#GETS and ACKNOWLEDGES her bitterness. she asks for space. WHERE DO PEOPLE THINK SHE’S UNJUSTIFIABLY ANGRY??? I’m 2 neve defended second only

[clawsextended]

dead amazed how not mad neve is at you when you nuke minrathous. it doesn’t cut your romance possibility, she actually just sounds and looks incredibly sad, her eye bags are so deep i thought she was blighted bro. but she’s not even actually angry? she flat-out defends you against the idea that you meant any malice by choosing to salvage treviso. when tarquin is justifiably blaming you, neve breaks it up and reels it back in. she makes her boundaries clear and she’s very transparent about them; she tells you when she needs space. if you welcome her back enthusiastically she approves! yall would never survive doc bloom.

[whythinktoomuch]

Tentatively stepping through the doorway, Lena was greeted by the natural wintry gleam of the Fortress of Solitude. She had only been there that one time all those months ago, but the surroundings appeared familiar enough, seemingly burned into her memories as a particularly difficult flashbulb of an experience.

Cold. Dimmed lighting. Wide open spaces that gave off the illusion of emptiness despite holding some of the most important secrets to be kept in the world.

And in the middle of it all, stood Kara Danvers, still dressed in her Super regalia, staring off into the distance like little else mattered.

“Kara.” Lena rushed forward, the clack of her heels bouncing off the polished walls in an anxious rhythm that rivaled that of her heart.

Kara looked over, blank expression slipping slightly. “Lena?” she murmured, sounding surprised, though not at all startled. “How’d you get out?”

“… Out?” Lena echoed, but Kara didn’t elaborate. Maybe the disconnect was to be expected though, and there were more important things at stake for the moment, so, “Kara, you need to come back.”

“Back.” Kara chewed on the word, tasting the implications like they weren’t quite to her liking. Then she gave a single nod. “Oh. I see.” And with that, Kara turned her back on Lena and walked right off, right into the distance that gradually converged into a yawning doorway.

--

Lena had no choice but to chase after her. “I know why you’re doing this, Kara. And you have to know that it wasn’t your fault. None of it was.”

Kara didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Her silence was already speaking volumes just by stretching on and on, running parallel to the seemingly never-ending hallway.

“Will you at least explain what you’re doing here?” Lena demanded, her patience eaten up by a sense of urgency that was somehow eluding Kara. Time was of the utmost importance—that much had been impressed upon her repeatedly and emphatically before she made this journey. “Look, I’m not going to leave until you talk to me.”

Mild amusement flitted over Kara’s features as she looked back at Lena. “How’d you even get here?”

“Does it matter?”

“No.”

Then when Kara made no move to continue their conversation, Lena sighed in exasperation, “I have my ways, okay?”

“Of course you do,” Kara said easily. “I’m just… surprised that they’d send you, of all people.”

“I volunteered to come. Well, I insisted anyway.”

Kara glanced back at her again, expression now unreadable. “We’re not even friends anymore,” she said, matter-of-fact, no malice intended or needed. “We haven’t talked for—what—six months? I guess what I’m trying to say is that, you wouldn’t have been my first pick.”

“And I’m sure the many people who were opposed to my coming here would agree,” Lena said, but Kara didn’t take the bait, falling silent once more. “Where are we going anyway? What’s down here that’s so important that you have to see it right now?”

Kara took an abrupt left turn, and the hallway opened up just as abruptly into an endless series of shut doors, all evenly spaced out along either wall. Each door was fashioned with its own nameplate, which was of little interest to Lena until she started recognizing the names. By then—trailing behind Kara, passing by doors that read James, Winn, Kal-El, and a few with lettering that could only be Kryptonian—it became all too clear why they were there.

Lena’s sense of purpose was renewed, however, when Kara walked right past a door labeled Alex without slowing. “Wait, that’s where we have to go,” she called out in realization. “We need to get to Alex, right? Right, Ka��Kara! Hey, where are you going?”

