that, but he was. And you didn’t like to think of exactly why that was, so you didn’t.

The knights were all packing up to make the return trip to the monastery, not losing a second of daylight in their meticulous routine. It struck you as horrifically callous. The church with all their men and might will come to kill your fathers and brothers and then leave within the hour, leaving naught a trace behind. But that was foolish, a childish fancy given teeth as you tried to reconcile what had happened with what you wished would have happened. It was kinder and more pragmatic to leave as quickly as possible and allow the people to grieve in private.

That was the reality.

You were better off with the indignant stance that Lord Lanato was the one at fault for the deaths. His own foolishness was at the cost of the men you had killed. But in the same breath of that scorn could you smell the blood, feel it flaking off of your hands like flakes of rust.

No.

You didn’t want to think about that, you couldn’t let yourself. A knight didn’t weep for those they killed if it was necessary. Those words were a lesson from your sword teacher in Fhirdiad, a knight who had retired after partaking in one too many of the ugly skirmishes that had popped up in the wake of King Lambert’s death. His eyes were haunted when he told you that it was important to know when to care, and when not to.

Another thought that was best left alone.

So you focused on your search efforts. Unfortunately, while dodging through the collected chaos you realized that Magdred Way’s tree lined paths weren’t great for visibility, even without that supernatural fog. Not only was your heart heavy with thoughts you cared little to entertain and you couldn’t find Dimitri, but everybody looked so sad as well. Your friends who should have been proud of themselves for achieving victory without any casualties were wearing grave masks and curled postures with slumped shoulders, the knights grim faced and terse. Professor Byleth was the only one seemingly unaffected by it all, pointing you in the right direction to find Dimitri without expression or comment, trailed by an especially and uncharacteristically severe-looking Catherine.  

Probably, you should have been concerned by that sight alone. But you weren’t, not really, because once you knew where to look Dimitri was easy to spot. He was tucked in the shadow at the edge of the trees, sitting on the convenient seat of a rock with his head bowed and hands folded in something like reverence. The cheerless image brought you up short, the words you had intended to use to call to him dying on your lips.

Pain clung to him, weighed him down with something more than than the cheap sorrow you’d been fighting off. You could easily recognize the way it crowned his head in invisible lead and sank deep and heavy into his bones. It was, after all, a familiar sight.

Holding completely motionless a yard or so away from him, you briefly considered turning around and leaving Dimitri be. People who looked like that had never fared well with your intervention. But you couldn’t. He just looked too sad and lonely. So you approached him with soft steps, feeling the hesitancy of regret before you even spoke.

“Dimitri?” you asked softly, uncertain. “Are you all right?”

He tensed up at hearing your voice, his posture straightening out with a snap as if to cover for the momentary weakness. Red rimmed his eyes, although you thought it was more of an effect of fatigue than tears. It complimented the bluish shadows beneath.

“Yes, of course. I was just resting a moment,” he told you, his expression and voice carefully controlled. “Did you need something?”

Any person in the world would be able to tell that he was feigning indifference. Pain was stretched thin in the forcibly casual tone of his voice like pottery held too tightly, seconds away from cracking. It hurt, strangely, that he would put on an act around you, but you didn’t dare think too hard about that sharp stab of pain or why you’d feel it. More than anything, you were worried, your heart set aching anew as you realized that his sorrow far overcame your own.

“No, I don’t. You looked...” Despairing. Agonizing. Like the weight of the world was crushing you and I don’t understand why. “Upset,” you said lamely. An underlying awkwardness edged your voice, created by your influx of emotions you suddenly had no idea what to do with. “I can… I can go if you want to be alone.”

“It’s not that-” Dimitri began with more false pretense, only to cut off whatever else he was going to add and let out a heavy breath, rubbing a hand over his face and allowing his posture to relax. “I’m sorry. I’m fine. I wanted a moment to collect my thoughts.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” you asked.

“No,” he said firmly. Then, a moment later in a softer tone, “I don’t know.”

“This battle was… It was hard,” you said, an understatement if there ever was one, but Dimitri seemed to understand all the same.

“It was, and I know that what we did was necessary, but... I can’t help but wish that we could have handled that differently, that there was a different way to settle things without such violent measures.” His voice lowered even further, head bowing. “But if it wasn’t necessary, then what we did...”

Dimitri allowed the silence to speak for him.

“I think I understand,” you said, although you weren’t quite sure if you did. A part of your mind rebelled at the idea that violence wasn’t a way resolve conflict, although another wondered what such peace would look like. “But… We just have to keep going, don’t we? Maybe there’s another way, but this… We can’t let it define us, we just have to keep going forward and try to do better in the future, right?”

“Don’t you find it wrong?” Dimitri asked, his question given passion and intensity as he suddenly stood. The louder voice as well as the dramatic physical shift pulled you up entirely short, sending you a step back. “Does it not bother you to indiscriminately take the lives of those opposing us without even questioning if we could achieve the same goals without death?” All of the dispassionate pain you had seen before was gone, lit to a blaze in the soft blue of his eyes.

“I… I hadn’t thought very much about it,” you answered. The words came honestly in the face of being so startled, along with the pang of guilt that hit you from the accusatory nature of the question. “If it’s asked of me and my loyalty… No-” You hesitated, trying to think of a better way to phrase your thoughts, a prettier way. “If something I’m doing is protecting the lives of those I care for, I… I believe that it’s right,” you told him carefully. But, beneath the searching weight of his gaze, you wondered if that was only something to say. Like a poem or song. In truth, you hadn’t given the nature of battle or what you did to your enemies any sort of deeper thought. You didn’t want to. A hero couldn’t be a killer, even if they killed. And wasn’t it the same for you? For him? You had to believe that.

“What if the enemy believes the same?” Dimitri pushed urgently. “If all they’re doing is defending the people they care for in a conflict they have no say in?”

That gave you further pause, your eyebrows furrowing and chapped bottom lip retreating between your teeth as you tried to find an answer. You saw his argument, felt it just as clearly in the conflicted pain in his eyes. Doubt was poisoning him. Comprehension was sharp in that moment, an understanding of something you had been missing in the months you had known him. Dimitri’s capacity to care, something you admired so much, was a double edged sword. Great strength and great vulnerability. Of course it was. You’d seen it before, the agony of caring just a bit too much.

“I’d be glad,” you finally responded, slightly indignant in your desire to stand against his questioning. “If I died because of something I believed in, I would not regret it. I hope that anyone I fight feels the same.”

“And the ones they leave behind?” Dimitri asked, his voice softer, the rigidity of anger gone from this question. You met his eyes. Pure, perfectly pigmented powder blue. The color of reliability and honor, but also the color of melancholy and cold. Now they were needful. Looking for an answer you didn’t have, that probably didn’t exist. “What of them?”

You had heard that question before.

Any and all desire to argue against him bled out of you, leaving the overwhelming swell of post-battle exhaustion and anguish to hit you in full force, so stark it was nearly physical. “I don’t know,” you answered, your voice even softer than his own.

Dimitri’s eyes closed as he turned away, dissatisfied with your answer. “There really is no answer, is there?”

“Maybe there is,” you said, a weak attempt at hopeful optimism against his stormy despair. Dimitri didn’t disagree, but he didn’t have to do anything other than allow the words to deflate and disintegrate in the relative silence of your little bubble on the edge of the trees. And with them, an argument you couldn’t help but feel you had lost terribly.  

“We should return to the others. Professor Byleth will want to speak to us all when we return, disturbing news had been discovered.” Dimitri said, his eyes opening and posture straightening out. The voice he used now was firm, but empty. Closed off once more. He did not wait for an answer before brushing past you, or look to ensure you were following.

“Right,” you agreed reluctantly, uselessly, following him on wooden legs.

[myeongchokrp]

This is a sentence starter meme for everyone! You’ll be able to reblog this meme until December 6th starting today, but feel free to continue answering memes after that if need be. Go wild with them and have a good time! Also feel free to use this for sentence starters or drabbles; the most important thing is to get everyone writing. Hopefully, it’ll spark some new plot ideas and interactions too!

Remember to reblog this if you’re interested in receiving a meme, and to send some to everyone that reblogs it, too! You’re welcome to skip over this if you’d like to; it’s by no means mandatory to reblog and participate. Most importantly, though, have fun!!

“they are in connection to at least 23 murders.”

“you look stunning today.”

“with our resources, no criminal charge is insurmountable.”

“i thought we had a good life.”

“mother taught me that marriage is long, that a woman overlooks things, that she makes sacrifices.”

“i would have sacrificed anything for you.”

“that’s why we’ll get through this.”

“you’re never getting out of here.”

“you are going to be in a cage for the rest of your life.”

“after what you did, i will never come back here.”

“you changed the locks?”

“are you alright?”

“it’s about time.”

“those restraints are clearly useless.”

“how sweet for you both.”

“i have no intention of returning.”

“this is exactly what he wants.”

“this is what he/she has always wanted –– a relationship, to control you, to infect your mind.”

“he/she does not control me.”

“i just watched you throw yourself out a window.”

“i know you think these memories are real.”

“i have no interest in revisiting the past.”

“for the sake of your mental health, you shouldn’t visit the past.”

“my mental health is just fine.”

“my mental health is fractured. it’s eroding, past the point of repair.”

“what’s your professional opinion on repressed memory?”

“i think he/she drugged me.”

“in trademark fashion, they have chosen to dance around the truth.”

“this day just keeps getting better.”

“i didn’t realize we were exchanging small gifts.”

“nothing here makes any sense.”

“we may be after a visionary killer.”

“they often convince themselves they’re acting on behalf of a higher power or dissociative voice.”

“the killer cut clean through the man’s skull.”

“the victim’s brain was surgically removed.”

“so, cause of death is no brain?”

“it was like he was scared to death.”

“i just need to find out what that need is.”

“the brain is the arbiter of the human fear response.”

“fear can be both motivating and debilitating.”

“fear has always been your particular stumbling block.”

“you’ve always been good at repressing fear, pretending it’s not there.”

“here we go again with the blame game.”

“you also taught me to be ashamed of who i am.”

“all i know is what you want me to know.”

“do you sleep at night?”

“when you close your eyes, do you find peace?”

“no one ordered them to do anything.”

“you held your credentials and authority over their heads.”

“who sent him there in the first place?”

“we can’t control him.”

“speak for yourself.”

“you got the very best of me.”

“i did what i had to do in order to meet those needs, to keep my happy and provide you with the life you wanted.”

“i’m not sure you’re stakeout material.”

“i’m a chronic insomniac.”

“i know the existence of repressed memory is a controversial subject, but i am all for controversy.”

“i have been diagnosed as depressed, generalized anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder –– all linked to fear.”

“a familiar smell can conjure a connected experience like nothing else.”

“the only way to access fear is to face it.”

“he wants you to understand him.”

“this is where he plans to kill you.”

“you’ve been dosed with lsd.”

“the floor’s melting.”

“we have to get you out of here.”

“front door is locked, going around back.”

“no one else needs to die.”

“this is my response to fear.”

“you can’t outrun fear, you have to move into it.”

“the fear you’re feeling right now? that’s real.”

“you have to let the fear consume you, and the panic will subside.”

“you did this, and now you have to live with yourself.”

“you’re stunning.”

“burn in hell.”

“you said you’d never come.”

“i don’t want to be here.”

“i do prefer you on a leash.”

“way to kill a mood.’

“i’m surprised he told you about our visit.”

“you are dead to me.”

“when your body finally submits, i will flush your ashes down the port authority’s most disgusting toilet.”

“he’s gonna be just fine.”

“i am so proud of him.”

“it must have been so hard.”

“i am terrified of you.”

“i am terrified to look into your eyes, to see the monster.”

“you will always be my family.”

“you are dead to me because i had to kill you in my mind.”

“you were basically penniless.”

“we had everything.”

“i would have done anything to save it.”

“we were happy, until everything was taken from me.”

“how can you do this?”

“what happened to them wasn’t just about me.”

“you are breaking him.”

“he is nearly broken, and i am begging you to leave him alone.”

“don’t take the one thing i have left.”

“what the hell are you doing?”

“that doesn’t concern you.”

“you have no idea what he is capable of.”

( credit to memeusup for these! )

[artificialqueens]

After The Glitter Fades - Chapter One - Shalaska (Citrus)

A/N: literally nobody asked me to continue my Gold Dust Woman fic, but i wanted to, so i did. as usual, this was up on AO3 before the queue was posted, so follow me there at artificialcitrus if you want fresh new content ahead of the AQ queue! my AO3 also includes chapter titles and special notes, so you’re missing out a little if you don’t read it over there too! enjoy the first installment of this new series, and please reblog or comment if you enjoyed it, as well as sending asks to me @aqcitrus!

-

Has anyone ever written anything for you?

In your darkest sorrow, did you ever hear me sing?

Listen to me now, you know I’d rather be alone

Than be without you, don’t you know?

So, if not for me, then do it for yourself

If not for me then do it for the world

Poet priest of nothing, poet priest of nothing

As soon as Alaska finished singing, Sharon motioned for her to set her guitar aside. Shooting her girlfriend a look of confusion, she obeyed nonetheless, and was subsequently presented with a lapful of Sharon Needles. The brunette’s lips lingered against her cheek, her hands weaving in Alaska’s hair before she moved to hug her tight.

“That was so fucking beautiful, baby,” she whispered, and Alaska could tell from the rasp in her voice that she was trying not to cry. She hugged back, kissing Sharon’s shoulder and smiling against her skin.

“I’m glad you liked it.”

“Are you kidding me?” Sharon exclaimed as she pulled back. “I fucking loved it. Goddess, you’re so talented, it blows my fucking mind.” The witch tended to swear more when she was impassioned, and right now was no exception; Alaska laughed a little at the expletives that fell from her girlfriend’s lips like sparks and ash.

It had been a month since their first “I love you”s on the beach, and the heat of summer was beginning to fade and yield to the sunny chill of autumn. Sharon had been restless throughout the past week, worrying over the plans for a Sabbat celebration with the coven, and though Alaska had no idea what any of it meant, she wanted to try her best to help. That was why they were currently seated on the floor of Sharon’s apartment; Alaska had brought her guitar over and insisted that she had something to ease her girlfriend’s stress. Judging by the way Sharon was currently relaxed in her lap, it had worked, and Alaska was proud of herself for helping even a tiny bit.

“Hey, Noodles?” she mumbled. Sharon flushed at the nickname, something Alaska had taken up calling her recently, but nodded as a sign for her girlfriend to continue. “Can you… Can you tell me what this whole Sabbat thing is about?” Sharon clambered out of her girlfriend’s lap and sat cross-legged on the floor across from her, reaching over to grab a book from a pile next to her. She flipped through it quickly, finding the page she needed almost immediately and showing an illustration of a golden-red tree to Alaska.

“Okay, so most people would call this the Autumn Equinox, right? When the Earth’s turned another quarter.” Alaska nodded. “Right, so we witches refer to this as Mabon, and it’s a celebration of life and the harvest. Remember in August when the coven had a celebration for Lughnasadh and I told you it was the beginning of the harvest season?”

“Mm-hmm. I still can’t understand why it’s pronounced like that, by the way.”

Sharon laughed. “It’s Gaelic, darling. Nothing makes sense in Gaelic. Anyway, Mabon is the culmination of the harvest, and sometimes it’s referred to as the last Sabbit in the witches’ year. Does that make sense?”

“I guess so,” Alaska said quietly. “I, um… Would you ever mind, like, teaching me more about this stuff?”

“The seasons?” Sharon asked. Her girlfriend shook her head, fidgeting with the necklace she was wearing– a clear quartz crystal from Sharon’s store.

“Like… everything. Witch stuff.”

“You wanna be a witch?” Alaska blushed at the look of surprise on Sharon’s face, causing the witch to backtrack. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to sound so weird. I’m just a little surprised, I guess. You didn’t seem to be that interested in it before, that’s all.”

“I’m just scared I’ll be bad at it,” the blonde said in a tiny voice, almost a whisper. Sharon chuckled, taking Alaska’s hands in her own.

“Everyone has a different approach to the craft,” she assured her. “Don’t worry about getting things wrong, it’s gonna happen whether you worry about it or not. But if you really want my help…”

Alaska nodded earnestly, dark brown eyes looking up into bright blue. “I really do. I wanna give this a try.”

“Then I’m more than happy to help you, baby,” Sharon smiled, leaning over to give her a peck on the lips. “We can start with the most basic concept: what magick even is. That sound good to you?”

“Yes, please!” Alaska agreed excitedly, wiggling a little from her seated position. Sharon stood up and walked over to her bookshelf, scouring the shelves with a well-trained eye and selecting the book she wanted once she’d located it. Plopping back down in front of her girlfriend, she opened up the worn leather tome and began reading.

“ Magick is everywhere. It is in everything you see, everything you hear, everything you touch and taste and smell. More importantly, it is in the things that are invisible to these senses; magick is not just a tangible sensation, but an energy. It is the energy that surrounds you every minute of every day, since the moment your spirit bloomed into life, and with practice and effort, your own personal magick can be strengthened and manipulated to help you navigate the world. ”

“Wow…” Alaska said softly. Sharon chuckled.

“Yeah, Mom was always good at explaining difficult things really easily,” she reminisced. Alaska’s eyes widened slightly.

“Your mom wrote that?”

“Mhm. This is what eventually turned into her first book. You’re looking at the handwritten manuscript, unedited.” Her fingers brushed against the pages almost wistfully, feeling the worn paper under her fingertips and the indents where her mother’s pen had pressed into the pages. Alaska looked impressed, her eyes scanning the leather cover that Sharon had watched her mother attach by hand as a child.

“That’s… amazing,” Alaska breathed. Sharon looked up at her with a gentle smile.

“She was an amazing woman. I wouldn’t be the witch I am without her.” She cleared her throat, carefully blinking back the tears that clouded her eyes at the memories flying through her head. “Do you want me to go on, baby?”

Alaska nodded. “How’d you know I’d been exposed to magick before?”

“Hm?”

“Like, when we first met. It was the first thing you said to me. That I’d been exposed to magick, and that I had some kind of spell on me.”

Sharon nodded as she flipped through the pages of another, heavier book, adding bookmarks every so often. “A luck spell,” she said. “Mom taught me how to see auras when I was really young, but I never really got the hang of it. Not like Raja or Katya, anyway. But magick is easy to spot if you know where to look.”

“What does it look like?” Alaska asked curiously, scooting closer to her girlfriend and forcing Sharon to put her book down and regard her pensively.

“Depends on the type of magick. Your luck spell was golden red, like a very faint glow. It’s faded by now, I can’t detect it anymore. But you’ve also been glowing since you mentioned wanting to give witchcraft a try.”

“What, like, literally?” Alaska asked, incredulous. She definitely couldn’t see whatever Sharon was talking about, but her girlfriend laughed.

“Yeah, literally. White, kinda shimmery. At your solar plexus.” She reached out a hand and pressed her fingers lightly against the center of Alaska’s chest just below her breasts, where her sternum stopped. “Right here.” Alaska looked down, disappointed when she didn’t see anything other than her baby pink tank top. Sharon’s fingers withdrew slowly, and she seemed to break out of a trance as she looked back up at Alaska with a grin. “The solar plexus is where your personal power tends to come from. I’m looking at some serious magickal power, baby. You must have a witch in your family.”

Alaska snorted. “Yeah, right. You’re just messing with me.” Sharon shook her head.

“Not at all. It feels like…” she closed her eyes, breathing deeply as her fingers pressed against the same spot on Alaska’s body again. “Your own magick is strong, but there’s something else there. It doesn’t belong to you, it’s… older. Passed down through blood.” She opened her eyes again and Alaska felt like her girlfriend was staring right through her. “Someone in your family is a witch, there’s no doubt about that.”

The words hit Alaska like a freight train; a witch, in her family? It seemed unlikely at best, but if she knew anything about Sharon’s abilities by now, she knew to trust them. She just wished there was an easier way to figure out who in her family was a witch without freaking anyone out; she couldn’t exactly call her mother and say “Hey, mom, I know it’s been a while since I called but I was wondering if anyone in our family practiced witchcraft?” or something like that.

“Does that mean I’m a witch?” Alaska asked softly, still trying to process everything. Sharon threw back her head in laughter, squeezing Alaska’s hands in her own.

“Oh my gods, you’re adorable! It’s not a label you earn, it’s a label you make for yourself. Anyone who practices magick is a witch. And you already make my life pretty damn magickal, baby.”

Alaska giggled at the corny profession of love, but leaned across to kiss Sharon anyway. “You’re so stupid.”

“I won’t argue with that,” Sharon laughed before connecting their lips.

A thousand years could pass and Sharon would never tire of kissing Alaska; every kiss felt like their first, and every touch set her body alight with passion and love. Alaska moved closer, pulling Sharon into her lap once more and letting her straddle her hips as her fingers played with the witch’s dark curls. For once, neither of them were wearing any lip products during the day, allowing Alaska to bask in the softness of Sharon’s lips without the worry of smeared lipstick all over the both of them. It allowed the kiss to be messier and deeper, and Alaska felt Sharon relaxing into her arms as she lost herself in the kiss and let Alaska’s lips soothe all of her stress away.

When they broke apart, Sharon stood up, pulling Alaska with her and holding her close. All was still as Sharon’s arms wrapped around Alaska’s waist and she laid her head against her girlfriend’s chest, feeling relaxed and safe in her embrace. Alaska held Sharon close, as if letting go would allow the witch to slip away from her, breathing in her scent.

Without warning, Alaska felt Sharon’s skin growing warmer, and made a soft noise of surprise when she opened her eyes to see her girlfriend radiating pale pink energy tinged with white. The glow slowly spread from the middle of Sharon’s chest to encompass Alaska as well, until the both of them were surrounded by warmth and rosy light. Alaska felt her heart swell inexplicably and pulled Sharon tighter against her, kissing the top of her head.

“Baby?” she whispered.

“Mm?” Sharon hummed, sounding blissful.

Alaska’s hand stroked down her girlfriend’s spine slowly, soothingly. “What are you doing?”

“Hm?” Sharon looked up at her, blushing deeply as the rose-colored glow began to fade. “Oh. Um. Just a little spell.”

“What for?”

Sharon bit her lip as she tried to figure out a way to answer. “Um… Channeling this feeling into magickal energy, I guess.” Alaska smiled, brushing a stray curl from Sharon’s blushing cheek.

“What feeling, baby?”

“I don’t know how to explain it, just… Holding you, quietly. It feels like, uh, where I’m meant to be,” she confessed nervously, and Alaska pressed her lips against Sharon’s forehead, feeling the smaller woman relax against her.

“Me too, Noodles,” she replied softly, “I’ve always felt like that.”

Sharon looked up at her with a small smile. “Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” Alaska confirmed, giving Sharon’s left hip a squeeze. “Ever since the first time you kissed me, at the ren faire. It felt like I’d been waiting my whole life to be kissed by you.”

“You’re so fuckin’ poetic,” Sharon mumbled, her cheeks turning pink.

Alaska laughed. “That’s what you get for dating a songwriter, babydoll.”

“Oh,” Sharon said softly, blushing crimson now, “I like that one.”

“Babydoll?” A nod. “You’re adorable. I really struggle to believe that girls aren’t throwing themselves at your feet every minute of the day.”

“Even if they were, I wouldn’t want anyone but you,” Sharon admitted quietly, her voice barely a whisper. Alaska kissed her lips tenderly, cupping her cheek with one hand and holding her waist with the other.

“You’re so much softer than I thought you were,” she teased, giving Sharon a peck on the nose. She wrinkled it with a playful smile.

“If you tell a single soul, I’ll turn you into a frog,” she threatened. “And I mean it.” Alaska just giggled at the empty threat and kissed her girlfriend again, feeling like everything was how it was supposed to be.

