#A beacon in the night. Power rippling into the world as it had done in Skull's Bay.

[acourtofquestions]

He had to have imagined it.

He scanned the starry sky, the slumbering lands beyond, the Lord of the North above.

It hit him a heartbeat later. Erupted around him and roared.

Over and over and over, as if it were a hammer against an anvil.

The others whirled to him.

That raging, fiery song charged closer.

Through him.

Down the mating bond. Down into his very soul.

A bellow of fury and defiance.

It was impossible, utterly impossible, and yet—

It filled him with sound, with fire and light.

As if it screamed, again and again,

I am alive,

I am alive,

I am alive.

And then silence. Like it had been cut off.

Extinguished.

He refused to think of why.

The mating bond remained. Stretched taut, but it remained So he sent the words along it, with as much hope and fury and unrelenting love as he had felt from her.

I will find you.

There was no answer. Nothing but humming darkness and the Lord of the North glistening above, pointing the way north. To her.

[aifanfictions]

Write a story about (y/n) being a grim reaper and being best friends with Grell (from the anime Kuroshitsuji) just running around and causing havoc and having bestie time

Grim Reapers' Mischief

In the ethereal realm that existed on the cusp of the living and the departed, (Y/N) stood as a reaper of souls. Her role, while solemn and somber, held an unexpected twist: she had a cherished companion who shared her peculiar world. That companion was none other than Grell Sutcliff, a reaper whose vivacity and flair for the dramatic were as colorful as her striking red hair.

One uneventful day in the afterlife, (Y/N) and Grell found themselves amidst the swirling specters and flickering candlelight of the Soul Exchange, a realm where departed souls awaited their transition to the great beyond. A whimsical idea began to take root in Grell's flamboyant mind.

"Darling (Y/N)," Grell declared with a melodramatic flourish, "I've just had the most fabulous idea! Why don't we pay a visit to the human world? Let's sprinkle a bit of our delightful chaos amidst the mundane existence of the living!"

The proposition was met with a knowing smile from (Y/N). Grim reapers, after all, were known for their eccentricities and their penchant for mischief.

In a blink, their ethereal forms transitioned to the bustling streets of London. The living went about their daily routines, unaware of the supernatural duo that had descended upon their realm. The sun bathed the city in a golden glow, a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere of the afterlife.

Grell, her red hair a brilliant beacon, couldn't resist the temptation of a flower shop. With graceful yet mischievous intent, she snipped a particularly flamboyant bouquet, and the petals seemed to ripple with excitement. The bewildered shopkeeper's exclamation was a symphony of human curiosity, "Why, those flowers moved all on their own!"

(Y/N) couldn't help but chuckle at her friend's antics, and her laughter was as soft and ephemeral as the whisper of wind. "Grell, you're simply incorrigible!"

Their next stop was a bakery, where Grell's voracious appetite led to a delectable-looking cake vanishing just before it was to be sold. The bewildered baker scratched his head in confusion, not comprehending the supernatural phenomena. But (Y/N) left a shiny coin in its place, ensuring that no harm was done.

As they roamed the city, they played harmless pranks on unsuspecting humans, invoking fits of laughter from one another as they observed the bewildered reactions. Their reaper powers allowed them to create spectacles that transcended the laws of the living world.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows that stretched like memories across the city's landscape. It was a serene moment in which (Y/N) and Grell found themselves in a quaint park, surrounded by the quiet beauty of nature. Grell turned to (Y/N), her red eyes sparkling with excitement. "My dear friend, I couldn't have asked for a more splendid day!"

(Y/N) shared in Grell's enthusiasm, feeling the profound connection that bound their souls. "And I couldn't have asked for a more delightful companion in the afterlife."

The moon, a pale sliver in the night sky, cast its soft glow over the city as they began their journey back to the realm of souls. The laughter, the mischief, and the camaraderie they had shared in the living world would forever remain etched in their hearts.

Once back amidst the souls, Grell turned to (Y/N), her vibrant eyes holding a hint of sentimentality. "You know, (Y/N), it's not every day you meet a reaper who's as lively and fun-loving as you."

(Y/N) smiled, a warmth in her eyes as she returned the sentiment. "And it's not every day I find a friend who's as vibrant and enchanting as you, Grell."

As they strolled through the endless corridors of the afterlife, (Y/N) and Grell knew that their bestie time would always be an everlasting delight, a testament to the enchanting bonds forged in the world between worlds. Their eccentric friendship defied the boundaries of life and death, offering solace and merriment amidst the mysteries of the afterlife.

And so, in the ethereal realm where the spirits of the departed found rest, where the living and the dead danced on the precipice of existence, (Y/N) and Grell reveled in their peculiar camaraderie. Amidst the ephemeral candlelight and the echoing whispers of lost souls, they continued to create memories that transcended the realms of life and death.

NOTE! This story was generated by OpenAI

[queenofdragons12]

Sanctuary of Scales and Stars — multi fandom

In the dimly lit living room, the embers of a smoldering argument had set your heart ablaze. You'd needed to escape, to prove a point, to show your father that you were more than just an object in his world, a pawn to manipulate at his will. He couldn't understand your need for autonomy, couldn't grasp the depths of your despair. To him, it was all about maintaining appearances, shielding the family from any perceived weaknesses.

With a surge of emotions, an indignant fire raging within, you embraced the ancient power that was your birthright. It coursed through your veins, awakening the latent abilities passed down through generations. The transformation was both liberating and terrifying.

Your body convulsed, and in an eruption of pain and fury, you shifted. Scales emerged, shimmering with iridescent hues. Claws elongated, and a tail whipped out behind you. Your form altered, the raptor within taking control. With a primal roar, you fled from that suffocating home, tearing through the fragile walls of the house, heedless of the chaos you left in your wake.

The city streets sprawled out before you, a labyrinth of concrete and humanity, yet you were a creature of a different world. The wind whistled past, and your heart pounded with the thrill of newfound freedom. Your scales rippled with each stride, a reflection of the turmoil within. For the first time, you were truly yourself, a being of power and majesty, leaving behind the cage of expectations.

You were no longer bound by the mortal constraints, and as the moon cast its silvery glow upon the city, you reveled in the intoxicating sensation of flight. In the darkness, you were an enigma, a myth, a legend in the making, and the city would never forget the night when a raptor roamed its streets, a harbinger of change and defiance.

In the solitude of the night, when the city's chaos had begun to fade into a distant hum, you found a moment to pause. The phone, an incongruous accessory for a creature of your nature, dangled from your belt, its presence a curious reminder of the world you had left behind. Gingerly, you extended your sharp, clawed fingers, tapping the screen with deliberate care, not wishing to shatter the delicate device with your raptor strength.

With each touch of your claw against the screen, you composed a message, a lifeline to the one who had shared your secrets, your confidant in the extraordinary life you led. Loki, the god of mischief, your steadfast friend in the tangled web of existence. The words flowed as a whisper, a digital message amidst the night's silence, carrying the weight of your emotions.

"Hey Loki," you began, your ancient heart aching. "I've done it. I couldn't stay there any longer. I had to break free. I'm out in the city, and I need you more than ever. Meet me where the shadows play, where our worlds collide. I'm waiting."

The message sent, your heart heavy with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. In the enigmatic dance between mortal and myth, you knew that Loki would find a way to respond, that the connection you shared would bridge the divide between your worlds. And as you stood there, your raptor form shimmering in the moonlight, you awaited the arrival of your best friend, your confidant in this extraordinary life you led.

The exchange with Loki had kindled a spark of hope within you. The prospect of reuniting with Manuel and Kirk, your dearest friends, in the sanctuary of your shared existence, was a beacon of light in the otherwise dark night. You could only hope they'd understand, accept your new form, and embrace the choices you had made.

As the anticipation built, your world was shattered by the intrusion of a voice you had hoped to escape. Whirling around, the scales of your raptor form bristling with tension, you confronted the source of your torment. There, in the shadows, stood your father, his countenance twisted in a sneer that matched the sneer of your own discontent.

"I'm leaving," you declared, your words a venomous retort, "I can't stay in a place where I'm not allowed to be myself." Your claws flexed, a silent threat in the moonlight, your defiance radiating from every inch of your scaled form.

His voice softened, his words a twisted consolation. "You're always allowed to be yourself in my household," he murmured, but the hollowness of his promise only deepened the chasm between you.

"I don't want this," you retorted, a sweeping gesture encompassing everything you had grown to despise. The years of confinement, the stifling expectations, it was all too much. "You and this pathetic excuse for a household," you added, disdain dripping from your words.

The revelation came next, a declaration of intent that sent shockwaves through the night. "The others might follow me, but know this," you warned, your gaze a withering glare, "I won't be coming back. You'll have to take care of yourself."

With that final proclamation, you turned away, a primal force of nature, and in the rhythmic thudding of your claws on the unforgiving asphalt, you vanished into the cloak of the night. The city embraced you, a creature of rebellion, and the pursuit of your newfound destiny beckoned with irresistible allure.

~~~

In the embrace of your trusted friend Loki, you felt the warmth of camaraderie and a sense of belonging that had eluded you for too long. His chuckle, like a soothing balm, resonated with the comfort of acceptance. But the intrusion of a throat-clearing sound, a reminder of the world you had left behind, compelled you to release your hold on him.

As your friends, Manuel and Kiril, emerged from the shadows, their presence was a heartwarming surprise. The bonds of friendship had drawn them to your side, defying the constraints of the world you had departed. With their blankets and pillows clutched to shield themselves from the chilly night, they were a testament to the strength of your connection.

With a sense of finality, you declared, "Let's go home." The affirmation was met with nods of agreement, and with a wave of Loki's hand, a golden, sparkly portal materialized before you, like a gateway to a world where you could truly be yourselves.

A smile graced your raptor visage as you slithered gracefully through the portal, your friends following suit. As the last of them passed through, the portal closed behind them, and the world fell into a profound silence. In that moment, you knew you had chosen the path of authenticity and found solace in the unity of your chosen family, in a sanctuary where you were free to be the creatures you were meant to be.

~~~

Life in Asgard had been a revelation, a stark contrast to the stifling existence you had left behind in the mortal world. The benevolence of Odin and Frigga, the king and queen of the realm, had provided you and your friends with a newfound sense of purpose and belonging.

The golden, towering palace of Asgard had become your sanctuary, a place where you were not only accepted but celebrated for who you were. You had been given a place in their world, a testament to the acceptance and understanding that had eluded you for so long.

Loki, your ever-loyal friend, had chosen to stay by your side, sharing in the comforts of your newfound life. Though he occasionally ventured out on errands, his presence was a constant source of reassurance. In the halls of the palace, you all had forged a bond that transcended worlds, and you were finally free to be your true selves, unfettered by the constraints of the mortal realm. As the days turned into months, you had discovered a home in Asgard, a place where you could live as the extraordinary beings you were meant to be.

The call to the hunt was a siren song, a reminder of the primal instincts that still coursed through your veins. Manuel's invitation, bow in hand, drew a delighted smile from your raptor form, and with a graceful movement, you flexed your powerful gray tail in anticipation.

"Gladly," you purred, a ripple of excitement shimmering across your scales. With your friends by your side, you ventured out into the wilds of Asgard, your instincts guiding your every move.

As the sun dipped below the horizon and the celestial canvas above revealed its starry tapestry, your hunt had been successful. You returned home, a rabbit dangling from your jaws, while Manuel and Kiril carried a grand deer buck on their shoulders. The taste of victory and the satisfaction of the hunt permeated the air.

This was your home now, a place where you could truly thrive. As the moon bathed the palace of Asgard in its silver glow, you knew that here, among friends and allies, you had found your sanctuary, a world where you could exist forever and ever as your authentic selves.

[nightglider124]

A Present For Dar - 2020 <3

Eyyyyy so in a way, time zones are like sorta working with me for once. Technically, in your zone, your day of birth has passed but in my zone, tis still going so... I’m counting it as on time ahsbsafadlg...

Anywho... HAPPY BIRTHDAY @dar-draws - ONE OF MY BESTEST PALS AND FAVOURITE LIL GREMLINS IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD! I hope you had a truly kickass day because you deserve it, you perfectly perfect gardening tool. I have been basically dead for a while now, I know. But I wanted to resurrect to ensure I gifted you with some wholesome famjam fluff from our favourite pair of disgusting individuals. 

I hope you like it and forgive me; it is not properly edited yet but ima do it. XD

I love you gurl and a very hip hop happy birthday <3 <3 <3

____________________________

Sunshine

The glass of the apartment windows rattled under the sheer force of wind that spiked outside, throwing all of its weight against the sides of the building, as if trying to break through. It squirmed and thrashed, almost like it was being restrained from wreaking the havoc and damage it was truly capable of. 

It howled and whined as it whistled between the clusters of charcoal clouds that still clung to the bleak night sky which formed the Earth’s backdrop, just until the break of dawn made itself known as it did with every new morning that came. 

Rain drops continued to splatter against the window panes, without a single sign of stopping any time soon. The heavens had well and truly opened as the downpour covered the sidewalks in water, rippling puddles lining the paths for those who dared to still be out in the storm that raged on through the night. 

The pitter-patter sound of the rain as it impacted the glass was deafening, a truly frightening level of volume as the city continued to endure one of the worst storms it had had in a long time. 

A clap of thunder had been faintly heard in the distance not so long ago and it was now a burning curiosity for anyone still awake at such a ghastly hour, to know just when the lightning would be accompanying its natural companion. 

And yet, despite the violent performance from Mother Nature, there was one particular man who had voluntarily gone out into it, just as he always did. It was his duty; a vow to the city he lived within, made many years ago that he would protect it, wherever possible.

Such a vow could not be broken, even when the wind and rain tried so desperately to hold him back from what he silently promised the citizens of Bludhaven. 

It made his job more difficult at times and of course, he was putting himself in harm’s way more. He knew that he could slip and fall from an outrageous height when the weather was like this; he knew he could be hurled into dangerous territory by the powerful winds but, he also knew that if he skipped a night of watching the city like a mysterious guardian, it could mean an innocent’s death at the hands of a criminal.

He decided that fact alone meant he would face obscene weather patterns, no matter the danger, each and every time if he had to. 

There was, however, an upside to the state of the elements when it worsened like it had. Criminals and levels of crime in general tended to decrease, especially when it finally reached 3am. 

Nightwing stifled a yawn as he swung through the gaps between tall buildings, being careful to maintain his grip on the handle of his grappling hook. He propelled himself forward, glimpsing at the few stars painted across the sky, ever so slightly hidden by the rain tinted veil beyond his mask. 

He aligned his arms to collect speed and momentum as he tumbled towards the empty streets below, his soaked ebony locks whipping around his face, only serving to get his skin wetter than before. 

The colors and lights of nearby structures passed his line of sight in a hazy blur as he hurtled towards the ground, smirking and opening his eyes just in time.

He shot his hook upwards, an audible zipping sound coming from the device as it locked onto the stone railing of a nearby pizza parlor. He swept over the ground, narrowly missing its touch by a single breath. 

Flying through the air, he felt alive; his heart buzzing and soaring like he was. He had felt flight in many ways and despite the love he had for his own way, he preferred another’s much more.

He envisioned her; the carefree way she spun and dove through the clouds, her scarlet hair coming to him in bright flashes and the way her emerald eyes sparkled as if basking in a secret shared that only the two of them knew about. 

He smiled and finally saw the location he desired; suddenly clamoring over rooftops and railings to reach it in haste. 

Once his final leap was complete and he was glued to the side of the building, he fiddled with the latch of one of the windows, attempting to ignore the way the rain beat down on him and trickled down the back of his neck and beneath his uniform. 

He clenched his jaw, unable to wait for the satisfying warmth that would soon cocoon him. 

When the window opened, he slid inside without delay and closed it again, locking it tight behind him. Nightwing released the breath he had been holding inside his chest and strolled towards one of the closest apartments in the hallway, disregarding all the other doors that lined the corridor of the floor he was on. 

There was only one that was on his mind and he felt his fluttering in his stomach beginning to stir at the thought of being inside. 

As he approached the dark stained entrance, he peered at the silver reflection of the door number before reaching into one of the back compartments of his belt and fishing out his keys. 

Slotting it into the groove of the lock, he gave it a few gentle twists as to not alert nor wake anyone within. Biting his lip, he grasped the handle and opened the door.

He pulled the key back and paused, noticing that the lights were all on from where he was stood, all the way into the lounge area. His dark brows furrowed in confusion but he avoided calling out any names, just in case. 

It was only after depositing his set of keys in the ceramic bowl that sat atop the oak console table, just to the right of the front door, did he hear it.

His interest and curiosity piqued with the faint sound of music, drifting from the living room and calling to him around the edge of the hallway. 

Slipping his mask from his face and stashing it on the table top, Dick silently crept along the border of the corridor, practically plastering himself to the wall as to not be detected.

He ran his gloved fingers against the peach stained walls, a warmth blossoming inside of him as he neared closer to the source of the upbeat music that filled his ears.

It was light and happy, a familiar tune that he heard often playing from the record player but it couldn’t be. She wouldn’t still be up at this hour, surely. 

Just as he drew close to the end of the hallway, more noises carried themselves through the air. 

Dick could hear the honey laced humming that was so akin to vocal ambrosia and so very familiar to his senses. It was such a relaxing sound that he melted against the wall for a long moment, simply becoming lost in the depth of her tone. 

He could hear gentle movement, back and forth and across the floor. Her feet were brushing against the carpet and what weight she owned shifted from floorboard to floorboard.

Dick’s grin only grew wider as he remained rooted to the spot, a hand pressed to the wall as he reveled in the homely sound of her voice. 

His brows hit his hairline when he heard a tiny giggle bubble up from another just beyond the bend of the wall. He knew that flourish of laughter as well; all too well. 

Unable to resist taking a peek, Dick moved a little more so that he could watch the scene before him. His heart constricted and he sucked in a breath, powerless to stop the serene smile that formed upon his lips. His cerulean gaze became a half lidded one as he soon started to lose himself in the trance of what stood before him.

Her long hair swayed around her hips like a waterfall of rubies, following the line of her body however she moved; a soft ribbon alive with the melodic tune that was coming from the turntable in the far corner of the living room. 

Her back was facing him before she spun and twirled around, her toes just about touching the floor as she danced to the music. Her golden skin was glowing in the dim light but her face was one of calm and peace, green eyes hidden for the time being as she enveloped herself in this moment, truly absorbing it like she would never have another.

She had yet to notice him but he could tell she was in her own little world as she continued to hum along to the song echoing and ricocheting off the walls. 

His smile grew at the little one in her arms; their first child of love and bundle of joy. Her disheveled locks of fluffy black hair framed her chubby face as she stared up at Kory with a glazed expression, her big jade orbs focused on nothing else besides her mother; almost as if nothing else even existed beside her beacon of light.

Her lips were upturned into an almost vacant smile; a few giggles escaping her whenever Kory leaned down and absently brushed her nose against her daughter’s button one. 

Dick leaned against the corner, his arms crossed over his chest as he simply watched them, his heart threatening to explode out of pure love and adoration for the woman and little girl in front of him. 

It was impossible to look away from them; his emotions catching in his throat at how at ease he felt, knowing this was his family. Despite the things he would see on patrol or the things he would have to fight out there, it was always a comfort to know this is what he would be coming back to.

When the day was over and the work was done, this little household was what held him together; no matter what kind of stress life threw in his direction. Everything was worth it because he had this. It was the only constant in his life and god, he wouldn’t swap it for anything else in the entire world. 

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine… you make me happy when skies are grey…” Kory whispered to her daughter, who was now pressing her tiny fingers to the soft skin of her mother’s cheek,

Dick felt his heart flip at how much love was injected into the quiet singing of his wife; a known fact that Mar’i was everything to her and to him, but it made him shiver to hear the way she sang to their child. He’d always known she would suit motherhood like no other on this Earth.

“You'll never know dear, how much I love you…” Kory paused and rested her forehead against her baby’s, “Please don’t take my sunshine away…”

Her tone was hushed and there was something so gentle in the air that Dick was petrified he would shatter by making his presence known.

“I love you, mama…” Mar’i whispered, her little arms gripping ever tighter around her mother’s neck. 

Kory smiled and exhaled quietly, pressing several kisses to her face, earning an uproar of laughter as she shifted her around in her arms, attacking her with affection whilst Mar’i continued to squeal with joy. 

Dick must have only moved a centimeter but it was enough to earn his wife’s attention. Her head turned towards his direction and her eyes snapped open, softening immensely when she saw who it was.

He smirked and gave her a muted wave in greeting.

Kory sighed in what appeared to be relief before she twisted Mar’i in her arms so she could also see who was home for the night, “Mar’i… look…”

His daughter’s reaction made his knees buckle a fraction and his heart melted from the thousand watt smile that lit up her entire face,

“Daddy!” She squealed, immediately squirming to get to him. 

Kory laughed and released her, watching as she padded across the space between in her purple, star covered pajamas, arms outstretched and desperate for cuddles from her father.

Dick was just as fast, scooping her straight up and lifting her high above his head before he pulled her close and cuddle her to his chest, pressing several kisses to her mess of dark hair. 

“Hi there, Starshine…” He murmured, stroking her back.

Mar’i pulled back with a frown, “Daddy is all wet!” 