But Kara evidently wasn’t listening, her stride only cut short upon arriving at another door altogether. The door was plain and simple enough, except in that it was one of the very few without its own handle. The name Mon-El was etched into the dull gold, just barely catching in the light at eye level.

“They disappear sometimes,” Kara said. “The doorknobs, I mean. Well, the doors too, but there’s always another to replace them so… it’s hard to keep track.”

Lena tried her best to not acknowledge the predictable twinge of nausea that twisted in her stomach. “What’s in there?”

“When I could still open it, I’d just see his spaceship disappearing into the horizon.” Kara shrugged. “I’m sure there were other things too, but it’s been years.”

“… Kara, let’s get back to Alex’s door,” Lena said, clearing her throat, ridding herself of any lingering pangs of unjustified jealousy. “It still has a doorknob, so we can still get in there, right? That’s what that means?” But Kara was ignoring her. Again. “Are you even listening to me right now?”

“You say that to me a lot in here.”

And just as Lena was about to ask what the hell Kara possibly could mean by that, she noticed yet another door, just a bit farther down the hall, literally with her name on it.

“You can go in there, I think,” Kara continued, shrugging again. “There aren’t really any hard and fast rules here, but that might be the only door you can open without me.”

Lena, inevitably, took a pause.

Her door appeared more intricate the longer she studied it. The rich, glossy oak with accents of rose gold. The plumerias carved into the wood at every corner. A touch of cursive to her name, lovingly engraved across the polished nameplate. It had a delicate padlock that looked more decorative than practical, but Lena already knew that it would fall away for her, if she wanted.

Admittedly, it took a rather lengthy moment for Lena to successfully tear her eyes away from the door. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“Well, there isn’t much else I can give you besides that,” Kara said, promptly moving on, venturing deeper into the hallway that only opened up to more and more hallway with a seemingly inexhaustible supply of doors.

“Kara, stop…” Lena abandoned her door to chase after Kara again. “I’m serious,” she pleaded, seizing Kara by the elbow, tugging insistently. “Let’s go through the Alex door. We can go together.”

Kara shook her head, shaking her arm when Lena refused to loosen her grip. “Let go,” she snapped, eyes briefly flashing red, and Lena unfortunately flinched away from her. Huffing hard, Kara then pivoted away, slipping through the closest door and Lena slipped in right after her before it could swing shut.

The whole world was on fire.

Proud buildings coming down in flames. Air condensed into a thick black smoke. Everyone dying around her…

Coughing, Lena was immediately forced to press her sleeve to her mouth and nose. The door was nowhere to be seen. After a more thorough survey of her surroundings, she finally noticed a slumped figure in the relative distance. It was hard to make out anything in the light of the fading red that made up the sky, but who else could it be? Lena made her way over.

Thankfully, Kara wasn’t too far. She was just sitting atop a darkened precipice, arms around her knees as she watched the world die before her.

“This…. is Krypton,” Lena said as she realized. “Kara. You can’t stay here. This can’t be healthy…”

“And you, of course, would be the resident expert on keeping healthy habits,” Kara said, and her sarcasm didn’t even need a bitter tone to land.

And that about settled it.

Lena grabbed a piece of smoldering debris—still warm, somewhat spongey, surely not fatal—and lobbed it as hard as she could at the back of Kara’s head.

The projectile bounced off harmlessly enough, but Kara slowly turned around, eyes widened. “Ow…?” She pressed a hand gingerly to the back of her head, no doubt still tender from the blow. “What are you doing? The sun isn’t yellow here!”

“None of this is even real!” Lena snapped, and to prove it, she lifted a much larger piece of debris that normally would have buckled her with its mass. When she sent that hunk of rock sailing through the air, Kara finally demonstrated some life and dove out of the way.

“What the hell, Lena?” Kara said, some frustration and thus vigor breaking through the monotony. “What are you doing here? Why did you even come?”

“I want to see what’s behind Alex’s door!” Lena threw back, just as frustrated and then some. “What is this, Kara? Behind one door, you see your home planet imploding. Behind another, you see the man you loved leaving you forever. So, what the hell could possibly be happening in the one for your sister? Whose life, by the way, is still hanging in the balance, in case you forgot.”