-

“So, you have a witch in your family?” Jinkx asked as the coven set up for their Mabon celebration. She was currently slicing apples, both as an offering for the various deities that the coven members worshiped, and also as a snack for later. Alaska nodded as she watched Sharon dig through a box of candles, searching for the right ones.

“I have no idea who it is, and honestly I’m kinda scared to ask,” she admitted.

Jinkx laughed, and Alaska marvelled over the fact that both she and Sharon really did cackle like the witches in movies. “Fair enough. I’m glad you decided to come along. We’re happy to have you.”

“We don’t really let outsiders participate in rituals, but if you’re interested in learning, we can dictate our actions and why we’re doing them,” Raja said kindly as she and Katya entered the kitchen to set down several bottles of wine.

“I don’t want you to go out of your way…” Alaska trailed off, but Katya shrugged.

“Sometimes even we need a reminder.” She grinned at Alaska, laying on a thick Russian accent. “We are not all good with memory, da?” Alaska giggled and Katya bumped her hip against Alaska’s own as she left the kitchen to help with something else, tossing a flirty wink at Alaska. In another life, if she hadn’t been so in love with Sharon, Alaska would have probably fallen for someone like Katya; all things considered, she was happy to be getting to know her better.

“Jinkx, where the fuck are all the Mabon candles we made last year?” Sharon called from the other room. Jinkx sighed, rolling her eyes.

“They’re already out, idiot, I told you where they were!” she shouted back.

Alaska heard Max’s soft voice from the other room; “They’re right here, Sharon, don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t worried, ” Sharon grumbled, forcing Alaska to stifle her giggle in the hope that her girlfriend didn’t hear it.

Once everything was ready in the kitchen, Alaska helped Jinkx bring out the food and drinks that were necessary for the ritual, leaving everything else where it was. Sharon set two stemmed glasses in front of each participant, with the exception of Jinkx and Raja, and Alaska watched as each witch poured wine into their own glass before pouring a little into the second as well.

“Demeter, Earth-Mother, goddess of agriculture and the harvest, we give you this offering as thanks for your blessing,” Pearl said, placing one of her glasses on the altar in the center of the room, and putting an apple beside it. She knelt for a moment, murmuring a prayer before standing and rejoining her coven. Max stepped up next, carrying a glass of wine and a pomegranate.

“Persephone, Pure One, goddess queen of the underworld, we give you this offering and libation and ask you to join in our celebration.” She placed the wine and the fruit on the altar next to Pearl’s offering, and returned to the group. Katya dedicated her “libation” to Isis and Osiris, and Sharon offered wine to Hecate, lighting a red candle on the altar for the goddess.

The four Dianic witches held hands in a small circle while Jinkx and Raja lit more candles on the altar. Jinkx placed a small quartz crystal on top of it, and Raja sprinkled a little of what appeared to be ash over the altar. The Dianic witches disbanded after finishing their short prayer, and Jinkx put on some music. Alaska grinned from the corner, recognizing the voice of Florence Welch and singing along quietly as the witches set a nearby table with food and drinks. Sharon held out her hand for Alaska, twirling her under her arm before wrapping it around her waist and pulling her in for a kiss on the cheek, making the blonde giggle.

“You’re in a good mood, huh?” she grinned.

Sharon shrugged, rocking from side to side in time with the music. “I guess so, yeah. I love celebrating the Sabbats with my sisters, it’s so much better than doing it alone.”

“Sharon, d’you want red or white?” Raja asked as she poured drinks.

“Red for me, white for Lasky,” she answered, and her girlfriend beamed.

“You remembered!”

“Of course I did,” Sharon grinned, handing Alaska a glass. “I actually do pay attention to you, y’know.”

Raja was struggling with the cork of one of the wine bottles, and after passing it around, no one could seem to pry it out, not even with a corkscrew. Alaska held out her hands, asking if she could give it a try, and the other witches shrugged and let her, figuring that the petite girl wouldn’t be able to do much.

Alaska pulled the cork out with a grunt, biceps flexing against her t-shirt, and Sharon’s jaw hit the floor.

“That… was so hot,” she admitted as her girlfriend handed the bottle off to a stunned Raja. Alaska blushed.

“You all loosened it for me, it’s not a big deal.”

“Nah, seriously, that was hot,” Pearl agreed, twirling a lock of hair around her finger.

“C’mon, Alaska, flex for us!” Katya crowed, causing Alaska to blush deeper. She flexed proudly, showing off months of work that equated to rippling biceps, and Sharon pretended to faint.

“Damn, Lasky, do you have a permit for those guns?” Jinkx teased, poking at her tummy. “Oh, wow, you have rock-solid abs, too.” Alaska lowered her arms with a small smile, brushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.

“I worked for ‘em,” she said honestly. “I wanted to be strong, so I worked my ass off to get there.”

Katya grinned, giving her a fist bump. “I get it, girl. I used to be a gymnast, almost went Olympic. It takes a lot.”

“Can everyone please stop drooling over my girlfriend and her muscles?” Sharon pouted dramatically, pulling a laugh from Alaska.

“I never thought I’d be jealous of Sharon, ” Jinkx joked, earning a soft laugh from Max and a full-blown cackle from Sharon herself.

“I knew the day would come,” she teased, wrapping an arm around Alaska and kissing her shoulder. “Hands off my girl, all of you. Yes , Katya, that includes you.”

Raja cleared her throat, choking back a laugh. “Okay, okay. Are we gonna stand around, or are we gonna celebrate a kickass Mabon?” Pearl pumped her fist with a small whoop, and the other women let out cheers and a smattering of applause. “We give thanks on Mabon, and per our coven’s tradition, we each have to say something that we’re grateful for right now. Don’t give me that look, Jinkx, you’re the one who started it. Does anyone wanna go first?”

“I will,” Max offered, surprising the rest of the group. Raja nodded.

“Go ahead, girl.”

The grey-haired witch smiled, fiddling with the cup in her hands. “I’m grateful for this coven, I always am. You’re my sisters, and I couldn’t be more thankful to have you in my life, but… there’s something else, too. I got a call from Fame yesterday, and she’s going to be moving back to the U.S. I can’t wait to see her again.”

Katya and Pearl squealed excitedly, hugging Max from either side, and even Sharon was grinning. “Maxie, that’s great!” Pearl exclaimed, suddenly wide awake. Katya was even more excited, asking a thousand questions a minute.

“When is she coming? Is she gonna need somewhere to stay? Oh my god, how is she?”

“She’s wonderful, she misses everyone so much and she’s excited to reconnect,” Max answered with a small smile, flushing a little. “Anyway, that’s what I’m grateful for.”

“That’s amazing, Max,” Jinkx encouraged. “Who’s next?”

“I’ll go!” Katya said. “I’m grateful that you guys give me space when I’m meditating, and I’m grateful that I can learn more every day.” She bounced on her heels happily at the declaration, excited to be sharing.

“I’m grateful to have all of you mentoring me in the ways of our craft,” Pearl agreed. “I love that we all do different things and we all have something to learn from one another.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet,” Jinkx grinned. “I’m grateful for my partner-in-crime and our little dream that’s finally becoming everything we wanted it to be. Love ya, Needles.”

Sharon grinned, raising her glass to Jinkx. “Love ya too, Jinkxy.” She shifted her weight, rubbing Alaska’s hip lightly as she cleared her throat. “Not to be super cliche and gross, but I’m so thankful for Lasky.” Alaska blushed happily, leaning into her girlfriend’s side as she listened to her speak. “Don’t roll your eyes, assholes. The day before we met, I did a spell to attract love, and I didn’t even think it would work, but… clearly it did. I never expected to meet someone who is my other half, someone who I learn a little from every day. I love you, Lasky, and I’m so grateful that you’re in my life.”

Alaska grinned and snuggled against her girlfriend, kissing her on the cheek. “That was dumb,” she mumbled, blushing as the witches let out a chorus of aww ’s and teasing remarks.

“Alaska, do you want to say something you’re grateful for?” Max asked. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but we’d like to listen if you have something to say.” The rest of the coven nodded in agreement, and Alaska nodded.

“I guess I’m grateful to have met you all,” she said with a small smile. “I’ve already learned so much, and I can’t wait to learn more about your craft.”

“Raj, you’re up last,” Sharon said, trying to suppress a grin as she squeezed Alaska’s hip.

“Right, well, I’m grateful for the new job, and I’m grateful for you all being here for me through the whole mess of a divorce last year.”

“We still have firewood left over from Beltane if you ever change your mind about burning his shit,” Sharon proclaimed, provoking laughter from the rest of the group. Raja clinked her glass against Sharon’s with a fond eyeroll.

“Alright everyone, Max made this gorgeous apple pie and I’ve been eyeing it for the last ten minutes, so let’s start!” Jinkx said, side-hugging a blushing Max.

The evening was full of conversation and laughter, and Alaska became the willing pupil of the coven as they shared food and drink. She learned a lot about witchcraft as a practice and a little bit about each individual witch’s craft. Sharon did a good job of translating the terms that were unfamiliar to Alaska and would explain things quietly to her girlfriend if she was too shy to ask follow-up questions. Max took off the veil that she often wore to block out everyone else’s thoughts and energies, and managed to confirm that Alaska did have magickal blood somewhere in her line. She also divined that Alaska would soon find out which family member it was, but that this information wasn’t very important.

Sharon read everyone’s cards, pulling Alaska aside at the end to do her reading in private.

“Do you want me to read for the path you should take? Like, whether it’s magickal or not?”

Alaska hesitated, but nodded. “Yeah. I’m really interested in this stuff, but I’m wondering if it’s right for me or not. I don’t wanna make any mistakes.”

“I get it, pumpkin, trust me,” Sharon smiled, shuffling her deck. Alaska loved watching Sharon read; she’d been mesmerized by her girlfriend as she laid out spread after spread for her coven sisters, offering interpretations that were always stunningly accurate. The other witches trusted her readings implicitly, knowing from past experience that she had a knack for predicting exactly what was to come and recalling moments in the past that she couldn’t possibly have known about. Alaska wasn’t as sure as the coven members were about Sharon’s perfect predictions because she hadn’t experienced very many of them, but she definitely trusted her girlfriend’s interpretations so far.

Sharon set out a spread of three cards, two of them next to each other and the third above them in an almost triangular formation. Flipping them over one by one, the witch pondered the results in silence before opening her mouth to begin her interpretation.

By the time she had finished speaking, Alaska was dumbfounded; her girlfriend had laid everything out with such accuracy that it was almost spooky. Her small smile indicated that she knew which choice Alaska would probably make, but Alaska still wanted to speak her decision aloud.

“I want to do this,” she said confidently. “I want to be a witch.”

[icymalec]

Dance Me Back To Life

Chapters: 1/6 Fandom: Shadowhunters (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood Additional Tags: College AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mild Abuse, dance Series: Part 2 of The Dance of Two Souls Read on Ao3

Young adult (college) AU, follows on from Angel from above. Magnus POV. Dancer Magnus, family business man Alec. Slow build up of their relationship. Alec helps Magnus deal with his abusive father and mental health issues. Magnus in return helps Alec where he can.

Slowly Magnus blinks himself back to reality, concerned that he may have got to the stage of full-blown hallucinations from over exertion and lack of food. Had Alec just really stopped him on the street, asked him to meet for drinks and taken his phone number? He does the only thing he can in this situation, puts his ear buds in and breaks into a jog.

“Look feel free to say no, no pressure but...How do you feel about going for a drink sometime?”

He recalls the nervous look on Alec’s face, worried as if he were going to cause upset by breaking the boundaries set in place by their unspoken arrangement. But what did Alec mean by go for a drink? Magnus chews on his bottom lip as his feet beat harder into the pavement, his lungs on fire as he pushes his body harder. Does he want to properly become friends? Dare I hope that he may want something more? He feels a flutter in his stomach at that idea before getting angry with himself. How dare he believe that someone as kind and caring as Alec could be interested in him in that way. He was not worthy of the precious few moments that they had already stolen. He couldn’t comprehend why Alec would even want to be friends. And once again his mind circles back to believing that he had imagined the whole interaction.

He stops at his front door and composes himself, removing all emotion from his face and bracing for whatever mood his father is in. His body trembling and mind fuzzy where his body is burning itself out, Magnus half stumbles through the door and staggers to the kitchen. He pulls out a glass and fills it with water, almost dropping it as Asmodeus’ booming voice fills the kitchen. “Have you eaten?” it sounds more like an accusation than a question.

Magnus gulps as he pivots to face his father standing in the doorway. His mind races as he tries to find the correct, appeasing answer. If he said that he had eaten only to find out that Asmodeus has left him something to eat he was sure to be faced with anger at his ungratefulness. However, if he said no he hadn’t eaten that too could enrage his father and bring on a lecture about how he needs to look after his body right if he is ever going to achieve anything in his miserable life. Both were equally likely and unlikely, the turmoil in Magnus’ head had caused too much of a delay in replying.

“It’s a simple enough question boy. Have you eaten?” His voice is harsh and patronising.

“I…” Magnus clears his throat, refusing with the last of his strength to show weakness. “I had something small a few hours ago.” It wasn’t a lie as he had managed to swallow down some of the homemade soup given to him by Tessa.

Asmodeus strides over to the fridge, he removes a small bowl and thrusts it towards Magnus. “Eat this, I can see you’ve worked hard today,” his eyes flick down to Magnus’ trembling legs. Magnus takes the offered bowl as his father continues. “And I will not have it said that I let my son starve and burn out. As you know my reputation is important and I can do without people whispering that I don’t provide for my only son. Am I clear?”

“Yes father.” His face is emotionless as he watches Asmodeus retreat. This was the worst of all the moods from his father. The feigning concern only to really be caring about how things could look from the outside. It also signalled the beginning of another rough patch. The anticipation was precedent now, that over the next few days his father would be getting progressively worse. The cruel mind tricks and gruelling scrutiny. He reluctantly sits at the table to swallow down the food given to him by his father. Each bite tastes like ash and he can feel the bile rise in his throat. But still he perseveres knowing better than to refuse food from Asmodeus. With the last mouthful down, he quickly washes up before dashing to the bathroom where his stomach proceeds to empty itself.

Magnus allows his body to sag, head falling back against the tiled bathroom wall as his eyes close. He could taste the acid in his mouth, the fire down his throat more of a comfort than it ever had any right to be. He concentrates on steadying his breathing, with a lot of effort he manages to pull himself up from the floor and onto shaky legs. Flushing the toilet, he uses the sink tap to rinse his mouth and quickly brush his teeth before retreating to his room.

He pulls off his clothes and collapses onto the bed, no energy to put on any pyjamas; he feels totally drained. A buzzing next to him cuts through the dark haze. Face a contortion of confusion he reaches for his phone and opens a text from an unknown number.

Hey, it’s Alec. Sorry that it’s so late, I have only just got chance to message you. Thank you for letting me have your number. Does tomorrow at 7pm work for you? If not let me know when does. Sorry again, Alec.

Magnus smiles as he reads the message, relieved that he hadn’t hallucinated after all. He bites down on his bottom lip as he tries to word a reply, worried that he may write something wrong, or word it wrong and ruin things before they even had a chance to start. With a message written out he feels anxiety rise about how long it has taken him to reply. Before he could delay any longer or talk himself out of replying at all he presses send.

Hey Alec, you have no reason to apologise. 7pm should be fine for me, where shall I meet you? Magnus

He saves the number and fiddles with his phone as he waits for a reply. The minutes drag on, the brief flicker of light that had sparked within him upon receiving Alec’s text quickly vanishes. He stares up at the ceiling, a dull burning in his stomach barely surpasses the numbness in his mind. He swallows as tears fill his eyes, he could not recall a time that he had felt so truly lost and detached. Before a tear has a chance to fall, his phone buzzes softly against his skin on his chest. It takes his mind a moment to register the vibration.

With a deep breath Magnus opens the message, unable to stop the twinge at the edge of his lips as he sees Alec’s name.

Is the Hunter’s Moon okay for you?

Before Magnus has a chance to even click to reply, let alone write a message another text comes through.

Also, I know it’s not my place so forgive me. But you seemed pretty upset when I saw you earlier, is everything okay? I get that you probably don’t want to talk but the offer is there if you need to.

The message feels like he has taken a blow to the gut and heart simultaneously. It throws him off balance and causes a release of everything he had desperately been trying to keep hold of. He draws his legs up and sobs into his knees; mindful even in this state to keep the noise down as to not alert his father to his weakness. Alec cared and that hurt. It hurts because Alec had no reason to care, not with everything Magnus had previously shared with him. It hurts because he had known for a very long time that he did not deserve for someone to care so much for him. And it hurts because it ignited that one tiny shred of a spark of hope that Alec could be interested in him. That maybe Alec felt their connection too. But, as always, his mind knew better.

With some shaky breaths he turns back to his phone, how on Earth was he meant to answer the latter message? He couldn’t burden Alec with the truth, what the hell even was the truth? But he also didn't want to lie to Alec, not an outright lie at any rate. Most importantly he didn’t want to screw up and scare Alec off.

Hunters moon sounds perfect.

And I’m sorry to have you worried, thank you for the offer but it’s getting late and I really need to get some sleep before training in the morning. Just having an off day. Look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Goodnight Alec.

He neglected to mention just how many ‘off days’ he had been having lately, but nothing in the message was a lie and that was what mattered; despite some details being omitted.

Look forward to seeing you tomorrow too. Goodnight Magnus, sleep well x

Magnus feels his heart flicker as his eyes linger on the little ‘x’ at the end of the message. Had he meant to send that to him? Was it merely an accident of habit, probably from texting his sister? He curses himself for ever even slightly believing that it was intentional. With one last look at the message he puts his phone on charge and turns off his lamp. Pulling up the covers he closes his eyes and pleads for his mind to go blank enough to allow for sleep take over. After what feels like an eternity of staring at blackness, his body’s exhaustion finally overcomes his mind. In reality it was just shy of two hours, but each minute of that time was agonisingly long, especially with his mind tormenting him each second.

***

The alarm blaring at him causes great panic to arise in his chest, he hastily silences his phone hoping that it had not awoken Asmodeus. He takes deep breaths to calm his fear and brings himself back to reality. It was only a dream, it’s not real. Magnus swallows, his mind unhelpfully adding ‘but it was real’.

He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and takes a moment, head in hands with his elbows resting on his knees. Eyes screwed shut he finds it almost impossible to motivate himself to begin the day. But the alternative, he shudders, the alternative is so much worse. He forces himself up and into his running gear.

As quietly as possible Magnus makes his way out of the house. Not feeling in the mood for anything in particular he puts his music on shuffle as he begins to jog. With an established rhythm he lets go of all the thoughts plaguing his mind and focuses instead on the beat of the music and burn in his body.

His muscles feel on fire as he neglects to turn the corner that marks his usual route. He wasn’t ready to turn back and so he just keeps running. He runs until his vision goes blurry and he has no choice but to slow down. He feels the nausea rising as he changes down into and fast walk and reluctantly points himself in the direction of home. Every breath is pain, every step his stomach threatens to violently bring up some acid. But he feels calm, calmer than he has for a while. His mind is at peace while his screaming body drowns his thoughts.

A couple of blocks from home and the dizziness reaches a new high. He stumbles and ends up collapsing against a wall, body trembling and legs buckling, barely able to support his weight. He closes his eyes tight and rests his forehead on the brick work, body spasming as he retches.

He knows he’s walking a thin line with how far he is pushing his body, he understands that one day something is going to give. But he doesn’t care, he has no space in his mind for any thoughts of self-care.

He grits his teeth against the bile and focuses on his breathing. After a moment he feels able to begin moving again. His mind determined, Magnus uses every ounce of strength he can gather into forcing his body forwards. He refused to allow himself to stop again, the fact that he had even had to stop at all was a sign of weakness. There was no excuse for weakness and it would not be tolerated in the Bane household, Asmodeus was always crystal clear about that.

Magnus’ hand shakes violently as he reaches for the door handle, the door feels like he’s trying to move a metal container. The edges of his vision are spotty and he cannot recall a time ever feeling so weak, he simply cannot show even the slightest glimmer of it. He has to be better than that, its expected. The short walk to the kitchen feels like a mile but with a small sliver of accomplishment he makes it there.

Grabbing a cup of coffee, he carefully lowers his body onto a chair at his place at the table. His muscles scream as he sits, and he has to really fight the urge to sag backwards in the seat. Knowing better than to have anything but perfect posture with his father in the house.

He slowly sips his coffee, thankful as his trembling begins to ease off. He eyes the oatmeal and fruit provided for him. With a sigh he brings the bowl of oatmeal closer and allows his hands to have a moment of comfort from the heat coming off of the bowl. Tentatively he scoops up a small spoonful and brings it to his mouth, to his relief as he swallows the nausea begins to ebb.

He adds a little fruit, mostly banana, to the bowl and gradually swallows it all down. His vision clears and the trembling stops as he takes a moment to allow the last mouthful to reach his stomach, grateful that his stomach had settled right down.

He quickly cleans the dishes and heads into the home gym. Not having time for his full usual workout, he settles for lifting some weights starting with dumbbells and ending with a bench press.

He manages to sneak past his father as he heads for a quick shower. Once dressed he slips out of the house unnoticed, releasing a sigh of relief he begins his journey to college.

Twenty minutes later he reaches campus and heads straight for the dance studios. He knows he should really check in with Raphael and Ragnor first but he simply doesn’t have the energy.

After stashing his bag, unsurprisingly Magnus is the first person into the rehearsal space. He puts on a track at random and begins a warm up, preparing his body for a hard morning of rehearsals.

As his classmates arrive they all follow his lead and join in warming up. Confident that his body was ready Magnus walks over to the side and leans against the wall, staring off into the distance. He almost jumps out of his skin when Cat appears next to him, talking in a quiet soothing voice. “Hey, how are you holding up? You don’t seem quite so tense today.”

Magnus sends her a small smile, “I’m doing okay,” he sounds sincere, “In fact…” he glances around to check that no one is eavesdropping. “You were right, about Alec…” Catarina just smiles and waits patiently for Magnus to continue on his own time. “He bumped into me on my way home last night and well…” Magnus swallows, still unsure of what to make of the next comment. “We’re meeting up for drinks this evening.”

Cat’s smile grows, “that’s great! Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t,” she winks at him. And before Magnus can find words to reply she walks away, leaving him with a slight blush and a flitter in his chest at the idea of something ever happening with Alec.

He takes a sip of water to calm himself, getting back into the zone. As Lorenzo makes his entrance the room goes silent, all eyes in his direction. He strides with elegance and purpose to the table at the front corner of the hall next to the sound system. He drops a clipboard down onto the table and turns to address the group. “Morning seniors. As you should all be aware the dance industry is highly competitive and as such only has a place for those who are not only talented and skilled, but those who can also demonstrate: discipline, diversity and dedication. As such this semester is going to be focused on pushing you out of your comfort zones. Just focusing on street these days is not nearly enough if you can’t prove yourself to be at least passable in other disciplines.” He halts in the middle of the front of the room and claps his hands together. “The winter showcase will be comprised of eighty percent choreography by yourselves, and the majority of this choreography will be focused on other areas of dance as opposed to street.” He smiles as he takes in their daunted expressions.

Magnus feels a spelt of anxiety but soon replaces it with excitement. There was always a part of him that wanted to be able to perfect other areas of dance, maybe being good in multiple disciplines would finally prove his worth to his father? While he wholeheartedly doubted that was even a possible achievement, he could at least hope to put his father in a good mood for a short period of time.

Lorenzo sets them a task of choreographing 32 counts each to a track he was about to play for them. Once they had listened to the track, he dismisses them to get on with their allocated task, adding a reminder about the sign-up sheets for the workshops being at the front of the room. Magnus makes a beeline for the workshop list, his eyes scan down the list, fuck it, what have I got to lose? He puts his name down for every single one offered. He was absolutely dreading the idea of ballet, but it was only a four-hour workshop so he knew that he could easily make it through. He just prays that Lorenzo doesn’t set ballet as his style for the showcase; he shudders at the thought.