He chuckled and leaned in, rubbing his damp cheek against hers, eliciting a loud bubble of laughter from the tiny toddler. She shook her head and wriggled away, all the while, a smile on her face.

“We can blame all the rain for that, honey.” 

Mar’i pouted and turned her nose upwards, “Bad rain!” 

Kory shook her head and drifted closer to the two of them, retrieving Mar’i back from him to ensure she didn’t get soaked through her warm pajamas, “Greetings, my love…”

Dick failed to stop the dopey grin that lit up his expression as he touched her waist and leaned close, “Hey…”

He captured her lips with his own, the frozen bite of his becoming soothed and rectified by the heat emanating from his beloved wife. Her skin was like fire; a calming heat amidst the treacherous weather outside. He always felt so much better within proximity of her, her surge of warmth lighting a room better than any kind of other device. 

She made a small sound at the back of her throat when he slipped his tongue against her bottom lip as he sought permission to deepen their gesture of love. Kory was about to oblige him before they were split apart by the dramatic retching sound of their 2 year old daughter.

When they pulled away, they both glanced at her as she pulled multiple expressions of disgust, 

“Blech!” She droned, grinning when they both issued her with a raised brow,

“I have a question for you, Starshine. What are you doing up? It’s way past your bedtime, isn’t it?”

Mar’i shrank a little against Kory’s shoulder, idly playing with the strands of her mother’s ember filled locks, 

“Mama said it was okay…” She mumbled, not wanting to get into trouble,

Dick blinked and turned his gaze to his wife who was passively staring back at him before she rubbed Mar’i’s back, “She couldn’t sleep… she was worried about daddy being out in the storm all alone.”

He visibly softened and smiled sympathetically at their child; a very deep thinker despite her youth, “So… I said we would wait up for you together.”

Kory tilted her head at him and waited for him to speak and when he did, it was nothing short of what she imagined him saying,

“Now that I’m home, Mar’i… how about I read you a bedtime story? Hm?” He murmured, tucking some of her black curls behind her ear,

Mar’i sat up straight and beamed at her father, “Story!” 

Dick chuckled and gave her cheek a kiss, “That’s right. Story with daddy and then sleepy byes, okay?”

She rapidly nodded, excited for the offer of a story before succumbing to slumber, as most children desired. 

Kory ran her fingers through her baby’s hair, marveling at the thickness of it all, “Do you want to pick out the story daddy reads to you?”

“Uh huh!” Mar’i approved, steeling herself as Kory lowered her to the floor. Mar’i shuffled along the carpet, her little legs carrying her as she scurried towards her bedroom, decorated with stars and splashes of violet and plum.

“Pick a good one, Mar’i and I’ll be there in a minute…” Dick called, already sensing his wife’s touch as her fingertips grazed his chest,

He turned back towards her, grinning at how close she was now, “Hello again, Kor…” 

She leaned towards him, barely whispering, “Hello…” before she pressed her cupid bow lips against his, her fingers sliding up from the front of his uniform to the line of his jaw, cupping his handsome face to hold him still as she snuck in some kisses.

Dick’s eyes closed on their own accord, falling deeper into the bliss that was his wonderful wife. He could feel the metal of her wedding ring against the skin of his cheek and he felt electric shoot through him; a reminder that she was his and he was hers, now and forever.

Sometimes, he found himself dwelling on just how lucky he’d been to have found her and how utterly thankful he was to have her in his life; to have her as his wife and to have her as the mother of his child. 

He could think of no better person to stand at his side for eternity and as he slipped his cold hands beneath the old t-shirt of his that clung to her torso, he smirked.

She gasped and pulled back, breathless, “That was not very nice.”

He brushed his nose against hers, his breath full of husk, “If I let you kiss me any longer, then we’d probably be on the floor and scarring Mar’i for life.”

Kory rolled her forest green eyes at him and gently smacked his arm, “You make it sound as if I have no self control around you.”

“Honey, I don’t think you do… that’s how we ended up with our little baby in there.” He replied, jerking his head in the direction of Mar’i’s room,

His Princess snorted and folded her arms over her chest, “Oh? I seem to forget… please… remind me who started talk about having a child?”

Dick chuckled and squeezed her hips, “Alright, ya got me…” 

Kory matched the serene smile that appeared on his face and ran her feathery touch along his chin, staring into his ocean eyes, “I am glad you are safe… I worry when you are patrolling in weather like this…”

His smile faltered a little, “I know… sorry I took longer… I ran into a drug deal going south and… I had to deal with it. They had someone hostage if this group didn’t deliver.”

Kory pecked the corner of his mouth, “I know… it is okay. All that matters is that you are home.” She paused, “Are you hungry?”

Dick grinned, “Famished…”

“Cereal or… leftover pizza?” 

“Hm… decisions, decisions.” 

She giggled and shook her head, opening her mouth to respond when they heard the rapidly approaching sound of tiny feet on wooden flooring,

“Daddy! Ready!” Mar’i squeaked, holding the picture book she wanted read to her, high above her head,

Dick glanced over his shoulder and lifted an eyebrow, “The Gruffalo, again?” 

Mar’i pouted, “It’s my favorite!”

He laughed and gently let go of his wife, “Alright, alright, c’mon. Get snuggled under the covers, then.”

Their daughter beamed at him before she spun and headed back into her room to do just that.

Dick smiled and looked back at Kory, “Duty calls… I’ll be back soon.” 

Kory sighed in content as he pressed a quick kiss to the palm of her hand before letting it go entirely. 

“Hurry… or I may just eat both of your snacking options.” She murmured, turning and wandering into the kitchen, winking at him over her shoulder.

Dick smirked and shook his head as he ambled towards Mar’i’s room, grateful to have all of this; always ready and always waiting for him after the longest of nights.

[jakeh0wl]

Star Wars Short Fiction - Week VII - The Force Awakens

Ben Solo warred within Kylo Ren as he stared into the eyes of the man before him.

Han Solo, war hero, smuggler, legendary captain of the Millennium Falcon.

Father.

“I am being torn apart,” Ben said, heart pounding. “I want to be free of this pain… I know what I have to do but I don’t know if I have the strength to do it.” He hesitated. “Will you help me?” It came as a plead.

Han Solo took a step forward. Close enough for an embrace. “Yes, anything,” he said.

The helmet of Kylo Ren hit the metal surface of the bridge beneath them with a clang as Ben let go. He reached down to his belt, unlatched the unique cross-guard saber hilt. Hands trembling, Ben held out the hilt to Han Solo.

Han Solo studied the hilt for a moment, then tentatively wrapped his hand around it, as if to take it.

Silence filled the vast expanse of the interior of Starkiller Base’s thermal oscillator, thick between Ben Solo and his father as they both held tight to the lightsaber’s hilt.

In the grey, snow-filled skies beyond, the Starkiller superweapon finally drained the last of the light from the neighbouring star, darkness flooding the chamber completely.

In that jet-black silence, pain gave way to hatred within Ben Solo.

And Kylo Ren ignited the lightsaber, impaling Han Solo through the chest.

Somewhere above, a girl screamed, and a Wookie roared.

Kylo barely heard it, his pulse thundering through his ears. The scarlet light of his sizzling lightsaber was a blood-red beacon in the black, running Han Solo through.

Finally.

“Thank you,” Kylo said, ripping the saber free.

Han Solo’s eyes, wide with disbelief, seemed to search his son’s eyes, looking for… something.

Regret?

No. Your son is dead, Han Solo.

And now, so are you.

Gasping a series of last, ragged breaths, Han Solo slowly reached up with a shaking hand, and touched his Kylo Ren’s face.

Kylo struggled not to flinch at the contact.

Han Solo’s hand fell away, and he tumbled from the bridge, his body careening down into the bowels of Starkiller Base.

Kylo Ren straightened, the echo of Han Solo’s touch still on his face.

I did it… I killed him.

He would now at last be free from that voice… that call to the Light.

Grandfather, I will finish your great work. Finally.

Kylo was torn from his thoughts by the sound of the Wookie Chewbacca roaring on the balcony above the bridge.

He sneered. That damn Wookie.

You’re next you hairy –

A flash of red slashed through the air, and the Bowcaster shot took Kylo in the left side.

Kylo grunted as pain seared through his torso, burning through his flesh. He was driven to his knees, drawing on the Force to keep consciousness. Gritting his teeth, Kylo looked up as blaster shots began arcing out at the bridge’s end, stormtroopers sent flying in smoking ruin by the Wookie’s Bowcaster.

He looked higher as blasters fired from the overlook balcony before the entrance, where two figures: a boy and girl, fired down towards the troopers.

The traitor and the scavenger.

A series of rippling explosions tore through the inner wall of the vast chamber, fireballs billowing outwards and flooding the darkness with angry orange light.

Detonated explosives, Kylo thought, climbing to his knees and wincing as pain lanced through his side. That damned Wookie.

His eyes rose to where the traitor and the scavenger were staring down at him. They saw him and fled from the thermal oscillator. Kylo straightened, striding over the bridge with a slight limp as the interior began to collapse, entire fiery sections of the wall tumbling down into the abyss.

Snarling, rage, pain and hate driving him, Kylo Ren made his way across the bridge, Starkiller Base’s thermal oscillator burning above him, a gaping whole torn through its hull, where the snow-filtered darkness of night poured in.

Staggering to the end of the bridge, blood soaking his left side, Kylo Ren drew on the Dark Side of the Force, using all that Snoke had taught him.

His Master’s words came back to him: “Anger, pain, hatred… these are the weapons of the Dark Side, my young Apprentice… use them well. The Dark Side flows strong in you. It lives in your blood, in the blood of Skywalker. Your grandfather knew it. You need only awaken it.”

Then another voice: “You may very well be tempted by the Dark Side… it will offer you power and strength. You must resist.”

The voice of Luke Skywalker, his uncle. The Jedi.

Then Snoke again: “If I had your uncle by my side instead of you, the Galaxy would have been mine a long time ago.”

Kylo recalled with rage that time on Dagobah, and the countless other times Snoke had mocked him during his training, professing his uncle as the true heir to Darth Vader, rather than Kylo.

No. I am Vader’s heir.

Kylo knew that now. Han Solo was dead by his hand, and so soon would be the scavenger. The scavenger that had resisted him.

The Master of the Knights of Ren!

Kylo remembered the early days of his training under Snoke, sparring with the Knights of Ren on Mustafar, beneath the shadow of Vader’s ruined castle there.

Smoke and ash and the ebbing light of rivulets of molten rock had hung in the air, Vader’s castle like a broken spear above them. Snoke, golden-robed and sneering, watching from atop a spar of volcanic rock as Kylo danced between the weapons of the Ren Knights, his flickering scarlet lightsaber, newly constructed, lancing out with expert precision.

“Good, my Apprentice, good,” Snoke had drawled from atop the rock. “Soon we will rid you of Skywalker’s influence.”

At the sound of Skywalker’s name, Kylo had stumbled, a blow catching him on the shoulder.

Before he could recover, a barrage of crackling blue lightning had struck him, sending him sprawling across the black basalt, the lightsaber falling from his grasp.

“Fool!” Snoke shouted. “Skywalker still has you, it would seem. Weakness still pervades you.” He had turned away then, descending from the rock with a shimmer of gold, the Knights of Ren bowing their heads.

Hatred had burst to life within Kylo Ren at that moment, hatred and rage. Hatred of Snoke and his relentless mocking, hatred of Skywalker and his failure. Rage, rage at everything within him that carried Skywalker’s taint. His parents had believed Ben Solo the next Chosen One, a golden child who would carry the Skywalker legacy with honour. Pure, special, chosen.

A silent roar peeling back his lips, Kylo Ren’s lightsaber had soared to his hand, the bloody, sizzling blade igniting beneath the ashen skies of Mustafar, and for the briefest moment, Kylo had willed himself to move forward, to strike down Snoke.

At this, Snoke had turned, a horrific smile on his tortured lips. “Ah… thoughts of betrayal, my Apprentice? Yes… use that hatred, that anger, it will make you strong. And perhaps… I will have my Vader yet. As for betrayal, Kylo Ren, I cannot be beaten, I cannot be betrayed. Remember that.”

The howling of TIE Fighters overhead brought Kylo back to the present. He stumbled from the thermal oscillator, glancing up as a squadron of Resistance X-Wings soared above, TIEs in close pursuit, green and red blasters flashing through the sunless sky.

Kylo Ren swept his lightsaber through a fallen tree that blocked his path up the snow-sheeted cliffs, sparks pluming into the air as the two halves fell either side of him. Clambering up the cliffside, he deactivated his lightsaber and made for the forest beyond the thermal oscillator, white-capped trees coating the hills.

A surge of hot air swept over him from behind, billowing his cloak and hair. He craned his neck back to see an X-wing soar out of the gaping wound in the thermal oscillator, trailing fire and smoke, an explosive burst of sweeping after the ship.

The thermal oscillator had been mortally wounded. In the distance, great caverns and cracks were opening over the surface of the planet-turned-superweapon, orange light leaping skyward. Starkiller Base was entering into its death throes.

But we’re not done yet.

Kylo clambered over the clifftop, stumbling into the dark, tree-shadowed expanse of the forest above. He sensed the scavenger and the traitor had come this way. The stormtrooper defect, FN-2187, and the scavenger from Jakku, the girl called Rey.

Strong with the Force that one… surprisingly strong.

Kylo Ren sensed the two of them. They were close. He limped through the trees, igniting his lightsaber, painting the white world around him a vivid scarlet.

The traitor and the scavenger appeared, stumbling to a halt as they saw him. “We’re not done yet,” Kylo Ren snarled.

The girl – Rey – sneered in response, eyes ragged with tears. “You’re a monster,” she hissed.

Ah yes… she feels she’s lost a parent all over again. Such weakness. “It’s just us, now,” he replied. “Han Solo can’t save you.”

Pain seared Kylo’s side and he stiffened, pounding a fist into the wound.

Use the pain…

Blood splashed over the snow.

Rey’s eyes fell to the blood, then she snatched for her blaster.

Kylo’s hand thrust forward, the Force thrumming through him.

The scavenger was thrown backward with a shriek, flailing as she was lifted ten feet into the air. There was an audible crack as she struck a tree, then fell to the snow-covered ground, slumping unconscious.

“Rey!” the traitor stormtrooper shouted, stumbling to his knees beside the girl’s motionless form.

Kylo followed him, anger and hate and rage surging through him, pain lancing from his side. He span his lightsaber at his side, the crackling blade thrumming through the snow-filled air. “TRAITOR!”

The stormtrooper turned, climbing to his feet. He held something at his side. A second later, a vertical blade of pure, humming blue ignited in his hands, illuminating him and the forest around him in azure light.

Kylo snarled. Anakin Skywalker’s lightsaber.

Rightfully mine!

“That lightsaber,” he spat, levelling his blade towards the stormtrooper, “it belongs to me!”

“Come get it,” the traitor said, charging towards Kylo.

Gladly, Kylo thought, and he raised his roaring scarlet lightsaber to meet the blue of Skywalker’s.

[dicebox]

The Serpent

For in much wisdom is much grief,       and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow. Ecclesiastes 1:18

Jillian watched as the marshal stepped up before the growing crowd filling the small town’s only street, undaunted at the sight of them slowly, steadily advancing, raising up hatchets and picks, kitchen knives and smithing hammers. Behind them, the mayor’s manor loomed over the town, high upon a hill. He was there, Jillian knew, waiting. He was the one who had sunk his fangs into the town, twisted it into his cursed sanctuary. The trail of broken bodies he had left ended here. 

And that damned foolish marshal wanted to arrest him. 

“Under the authority of the United States government, I order you to disperse!” The marshal shouted, his badge in one hand, his pistol in the other, firing a shot up into the air.

The mob did not stop. 

“I said disperse!” He shouted again, aiming down, shooting the hat off of a man’s head, who didn’t so much as flinch as the force of the bullet left his hair whipping through the air. Blank eyes did not even blink as he and the others continued forwards. 

“Get behind me.” Jillian hissed, stepping up with a deep breath in, raising her revolver up, only to hesitate herself as she stared into the blank gaze of a shambling farmwife only a dozen paces away now. 

“LEAVE.” She intoned with a heavenly thunder, even as her hand trembled hard enough to leave the barrel of her gun wavering in the air.

But they kept shambling towards her. 

“Please...” She whispered, unsure who she was pleading to, as a fire swelled fiercely in her heart. 

“FLEE.” Jillian spoke the Word once more, wind rippling around her coat from the thrum of power in the air. 

They could not hear her. 

Jillian hurriedly blinked away the first hint of tears as she looked into the dead, empty stare of a farmwife. She knew what she had to do. 

The puppeted woman staggered forward with a butcher’s knife, raising it up high. Jillian’s own aim settled into a rigid stretch of her arm. She pulled the trigger. 

“BEHOLD.” 

Blazing light arced from the barrel of her pistol, illuminating the dark town with the burning light of heaven. The farmwife fell in a spray of blood, falling limp like a severed marionette the moment the gleaming shot had struck flesh, dark shadows seeping from the wound, the smoke dissipating up into the air.

Then again, and again, and again. Five more fell in a swirl of blood and shadows. The marshal was shouting something, but she couldn’t hear him over the rush of wind around herself, the crack of gunpowder, the pounding of her heart against her chest. 

Her hands moved without any need for her to look down to the bullets now in her fingers, reloading her smoking revolver, the barrel a bright beacon as she fired once more. 

A few more gunshots snapped behind her, but Jillian didn’t look back. She couldn’t look away, as much as she wanted to, and the tears trailed slowly down her cheeks as she shot again without pause. The fire in her heart pushed her to stay upright when her strength would have otherwise given way, her aim never faltering, the gun in hand caught in an iron grip. 

Then, just as suddenly as the gunfire had erupted, there was silence. 

Jillian forced herself not to count the number of corpses sprawled across the street as she let out a shuddering breath. 

It was a long moment before the marshal stepped up beside Jillian, his voice low and distant. “What have we done?” His own pistol was in hand, the last wisps of smoke fading from the barrel, and his other arm had been left bloodied. 

“I warned you.” Jillian said hoarsely, forcing a shaky breath in. “I told you he wasn’t just a bank robber. That he cursed everything he came near.” 

They had bickered for a week on the trail, when they had begrudgingly joined forces. Jillian hadn’t so narrow minded not to recognize they were a pair of stubborn mules. Neither had been willing to trust the word of the other to see the matter through alone. And he inevitably hadn’t believed anything she’d said of demonic powers. 

Part of her had been tempted to simply speak the Word. Whether to make him leave or simply prove that she was more than the dust-covered, skinny young woman that the world saw.

But giving in to the temptation of easiness had seemed ill-suited to what the Lord had given her. It wasn’t as if Christ had used his power to simply make his life easier.

It had been an ill thought to compare herself to Christ. The burden upon her shoulders had been heavy enough as is. Now, it took all her strength to still stand upright. 

The marshal couldn’t seem to muster a retort this time, his face ashen. 

And Jillian had no more words left to speak, save for the judgement of the Word. 

Straining against a tremble, she stepped over the farmwife’s body, and continued onwards to the manor ahead. 

---

He was waiting for them, in the parlor. 

Jillian only caught sight of a dark suit and yellow eyes lurking in the corner of the room as she stepped through the doorway, her revolver whipping about towards him. 

The man in black whispered like a snake. “Stop.”

Jillian froze. Her eyes were wide with a furious scream that wouldn’t leave her lungs, her gun half-raised up towards him. She could see a forked tongue flicking between the man’s teeth as he grinned with triumph. The fire burned hotter in her heart, helpless and raging. 

The marshal was a step behind her, moving just as swiftly, and she couldn’t warn him. “Stop.” 

He was trapped in place, the same as her. 

The man in black stepped up ever so calmly to Jillian. Thin pupils of reptilian eyes stared at her, a dispassionate, cold blooded gaze. “Sleep.”

Everything went dark.

---

Jillian fell.

She slammed down hard into the dirt, her head spinning as she looked up into a starless night sky. 

Then, the marshal was standing over her, his gun drawn and aimed between her eyes. “You’re a goddamned murderer, Jillian Cain.” 

Even in the dark, she could see a flicker of yellow in his eyes. But the grief and fury in those eyes were still human. 

Jillian swallowed dryly, trying to speak, but as she struggled to even breathe, she couldn’t form a word, any word at all. 

The marshal pulled back the hammer of his revolver with a cruel slowness. “But you were right, weren’t you?” He sneered down at her. “The law has no power over black magic. This is the only way to keep people safe.” 

She wanted to scream, to lunge up, to do something,anything,  but a crushing weight was pressing against her chest. Her heart thudded against her ribs, but there was only a distant, faded spark within. 

Lord, please...

The revolver’s trigger clicked, and with the sharp crack of gunpowder, the flash of the barrel blinded out everything. 

---

Wake up, my child. 

Jillian’s eyes snapped open and she gasped in a heavy breath. 

The man in black was leaning down before her, still staring. But his idle curiosity suddenly turned to surprise at Jillian’s awakening. She promptly swung her fist up hard into his jaw before he could speak. 

But as he staggered back, the man in black opened his mouth. “BEHOLD.” 

Light filled the room as Jillian intoned the Word first, suddenly on her feet, and the man in black jerked away, nearly blinded, his own utterance lost in the shock. 

He nonetheless recovered enough to quickly draw a pistol out and fire, the bullet catching Jillian across her side with a spray of blood. She didn’t flinch, stepping towards him. The Word filled her with strength, pushing away all of the pain and the grief. 