Kara huffed, whirling away. “That’s none of your business.”

“You made it my business by fucking off to wherever this is,” Lena said, fighting to maintain eye contact as Kara tried repeatedly to turn her back on her. “You made it my business by making me come after you! So, just do me one fucking favor, and just tell me—”

“I kill her.”

Lena fell silent, blinking, the soundtrack to her sudden hesitation coming alive in the sounds of the world burning up around her.

“I kill her in there. Over and over and over again.” Kara’s words were falling out like she couldn’t stop them, an outpouring of shame and relief rolled into one. “She dies by my hand, only to die all over again, and again, and—”

“Okay, I get it,” Lena hastily cut in. “Well, no. I don’t get it, get it, but… what do you mean you kill her? How…?”

Kara covered her face with a sharp exhale. “Lots of ways! Heat vision. Super strength. Sometimes I’m just throwing her off a building. Other times, I’m choking the life out of her with my bare….” She broke off, voice drying up. “I don’t want to go in there, okay? Stop asking me.”

“Kara, this… this is ridiculous,” Lena eventually sputtered. “Alex isn’t dead. She’s hurt bad, yeah, but how could you possibly give up on her when—”

“Because it doesn’t matter,” Kara said flatly. “Because if not now, it’ll be some other time. She’ll die, and it’s going to be all my fault.”

“But what happened to her isn’t your fault.”

Kara sighed, heavily and exhausted, and suddenly she looked every bit the lonely woman who’d lost everything in a way only few people have. “Lena… Everything down here’s my fault.”

Her entire body sagged then, and she was back on the ground, curled up and watching the horizon again. So, Lena just walked over and sat next to her.

Everything was steadily plunging into darkness. There were more cracks ripping apart the earth than there were buildings, people, or even life in general. The fire climbed higher and everything was smothered in smoke, but all Lena had to do was consider taking a clean breath of air, and she could.

“What happens when it’s over?” Lena asked.

“Just starts up all over again.”

“Okay then.”

After a while, when the sky was too obscured to distinguish from the ground, Kara directed her gaze to her own feet. “… You ever think about what yours would look like?”

“My mind palace, you mean?” Lena asked, and Kara nodded. “Oh, I already know. Boxes.”

Kara exhaled a dry chuckle or two. “Boxes? That’s it?”

“Maybe some filing cabinets too. Just to keep everything organized,” Lena said, and she was mostly joking, but also not. “Boxes just always worked for me.”

“… Is there a box in there with my name on it?”

Lena blew out a breath, shakily laughing at the self-evidence of it all. “Of course there is, Kara.” Maybe even more than one, though they didn’t have to get into that now, or ever.  

“Do you want to know what happens behind your door?” Kara asked haltingly, gaze still dropped.

“Not at all. I’m sure whatever it is, I’ve imagined much worse on my own terms,” Lena said, and Kara kinda laughed again, but wouldn't disagree. “… You know what happened to Alex wasn’t your fault, right?”

“Might as well have been. Should’ve been there.”

“You can’t be everywhere at once, Kara. That can’t be expected of anyone, even Supergirl.” And when Kara gave no indication that she was listening, Lena continued with a sigh, “If Alex could be here, she’d say the same exact thing. Though I’m sure she’d include some Midvale lingo and much more swearing.”

“What’s Midvale lingo?”

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be above using it right now.”

Kara didn’t laugh this time, just nodded solemnly before asking, “How long have I been in here?”

“You’d been out for almost six hours when I made my way over.”

“Did Alex improve at all while I’ve been gone?”

“That’s not really a thing you can tell just by looking,” Lena said vaguely. She didn’t want to lie, but she also didn’t want to give Kara any reason to stay behind.

But Kara looked at her like she knew exactly what Lena was trying not to say. She’d always been so good at reading Lena, or maybe Lena had always been so bad at hiding things from Kara. Either way, if only it had been vice versa, maybe they’d be on better terms now.