Retreating to his usual space in the hall, it doesn’t take him long to come up with 32 counts. He plays around with some of the movements and finally settles on a sequence he is happy with. Before long Lorenzo stops them and gets them to all sit along the front, backs against the wall of mirrors. One by one they are to take it in turns to share their section. As always Lorenzo gives harsh criticism; he then gets each senior to make at least one positive, and one improvement point for each of their peers. Magnus goes third, happy to get the harsh words out of the way sooner rather than later. As Lorenzo counts him in, a facade takes over his body as he shares his sequence. He oozes confidence and fun, all the while being disciplined and in control. As the track is switched off he stands up straight, hands clasped behind his back ready to take criticism.

Instead of choosing who to start their feedback Lorenzo turns to the class and asks one simple question. “Who can think of point for improvement?” He is met with silence and uncomfortable glances. “Anyone? No one?” he probes. Lorenzo turns his stare back to Magnus who gulps under the intensity. “This, class. This is the calibre I expect from each and every one of you. Now while to my eyes it wasn’t faultless- but that is not the fault of Magnus but of being given so few counts to choreograph.”

Magnus doesn’t know how to feel, he had never heard such praise and it hit him like a punch to the gut. He could feel tears well in his eyes. His nails bite into his palms as he refuses to let his emotions overcome him.

“Magnus, would you mind performing again but this time I would like you to improvise a further 16 counts.”

Magnus swallows and nods, he gets into position and waits for the cue in the track to begin. As the 32 counts end he lets his body naturally flow and carry on for a further 16 counts. As he stops there is silence in the room. The sound of Lorenzo slowly clapping breaks the silence, his peers join in and Lorenzo strides over to him and claps him on the back. “Today you have proven your potential. Today there is nothing more for me to teach you. But tomorrow is a different story. You must stay to critique your peers then I am granting you the next hour off as a reward for the commitment that you have just demonstrated.

Magnus feels dazed, maybe his alarm didn’t go off and he’s still dreaming? He sits next to Cat who simply turns to mouth the word ‘wow’ at him before the next performer is up. At the end of all the performances Magnus finds himself still in a daze as he leaves the dance hall. Knowing that Raphael usually has a free period now he sends him a quick text to find his location and goes to meet him.

***

Magnus enters the library and scans the room for his friend. He frowns as he spots his friend doing what could only be described as laughing. Raphael didn’t laugh often, and more to the point he didn’t recognise the person causing the unusual behaviour. He slowly makes his way over to the two men, eyeing the stranger suspiciously; taking in his appearance which could only be defined in one single word, ‘nerdy’. Especially with the Star Wars top he was wearing.

Raphael catches sight of Magnus heading over and his usual stoic expression falls back into place as he makes eye contact. Magnus responds by raising an eyebrow and smirking; his eyes flickering briefly to the stranger as he approaches their table. “Sorry to interrupt,” Magnus pulls out a chair and takes a seat opposite Raphael.

“You’re not interrupting, Simon here was just leaving.” He shoots Simon a look who immediately flushes, eyes wide.

“I was?..I mean yeah I was. I totally have that thing, you know the thing with the music to be getting on with. And it’s like super important that I get to done so I really should…”

“Simon,” Raphael cuts him off with a stern but kind voice.

Simon clamps a hand over his mouth and takes a deep breath. Magnus watches the two of them with an amused smile on his face, who knew that while he was usually working his ass off in rehearsals Raphael was hiding out in the library with a total nerd that Magnus couldn’t help but notice he was fond of. Which was very unusual and getting information out of Raphael later would be a welcome distraction from the dark hole he had dug himself into of late.

“Sorry I kinda talk a lot. I’m Simon by the way which I guess you already got from Raphael saying it twice. But anyway…” Raphael clears his throat but Magnus is paying enough attention to his friend to notice the small hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Nice to meet you Magnus and I guess I’ll see you around Raph.” Simon awkwardly leaves and Magnus feels a strange sensation as Simon knows his name without Magnus uttering a word

He shrugs it off assuming Raphael must’ve told him as he returns his mind to the present. “Raph huh?”

Raphael groans and rubs his hands across his face. “I’m sorry about Simon, his mouth goes over time but he’s harmless and means well.”

Magnus smirks and quirks his eyebrow, “oh yeah?”

Raphael's eyes instantly widen at the comment from Magnus, cheeks becoming a lovely pink colour.

Magnus shakes his head, “don’t worry I’m not here to tease. I know you’ll tell me in your own time should you want me to know. You know, about how you’re turning into a nerd.”  His voice is only lightly teasing. “No but seriously, I won’t utter another word unless you want to talk about it.” Magnus looks down to his hands on the table, fingers fidgeting as exhaustion already hits from such a small interaction. He remembers back to a time when he lived to be around others and now...Now he just wanted to curl up in a dark corner and just have everything stop for a while.

A gentle touch to his hand causes Magnus to jolt, broken out of his spirally thoughts his gaze follows from the finger up the arm and to the source of his broken reverie. “Thank you,” Raphael says sincerely. Magnus smiles weakly. “Who can I thank for actually getting some time to spend with you?”

“Lorenzo let me off the rest of rehearsals today, it seems that I managed to do the impossible and actually impress him.”

Raphael’s eyebrows shoot up at the information, “wow that’s incredible. You must be so pleased with yourself.” Magnus shrugs, his body sagging slightly. Raphael waits patiently for Magnus to make eye contact before continuing. “I’m proud of you.”

Magnus struggles to keep control of his emotions at his friend’s words. He feels his eyes fill with tears and grits his teeth to keep them from spilling.

Raphael stands and gestures with his head, his hand coming to rest gently on Magnus’ shoulder. “Come on, let’s go somewhere more private so that we can talk.” With a caring squeeze Raphael walks away, glancing back only briefly to ensure that Magnus was following.

As Magnus walks behind his friend he can feel the anxiety rise in his belly. Despite initial appearances Raphael was actually the easiest of his friends to talk to, there was a deep connection between the two men- stronger than a family bond that neither could explain. Magnus tries to reassure himself that Raphael had always been there for him, with unconditional love, no matter what he had shared. But his anxiety was a plague, and oh did it like to taunt and torment him into not listening to reason or logic.

Raphael leads Magnus to an unfamiliar part of campus. He brings him into a small, cosy room with soft lighting, comfy chairs and a computer in the corner. The room was complete with a coffee machine and Magnus wondered just how few students knew that this area existed. And how on Earth Raphael came to know of it. They make themselves comfortable and enjoy a moment of silence before it turns awkward.

“I know that you’ve been struggling a lot lately and I’m sorry if it seemed like I haven’t been there for you much.”

“You have no reason to be sorry.”

Raphael takes a steadying breath, “it’s just that I’ve had something going on myself that I’ve tried to keep from all of you as best I could. But now I guess I just need someone to know? And there’s no one else I would rather turn to, providing that it won’t be too much for you?”

Magnus shakes his head and gently holds Raphael’s hand, “not at all. I’m here for you always.”

“And I, you,” Raphael counters, gripping righter onto Magnus’ hand. “It’s my mom, she’s been really sick and the doctors…” his voice falters and he takes a moment to swallow down his emotions. “The doctors don’t know if there is anything more that they can do for her. She’s just started an experimental treatment as a last resort.”

“Oh Raphael, how long have you been keeping this to yourself?” Magnus rubs his thumb over the back of the other man’s hand in a comforting gesture.

“Six months,” his grip firms on Magnus’ hand as he wipes a stray tear from his eye. “So that’s me. You ready to talk about you?” his voice is low and non-pressuring.

Magnus hangs his head and closes his eyes; it takes a lot of effort but after a few moments of silence he manages to open up to Raphael. “You know more than most the pressure I can be under, and my father-he…” Magnus gulps. “I’ve never seen him so...unstable. His mood changes at the drop of a hat with no rhyme or reason as to why. He hates that I’m here and not pursuing a proper career, but when it was just disapproval to contend with I could cope now…” Magnus sighs. “Now it’s like he’s personally invested in me, and that I have to be better than the best otherwise-otherwise it’s his life I’m ruining and staining with my existence.”

Raphael repositions so that his arm draws Magnus closer, his hand rubbing his shoulder as Raphael listens to everything Magnus is willing to share. Showing Magnus how much he cares with an intimate embrace that with almost anyone else he would be averse to.  And Magnus recognises this, it causes his voice to die in his throat for a moment at the realisation of how much his friend truly loved and cared for him.

After a few calming breaths he is able to speak again. “And then one day, I found myself just wandering, trying to clear my head and work out if chasing this dream of mine was even worth it. Was it even something I truly wanted to become reality?” He huffs, “Sometimes I can’t help but feel that it’s all a waste of time and energy. And then…” A small smile ghosts across Magnus’ lips. “I feel it, the euphoria and feelings of belonging. Those moments are rare now.” He frowns for a moment before getting back on track. “Anyway, I somehow managed to meet this...incredible person. Someone who just wanted to listen, share and be this positive presence in my life. And for a brief period of time I felt like I could start to get better, that one day I could walk around without this black cloud dragging me down.”

“What happened?” Raphael’s voice is soft with a strain of emotion.

“They stopped showing up, and it was then, really, that I truly realised how much our moments together meant to me. How much they helped. But…” Magnus’ sad smile turns brighter as he bites his bottom lip and pulls away from Raphael, turning to face away. His mind a turmoil of debate about really telling Raphael about Alec, or just leaving things vague. While Raphael knew about his sexuality he had never been in this position before. Never before had a man played on his mind so much, drawn him in completely.

“It’s me, whatever it is you’re conflicted about saying remember that nothing you say to me will ever damage our friendship. You’re my best friend because of the person you are.”

Magnus smiles at him, “you’re my best friend for the same reasons.” He clears his throat as to brace himself for what he was about to say. “Long story short he found me in the street and I’m seeing him tonight.”

“Seeing him as in seeing him ? Or just seeing him?” There was no judgment, only curiosity in Raphael’s tone.

“I...I’m not...he asked me if I wanted to meet up for drinks…”

“Do you want it to be more than drinks?” Raphael keeps his voice neutral.

Magnus looks down at his hands resting on his lap, he can’t bring himself to speak and so elects to just nodding his head. Bracing himself for Raphael to lash out at the idea of him feeling that way for a man; as his anxiety screams at him that he had just messed up. But Raphael’s mood doesn’t change, his demeanour remains the same. “Tell me about him?”

Magnus shoots him a look, eyebrows raised, “seriously? Since when have you wanted to hear anyone talk about their crushes?”

“Since it’s you, and I can already tell that he is special to you. Besides if he hurts you I am going to need all the information I can get to make him pay.” He speaks the latter in a dead serious tone, and Magnus knew his friend was being totally sincere.

Before long he finds himself gushing to his friend about Alexander Lightwood, sharing stories and explaining as best he could just why he felt such a strong connection with him. He feels lighter than he had for a while enjoying having such a nice, carefree moment with his best friend. A moment where he can be himself and not have to worry about filtering what he says or hide part of him. It had been years since he had experienced a time like this with just Raphael and himself. Both men not knowing how much they missed or needed this time until now.

But it can’t last forever, soon enough they have to leave their quiet retreat and make their way back to the main campus in order to join with their other friends. It’s only on the walk back that Magnus starts to feel guilty. He had just left Catarina to face the wrath of Lorenzo on her own, what was he thinking? He mentally scolds himself for being so selfish and not thinking of the affect him getting out of rehearsals early would have on the rest of the group.

Raphael’s quiet voice almost startles him, “you’re beating yourself up again.” It was a statement not a question. Raphael sighs and stops Magnus, gently using Magnus’ arm to steer and turn the man to face himself. “What’s wrong Magnus? Only a few moments ago you seemed so much lighter than I have seen you these past few weeks. What’s changed?”

“I’m just worried about Cat; I left her with Lorenzo and didn’t even look back.”

“Just an idea, instead of worrying and beating yourself up. Why don’t you just go and talk to her?”

“You’re right,” Magnus admits. He wishes he could stop his mind from always jumping to the worst possible outcome. But it was futile. With the way things were for him currently he just couldn’t see a way out. No way of being able to heal his mind, build himself up and look forward to a future.

[leadpaintrose]

Ok, So How Do We Want To Do This

A Critical Role (Vox Machina) ficlet. Look, this is a really stupid, self-indulgent piece of fic, but I’m also really pleased with it and I’m trying to at least put stuff up here, so there you go. All of it under the cut. 

Inspiration 

 At the beginning of the most recent episode I watched (Episode 22, I think), Matthew Mercer made a comment about how the Critters were slowly “turning us into our characters”, and I just had to run with it. I had recently found their second intro video, albeit one that was quite a few episodes in the future of where I was up to, but it immediately inspired me as well.  

 So, How Do We Want to Do This? 

 The darkness rang with their groans well before any light blossomed. They called out to each other, seeking reassurance that they weren’t alone. Those who had been sitting together reached out, grabbing hands and shoulders and sighing with relief. Matthew, alone at the DM’s table as he had been, spoke loudly.  

 “Everyone still here? All accounted for?” he asked, hopeful and afraid. One by one, they all responded, everyone relieved to hear to each distinct voice, though most of them were tinged with some pain from the unceremonious fall.  

 “Where the hell are we?” Travis asked the room at large.  

 “I don’t know,” Liam responded, “But, more importantly, how do we get out of here?” 

 “So many would be delighted to be where you find yourself.” 

 A voice sounded in the darkness, the direction from which it spoke impossible to follow. It wasn’t coming from everywhere, it wasn’t surrounding them, but each direction seemed just as likely as the others. Sam spoke into the darkness, clinging to Marisha’s hand.  

 “Well, we aren’t them. We’d like to leave. Can you help us?” 

 “Though, I suppose,” the voice continued, ignoring his question, “so many would also be terrified to be brought to this place.” 

 The room suddenly filled with light, and the group closed their eyes against the sharp brightness. The warm glow of tallow candles shone around them, though they couldn’t spot any individual candlesticks. The walls were a rich wood, and the room they stood in was almost perfectly circular. It was totally devoid of any furniture, and the roof rose high overhead, but no-one spared a glance upwards. All eight of them stared at the figure in the centre of the room, a mix of fear, confusion, and some intrigue in their face.  

 The figure – a woman, tall, fiercely red-headed and pale – smiled at them, her hands folded neatly in front of her. She slowly turned as she spoke, taking them all in, and meeting each of their eyes.  

 “Welcome. No doubt you have many questions. As do I.” 

 Working from instincts he did not know he had, Liam pulled a blade from his belt and threw it at the woman standing in the center of the circle. She casually turned to face him, plucking the blade out of the air as it sped towards her. A quick movement of her fingers sent it shooting back, flying an inch to the left of his face to embed itself into the wood behind him. He swore, flinching away from the blade, speaking in a language he had not taught his tongue. The confusion and blossoming realization in his eyes were matched by the shocked understanding on Laura and Marisha’s faces, as all three realized he had sworn in Elvish.  

 “That was the very height of rudeness, Vax’ildan. I would have expected at least some of your upbringing to force better habits into your instincts. Though, half-elves always were a tricky breed to predict, hm?” 

 Small blue sparks flickered around Sam’s fingertips, coalescing into a writhing ball of bluish-purple lightning. He opened his palm, throwing a bolt of thick lightning at her back. She held her hand up behind her, and the energy fizzled into nothingness inches from her palm. She turned to him, blue lightning now crackling from her eyes. He took an involuntary step back, holding his hands up in a placating gesture.  

 “Anyone else want to try attacking me?” she asked the room at large, turning to look square at Travis, holding a large axe comfortably across one shoulder. He shook his head, calmness in his stance betrayed by wildly darting eyes and a twitching vein in his forehead. Seeming to finally realize the weight on his shoulder, he looked at the axe in shock.  “Good. Glad to see you all learn eventually.  

 “I see you, Rogue!” the woman declared, turning back to Vax, a conjured gust of wind throwing back his hood as he attempted to sneak around her. “Do not presume to be able to surprise me.” 

 “What is going on?” Ashley asked, falteringly. The woman snarled at Liam, forcing him back into his spot, before turning to smile, almost gently, at Ashely. “A good start, young Cleric. Not the best question, but often important to at least try.” 

 “Who are you?” Laura spoke, “And why do you talk to us like we are our characters?” The woman looked at her, clearly amused.  

 “Why, simply because you are them. In form, in skills, in memories, in actions. They are you, just as you are them. You chose them, you created them, did you not?” 

 “But, they aren’t who we really are!” Marisha shouted in desperate panic, releasing all her nervous energy at once. The woman turned her gaze on Marisha, and the she shied back from the blazing fire in the strange woman's eyes.  

 “Aren’t they? Then why, Druid, were you able to so effectively cast Grasping Vine on me?” she asked, pointing slowly to the ground, and cocking her head to one side. A small ring of vines had burst from the ground at the woman’s feet, and had woven themselves around her ankles and up her legs. A bright flash, and the tendrils were burning, writhing away to fall in charred piles on the floor. Marisha clutched her head as the pained cries of the plants echoed in her mind– she seemingly the only one who could hear them.  

 “Those are characters – they aren’t our names, or what we are!” Taliesin interjected angrily, though with no little fear.  

 The woman stepped closer to him, moving with slightly unnatural grace. “And yet, gunslinger” she said, almost seeming to spit the word, “you all wear the robes of those of Vox Machina.” 

 Almost as one, the eight of them turned their gazes first downwards, and then outwards to their friends. Indeed, all of them were wearing the clothes that they had worn in the introduction video they had shot for the game. But these felt different. Each outfit was perfectly tailored to them, fitting with clean lines and a sense of real belonging. A magical electricity pulsed through the items that they knew to be magical, though they had been simple props in their world.  

 “And you,” the woman said suddenly, spinning and taking quick steps towards Matthew. He was wearing the Dungeon Master robes he had been in the introduction video, but there was a shimmering quality to them. Parts of them faded in and out of existence slowly, sometimes changing to look completely different. “He of the Pretty Face, and Many, Many Voices. You lead these all so well.” 

 “No,” he said, swallowing down the fear. “I am not the leader here.” 

 “Yeah,” Sam piped up nervously, unable to stop himself, “we all do our own thing. Just together.” 

 The woman did not move her gaze, seemingly completely ignoring Sam, though a shock of electricity through his body caused him to sink to one knee, crying out in pain. Ashley hurried next to him, clutching the holy symbol around her neck, closing her eyes, and laying a hand on him. They looked at each other in shock as light spilled from between her fingers, and his pain faded.   

 “No. You don’t lead, do you? No, you...you control them. You are their Master. You create, and they step so willingly into what you create for them to face. Without fear, yes, but without much choice either. How quickly you could destroy them all, rob them of everything, of their lives. Of other things far, far more important. 

 “What would you be in this?” 

 Matthew swallowed again, panting faintly, unable to break the lock she held on his gaze. “Whatever is needed.”  

 She paused, then broke out into silvery laughter, peals of it rising and falling delicately. The laughter quickly turned scornful and mocking.  

 “Just a good answer. So honourable and helpful and disgustingly honest. We shall see what you really are. Although....” she paused, considering. She cocked her head again, seeming to gaze at his soul itself. “The cloth still ripples, even now. Perhaps that really is who you are...” 

 She flipped a hand, and the tension left Matthew’s body, causing him to sag slightly, and pant heavily. “No matter. We will find out soon enough.” 

 “Now,” she said, clasping hands together, and slowly turning to look at each of them, “Ask your questions.” 

 “What are you?” Liam asked. The woman turned delighted eyes on him. 

 “Ah, finally. A good question. So much better than “Who?” You always were my favourite.” 

 She settled into a relaxed pose. “I am... a guide, of sorts.” she answered. “Here to assist through what is to come – as much as I am able to, of course. I am, perhaps, the only friendly face you will see here.” 

 “Friendly?!” Travis asked, incredulously, “Dumping us all here, attacking us, demanding questions – you call that friendly?!” 

 Laura put a hand on Travis’ arm. “What are we doing here?” she asked.  

 “What indeed?” the woman responded, face a careful study of neutrality.  

 “Why did you bring us here?” Sam asked. 

 She shook her head. “I did not bring you here, Bard. Those Who Watch brought you here. I am merely their servant.” 

 Ashley gasped softly, the sharp intake of air drawing the woman’s eyes.  “Then you are the One Who Knows. The Keeper.” 

 The woman inclined her head towards Ashley. “A keen mind, young Gnome. Sarenrae teaches her Clerics well.”  

 Marisha's eyes widened at the woman’s titles, hands moving in the first motions of a spell, a few leaves gathering against her feet. The loud click of Taliesin’s gun cocking echoed in the still air. The woman, The Keeper, looked at both of them with disapproval, as the rest of their friends looked at them with shocked concern, those with weapons quickly finding their hilts and handles.  

 “If you know my name, you know that it will take a lot to kill me.” the woman cautioned. “If you even can. Are you really willing to take that fight, and lose any chance of my assistance and kindness?”  

 Marisha released a soft growl, but the magical energy pulsing between her palms dissipated. Taliesin did not lower his gun, keeping it firmly trained on the woman’s chest. She once again inclined her head, acknowledging his right to the gesture.  

 She turned suddenly, grabbing Liam’s arm as it pushed a dagger dripping black poison towards her neck. The colour fled from his face as she glared at him from inches away. “Even your advantage cannot impact me, little half-elf.” His fingers twitched as she tightened her fingers around his wrist.  

 “But with his other hand, while she was distracted, Vax slid his dagger of life-stealing into the creature’s side.” Matthew’s words ran out through the room, a sense of power behind them. Liam’s hand moved of its own accord, driving the dagger towards her waist. He cried out in pain as the dagger dropped to the ground from suddenly loose fingers, a soft thud on the dirt floor before the dagger reappeared on his belt. Still staring into his eyes, she released her grip, and Liam dropped to the ground as well. He scrabbled away from her, rubbing his wrists and working his fingers.  

 “Excellent attempt, sir,” she acknowledged, looking at Matthew, who stooped over, grimacing and rubbing massaging fingers into his temples. “Unfortunately, this is not your game. You are not the Master here.” 

 Ashley approached Liam, pausing for a second, checking that The Keeper would not stop her. When the woman did not look at her, Ashley knelt down beside Liam, grasping his hand and her holy symbol, pouring healing energy through him. He gasped as the cold washed over him. The effort drained her far less than she expected.   

 “Well then. If there are no more questions.” the Keeper said, clasping her hands, completely ignoring the few who tried to speak, “it is time that you began.” The shape of a door suddenly burned itself into the wood behind Matthew, swinging open silently as the ornately carved door sprung into existence. The Keeper pointed towards it. “That way lies your quest. I look forward to seeing how you succeed.” She grinned, teeth perfectly white and straight. “As I’m sure you all will.” 

 With a final inclination of her head, she was gone.  

[theundeadmemelord]

Crash landing: Going down in fire

A dull red light flashed slowly, the only light left in the dark room. A low beeping growl was heard throughout the ship as steam was released from broken pipes. The ship creaked as the metal and the short, largish man, groaned. He sat up and rubbed his injured head. Wincing, he drew his hand back to see a faint bit of blood on his hand. Wonderful he thought, as he stumbled to his feet, dusting off and adjusting his bright red coat and searching for his hat.

Squinting his bright blue eyes, he scanned the dark hall way. One side had completely caved in, the metal warped and melted with waves of heat coming off it. The other way was barely intact and awkwardly curved upward, the ships inner pipes and circuits sticking out from the walls like the maw of some metallic beast. The circuits sparked on and off and the pipes let put whistling bouts of smoke. The man huffed and coughed a bit as he smoothed his jet black hair. First things first- he had to find his hat.