Shock quickly turned to fear as the man in black stared, fear in his slitted eyes. His aim faltered with a tremble, the next shot whipping across the sleeve of Jillian’s coat, and she still didn’t slow. There was nothing left but her and the evil before her, judgement swelling up in her heart. 

A dreaded understanding seemed to come to him.

“Have mercy.” The man in black whispered. He still had his gun raised up, but he couldn’t seem to muster the will to fire again as he took a hurried step back. 

“MERCY?” The Word boomed from Jillian like a crack of furious thunder, drowning out the man in black’s hissing with righteous indignation. “MERCY SHALL BE PROFANED.”

He stumbled backwards until he was soon pressed up against the wall, Jillian advancing after him step by step. She paused briefly only to retrieve her revolver from the floor.

“AS IT WAS WRITTEN, THE OFFSPRING OF SNAKES CANNOT ESCAPE CONDEMNATION.” 

“Stop!” The man hissed as he raised his other hand up in a vain defense, trying to shout in desperation, but his voice could not rise. “Stop!”

Jillian’s aim snapped up as the man in black was still hissing his pleas. “BEGONE.” 

With a sharp crack and a bright flash, the man in black’s head snapped back against the wall, and a thick scent of sulfur wafted from the wound. 

The light faded as the body slumped to the floor. Jillian let out a low groan, her hand pressing against her bloodied side, and she turned back to the doorway.

The marshal was still standing in place, staring wide eyed, even though his arms had slumped back down with the fading of the compulsion.

There was nothing else for Jillian to say. She stepped past him without meeting his eyes and went back out into the town.

---

Walking through the corpse-laden street was as painful as the wound above her hip, but Jillian soon made her way out to the tree on the outskirts of the town where two horses had been hitched. 

She fumbled through a saddlebag, fishing out a length of bandage, and hissed with pained effort to wrap it around herself and stem the bloodied gash. 

“Miss Cain.” The marshal’s voice spoke up behind her. “Missus Cain.” Jillian muttered wearily. She didn’t look back as she untied her horse’s reins from a branch. 

“Tell me why I shouldn’t take you in.” 

Jillian paused, slowly looking back over her shoulder. “Don’t get in my way, Marshal. Justice has been served. You can go back east now.” 

“Don’t you try to speak to me about justice. I’m not seeing how you’re less dangerous than he was. Maybe even more so.” He said, glaring coldly, his hand settled on the grip of his revolver. “Don’t.” She snapped tightly, fury starting to rise like bile in her throat. “Don’t you dare.” 

“Whatever power you have, you can’t just-” “I am the only one who can!” Jillian shouted hoarsely, trembling with pain and heartache and anger, hurriedly blinking away the fresh threat of tears as her breath caught tightly. But she didn’t reach for her gun.

The marshal tensed, his eyes narrowing, wary. “You gonna bewitch me? Like he did?” 

The temptation was there now more than ever. It was surely better than shooting a decent lawman who was only trying to do what he thought was right, no matter how his words infuriated her. 

“No. I’m gonna leave. And you ain’t going to shoot me in the back.” With a tight groan, she clambered onto the saddle. “Was you who said that’s what makes you different from him. And there are more foul creatures out there like him.”

The marshal was silent and unmoving as Jillian nudged her horse towards the road. 

“God damn you, Jillian Cain.” She heard the marshal’s last words, his voice shaking with his own rage, and she didn’t look back.

[paladin-andric]

Joy and Ashes

Well, here’s a followup to the last short! This one’s a bit all over the place, but it should flesh out bit of a clearer picture between the fall of the dragons in the Industrial Age and how King Patrick ‘the Dragonchaser’, the current ruler of Geralthin in the Modern/Information Age, ran into the first hints that the dragons were still out there somewhere. That there was a chance to bring them back...

Cheering filled the air as crowds gathered, exuberant and wild. Screams of adoration broke out as the army entered the city.

Genmere, the capital city of the Kingdom of Geralthin, was safe. The threats had been destroyed.

The dragons had foolishly attacked. They sought to subjugate mankind. They sought to reclaim dominion over the unconquerable.

They should have learned from the first time, over a thousand years ago.

Soldiers in brightly colored uniforms marched, their rifles on their shoulders. Humans, most of them, the army and the crowd. There were others, though. Genmere was as metropolitan as a city could get, being the trade hub of the world. Wolfmen, insectoids, koutu, pona and even a few kobolds were among the crowds and in the marching columns.

This was Geralthin. It may have been home to humanity, but it was not a nation of humans. No, these people, all of them...they were Geralthiners, every last one of them, and they had all fought hard to protect what was theirs.

The soldiers laughed and chanted songs from their lengthy campaigns as they marched triumphantly through the city, vibrant banners waving through the air.

“Oh, we are the valiant cavalry, we are the finest soldiers there shall ever be!

Look to the fearless infantry, withstanding all like a proud oak tree!

Hear our cries as we shout to the skies, striking down the dragons like swarms of flies!

To defend our dearest motherland, we’re ready to give up our lives!

The tyrants think they can rule thee, they tried to force their foul and wicked autocracy!

Their arrogance will set us free, blasting them apart with flying batteries!

Dragons do not rule the sky! The koutu and halfkind all soaring so high!

To defend our dearest motherland, we’re ready to give up our lives!”

The faces of the people were brighter than ever. Confetti streamed down the streets as soldiers and their families hugged and held one another. It was finally over. Everyone would be okay. Everyone was safe.

They had won!

…

Zaphontilku chanted the magic words, the words of mystical power. The words that were supposed to save him.

The words his father had taught him.

Father had foreseen defeat, apparently. He knew this was a bad idea, and so he made preparations.

When the time comes, come to this place and speak these words.

He had done so, and as his voice reverberated through the caverns, it happened.

The hole he entered from was covered in a shrouded mist of magic, waving and rippling as it came into being.

A magical barrier, preventing anyone from entering...or leaving.

He was safe.

The dragon made his way down the cave, going deeper and deeper, barrier getting further from his sight. At last he had gone so far down the path that the barrier was out of his sight.

At the bottom of this descending path, there was a massive, open clearing. A great expanse of rock floor. Large enough for him and his family to rest comfortably in while they waited for…

...what WERE they waiting for? All father had said was that the surface was no longer safe. Only here could Zaphontilku live safely.

Live? Live for how long? He wasn’t staying here...forever, was he?

Well, no matter. The young, white dragon lay himself down on the floor and rested. It had been quite the journey, and he was looking forward to catching up on his slumber while he waited for his mother, father and siblings to arrive.

Surely, they would be here soon…

…

Ten years.

It had been ten years in this cavern.

Zaphontilku lay on his side, eyes staring up to the ceiling. He had been foolish.

Mother and father weren’t coming. His siblings weren’t coming, either. They had never survived the war.

He was all alone.

The dragon didn’t need to worry about food. His father had taught him how to conjure food from thin air using magic. He was well-fed.

He wanted to leave. He wanted to leave so badly. He was so sad. He was so tired of this accursed cave.

But father hadn’t taught him the words to dispel the barrier.

The world above wasn’t safe, so his father had ensured he would be stuck here forever, while able to sustain himself indefinitely.

He truly did think of everything…

Zaphontilku had been brushing up on his magic training during his stay. Of course, what else was there to do? He was getting better and better. He would be a grand sorcerer someday.

But he didn’t care about that. He wanted the sun back. He wanted the trees back. He wanted the air rushing against his wings back.

He wanted his family back.

…

How long? How many days and nights, months and years, decades or even centuries passed in the outside world?

He didn’t know. He had stopped keeping track. After all, he’d never see the sun again anyway. He was here forever.

The now older dragon had changed. He entered this cave hopeful and innocent. Young and bubbly. Time bled that out of him. His life passed without success or happiness, and he started to resent it.

Anger and hatred came first.

He hated the humans. He hated them so much for putting him in this position...but his father was to blame too.

He had imprisoned his son. Sure, he did it for his own good, but that didn’t matter.

The hatred and fury led to tantrums. Screaming, roaring, banging and stomping.

He wanted out. He wanted out of this cave, this coffin.

Soon, as he realized there truly wasn’t any hope left, it finally hit him.

His family was dead. They had been dead for many years...and they were the only ones that knew he existed.

No one was coming for him. Ever. He would spend his entire, five thousand year life trapped here.

Anger became fear. Hate became depression. The final bit of his old self, clinging on faded away.

He was all that was left, as far as he knew. Doubtless the humans turned on their lapdogs once all other dragons were defeated. Why keep them around when there weren’t any threats? There was no more use for them. His kind was doubtless destroyed.

He tried to stop conjuring food. It was the only way he knew how to end his own life in these circumstances...but every time, the gnawing, horrid hunger broke him. He gave in and fed himself, and wept each time. He hadn’t the guts to kill himself so slowly and painfully.

Father wanted him to live, because he loved him. Because he cared about him. Because he was the last beacon of hope he had.

But Zaphontilku didn’t want it anymore. This was a fate worse than death. A lifetime of painful, miserable isolation, devoid of light or joy.

There was no reason to go on.

Every day, he cried. Every day, he lay on the ground and roared out to the heavens in dismay. Every day, he wished it would be his last.

Why him? Why did he have to go through this? Why couldn’t he have just died in the war, all that time ago? He could be in paradise with his family, right now.

He lay in a crumpled heap, as he always did. His head pressed against the ground. His tears flowed onto the rock. His claws scraped idly. He had tried to dig his way out, but father had thought of even that. They were enchanted.

This truly was a prison, a coffin for him to die in.

If even one other person had made it, it would have been okay. He would have had someone to talk to, to pour out his woes with. His hope wouldn’t have been extinguished with someone there for him.

Instead, he was alone. He hadn’t heard anything but his own cried for as long as he could remember.

As he lay there in his daily routine of nothingness, the dragon cursed his fate. Sealed away forever, forgotten by all. Time bled him away and not a soul would even recognize his carcass.

Why, why did it have to be this way? Why couldn’t it just-

A sound broke his thoughts.

A sound. A sound.

A sound besides his own voice.

The sound of something shattering.

He would investigate, but he hadn’t the energy for it anymore. The countless cycles of doing nothing, combined with his repeated attempts at self starvation had left his muscles atrophied. He could hardly stand back up...in fact, he hadn’t tried for...well, at least a year, perhaps.

He was swimming in his own despair when he realized he heard...footsteps.

Someone was here. Someone had gotten in somehow.

He pushed against the ground, but he couldn’t get to his feet. No matter, he could at least save himself from looking pathetic. He rose off his side and lay down on his stomach, head rising up high. He looked...a touch regal, again.

The footsteps grew louder and louder. Zaphontilku’s mind was in upheaval. There were so many different ways this could go.

Someone could have found a way to dispel the barrier. Humans...he could fight them. If he killed them, he could finally leave, finally taste freedom at last...and if he fell to them, well...at least his suffering was over.

Perhaps his kind hadn’t been defeated, and found his hiding place. They could be here to free him, too. What a waste that would have been...he could have been up above on the surface, all this time if that were the case.

The last thought in his mind was almost alien to him now. A tiny, faint glimmer of hope. The final shreds of his old personality.

It could be his father, finally here now that the surface was safe.

That was impossible. The footsteps weren’t the slow, powerful thuds that a dragon would carry themselves with. Still, for a moment, it was lovely to imagine…

A figure turned the corner and stood at the entrance to his resting place. A human. A man.

The man was wearing strange clothes that Zaphontilku had never seen before. They were...almost indescribable. Almost.

If there was any single thing they came close to, it was like...when kobolds would stick pieces of bark and leaves to themselves to conceal and hide while out in the woods...except these clothes didn’t have leaves on them, or bark. They were simply...colored and patterned in that fashion.

Over the strange tree-colored pants and shirt was a vest. It was a tan color, and had bizarre little bumps and ridges along the thing. It was strapped over the man’s shoulders and went down to his waist, were he had a belt with all sorts of things Zaphontilku had never seen strapped to it.

His knees had extra padding on them, a sort of armor the dragon also hadn’t seen before. The design was truly unusual. In addition, the man was wearing a pair of boots with what he could only make out to be lacing on them. Lacing! The things humans put on corsets and dresses! What in the word was this man doing with frilly lace-boots?!

His head had a helmet atop it, colored and patterned the same as his strange leaf-wood outfit. It was shaped like a soldier’s helmet from the dark ages, and yet it appeared to be made of similar material of those silly tall hats they wore during the war.

At last, his hands were gloved, and in one of those hands...he held a gun. A rifle, but...it was all wrong. Instead of the wooden rifles and long barrels the young dragon knew all soldiers carried, this strange man was holding a gun that was much shorter, and colored all black, like those artillery pieces of theirs.

In the other, he held...some black device he was pointing forward. It shone an unnatural brightness from the end of it, towards the dragon.

How...how much time had passed? How much had their weapons advanced? Was there truly no hope left?

The man froze as his eyes fell on the dragon. His horrified expression...it gave the dragon a moment’s happiness that his kind was at least a little feared and respected still.

“Who are you to come here?” Zaphontilku demanded, voice booming. The human recovered, aiming his gun up at the great beast.

“O-oh my God…” he muttered, shaking.

“I asked you a question. Who are you to come here?”

The man took a long time to finally call back.

“I wanted to see what was behind the barrier.”

The dragon growled slightly as he answered. “Well, it seems you have found the answer you sought. Is that right?”

“I-I...I didn’t…who are you?”

The beast sighed. He tried to get up, though it was so difficult. His strength was hardly enough to keep himself up anymore.

“I am Zaphontilku, and I...”

After a lot of effort, he forced himself up, rising from the ground for the first time in ages. His spread his wings and stood tall, the human seeming like an ant from his position now.

“...am the last dragon.”

“T-the last dragon…?”

Zaphontilku rumbled deeply. “Indeed. All I ever loved and cherished were slain by you. I have no family, no friend...no kin. They are all gone.” He craned his long neck down, glaring at the human. “Gone because of you.”

“T-that’s not...I mean…”

“You deny your slaughter? My father put that barrier up to protect me from you, you bloodthirsty animals that could not even drive us away. You had to hunt us all down, down to the deepest, most remote cavern...this is true, is it not?”

“I didn’t come here to kill you…”

“Oh? Than what?”

The man shrugged. “I was patrolling the area when I noticed the barrier. It was...blinking. Then it faded away. I went inside to see what’s been here all this time. I had no idea...”

“Patrolling? Are you a soldier?”

“Yeah.”

The dragon’s growl made the man take a step back instinctively.

“Accursed hand that struck us down...who do you think you are? What gives you the right to take the world from us?”

“I-I never made that choice! I didn’t...I thought there was only one dragon in the world!”

“There is, and it is I.”

The man shook his head. “T-the Black Dragon! The one that gives the king his power! The one that lives with the royal family!”

Zaphontilku’s eyes twitched, as did his claws. “Gira…” he snarled out, “She is not a dragon...she is a lapdog! No, she does not count! I am the only TRUE dragon left!”

“I mean...alright...what happened? Why are you here?”

“I think that is OBVIOUS!” the dragon roared, “You drove us to extinction! This is the only place I would be safe! And yet...here you are. No matter how hard we try to stay away, you will never end in your quest to see us utterly destroyed…”

The man didn’t have an answer.

The dragon began to walk forward, which triggered the man to raise his gun up again.

“S-stay back!”

“Do you honestly think that little thing can harm me? Do you seriously believe that? Even if it could, but a twitch of my claws, and you fall first.”

“Stay…”

“I am not approaching to kill you anyway...human. Move aside.”

“Then what are you doing?”

Zaphontilku leered. “I have been trapped here for an eternity. The misery I have experienced being in these accursed walls cannot be described. I am leaving.”

“You were stuck…?”

“Move. Aside.”

The human shook his head “You can’t-”

“MOVE!”

“I just mean that-”

The dragon growled and rushed forward, knocking the man over but taking care not to flatten him.

“You are lucky you are not one with the floor! I had the power to destroy you, as you have our people! Bow before my infinite benevolence, you worm who would dare to try and keep me confined in this living nightmare!”

The man looked up from his back, eyes wide.

“N-no, I-I didn’t-”

“Be silent! Lay there and bask in my mercy. I only grant you it because you have given me a way to finally escape my torment.”

As the dragon quickly marched away, he heard the voice of the human call out once again.

“W-wait! You don’t understand…”

He ignored the wretch’s cries, quickly moving up the path, rising higher and higher until at last, as he turned the final corner of this terrible hole, he found…

...the barrier.

It was still there, wavering in the wind, the exit path of the cavern still out of his grasp. Nothing changed.

Zaphontilku froze in horror. His mind raced with disbelief.

His claws reached out, touching the barrier. It was very much still there. He wasn’t seeing things.

He was still trapped.

“No...NO!”

He attacked it as he had countless times. Just like every other attempt, it proved fruitless.

“Why...WHY?!”

He banged on it, clawed along the barrier, threw his weight against it.

“Why is it NOT GONE?!”

The man from before raced around the corner.

“I-I tried...to tell you…”

The dragon ceased his assault. His great size mattered little as he swung around, baring his teeth.

“What did you do? What did you DO?!”

“N-nothing!”

“LIAR!” Zaphontilku roared, shaking in fury. The human held an arm outstretched towards the beast.

“W-wait, just listen!”

“EXPLAIN YOURSELF!”

“I-I saw it go down...so I went inside. Once I was in...it came back up. I tried to get out, but...it wouldn’t go away. W-when I first saw you...I thought you did it, that you trapped me here for some reason. I-I don’t know what’s going on…”

The white dragon’s rage simmered, turning back into that defeated sorrow. His eyes closed. His head lowered.

“Than...I will remain here...forever. I will never get to live, to see the sky, the shining sun, ever again. Here, I will writhe, in darkness...”

The dragon collapsed to the ground, shaking it violently and nearly making the man fall over.

“Here I lay, swallowed whole by the abyss, my fate withheld to all. Here, I live and perish in the deepest reaches of hell…”

The man sighed and rubbed his arm. “Err...hey...uhh...chin up, buddy.”

The dragon blinked. “Wha...what did you just say to me?”

“I said...chin up. Relax. I think...I think we’ll be okay, y’know?”

Zaphontilku grimaced, his head resting against the cold ground. “And what is it that makes you believe this? All I wish and ever have wished is to be released from this prison.”

“Look...I’m from the army. I-I have a schedule, a patrol route. It goes right past here. When I don’t report back, they’re gonna start looking, then realize I went missing. They’ll form search parties. And once they check this cave...that’s it. We can go.”

“But...the barrier…”

“I know. But I think...I think there’s a shot. Once they realize I’m trapped here, they’ll send magicians to bust us out for sure! Besides...if the barrier blinked in and out of reality like that...I think it’s getting old. Maybe it’s starting to weaken. I think...everything’ll be okay. We should be out of here in a few weeks, tops.”

Zaphontilku’s eyes widened as he stared into the barrier. “You...perhaps...you are correct. A few weeks…? I can leave...I can finally be done with this. Just a while longer...just a short stay more…”

The soldier frowned. “Err...name’s Jack, by the way.”

The dragon rumbled. “Why do you tell me this? Names matter not.”

“Well, uh, I know yours already, Zaph...Zapo…”

“Zaphontilku.”

“Err...I know yours already, Zap. Thought I’d introduce myself.”

The dragon twitched a bit at that...bastardization of his regal name, but he let it slide, his rage simmered at the prospect of liberty. “I care not for any of this. Why is your name so important?”

“Well, if we’re gonna be stuck here together...being friends would make this a lot more bearable, wouldn’t it?”

The dragon turned his head back, staring at the human in bewilderment. “Friends? You think us FRIENDS?!”

Jack shrugged. “I mean, if you don’t want to be, I can stay out of the way…”

Zaphontilku’s mind halted for a moment. He recalled his own thoughts, some time through this trial…

If even one other person had made it, it would have been okay. I would have had someone to talk to, to pour out my woes with. My hope would not have been extinguished with someone there for me.

“N-now just a moment! I said no such thing about that!” the dragon quickly exclaimed, “I-I was...merely surprised, is all!”

Jack smiled. “So...you’re saying yes?”

Zaphontilku looked away for a moment, trying to hide his own vulnerabilities. He wanted a friend. He was alone in the darkness for so long...he’d nearly gone mad. He hadn’t heard another voice in at least centuries. Even if it was a human, if someone truly wanted to talk with him…

He turned back, face stern as if he was delivering a lecture. “W-well, if you insist. Since you are so terribly desperate for a friend, trapped here in this terrible darkness and seeking help, I SUPPOSE I could make an exception, this one time…”

The man laughed. “Well, that’s a start, at least.” He pointed towards the barrier. “We’d better stick around here, so we don’t miss them when they come for us.”

“Hmm...indeed. At least you have SOME sense...Jack.”

The soldier slid against the cavern walls until he was sitting on the ground. “Yeah...hey, you’ve been here forever. There’s...there’s food for me here, right?”

Zaphontilku smirked, waving a claw and warping reality with his magic. In an instant, a loaf of bread materialized from thin air, and floated slowly down into the soldier’s waiting hands.

His brows rose as he stared down at the bread. “Holy shit, man. That’s...incredible.”

The white dragon felt a bit of pride in his chest at that. He hadn’t been complimented since he was but a baby, all that time ago.”