“I don’t want to come back just to watch her die. I’ve already done that too many times in here.”

“If she does die, you’re going to regret not being there.”

The ground underneath them started to crumble and come apart, falling in on itself, and Kara watched it happen with disinterest while Lena just watched Kara. But eventually, finally, Kara seemed to come to a real decision because she carefully took Lena’s hand in hers, and Lena let her.

“… Thank you for coming,” Kara said quietly, barely audible over the world falling apart.

“Thank you for coming back.”

They watched the last of the world collapse around them, swallowing them up in a pitch darkness.

//

Lena jerked awake with a gasp in her corner of the room, but everyone was by Kara, clamoring around her, greeting her with words of worry and such. And Lena just nodded to herself because everything was back to being how it should.

She disengaged the electrodes and pulled the wires off her head, and Brainy appeared by her bedside to help her remove the last of it.

“You were successful,” he said. “I knew you would be. You had the best chances of getting her out of that state, though 67% of the people in this room did think differently. But thank you for bringing her back.”

“I didn’t do a thing,” Lena said honestly. She glanced down at her watch out of habit, and the numbers blurred and made little sense to her weary brain, but it was time to leave. That much was obvious. “It’s late. I should get going.”

“You don’t want to talk to Kara?”

Lena looked over, and just past Nia’s shoulder, she saw Kara staring right at her. “I think she has better things to do tonight,” she said, stepping into her heels, neatly pulling her hair into a tidy bun. “Please give our hero my best, and… keep me apprised of Alex’s condition as well.”

Pausing on her way out, Lena threw back one last glance. Kara was still staring at her. Her mouth was moving and answering questions as they were offered up by the people around her, but her eyes would only meet Lena’s from across the room. Kara half-raised her hand in a subtle gesture, and Lena took the wave for what it was and turned on her heel to leave, refusing to entertain the persistent itch to look back the entire time.

[occultdreamland]

Find the Right Card -- 1

He stands at the entrance of your small abode, presence all consuming and demanding of your attention. By the colorful robes draped over his shoulders, to the many rings that adorn his fingers; you need not have an idea of who he is to know him.

“Come. Sit down.” Your voice breaks the steady silence, the whisper of calm breeze the only other that accompanies you. His eyes are only on you as he sits, graceful as one of those show horses you see from time to time. “What brings you here, My Prince? To such a place outside of your own, I’ll specify.”

“Your name is on the tongues of many under my employment. I wonder what a witch has collected so much of my mens’ spare time,” He says, his eyes cold and never leaving yours. It brings a chill to your spine.

You give him a pointed stare; “A witch I am not. Scryer is a better, healthier term for me.”

There is a pregnant silence.

He tilts his head to the side, jutting his jaw out in a way that you can discern as unjustified arrogance, “Tell me, what is it that those soldiers do to speak of you so highly.”

“They tell me their name before they dare enter my dwelling, as a start,” you quip, letting your gaze break from his as you gather your collection of markless tarot decks, displaying them in front of him, eyes now expectant on his pale face. “Be my guest, however, and pick the one that draws you in. Don’t dwell too long, they like to tell their own story. A story that may not be what is the truth.”

“I believe I came here for an answer, not a story, wench.”

“Is a story just as viable as an answer, My Prince?” You bite your tongue at the name he bestowed upon you, but it is not unusual for men to say such things.

Finally, his eyes break from you, and the relief you feel is insurmountable. He is quick to pick a deck, two fingers laid lightly on top of it as he pushes it toward you. You hum, a lick of a smile reaching your lips. While not your best deck, it certainly suits him. Cleaning away the other decks, you open the one he presented to you, scattering them around the table in a circle, making a mess of the card order and bringing them back into a clean stack.

��What type of spread will you be requesting, My Prince?”

“I asked for information, and I shall receive information. Will I have to tell you any differently to get what I want?” He says.

You raise your head in acknowledgement. You begin to release the cards into the spread you have chosen, all ten cards set into their positions, with the second card being placed on top of the first and the other eight others being placed where they belong.