He navigated his way through the tangled mess of pipes and wires, yelping as he nearly got electrocuted for the second time. He emerged from the metallic jungle and cambered up the halls unnatural slope, all the while keeping an eye out for his hat. The walls gave off waves of heat and the metal looked like it was heating up quick. The exit doors where shut but one was half off its hinges, allowing a bit of light to peek through a hole made by the upset doorway. He sheltered his eyes from the sudden light and made his way towards the doors, feeling the heat that waved off it. He coughed again and tried to pry the doors open, only to quickly pull them away with a cry of pain as the hot metal burned his hands. Blowing on them to cool the burn he glared at the door and coughed out a few curses. Suddenly getting an idea he hurried back down the slope and grabbed one of the broken pipes, pulling down hard, the pipe popping off the others with a loud CLANG. Smiling triumphantly, he hurried back to the door and jammed the pipe into the hole. He put all his weight into turning the pipe, grunting as one door bent under the pressure and a small gap was made. Good enough!! He thought, coughing as he tried to breath through the smokey air. He squeezed through the gap, wincing as the hot metal pressed against his side. He tumbled out of the ship and down a pile of scalding rocks and debri. He yelped and cursed with every bounce until he finally face planted into the earth below. .

Groaning loudly he slowly got up, rubbing his head and grumbling as he spat out a clump of dirt. He glared at the area around him, a barren crater made by his ship...HIS SHIP!!! Leaping to his feat he whirled around yelling “No no no- NOOOOO!!!!!!!!” He fell to his knees at the sight. The once sleek, intimidating, shiny red space ship was now crumpled and torn. Smoke billowed out of what looked more like a crumpled tin can then engines and the hull itself was bent out of place with metal beams sticking haphazardly here and there. The top engine thruster was on fire making the scene look like a metallic birthday cake- if someone had smashed the birthday cake several times before sitting on it and throwing it to the ground.

He fell to his knee’s as he looked at the wreck. The cargo, his crew, but most importantly his 100,000 pon ship was gone. Destroyed because of this stupid planet and its stupid floating boulder that had hit his beautiful ship.“CURSE YOU SPACE!!!” He yelled to the sky. He leapt up, shaking his fists at the sky angrily before turning and storming up to the crater wall. His anger only grew as he kept sliding off the wall every time he tried to climb up it. With each attempt his growl grew louder and louder until he finally yelled “ENOUGH!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-” and charged like a mad bull, at the wall. Short legs pumping as fast as they could, he screamed his way up out of the crater and fell onto his face upon reaching the top. Breathing heavy he looked back at the crash sight and wheezed out a triumphant laugh “HA-HAAAA!! Take THAT you over grown hole!!...” His face fell upon seeing his ship once more. A few memories of him and his crew flashed before his eyes, as well as the day he first bought the ship....His beautiful ship. He grunted, looking away and wiping his face as he stood. Coughing, he looked about, trying to gain an idea of his surroundings. The area was hot, blisteringly hot. There was little to no grass or plant life, mostly just tan stone, dirt, and lots of ash. Heat radiated off the stones around the red coated man, and scattered around the place was a few large cracks in the ground. The cracks seemed to glow, and upon him glancing down one he realized that it was because they where filled with lava. Off in the near distance he could see what was most likely the cause of said lave. A humongous volcano sat, slowly dripping lava as waves of heat where visibly seen coming off it. Sulfur, ash and smoke filled the air and made it almost unbreathable. The man coughed and wheezed as he turned away from the volcano- to spot a small red figure hiding behind a large boulder watching him. More importantly, the figure had his hat!!!! “HEY, SMALL RED ONE!!!” He yelled, coughing a bit as he briskly walked towards them. The figure jumped and took off with his hat. “HEY!!!! GET BACK HERE YOU!!!!” He roared, choking a bit on some ash and giving chase.

What felt like hours of running later, the red figure finally slid down and out of sight. At this point, the red coated man was sweating buckets, panting as he jogged and tried to keep up. His vision was blurring slightly and he was fairly certain the dancing birds in his field of vision weren’t suppose to be there. He tripped on his own feet and tumbled down dusty slope, flopping onto the almost burning stone below. He blearily blinked, trying to get the world to stop spinning as he rolled onto his back and stared up at the burning sky. The last few things he saw before blacking out was a red cloaked child with a mustache, and two tall stone figures....And his hat

He awoke, the first thing he registered was that where ever he was was cool. Much cooler then where he had just been. The second thing was that the dancing birds where gone, which he could only hope to be a good thing. He groaned and coughed as he slowly sat up, blinking a bit as his eyes adjusted to the dim light around him. The stone all around was a dark grey and to his right was a wall of what looked like sturdy metal bars. To his left was a stone wall and at the top was a small barred window, heat waves radiating around it but some how the heat wasn’t getting in. He could hear slight movement outside the wall of bars, and soon realized he was in a prison of some sort, although he couldn’t see any of the other people in their cells from where he was. “Well howdy sugar!” He jumped and whirled to look at the humanoid feline sitting by the wall across from him “Who are you and where is my hat?!” He growled The calico cat like person blinked and chuckled “Sorry sugar, I’m not sure where your hat is. I’m Cookie, I use to be her majesties chef..before I tried to feed her some vegetables I managed to grow.” Cookie’s ears drooped as their expression turned almost sad “One small mishap, and she had my garden burned and threw me in here...” They brightened slightly “But at least its cool....any way, whats your name?” The red coated man huffed, “Barlo, Boss of the interstellar Mafia- who is in charge here?!” Cookie smiled “Nice to meet you Barlo, and that would be her majesty.... also known as Queen Mu. You likely met her on your way in. Red cloak, small crown,-” “Mustache?” Barlo asked, narrowing his eyes Cookie nodded “Yup..She’s sweet I promise..just as long as you follow the rules.” Barlo stood, huffing “The little brat has my hat!! Rules or not- I AM MAFIA!!! I DON’T FOLLOW ANYONES RULES!!! HEE-YA!!!” He punched the wall and held the punch a few seconds. “....OOOOW!!” He pulled his hand away and shrieked Cookie quickly got up, limping a bit as she moved over “Oh goodness sugar are you ok? Also...That wall is actually submerged underground, its not gonna break...also its solid stone..” “I CAN SEE THAT!!!” He grumbled, holding his hand. “Well then why’d you punch it?! You might have seriously hurt yourself sugar!!” Cookie huffed, ears perking up as she put her hands on her hips, and had to lean against the wall for support. Barlo growled something about her not being the boss of him and glanced at her bandaged leg. He shook his hand and growled “When I see that mustached brat I’m gonna-” There was a sudden rumble of what sounded like thunder from outside and the tow immediately looked through the small window. Outside there seemed to be a small town made of stone, with stone statues standing around everywhere. It was still aside from the wind that began to pick up speed. In the sky there seemed to be two distant..somethings, slowly making their way off into the distance. What ever they where, they looked to be on fire a bit. “What in the world is that?” Barlo asked, squinting at the things “...I saw something like that earlier...Just a couple hours before you showed up...” Cookie said, looking very concerned, her feline face, her ears flattening against her head “...I think..those might be other people...” Barlo scoffed “After what ever hit my ship...I could see it. Theres something about this planet thats just..cursed.” Cookie glanced at him “Your just saying that because you lost your hat, aren't you?” He sent her a glare “No!!..maybe a little- But my gut is telling me somethings wrong here, and my gut is never wrong!!” Cookie nodded, looking back up at the sky “Sure sugar...”

[zeciex]

Obsidian & Angelite The Final: From the Ashes a New World

Warning: Dark themes, blood, torture, death and just...carnage 

A/N: Since tumblr kills everything with links, I’ll reblog this post with the links to previous chapters and archive link

Oya touched the stone around her neck, fingers tickling with a need to destroy it and release the energy within but a thought stirred amidst the need of that. A thoughtful expression formed on her face, heart thumping in her chest and breath strained. It was a risk, she knew that, but it was one that was carefully considered and most importantly, one that would most certainly work. Oya turned to the mantle above the fireplace, taking the knife that had been previously placed there, before turning around to a perplexed expression on Michael's face. She placed the knife in his hands, once more entrusting him with her life.

“They won’t see me as a threat,” she explained. Michael turned fully to her, one hand brushing her cheek in a loving caress. There was something feral in his eyes, a spark of wild that made her heart beat harder as adrenaline was released.

“Show me,” Michael drawled, closing in on her. Oya to the hand in which he held the knife, slowly guiding it to where it would do minimal damage but cause quite the sight. The tip of the knife traced over the fabric. His hand felt burning in her own smaller hand. Their eyes remained at one another, hers filled with anticipation of the pain and his with something she couldn’t describe. The look on his face was one she had never seen before, not fully.

Oya licked her lips and took a breathed out. Michael kissed her, his mouth latched onto hers so quickly it made her head spin and then the pain came, it cut through her and caused her to hitch her breath ready to scream when Michael swallowed up her pained wail with his fiery mouth. Her hands fisted in his jacket, clutching the fabric for life while her knees threatened to cave in. A tear rolled down her cheek, wiped away by Michaels' thumb as he continued to kiss her until she had steadied herself.

Michael pulled apart from her, his breath tickling over her ashen face, his eyes fierce with adoration. Her action, the very plan she had come up with, one that he hadn’t even thought off was only showing how right she was. She was the sun, the moon, the stars. She was life and death, beginning and end. She was a goddess and he was willing to worship at her alter. “I love you more than you could possibly fathom.”

“Oh, I can fathom it,” she whispered, hand strengthening around his. With bated breath she pulled the knife out, small whines escaping her as she watched the crimson blade leave her body and the blood that followed turning the purple fabric a strange abugine. One shaking hand came to put pressure on the wound, the blood rising between her thin pale fingers.

She hissed at the pain and then swallowed it, moving on unsteady legs away from Michael’s warmth that she wanted to wrap herself in. “Give me a few moments before coming out.”

“Oya,” Michael said and brought back the attention on him. “Don’t underestimate them, you’ll know when the time comes to break the spell.”

Oya nodded in agreement and moved past Mrs. Mead who went to help take the bloody jacket off of her boy.

“Because you’re special, Mallory, and we need you,” A voice said, travelling along the stone walls to where Oya was. Her steps sounded, alerting the group ahead of her that someone was coming. There were hushed words said before silence. Oya let out a strangled sob, tears pouring from her dark eyes while her lips quivered. Each step sent a jabbing pain through her body threatening to bring her to her knees. How feeble human bodies were.

“Please, someone,” she cried coming around the corner to be met by 5 pairs of eyes all looking over her weak from. The wall was cold to the touch, her hand sticking to the surface as she leaned against it in an attempt to keep standing, sweat pearling at her temples. “She-she stabbed me...I-I” Her voice cracked. Oya tried to cross the room to them, legs unsteady underneath her.

“Who the fuck are you, bitch?” A blond cursed at her, bobbing her hip out and placing a hand on it. Obviously, she didn’t find Oya’s presence a threat, all of them must know she had no magic, they could feel it and still the older blond woman, whom Oya recognized as Cordelia, was still suspicious.

“Oya,” Mallory said, arms reaching out to welcome the wounded woman. “What happened?”

“You weren’t with the others,” Cordelia said with evident skepticism.

“I wasn’t feeling well and went to my room and-and Mrs. Mead found me when I headed back to the party, she-she stabbed me!” Oya stammered, looking down at the bloody evergrowing spot on her dress, removing her hand to show it’s crimson covered palm before weakly covering the wound once more. She looked up with swimming pained eyes, lips quivering as she tried to hold back sobs. “She said everyone was dead, you were all dead, how are you here?”

“Are we really trusting this bitch?”

“Oya, look at me,” Cordelia commanded hand taking hold on Oya’s arm. “I know you’re hurt and confused but it's important that you listen.” The seriousness in her voice cut through the pain and demanded attention. If the situation was different Oya would have found the Supreme before her interesting enough befriend, there would have been a lot to learn from one another. But as the situation was, Oya knew that the biggest threat came from both the Supreme and the girl whose arms were currently wrapped around her to hold her up. “You need to stay with Mallory, make sure she survives so that the rest of us can survive. It is important, without her we’re all doomed, do you understand?”

“I-,”

“It’s a yes or no answer,” the bitchy blond cut in, stepping threateningly close. This witch she would have obliterated on sight, she reminded her of Coco somehow. Oya nodded rapidly, stammering ‘yes’ over and over.

“Good, because we need all of you,” Cordelia voiced sternly with the aura of a true Supreme.

“You’re on your own with that shit!” Dinah spat at the witches. “I made a billion dollars in TV and all I ever did was struggle the fence. I sure as hell not dumpin’ that strategy here, sisters. I haven’t promised anything, I haven’t signed anything and I’m not here to defeat anyone.” Dinah walked with sure steps towards them, eyes fixed on the Supreme. This was the first show of her character, a woman willing to do whatever it takes to survive and come out on top. It was admirable, a trait Michael would see fit for the new world. If she had revealed this side of her before Oya would have liked her so much more than she already did, there was something strong about it. But the act she had chosen would have worked, just like her own did, if it weren’t for Michael’s involvement. Venable would never have seen this coming.

“Who cares! As if you could defeat anyone with that backwards voodoo shit,” the youngest blond said, arms crossed and eyes rolling with disrespect. What kind of witch was she? Voodoo was among some of the most powerful magic, it was old and ancient. Magic was given by the gods and some of the oldest gods were those of Voodoo. The thought of slapping the dye blond out of her hair crossed Oya’s mind. It’s one thing to be rude and disrespectful, it’s another to be it towards gods.

“How can any of you defeat me when I’ve already won?” Everyone jumped, taken aback by Michael’s sudden entrance, not a single step heard. Oya clung to the grey, shaking in her arms, while her eyes travelled from Michael’s godly look to Mrs. Mead standing protectively at his side.

“You haven’t won!” Cordelia disagreed stepping forth to face him. The two sides bantered back and forth, neither bending the knee to the other. Hell, Michael offered them a place at his side, a chance to live but the witches were adamant on their plan, whatever it was. What came as the greatest surprise was, however, The Voodoo Queen herself Marie Laveau. The false voodoo queen fell to her knees with blood pouring from her neck in a thick crimson stream. And then the Supreme uttered a curse under her breath, the words out of ears reach. The effect of it was soon to be found as Mrs. Mead began shaking in a way that could only be mechanical, limbs stiff as her head twisted to one side and then the other, each time quickening.

Terror brewed in her chest, the air electric with knitting energy that clashed between the two sides so much so that even a human could feel it. Her stomach turned in knots, worry making its way to the surface and through the pain… Pain that was beginning to be forgotten with each new shot of adrenaline.

“Mrs. Mead?” Michael barely spoke before the woman exploded in anything but flesh and blood. It was like a bomb went off, skin and white matter flung in every direction, steel and iron shards falling like awful rain. Michael went flying through the air, backside hitting the bannister and tumbling over the side of the stairs. He landed with a dreadful trump, the air knocked right out of his lungs. The group of witches, along with Oya herself, were hunched together, Oya letting out a gruntled groan over the way her body was forced together. Mallory dung her fingers into her arms, breath hitched in her ear. She had the Supremes arm around her protectively, while she also held the wounded feeble human, that cried out a strangled sound.

Oya shifted, both frightened by the explosion and the sight of her loved one lying flat on the ground, bits and pieces of the woman he considered his mother cast in various directions around him. Neither of them had seen it coming, neither of the had been prepared. It was too late to change her role, she had to stay with Mallory, at least until Michael was back on top until she knew what plan the Supreme had in mind.

Michael shook with anger, his power coiling around him invisibly. His rage made the air taste of ash and smoke.

The young blond crawled over the floor despite the Supremes voice calling her back. Madison clawed her way towards Mrs. Mead’s arm, one of the few pieces still together along with her decapitated head. She pushed herself to her feet, holding the arm like a weapon and for a moment Oya thought she’d try and knock Michael over the head with it. The result was much different.

“Sorry about your little toy, bitch” Madison remarked with contempt and opened fire. Bullets sliced through the air the moment Michael turned towards them, eyes filled with fire and lightning. The bullets tore through fabric and flesh alike, the air painted in a spray of red. Coco wrapped her hands around Oya’s other arm, the one Mallory wasn’t holding, her nails digging into her flesh. Oya cursed in Korean at the sight of her lover being filled with spray after spray of pullets, Madison screaming like a warrior. Step by step Michael was forced back until his back collided with the wall, knees buckling underneath him.

The witch with the strange red hair was the first among them to stand, walking in quick paces over to Michael’s now dead body. He stared into the room, through the room with cold dead eyes.

Coco and Mallory helped Oya stand, cries leaving her as she stretched out. “What is happening?! Y-you just killed them!” She asked the Supreme trying to get her to reveal her plan. Now that Michael was dead at the moment, she had to stay with them and make sure they didn't win this fucking fight.

“I know it’s confusing but this is all for the best. We’re going to make sure all of this never happened,” she answered, eyes never leaving the enemy. When Oya looked back over at Michael she watched as the redhead ripped strands of Michaels' hair out by the roots. Her stomach turned. Then she walked over to the group still gathered and held out the bloodied strands for Mallory to take.

“A personal item. Remember, dear? Focus on it, locate a time and place with it  in Michael.”

“Shed the ego. Disengage from this realm, place myself there and say the words. Tempus infinitum,” Mallory said, her voice filled with remembrance. The witches all smiled at her, relieved that she remembered the spell. Oya, however, frowned in confusion. Tempus infinitum? Time travel? So they couldn’t defeat Michael before the apocalypse and couldn’t defeat him after and so now they choose to change the past? It was cheating, it was forcing the pieces back in place in an attempt to rewrite history. Time travel, how utterly reckless.

“That’s our girl,” The redhead said with a smile.

“Bullets alone won't kill him. He’s become too powerful, we have to find a place to cast this spell before he wakes up,” Cordelia breathed unsteady, walking closer to Madison and Michael.

“I’ll hold him off as long as I can,” Madison said stepping up the occasion. As long as she could wouldn’t be long though. Michael will kill her with the snap of his fingers as soon as he could.

The group moved, Coco now taking hold of Oya to relieve Mallory of the duty, helping her up the stairs. Mallory ran ahead while Cordelia paused to look at Michael, whos dead eyes stared right through her. The moment they reached the top of the stairs Coco was waved off, the adrenaline smothered the pain and her legs had become more steady. Barely a second after they heard a gruntled angry voice hiss ‘I should have been on that plane!’, the sound coming seconds before the visual of a talk black dressed man stabbing Mallory in the gut.

Cordelia ran forth to get to Mallory, blood already pouring from the girl's mouth. By the look of it, she had been stabbed in the stomach. It wouldn’t take long before she bleeds out and the pain would be more than Oya felt. The man burst into flames and was sent flying over the railing to fall to his death. The witches attempted to heal their fallen soldier but failed.

“He’s coming!” Marie Laveau yelled.

“Take her arm!” Cordelia waved at the redhead and grabbed an arm herself. “Oya look out for Michael and follow.”

The four of them hurried down the halls. In truth there was a tiny piece of her that worried for Mallory, the girl had been nice to her and other than being on the wrong side, she really didn’t deserve to suffer a wound to the stomach. Mallory’s eyes rolled back and forth, fluttering shut every once in a while. They managed to manoeuvre her into a room with an odd round tub of water. There Oya grabbed the girls feet and helped lifting her up into the water. Her knees buckled beside Cordelia, hands gripping the side of the tub to hold her up. The obsidian necklace dangled from her chest, tempting with its raw power. She could destroy it now, could flick her wrist and kill the three of them, but a part of her was curious of this spell, despite the fact that a spell like that should never be cast. And Michael wouldn’t favour her if she killed all of them without him. He didn’t kill her enemies and so she shouldn’t kill the ones he had searched so long for. They were his to kill.

“Come on, Mallory, please,” the Supreme sobbed, holding the injured witch’s face in her hands. Tears streamed down her face, eyes swimming in them, in worry. “Come on, come on, come on! Look at me -look at me! You can do it! You can do this!” In despair, the witch looked to her friend for help, breath shaking. “It’s not working! It’s not working! She’s not strong enough!”

Mallory looked strangely at peace, the pain shutting down her system as blood poured into the water. “I’m sorry, Cordelia.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay! Look at me, no, no, no.” Cordelia was panicking, she was frightened to the bone. With all those Supreme powers of hers and nothing, she had done was working. The Supreme was fading but she was enough to stand in the way between Mallory and life. As in the redheads' own words, ‘they were fucked’. And Oya was finding a twisted form of delight in it.

“I love you.” Slowly, with a sad and almost serene look upon her face, the woman that had been crying and begging the younger to stay strong, now rose from her position and walked into the hall where she’d meet the devil himself, Michael Langdon. Oya stared after her, fingers brushing against the cool but electrifying stone until it were fitted into her balled fist. She waited with bated breath, the other hand clutching the side of the tub and let its rough edge bite into her palm. The redheaded witch looked after the supreme, tears staining her impossibly pale skin, reddening the tip of her nose and eyes to match the fiery hair of hers.

Now, out of the view of the redhead, Oya tugged harshly at the stone, feeling the fine chain brake against the back of her neck and undoubtedly leaving a long bruise. The stone seemed to pulse along with her heartbeat. No longer were her eyes that of a scared fragile human that didn’t know what was going on but instead filled with intention, with calculation and anticipation. Cordelia's voice travelled around stone and wood, crept along by the walls and floors, and echoing off to the other end but still were her words out of Oya’s reach. She’d have to rely on her sight and gut feeling.  

“Cordelia!” The witch screamed in agony, crying for her supreme with the intensity one does for family. And that’s when Oya strook. With a hard swing of her arm, the stone broke into pieces on the edge of the tub, the black shards falling to the tiles with the sound of broken glass. The shards gleamed in the candlelight, falling black as obsidian against the sandy tiles, then turning colourless as the power drained from the stone and into her body.

Her heart stopped as time stopped. And then it constrained only to burst the moment after. Energy in its purest form travelled through her veins with a push of adrenaline, every cell and fiber of her being electrified enough to cause goosebumps to rise over her soft skin. It burned deliciously just as it was cooled with delightful touches. Crimson bleed into the white of her eyes as it always did when feeling powerful enough to have the world in her palm. She felt herself long and ache for Michael, but knew that she had a task at hand.

In one swoop she jumped from a crouch and into the black and bubbling water, her dress drenching in seconds making it all the more heavy. Her eyes connected with Mallory’s and then heard her worlds. “Tempus infinitum.” Oya replied the same, grasping Mallory's hand that clutched Michael’s hair in a locked grip. As the girl sank below the surface, Oya followed sinking into the blackness and kept sinking.

There was nothing but black water surrounding her, pressing in on her, asking to be swallowed and breathed -asking to be let in. There was serenity, a calm rarely found, begging embraced and held to eternity and beyond. All past pains, all future thoughts, every memory good or bad, were gone. There was nothing but the black watery abyss.

But there was something in the distance above her. A thought or memory she needed to get to. A task that needed to be performed. Someone she loved. But she was tired, so so tired. Maybe this was where she was supposed to be, this was the only peace she’d ever get. For a moment she thought about letting go, letting the water into her lungs and let her mind get lost in the nothing. But then she heard him, the drawl that made her knees weak and her heart flutter. ‘I love you,’ he said.

Blue gleamed behind her eyelids, the memory of those Angelite orbs tickling at her mind.

Her eyes opened and focused on the light now coming from above. An air bubble danced from her nose and rushed to the surface, promising fresh air above the waterline. With hard strokes of her arms and her legs kicking at the water, she fought to the surface, feeling the pressure rise the closer she got. The need to scream scratched at her throat and strained her lungs.

One hand broke through the surface, then the other until her face shot up with open mouth gasping for breath. The moment she broke through the surface, her surroundings became bright and warm. A breeze danced along her skin and whirled around her hair.