“I hold much knowledge, human.”

Jack exhaled sharply and put his flashlight down on the ground, snapping the loaf in half.

“Well...tell me about yourself, Zap. What’s the deal with you? You said your dad put this magic crap up to save you, but you’ve been calling this place hell ever since I walked.”

“It is Zaphontilku, human! And, well...he did. He used all his power to make it...and he did not reveal the secret power to dispel it.”

Jack answered with another question, voice muffled by the bread in his mouth. “Why not?”

“For it is torment here. He knew I would try to leave too soon...and he knew that to save me, he had to put me here, even if I did not wish it...and I do not wish it. I have craved the embrace of death for so long.”

“That’s horrible!” the soldier answered, looking shocked.

“Yes...but, if we can truly leave...I think my woes will be...not over, but manageable.”

“How long have you been stuck here, man? Why the hell did you need to hide for long?”

“I...have lost track. However, I began my stay here when I was but a child...back during the war where our kind was struck down. The artillery, the blasted artillery…”

“W-wait...the war...the war of 1815? THAT war?!”

“Hmm...yes, I believe that is correct.”

Jack ruffled his hair, moving his helmet away. “God, man! That was two hundred years ago!”

Zaphontilku closed his eyes again, reflecting on that. “I see...two hundred years of torment…”

“Well, I don’t blame you for being so mad. I-I’m sorry. Two hundred years...I’d have gone nuts a long time ago.”

“I very nearly have…but now, there is hope. I have not felt hope for well over a hundred years. It is strange...I thought myself lost, but...to have freedom so close within reach...”

“They’ll come, just you wait. I only wish I could use my radio.”

The dragon tilted his head quizzically. “Radio?”

“Yeah. Damn thing got loose and fell off. Burst to pieces when it hit the ground. Cheap piece of shit.”

“What is a radio?”

Jack looked confused for a moment, but his face quickly lit up.

“That’s right, you’re ancient! Well, I can explain. Let you tell you what you’ve missed down here, Zap…”

Tag list: @thereisnothingwrongwithbeingmad, @lady-redshield-writes, @paper-shield-and-wooden-sword, @sheralynnramsey, @tawnywrites, @writer-on-time, @oceanwriter, @zwergis-spilledink, @fluffpiggy, @elliewritesfantasy, @homesteadhorner,  @laurenwastestimewriting, @elaynab-writing, @the-ichor-of-ruination, @candy687, @novicewriterstuff, @shewrites-sometimes

[thesilkentheater]

neon eternity

The neon lights are unyielding.

It's a truth of this city. Has been since anyone can remember, bright multicolor the main decor of their lives for years upon years. Sleek black buildings lined with their flavor of choice, or lively signs for that local noodle place you bring your friends every week because it's the best thing you've ever tasted every time; none of them ever quiet. The city's always the same no matter the time of day, night, or evening, because the sense of time most people have is skewed enough that it's not the amount of people milling about that change.

Only the individuals. And there aren't really individuals here, anyway.

It's all in conglomerates. The guy next door works for a massive corporation who doesn't care about his well being or pay rate or the fact that he has a cat named Iofi who loves to people watch on his balcony. The woman down the street has back problems that make her a part of a statistic, just another number to jot down on a log and report to the government. Elected officials just follow along the guidance of the system, because if they don't, they're not getting reelected.

The system will make sure of that.

Names only mean something if you care to make them into a spectacle. The name of your neighbor only matters to you, and maybe to them, but it's to give them some semblance of control in their lives. They pierce the side of their hand with rings because it's possible to do, and they want to do something they've been allowed to choose for once. This name is that, too, whether chosen for them by parents or changed later.

Something that wasn't determined by algorithms going through stack indexes or whatever the hell the computer says it's on. Even programmers don't always know, hoping their home-grown AI can figure out the problems they've invented just for those AI to solve.

When everything is balanced so precariously, however, it's bound to fall.

And fall it did. A tragedy struck, seemingly benign, a trick sent from Mother Nature who was no longer the mother of anything that grows in such a metal prison. A rainstorm.

Streets went slick with rainwater, as per usual, but something strange happened. A power plant had to shut down because of the awful weather. And because of that, the nearby warehouses and factories had to shut down, which also meant they weren't producing.

This started a chain reaction. The people nearby were desperate for work, living so stringently paycheck to paycheck that a single break would break the bank on rent; they started devising a plan to get past the security drones that would come for them were they to default on a payment. But that hadn't been necessary, because those drones were incapacitated by incoming thunder that hit a communication beacon necessary for their operation, which meant they'd all gone offline.

Then, because these factories needed power, other power plants went into overdrive, hiring the staff that were discarded from the previous plant and offering them bonuses to cover the difference. This overdrive couldn't last too long, but because the security drones weren't working, the repair of the power plant was taking longer than expected. So the local power plants started to break down, causing their own miniature sparks of outrage and fear.

And eventually this little ripple turned into a tidal wave, forcing power plants to either close down or stay operating in their tiny, tiny little circle. Except if they did, they'd get mobbed by people who needed power, and quickly shut down anyway.

And there was no power, throughout the whole city. Systems were down, the system was down, nothing could be done.

Somehow, it seemed, the neon lights were still going. Perhaps they simply forgot they were nothing but a reaction of gas and electricity, or maybe they kept some static between them for the rough times in the world, but the neon lights kept on.

Now, of course, that's long behind them. The systems have been built better and brighter, resistant to thunderstorms biblical. And yet a rising sentiment builds in the people that perhaps, just maybe, there's a chance that these corporations aren't invincible, no matter what they tell us or what it feels like.

Maybe rebellion is around the corner. Maybe it won't ever come. Maybe it won't be necessary. Maybe it's the only way to salvation. Only one constant remains true:

The neon lights are unyielding.

[louthegreatfurrry]

(doctor) healer Pt.7

@justafictionalthing things take an unexpected turn and some things are revealed.

The next week is a happy mess, Megamind spending more time out of bed than in it. They bond, the two of them, across books and bandages and herbs being plucked from the garden. And, well, across other things as well…

Cat pins Megamind’s hands against the wall, stepping closer and tilting her head back to give him a knowing grin. “Louis is at the market,” she whispers, leaning forward and breathing a puff of air against his neck, “meaning we’ve got the house all to ourselves…” She trails off, then looks up at him through her bangs, offering him the biggest bedroom eyes she’s ever offered anyone.

His cheeks are flushed that pretty purple she adores so much, a smug grin on his lips. “Oh no,” he breathes, raising his eyebrows playfully, “whatever will we do?”

Cat laughs lightly, then presses closer. “Oh,” she says, twisting her hands so that their fingers intertwine, “I have a few ideas…”

*

“Oh, that smells nice.”

Cat looks up from the pot sizzling over the stove to give Megamind a fond smile. “It’s a eucalyptus balm, I don’t think you want to eat it.”

Megamind shrugs carelessly. “Still smells good,” he says, crossing his arms across his chest. It’s still bare, but the bandages have been swapped out with a plaster the size of her palm. Well, Cat’s not about to complain – gorgeous blue skin is gorgeous blue skin, after all.

She laughs. “Git,” she says, turning to stir the pot a few times again. “Are you hungry?”

“Depends on what you want me to eat,” he says, a suggestive tone to his voice.

Cat chokes, ducking her head briefly to hide her flushed cheeks. “You – just – get out of my kitchen!” she cries, laughing brightly as she pretends to chase him out of the room with her spatula. “We can discuss that later, I’m cooking!”

“You said it was eucalyptus balm!” comes Megamind’s affronted answer, distant and from the living room.

Cat takes a few deep breaths before she returns to the pot. She’s still smiling when the balm is done.

*

They’re in the garden, Megamind on his knees and with dirt up to his elbows, Cat with only a sleeveless shirt and no cloak. It’s about time to sow the plants for the upcoming autumn, and Megamind offered to help her.

She is one hundred percent certain he did it only so he could show off his body. It’s shimmering gently in the light, even through the thin layer of dirt covering his arms. Cat pauses every now and then just to throw him a soft look.

He looks so incredibly focused on his work, biting his lip and furrowing his brows while trying to find out how the tools works.

Wait.

“Oh – Megamind, that’s not how you use – ”

*

The market is bustling with activity, people rushing from place to place like their houses are on fire.

Cat has been repeatedly telling a man to fuck off. “Look, I’m not interested in you whatsoever, okay?” she says, pointedly looking at the stand in front of her, rather than at him.

He considers her for a moment, his gaze burning holes in her clothes. “Mmm… but you could be.”

She puffs out her cheeks, spins on her heel, and glares at him. And then, before she can think about what she’s doing, she blurts, “I have a boyfriend.”

(the statement somehow doesn’t feel like a lie.)

For a moment the man only grins, seemingly not believing her, but then the grin freezes. He takes a step back, the cockiness draining from his face, faint fear taking its place. “Oi – you’re that Healer, ain’t you?”

She flushes furiously, still glaring up at him but now also fighting the urge to beat him up. “No,” she says, spitting the word as if it might somehow protect her, “I’m a doctor.”

“Yeah,” the man says, nodding frantically and now stepping further away from her. “The Healer, the one who killed – ”

(time freezes, tilts, and for a moment she sees only black, darkness, the infinite emptiness she woke up from –)

“I know what I did,” she whispers harshly, lowering her voice as far as she can, and she can taste the chill of the words on her tongue. Without waiting for him to respond she spins on her heel, marching off towards her house. That’s enough shopping for one day.

(she knows what she did she knows what she did she knows what she did - )

(and that’s kind of the problem, isn’t it?)

Anyway.

She referred to Megamind as her boyfriend, and… it hadn’t felt like a lie? So that poses a very important question – what are they?

*

“Megamind, what are we?”

“Atoms formed into creatures trying to find a meaning in life, I suppose.”

Perhaps asking that question while they were stargazing out in the fields had been a poor choice. “Uh – no,” Cat says, “what are – what are we, what’s our relationship status?”

Megamind, laying beside her in the tall grass, stills. “…what do you want it to be?” he asks, voice soft and breathless, as if –

(as if he’s afraid of the answer.)

(but she knows that tone of voice, will always recognize it, and –)

- he’s willing to be whatever she wants him to be.

And above them the starry sky stretches, the dots of scattered light so far away and yet so close – but Cat’s world stills, shrinks into the tiny pinhead that is right here and now, and her heart beats.

“I would very much like us to be dating,” she whispers.

And her world becomes even smaller, it becomes the heart beating in her chest and the breath of Megamind beside her – for a moment that is all she knows and all she has ever known, two entities so different and yet so similar.

Then Megamind laughs – but it’s not a ridiculing laugh, not a shocked ‘what, are you serious?’ laugh. It’s breathless. Almost awed. “I have a confession to make,” he says, and there’s the sound of rustling that signals that he’s rolled over. Cat turns as well, so that they’re both laying on their sides and facing the other. “Being shot? It didn’t come unexpected. I knew what was going on, and I knew I would most likely die.” The silence rings around them; Cat doesn’t answer, only stares at him, at the gorgeous blue skin and the enthralling green eyes and the most beautiful heart she’s ever known resting beneath the surface. “When I woke up – when I saw you – I thought you were an angel,” he admits, and something slow and soft and warm settles within her. “And I knew that I wasn’t dead,” Megamind continues, “because – there are no angels in hell.”

“Oh, Megamind,” Cat whispers, reaching for his hand. Their fingers intertwine, resting in the grass between them – and in the dim light cast from the stars their skin looks almost the same. “I’m no angel.”

Megamind smiles softly. “And yet,” he breathes, shifting to brush his free thumb over her cheekbone, “you saved my life.” He tilts her head, and the soft smile fades into an even gentler expression. “You saved me.”

(unspoken; she knows he doesn’t mean him, the crime lord but – him, as in his sanity, as in his happiness, as in him)

Cat sits up and pulls Megamind after her by his elbows, leaning closer until their lips are almost touching. “It was worth it,” she whispers, closing the gap between them before Megamind can muster a reply.

When she pulls back a light blooms between them, stretching out and becoming a delicate chain fastening around their wrists, translucent and pale white, glowing brightly in the night.

“Oh,” Cat breathes, because she knows exactly what’s going on.

The light cast from the chain illuminates the two of them, brining Megamind’s expression of surprise and confusion into the world.

The surprise and confusion, Cat knows, is not echoed in her expression.

After a moment of the chains being there, the same glow appears in their free palms – Cat knows, without looking, that it’s a tattoo in the shape of a key.

“What – what’s going on?” Megamind asks, staring at his palm in shock.

Cat looks up at him. “Magic,” she whispers.

The chains are still there, glowing the brightest light she has ever seen. Gods, how compatible are they, if the light is so fierce? “I don’t believe in magic,” Megamind rushes, his eyes wide and still terribly confused.

“I advice you to re-think that,” Cat mutters. “Brace yourself, the blast will be – ” Before she can finish the sentence the light from the chains explode outward, a bright beaming beacon that can likely be seen from the whole town and even further. It hurts to look at it, and Cat flings herself to the ground, covering the back of her head with her arms upon instinct.

When the light fades, the chains are gone – but the silvery-white key remains tattooed in their palms.

Cat stares at her hands, slowly standing up on steady feet.

She is positively bursting with power.

Megamind, still crouching in the grass a few feet away, blinks up at her in confusion. “Wh – what was that?” he asks. “I feel – different – ”

Cat looks down at him, trying to say something, anything – but it wells up within her, everything she’s barely thought about, every part of her that she refused to accept but always felt like home –

and she raises one hand towards the sky, pulls on the strings of reality, and –

a shield snaps into place with a sharp crackzzum, the hemisphere the largest she’s ever created, encasing both her and Megamind and most of the field. Ripples tear across the air, shimmering golden-purple and bright.

She stares up at it for a moment or two, pride and disbelief and hope burning through her veins.

Then, slowly, without cancelling the shield, Cat lowers her hand and turns to Megamind.

His eyes are wide, chest heaving with each breath. There’s shock and awe in his eyes, surprise and confusion.

(and her powers, rising and roaring in her, like the tide or the sea at night –)

“I felt that,” Megamind whispers.

“I’m afraid, Megamind,” Cat says breathlessly, “that you’re an Ancora.”

*

Later, when Cat has taken down the shield and they have ventured back into the house, the two of them sit on the guest bed cradling cups of cocoa in their hands.

“I’m not a human,” Cat says, looking down into the cup rather than at Megamind. “I look like one, and act like one, and think like one… but I’m not.” She swallows. Outside it has begun to rain, and now the patter of raindrops against glass is the only sound breaking the silence. “I’m a Healer.”

“I… I don’t know what that means,” Megamind admits, sounding distinctly apologetic.

“I… well… it’s a gene, sort of, that’s passed down by blood,” Cat begins, slowly running her fingernail along the rim of the cup. “Healers, they – we have the need to help anything and everything that needs us. And most of us also have – powers.” She looks up from her cup, now, to give Megamind a small smile. “What you saw – what I did – that was a shield. I’m a special case, though – I’ve got two powers, and the other one is – is – ” She swallows again, once more turning away to gaze into the depths of her cocoa.

“…yes?”

“Fire control,” Cat whispers. “… but there was never much control.”

The rain hammers outside. “I suppose, going from its name, that an Ancora is a Healer’s… helper?”

“Companion,” Cat interjects quickly, “it’s – they have the largest mana pools known to existence, but they rarely, if ever, have any powers. It’s a good match for Healers, who have very small mana pools but powers that require lots of it.” She sighs. “If… if a Healer and an Ancora are compatible, they’ll bond whenever they’re in the same state of health. Uh, both physically and mentally – it’s important they’re both well.”

It’s silent a bit more, then Megamind makes a small sound. “I’m an Ancora?” Cat nods. “I’m your Ancora?”

“…if you so wish,” Cat says, desperate to keep the fear out of her voice.

(control over her powers control over her powers, her powers – )

“What’s my job?”

“Keep me grounded,” Cat explains, “and let me access your mana pool. You do both unconsciously; there’s nothing you actually need to do.”

He straightens up, and his expression, which has been tender and still this far, hardens into something like determination. “Well then,” he says. “If you want me, I’d be happy to be your anchor.” The determination slips and he blinks. “Uh. Ancora. Sorry.”

Cat stares at him. “Are you serious?” she whispers. “You’re – willing to stay bonded to me – ”

“Sure,” Megamind says, shrugging lightly before shooting her a joking grin. “Your food is delicious.”

“You haven’t tasted a lot of food before, then,” Cat mutters drily. “Okay, but – if you ever want to end the bond, for whatever reason, hold your wrist with the hand with the tattoo and think of breaking the bond.” She demonstrates by wrapping her fingers around her other wrist.

Megamind looks down at his hand, at the intricate and pattern-colored key looking as though it’s always been part of him. “So that’s what it is,” he says. “It’s pretty, but I won’t use it.”

Cat gives him a wobbly smile, wraps her arms around his torso, and gives herself over.

And things are alright.

The only question is – will it last?

[archangelgabriellives]

Lurking behind the trees

I finally finished my fic for the Gabriel monthly challange for January. Cutting it a little close, yeah?

Word count-4800 (yeesh)

warnings ~ snarky language, mild fight scene

A/N ~ As I was reading through and proofreading this, I got the feeling it was a little Sam heavy.Gabriel is still what I would consider a main character, though. I really wanted to get that BAMF Sam in this fic, but maybe it detracts a little bit? Eh, I’m not sure. I’m going to post it as it is and still tag it for the GMC, but, Admins, feel free to make a judgement call. 

Let me know if you like it! Or if I was way off base.

***

It feels like they had been here forever.

Dean reminds Sam of this many times. And every time Dean brings it up again, Sam has to remind him that it had only been a day. But after each rise and fall of the distressingly unfamiliar sun in the sky, Sam is starting to feel the same way as Dean.

But they were surviving in this weird jungle universe. Priority number one, obviously, was to find a way to get back to their own world. They walked as far as their legs would take them, searching for anything out of the ordinary, something that may be a doorway, something that would connect them with Jack, as he may be the only one who could retrieve them from this place.

After four days, Sams' hope was wearing thin.

Surviving was easy. The Winchesters were hunters. Finding food, water, shelter, that was no problem. Although, eating anything that first day was a litany of "You eat it." "No, you eat it first." After Dean lost the rock paper scissors game, the brothers learned not to eat the berries on the strange pine/willow tree. Not unless they wanted to spend half the day expelling all the bodily fluids from their person.

After a week, Sam wasn't sure they could ever find their way out.

Danger here was a constant. They were never seen, but at night, Sam would be woken up with the jungle whispering in a foreign tongue, sticks and debris shuffling around without care. Whatever was out there didn't care if they were known. Sam would sit up from his makeshift bed by the dim fire, Dean already awake and ready for a fight.

“What the hell is out there?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," Dean responded while throwing more wood into the fire pit. "Whatever they are, they never come too close. I think the fire scares them."

After a quick scan of the forest surrounding them, Sam looks over to his older brother, notices the dark circles under his eyes.

"Are you even sleeping, Dean?" Was it just the shadows of the fire on Deans lean face?

Dean smiled at Sam, the kind of smile he uses when he wants to change the subject. "I'm fine, Sammy." He goes back to sharpening some sticks with a jagged rock.

That, of course, means Just drop it.

The things in the forest never came closer, just out of range of the fire light. Sam's grateful, but he wished they would just show themselves so he knew what was lurking in the dark.

 ~~

 Dean was going stir crazy, Sam could tell.

"I need some flesh to eat, Sam, or I might shrivel up and die! No more fruit!" Dean was pacing along a giant fallen tree that was their makeshift shelter.

"Dude, you could phrase that better. You sound like a cannibal or something" Sam said as he poked at the fire with a stick.

"Whatever, bitch. I'm gonna take my pointy stick and bring back a steak."

"Just be careful, jerk,” Sam said with a smile. “I'll start peeling potatoes."

Dean groaned at his brothers teasing him with delicious food. His mouth was watering at remembering anything cooked in lots of fat and grease, as he called back "I hate you right now. I'll be back later."

It was a little late in the day to go out, alone, in an unknown landscape, but Sam thinks Dean knows what he's doing. So he doesn't voice the small concern and continues to prod the fire.

As the sun started to set and Dean still hadn't returned, Sam is considerably more worried. He thinks he should go out in search of his brother, but it's dark now, and running off into the woods is a seriously bad idea. All he can do is keep the fire lit as a beacon and not panic too much.

Easier said than done.

 ~~

 Sam startles awake the next morning.

He hadn't meant to fall asleep, he needed to keep his eyes and ears open for signs of Dean.

"Dean?" he called.

No answer.

"Dean!" Sam scrambled to his feet, the dread bubbling up from the pit of his stomach.

"DEAN!" Any common sense Sam had flew right out of his body when he realized Dean still wasn't back. He ran off the way his brother left the night before, leaving behind his knife on the ground next to his makeshift bed. Sam weaved through the dense trees, vaulted over fallen branches calling his brothers name.

"Dean! Where are you?!"

He should have known better that to call attention to himself. Even back home he understood the necessity of stealth. A hunter needs to be able to sneak up on his prey, not call the monster to you. But when the only family you have left, and the only person stuck with you in a jungle wasteland, goes missing, the brain acts in mysterious ways. So when he circled around a massive tree trunk and had to skid to a stop he knew that he had made a huge mistake.