The Princes’ eyes sit on the spread, dissecting the back of every card as if he already knows what they are.

Your fingers rest on the card beneath another, and you carefully reveal what it is. It’s the Knight of Coins; reversed. “This is the present card. Tell me, what does this card tell you?”

He scowls and rolls his eyes. “It tells me that I’ll be riding a horse. Staring into the horizon with my sword drawn.”

“That’s what you see. I want to know what this card tells you.”

“How will I know what the card tells me when I do not know what it means?”

You cock your head to the side with an expectant huff. “This spread tells of your past, present, future, with your past and present challenges, and the outcome. This one tells of your present, and the card speaks of wasted energy and money. What does that tell you?”

“It tells me that you’re a waste of my time.”

You laugh, something that surprises you. “If I am a waste of your time, you can always leave, my Prince.”

But he doesn’t budge. And he stares at you. Again.

“I will let you think for a moment. It’s always good to reminisce on this card.”

Another beat, and he still looks at you like a caged and hungry dog stares at a slab of meat. You continue, lifting the card that had sat on top. “The challenge, the Magician reversed. My Prince, to be up front, what have you to lose? A loved one, your position in the court, maybe the power over the men you command in these dire times?”

This card speaks to you, this time, telling you that you have many, many things to lose shall you upset this man. However, you also know that he hears the same thing, the way the energies between him and the card bend and wave before your eyes.

Finished with his speedy introspection, he looks up at you, his eyes demanding a continuance of this process. You lift the third card, it sits to the left on the two card pile, and it tells you of the past. The Empress, and you tell him as much. “Nature is our mother, she is a mother to me just as she is to you. It seems you have been a disobedient prince, and she will correct your actions like a mother would to her own child.” It was a risky jab at him, but said in light humor. It doesn’t seem to bother him; his skin as steel as his own blade.

Next is the future. The upright hierophant. “Ah, something that should please you greatly, my Prince. You will be a great scholar, and if not that a man of great intellect.”

“I am already a master of the blade, what else do I have to accomplish in my life?” He says, baring his teeth as if the card insulted him.

“But are you a master of politics? Of the on-goings in the court and the well-being of the people you will rule over? Or of the briars that line your great castle gardens? There are many things outside of war, my prince.”

You turn over the next card, goals and aspiration, a reversed ace of wands. It tells you what you already know. “You are resisting change, resisting the thing that brings you to the best outcome.”

He bites down on what you assume is a fiery retort, and you let it slide. He is beginning to taste bitter; a sign that he is up to no good in your home.

“Have you any say, my Prince?”

“None that concerns you, lowlife.”

Yet you continue, your drive of knowledge on this man a once in a lifetime deal. This card is the foundation of him, what makes him who he is and what drives him to his goal. Nine of Cups, upright. You pull a face(How immature of you! You were trained better than this!) and it upsets the Prince. 

“I now know why my men are so enamored with you, now,” he barks, standing from his seat so fast that it knocks it over right onto a case of valuable oddities, making you stand as if you are fast enough to catch a falling section of the wall, your heart dropping to the pit of your stomach, “Your sorcery will be punished, witch! And do not think that my words are as empty as those cards. We will make sure that your presence will leave this town like you never existed--you and your collection of harlots!”