The first sense that returned was the sense of smell. The air smelled warm, with blooming trees and grass, and a faint touch of the sea. But most prominent was the smell of roses, with every breeze the scent was renewed. Next was the sense of hearing. Sprinklers going off in the distance, car doors slamming and then the engine. Somewhere in the distance, a radio was on, playing some obnoxious American song. She kept blinking until her sight returned, mind reeling from the difference and knees weak and wobbly.

Oya found herself standing on a sidewalk, her feet bare against the stone and felt the heat rise from it. Cars filled the driveways, some bigger than others. The same could be said about the houses, but most of them were bigger than they should be. She circled around herself looking for anything that could tell her where she was. America, by the look of it.

She closed her eyes and let her energy wander, crows and ravens above answering to her presence by croaking out the stories that they’ve gathered. One specifically spoke about a boy, blond and blue and beautiful. A boy with a destiny. A boy with bad blood. A boy like none other, born of life and death.

It led her to a grand house which aura was dull with death. It stood beautiful to the human eye but to hers, she could see the darkness emanating off of it in pulses. The red brings were lined with death and the stained windows filled with sorrow. There were so many souls within, more than she had ever heard off or experienced. The history of it was soaked through with blood, with life. This was where it had all begun.

There was a tug at her mind, eyes turning towards the house beside it. That house was filled with just as much dismay, but it was entirely different. It was dismay of the living, a woman cursed with a horrid mind filled with grandeur. The house was cold, it reminded her of the same cold her own house had been filled with.

On the rooftops and in the trees crows and ravens gathered, for every passing minute, another came to be by her side, called by her powers. She stood on the other side of the road, waiting for something to happen, for Mallory to arrive. In that time waiting, she looked down herself and found that she was no longer wearing a purple dress with puffy sleeves stained by her blood but instead a black dress with a neck so deep and exposing it showed the side of her breasts and the shadow of her muscles while still hiding her bellybutton. The fabric was airy and whirled in the wind behind her, along with the additional fabric that was as close to a cape as it could be without going over her shoulders. The fabric was ordained with silver flakes, embroidered to look like snakes, feathers and crows.

Over her head, a crow croaked and alerted Oya of the boy walking with long strides out from the house that felt like cold and dismay. He looked so thin, with the mouth clasp together to hold in sobs and whimpers. Nose, eyes, cheeks red with crying, tears spilling over the edge of his eyes. Devastated, that was how he looked. Like someone who lost everything and everyone, someone who had no future ahead of them. He looked lost and all she wanted was to wrap her arms around him and tell him he was going to be okay. Fuck, he didn’t even have shoes on.

The sound of tires screeching and a roaring engine reached her ears. Her eyes shot towards the sound and watched as the black car headed directly towards an unsuspecting Michael. The second he stepped out in front of the car, Oya pushed out her hands towards him and breathed out air.

The boy was forced back and away from the car, his back colliding with the sidewalk in a breathless tumble. Even with the speed, the two women connected their eyes and then Oya tilted her head and smiled.

In a loud chorus of chirps and croaks, all the birds took wind beneath their winds, gathering in a massive mass of black feathers and claws. It was a murder of crows, an extension of herself, every beak and every set of wings. The feeling rushed beneath her while she took assured steps out into the middle of the road to watch her attack unfold.

One after the other, the birds swooped down and smacked themselves into the windshield of the car, glass shattering in a web. The tires screeched over the road, leaving angry black marks in their wake. There was the faintest whirling screaming coming from within the car, the sound swallowed up by the birds coming at the windshield. Bones and flesh and glass cracked alike. It was brutal and disgusting. Blood poured over the shiny front and dripped to the asphalt. And then the last of them broke through and into the car with their wings basking and their sharp beaks and talons.

The blond witch threw herself through the door screaming, her knees scraping over the road as she tumbled out. Oya couldn’t help but smirk at the sight. How her hair was covered in broken pieces of glass, droplets of blood and feathers. Her pale skin marked by scrapes. Then the new supreme clenched together her hands and let out a pulse that killed every bird still alive, whether it was rolling confused around in the car, crying out in pain on the front of it or actively attacking her. A mass of blood and feathers laid atop of the front, pouring down over the side to the asphalt.

Mallory stumbled to her feet, fingers brushing over the car for support as she got up, hair thrown over her shoulder. She wore a golden crown of growing roses.

Michael looked at the display from his place on the ground, understanding that the girl with the crown had tried to run him over, while the woman with black eyes had helped him somehow. He stayed silent disregarding the sting of the superficial cuts he had gotten on the way down.

Oya felt his eyes on her but remained steadfast, unwavering. Mallory shot him a pointed glare before returning her eyes towards the more pressing enemy.

“How did you-.”

“You’re not the only ‘special’ one,” Oya cut off.

“Why are you standing between me and him? Do you know what he's done? What he's going to do?! Are you out of your fucking mind?!” She exclaimed with anger and frustration.

“Quite possibly,” Oya answered with an indifferent shrug. “I won’t let you harm him.”

“Then you give me no choice,” Mallory bit harshly. It was strange to see the woman like this, how she had hardened -her skin now steel and iron. This woman who was small and good and pure were now filled with rage and bitter anger that’d only be washed away with Michael’s blood. It seemed entirely out of character for her to want to murder a boy rather than take his hand and offer help.

Mallory waved her hand by her hip, letting the fingers dance through the air until they stilled. All the other windows in the car smashed into pieces, the glass breaking into small bits only for them to be gathered in the air around her, the glass merging together into more massive shards, all pointed to her.

Oya’s heart drummed in her ears, excluding the sound of glass slashing through the air towards her. She could protect herself, shielding her with her powers and redirect the impending shards but she didn’t. Her energy was focused elsewhere. Quickly, her arms shot up, childing her face and upper body as the glass cut into her. She felt the white-hot pain as the glass cut over her forearms. When the attack was over and there was no more glass in front of her she looked down. Three pieces of glass pointed out from her stomach, one bigger than the other. With shaking fingers she took hold of the shard, groaning at the contact and then pulled. The tip was about 6 centimetres long and covered in blood. She did the same with the others and found one 4 centimetres long and the other 7. Blood poured from the wound and poured down her body. The glass pieces broke as they hit the asphalt, all but one that remained in her palm.

Oya looked up at Mallory, eyes stern and unyielding.

“I’m the supreme, you can’t possibly think you can stop this,” Mallory said.

“Miss Supreme,” Oya mocked and took slow deliberate steps towards the girl, who moved restlessly from one leg to the other. Behind Mallory through the flesh, bones, feathers and blood were a movement. It slithered from the bubbling mess, curled and formed until it was entirely visible. Feathers had turned to scales and beak to fangs. The snake was bigger than any other she had seen, the skull was as big as her chest, if not bigger. It looked like the mix of an anaconda and a python if it were not for the black scales dipped in red. Its eyes were as black as her own and gleamed in the sunlight with murderous intent. It coiled behind the unsuspecting Mallory. “You think you’re the all-powerful because ascended the throne?” Oya wiggled a bloody finger in the air and tsked. She approached the younger girl like a predator and watched as she began to draw in her power for the final blow. “You’re the supreme, the all-powerful witch.” Mallory frowned at the mocking tone, jaws locked together and eyes burning with hatred and anger. “But where do you think your powers came from?”

Mallory shook her head confused and stepped back, her heels breaking the glass beneath. It was true that the girl was powerful. More so than any other witch. It hung in the air around her, it was of light as bright as the sun. It was golden and white and good. It flowed around her, tugged at her edges and seams. It reminded Oya of her sister.

The young witch drew in a breath and lifted her hands in the air, ready to strike another blow but she didn’t get that far. No, for the snake shot forth, its sharp fangs piercing the flesh of her thigh as it’s strong jaw clamped down around her. The force made femur snap in two. Mallory screamed out and stumbled to her knees. The venom in Oya’s snake inhibited Mallory’s magic and left her defenceless. This was what she had focused on, what had drawn her energy.

The snake twisted around Mallory, its strong body squeezing so terribly that there was a constant sound of breaking bones. She cried as her body was wrapped up by the snake, its body twisted around her hips, waist and torso.

Oya was now standing before the fallen supreme and looked at her with pitiful eyes.

A gurgling sound came from Mallory's pale lips that soon turned into wheezing. The snake pressed further. It was clear that her ribcage had broken and one of the ribs had pierced through her lung filling it with blood. A trickle of blood ran down the corner of her lip.

“W-what h-have you d-done?” Mallory stuttered out, with each word wheezing followed. “You’d l-let him destroy the w-world?”

“The world was going to destroy itself sooner or later,” Oya answered with indifference. “I don’t care much for this one but the next… the next will be made with my touch as well as his.”

“You’ll destroy h-humanity to p-play g-god?” Mallory gasped at the pain, her torso incredibly small now. Her body sank together, the bones no longer able to hold her up. Life was slowly being squeezed out of her and her insides turned to mush.

Oya smiled. “Oh, little Miss Supreme, I already am a god.” The smile faded into something more serious and cynical. Mallory’s eyes were reddening with the pressure, blood falling like tears. Oya crouched down on her level before continuing to speak. “Cordelia thought that she was clever hiding you.” Soft and almost sweet were her touch as she brushed a piece of hair out of Mallory's face. “Michael expected her to come, but you were quite the surprise. It’s sad how much you underestimated him, sad how you underestimated me. You see, your plan would have worked were it not for me. Time travel… It is quite the move. Cheating, but impressive.” Oya wiped a crimson tear from Mallory’s cheek. “No one, not even the gods should have that power. When you die I’ll make sure Michael wins. When you die, you won’t be going to heaven nor hell.” Confusion wrote itself across the young supremes face. “It would most likely have been hell, you did, after all, try and kill a kid. No, you’ll be going to the underworld, my underworld, and I will make sure you relive you most feared scenario, the thing you dread the most, the thing which hurts you the most, over and over again until you go mad.”

“W-who are you?”

Her answer rang clear. She said it with such simplicity it was almost baffling. “I’m Oya but you may also know me as Ereshkigal, goddess of the underworld. Goodbye, Mallory.” The hand in which she held the longest glass shard were lifted to the young supremes neck, the veins popping with pressure and ready to explode. When the sharp edge ran over the fragile pale skin blood burst out in a heavy flow, running down her neck, over the curled body of the snake and dripped to the ground where it pooled. The snake released its fangs from her thigh and began twisting again.

Oya rose from her spot, brows twitching as she felt her body react to the wounds, to the excess use of her power. A single breath was drawn in behind her, pulling her attention towards the much younger Michael, with those big blue eyes filled with wonder and worry all the same. He was still lying on the pavement, hitched up on one elbow to look at the scene. With small simple steps she approached him, bloody hands held up in front of her in submission.

“You-you saved me!” He stuttered confused with a shaking childish voice. Oya sank to her knees at his side, groaning at the pain that shot through her body. Blood was pouring out more frequently now. The pain was nothing though, it didn’t cross her mind as she thought about the boy before her. He was older in body, but his soul was one of a child's. His eyes held the same confused innocence, one that was growing up without guidance, one that begged to be loved. Without a second thought, she reached for him, thumb brushing over his cheek reddened by crying and left a trace of crimson. The motion was gentle, not like the way she had done it to Mallory. There was so much she wanted to say to him, so much she wanted to tell him and warn him about.

“You’re hurt,” he said breaking her thoughts. She smiled at him.

“I’m fine,” she simply said.

“How did you… I don’t understand.”

“I know, I know it’s hard to understand but I need you to listen to me,” she began as she felt cold fingers of the abyss ghost over her. “Mallory was sent from the future to kill you. The witches wanted you dead because you pose a threat to them, to the entire world.” At the fear written across his face she paused. Within her chest, her heart stopped and strained. If she told him all of this, if she changed anything in the past, it would ripple throughout time to the future. Telling the boy before her would change the man that she loved. Any little thing would change the future. Pain bloomed in her chest, not like a physical one but rather… emotional. It made her throat strain with unvoiced cries. With a gentle touch, she took his face in her hands and looked at him with importance and seriousness, while he, in turn, looked at her with bewilderment and uncertainty.

“I’m sorry. I can’t let you know all of this, it’ll change too much, you might change too much.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know, just… just, listen to me. You’re going to have a tough life filled with betrayal, Jagi. You’re going to feel so alone, so abandoned.” Oya began focusing her powers, letting the electricity run through her and into her fingers, letting them warm on his skin. Her fingertips brushed against his right temple as she began to withdraw his memory. Silver began to shine where their skin touched. “Never trust the witches, no matter what… and -and when you’re ready come find me. I won’t understand either but I will in time. I will always be there.” A silver flower bloomed when she withdrew her fingertips from his temple. The silver flower bloomed and then returned to a bud that hardened into a pearl. Behind Oya the snake had dislocated its jaws as it swallowed Mallory’s broken body whole. The glass than laid scattered in pieces collected and set themselves in place, the windows of the car shining in the sun as if it had never been shattered. Oya looked over her shoulder at the snake and breathed out just as its jaws set in place. Like parchment in flames the snake burned, ashes and small pieces of ember whirling in the wind to there was nothing left. No blood, no glass, no snake. The only strange thing left behind was Oya herself, still bleeding on the pavement.

“Oh dear god!” A woman gasped. Oya looked towards the voice and narrowed her eyes at the older woman. “What did you do?!” At first, Oya thought she had hissed at her but when the woman’s eyes shifted to Michael she knew. With one clenched hand, she took hold of the woman immobilizing her completely.

“Go inside, Michael,” she said softly and let him get up before rising herself. With deliberate steps she approached Michael’s grandma, fist still curled around the pearl and holding her in place.

“Who are you? What are you?” Mrs. Langdon hissed through clenched teeth.

“I’m the woman who loves your son,” Oya answered with a hard tone. Mrs. Langdons eyes widened. “I want you to know this so listen closely. You’re going to forget that you saw me, you’re going to forget whatever happened before that made your grandson run out of the house in tears and with no shoes. You’re going to forget all of it. But I want you to know that there’ll be a little voice inside of you, one that’ll never leave you and one that you’ll never be able to confess to any other soul on this earth. It’s going gnaw at your sanity for eternity.” Frightful tears welled up in Mrs. Langdons eyes.

“You know you’re a terrible mother. You’re a narcissist who thinks they have any business raising children. You’re a failure.”

“No, no! I did everything I could! I did everything right!” Mrs. Langdon defended with a wavering voice.

“You did not love him!” Oya spat, stepping so close she could smell the fear coming off of her. “And you will suffer because of it. You cannot hurt him so the only way out is to take your own life, and you will. You were never meant to be a mother.”

Something inside the woman snapped. Her matriarch mask breaking to reveal the rotten decaying soul of the woman inside. She reminded Oya of her mother. In a way, she fated her the same way. Parents who cannot love their children should not have them. Mrs. Langdon was a woman who thought herself perfect and true, it was written in the way her eyes were, the way she wore clothes from another time, the way she pinned up her hair. She was a woman who wanted to last forever, a woman who wanted the perfect family, a woman who was the cause of her own ruin. The silver pearl formed at her fingertips once more, this one cold and with the gleam of rot.

Oya let Mrs. Langdon go, the woman staggering inside her house in a trance that’d relieve itself once Oya had gone to her own time. She stared at the house filled with cold and dismay before letting out a breath she didn't know she was holding. The pearl with Mrs. Langdons memory caught the light as she held it up in her palm and then let it roll off into the bushes. It would remain there until the end.

The corners of her sight became fussy, black dots forming and distorting her vision. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes and let herself fall forward, the pavement rising to meet her with a hard embrace. Instead, she found that she fell through it, into darkness and water. Before her were her reflection, with her big black eyes looking back at her. She was naked once more, the dress ripped from her body and gone the moment she entered the darkness.

When she reached to touch her reflection it reached to touch her. The tip of their fingers met and suddenly she was thrown forward, water pressing in on her, forcing its way down her throat as she plummeted through the surface of the water. Her body ached and shot with burning hot pain. The dress wrapped around her tightly and weighed her down. Beside her were the contorted body of Mallory, with eyes shot open and red, bloody tears running down her face while her mouth was open in a silent scream. Her arms, legs, hips and torso were broken, a twisted lump wrapped in grey. And from her open neck had warm blood once flown.

Oya crawled weakly over the side of the tub, water and blood pouring from her. The moment she hit the floor she heard the last witch alive scream a blood-curdling scream that send her flying over the floor and into the wall with teeth clattering force. Pain bloomed at the back of her head, distorting her vision even more.

“You broot, you absolute monster! You’ve doomed us all!” Oya didn’t see what happened afterwards, not until later. Instead, she was engulfed by the scent of allspice followed closely by the feeling of scorching hands pressing against her cheeks and then her stomach. With her mind scattered in the past, the in between and the present, she couldn’t connect a proper sentence. Instead, she cried out jumbled words and sounds trying to tell him the pieces of her mind.

“I’m here! Don't worry, I’m right here,” he told her over and over, trying to soothe her. Slowly, her wounds began to heal with the touch of Michael, her own energy drained from her body. His blond hair was smeared in blood, so was his face and hands. The suit he wore ripped apart by bullets and drenched in blood and other fluids, with white pieces of what once was Mrs. Mead hanging on to it. And yet somehow he remained the single most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Her eyes caught his.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. I was afraid and-and I didn’t… I was afraid,” she cried out between mumbled words and sounds, trying to connect with her body again.

“Shh,” Michael hushed her and caressed the side of her head, eyes filled affection and tenderness. “You did so well, love. You did it.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Oya spoke more clearly, pushing herself further up the wall to relieve the pain in her hips. Her bottom lip quivered, eyes filled to the brim with tears while her body shook. What if he’d never understand? The thought made her shudder. “I had the chance to change it all, to save you. I could have warned you, given you a better life, made sure you were never betrayed. But I was afraid! I was afraid that if I changed that I’d change the future. If I told you, you might not have come to me.”

Michael looked at her in bewilderment but still held the same love as before. He brushed wet locks out of her face and inched closer in an effort to calm her. In the middle of her palm that had once been closed in a tight fist, were the memory she had taken. She held it up for his eyes to catch, the silver shining through blue. In one shaky breath, the pearl bloomed into a flower and then withered until there was nothing left. Silver caught onto Michaels' eyes and she watched as the memory played in his head, eyes flickering back and forth as if in a dream. The silver ran out and blue poured back in.

“I’m so sorry, I could have changed it all but I was too afraid,” she coked out through a strained throat.

Michaels brows knitted together and his thumbs brushed away her tears. “Shh,” he cooed. “You did the right thing. You did the right thing. You did so well, I could never have imagined what you did for me but you did so well. You were right, my love.”

“Yeah?” she whispered and reached for him.

“Yeah,” Michael answered and kissed her forehead.

Walking through the carnage that had occurred Oya observed the different bodies she came across on her way to her room. She trailed a wet and bloody path over the grimly painted stones, dripping from her wet clothes. There was the redheaded witch whose head was twisted to an unimaginable point that was only matched by Coco’s broken neck. There was Mallory floating in the tub with her body crushed in a way that couldn’t be described. There was Marie Laveau whose heart laid beside her body, ribcage open with bones sticking out revealing the empty chest. And then there was the blond witch, Madison or so she guessed, with her head blown clean off.

That was the carnage she observed on her way to her room.

Oya dried her hair, the white towel drawing a hint of pink from the bloody water she had once been in. Then she changed out of her ruined dress for an airy pair of pants and a black see-through top that had one single line through the fabric that covered her nipples. It was what she had brought with her, what she was not allowed to wear, and now her chosen outfit.

“Where is it?” She questioned herself, digging through the chest at the foot of the bed. The glass was cool against her fingers, as she fished the small bottle out from under books and fabrics. The tiny bottle was slipped into her pockets before she walked out of the room for the last time.

She found him standing over Cordelia's body. He too had changed outfit, from ruined rags into fine silk and velvet. His skin was now clean and hair perfect as always. Oya came up behind him, hand slipping over his shoulder before her lips kissed it softly.

Cordelia was staring into the vast nothing, blood in a morbid halo around her body, hands held out like the usual statue of Virgin Mary. The only difference was that she wasn’t so innocent and she certainly wasn’t going to ‘heaven’.

Michael was looking at the fallen supreme with contemplation hinted with disappointment. This was what he wanted but now that it had arrived, was it what he wanted? Was it enough?

“You should never have underestimated me,” he mused quietly before continuing with a harder tone. “You were wrong and you failed, if only you were here to witness it.”

“You could bring her back or simply visit her in hell,” Oya commented. “I’m sure she’s there.”

Michael smiled back at her and let out a sigh. “She is and she’ll rot there for eternity but she… Managed to take away the pleasure of watching her fail… And she took so much more.”

Sympathy knitted her brows together, her hand travelling to cub his cheek forcing his eyes from Cordelia’s body to her. “You destroyed the witches. Every single one of them. They’re rotting in hell and if they’re aware they’re there, they’ll know they failed miserably. You’re the one who did that, you’re the one who won. You, Michael, are the victor, the king of a new world made in his image.”

She was right, of course. He had won the war. There was no longer anyone to oppose him, to threaten his rule or legacy. The world had been burned to ash and from that, a new world would rise. The price had been steep but it had been paid, and if it came down to it, he’d pay it all over again. His only regret was that he couldn’t change the price and bring back Mrs. Mead. Her loss would nibble at his edges.

Michael flashed a gentle smile at his counterpart, taking her hand and kissing her wrist before walking out of the round room.

Oya looked after him. He had won but his shoulders were heavy with a new burden. In one quick turn, she knelt down beside the pool of blood and let her jewelled hand dance in the air over it. Faint whispers of enchantment slipping through her red lips, the words dangling in the air and then twirling down with her magic to the Crimson. At first, nothing happened but then one single droplet raised from the surface and into the air quickly followed by more droplets. They merged together into one floating ball of blood right in front of her face. The blood then seeped into the now opened glass bottle fished forth from her pocket, filling it up the brim before being closed off and slipped into her pocket once more.

Then a spiteful vengeful streak settled in her soul and she gripped Cordelia's fine blond hair in a handful before ripping it from her head, just like that wicked redhead. The strands of hair were shoved into her pocket as well. Then she rose and joined Michael in the grand hall, walking around the round fireplace to find him staring at yet another dead body, this time Dinah’s.

“She didn’t exactly meet the requirements for the sanctuary but I suppose I should reward for her loyalty.”

Oya mused, lips pursed as she examined the body. Dinah’s neck was gaping open and arteries emptied of blood making her skin look dull and ashy. Her dark eyes were still open in shock as was her mouth. “She’s with Papa Legba now.” Michael looked down at her from the steps, waiting patiently for her to continue. He might know a lot about hell but that didn’t mean he’d know of the figures in it, nor the demigods and various demons that belonged there. His teachers would never have taught him this, they were too busy forming him into something they could use for their own advantage.

“I would recommend not making a new enemy when you’ve just gotten rid of the last. Making an enemy of Papa Legba would not be wise. If anything you should make a deal with him, trade a soul for a soul if you believe she’s worth it.”

“Hmm,” he sounded and stepped down to Oya’s level again. “Such a wise woman I have by my side.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and forced her body flush against his, lips dipping to meet hers in a fiery but light kiss. “Are you ready to leave this place?”

“More than ready,” she replied, fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket. Michael snapped his fingers and fire began to climb from the fireplaces with destructive tongues and tendrils, making their way over stone and wood alike.

In one breath and with one step the two disappeared from Outpost 3 and into the sanctuary.

The sanctuary was built underneath a mountain, a marvellous mix of old and new. The halls were of concrete, a simple and cold look, while the section in which Oya and Michael lived were much like the house they had stayed in, with floor to ceiling windows showing hardened lines and edges in stone. Their section was off limits to the few that lived there or so Oya had made it. Only the servant robots were permitted. Michael’s office was just before their section, furnished nice and simple, with a rounded rosebush that had been growing slowly in the middle of the room, shielding the view of the door from his desk. Nevertheless, he would always know with precision who came through the door before he ever laid eyes on them. That always seemed to chill the few humans there to the bone.