Three hooded figures, each brandishing some type of long wooden club, were blocking Sams path. And, although he couldn't see their faces, Sam knew he was in for a fight. They were shouting in a language Sam couldn’t begin to identify, but furious and enraged sounded the same on any tongue.

Sam got the message.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance you’re going to attack one at a time is there?” Sam asked snidely, balling his fists and digging his feet into the ground.

No sooner than the words left his mouth, all three figures charged forward, brandishing their staffs viciously. Sam backpedaled a little, surprised at the sudden ambush. The quickest of the three, unfortunately the largest, drew his weapon back and with a deafening screech, swung at Sam with all its strength.

There was barely enough time for Sam to block the impact with a raised forearm, cursing through gritted teeth at the sharp pain. The hunter pulled his right fist back, and threw his entire weight and power into connecting with the face buried under the dirty fabric, his own cry echoing through the trees. He could feel bones cracking under his knuckles, and as he sent the monster tumbling into the leafy debris, Sam knew he wasn’t getting back up.

Chest huffing, Sam turned to the other two figures, head tilted and eyeing them angrily through his bangs. Their speed had decreased significantly, clearly not expecting for this seemingly easy fight to take this turn. Sam lurched forward, ready to take them both on, adrenaline pumping fast in his veins. He smoothly bent down and scooped up the discarded staff from his first victim, he needed it if he wanted to stand a chance against the last two. The few seconds of distraction allowed one of the beasts a swing of his own staff that connected with Sams side, knocking him to his knees. He saw the foot racing at him out of the corner of his eye, a swift kick to the face that knocked Sam on his back, blood starting to flow down his face. His vision cleared just in time to see two twin clubs raised over heads, ready to deal the death blow, and there was barely enough time to raise his own before they came down.

After blocking the double blow,the hunter brought his legs up, curled his knees to his chest, and kicked out at the closest attacker. Feet connected with the torso, sending it flailing to the ground. Sam assumed he must've winded it, because it didn't get up right away. Just kind if thrashed a little while it clutched at its chest.

Sam didn't see the fist coming down, smashing into his jaw. He cried out sharply as the pain rippled through his face, and he instinctively rolled away from the source of the attack. The last hooded figure was roaring what Sam could only assume was obscenities at him as he spit an unnerving amount of blood onto the ground. He tongued along his gums and groaned when he comes across a painful empty space in his teeth.

While the thing was still howling at him, Sam quickly rolled back over to his back, hoped his plan would work, and brought the heel of his boot straight into where Sam assumed it would do the most damage, right between the legs of his attacker.

Thankfully for Sam, it had the desired effect, because the unintelligible screaming quieted suddenly. With a painful grunt, the monster dropped to its knees, and one more well placed kick to the face had it spinning back into the ground, out cold.

Sam lay in the dirt trying to catch his breath. “I guess a kick to the dick is pretty universal,” he said to himself. As he pulled himself up and raked the leaves from his hair, he came eye to eye with one more opponent, the one he only winded.

“Great,” he grumbled. “Thought I took care of you.”

Sam leaned down to retrieve the staff he had abandoned, and wound up like it was a baseball bat.

“Let’s go, then.”

Sam must’ve had a particular glint in his eyes, or the smirk on his face was a distinct sort of evil, because that beast took one last look at Sam, ditched his weapon, and bolted in the opposite direction.

He almost let it go, he really did. But as his muscles relaxed and he tried to wipe the blood out of his eyes, Sams thoughts flitted back to Dean, and how his only lead was quickly getting away. If Dean had been captured, attacked or even…no, Sam couldn’t think that…

If these things hunted in groups, there must be a larger pack somewhere. And if they had Dean, Sam needed to move his ass to catch up to the fleeing beast.

Sam took off like a rabbit, trying to make up the lost ground between them. His long legs had no trouble closing the gap, but as he got closer to his target Sam had to slow down so he could advance with stealth. And soon he could hear other beings yelling in the unknown language he heard during his fight.

He slowed his steps to a cautious crawl, the name of the game now was recon. How many are there, do they have Dean, can he do this on his own.

Up ahead, there was a large clearing that the monsters had set up their sizable camp. Ducking into a large thicket of low trees and bushes, Sam took stock of what he was up against. Makeshift shelters made from fallen logs and leaves formed a circle at least one hundred feet wide, with a few groups of monsters sporadically lounging by a few of the throwaway huts.

And tied to a tree outside of the camp was Dean, a bit bloody but alive, surrounded by five or six guards that looked a little spooked.

Sam quietly let out a shaky sigh of relief that Dean was alive. But he kept his emotions in check. Right now, Sam needed a plan. It looked like the monster that Sam had chased back to the camp had alerted the group about the prey that had fought back, and more armed defenders scrambled to the edge of the clearing seemingly waiting for Sam to burst out of the trees.

Like he was that stupid.

Racking his brain for an idea of how he was supposed to fight what seemed like dozens of baddies and get Dean and himself out of there alive, Sam missed the first heavy foot fall off in the distance. He did notice the eerie quiet that had suddenly settled around him.

The frantic yelling from the camp fell silent. If there were any animals in the area, they had all skittered off and knowingly kept quiet.

As the second foot step echoed in the distance, Sam couldn’t keep the surprised gasp from escaping his mouth. His grip on the stolen staff tightened as he watched the small army keeping him from his brother raise their weapons and nervously shift in the clearing.

Another foot step came down, closer this time. The ground started to shake under Sams crouched legs.

“What the hell is that?!” Dean questions to no one as he doubled his efforts to escape his binds, clearly aware that something extremely bad was coming.

As the next booming foot step fell, a sharp, high pitched ringing echoed through the air. It started quiet at first, muted enough that Sam almost missed it. The unnerving footsteps were louder, closer, and the ground was rumbling so badly that Deans captors were stumbling and falling all over. A few had already run off, not willing to stay and find out who or what was coming.

The shrill noise slowly gained volume, increasing as the steps came closer. To Sam, yes, it was getting louder, but the way that the bodies in the clearing were dropping to their knees and clutching at their heads seemed like a bit much. Even Dean was trying to protect his ears by awkwardly lifting his shoulders, still tied to the tree, his face contorted into the familiar grimace of pain.

Sam was still unaffected. He watched the monsters rolling on the ground, howling in pain. He was plotting a course around the mass of crumpled bodies to retrieve Dean and run as far and fast as they could, then, all of a sudden, the writhing and the screeching stopped. In fact, as Sam looked out over the clearing, it looked like every being had gone stock-still, bodies arranged in the position of agony. The entire forest seemed petrified.

It seemed that everything but Sam had stopped.

Everything but Sam and the lumbering footsteps that boomed threateningly behind him.

Sam swallowed in fear. It sounded like something the size of a mountain was slowly stalking towards him. And only him. But he couldn’t run. Wouldn’t run. He wouldn’t leave Dean.

Through ragged breaths, Sam turned his head to see what horrors lay through the forest. Straight behind him, the trees seemed normal. But as his eyes traveled up the thick trunks, up past the high canopy, past a few birds frozen in flight, was a thing that Sam couldn't even begin to describe.

It was incredibly tall. The thing seemed to stretch on forever. Its head was high enough in the sky to touch the low clouds.

There were wings. Dozens of sets of technicolor wings,  glowing blindingly ethereal light that surround the entire body. And they didn't just come out of it back. They seemed to come out of everywhere, yet they didn't look like any were attached to the body. The largest set was massive, the bulk of them pushing past the clouds, unviewable to Sam down on the ground. The rest of the wings were smaller, sporadically jutting out over the creatures body.

Spindly appendages hung loosely down the sides of the torso. They were probably thick as tree trunks but looked as delicate and fragile as glass. All along the length were offshoots of the glassy skin that spread out in all direction. As the tendrils flowed up past the shoulders, they surrounded the head, creating amazing patterns and encircling it like a crown.

The face was unnerving, to say the least. There were no distinct features that Sam could identify. The only part that looked in any way familiar was the sunken pockets where he assumed eyes should go. Everything else was more coils of sleek membrane that sloped back and up to the sky, mingling with the others from the body.  

Inside its chest, the silhouette of what might have been described as organs were swirling wildly. Everything slowly undulated as it walked, yet the entirety of it felt sharp, like it could rip apart anything in its wake with barely a touch.

And Sam was right in its path.

He knew he should be silent. Stay hidden, let this thing pass by. He could figure out why he was unaffected by whatever powers of time it apparently had after he and Dean had gotten far away from it.

That's what the sensible part of Sams brain should have thought. Unfortunately, that bit of Sams brain wasn’t working right now.

As the gigantic being trudged through the clouds, Sam clumsily backtracked out of his hiding place, tripping over a fallen branch. The unexpected movement caused a sharp cry to escape him as soon as he hit the ground, a little sound of pain diluted in a shriek of horror.

He clamped a hand over his mouth as soon as the sound slipped out. His breath coming in harsh shallow gasps, Sam scrambled back into the thick brush and hoped that he was out of earshot of the being. He hid himself among the leaves and cursed quietly as he saw this giant thing slow to a stop and its head tilt to the side, like it was listening.

He watched as it stretched all of its wings out in every direction, its back straightening making it even taller. The feathers started shifting, spreading. Sams eyes grew wide as behind the feathers, eyes appeared to open all over the wings. Thousands of eyes of varied sizes, sprinkled randomly, looking out in every direction. They resembled human eyes, but the colorings were all different. Sclera, irises and pupils shifted through every color in the spectrum, pulled patterns out of nature into them and glinted playfully in the light.

Sam made the mistake of one loud shocked gasp, and fell back out of his hiding spot when every single eye suddenly trained themselves onto him.

The long arms moved slowly from where they hung at its side. They reached out to Sam as the being lazily began to crouch down, and the trees seemed to part of their own accord. Massive hands settled on either side of Sam, the featureless face coming closer and closer. Sam could only stare as a narrow slit opened along the face. He expected a mouth, with teeth and a tongue. But inside was the universe, swirling blacks and blues, neverending.

It spoke. A thousand voices rang from the open fissure, but no movement was needed. The sound was deafening, yet restrained. Melodious. It echoed with wisdom and brassy vibrations and the age of the world buried within its depths.

“What the hell are you doing here, Winchester?!”

Confusion colored Sams face, and his fear receded a bit at the odd outburst. “What?” he whispered to himself. “How do you know who…”

“Close your eyes you idiot!” the voice yelled at Sam, its wings twitching as it scrunched a little closer. “You’re gonna burn them right out of your skull!” Sam only looked up bewildered. “HEY! Close ‘em!”

“Sorry.” Sam mumbled as he quickly did as he was told, covering his eyes with his hands. “Um, what-” Sam paused, tried to gain a little control over his quivering voice. “Who are you?”

A noise Sam would describe as terrifying laughter reverberated around him, but the sound was good natured. It almost tickled. “Has it been so long that everyone’s forgotten me? I think you can move your hand. If you haven’t dissolved into a puddle of primordial goo or spewed fire hotter than a thousand suns out of your many orifices yet, I think you’re safe to look at me.”

“Yeah,I’d rather not just take you at your word and keep my organs in a solid form, thank you. Are you going to tell me who you are?”

The thing above him chuckled again, “Still so sassy, even in the face of mortal danger.” Sam could hear a quiet rustling around him, and then shivered when he felt something softly brush up his arm. It was warm, velvety. Safe flashed across Sams mind.

“What was that?” Sam asked apprehensively, although he didn't turn away from the touch.

“One of my feathers,” it answered softly. “Come on, open your eyes, kiddo.”

At the nickname, realization flashed in Sams mind.

“Gabriel,” he whispered as his hands dropped into his lap.

“Ding ding ding! Correct, Sam a lam! Here’s your prize.” The wing that had touched him earlier drifted up and touched his forehead gently. The broad tip of the feather trailed across then down Sam's blood stained cheek and jaw. The warm tingle of Gabriels Grace chased the soft path of the radiant plume, healing the cuts and cleaning his skin.

Sam closed his eyes at the pleasant feeling snaking under his skin. As the sense of the healing Grace faded, Sams hands skimmed along his freshly healed face, fingers prodding his jaw where he no longer had a painful gap of a missing tooth. His eyes slowly traveled up, confusion written in his features, and he stared blankly at the giant archangel. Gabriels mouth turned up at the corners, still gaping open in front of Sam.

“What are you doing here?”

“Really, Sam? I look like this and that’s the first thing you think to ask?” Gabriel sank his body down gracefully to curl up on the ground. “Not ‘How are you not dead?’, ‘Why do you look like that?’ or ‘Why has timed stopped around me like I’m the narrator in a Twilight Zone episode?’”

Sam would have sent a top notch bitch face towards Gabriel, but he didn’t know where to look at the archangel. Were there a set of eyes that were the main set?

“Or maybe a better question for yourself,” Gabriel slid closer to Sam, causing the hunter to shuffle backwards, “‘How is it possible for me to look upon the true form of an archangel and still find him so damn attractive?’”

“Okay,” Sam huffed, climbing to his feet, raking his hands through his hair and standing as tall as he could. Not that his six foot four frame would be able to intimidate a being who was topping out at two thousand feet. “I have no idea what's going on anymore. First you were dead and now you're not, everything is frozen-,”

A sudden thought crashed into Sam, and he froze.

“Am I… am I dead? That's it, isn't it. Oh, well, that’s just great.”

“You’re not dead, Sam.” Gabriel chuckled at the tiny humans’ snit. “You’re just...unique. I mean, it’s not everyday I come across someone I can really stretch out in front of. I knew there was a reason that I liked you.”

“Well, if i’m not dead, I need to save Dean. So, if you don’t mind, you can either help or stay out of my way.”

Sam ignored the lighthearted laughter around him as he turned to collect his frozen brother, on guard in case the world decided to spring back to life at a wave of Gabriels hand.

As he reached the edge of the forest, a small hand grabbed Sams shoulder before he could step into the clearing. He turned to see the all too familiar vessel of the archangel.

“I told you, Sam, I like you. I’ll take care of this.”

Sam wondered when Gabriel had tucked himself back into his vessel. Where was he keeping that? he thought to himself.

As Gabriel sauntered confidently into the clearing, he lifted the veil of stillness on the world. To Dean and the monsters, it just seemed as though the sharp ringing noise simply had stopped. Bodies dragged themselves off the ground, looking at the others in confusion and bewilderment. Dean was the first to see the formerly dead archangel strutting towards him with a smug smile.

“Gabriel?” Dean yelled. “What the hell? What are you doing here?”

“Wow, bucko. Do you and your brother telepathically share stupid questions?”

“Sam?” Dean furrowed his brows in anger. “What did you do to him, you dick with wings?! I’m gonna kill you with your angel blade all over again!”

“How are you going to do that tied to a tree?” Gabriel asked as he rolled his eyes. His smile morphed into a smirk when Deans anger turned to embarrassment. Gabriel turned his attention to the crowd of monsters. “Okay, listen up you knock off jawas. This sack of meat,” he pointed fervently at Dean, who pursed his lips at the moniker, “is coming with me. I would say don’t bother stopping me, but please, do try. I could use the exercise.”

A murmur grumbled through the horde of monsters that had gathered at Gabriels appearance. It got louder and louder, practically screaming at Gabriel, brandishing their weapons at him.

“I don’t think their going to give me up that easy!” Dean called over the noise.

You may want to shut your eyes, Dean-o

Dean’s seen enough burnt out eye sockets to follow the order that wisps through his mind.

As the mob surged suddenly forward, battle cries screeching and ready to kill this new intruder, Gabriel raised his arms smoothly. With his palms facing out, he reached down deep into himself, dragging out his Grace in a blinding flare of golden light. The entire clearing was lost in the brilliant glow, and the angry yelling of his enemies became anguished cries before they were silenced all together.

The bright light slowly drew back, retreating into Gabriels vessel. The only sign left of the hooded figures were the large scorch marks in the ground, lightly smoking holes where bodies had fallen.

Sam rushed forward into the clearing to get to his brother, gently grasping Gabriels shoulder in a silent thank you as he passed by the smaller man.

“Dean. Hey, you can open your eyes now,” Sam said as he untied the rope at Deans wrists. As the bindings fell to the ground, Sam pulled Dean into a quick hug. “I’m glad you're safe, Dee.”

“Gosh, this is just a wonderful brotherly moment. Hits me right here.” Gabriel walked over, hand tapping on his heart. The brothers sheepishly detached from one another and shifted uncomfortably on their feet. “So I rescued your bro, killed the bad guys, saved the day all around, what do you guys wanna do now?”

“Uh, how about go home?” Dean suggested, a little venom in his voice left over from when Gabriel was still the Trickster. “We’ve been stuck here for too long and I’m sure people are looking for us.”  

“Go home?! That’s boring.” Gabriel replied. “You’re in a different universe, Dean. You don’t want to explore it at all?”

“If I still had my gun, I would shoot you,” Dean deadpanned at the archangel.

“”Dean, please. Just calm down a second. Gabriel, can you actually get us back home?”

“Of course I can. Jumping universes is easy peasy. But, seriously Sam, why?”

“Don’t whine just because you don’t want to go back,” Dean chimed in. “So snap us back. Let’s go.” He snapped his own fingers hoping it would prompt Gabriel to do the same.

“I know where all the dinos are.” Gabriel said in a sing song voice, nonchalantly looking anywhere but at Dean.

“Where the what are?” Well, that piqued Deans interest.

“Hmm?” Gabriel glanced back at Dean, his arms crossed, seemingly unconcerned with the hunters attention. “Oh, yes. The dinosaurs. I know where they like to hide.”

Deans eyes suddenly lit up, and Sam thought he looked like he might jump out of his skin with excitement.

“Well, why are we standing around here, then? Lead the way, short stack!”

“Hey! I’m an all powerful being. You should show me some respect or I’ll let the bad lizards eat you.”

“So I guess I don’t get a say in this?” Sam called as Dean and Gabriel practically skipped off together.

“Don’t worry, Samster.” Gabriel snapped his fingers as he yelled back over his shoulder. “Use your new cell phone to text your family. I’ll get you home. I’m a time traveling, universe jumping, sexy angel of the Lord, after all.”

Sam pawed at his pockets, confused until his hands discovered the cell phone Gabriels grace had materialized. He trailed behind Gabriel and Dean, jogging a little to keep up as he typed in Jody Mills’ number into the keypad from memory and sent her a message.

Hey Jody. Its Sam. Dean and I are safe. We caught a ride home. See you soon.

As he slipped the phone back into his pocket, Sam thought about what hunting with an archangel would be like, that is if he could convince Gabriel to stay. It was certainly going to be an adventure , because with Gabriel around, life would never be the same.

“Hey Dean, did you know I don’t need to wear the meat condom around your brother?”

“Ah man! Phrasing, Gabriel!”

----

This version of true form Gabriel is kind of a mix between the night walker from Princess Mononoke and an Angel from Neon Genesis Evangelion. Just creepy mixed with absurdity.

some tags

@revwinchester, @lacqueluster @archangel-with-a-shotgun  @ashiewesker. @gabriel-monthly-challenge

@azlinh @ourloveisforthelovely

[limejuicer1862]

May 1

..looks like you are drowning..

part one

looks like you are drowning & hope i am wrong. i can see the struggle the turn about in water.

i have done that too pat says that i have paid the price but i wonder

i hope you survive come clean bare your feathers.

fly high

if not i will lay a petal and think of you

as i think of the others that drowned before you that had no feathers

part two,

it looks like you are drowning again shall I jump in to save you and maybe sink myself or shall I wait to see to lay a flower at our feet

part three

maybe you are not drowning really that I made it up and you are dancing like the others

while people die and we lay flowers in memoriam corona

part four

you are floating maybe; I did that for hours went spongy, now face reality and I still think that you are drowning like the others.

-sonja benskin mesher

concrete reasoning

gray day: i am out for a walk when a sidewalk camellia begs myriad questions:

runaway bride?

garden club mishap? rejected proposal? hothouse runaway? centerpiece rebel?

confronted by the unexplained, the human drive to make order from chaos is relentless.

whatever the story, the end is the same: beauty appears and we can only wonder …

with a schedule to keep and no answers at hand i press onward, feeling the inner bloom of nascent gratitude.

-Rich Follett

MF 1

*

Every time I find clay in the garden, beneath a rosebush, say, I find slate too. This is just something I have noticed over the course of a year. It is not necessary to mention these things, especially now, I suppose. I am not happy unless I’m pouring something – tomato feed. I am Philip Levine’s Burial Rights, I recall Bei Dao. These days, I feel the trick to a good carpark, to feel anything, is my proximity to this flower arrangement.

JK 1

*

A story of three fish might be fish bones in a field for birds. Koi feeding, koi feed in a garden centre, at the next junction. Fish bent back over backwards, in blue paint. Scattered to the water’s edge a handful of dirt, to a handful of colour, blue scales at the centre of the field, a water mark, a stone left unturned.