Your eyes widen, and for the first time in years, you feel what it is like to know an abyss of fear.

~~~

Those armored men, the men under the name of Prince Maksimillian, destroyed your home, tore apart every tapestry and crystal and orb in your possession, burned your books and every tarot they grabbed their hands on. You remember screaming at them, restrained in the bruising metal grips as they tried to secure you into the carriage filled with all of the other scryers and readers in your village, weeping at the destruction of their home and from being torn from their families. 

It took two men to restrain you, and a third to knock you out after threatening to curse them and their children after you saw a bag of your cards being thrown into the growing pit of flames.

You sit in the corner of a crowded cell, shackled,  curled with your knees to your chest with an elderly woman pressed against you. You had given her an odd stare before, but her old eyes only blindly mistook you as her young grandchild. Even then, the cell was pressed for space, maybe twelve people shoved in here. Most of them women, you count three heads of men, two of whom mere children.

You all sit there for maybe two days, there is no light here, but the guards rotate shifts at about an hour and a half each… the math kind of ends there, though. You’re a seer! Not a mathematician! It all confuses you to the point you start to doubt the time from the start til they begin to take out women and it becomes more spacious in the cell. 

By the end of one of the guards shifts, where there are only five others beside you in that cell, a man in silver armour seemingly grabs you from the room, holding you by your chains, pulling you along the dim corridors. He takes too many turns, definitely a mistake in the construction of the building, and it wouldn’t surprise you that this level of the jail was meant for that. You aren’t surprised execution is about to come to you, but the screams of men and women that puncture your ears startle you to near tears.

But you are drawn away from those horrible noises, at some point, and then taken up many, many flights of stairs, taking you higher and higher until you stand in a gold gilded room, the High King’s Throne empty while Prince Maksimillian obtains the smaller throne right of his fathers. He lounges on it, a leg propped up on the knee of the other with a hand lazily holding a goblet. He looks pleased to see you.

“You finally brought the right one,” he says, and it’s the first time you hear a humorous tilt in his voice. It’s not directed to you, of course, but to your guide, your escort. The prince raises an eyebrow, a face he must make often because the knight releases you and leaves.

The doors slam shut, and you are left alone in this vast room with the prince.

You are unsure of what to do, for the first time in a while. 

Prince Maksimillian takes a long sip from his drink. “Do you know why you are here?” 

“N-No, my Prince-” 

“I do.” He is blunt, but relaxed, languid. “And I don’t want to tell you.”

“My Prince-”

A smile graces his lips, and you wonder if you said something wrong, “I don’t like such formalities. Maksimillian will be fine. Maks even better.”

“M-Maksimilian, my Prince- why am I here?” You ask, a tremor in your voice.

“You intrigue me, scryer.”

He doesn’t even know your name!

“And you are of a breed I have never been introduced to. One with the spirits, with the unseen. You are a seerer, and an elegant one at that. It’s something that this court needs to show them the things that they have never seen before.” He accentuates himself with the waving of his cup, “And not only that, but my father - oh, my father - needs help that only you can provide. Well, not just you, but you were chosen out of all of those old hoots and hags. Hand picked- by me! An honor most of our knighted will never see out of me.”

There is a silence that sits between the two of you. You are speechless, and you wish you had your personal tarot with you to separate and divide these emotions to make sense of what’s going on. But all of that was burned, gone in ash. It will take you years to accumulate what you had before, the connection with your crystals melted and the love you and your decks shared now gone, soot a black snow in your river side village.

“But…” you whisper, looking down on the floor, unable to hold his interested gaze. It’s the first time he seems to take an interest in your words, “You destroyed my decks, the thing that made me the thing you saw. I can’t just… take a new deck and expect to be the same. They had personalities! That’s why that deck had called out to you, because it knew what you are, and could tell us the closest truth of you and your objective. I can’t get the same result without getting back what I lost...”

Maksimillian huffs, “I am the first born son of the High King of Rosodour, the face of the wealthiest Kingdom of the land. I can assure you that there will only be the highest quality materials bought for your shows.”

You stutter, eyes widening in disbelief. “My abilities are not a show!”

“Your presentation is, however,” Maksimillian continues, now leaning forward, his elbows propped against his knees as he places the goblet next to his feet, “I can give you back what you lost in the round-up, but all I ask is that you soothe the hearts of the people in my court even if it risks doing more harm than good in the long run.”

“I can’t accept this!”

“I was not asking you.”

“Prince Maksimillian, this isn’t right!” You plead, almost dropping to your knees, “Even if I do as you say, regain the trust of all of those cards, I won’t be able to live as a fraud! Like one of those harlots in the brothels!”

He sighs and buries his face in his hands, “Accommodations have been made for you. I can show you to your room, or I can have one of the maids or servants take care of you. I will send for someone to take note of what you need for your craft.”