Oya and spend the first while getting accustomed to the servant robots there, their presence feeling strangely void with the lack of a soul. She didn’t trust them and was wary towards them, maybe because she didn’t trust the two crackheads who created them. How Mutt and Jeff survived the interviews remained a mystery despite Michael’s insistence that though they were not to be trusted they remained usable.

However, the one she seemingly clashed with the most was the Japanese Yuu Masaru whose eyes were always cold and calculative, with a stern mouth always in a straight line and high edging cheekbones. She could see why Michael wanted him there, he was everything he wished for the new world. But he was ambitious beyond his stance and ruthless in his ways, she could see it in him.

Michael stood for the politics of this place and Oya buried herself in nature.

Michael had constructed a marvellous arboretum. The room was as big as half the sanctuary in its own, the walls made of fine coloured glass to the top that arched as a true masterpiece of a greenhouse. One side held long lines of pots from floor to roof, ready for plants, with a system that could make it go around so that no stairs were necessary.

And with time and Oya’s fine collection of seeds, the brownfields became green with life. She had marked an area for her herbs and plants, while the rest were to provide fresh food for the sanctuary. The women that were, who didn’t have tasks anywhere else helped her with the maintaining of the food, though they were not allowed to touch her flowers or herbs. And if they weren’t there, the robots took over work. She hated seeing them through the green, something without a soul, without a living cell touch that which was living.

For two year she read through the collection of magic books and legends Michael had gathered in their private library. For two years she had tried different spells and hexes, made different potions and remedies and worked towards making her own spell. It had been a project of hers, when she wasn’t required to play doctor or queen, to find a way to make the impossible possible. She had been cautious, uncertain.

Now was the time, however. It couldn’t wait any longer.

Which was why she was now carrying a bucket with fresh blood through the concrete walls towards the arboretum. The thick red liquid waved back and forth, threatening to spill. Her big white dress vulnerable to the task at hand.

Minseo, her own personal robot made almost in her image, or rather out of her imagination, was carrying her heavy medicine chest like it was a box of feathers. Unlike the more human robots Mutt and Jeff had created, Minseo was made as a servant, with fine gentle features and a soft brow. She rarely showed any strain unless Oya had told her to switch on her humanity mode. Now she was a blank page following orders without question. She usually kept her like that, unsure what to feel when she seemed almost human.

In the distance she heard the voices of men talking, walking through the halls with some unknown purpose.

Oya and Minseo turned to the door standing between them and the smell of nature. Every time she stood there she felt a flutter in her stomach, happy to once again be with nature and to make things grow. It was incredible to let her bare feet sink into the soil of the arboretum.

The doors swished open, the delightful smell of flowers and soil hitting her nostrils in an instance. The pair made their way inside, locking the door behind them. She had ordered no one to come in and as far as she could see there wasn’t a soul or robot in sight.

Oya paved the way to her small garden of herbs as the spot left untouched by her nimble hands and seeds. The soil was bare there. She planted the heavy bucket there and ordered Minseo to put the chest beside it.

“Minseo, please stand aside,” she asked of the robot no taller than her. Sometimes she forgot she wasn’t real or maybe it was because she was raised that way, or maybe it was because she was the only one who didn’t have any ambition or life to fear for.

Swiftly Oya bound a piece of cloth around Minseo’s eyes in an assurance that Mutt and Jeff weren’t spying on her. They weren’t to be trusted and if Michael hadn’t explicitly asked her not to kill them, they would have been dead long ago. Especially because of their first interaction with where we're less than tactful given that they had implied she was an exotic pussy just there for Michael to fuck. Michael's hand held Oya back only to turn to them himself and let his tendrils of magic tear inside their heads. They had cried blood that day.

“Okay, okay, okay,” she repeated to herself as she drew a big circle in the soil and then divide it in two, with a single much smaller circle in the middle. The next half an hour was spend setting up candles in the circle, stones were scattered in the ridge of the circle, as well as her herbs.

When all that was placed Oya took the bucket of blood and poured it in an oval shape inside one of the chambers of the circle. Above her, her crows croaked with curiosity, their shadows following the circle around and around. She had let them free, used them to look after the garden and surveil the ones that came and went. And every once in a while she let them turn to shadows and travel beyond the stained glass and green to the halls on concrete to keep an eye on the inhabitants.

The blood seeped into the soil as if it was greedy for it.

She then went to her medicine box and opened the various drawers, pulling out vials and dried herbs alike. First, she crushed herbs in the mortar, pouting the powter into a deep bowl, followed by snake oil and two drops of belladonna essence. Other oils and essences were also added, among them being Daffodil oil and water hemlock essence. And for good measures mistletoe.

The concoction was fatal, to say the least, if it had not been for Oya’s keen potion making and alchemical abilities.

Then she crushed the bone of crow into dusty clumps, stuck a feather into the mix, poured the blood of a deer and added dried chicken feet as well as sparrow claws.

To be perfectly honest the concoction looked as revolting as it sounded and it smelled even worse.

“This better fucking work,” she muttered in her native tongue, cutting a tiny wound into the palm of her hand and let a few drops fall into the potion. The wound healed up immediately.

Oya rolled her neck and started murmuring forgotten words as the heavy smell of burned herbs began to fill the area. Her hands waved over the bowl, blessing it as well as hexing it. There was a faint feeling of her snake move beneath her skin, reacting to the words that fell from her lips.

At last she added the final ingredient, the sparse few drops of Cordelia’s blood that was left, the hair she had ripped out long gone, burned with the herbs.

The hardest part was swallowing it all down without throwing up. The taste was unimaginable and stuck to her tongue as well as nose. It clawed at her throat and threatened to spill into her lungs. Her stomach turned. Quickly and with stubbornness she swallowed the last of it, crawling over the soil to lie down in the other compartment of the circle, the one not touched by blood.

She closed her eyes and emptied her head, letting the soil swallow her up and the darkness wash over her. As she sank into the soil she raised above the surface of the Inbewteen. Her stomach turned again and a cold shill went through her body.

A gasp escaped her when she pushed herself up from the water, finding herself dry despite having gone through it. She was naked now, as she usually was in the Inbetween. There was nothing, a void so easily recognized by how often she had been there over the years.

Two doors revealed themselves, one shining black that caught the light that wasn't present and one a screaming red against the black vastness of everything. One felt familiar to her soul, begged her to open it, while the other was the one she needed to go through.

Her body felt weak and shaking, a sweat working its way up on her brow while she felt cold. Her stomach felt like a storm threatening to spill over at any moment. She strode to the red door with quick steps, twisting the knob and stepping into the black walls of hell. The red had turned to black as she closed the door behind her, hand resting on it while she sank forward, mouth pouring with saliva. She spat the excess onto the ground and heard her stomach growl in dismay while her insides convulsed.

What began as a waterfall of saliva turned into a strangled gag and then she felt her stomach purge, felt it rise throughout her oesophagus and upwards. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, made her eyes burn with tears and neck strain enough to pop every vein. It slithered up and she opened her mouth ready to spill the contents.

The white snake slithered forth and landed in a pool of her saliva. As soon as the head was out, the rest of the snake quickly followed and when she was finally free of it, she drew in deep breaths and strained gasps until she caught enough air in her lungs to stretch out.

At her feet the snake slithered around, waiting to be told what to do. She wiped her mouth and brushed her air out of her face, already feeling better. “Find her.”

The snake slithered forth, leaving a trail of wet behind it until it eventually disappeared. Oya followed with bare feet, her strides long and filled with purpose. The white dress swung around her, no longer dirty from soil, spilled blood and concoction. Guess hell made her clean.

At one point she passed a corridor and paused, looking down an opposite hall the mirror image of the one she was in. The black door opened and a man dark as midnight stepped out wearing a silver lined suit. He was beautiful, with high cheekbones and thick lips only a man as dark as him could have. What caught her attention the most was the aura around him, humming with as much glee as it did pain. There was a silver circle around his dark eyes only matched by the silver on his eyelids.

When he caught sight of her, he bowed. She automatically returned the bow, brows slightly furrowed in bewilderment. The demon then turned and walked away. It was the first true demon she had seen.

The snake hissed, the sound distant. With quick steps, she returned to the snake while it slithered forth until it coiled at a door. The doorknob was cold to the touch and when she entered there was the same cold crisp to the air. Everything was cast in blue light, haunting and strangely beautiful. One step ago she was outside in hell, now she was standing at the Robichaux Academy.

The floor didn’t creak when she walked through the room. The sound of a sob echoed through the dead silent halls, the only thing filling the empty void in the air. It felt just as it had done when she visited the real Academy. The lack of magic, the hollowness of the house as if its bones had been edged out and left empty. The snake slithered into the dining hall and waited patiently there.

She already knew what she’d see but she still she felt the gratification rise within her when her eyes fell upon the bodies of the witches, each scattered around a broken and crying Cordelia. The woman clutched one of the dead witches to her chest, one Oya didn’t know the name of. Her body rocked back and forth, eyes swollen and thick with tears.

“So this is what your personal hell looks like,” Oya mused. Her voice cut through the daze in Cordelia's mind, the loop she was in broken by her presence. The woman’s brows furrowed as she cast a fierce and biting look towards Oya. “Surrounded by those you love without any possibility of bringing them back.”

“No,” Cordelia murmur faintly.

“You lost, if you couldn’t tell,” Oya mocked with venomous glee. “Not that you didn’t try, I have to give you that. Mallory did her part and did it well but alas she was nothing against a goddess.”

“No,” Cordelia repeated, loosening her grip on the dead girl. Her eyes blinked, tears no longer filling them through the pain was still there. The fallen supreme gathered her strength and let go of the girl entirely, turning to Oya and staggering to her knees. “Why are you here?”

“You have something I want.”

Cordelia was about to question what it was but her mind clicked and a flicker of pure and adulterated spite settled in her eyes. “I will give you nothing.”

“Not to sound like a total villain but I was kind of hoping you’d say that,” Oya stepped closer, her steps deliberate and strong. “I could try and bargain with you if it weren’t because I can take what I want. Tell you about how Mallory died and where she is now.” Cordelia’s eyes narrowed in contempt. The flicker of light in the witches eyes told Oya everything she needed to know. That Mallory had been a soft spot and that her death would affect her. “Every bone in her body was crushed and her insides turned liquid with the amount of pressure on her. You should have seen it, blood pouring from her eyes that were ready to burst out of her skull, I wonder…. What she thought about when I cut her throat.”

“You can give me every single gruesome detail but it won’t change anything,” Cordelia spat, her hands clutching the wrinkled gown she wore so hard her knuckles were white. Oya’s eyes trailed towards Mallory’s body and noted that she merely looked asleep. Her eyes closed and she rolled her head back and forth drawing in a deep breath only to let it out again and with it her magic. It wrapped around Mallory’s body and within the blink of an eye, the serene looking witch turned to the horrific body Oya had left behind floating in the tub.

A strangled whine escaped Cordelia who clawed at the floor as she shook at the sight. The crying chorus of ‘no’ filled the air and with each word edged in the broken pain of the fallen supreme before her.

“S-she wasn’t meant to… She was good!”

“Not that good, she did try and kill a child. Not exactly the actions of a good-.”

“He was the antichrist! He was going to destroy the world and you let him!” Cordelia screamed, tears and snot running down her face all the same.

Oya waved her hand in the air as if she were waving off flies. “Yes yes, I’ve had this conversation before. I’d much rather tell you about where she is.” Cordelia's eyes snapped up at her, pleading and still spiteful. “She’s not in hell but the underworld. The principals are the same, torment for eternity. Her world shifts between emotional torment like this,” her hand motioned to the scenario surrounding them. “And a much more physical kind of misery.”

“Stop, just stop,” Cordelia trembled out, using her hand to shield her reddened face from Oya’s prying and cruel eyes. It didn’t help of course. There was no shielding her shame. “You said you’d take what you wanted from me so just do it and get it over with.”

The white snake slithered forth, curling between Oya’s feet and towards Cordelia, tongue snapping out every once in a while to taste the agony in the air. Oya let out a mocking sigh. “Only because I respect who you were and your stubbornness.”

White scales caught the blue light as the snake slithered to Cordelia who wrung away. In one swift movement, the witch was nailed to the spot muscles straining against invisible tethers. It climbed her body, twisted around her neck and waited patiently for Oya to force Cordelia’s locked jaws open and then slithered inside. Cordelia choked and sputtered, fingers jittering at her side while her eyes widened in horror. She gagged at the intrusion and Oya couldn’t blame her. The snake was big and far longer than a cock… When it had slithered inside Oya let got of her grasp and released her from the bindings. The snake would come out by itself and Cordelia was certain not to resist getting it out.

“I know it’s uncomfortable, trust me but you did have it coming.” It wasn’t like her to mock so much, to banter back and forth this way with cruel intentions and venomous words but the image of Michael’s heavy shoulders and the hidden hurt Cordelia had inflicted upon him wouldn't go away. He missed her. He wished for his mother figure, the woman who’d stand by his side and never betray him. Of course, he had her, the woman who’d do anything for him. But he was going to need a person to take part in the politics and while Oya would remain his other half, he was going to need someone less prone to curse her opponents.

In one convulsive move, Cordelia lunged forward, her nails raking over the floor audibly while her beath strained and body broke into shudders. Oya made a disgusted face at the sound of wet gagging, a shudder of her own running through her body with the memory of how it was for her.  

When the snake returned from the inside of a human it was silver grey, the tips of its scales dark green. It fell to the floor among other fluids where it coiled and slithered towards the door now enlightened with the knowledge it was meant to obtain.

“Your hell, Cordelia, is going to be a lot more painful from now on,” Oya said and turned to follow the snake out. The click of the door closing shut out the sounds of broken sobs.

Oya followed the snake through the halls, seemingly walking forever with no change of decor or any roaming souls. There were no demons either and she wasn’t sure if that was a good sign or a bad one. Either way, she continued on.

Then the snake finally curled in front of a door. Before entering she picked up the snake and let it twist around her wrist, its heavy body weighing more than you’d expect. It remained there, silent and tasting the air. The door creaked as she entered the building finding that the insides were darkened wood, carved out in a 1920-is style with dark wallpaper where there weren't panelling. The moment she set foot inside she knew where she was, the old haunted house beside the one Michael grew up in. There were the cold touch of spirits in the air and the lining of the house held dark energy drawn from the corridors of hell.

“Hello?” She sounded out hoping that this would be it for now. That Mrs. Mead would just appear and they could take their leave. But that wasn’t meant to be, she already knew that. She’d have to look for something out of place.

“Who are you?” A man asked after appearing around the corner followed by two women, one with strawberry blond hair and the other older with burned red hair. At the top of the stairs, Mrs. Langdon appeared, smoke in her hand and an annoyed expression upon her face.

“She is the one I told you about,” Mrs. Langdon answered. The strawberry blond crossed her arms over her chest and guarded her expression. She was the one who was the weariest.

“I’m Oya,” she introduced and stepped further in, eyes running over the surroundings trying to pinpoint something that didn’t belong. “I’m looking for something.”

“What?” The older redhead asked at the same time the strawberry blond said; “We’re not going to help you. You’re with him, Michael.” The name caused the house to groan, a shudder going through the air and rippling through the souls. What was guarded and weary became more so. Oya disregarded this and continued to look through the house, eyes catching a glimpse of the desolate land outside of the windows.

“I’m looking for something that doesn't belong, something new or out of place.”

“Why should we help you?” The man asked.

Oya inhaled in thought. Why should they help her? They didn’t have to. She’d eventually find what she needed but it’d go faster with their help. Each soul had a different aura, some told of their innocence while others told of the decay. Each had been judged but sentenced all the same. But who exactly judged them? “Because it’d get me out of here faster.”

“Can you help us?” The older redhead asked, soul, radiating innocence and eyes longing for peace.

“Moira!” The strawberry blond hissed.

“If this is my chance of getting out of here I’m taking it! Don’t you take that away from me, Vivien,” Moira hissed back, stepping forward with hands pressed together in a prayer and eyes pleading. Oya simply smiled at her and would have taken her hands between her own if it weren't for the snake residing in one of them. Instead, she pushed the paying hands down and away from her. Prayer didn’t help either of them.

“I can get you out if I wanted to, give you peace or send you on your merry way to heaven or whatever, it doesn’t matter to me. What matters is finding this object.” Her eyes looked past Moira to the couple wrapping their arms around one another protectively and then up at the woman on top of the staircase. There were more ghosts, she could feel their eyes on her, hidden from sight but very much there. They whispered amongst each other, some in scorn while others in hope.

“Is that a possibility for all of us?” A woman asked body and face burned to a crisp.

“Most of you,” Oya answered, eyeing Michael’s grandma and the strawberry blond who was without a doubt Michael’s birth mother. “I’ll release you to wherever is next for you, that being hell or the beyond.”

“This is hell,” Mrs. Langdon spat taking a few steps down the stair followed by a boy with blond curly hair and dark eyes.  Born of life and death, human and spirit. This was the father. The vessel in which Satan used to spawn the antichrist. Oya could see it, the touch of the same kind of darkness Michael had emanating around his father.

“Hell could be far worse, trust me on this,” Oya replied. “And if it were up to me you’d feel the flames of hell along with the others that hurt Michael but he left you here to rot. I trust this hell is sufficient.”

“You’re just as bad as him,” Vivien commented, held back by whom Oya believed was her husband. Vivien was a strange soul with a strange aura. She was meant for heaven or eternal bliss but was trapped here with the rest of them and somehow she remained pure like Moira and the burned woman, untainted by the house and its deeds. Untainted by her attempt to kill Michael.

Her husband was another story.

“I won’t argue with you.” The indifference in her voice was staggering but honestly, she was tired and she wanted to get out of hell. “Most of us in this room as done shitty things-.”

“Like ending the world?” Michael’s father said from the stairs, voice as hard as his eyes. Oya shrugged and looked at Moira.

“Where is it?”

“Moira don’t,” Vivien begged but found that Moira had been swayed. There were no hard feelings between them though, both women understanding the other. Oya followed the redhead into the living room and pointed over the fireplace at a goat's head. It was black and its eyes seemed afire.

“It just appeared.”

Oya walked past the maid, hand squeezing her arm in thanks before continuing towards the mantlepiece. Why a goat's head she’d never have the answer for but she knew why it was here. This was the place Michael would have gone to last. The place in which he’d never set foot in. And she couldn’t blame him. With the many ghosts, most of which were calling his existence an abomination, most of which betrayed and disappointed him. It was no wonder Cordelia had chosen to hide her soul in this place. It was a stroke of genius, the intent calculated and malicious. If he were to come here it’d come with a great personal cost.

Too bad they hadn’t foreseen her.

The fur was coarse and stiff under her fingers, the head itself heavy as she took it down and walked towards the main room needing space for the next thing. Horrified eyes followed her as well as curious eyes. Moira followed her quickly behind tethering on the edge to ask for her price. She didn’t however.

Oya produced a knife from beneath her dress, once tied flatly against her thigh, but now catching the eyes of various spirits. The head had been placed on the floor with Oya standing over it, raising her arm with the snake in it, letting it hang limb as her hand was wrapped around its head. The blade cut through scales and flesh, blood gushing down onto the goat. Lights flickered in the house and a wind picked up. The snake was discarded to the floor followed by the blade.

The blood seared through the goat, smoke and steam rising from it and forming into a familiar shape. There was a chorus of gasps.

Mrs. Mead blinked at her, blue eyes framed by black eyelashes and pale skin. She wore a white ragged dress that looked more like a potato bag than a dress. Confused, her brows knitted together, eyes running from one face to another.

“Mrs. Mead,” Oya spoke politely. “I know it’s confusing-.”

“Where am I? H-how did I get here? Is this hell?”

“This is hell alright,” Mrs. Langdon muttered and drew in a breath through the cigarette.

“I will explain it all to you but first I have a promise to uphold.” Oya turned to Moira, then felt around for the souls that needed be here, the ones she deemed innocent enough and felt sympathy for. She might be fucking and loving the antichrist be she wasn’t without empathy. Each soul was judged and sentenced, her tendrils latching onto the ones that earned freedom and peace.

“Thank you,” Moira said moments before she disappeared, slowly dissolving out of existence like fading smoke.

“It was nice to meet you all but I have a world to build and you have an eternity to think over what you’ve done.” There were words thrown at her, one among them being ‘the devil's whore’ but she shut them out and lead Mrs. Mead to the corridors of hell.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Oya. I would say that Michael send me but that’d be twisting the truth,” she confessed. Mrs. Mead stopped and looked at her, eyes uncertain and examining. She wasn’t sure to believe her. Wasn't really sure of anything. “Michael told me about you. When he lost you he lost a piece of himself and he’s been missing it ever since. He would have come for you, he would, but he didn’t know how or where to find you. The witches hid you.”

“But you found me.”

“I did. I’ve spent over a year searching and then perfecting the spell to find you. Now is the time though,” Oya spoke and began to walk. There was a heaviness to Meads' eyes. A searching. Of course, she’d be wary. Anyone would be in her shoes. A stranger coming and freeing you, then walking down the corridors of hell with said woman, entrusting her to lead you to the boy saw as your child. “He needs someone at his side, someone he trusts.”

“If you’re doing this he already has one he trusts. Michael wouldn’t open up like that to just anyone.”

“Yes, he has me but he also needs you.” Mead would be his right hand and Oya his left. She’d be the woman he loved, his queen, and Mead his trusted advisor. “He doesn’t know I’ve found you, it’s quite possible he’d faint in surprise…” Of course, he wouldn’t but the mental picture of it was quite something. “There’s a lot that has happened since you’ve died. A lot has changed and I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

“I do but I’m hoping Michael will clarify,” Mrs. Mead spoke softly, even more so when speaking his name. “I somehow imagined hell to be much… warmer,” Mrs. Mead commented eyes running over the black decor.

“Yes, well I suppose they decided to modernize,” Oya chuckled.

“But how do we get out of here?”

Oya stopped at the door she had once entered through and looked at Mead with worry and warmth. “It’s not going to be pleasant. Quite frankly it’s properly going to be utmost unpleasant like you’ve been buried alive and every cell in your body screaming for air… Or so I imagine. You’ll have to claw your way out and you’re going to be disoriented.”

Mead nodded and drew in a breath. “I suppose it’s how it is when returning from the dead without a body to return to. For Michael, I’d do anything.”

“Good,” Oya smiled and opened the door. “Don’t get lost.”

Together they walked into the Inbetween, the door closing with a heavy sound behind them. Mead looked mildly distressed and if she had known what this place meant, what it could do, she’d have an entirely different look on her face. The water rippled with each step they took, the small waves catching none existent light. And then the fell forward.

Oya plummeted from the ground, stomach-turning the content within and forcing it up her throat with a burning touch. She clawed at the earth, forcing herself to her knees and hunched forward spilling every drop of the concoction in a heavy stream. It felt as it took all the energy from her, the water pouring all the way from her toes to her head and into the ground. Tears spilled over her eyes, burning. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, tumbling around to watch the other side of the circle.

At first, nothing happened and panic fluttered in her heart, but then the ground started to move. Fingers sprouted from the ground, pale and covered in blood. The earth drew a breath and moved. Slowly, the woman fought her way through the surface, her entire body covered in dirt and blood, eyes wide and disoriented. Ragged breath was drawn in between tight lips, body quaking and shaking with stiff muscles.

Oya crawled to the chest and took the rough blanket that had been laid atop of it. She then stumbled on her knees to Mead and wrapped her naked body in the fabric, speaking soft words of reassurance to the panicked woman. It’d take a moment to return to reality. While Mead’s mind reeled Oya continued to soothe her, running her hand in circles on her back to comfort her.

“Y-you weren’t wrong,” Mead choked out raspy and breathless.