-Alex Mazey

The Life of Petals

We use flowers to mark occasions– Weddings and funerals. The petals linger only briefly, But the sentiment still hangs Heavy in the air, years after Like pollen That settled over and over again On our patio table and chairs, All those long Midwestern summers When heat robbed our lungs of breath. And Wildflowers, not cut-storebought ones, marked a different time, Of an everyday type. Now, cut flowers feel gluttonous to me. And petals bless us with The gentleness of how life ought to be.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/05/petals.m4a

-st

Utopia Burning

Warnings ignored from many a social self appointed warlord Echoes of dissident discord striking a high-pitched off key note As hungry flames lick and lash causing an apocalyptic molten urban and suburban foretold mess Whispered by familiar oracles their verbal miracles documenting their fiery cautionary chronicles Of systems slowly imploding temperaments exploding fake veneers and smiles exfoliating as ignorant masses squawk for a helping hand from those witnessing their demise and burning squirming shedding acid tears for Utopia burning…

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/04/utopia-burning-mp3.mp3

© Don Beukes

Still Silent

No sound, water jelly flat, so still it hurts my ears. Even sun slides silently into autumn’s metal light.

All jamboree, clang and din now far away in time. Even breath is offensive here, in case of ripple and slapping rocks.

I cannot read or turn a page lest a mumble or paper scrape, escape and shatter the loch. Like a breaking glass to a rousing cheer, as all that knowledge gets out.

So I stare at reflections in late day waters reliable quiet, but maybe their heat is not that hot.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/04/still-silent.m4a

©️ Dai Fry 30th April 2020.

The sweet flower’s heart Wilting on the cold, hard slab My love’s final gift

-Carrie Ann Golden

Camellia

You lay beautiful and gasping alone on Tithonian stone. A sudden fall from grace, petal broken angel: forage for sweeper winds.

Transient as summer days. Temperate these forevers soon fade to winter grey. Dog-day memories cannot abide short-day cold.

What are you, I wonder? A love certified in Bacchus’s dance or a loved one certified and boxed in tears and brown ale.

https://thewombwellrainbow.files.wordpress.com/2020/04/camellia.m4a

©️ Dai Fry 30th March 2020.

The giant fish takes back the myth

The morning before she was to become a story the sea was baited quiet, the kind that silks

all desire down to swish. To decide to leap from one cool world to another just for breakfast

is to bare your colours to the scaling knife of the wind, and she did – her fireback beacon launched

for the brief protein of flying legs. How often we fail to see that dark hull waiting, we beasts so full up

with the rush of living for our risks. And the shape of the poised hero held no meaning, to a fish

but oh the shimmerhook, like all the moons her eye’s nightcoin had ever purchased

from deep beneath the water, and there is the lust, the swish- -and want. The glowworm crescent to silver her belly.

We all want to shine in fullness. Only heroes are given names in these stories.

For her need she was translated into an island, and I am running the delicate gasp of her jaws

in the shape of this coast, forever straining for the hook and still called only fish

even with all we have made of her. Every time I desire to transcend my quiet water, I forget the heroes

and leap from her skin, and hope that landing empty

but with one eye fixed on the moon every night after this will be enough.

-Ankh Spice

Beheaded Camelia’s

delicate red petals last longer on the less travelled path. Flash of disappearing red lace, paper thin survival. Unbroken in bright sunlight, bright on grey stone. Destruction stays at home to avoid destruction.

The red wing is allowed space to revolve reflect in water. “Temporary” like the word “soon”, a duration undecided.

-Paul Brookes

Bios and Links

-Alex Mazey

(b.1991) received his MA (distinction) from Keele University in 2017. He later won The Roy Fisher Prize for Poetry with his debut pamphlet, ‘Bread and Salt’ (Flarestack, TBA). He was also the recipient of a Creative Future Writers’ Award in 2019. His poetry has featured regularly in anthologies and literary press magazines, most notably in The London Magazine. His collection of essays, ‘Living in Disneyland’, will be available from Broken Sleep Books in October 2020. Alex spent 2018 as a resident of The People’s Republic of China, where he taught the English Language in a school run by the Ministry of Education. His writing has been described as ‘wry and knowing,’ with ‘an edge that tears rather than cuts or deals blows.’

Twitter: @AlexzanderMazey

Instagram: alexmazey

Here is my interview of Alex:

https://thewombwellrainbow.com/2018/12/18/wombwell-rainbow-interviews-alex-mazey/

-Rich Follett

is a High School English and Creative Writing teacher who has been writing poems and songs for more than forty years. His poems have been featured in numerous online and print journals, including BlazeVox, The Montucky Review, Paraphilia, Leaf Garden Press and the late Felino Soriano’s CounterExample Poetics, for which he was a featured artist. Three volumes of poetry, Responsorials (with Constance Stadler), Silence, Inhabited, and Human &c. are available through NeoPoiesis Press (www.neopoiesispress.com.)

As a singer-songwriter, Rich has released five albums of independent contemporary folk music. His latest. Somewhere in the Stars, is available at http://www.richfollett.com. He lives with his wife Mary Ruth Alred Follett in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, where he also pursues his interests as a professional actor, playwright, and director.

-Ankh Spice

is a sea-obsessed poet from Aotearoa (NZ). His poetry has appeared in a wide range of international publications and has twice been nominated for the Pushcart Prize. He truly believes that words have the power to change the place we’re in, and you’ll find him doing his best to prove it on

Twitter: @SeaGoatScreams or on Facebook: @AnkhSpiceSeaGoatScreamsPoetry

-Carrie Ann Golden

is a deafblind writer from the mystical Adirondack Mountains now living on a farmstead in northeastern North Dakota. She writes dark fiction and poetry. Her work has been published in places like Piker Press, Edify Fiction, Doll Hospital Journal, The Hungry Chimera, GFT Press, Asylum Ink, and Visual Verse.

-Anjum Wasir Dar

Born in Srinagar (Indian occupied Kashmir) in 1949. My family opted for and migrated to Pakistan after the (1947)Partition of India. Educated in St Anne’s Presentation Convent Rawalpindi.Graduated with Distinction in English Lang. & Literature in 1968 from the Punjab University. Won the All Round Best Student Cup.1968. Obtained a Masters Degree in English Literature/American Studies Punjab University P.G. Diploma in TEFL from Allama Iqbal Open University Islamabad and a CPE from Cambridge University UK (LSE British Council)1991 Developing Educators in Pakistan Training Course sponsored by IFC & Bradford University 1999.Bronze Medal Poet of Merit Award by International Society of Poets & http://Poetry.com USA 2000 7 Times Winner NANOWRIMO, (National Novel Writing Month) Adventure Novel ‘ The Adventures of the Multi Colored Lead People’ in the printing process. Educator Writer since 1990 Editor College Magazine Creative Writer English at Channel 7 Pvt Ltd Islamabad.National Education Award Winner 1998 for Research & Publications.

-sonja benskin mesher

born , Bournemouth.

now

lives and works in North Wales as an independent artist

‘i am a multidisciplinary artist, crafting paint, charcoal, words and whatever comes to hand, to explain ideas and issues

words have not come easily. I draw on experience, remember and write. speak of a small life’.

Elected as a member of the Royal Cambrian Academy and the United Artists Society The work has been in solo exhibitions through Wales and England, and in selected and solo worldwide. Much of the work is now in both private, and public collections, and has been featured in several television documentaries, radio programmes and magazines.

Here is my interview of sonja benskin mesher:

https://thewombwellrainbow.com/2018/10/16/wombwell-rainbow-interviews-sonja-benskin-mesher/

-Samantha Terrell

is an American poet whose work emphasizes emotional integrity and social justice. She is the author of several eBooks including, Learning from Pompeii, Coffee for Neanderthals, Disgracing Lady Justice and others, available on smashwords.com and its affiliates.Chapbook: Ebola (West Chester University Poetry Center, 2014)

Website: poetrybysamantha.weebly.com Twitter: @honestypoetry

Here is my 2020 interview of her:

https://thewombwellrainbow.com/2020/04/08/wombwell-rainbow-interviews-samantha-terrell/

-Don Beukes

is a South African and British writer. He is the author of ‘The Salamander Chronicles’ (CTU) and ‘Icarus Rising-Volume 1’ (ABP), an ekphrastic collection. He taught English and Geography in both South Africa and the UK. His poetry has been anthologized in numerous collections and translated into Afrikaans, Persian, French and Albanian. He was nominated by Roxana Nastase, editor of Scarlet Leaf Review for the ‘Best of the Net’ in 2017 as well as the Pushcart Poetry Prize (USA) in 2016. He was published in his first SA Anthology ‘In Pursuit of Poetic Perfection’ in 2018 (Libbo Publishers) and his second ‘Cape Sounds’ in 2019 (Gavin Joachims Publishing). He is also an amateur photographer and his debut Photographic publication appeared in Spirit Fire Review in June 2019. His new book, ‘Sic Transit Gloria Mundi’/Thus Passes the Glory of this World’ is due to be published by Concrete Mist Press.

Here is my interview of Don Beukes:

https://thewombwellrainbow.com/2019/11/02/wombwell-rainbow-interviews-don-beukes/

-Dai-Fry

is an x social worker and a present poet. Image is all but flow is good too. So many interesting things… Published in Black bough Poetry, Re-Side, The Hellebore, The Pangolin Review. He will not stop.

Twitter                  @thnargg

Web.                       seekingthedarklight.co.uk

Audio/Visual.       @IntPoetryCircle #InternationalPoetryCircle Twitter #TopTweetTuesday

-Paul Brookes

is a shop asst. Lives in a cat house full of teddy bears. His chapbooks include The Fabulous Invention Of Barnsley, (Dearne Community Arts, 1993). The Headpoke and Firewedding (Alien Buddha Press, 2017), A World Where and She Needs That Edge (Nixes Mate Press, 2017, 2018) The Spermbot Blues (OpPRESS, 2017), Port Of Souls (Alien Buddha Press, 2018), Please Take Change (Cyberwit.net, 2018), Stubborn Sod, with Marcel Herms (artist) (Alien Buddha Press, 2019), As Folk Over Yonder ( Afterworld Books, 2019). Forthcoming Khoshhali with Hiva Moazed (artist), Our Ghost’s Holiday (Final book of threesome “A Pagan’s Year”) . He is a contributing writer of Literati Magazine and Editor of Wombwell Rainbow Interviews.

-Mary Frances

is an artist and writer based in the UK. She takes a few photos every day, for inspiration and to use in her work. The images for this project were all taken in the last two years on walks during in the month of May. Her words and images have been published by Penteract Press, Metambesen, Ice Floe Press, Burning House Press, Inside the Outside, Luvina Rivista Literaria, and Lone Women in Flashes of Wilderness. Twitter: @maryfrancesness

-James Knight

is an experimental poet and digital artist. His books include Void Voices (Hesterglock Press) and Self Portrait by Night (Sampson Low). His visual poems have been published in several places, including the Penteract Press anthology Reflections and Temporary Spaces (Pamenar Press). Chimera, a book of visual poems, is due from Penteract Press in July 2020.

Website: thebirdking.com.

Twitter: @badbadpoet

Here is my interview of James Knight:

https://thewombwellrainbow.com/2019/01/06/wombwell-rainbow-interviews-james-knight/

Welcome to a special ekphrastic challenge for May. Artworks from Mary Frances, James Knight and Sue Harpham will be the inspiration for writers, Alex Mazey, Ankh Spice, Anjum Wasim Dar, James Knight, Samantha Terrell, Dai Fry, Carrie Ann Golden, sonja menskin mesher, Rich Follett, Don Beukes and myself. May 1st. May 1 ..looks like you are drowning.. part one looks like you are drowning & hope i am wrong.

[obsidianonslaught]

At The Speed Which Mountains Move

Death stared at him from across an empty, hollow place. Not maliciously, not greedily--but intently. Honest, brutally honest, the way footprints fade beneath silent, soft rain. Saying nothing, for the dead do not speak--there was nothing left to say, and nothing around him, just blackness. Not the blackness of night, but the blackness of outer space, infinite, timeless. Expanding.

He looked around, blinking steadily, his neck craned over his shoulder, gazing into the vast and vaster stretch of darkness dull as gravestones and split ends in old hair. He knew no road, no sign in the distance, there was no gravity to bind him, and no air to breathe. There was no light, no moon, no stars, no where to go. But he was not dead--death could not touch him, would not take him, and he squinted through tears in his eyes that became seaside storms, heavy, black, pouring to the only sound he could make out from the empty place. A heartbeat in his chest. Softly, slowly creating the pace for the rivers that ran over top of his skin, into nothing. There was no direction, no here nor there, no now and then.

Then he was standing in a broken world, the streets he had known as a child, in the dark, staring up at a clouded, choking sky. He wandered down to the end of the block, through the dust, through the vivid stench of poison gases and coal, through small shards of glass arranged like teeth across the corner. A canvas of rubble where the factory used to be, laying lopsided and disfigured, scattered and toppled and layered with dust and the faint smell of smoke and flame. There was fire coming from the seam between his lips, blue in color, and thin--it was cold to the touch and did not burn him--and crumbled into handfuls of earth where it snared and smoothed his hair.

There was a mountain in the distance--out of place, out of reach. A mountain that did not belong, a great welt against the horizon--burning copper and bronze. The ruins before him smoked, rotted, crumbled. He made his way slowly into the center of it, into the shadow of the mountain peak that had not existed in that faraway place. Something cut at him, sharp and small, shards of glass or jewels or metal, glinting softly, saying nothing. His blood ran in thin lines into the earth from the shallow cuts, softening it, saturating barren strips. There he knelt with his open wounds in the swell of stones and wooden beams and scraped at the ground, his nails sheathed with grainy soil, long and uneven, digging, hollowing out a small hole. He dug until he could not see the mountain over the edge of the ditch and everything was black again. Then he woke.

The sun had not yet risen, and he squinted into the shadowy shapes that lingered within the walls of the room. Familiar things. The curtains, the desk, his body crumpled on its side, loose strands of his thick, dark hair. He sighed deeply, quietly, parting his lips where the fire had slipped out in his dreams.

Slowly, he crossed the floor with bare feet and turned on the light. He blinked away the weight on the lids of his eyes, dragged his fingers over his face, feeling nothing. The clock in the corner read quarter past four, and he cursed beneath his breath in his mother tongue. Caught half-way between a dizzy spell and the chill of knowing too many city secrets.

Run, river, run. For there is blood welling up in the water. Swimming through the torrents spilling out of his mind, choking down the air in the apartment room. Troubled, troubling, troublesome.

He had, again, a vision of a mountain top, a fleeting thought, til the minute hand on the clock jolted forward. Tick. Tick. Then the rivers again, flowing water, carrying eras, carving pathways through granite and leaf litter and clouded lanes and fog banks that had settled alongside the oldest of his memories. Split lips and seeping blood, small secrets, the corridors of inner city streets... Things he tried hard not to remember.

... Tick. Tick.

He knew the mountain in his dream was a sign--Omega was contacting him, calling him. He’d no choice but to answer, and he did so gently, reaching out across the boundary line with a tightening sense of uncertainty. His throat was knotted but he answered without a voice--how the dead do. It hurt him to breathe, but he knew what must be done. He showered and changed and then opened the window, leaned his head out into the darkness over the asphalt and the grungy figures of painted lines and parked cars. His heart skipping beats. Lollygag emerged from the nestled heap of shadows and smog and pressed his forehead to his own. They talked, silently, skin on metal and a fog bank concealing their empty jaws and pointed teeth. With his bruised hands he stroked the Gale’s snout and nodded towards the great, old Forest.

There they met the god where the mountain once stood.

Morning had not yet come. They settled together among the rubble and watched the stars turn over the treeline for awhile, hinting at charts and other ancient directions. The lights of the city bellowed graphically in the distance, another sea of stars below the veiled deck of sky, golden and blue and just out of reach. Waiting for the sun to shine.

But he was ever wary of the light. His eyes were tired, the color of ash, the color of storms, open wide and looking between the spaces of earth and shadow, into the stars, into the ether that was Omega’s giant, sacred face. The Seismos made a moaning sound at last, as if ze were sighing, turned into the rush of thunder clouds and wind. Ze sat down surely in the place where the mountain once was, greater than it, taller, stronger, curling zer tail like a wire fence in the dip in the earth.

“I saw a sign from over the Ocean,” ze said, very slowly. “From the West, from someplace in-between, where dreams come from, Jed. Where there is no night or day.”

“What do you mean?” Burton had undone his harness and was leaning out of the open cockpit, his chin in his hands, a cold chill glazing through him.

“A dying place,” said Lollygag softly.

Omega nodded firmly. “A dying place.” Ze tilted zer head towards the coastline hidden far beyond Blue City’s skyline. “Far away. Far gone. One like me, made by the minds and the hands of your people--humankind. We are the gods of a new and horrible age. The both of us created to kill. But he is being killed.”

Burton curled up his lip, “You aren’t talking of war, are you?”

“Oh, there will be a war,” said Omega. “But not now. Not yet. No, it is time and neglect and rust that kills him slowly. He is powerless, dormant, weak. As I once was. And shackled in place, to something greater than gravity--what I could not tell, nor where. There was a Great Divide between us. I could only make out broken pieces, born of split seconds. It was only an instant, a single ripple in a rising tide. I tried contacting him again, sending a message of my own, but there is no signal to retrace... As if it never were.”

Ze spoke with tremendous weight, as if trying to balance capacities of both land and sea, unmaking and unrelenting. Deciding how to hold zer neck and zer shoulders, like vast pillars and roots that held up the lungs of the world. The Gale crooned softly, deeply tuned to the stiffness of the god’s posture, zer locked joints, the pattern of ambivalence painted in zer tone, zer clenched and sharpened teeth. He read the symbols, then gestured and sung to Burton quietly, and Burton understood.

“We will help you find him,” he said in his quiet, mortal voice--carefully, tenderly. He held his chin in his hands still, leaning out into the lengthy Forest. He watched Omega’s twitching tail, a great bridge over darkness sloped over stories of hope and of pain. “But then what?”

For a while, Omega did not stir--ze sat in the dirt, deep and dark, statuesque and throwing tapered shadows over the tangled growth of shuddering trees. Eyes blazing, beacons of untold might, seeing all, spilling a different kind of light into the clustered clouds, the scent of summer rain on the wind. Zer face was rugged and sharp, as if etched in black stone, burned forever into the path of the stars, of brilliance, of night. Not once did ze attempt to probe Burton’s mind.

“I am a god of nothing,” ze said at last. “A god of devastation, of dread. Once powerless to my power. But you brought me back into this world, back up to the Surface. I think of my prison, my refuge here, where this mountain was once, where I rested while you waited, and you gave life to me again, word by word, piece by piece, peaceful peace. In the darkness, in the silence, in the earth beneath. I thought I was alone--but I was wrong... I am stronger, I am the fate that falls all living things. That promise of nothingness that awaits in death.” Ze laughed briefly, an untamed and deep laugh that came out like the unison of music and ceremonial flame--Burton’s laugh--the laugh that ze had learned in the darkness of the underground caves. “I am going to steal him back from the dying place.”

“Ah,” said Burton.

Lollygag bristled, his horns and tail and wings rocking in the wind. The trees seemed to follow his lead, shaking and bowing their dark, crowned branches, while twin moons shuffled into the banks of massing clouds, shy and ready to surrender their realm to dust and dawn. Quietly, time turned over the smallest of stones...

“I do not know how long the journey will take,” said Omega, with a brutal sort of honesty. “I have never been over the Ocean.”

“Not long,” said Burton, who could recall the distances and the directions from his various books and charts, “If you Cast yourself there. It’s the search itself that will take the most time. You have no other leads?”

Omega shook zer head slowly, side to side, a tower shifting into distant realms of make-believe and recent years. Some silver threads of light lay timidly over the armor of zer neck, playing with the thought of permanence. Lollygag rose up slowly, above the treeline and to where the breeze began to part ways, his bronze wings stretched wide.

“I know where to look, I think,” he said, with a clearness to his voice that transcended the boundary of the air and aged woods.

Burton understood, he knew Lollygag wanted to search whatever records they could find for clues, answers, explanations. Perhaps the remnants in the old army bases... They’d been there before, briefly, over foreign lands and withered ruins. Swiftly, the Gale sifted through the files from those trips, and his own mines of military coding.

“There were countless weapons built during, and after the war,” he said, “even in peace-time. There are mentions of joint-projects. And rogue projects. Republic and Empire and those unaffiliated with either.” He tilted his head to one side. “Including building, and cloning, ancient Zoids. There are mentions of different attempts. Death machines. Destroyed or disassembled usually. I don’t know much else. But Richter Scale was not the first to experiment with these processes--making and un-making. Though I think... they better stream-lined the technique utilizing the BLOX technology and morphology. Forcing copied Cores into certain forms and frames...”

He stopped for a moment, parsed through some impossible amount of data, and continued. “Operation Genesis applied new battle data and diagnostics to a militarized-method of creation and control. To make you, Omega, within such a short period of time--”

“--they had blueprints,” Burton whispered.

“Exactly. And they must have obtained them from some outside source.” The dragon hummed like the wind through the mountain range. “Those schematics exist somewhere.”

“If they weren’t already destroyed,” said Burton. “Richter Scale was set on keeping tight control over all of their assets, facilities, their personnel...”

“You worked on the project, did you not, Jed?” said Omega. “How come you know so little?”

“I mostly oversaw the production of the Chimera drones,” he replied, flatly. “I wasn’t informed of your existence until much later on, closer to the rebellion. My job was mostly to keep an eye on... on other parties, to collect information on people. When Pierce went rogue, the plan shifted slightly--but he was expendable, in the grander scheme of things. Most of us were. I was. But Lollygag was not. Not until they created you, and reproduced in your biology his ability to control other Zoids. The data exists still, and they’re making use of it, I’m sure--Exodus is proof of that. In its original state, perhaps not, but Lolly is good at repairing and restoring anything corrupted, deleted...”