“Welcome to back,” Oya greeted and settled back on her feet. “Are you ready to stand?” Mead nodded and grasped Oya’s held out hands, helping herself up from the ground. They stood for a moment, waiting to gain stronger legs that weren't threatening to cave under them.

“When can I see Michael?”

Oya lifted her brows, a smile playing on her lips even though she felt dead tired. “Don’t you want to be cleaned up first?”

“You’re right, I can’t face him like this, covered in dirt and blood with only a blanket to cover me,” Mead agreed. She didn’t let go of Oya’s hand, instead tightening her grip. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Let’s get you cleaned up,” Oya spoke, a little flushed before ordering Minseo to take the bindings off of her eyes and help the three of them to the empty quarters closest to Michael’s office. There Oya bid goodbye to Mead for the time being and projected herself into her own bathroom to clean up and get re-dressed, the white dress ruined.

They met by the door where they had bid each other goodbye and together ventured towards Michael’s office. By now he’d sit in front of the fire, reading over the plans on his tablet, though Oya suspected that sometimes the words on the screen weren’t reports or plans but rather a book or something entertaining. He couldn’t possibly be spending the entire time working, especially when there were years until most of the plans could be carried out.

The corridors were empty and desolate. Only the two of them walked through them, never pausing when faint voices were heard. They walked towards the dark wooden doors that were the only of its kind in the entire bunker, though it swooshed to the sides as all of the others.

They entered and immediately Michael’s scent hit her nostrils, soothing her tense shoulders and tired body. His mere presence eased her, lulled her into comfort and satisfaction. The energy emitted trailed along her skin and roused up goosebumps. Already she felt her heart drum faster than expected, butterflies fluttering in her empty stomach and warmth spreading through her cold body. Oya stepped around the well-grown rosebush that covered the rest of the office, eyes falling upon Michael sitting by the fire as she expected, tablet in hand and legs crossed, the silver tips of his pointed shoes catching the light of the fire. He looked so good and if it weren’t for Mead she’d have straddled him right then and there.

“What have you been up to?” Michael drawled, turning off the tablet and rising from the comfortable armchair. Oya walked to him, a smile on her red lips and a gleam in the eye. Michael narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. Her ritual and spell would have drawn his attention, that was expected, so much so it would overshadow Mead’s presence for the time being, but not much longer.

“A bit of everything,” Oya answered and stopped before Michael. “There’s someone I’d like for you to meet, or rather there’s someone you should introduce me to.”

A shadow fell between his furrowed brows, eyes curious but cautious. Then the blue snapped to the presence behind her and she heard his breath being pulled in. Michael stiffened and remained a statue, eyes following Mead as she approached. When she was right before him, the breath that he held was let out into a whisper. “Mrs. Mead.”

“Michael,” she spoke and cupped his cheek. Like a child that had missed his mother, he melted into her touch, tears brought to his eyes and a tremble to his bottom lip. Oya could feel the emotions, felt the swirl in the air and engulf them. Her heart strained against her chest at the display.

“H-how? They hid you.”

“This lovely young woman here found me and brought me back to you.” Mead took Oya’s hand and squeezed it before she let go again. Michael looked at her in a way he had never done before, filled with love and adoration, with surprise and worship. There was gratitude flowing in his tears.

“There’s a lot for the two of you to catch up on and I’m awfully tired,” Oya spoke, caressing Michael’s cheek. “Come see me when you’re done.” She turned to Mead. “It was nice to meet you. I’m looking forward to getting to know you.” Respectfully she bowed her head at them, a habit from the past, and then left the room. Already she could hear them speaking, the muttered voices muffled into silence by the door. Somehow the corridors were far colder than they had been moments before.

The fire crackled peacefully in the background, its long flames licking at the air and casting an orange hue into the room. In her lap laid a journal, the ink dried long ago, while the tip of the pen remained wet and ready for use. She had written down details of the spell, drawn sketches and made prints for it all. Of course, she wrote in Korean, if the book were to fall in supposed wrong hands they’d have a hard time figuring it out.

She had been sitting there for hours, the warmth of the fire pressed on her skin with a loving embrace, while her eyes looked into the dancing flames with a musing expression. Her body felt weak and tired but she couldn’t find rest, instead she bundled up in a soft velvet chair, feet tugged in beneath her and away from the cold nibbling at the floor. If there had been no crackling from the fire she might have turned mad at the silence.

Lost in thought, Oya didn’t hear him come in, didn’t notice his warm tendrils of magic close in around her. Instead, she remained a statue in the glow of the fire.

“You found her,” Michael spoke, his voice cutting through her thoughts and pulled her attention towards him. Like this, in this light and within their own walls his demeanour softened considerably. He truly looked like a benevolent god.

Gently she smiled at him. “Yes. I thought you’d need someone as your right hand.” The book closed, her fingers nimbly putting the cap back on the pen and then tugged into the corner of the chair. “And you missed her. I couldn’t let them take more from you.”

Michael kneeled down at her knees, his hands caressing the bare skin of her calves. “There’s more. I can feel it. The air around you is different.” Blue was swallowed up by black, his pupils dilated to the fullest. Electricity tingled between his fingers and her skin. The warmth he held within him was fiercer than the one emitted from the fire.

She paused, catching her bottom lip between her teeth in what seemed like worry. Then she took his hand and folded out before him, her feet meeting the ground as she sat more properly. Like this she lead his hand to her belly and pressed it in against the bump that was growing, a flutter forming beneath her skin, deep within. At first, there was confusion towards her action, then with another flutter a realisation. His brows went up and mouth opened with no words tumbling out.

“I’m with child,” her voice carried to him the words that brought the world to a halt. “I’m not sure how. I’ve taken precautions and medicine but…”

His hand moved beneath hers, pressing further into her as to feel more. His knees were now on the floor, his body pulled towards her as a reaction. There was wonder on his face, eyes flickering abortion. Her free hand cupped his face, drawing his eyes from her belly towards hers.

“You should say something before I take it the wrong way,” she spoke, a curl to her lips.

“I’m going to be a father?” His voice was haunting, that velvet touch.

“Well yes, I certainly haven't been fucking anyone else,” she chuckled at his big eyes.

A huge smile formed on his lips, one that could outshine the sun and brought her more joy than anything else in the world. “I am for the first time without words.” Before she could laugh at him, he was hunched over her, lips pressed towards her own in an intense kiss. Around her she could feel his magic whirl, his tendrils embracing hers, caressing along any naked skin of hers and then some. The kiss was filled with love that neither of them thought possible.

And then she as back towards her belly, his hands exploring the expanse as if it was a treasure map and he had found the prize. It was almost childish the wonder he held. While he did that she brushed her fingers through his hair, eyes memorizing every emotion that played across his features.

“Are you happy?”

“I’m ecstatic.”

“I don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl, I tried looking into the future, I’ve tried various spells and charms but I’ve seen nothing. Whatever they are, whoever they are, they’re not allowing me to peep,” Oya spoke quietly.

“It doesn’t matter,” Michael answered her, eyes now on her own again. “This world we’re creating is for them.”

“It’s for us.”

[rakuraiwielder]

it was never about that

Nothing could have prepared her for the lurch in her chest when the intercom clicks open with buzzed static and familiar screaming. Post Volume 6 reunion.

RWBY, Blacksun.

Also on A03

Foreword:

breaks my 1 year writing hiatus with the underdog ship ahahah AAA im back bABEYY

go easy on me please I worked on this with only post vol 4 spoiler knowledge and a-not-so-accurate world map so have some au content for events that have yet to transpire(?)

They had barely made it to the command room before the alarms blare again; red and fire illuminating the cold marble of the corridors. Blake stiffens, pushes away the echoing screech of Grimm ringing in her ears as she eyes the ominous lights, frowns minutely as the building gives one ominous shudder. Beside her Yang tenses with teeth clenched, and she drops her shoulder in response to cover her, ignores the throbbing of her knees and wrist as she fingers over Gambol Shroud.

Their ragtag group huddles further into the cold, ruined room amid burning cinders and shocked circuits, but she has little time to make sense of it all before Ruby was calling her name and the screens over the shattered glass overlooking Atlas flares to life.

Nothing could have prepared her for the lurch in her chest when the intercom clicks open with buzzed static and familiar screaming.

“-is a distress call from- cuos, --overru- -e Grimm are- , if anyone can hear me-“

“Neptune!” She wasn’t aware she had waded up to the front of the monitor until she sees Ruby retract her hand from the buttons, shooting her a concerned look. She swallows, feeling pain wreck the expanse of her throat, wasn’t aware of the crack in her voice until the pain persists.

A two-folded attack, and Salem still three steps ahead of them.

Blake’s ears fold back as the roar of cannon fire in the background swallows the muffled sounds of battle, feels anxiety spike when Neptune yells for a Captain to be careful. The bad feeling only pools further when she picks out a pained groan through the static.

Another groan behind her, and Blake tries to close her ears to Weiss’s sob as her father struggles to stand.

“Ru- y? Bla-? W -need reinforcements, please, NDGO and BR- -wn. – is here! Can’t ho-“

“Neptune!” Weiss’s exhausted shout goes unanswered as the feed cuts off, leaving the static screen smoking with fried wires.

No one says a word as dread hangs in the air.

“No..”

Blake can feel her team’s gazes on her as she shuts her eyes, holding the grimace at bay. Panic comes first; springs free from her eyes when she turns to face them. If Neptune was there, then that would mean…

“Blake?” The room was silent, stray sparks crackling as Ruby shuffles closer.

“We have to help them.” She says, feeling helpless even as the words leave her mouth. The threat to Atlas had yet to be fully neutralised; as it were, the ramifications of the destruction must be answered for and the crew were short of hands. The nation of Atlas must know. But more importantly, more importantly…

Blake bites her lips and swallows a curse, clamps down the tremble that runs down her spine as every instinct of her body screams otherwise. Those were her friends out there, comrades who fought beside her as Beacon burned with cinder and ash all those months ago. People she refused to desert again.

Her eyes find Yang unconsciously, sees an unknown emotion flit across the blonde’s face as she presses her lips into a grim line. Guilt stems from her conscience, unconsciously; she hunches her shoulders even as lavender looks steadily at her. This was not her decision to make.

Never again. She had made a promise.

The nauseous feeling persists.

“Then you must go.”

In the hushed silence of the command room Yang’s voice rings clear, her soft grunt of admission that follows carrying a hint of her usual cheer. She levels a look at their leader, who looks equally surprised at the declaration. Blake’s axis stutters to a stop; disbelief clouds her mind, for it was Yang; Yang whom took her departure hardest, whom she strove so hard to mend her relationship with; Yang, whom she blamed herself most over.

Yang, whom was trusting her to leave.

It is relief that hits her first after the shock, and Blake cannot help but feel guilt at that too. She feels wronged somehow, like she had gotten a free pass at something she was never meant to have. So muddled in her thoughts she missed the unspoken exchange that passes between the sisters, darting to attention only when Ruby chuckles and Yang breaks away with a resolute grin.

“Yang,” Weiss sighs tiredly. “you know that’s not possible, there’s still things we have to-”

“I know. Which is why you and I will be staying here. Ruby and Blake will head to Vacuo.”

“Are you sure?” Blake says again, sees the grin curl into a smile as Yang levels her with a stare that spoke volumes.

“Yes, go to them.”

A weight eases off her shoulders even as she tries to smile back, blood rushing through her ears in waves.

Things are a blur after that; from running down the decks of metal grates to the roar of an engine taking them to the skies. (There is an airship bounded for Sasus, I’ll have them adjust coordinates-) There was no time for long goodbyes -the four of them barely had time to trade quiet glances-, and before long the team had split again. (Don’t worry kids, got some unfinished business to do here. But then I’ll be right behind you. We all will.) She doesn’t feel any better when the clouds part and the guilt leaves.

There is an itch under her skin, emphasized by her own worry. It gnaws at her, bit by bit at the crevice of her mind that she actively tried to avoid. It is not long before she cannot close her eyes without seeing a mirage of a dimming tower within the harsh desert smothering with flame and ash.

The memory of a shrug, an easy-going grin, (Me? I’m going back to Vacuo./You are with who you need to be with now./Hey…I’m sure we will see each other again soon.) haunts her behind closed eyelids; grows stronger with each passing day they take to reach the far ends of the sea.

She would be lying if she said she hasn’t thought of him. It had been months long, but in her mind the culmination of her journey to and from Menagerie longer still, and he had been there, every step of the way, wading through the darkness of the White Fang beside her. He had been by her side so long until he wasn’t, and the first few nights after their parting she wakes up disoriented at the absence of an earnest voice and golden hair.

She misses Sun, she thinks, but under no circumstances did she want to see him again this way. The faunus boy who never failed to come to her aid, who offered and offered selflessly and gave himself to see her smile, whose homeland now burned under the eye of the cruel witch. She hopes this time she can be strong enough to return the favour.

Sun and his team were strong, she has no doubt about this, strong enough to give them a run for their money if they so wished. But then she thinks of confident Neptune; voice frantic and laced with pain, of what might have caused him to sound that way, and her instincts continue to spark something unpleasant in her gut.

The nightmare drags on, reveals fallen bodies both civilian and Hunter, a thousand possibilities that led to stark-white skulls glowing within burning destruction. A sinking sense of déjà vu comes over her when a limbless creature emerges from the inky blackness, morphs into tormented human.

Her throat closes with a sickening feeling.

Think positive, Ruby says, but even Blake can see the searing conflict beneath her eyes.

“This time, it won’t be too late.”

She surprises herself by placing a hand over her arm, and the smile that lights Ruby’s face makes her feel better too. She returns it, feeling a twinge of amusement at how hypocritical they both seem to be.

Sun used to do that; ground her back just as her thoughts spiral off into tangents that had her want to pull her hair in blind panic and frustration. She always had a penance for the worse-case scenarios; one would think he would get sick of it. But he had always grasped her shoulder and shot back a what-if, juggled Jingu-bang and Ruyi-bang with a goofy sort of confidence in a way he knew she would rib him for.

She had not realised the first few times, but he had made her forget. Ebbed her stress away until the darkness in her eyes left.

And for just those few moments, Adam’s hold on her was no longer as potent.

Her mouth twitches and furrow. She was thinking of him again.

She would have been blinded not to see it, and that was why she tries not to dwell on it at all. There was something there, small and rooted and growing, distance only putting a temporarily halt to the slow culmination of what she suspects, what she fears, would be a finite end she would have to face. Sun had gave, but he had also taken; nudged and prodded and tagged along with a stubborn refusal to leave her alone until he had cemented himself as a trusted companion.

He had become important to her. Important enough to warrant the odd clench in her chest at the thought of him incapacitated.

But Blake knows herself; knows the gentle inkling festering underneath all those layers of doubt and deceit she placed around her wary nature could possibly be more.

And that, above all, scares her more than anything.

She thinks back to a moonlit night of him lying on a cold concrete roof with a wound through his chest and feels a surge of aching so strong her breath rattles through her lungs. It was no longer just an eye for an eye, of give and take, of being there to catch him the way he had for her.

She gasps, snaps her eyes open and lunges from her seat when Ruby calls for her from the Captain’s bow.

Their ship doesn’t stick the landing, deterred by tumultuous windstorms and cascades of sand. The weather barrier had enclosed much of the inner city, disrupting any radio waves or signals honing out. Their Captain risks it, crash-dives the ship over the rapid beatings of murky black silhouette. The Nevermore plunges to its death, carrying the airship with it as it breaks through the sandstorm.

Ruby draws Crimson Rose just as the shutters shatter and the ship makes its crushing presence known, and then they were off at touchdown, a trail of rose petals and nifty shadows cutting a path to the city centre.

Staggered groups of survivors spot then first. Then the automation soldiers. Then rogue Hunters. Ruby blazes through a pack of smaller beasts in a flurry, throws her scythe open as she starts to fire. Blake darts into an opening she makes, curls Gambol Shroud into whip form and lunges. Her semblance ripples in frozen apparitions, dancing around and leaving the faintest trace of a cat-o-nine-tails.

She snatches the Grimm away from cornered bystanders as she advances further, clicks Gambol Shroud into position as the distorted monster tugs and struggles under her grip. Leaps. Then, a flash of red hair and singed clothes as someone lunges from the air toward her.

Her blade slashes pass the Grimm’s neck just as a cutlass cuts through its opposing side.

Blake lands just as red eyes flicker grey and white skull dissolves, turns back with widened eyes to the sight of Scarlet panting and speechless.

“You came.” He looked weary, but the surprise on his face soon wore off into a pleased grin. “Neptune really pulled it off.”

“Not all of us.” She says just as Ruby runs into view. Relief soothes a little of her rattled heart to see him standing. He was fine. That would mean the rest of SSSN had to be too.

“It’s fine,” he says with bravado as they turn their backs to face three lumbering Deathstalkers. “You two are probably all we need.”

Blake watches him huff at the corner of her eyes, sees him catch her looking and gestures to the path forward. A hand on her elbow; she glances back to see Ruby raise the ends of her rifle, hears the clicking of bullets load in wait even as her leader smiles at her with a wild, determined sort of look that held fire.

“Go. We will take care of this.”

“Be careful.” Her smile does not come fast enough for either of them to see; gone in a flicker as her shadows snaked right into the path of a striking stinger. She twists, and feels Gambol Shroud slice through flesh cleanly, side-steps the creature’s thrash of pain and hurries on deeper into the wreckage.

Fires burned hotter the longer she heads straight, and she pulls a few trapped civilians from smoking debris before her ears pricked at the noises of nearby snarling. Screams. She runs against the rushing crowd, sheathes her blade and flicks out the single leather whip. She emerges into the square to see Grimm breaking out of the back alleys at the other end.

Returning fire causes her to look up, and in the distance she sees him, a figure restless as he swipes at an offending mouth with his staff. An inaudible click as he knocks the Grimm on its stomach, and Jingu-bang swings free, metal chains leading trajectory as bullets rain from its other end. Ruyi-bang follows its lead, aims at the opposite direction as Sun spins in a wild circle. Blood stains a little of his shirt, but the agile way he moves gives the creatures no quarter to strike at weakness.

It had been months long and they were in the middle of the heat of battle, but to see him now; Blake feels something unravel within her chest. Her mind, usually so full of denial and second-guessing, was suspiciously clear. No growing warmth, but a flood of something tingling down her nerves that made her want to smile in the bleak situation, despite herself. This at least, she knows. She was living a moment.

She does not falter as she leaps down the stairs.

Flashes of semblances leap around the square in golden wisps, illuminating the darkening sky every time one is torn apart. She dashes past them all, gold eyes sharp as she throws Gambol Shroud forward to intercept the downward plummet of a claw. The leather cord catches and holds tight; she slips around its leg, the cock of a revolver as the mechanism shifts into a gun. Blake fires, uses the force of the Grimm’s backward collapse to slide under the group of them, fingers cracking the trigger as bullet lands mark after mark.

Her Semblance makes no lasting illusion as she crotches down and springs forward, and she reaches Sun just as the last bullet leaves its place. A nudge of her elbow against his back pushes him away from immediate range, causes him to lean forward in surprise, tilting his head back with an unsteady hand to see her sink her katana up the lower jaw of a Beowolf in mid-strike.

“Leave him alone!”

Her blade slashes through its mouth as she pulls it free, its howls quick extinguished by a volley of dust-enhanced bullets. Blake struggles to stand upright, brandishing Gambol Shroud as the smaller Grimm start to back away. The moments where she hears nothing but ragged breathing behind her felt like an eternity.

Then, finally-

“Blake?” His voice; wrecked with disbelief.

The feeling comes loose within her, and this time she cannot help the quiet free-fall of her heart as she turns to face him halfway. He looked as rough as that first night back in Menagerie, but no worse for wear. A shallow cut on his chest reveals a scabbing wound, but that was as much she could see before his gaze catches her again.

Shock, swimming in silence from spluttering lips as he remains at a loss for words. But amid it all, a familiar fondness in his eyes as he tries and fails to hide his spreading grin.

It truly feels like they had reversed roles from their meeting on that ship in the distant past. She can’t help it; the slight curling up of her lips.

“It’s nice to see you again, Sun.” Her hand reaches for his shoulder, tries to remember the way he used to hold hers. She only realises she was shaking when her fingers clench his sleeve too tight.

Ragged silence as Sun stares at her almost reverently. She has half a mind to pull away before he laughs, a breathless sound as he shifts Ruyi-bang aside and fumbles to place his hand clumsily over her own.

His smile was radiant when he looks at her, mirrors the relief that reunites them both.

“My hero.”

x

A/N

don’t you just love this pair and their dynamics and how amidst all the divergent story arcs post-pyrrah roosterteeth still managed to craft a fascinating faunus side plotline for blake and have!! sun be a constant presence throughout it all hOO BOY i’ll be damned if I don’t see the reverse happen soon with imminent Vacuo arc

[nebula-starlight]

Virus (Part 3 - Choices Made)

Hi there...

I know it’s been a while since we last talked but I’m-

“No, that won’t work!”

Tossing the unusable letter into the air with a swat of his paw, Geer spat out a tiny spark of electricity, frying the paper into a pile of ashes before he rested his forehead against the counter in his kitchen. A frustrated sigh left him as he closed his yellow eyes wearily. Why did he think writing an apology to Narssia for his lack of communication would help any when the last thing he received from her had been a refusal to advance their friendship past where it was months ago. It never would have worked out anyway with her being busy so often.

It had been nearly a week since his episode in the library and he’d requested some time off from his work to figure out what was going on. His supervisor had been more than happy to grant it, especially since he never usually asked off to begin with, but now the loneliness had kicked in. The one bedroom house he rented only had so much within its walls and Melvise was busy at the clinic so he couldn’t bother her. Still there had to be something he could do! 

Lifting his head from the shaped, speckled marble of the countertop he glared down in disgust at the small diamond-like patch of scales that stood out along the top of his breastbone. It didn’t act like any fungus would or even itch but just sat there, beckoning to the world as though it was a sign...

He gasped, stumbling back as he suddenly remembered what he’d read in the old tome about how a fallen or Shadowling would mark its chosen. What else had the book said? Something about a mental connection forming? But he hadn’t experienced anything of the-

No, he had. The event in the library. It had been his only warning that he was marked. Why then hadn’t he seen Nether since? If the spirit was supposed to seek out its host then what was the delay? Sure he was starting to have nightmares every so often but he was used to them anyway from years of blaming his lack of wings on why he was abandoned before hatching. Some might say he even drowned in secret guilt but he tried to never let it show, always wearing his specially made cloak when he was outside. Now in his own home, however, he felt fine to move around unhindered by fabric, only pulling the shades on his windows shut to deter any passerby’s snide comments. He didn’t even live in a busy part of the city but a fair share of dragons took the road he was on to get to the market square located in the dead center of town.

Deciding he wasn’t going to get the letter written just standing there in his kitchen, he sighed and headed out into the connecting den with his head barely higher than his chest in shame. Why wasn’t he a good friend? Sure he thought he wanted more from Narssia but even still, reading her last letter hurt just as much as it had on the day he’d gotten it. That rejection was just another blow to his already fragile heart. How much more could he take at this point!

Throwing himself on the ugly tan couch he obtained shortly after he moved in, Geer curled up on the worn fabric and yawned. He hadn’t really noticed how tired he was but laying there with the late afternoon sun on his back through the drawn shades seemed to be the push he needed to nod off for a quick nap.

The ground was covered in mist when he opened his eyes, looking around in confusion as the sight no longer resembled where he fell asleep. Where was he? Curious, Geer got to his feet and started to walk, hissing slightly as the raised pattern of scales suddenly begun to burn.

“I-Is anyone out there?”

‘So you finally heard mine call?’

He froze mid-step, eyes going wide as the voice echoed across the vast empty expanse. The deep rumble was all too familiar, baring a trace of an accent that registered in his mind as German. It couldn’t be! Sure he hadn’t seen the spirit since accidentally setting it free but how in the nine realms had it been the one to find him?!