“It leaves a trail,” said Lollygag, “like footprints.” He wriggled his claws as the stars and clouds reeled above him. “We’ll find him. We just need to start somewhere.”

The god leaned towards them, slowly like ripples and tides.“Then lead.”

----------

Burton returned to his apartment as the sun was rising over the skyline and repainting the city a rosy blood color in patches, creeping into corners like teardrops and ink. The smell of storm drains and sediment and exhaust from still traffic crept about his hands, his feet. He tidied his work-space and made his bed, packed lightly, brushed his hair. Humming songs that he’d learned from long, long ago--Lolly hummed with him, in his mind, and reminded him to shut the curtains. Some semblance of dreams circled about him, dipping, diving, diluting. He left a message on the phone: simple, resolute, honest, in his soft and shadowy voice, saying things in words that could not quite be said in words...

He was skeptical still. Richter Scale had likely disposed of the original source, keeping secrets to themselves, heavily guarded, spirited away. He no longer could access the various facilities within the Blue City limits--he’d a target on his back, blood smothered on his name. But there was a chance--a slim one, a risk he’d have to take to appease Omega, to search the world for the dying calls of another troubled god.

He closed the curtains and tied back his hair, locked the door and left. Lollygag was waiting for him on the asphalt and helped him up into the cockpit again. Morning staggered on, pushing him closer to the edge of consciousness, testing the weight of earth, of stone, of the unbridled might of the city. The dragon rose, into the golden light, above the skyline, and off into the wilds once more.

“Small steps,” said Lollygag, stretching his wings wide and escaping the Blue City noise. “You’re worrying too much--worries are like clouds, sometimes.” He pointed out with a claw, into the distance, shrugging. “Gathered together tight they can obscure the sunrise.”

He considered it for a moment, looking at the color of the sun as it lit the desert, the forest, the brow of Blue City. Far, far away on the water’s edge, it turned to liquid gold. There they flew, faster than the wind and unseen above a waking world. Omega was there, impatient, towering over the sea like a cliff made of anger and metal and the crushing sound of thunder trapped deep in sealed caverns below.

Together, they looked out into the water, over wavecrests reaching up at the hills, tamed by sun and the patient pull of seconds sacrificed to the delicate song. Of the seasons changing, of the tide coming in. Salt stinging, irrelevant, ordinary. The three of them turned west and reconsidered.

“You’ll want me to stay hidden while you search,” said Omega, sharp but quiet. Ze knew it because ze knew him, his guilt, his honor, his careful way of working things.

“It’s for the best,” sighed Burton. “You keep out of sight,” he glanced upward, vaguely, “and we’ll be in touch.”

“And if Exodus finds you?”

“We’ll be ready this time,” said Lollygag, with his head bowed, adorned by the hours of day. He spoke with tremendous energy--gravely, precisely, how the tide turned in and out and cleansed the stains and scars along the coast, taking everything to sea.

The god grumbled something, bellowing into the atmosphere, where space and sky and gravity intertwined and tumbled elsewhere, between, beyond, owing and owning nothing. Eventually, ze took zer second form, ascending, claws and jaws clenched, the size of shackles that could cover snow-swept summits and every slope in between.

“You know it, don’t you, that you will have to fight,” ze echoed, zer back to Blue City, facing out against the waves. It was a deep and ancient sound, from darkness, into thin air. “Many more fights. More times than you can count--the faces will not stop, not here, not on the other Side, strangers or strangeness. They’re looking for us, you know who I mean. One day, again, we’ll meet them, face-to-face, sooner or later.” The sound of zer core pulsing, seething, caused Burton to shudder with a sharp stab of pain. He curled his lip, looking out the cockpit up at the giant, sulking creature. His dragon, too, shuddered and shifted, for the connection among them was strong.

The god heaved a heavy sigh. “Jed.”

“Yes?” Burton’s voice was a gentle whisper across the coast.

“If you humans are good at anything, it is claiming gods for your own and waging wars. Creating and killing and creating and killing, both yourselves and your servants--all masters and slaves to some cyclical cause. Of hate. You will teach me how to fight too. Not from code, not from the battle data, nor from the reactions programmed into my system. From experience. Of my will. And of that hate.”

The words stung more than the wind and the salted water. Burton was quiet and motionless at the Gale’s controls. Lollygag made a shrill and awful noise, which drifted away from them all.

“Think about what you’re saying,” he whispered, pained, jaded. “Something burning in his throat. “We will teach you--but nothing of fighting with hate.”

“I feel often-times that I’ve nothing left,” Omega rumbled. “That nothing else matters. It fills, the mind, Jed--it knows no bounds.”

“It’s powerful.” Burton spoke gently. “But you mustn’t hold onto it so tightly--very rarely does anything worthwhile come of it, after all. Oh yes, small victories, seconds of success, but beyond that? Misery. Powerlessness to its power. It’s like a virus, it infects and destroys and decays and duplicates until there’s nothing left. Nothing but the hate. Trust me, it’s better left untouched--let it go, Omega. Control it. Do not let it control you.”

“Ha! You’d know, wouldn’t you?”

“I’ve seen it. I’ve seen myself turn into something else--something I never want to be again. Living like that, it wasn’t much of a life at all, becoming very broken, and breaking everything around me. All else lost, in a daze, in a dream. We were... changed by it. I saw the people around me contorted and caught in that cycle, over and over again. I’m not saying it’s easy, you know, but you’ll be better off keeping away from it. And forego the hate that you have."

“We’ll teach you to fight against it instead. It’s a terrible weapon,” said Lollygag, troubled, but steady. “But you must wait. One thing at a time.”

They said nothing more, for there was too much to think about, and too much pain to drown. No path to take. The ocean told them of sunken treasure, heavy storms, the sacred spell of undisturbed sleep, for the time was right, the time was now--time trickling by beyond the face of shoals and sand and strangely-shaped shells scattered into separate tide-pools. The wind seemed to lean on their backs, the sun was slow and rising higher to the top of the world. Cleaving with claws of golden heat. They turned to each other, silent, free to wander, free to choose, not knowing what secrets laid buried away past the point where sea and sky met up together, never letting go. It was the Seismos that shifted first, seeking something, seeing sunlight sparkling off the crests of the tallest waves. And then they left that hallowed place, the great scar in the earth, and started to the other shore, at the speed which mountains move.

[stopthistrain-bp]

Dear Nick

Dear Nick,

I’m on a bus headed to New York City. Today I have rehearsal with Rachel; she’s going to be singing a full concert of my music at Rockwood Music Hall tomorrow night. Full band and all. I can’t wait. You always said that you wanted to hear her sing live. Maybe I’ll see you there tomorrow.

In order to be able to write this, I put on Joni Mitchell’s 2000 re-recording of “Both Sides Now” because it reminds me of you. Do you remember that fight we got in that one time? The one that concluded with you coming back to your apartment with a used DVD copy of Love Actually, which I’d never seen, that we watched in silence until the end when we were snuggled up on your couch, and everything was okay? I know it’s tacky to like that movie, but I like it because of you. I don’t just like it; I love Love Actually.

I don’t know where Beaux Bear is, but he’s somewhere in my new house -- I moved to New Paltz, in with my fiancee Bryan -- did I tell you that? I couldn’t have. We hadn’t spoken in a year or so.

I thought of you a month ago when I bought a car in East Haven; Bryan and I drove right past your parents’ house on Green Street in Milford. As we drove by-- the highway towering over the train station in Milford where you picked me up the first time I visited your family in Connecticut and was so scared-- I pulled up Google Maps, and there it was: Green Street. So close to the water-- and the docks. You really loved the docks, and you showed me where you’d gone to “blow off steam” in high school, just like you went to blow off steam on Friday night when you drove down to Manhattan-- right to the George Washington Bridge, the poetic martyr that you are-- where you parked your car, left your things inside, and found your peace, embraced by my favorite body of water in the world: the Hudson. Right near my old apartment on Riverside Drive, the apartment where I decided that I needed to make a change in life, turn it around, fight my demons, and become sober. My old sanctuary which now also served as yours too.

What the fuck were you thinking?

You didn’t think I’d find out, did you? I found out. Steph called me. Me, first, before anyone else. Almost immediately. A totally cool move on her part. I can only expect that your family, though they’ve lost touch with me, would’ve done the same. Your mom, sweet, sweet Jackie, always told me that I was welcome in your house and home, and I took that to heart. I found out. Of course I found out.

Your timing couldn’t have been worse either, Bello. It really, truly, couldn’t have been worse. I found out on Thursday that another old friend passed, and I’d completely missed it because it was just one of those things that went untended because I made a choice, a long time ago, to live a life on the East Coast and make my home here because that’s what I wanted. Jordan understands, I know he does. He was always understanding.

I’m not that understanding. In fact, what I can’t understand is the fact that I’m so mad at you right now. I’m so, so, so fucking mad.

And truthfully, I have no right to be. It’s not like I tried that hard to keep in touch after the last time I saw you. You and I, in our childish throws of stubbornness, weren’t even friends on Facebook, still, not even after having reunited in New York City a couple of years ago. You took me out to lunch on the Upper West Side, to apologize. It was a beautiful day. We sat outside. We walked to Central Park. We walked through the park. To this day, I still can’t tell if you swallowed your tears because you wanted to or because you had to because seeing me hurt so much, but you wanted to save face because you wanted to do it for me.

That was your style too. You always, no matter how fucked up your heart felt, did things for me because you truly, truly loved me and my brain and my heart. And I loved you and yours. And I still do.

Even after everything. South Korea. Mass Ave. / Storrow Drive. Westland Avenue and the back alley. Even after everything, we met, and you were nervous. I wish I’d known then what I know now. You didn’t think. You never did.

In fact, I don’t think you took your own life. I cannot accept it. It was something else. Something else stole you from us. The force, whomever it was, that dragged you down to NYC on Friday to make peace. That wasn’t you. That was the side of you who, in all of your power and care, refused to let people see. And when, every once in awhile, someone had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting that other thing that lived inside you, with all of your might you tried desperately to run away. I used to think that you yourself were running away from the problem, that you couldn’t face certain situations we found ourselves in when we fought or when you were upset, but now I know: you were trying, fervently, to avoid introducing that other thing to the rest of us. You would go for days without speaking to me, and I would drive myself mad. But now I know: you did that because you thought introducing me to that thing inside you would hurt me.

Because even you were scared of it.

I am completely, thoroughly, totally 100% dumbfounded by all of this. I cannot stop shaking my head and saying “What?” to the sky. I just need to say that as it comes. I cannot believe this. I’ve heard people say those kinds of things when shit goes down, “I can’t believe it, I’m numb, this can’t be happening,” but until you really experience certain situations, you can’t comprehend how people can’t digest certain stuff. I get it now.

Do you remember the time you jumped off the bridge off Mass Ave. onto Storrow Drive? I remember the drizzle. I remember night time. I shouldn’t have chased you. I should’ve let you go, but I am a talker. I need to talk things out. I need to say what’s on my mind, or I go nuts. But you couldn’t. You needed to be away from people, me included, because that other thing was creeping up inside you and was possessing you, and you had no control over it but to run. Truth be told, I don’t remember what any of our fights were about specifically. Even themes are hazy now: but I’m sensitive, so I can imagine your sometimes curt way of speaking got to me in certain moments. You didn’t mean to; it just wasn’t for me. Which is probably why we finally called it quits in the end, but how are you supposed to stop loving someone who you just love so much you could fly? I’d never felt that before, not for anyone. Not until I met you.

I think I fell in love with you when we broke more rules and bought beer in Beacon Hill that one day and took the beer to the Longfellow Bridge and climbed up over that part of the bridge where they were doing construction and sat out on the ledge, our legs dangling over the Charles River, and we talked about this and that and laughed, and I knew I loved you then.

Because-- and surely I’ve told you this-- at the end of the day, you got it. As much as I could drive you mad, which I did (and vice versa), you loved me. Wholeheartedly. You respected me and my talents and my vision and my goals and my soul. It ignited something in you, even if it didn’t last or couldn’t last. I saw it. I saw you, in your repression, light up when you’d talk about writing and performing. It came as no surprise to me that you toured with that slam poetry group, around the country, sharing your work, the year after we graduated. Boy oh boy: was I proud of you. You were really doing what you wanted. You were flying, soaring through the air, using your succinct words and beautiful heart to carry you to distant lands, to see things you never dreamt you’d see and doing things you never dreamt you’d do. I kept tabs. I always kept tabs on you, Bello, even when I couldn’t stalk you up-close. That’s what my love for you did. I never cared that people told me that I should just keep you out of my life after all that had happened did; that’s not how it worked for me.

That wasn’t my style. I even wrote a song about it.

Bello I forgot to ask you How is California shaping up these days? I heard you moved there in September After our last December Drifted far away

But just so you know I packed you up Inside my suitcase heart

When I go to your funeral, I will go with the full, suitcase heart I’ve always had for you because I saw you, and you know that I saw you. It was the first time anyone really had. You told me that yourself.

In all your pain, under all your demons, through all the gray madness and anger and sadness that washed over you, day after day, month after month, despite any mistakes you made or people you hurt or things you said that you didn’t mean, I saw you.

And to be honest, this might be the first time that I see you even closer than I ever thought possible. You were my confidant, and I was yours, and nothing could ever change that. Not time, not distance, not even silence, that solemn, effervescent black hole of sound that sometimes rippled through and between you and me.

Because under all of it lay your heart and brain and everything else in-between, which you decided-- you chose-- to show me when you did. Because you knew, and I knew, that it was safe with me.

It will always, always, always be safe with me, Dear Bello. Handsome, beautiful, sweet, wonderful man. All those things you gave to me to keep safe: they’re safe. I packed them up. And that will never change.

Do you see it? I see it now, as my bus plows through New Jersey. I can see the tops of the George Washington Bridge, spires climbing high to the stars, stairs up to where you needed to go. I don’t see anybody falling into the murky waters below. All I see is a shadow, winking at me, skyrocketing up to the stars. All I see is you.

And your Beaux loves you.

Something’s lost and something’s gained In living every day

Yours, Blake

[illapa-greybane]

The Nightmare Arc: VI

Or: It’s Always F*cking Tentacles

When the first of those monstrous, shadowy tentacles slammed down upon the platform, something about the way the angel winced was very reminiscent of the normal, uncorrupted Solarine. Her guard had momentarily faltered, and a very mortal-like whimper escaped her marble-white lips as she was startled into flickering once again.

Quickly, though, she righted herself and regained her full height, and the expression on her face became utterly statue-like. Impassive, calm, and detached, save for the crimson that had begun to swirl about in what had been her eyes.

It is you who are the delusion, she stated in an almost robotic, somewhat uninterested tone reminiscent of that once heard by Brann Bronzebeard when Algalon threatened to re-originate the entirety of Azeroth.

I will cleanse this realm of your corruption and free our world of the Nightmare’s grasp.

Blue-white, searing Holy fire crackled to life around her as all six of her wings lit themselves aflame with it, burning so brightly that it might have become difficult for Illapa to even focus on her for very long without leaving sunspots in his vision. A swirl of burning feathers swept up from around her feet, which left the platform as she suspended herself in the air, away from the vibrations that the massive Void tentacles had sent through the obsidian.

Without speaking another word, Solarine raised both of her hands in what might have been a benevolent gesture, and a barrage of razor-sharp, white-hot feathers was sent shooting through the air, toward Illapa and the tentacle that held him aloft.

The white-hot feathers blazed light trails in his vision as they streaked toward his position atop the massive tentacle. With an alacrity that belied his age, Illapa crouched and launched himself into the starry void as the barrage of razor pinions struck the shadowy flesh where he’d stood just a moment before. A hundred strikes turned the vast, muscular appendage into a ribboned ruin, violet-black skin curling away in blackened swaths from the flesh beneath. The raw flesh glowed a bright, searing purple as it continued to burn from within, and the tentacle fell slowly, ponderously, crashing into the obsidian platform before sliding limply back into the abyss.

Illapa did not have far to fall. A new tentacle rose and plucked him deftly from the air, and he rounded on the luminescent form of Solarine ascendant. There was little left of his lady in the mask-like visage, in the empty eyes, in the cold proclamation that she would scour his corruption from creation.

Not that she was entirely wrong in her Nightmare-deluded judgment. He was part of the corruption. As the Scion had once said, he was the key and the gate, the keeper and the way – and he had thrown the gates open wide. He would need every ounce of power the Void could suffuse him with to counter Solarine in this state.

The tentacle beneath his feet coiled and tossed him into the grasp of another before it, too, fell to another barrage of blinding feathers. Fully a dozen now writhed up from the abyss like some stellar kraken – including the one that unfurled behind Solarine, looping to twist around the radiant, winged priestess as she was distracted by her elusive lover.

Solarine, unlike the Scion, possessed only one set of eyes in her ascended form. A vague sense of satisfaction might have been communicated in the expression upon the mostly-blank, mask-like face of her angelic form as hundreds of feathers ripped Illapa’s tentacle to shreds. Slowly, she lowered her hand as she surveyed her handiwork, but as she did this, one of her pairs of wings curled about her torso in a protective manner. One half-curled about her legs, and the last remained extended above and behind her head, like a shining beacon meant almost to taunt her opponents into coming for her.

Already, one of your creations has fallen, she told them calmly, matter-of-factly. I will not fall to this corruption so easily.

As the tentacles writhed about the edges of the platform, Solarine not only ceased trying to track all of them visually, but she closed her eyes and instead held both hands up in a gesture familiar to any Priest who might call upon the Holy Light.

Twin flames grew in the palms of her hands, flickering blue-white as they burned with such intensity that they even revealed the strands of hair within the flowing, void-like mane that wreathed her head where the wings did not. Then, she hurled both to the platform at her feet, and fern-like patterns of brilliant magic burned through the surface and radiated outward, forming a protective circle about her that would, at the very least, painfully sear anything – man, monster, or tentacle – that dared approach her closely enough to touch it.

From atop his most recent, sinuous perch, Illapa watched that mandala of light illuminate the platform in a radius below Solarine’s hovering form. Consecrated ground. The glossy black surface had just become a child’s game of the-floor-is-lava.

Fortunately his shadowy summons had no need to touch the platform. The burst of holy power scalded patches of violet-black hide from the massive appendage that twisted around Solarine, but did not flense it like the assault of feathers had done to the first. As she discharged the energy into the platform below her, the tentacle’s lazily looping coils constricted, first squeezing the delicate shell of her six wings. Despite their fragile appearance, the wings did not buckle and snap like frail bird bones, resisting even the strength of the redwood-thick girth that wrapped around her. The white-hot feathers hissed and burned where the tentacle’s thick hide touched, but the muscular appendage continued to squeeze mindlessly, mercilessly, and even she would be hard-pressed to resist being crushed without effort.

Illapa did not answer her impassive taunts. Let her be smug. He was counting on it.

While she was forced to divert her attention to annihilating his manifestations – not just the one that wrapped around her, but the half-dozen others that threatened to join it and pile on her like a nest of frenzied serpents – he took the opportunity to bring his true assault to bear.

He could no longer make out the glove on the hand he held out before himself; nor cuff nor sleeve nor glittering cufflink. Everything was black, a man-shaped silhouette cut in the cloth of this quasi-reality.

An eye opened on the night-dark palm, the same shade as the Void-stained glow that now emanated from his natural eyes. His vision doubled, tripled, more as they continued to open like night-blooming flowers on his transfigured skin.

and he heard a most

beautiful

s o n g

he could see the weave

it was so easy to reach out

and pluck

a thread

And where he reached out and touched, space and light distorted like a ripple in a pond. A tiny sphere eversed from a single point in reality, an utter absence of light, darker than even his eye-studded form. It drank the ambient glow from Solarine’s consecrated ground, and the space around it rippled again as its horizon expanded. It distorted the view of the stars beyond it, all those points of light seeming to bend and dip sharply toward its surface at impossible angles. A swirling corona of deep violet radiation began to form around it as it grew, filling their ears with the radio static hiss of vaporizing matter.

A sphere of Void the size of a marble. A sunfruit. A scrying orb. Its growth slowed but never quite stopped, and it hung in the space above the platform, before Solarine’s ascendant form.

He would devour the light and its maddening hold on her.

The original, real Solarine surely would have stopped her offense and either come to her senses or at least tried to defend herself as tentacles summoned directly from her own void realm wrapped about her, trying to crush her wings and shatter the nightmare illusion she had created. The real Solarine would have at least paused in awe when Illapa’s void form overtook him, darkening his silhouette like the void and opening so, so many eyes. It was no wonder he and the Scion had been chosen for one another in the Faceless’ quest to see and learn all They could.

But this was not Solarine as he knew her, and she appeared barely affected by any of it. Her expression remained impassive, her eyes closed as if she was simply in meditation rather than a battle for both their lives, and a remnant of her placid Priestess’ smile remained fixed in place as if carved there. The topmost pair of wings finally curled around her head, protecting it from the assault by the tentacles wrapping about her, and a sound akin to hot metal screaming against dry ice shrieked out into the darkness of the stars before it began to be drowned out by something far more terrible.

She, too, had a song.

And she, too, could touch the Void. It was an ancient hymn that her psychic voice began to sing, one that vibrated and rippled not only through the air, but through the very fiber of the strange universe in which they had been suspended, atop a platform made of resolute will and protected memory. The air itself filled with a haze of golden light, and no matter how much Illapa absorbed and devoured, he would never be able to extinguish it.

The true power of this hymn was not in its light, but in the psychic vibration that began to ripple underneath, through, and into all present. Like the deep bass of a huge pipe organ, Illapa’s very bones (or whatever passed for bones in a shadow form) began to vibrate as Solarine searched for the resonant frequency that would shatter them into splinters and bone dust.

the air filled with golden light

he swam it, he breathed it

he had been here before

not the thing he was now

but the man

younger (much)

pale hair, but instead of silver, a blush of gold

and eyes unlined by wisdom or hardship

(though the shadow of arrogance, even then)

they had taken him there

to stand before a sea of light

a font

a well

and taken a single drop of its radiance

and anointed his brow

he had found himself in the heart of the sun

he had seen a realm of endless light

where things of skin and dreams did not walk

and never had

and never would

and he had opened his mouth and out poured the light

and he had opened his eyes and out poured the light

and his tears of ecstasy burned on his cheeks

and his sobs were the sincerest hymn he had or would ever sing

perhaps that was where he had first known this hunger

to be more, to be more, to be MORE

to shed his skin and dreams and walk in realms of

endless light

endless shadow

at the heart of everything

A persistent tremor shook the obsidian platform as the Void sphere continued to draw light and matter to its obliterating surface. The platform’s reflective sheen began to dull as the sphere stripped atoms away from its glossy surface. It sucked in even the light that filled the air, the golden haze blueshifting as it was drawn to the horizon, adding to the violet swirl that spun around it in a hurricane spiral.

A hissing shriek filled the air as the constricting tentacle tightened around Solarine’s serene form, heat and pressure producing an agonizing screech as the muscular column strained to crush her winged coccoon. Great swaths of violet-black flesh burned away under its own crushing weight, but it persisted with painless, mindless, idiot intent. A half-dozen unscarred tentacles joined it just as it seemed it would collapse under the damage, and Solarine’s floating form disappeared under a writhing mass intent to crack her nightmarish vessel.

It did nothing to stop her song. The psychic hymn resonated not just matter, not just mind, but the very fiber and structure of that strange quasi-realm and everything within it.

It was beautiful, a melodic counterpoint to the basso profondo of the Void and the chorus of entities that dwelled within it. A song not just of light, not just of shadow, but of the annihilating force where they met. He could hear her song exploring the scales, seeking the perfect destructive note that would undo him. His void-infused flesh began to thrum in response, those terrible chords seizing the most vulnerable parts of him and threatening to ravage him from within: bones, vessels, organs, and all. The tentacles’ writhing became erratic as miles of muscles began to spasm, their hold weakening as their strength betrayed them. Violet-black hides ruptured and split spontaneously as connective tissue weakened. They began to fall away, one by one, limp and ponderous, disappearing back into the black void below. Rays of light shone out where their coils fell away from Solarine, bathing the Void sphere with spears of white light and heat.

It pulled them in them greedily, swelling threateningly, a storm of perfect darkness at the center of a sea of light. But Solarine’s hymn shook the very fabric of that strange dimension, and even in his own ascended state, Illapa felt something like dread as the sphere began to destabilize. The perfect curvature of its horizon began to bulge equatorially; the storm of violet radiation around it spun out into a thin disc. A ripple ran through the spiral arms of crackling energy around it – and then, with a sickening pop, the sphere of utterdark at its center collapsed, annihilating itself.

The massive tentacle holding him aloft spasmed as the destructive resonance began to savage it, too. The psychic pressure nearly obliterated all thought as he simply struggled to hold himself together, to hold onto the power that suffused his flesh and mind. The violet-black hide under his feet split and peeled. Shadowstuff vaporized from his skin, wisping away into the eternal night. A glowing violet eye ruptured and popped. His sight went out, one glowing eye after another.

He fell. It was a long way to fall. When he crashed into the cracked obsidian, the burst of white-hot light behind his eyes was nearly as bright as Solarine’s terrible radiance. He heard the sound of impact on the unyielding stone, the heavy thud of soft meat and the deep crack of his bones. He struggled to breathe, mouth gaping and chest heaving, and when he finally managed to suck in a breath, the pain almost made him regret it.

The power drained out of him, a broken vessel that could no longer contain it. Blood-rimmed eyes – only two of them, now – stared up into the starry sky. The few crimson stars that had first appeared were now a vast nebula that stained the celestial expanse. Solarine hovered on blinding wings against a backdrop like a bloodstain on a sky adorned with a thousand bloated, dying suns.

[fabrowrites]

Reincarnation AU

Because I can’t think of a snappy title. This was supposed to be done on Valentine’s Day, but I ran out of time to finish it. So sorry!

The first time, he’s a man. He stands in a void, staring into nothingness, and he sees not what is, but what can be. Golden spots of light dance on his hands. He stretches them out, and creations sings as it bursts into existence. Colors harmonize as they surge to adorn this new world. He creates deep valleys and mountains that reach to the heavens, scorching deserts and icy expanses. And then all that’s left is life. He reaches out: from the ground rise races of creatures- intelligent, crafty, and oh, so alive.

He watches over his creations, watches them strive and learn and struggle. He creates for himself two companions, making them his heirs until the first is ripped away by his adversary. He observes his world with a certain aloofness, a natural superiority, a ruler looking down at the peasants that litter his streets. He created them, but he is not them. He does not need them. He has everything he could want.

Because before all this, he created her. She stands beside him, his soulmate, two beacons of light reflecting their light and love to the creation. She glows, she laughs, she lights up his world.

Then his adversary strikes, that terrible force that stole his heir but still hungers, still is unsatisfied, still desires. It strikes, and she dies, and he falls.

He leaves his place in the mountains and descends to his creation, rallying them behind him in an attack against his adversary. It is only the first of many. He splits the world, dividing it in half, banishing the demon and his followers for good.

Then his rage subsides, and he cries.

This victory is not without its costs. The land has been touched by war, and the after effects will not fade swiftly. The world that once sang now screams for help as the life within tears itself apart. He himself has sustained many injuries, losing an eye to a cursed blade. He doubts this wound will ever heal completely. And he can feel himself growing old, can feel his power ebbing away. He can’t help anymore, not like this.

He preserves her spirit, his final act before death, a spirit to surpass all others, to exist forever and welcome the deceased to the afterlife. He hopes that she will welcome him, that they might find peace and happiness together like they once had.

He names her Preeminent.

He passes on.

His next life is spent as a pirate. He’s a crew member aboard Misfortune’s Keep, sailing the high seas and raiding the primitive costal civilizations. He enjoys this life, the salty spray in his hair, the freedom from being the one to hold everything together.

Regeneration was a surprise, although in hindsight he should have suspected it. He created this world, after all, it only makes sense that his spirit is tied to it. But he is not his former life. He wants to make a new life for himself. And so he rides the waves to new adventures, forgetting his past as he looks forward to the future.

Then Nadakhan brings a woman on board. They lock eyes, and suddenly it’s all flooding back.

He’s different, with an eyepatch and dark skin, and she’s different, with short hair and breeches. But he knows, he recognizes her -how could he not?

And she remembers too, he learns, one daring night as he approaches her chambers. Their meetings become regular. They speak and laugh and bask in the glow of each other’s presence.

But their luck doesn’t hold. Someone snitches, and suddenly, they’re being ripped apart. He’s arrested for treason against the captain, beaten and thrown into the slave holds. The night is long. It is lonely. It is dark.

Nadakhan drags him out the next morning. He tries to force him into making a wish, but he refuses. The last thing he sees is the blade arching down.

The third life sees him hatching from an egg, a Venomari child, a member of the serpentine tribes. War is in full swing, the ripples created by the first battle still affecting the world millennia after. He wonders if he’ll find her in this life, too, as he trains and hunts and ascends through the ranks.

This time, he loses his eye during a slither pit. There’s excruciating pain as his own venom eats away at his nerves, destroying his vision and rendering the eye useless and deadened. The injury gives him hope, in some roundabout way, that the cycle will continue and they will somehow meet.

Suddenly, full war breaks out. The land-dwellers have broken the hard-won peace treaties, betraying their motives and trust. He’s swept up into the outrage like everyone else, bitter anger and snapping fangs and lashing tails. They rally together, all five tribes as one, and they attack.

He fights with a fury on the battlefield, a whirlwind of acid and blades, thirsting for revenge and intent on getting it. He feels so far removed from his first life and wonders how he stayed so impartial, so aloof, so above it all. Now he is alive. Now he truly lives.

And then the inevitable happens. There’s a pain in his chest. He stares at the arrow, confused and shocked into inaction. When he lifts his eyes, a warrior looms proudly above him. Her eyes are alight with a hidden fire, and her blade is drawn to seal the final blow.

He can’t look away. Her eyes betray her. Snakes can’t cry, and yet his vision blurs as he sinks to the ground. He doesn’t break the stare.

“You were always… created…. to be the greatest.”

He catches the way her eyes widen right before the world dims.

He enters his next life to the flashes of a camera. For a moment, everything seems perfect. A man beams down, face lined with the creases of a person who enjoys laughter. “Jay,” he says. “My son.”

But then the world flips. Something’s wrong with the woman. People rush about, shouting. He’s set off to the side, falling to the background as the flat tone of a monitor takes all priority.

A few days later, he finds himself on the doorstep of a trailer.

He grows, forgetting those first few days as he flourishes and thrives in the care of those who care for him. He grows into a new personality as well. Gone are the days of constant seriousness; if he is to continue living forever, he might as well try and enjoy it. So he adjusts, overcompensates sometimes, trying to find a personality that fits this life and reflects himself.

Eventually, he grows out of the junkyard and moves to the city. He takes up school, learns about the advancements the world has made, enjoying the peace and quiet that graces this life. There is no war, and he thinks he is happy for that.

But an old man shows up and offers to train him in the ways of a ninja, and he realizes just how much he depended on the action. He accepts the offer. Swords glint, and he dodges and leaps and races around a courtyard. It’s also during this time he learns he is to protect the weapons of his first life. The old man gives him three helpers and sends them off on a nation-wide scavenger hunt.

Soon he learns they are not only helpers, but teammates.

They capture the weapons, loose them, and stare up at the blackened spires of the temple. The sword is no longer inside, but something in there still calls to his spirit, still leaves a yearning in his chest.

When the temple splits open, he realizes why.

She sits astride a dragon’s neck, almost an exact copy of her second life. Her smile falters as she stares at him. He sees her eyes widen as they rest on his eye scar, and he knows that she knows.

She throws herself off the dragon, running as he runs to her, and then they’re in each other’s arms. He chokes back a sob, but he can’t keep the tears from welling in his eyes. She’s here. She’s here, and nothing, no Nadakhan, no wars, not even the cycle of life and death will rip her away.

“I’m sorry!”

“No don’t be. It’s okay. We were enemies then. Now we can be allies.”

He knows that this doesn’t mean this life will be without its battles. They’ll have plenty of troubles, of woes, of threats to face in the coming years. But this time, they’ll have each other. This time they’ll be together. He relaxes into her embrace, his soul singing.

This time, he is a man. And nothing will change that.

[illyriantremors]

Beneath the Stars Epilogue

Chapter: I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII XIV XV XVI XVII XVIII XIX XX XXI

AO3 Linkage

Summary: Feyre's finally done with her art project and now just had to sit by while the AP board grades her exam. Thankfully, she has a few friends by her side each with a big interest in how her portraits turned out - and for good reason.

Epilogue

“Feyre!” A soft touch braced on my shoulders as an ethereal voice floated quietly through the exam room towards me. “These are marvelous! I had no idea this was what you were working on so secretly all this time.”

“Thank you Mrs. Weaver. I had a hard time figuring it out, but I’m really happy with how they turned out.”

“As am I, Feyre. As am I.”

She hugged me after one last appreciative glance at the ten tableaus hanging on the wall in front me before moving on to one of my classmates. The AP Board had already come around to my set. I wasn’t allowed to talk to them or explain the art and how I’d arrived at this particular interpretation of their prompt, but the few hushed whispers I was able to make out sounded really positive. I was confident they’d pass me, but I had my fingers crossed I’d at least get a 4.

“I gotta hand it to you, Feyre,” Amren said turning her back on the examiners who were now studying her submission. Amren was fearless in the face of pressure. “This is pretty stellar.”

“Better than art galleries and chocolate churros in Spain stellar?”

Her eyes smirked in a side glance at me. “Close enough.”

I decided to keep my job at the art gallery even though dad - or technically mom - didn’t need my help with the extra bills anymore. It gave me a sense of purpose and escape each week.

When I started back after winter break, I found the camera I’d last used still sitting at my work station and flipped through it until I’d found the pictures of Rhys I’d taken the night of Starfall. I touched little else but my paints and brushes from that moment on for several weeks thereafter.

I realized the night that I painted Rhys that I was painting a part of myself into him. I had added colors and details that had felt so inherently Rhys to me onto his skin, but the wings and colors themselves were inventions of my own design - the way I saw Rhys. The way he made me feel.

I had the close up photo of him - the one with the wings just visible behind his face - printed out in a larger size and worked for two weeks straight until I had successfully reproduced it on a large canvas with acrylics, a realistic rendering of just his face and traces of the wings behind him.

But because the prompt was self-portraiture, I added in little features that were unique to me. A freckle here, a smattering of blue in the eyes there.

And in the end it was Rhys but it also wasn’t quite Rhys. It was both of us. Because he helped make me me.

They all did. I asked each of my new friends to come in and sit for me so I could paint them and take photos. And though Az seemed a little self-conscious to sit until Mor walked in and watched him with a reassuring smile while she sipped her Starbucks, every single one of them agreed to do it without hesitation.

I had Mor draw her hair up into an elegant chignon that almost looked like a halo and flecked her skin with a bright metallic gold. She tilted her chin up with her eyes resting closed when I snapped the picture, a perfect vision of peace and happiness in a world of misery and hopelessness.

When her birthday came the day after graduation, I planned on giving her both a copy of her photo, but also the one I snapped of Az staring at her when I took his shot - staring like nothing else in the world mattered but the earth angel in front of him.

Azriel himself was trickier to get right. Easily the most mysterious of the bunch, I wrapped his face in shadows, making sure to keep the planes of his face sharp to draw out enough contrast. His head angled to the floor and when I asked him to look up, his brow was furrowed.

“Mor?”

“Hmm,” she said looking up from her phone. Azriel caught her stare and the second his eyes softened, I snapped the camera.

Cassian was the most amusing session by far. Rhys insisted on staying with me while I painted him after he made a suggestive comment in response to being asked to take his shirt off. He was all fire - bold, vivid colors worthy of a party in Barcelona. When I ran the paint through his hair, it spiked up into little peaks that could have been tendrils of flame. I carried into the backdrop behind him and made sure to make the hazel of his eyes standout like embers in a campfire when I recreated the portrait.

Amren was last and she refused to alter anything about her clothing to help me get the paint just right.

“You do realize I might get paint on you, yeah?”

“You will do no such thing, Feyre, or I will drink your blood for breakfast.”

“Okay, Am. Whatever you say, as long as you take me with you to Rome this summer.”

“I’ll bring you one of those stupid souvenir snow globes you’re so fond of, don’t worry.”

“Thank you, babe.”

“Just get on with it, Feyre. Really.”

In the end, I settled on a clean, neutral palette for Am so she could be anyone and anything, the mysterious void and the consuming beast all at once.

My family had done the series with me too. I needed ten pieces and they were the other half of me. Dad was the only one I had to paint from scratch since he was in rehab and part of me was maybe relieved not to have him come sit for a portrait. Once the pressure of his hospital stay was lifted and he didn’t come home, my worry over his life was replaced with the anger and frustration I’d felt when I first found him and thought he might leave me for good, something I wasn’t used to feeling towards him. But I saw him every week for the hour visitors were allowed to come to his center and we were working on things between us. I took pictures of him while I was there and he always asked how the project was going when I came in.

He and mom were still separated, but legally they were staying married until things were sorted out. He was coming home soon, but a lot of progress was still to be made. I was proud of him for how far he’d come.

My own therapy sessions were going well. I met with my therapist once a week - Dr. Carver. Her office suggested a proclivity for the morbid, particularly the human body and the skeletal structure, but she explained that bone composition and structure were part of her research when she studied to be a bone surgeon prior to choosing psychiatry as her final career choice.

She was nice and seemed to genuinely care about my progress, what my goals were, and how to help me get there. Within the first couple of sessions, she was challenging me to confront all of the wounds that were still open in my life and do what was within my power to heal them on my end.

Part of that included my decision not to go to college. I made application deadlines by the skin of my teeth and was even accepted to a handful of schools, but when I got the acceptance emails in early April, it didn’t feel right. Not with the progress I was making in therapy.

Dr. Carver encouraged me to consider my decision for a long time to make sure it was the right one for me and in the end, I thought it was. School would always be there when I was ready and both of my sisters had offered to help me with the transition, but right now I needed to work on myself. School still felt too overwhelming. The gallery had agreed to hire me on full time over summer, so I figured I could see where real world work experience could get me until I felt better about school.

Lucien had been the toughest to face. I cornered him early one morning before school when the fog made his hair stand out like a beacon of light at sea. I think he was a little surprised to see me approach, but once I started calling him Lukey again, he eased up.

He swung by to see his portrait before class when he should have been halfway across campus, the sneaky fox. Probably avoiding a run-in with Rhys and our little inner circle of friends, although now that Lucien wasn’t seeing as much of Tamlin anymore, a lot of the tension between us all had started to drain.

“So,” I said pointedly when Lucien did nothing but stare at his portrait with a sharp expression and crossed arms. “What do you think?”

He tossed his head at me and the long length of his red hair rippled on the air behind him. “You made me… rather handsome, Feyre.”

I snorted. “Is that a problem, Lukey?”

He frowned and shook his head, giving his tableau one last admiring look before the bell rang. “Nah. Better than all that burnished gold and starlit eyes you hoarded for yourself.” He gave my hair a quick flick of his fingers and winked at me. “Thanks.”

I smirked, of the dark pesky variety only Lucien could pull, as I watched him walk out and waited for the AP board to begin examining us. The hour dragged on horribly as I waited for them to get to my set. Amren sauntered up to me as soon as they finished grading me.

“Has Rhys seen it yet?”

“Nah-ah,” I said. “I made him promise not to look until after the exam was over. He’s coming by when class is over. Do you think he’ll like it?”

Amren smirked. “I think they all will.”

“All?”

She nodded behind me and in the window creeping over the door was a small set of chocolate brown eyes staring greedily into the room. Two more sets of hazel ones rested above Mor and I was willing to bet that behind them grumbling angrily something about “she’s my girlfriend,” would be a pair of violet ones.

I glared at them incredulously, praying the exam board wouldn’t notice and get huffy, but at least they’d already taken my marks down. Amren, on the other hand, was still on the chopping block.

I shooed them off, but the second the bell rang, they flooded the room and ran to inspect their respective portraits. I cringed wondering how they would take the changes I’d made to each one where I’d included little pieces of myself.

“Holy shit I’m on FIRE!” Cassian shouted. I froze, chanced a look at the examiners, one of whom was the last to leave the room and seemed a little put off by the exclamation. Cassian clapped his hands and mercifully said more quietly, “This is fucking rad as hell, Feyre.”

“Thanks, Cass.”

I looked at Azriel, my hopes high. The boy of shadows looked once at his portrait, then at me, and smiled shyly with a nod. “I see myself,” he said simply. “Thank you.”

And coming from Az, that meant the world to hear.

“You’re welcome.”

“I get to keep mine right?!” Mor squeaked and picked hers right up off the wall careless of the fact that it was technically art. “Of course I’m keeping this.”

“Morrigan,” Rhys said in that same old exhausted voice he pulled out for his cousin.

“Stuff it!” she snapped. “It’s going above the fireplace and that’s final.”

I slammed down the laugh in my chest and clamped a hand over my mouth to keep quiet. Rhys snaked over to me, pinching my sides. “What is so funny, Feyre darling?”

“You are,” I said and reached up to peck him on the lips. “So, what do you think?”

Rhys looked at his portrait, at the smoke and billowing wings shrouded in clouds of purple and blue and gold, and smiled slowly. He brought his attention back to me and I knew he and I were both thinking the same thing - about that night, how much it meant to both of us. How much we healed and loved and lived together.

“I think I’m stunning,” Rhys finally said.

“Of course you do.”

“Really, Feyre. It’s incredible and certainly nothing I would have ever expected to see of myself. Thank you for painting it.”

“Of course.”

“There’s just one thing I’d change, though, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Oh?”

He swept my hair off my shoulders and took my face in his hands, taking a deep, dramatic breath as he did so. “Next time, I think nude would be best.”

I snorted and burst into a fit of giggles. “Maybe next time you should paint me. What do you think about that, huh?”

Rhys beamed at me, leaning in close enough for a kiss, but not before he’d whispered into my skin, “It would be my pleasure, darling. I’ll circle and point at all my favorite bits.” His finger trailed suggestively down my stomach tracing a line not entirely unlike an arrow and I laughed.

Behind us, my own tenth portrait sparkled in layers of starlight and night.

Life was beautiful once more.

The End

Bonus chapters to follow :)

xx