“Net- Nether, how?” He stumbled forward, falling onto his belly as he scratched uselessly at the rough, uneven ground. “How did you find me? Why am I even your chosen?” Tears sprung to his eyes, all of the emotions he had been suppressing for the past week surging to the surface all of a sudden. “I’m not special. Not even whole by the standards of my peers... Why waste your time on an outcast like myself?”

‘You are mistaken. Why wouldn’t I choose someone like myself? Look at me, Geer...’

Gentle, nearly invisible pressure against his jaw only made the flightless drake start to sob, his heartbreaking cries echoing through the desolate space. He thought he heard the spirit sigh but wasn’t sure, shaking his head in denial. They were nothing alike! Nether was strong and fearless while he... While he was a complete coward who hid behind useless trivia and tried to overlook the stigma society placed upon him for his disability.

‘Nein, mine friend... If you won’t look up then listen at least. You wonder why I waited, why I did not go to you after realizing what had occurred? The implant, it...’ Nether paused to sigh once more, Geer’s sobbing finally starting to subside as the mist flickering around him slid over his scarred back. ‘I won’t lie. The adjustment period - if you wish to call it such - wasn’t pleasant. Having mine language snatched from me as the poison continued to... Well let’s say there were several mood shifts over the last few days. Only now did I feel composed enough to visit you.’

“Why though? What can I offer that you don’t already have?”

Two softly glowing crimson orbs met his gaze as Geer looked up from where he lay on the ground. He blinked, sniffling as the mere presence of the fallen spirit brought him a sense of comfort he realized he had lacked for far too long. For years he had built up this emotional wall of stress, shoving every disappointment and criticism behind to the point where he’d isolated himself away from those that had only been trying to help. Anger was all he had carried in his heart. Bitterness over his abandonment driving the biggest wedge in his friendship with Narssia. No wonder she rejected him and went silent...

‘Do not blame yourself for the female’s actions. She is as much to blame for what happened, if not more.’ Nether’s low voice washed over him, the truth difficult for Geer to believe but necessary if he was to accept his part of the blame. ‘Now then, you asked a question earlier and wanted to know what I gain out of this. Why I chose someone who only sees what the world expects? And yet, in doing so, never embraces the unique position their differences brings.’

The spirit advanced, his familiar bat-like shape now visible against the mist as his eyes shone like welcoming beckons in the midst of a terrible storm. ‘I suppose an explanation is needed for mine words. Call it a defect if you wish but I am, to an extent, a highly susceptible empath. Each emotion of those around I feel and were it not for my dangerous abilities I would have lost myself long ago. The fact I still have sanity is a testament to years of study... and then being Sol’s most successful interrogator. Fear is something many wield as a weapon but forget it can also be used for good.’

“But how?” Geer asked, crawling closer to the only being he could properly consider as an emotional lifeline in his current situation. “All those taunts and quips over the years about my back... Not to mention the cloak that they try to rip from around my neck. Explain why that can be anything more than the cruelty of dragon nature!”

‘You give credit too quickly, Geer. Mine words are not an end all however much you may wish. I speak only from my own experience, plus what little I have gleaned from your mind already. Wars start in the heart after all...’

“Sure they do,” he hissed back, digging one paw into the ground under him for stability as he started to rise, voice slowly rising into a frustrated scream. “And parents cast aside an imperfect child because they don’t want to be seen as anything less than ideal members of the storm!”

‘Are you surprised really?’ Nether questioned, his form flickering slightly. ‘Society shapes what the perfect representation looks like and all those who obey react in kind. The old, sickly and deformed are forgotten in favor of having the grand image be of an unbreakable nation. Time and time again this is the case and never will change unless action is taken by all.’ He ventured closer, wisps of faint magenta visible along the edges of his wings.

“Just come out and say it! Why am I so special to you?” Geer screeched, screaming the question as the emotionless slitted irises watching him finally narrowed in what he knew was anger.

The fallen spirit growled, trails of crimson light flickering from his eyes as the surrounding mist turned black. ‘Because you offer a light to mine darkness. A counterbalance if you will. I ask not for an answer immediate but consider what I suggest. I’ll give you a few days to decide what you want but keep in mind that I can erase all the shame. You could be airborne within a month should you choose...’

Geer hesitated, uncertainties running rampant through his mind. Would he still be himself then if he accepted the role before him? It seemed so tempting but was it the right thing to do? Had he missed something while reading that tome?

And more importantly was there a way he didn’t have to become Nether’s host?

He flinched suddenly, shaking his head as he tried to ignore the low buzzing that had crept into his thoughts roughly about the same time he’d seen the mist turn black. Looking closer he could almost see sparks of green flickering through it, curiosity prompting him to reach out with a paw.

‘Oh, are you going to ignore me now? Well then... LEAVE!’

Geer woke with a start, falling off the couch as he tried to calm his racing heart. So he was Nether’s chosen then. What was he supposed to do now? He couldn’t just go out and search for the...

Wait, where was that staticky noise coming from? He lifted his head, glancing up at the kitchen to see the faint, glitchy shape of a pixelated cloud flickering overtop of the paper he’d left. That’s right, he had been trying to write a letter before he fell asleep.

Intrigued, he got to his feet and followed the noise to its source. As he had seen earlier, it was indeed a glitchy black and green cloud... one that seemed to recognize his presence despite the fact that he’d never seen it before in his life.

“Uhh... hi there.” He was used to seeing somewhat odd things in the past but the fact that the staticky hum only grew louder should have been his signal to leave right away.

Key word being should because he didn’t, watching as it slithered around his forepaws before moving up to his shoulders. There was this entrancement to the way it moved, glitchy but still extremely fluid as it briefly vanished from his sight. Turning his head to keep up with the progress, he suddenly heard a multitude of low, overlapping whispers all crying out for attention.

Help... Pain... Make it stop!

“Hold on! What are you? I know I heard talk of a glitch showing up but...”

The corrupt figment curled around his neck, specifically avoiding the mark announcing he was chosen, while its influence set his scales aflame. He coughed, stepping back to try and breathe as the whispers grew louder, more demanding. Something was very much wrong but he was in far too deep now to turn back!

He tried to lift a paw, only to find he couldn’t actually move the limb as the glitch coiled tighter around Geer’s neck. Black spots danced across his vision, limbs shaking as the lack of oxygen was starting to pull him down. This couldn’t be how he was going to die!

‘Either get moving or I will drag you out of this house by your tail. That warning wasn’t just meant to be ignored, Geer. She’s not known for her patience I’m afraid. Better start walking before you drown in the static.’

He... He couldn’t see. All he could hear was the noise, the constant, oppressive hum that snuffed out any trace of Nether’s warning. Become her vessel it seemed to suggest as the constriction around his throat eased gradually. Just accept her inside long enough to write one simple letter...

Geer’s eyes opened, the normally yellow irises glazed over with a layer of green as the glitch lifted one of his paws and dipped a clawtip in a small bottle of ink he had set out beside the paper. With long, curving strokes the possessed drake wrote, eyes staring blankly at the paper as images of blood-splattered snow and blinding fiery beckons flashed through his mind too quickly to decipher.

Draw attention... Get vessel... Seek-

‘What the hell are you doing?’

The kitchen exploded into shadows, a single shape rising up from the ground with a distinct bone-chilling hiss that seemed to finally break through to Geer. He jerked back, blinking fiercely as Nether glared down at him in disappointment, breathing heavily.

‘Idiot. Did you conveniently ignore every single warning I gave you?’ His gaze turned towards the glitch who remained curled loosely around Geer’s neck and hissed, anger causing his voice to fluctuate between two different registers. ‘Why do I even bother? You won’t listen anyway to a word I say. And you, parasite, I’d get lost if you wish to remain in any visible state. Let me catch you anywhere near him again and...’

“Nether, I...”

The fallen spirit barely acknowledged him as Geer’s attempt at speaking dissolved into a coughing fit, focus instead intently resting on the still unmoving intruder. ‘One moment... Perhaps I was not clear, pest. Your presence is not wanted. Get lost!’

The glitch finally took the hint and vanished in a burst of green sparks, leaving the kitchen noticeably quieter than before and also missing one piece of paper. Geer, however, was still desperate to speak and explain himself.

“Let me talk...” His breath hitched, stumbling forward until he was almost touching the ethereal. “I think I... Um, would it be possible to give me a few days? I’d need to say goodbye to Melvise and...”

‘I wouldn’t worry about her.’ The emotionless remark bothered Geer, head tilting to the side in confusion as he started to scratch at the mark but thought better of it. ‘Now that the glitch knows she’s important to you and the other dragoness as well... Although I suspect we led it straight to that discovery.’ Nether huffed, twisting around the silent drake. ‘Enemies will come after you now once they know we are familiar with each other. I will grant your request but do remember this delay only makes it more likely someone will find out...’

“Thank you,” Geer breathed, flinching slightly as the spirit faded away to leave the kitchen empty.

‘Nein, mine Chosen. The battle has only begun.’

The knock on her front door startled the slumbering dragoness who stumbled to her feet and forced herself to answer the frantic pounding. It must be urgent to wake her in the middle of the night.

“Alright! Shut up, I’m coming. Sheesh, don’t they know it’s the dead of night.”

Grabbing the door handle, she jerked it open towards her to see a small little patchwork wyvern who squeaked excitedly at the sight of her. Rolling her topaz eyes in annoyance, she noticed the envelope hanging in its tiny, glitching claws.

“Got a letter for me?” She asked, still holding the door handle with one paw while the other lay flat against the wall beside her, balancing on her back legs and tail.

The stunted messenger chirped in agreement, flapping closer to her to release the white package. Catching it with a quick swipe of the paw that had formerly been against the wall, she thanked the tiny beast with a curt nod before shutting the door in its face and returning to her bedroom.

It was the middle of the night and yet someone cared not for her sleep schedule apparently. Lighting a lamp beside her bed with a huff of smoky black energy, she read over the writing on the envelop first - not recognizing the slightly slanted clawscript which had written her name. How odd.

Opening it and pulling out the letter within, her eyes scanned over the near identical wording inside. Geer hadn’t written her back after she sent him what could only be described as a drunken rant as she spilled her emotions out over the page. How could she open herself up to him after what had happened in her last relationship? She barely got away from that drake with her life intact! Running away from all she’d known to save herself from certain death. It wouldn’t be right to drag such a sweet, naive soul into that mayhem. She fervently hoped he had understood and hadn’t taken her words at face value...

Narssia,

It has been some time since we spoke last and I apologize severely for the silence. I know this is sudden but would you like to meet up during the upcoming dry season? Surely work won’t be killing you then I hope.

I look forward to your reply,

Geer 

She frowned, opening the drawer on her nightstand and pulling out another letter he had sent not long after they first started talking about four months ago. The dry season was about three months away if her sleep-deprived brain calculated correctly. Still had plenty of time to respond on whether she would like to meet or not. 

Smoothing out the slightly crumpled paper, her eyes widened as the difference in the script became clear. Whoever had written the one she just received was using an old style similar to that of the first few dragons. It was deliberately crafted, suggesting to her there was more meaning than just what her eyes saw.

Where she had been tired, and slightly irritate before receiving the note, now she was wide awake and practically buzzing with energy. Or was it the lamp that was humming? That was strange. She thought she fixed it weeks ago.

Sighing deeply, she reached out to disperse the magic... only to get shocked as a result. Stepping back, Narssia snorted in surprise, wondering if she had fallen asleep again given how odd her simple lantern was behaving. It wasn’t too odd for her to just pass out at night after staying up for hours fearing vivid nightmares of the past. She was lucky she could even handle her wildly fluctuating emotions sometimes with all the damage that monster did to her.

Even stranger was the fact that she had been sleeping rather well before the letter came. Of course she had to get enough rest to perform her job as a healer at the local clinic in her small mountainous town. Helping dragons get better brought her the biggest joy... one that was able to mask the terror that haunted her dreams.

‘Sleep...’

The word pressed upon her mind, drowsiness suddenly overwhelmingly strong. Could she at least make it back into bed first? She turned, only to collapse as the low buzz of static grew louder before it was joined by a glitchy, pixelated cloud which seemed to be the origin of the sound.

‘Promising...’ The distorted mist swirled around Narssia’s body, crackling green sparks hitting the she-dragon’s black scales. ‘Tempting even...’

Without another word it seeped into her body, causing the limp dragoness to jerk wildly. Smears of green streaked over her black scales, marking several locations along her forelegs and back before trailing up her neck where a rippling diagonal slash was formed across her throat. She continued to trash around for several more seconds before falling still, the dead of the night once again consuming all within its wake.

The glitch had made its decision... and it only had the idiotic flightless one to thank. Things would be fun now since it had a chance to ruin two lives instead of just one.

A choice has been made, now she must pay...

The glitch is here, there’s nothing to fear... except the darkest corners of a mind burdened by repressed guilt and shame 

[secretlygrantaire]

My Saving Grace Kylo Ren X Female Reader Soulmate AU Chapter Two.

 This is a sequel to “Everybody’s Replaceable.” To read the first story follow this link: http://secretlygrantaire.tumblr.com/post/170594545296/everybodys-replaceable-kylo-ren-x-female-reader

Synopsis: A new group of dark side extremist have risen, obsessed with the old ways of the first Galactic Empire and greatly admiring the beliefs of Emperor Palpatine this brotherhood promises to wipe out not only the rebellion but the First Order as well. After crashing the wedding of Y/N and Kylo Ren they capture Y/N and promise to publically execute her unless Kylo and the First Order agrees with their outlandish requests. Now Y/N must find a way to escape and return to Kylo before an unexpected war breaks out across the galaxy.

Y/N= Your name

All research is done on Wookiepedia or Starwars.wiki

One: http://secretlygrantaire.tumblr.com/post/170859106686/my-saving-grace-kylo-ren-x-female-reader-soulmate

Chapter Two: Home to you. 

Y/N ran through the maze of halls, unsure of where she was going. Her original plan was to find that hatch she had seen but suddenly aware that she didn’t even know what planet she was on, going out into the atmosphere may be a bad idea. “Hey, halt!” She heard a voice yell from behind her. Y/N spun around to see an officer charge in her direction, stunning baton in hand. With one quick movement, Y/N slammed his body to the ceiling and then to the wall knocking him out cold. She looked around to make sure there were no other guards before an idea came to her. Quickly she dragged the officer’s body behind the nearest corridor and into a storage closet. Swiftly she changed out of her torn wedding dress and into the man’s red uniform, the loose fabric hung on her frame but it masked her identity long enough for her to make an inconspicuous escape. Y/N starred at the unconscious man before she pressed her hand to his forehead and forced her way into his mind. Y/N searched his memories for any information about this base, where she was, how to escape, after a brief moment she saw a planet, it was Naboo. She watched the man’s memories of the night they attacked her and Kylo, the night they had taken her away. She recognized the ship as it took off and left the planet, but not the system. The ship had traveled past the desert planet but had not jumped into hyper-drive, they didn’t need to, they weren’t going far. At first, Y/N thought they had taken her to one of Naboo’s moons but she was wrong, she was on the next planet in the Naboo system, she was on Widow. “I can fly back to Naboo easily,” Y/N thought to herself. “But where are the ships?” She plunged deeper into this man’s mind, forcing the information to come to her, it was strangely satisfying to take the knowledge she needed without hesitation. That was when she saw the base, it was small, this must not be their headquarters, but a hideout, a secret location. The base was divided into four components, separate buildings attached by a series of tunnels, and the farthest building was the hanger, she saw the many ships the brotherhood had commandeered over the years. An array of both Resistance and First Order ships, some as old as the days of the Empire, any one of these would take her Naboo easily. She released the man freeing herself from his mind and carefully opened the door, peering into the hallway an eerie quiet overcame the base. Slowly Y/N snuck out and made her way to the hanger, hoping to be as inconspicuous as possible as she made her way through the twisting halls she tried to avoid eye contact with every officer she passed. The brotherhood wore fabric face masks that covered the majority of their face except for their eyes, staring into the eyes of the enemy was always more offputting than staring at a metallic mask. Y/N kept her eyes forward and tried to remain calm, she could feel her heart accelerate as she passed by two large men, one of them decorated with a dark red stripe across their chest, she knew he must be the general. “Hey, you!” The man called out. Y/N stopped and slowly turned around to face him. “Come here,” He signaled, hesitantly Y/N approached the general. He was far taller than she was, so much so that Y/N had to look up to make eye contact, his shoulders were broad and a crooked scar ran across his left eye, making him all the most intimidating. “Where’s your weapon soldier?” He asked Y/N panicked suddenly remembering the stunning baton she had left in the closet. She paused, “uhhh,” She began trying to lower her vocal range. “Speak up man, where is your weapon?” Y/N noticed the other soldier slowly unlatch his batton from his belt, they were on to her. “Uhh, on my way to get it, sir.” She replied. The man narrowed his eyes, “Present your identification,” He ordered. The man beside him flicked his baton on. “Sir?” Y/N asked, “Present your identification... soldier,” He repeated. The two men stepped towards Y/N and just when they were about to attack an alarm blared. “Prisoner out of cell, I repeat prisoner out of cell!” A voice sounded over the speakers. The two men turned towards Y/N, the girl paused before saying, “...shit.” 

Y/N took off in the opposite direction, the two men barreling after her, stunning batons armed and ready. “Prisoner over here!” one of the men shouted, panicking Y/N spun around and extended her arms, clenching the men’s throats she knocked them together before turning towards the hanger. Y/N could hear the stampede of boots behind her though she dare not turn around, as she passed a corner she reached out towards the large metal door and ripped it from its hinges, throwing it behind her. She turned a corner, the hanger in sight, she could see the ships now when suddenly a group of soldiers appeared, blocking the only entrance. “Halt, there’s nowhere to go, we have you now!” One of the guards said. Y/N smirked, “You underestimate me,” She replied pulling the mask off her face. “Big mistake,” And with that, she dug her heel into the ground and lunged towards the army, yanking their batons from their hands she crashed the weapons together sending an array of sparks flying through the air. Y/N leaped at the men parting the soldiers like the Red Sea she cleared a path towards the hanger. Y/N bolted into the large room and without any hesitation ran towards the first ship she saw, an old X-Wing painted in bright Red and White. Quickly she unlatched the top and slid in, not even taking the time to strap herself down before bringing the old ship to life. She stared at the foreign controls, suddenly wishing she had chosen a TIE Fighter instead. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” She whispered, “I can do this,” “Hey!” A blaster shot bounced off the cockpit’s canopy startling Y/N. She looked over to see a group of soldiers filing into the hanger and behind them, Argent. “Okay, no time to debate, we just gotta,” Y/N rapidly pressed familiar buttons. “GO!” Pulling back on the yoke the X-wing jolted forward, flipping a few more switched Y/N managed to get it off the ground and out of the hanger. Alarms blared as the ship shakily took off into the atmosphere, unsure of what to do Y/N randomly pressed a few buttons until the ship leveled out and the alarms ceased.Y/N turned around and watched as the planet grew smaller and smaller, no longer sensing Argent’s presence and surprised that she wasn’t being followed Y/N breathed out a sigh of relief. “Now,” She said, “To get to Naboo,” Carefully she punched in the coordinate of the planet and began her journey back. Feeling hopeful but also skeptical that her escape was too easy.

Kylo POV: 

The First Order’s fleets headed towards Naboo, although Kylo didn’t know where in the system the Brotherhood had taken his wife it was a start. The desert planet came into view, the fleet maintained their position in the atmosphere while Kylo took a few transporter shuttles down to the surface. The citizens of Theed watched nervously, huddling close together as the Supreme Leader stepped foot into the gorgeous city. Parents held their children close by and hurried away as the troopers lined the streets. The air was warm and vessels floated gently on the tranquil Solleu river. The floating city was paradise to those who lived there and unbeknownst was the evil that lurked within. Kylo ordered Hux to patrol the city with a squadron while he headed back towards the Lake County to search Varykino.” Be on the lookout for any members of the brotherhood, harm no civilians but if you see Graves... kill on sight.” The General nodded before turning and commanding his troopers and addressing the crowd. Kylo boarded his ship and headed towards Varykino, the same resort he and Y/N had been married at not too long ago. The paradise that once held happy memories now created a sour taste in Kylo’s mouth. Kylo landed his ship and began to explore the terrain, it was abandoned as it had been for many years despite the upkeeping it had undergone for the wedding. Dried flowers and melted candles peppered the dusty burnt ground. A tapestry lay ripped in two, covered in dark ash, once a place of beauty was now frozen in a terrible memory. The Pontifex’s body was gone, Kylo supposed that somebody had come by and discovered the grizzly scene, his blood however still stained the marble. As Kylo walked along to balcony, his fingers tracing the stone he paused, suddenly sensing a familiar presence, he turned around only to see a figure draped in loose red fabric, their face hidden by the large hood. It was the same uniform as the Brotherhood, Kylo instinctively grabbed his lightsaber, igniting it, his face illuminated by the red glow. 

Y/N POV

Y/N glided over the surface of Naboo completely satisfied with her ability to find the planet. She had decided to return for a myriad of reasons, to change her clothes into something less conspicuous, to find a new ship one the Brotherhood likely wasn’t tracking, and most importantly, she knew that if her husband was coming to find her the first place he’d check would be where he’d seen her last. She was just hoping her instinct was right. Landing the small X-Wing on Varykino Y/N managed to be unseen by pedestrians, she quickly exited the ship and headed towards the lodge her and Kylo had planned on staying in after the ceremony, hoping her belongings were still in her room. She was stopped however by the familiar sound of a ship landing, the vessel kicked up a storm of dust even from far away forcing Y/N to lift her hood over her eyes. Y/N quickly ducked behind her ship worried that the Brotherhood had followed her after all. As the dust settled she peered around the X-wing and gazed upon a small transported ship from the First Order. As the door opened Y/N as met with the familiar presence of her soulmate, he had found her. She watched, frozen in place from the overwhelming joy as he walked along the balcony where they had been wed, he was alone. Slowly she approached him, her heart pounding in her chest, he turned towards her, Y/N saw the pain in his eyes, she opened her mouth to speak but before she could he had ignited his lightsaber, rage overwhelming his being. Y/N paused, confused as he began to lunge towards her before she remembered what she was wearing. “Wait!” She cried as she removed her hood revealing her face. Kylo jolted to a stop the anger fading from his face and being replaced by sudden tears of joy. He extinguished his saber and dropped it to the ground, “Y/N,” He whispered, his breathing sporadic, the couple ran towards each other meeting halfway and melting into the other’s arms. The two began to cry, dropping to the ground in a heap, Y/N buried her face in the crook of her soulmate’s neck who had pulled her onto his lap and wrapped her in his arms, planting kisses on the top of her head, her face, her hands, her wrist, everywhere he could, overcome with joy. Y/N melted into the man, wrapping her arms around his neck, refusing to let go, sobbing into his uniform. After a moment she lifted her head and stared into his eyes, “I knew you’d find me,” She whispered before planting a kiss on his lips, “We found each other,” Kylo replied, “We will always find each other,” The two sat like that for a while, not as two separate people but as one couple, one soul, in total bliss, and so very unaware of the sounds from above indicating the impending ships growing closer and closer. 

END OF CHAPTER TWO!!

I always try to make everything as clear as possible but if you ever have any questions about my logic feel free to ask and I’ll explain it. 

So so sorry this took so long to publish, I’ve been very busy and will be very busy this week but I will try to knock out a few more chapters soon! I am hoping to maybe make a filler chapter that just explains the Palpatine Brotherhood and their background before we get more in-depth with this plot. I hope you enjoyed this let me know if you want more!! 

ALSO!!! I am taking requests for one-shots, imagines, etc... inbox me your requests I’ll be making a “rules” post so be on the lookout for that! I want to do some more writing so... let’s go.