#a brightness snuffed to extinguish from the start

[lanternlightss]

Do you ever think about how Bard is constantly depicted with Open eyes and Barbatos is constantly depicted with Closed Eyes

NO YEAH. YEAH

something to be said abt it all …. like ,, the way bard was pushing towards an impossible, constantly reaching out for better days, a whirling inferno. and venti, with how the winds reach nearly almost every corner and crevice of teyvat, can recall every song of past, present, future, “let’s wait, wait, for a windier day..”

something about eyes being the window to the soul.

[invaderzia1]

I wanted to make this a full fic but I just can’t so here’s the Drabble

Gale was used to your teasing, you sitting in his tent, trying your best to rile him up with all your dirtiest thoughts. Most of the time, you would have the older man quite flustered, completely at your mercy to kiss and touch. It's not like Gale didn't like this, he was more than happy to let you, it was just not what he expected to happen when you started traveling together.

You lips brush against the shell of his ear, whispering to him how badly you wanted him this night. He could feel your hand rest on his thigh, slowly inching up then retreating back down toward his knee.

Instead, Gale felt a surge of confidence from your actions. His hand catches yours and firmly presses it against his bulge, not hard but firm enough to keep your there.

" thought you wiser than to poke a sleeping dragon. I ought to show you the consequences of your teasing tonight.?

It's the first time he's spoken to you like this and all your teasing suddenly leaves as your mind grows blank. It's as if any thought or retort you had had been snuffed out, extinguishes just by Gale's words. It's quiet for longer than Gale or you expect it to be.

Gale turns to look at you, terrified that he overstepped. All those negative emotions begin to seep in as he sees you, wide eyed with a bright blush covering your face, terrified he might've been too much and scared you away. Internally, he panics wanting nothing more than to run away, decide that maybe letting the absolute turn him into some mindflayer and hope the party will kill him is the best option.

That is until he feels his tadpole squirm inside his head, connecting to yours as you look at him.

Instead of feeling any negative emotions from you, he feels lust. Deep, carnal lust, mixed with the feeling of submissiveness and vulnerability.

His eyes widened in understanding, gaining some of his previous confidence back as he realize why you clammed up. No, he hadn't weirded you out, he hit the target dead on.

Your mask had slipped, completely off as you buried your face into the crook of Gale's neck. No longer did you hold the control, but Gale did. But it didn't feel weird, it felt right.

"Oh, I think you'd like that, Wouldn't you?"

He doesn't receive a verbal acknowledgement, but your head happily nods. It's cute, seeing the tough leader of this party get all submissive for him, at a complete loss for words as he tells them all the things he wants to do.

His hand encourages you to sit on his lap, which you happily follow, letting yourself do. Then he starts to pull your pants below your knees, giving himself enough room to wedge his hand in between your thighs. Softly, he starts to rub circles against your clit.

From just outside the tent, you can hear your companions who are still awake having some banter. Still gathered by the campfire as they finish the rest of their meals, Karlach loudly recounting her time serving in the hells. Gale brings his free hand up to gesture for you to stay silent and you nod.

Without warning, Gales finger slide their way inside, finding no resistance as your slick welcomes him. You have no time to brace yourself as a strangled gasp goes past your lips, louder than you would've liked it to be. A mix of embarrassment and lust over take you as you try bite back all the pleased noises you begin to make as Gale slowly works his fingers in and out of you.

Slowly you feel your inhibitions slip, as the pleasure grows. Your voice no longer staying as quiet as it needed to be. His fingers find a nice pace as you start to grind against them, feeling your orgasm start to build up.

This time, Gale does not warn you of your volume, instead his other hand reaches up to cover your mouth, stopping any noise from escaping.

"Now, I do think I told you to stay quiet. Wouldn't want our companions to overhear you." He whispers into your ear sternly. Something about the tone in his voice makes your eyes roll back in your head, grinding up into his hand.

[hyun3hk3y]

Symbolism in "Portrait of Lady Edelgard Von Hresvelg"

This is something that I’ve usually never really felt comfortable doing. If you ever wonder why some artists are a bit more reluctant to actually *talk* about the “meaning” of their work, its because it strikes the same tenor as having to explain why a joke is funny.  If I have to actually lay it out for the viewer why certain decisions were made in the execution of a work of art, the magic of the whole experience may be lost.  Moreover, many artists avoid making definitive statements on their work because they do not wish to deprive viewers the opportunity to derive their own unique explanation. 

While I chiefly view myself as a fine artist, most of my artistic training was as an illustrator.  As an artist, this can lead to an interesting dichotomy when it comes to creating paintings.  During my studies, I was told that the job of an illustrator is to solve pictorial problems for people often by making pictures that tell a story or convey an idea.  Fine art’s definition, in contrast, tends to be more nebulous.  But I digress, on to the painting…

A number of people on reddit and Tumblr have remarked on the candle with the snuffed-out flame.  No interpretations on it have been offered, the mere presence of a candle with a smoldering wick is a strong enough implication.  However, this is one instance where I drew inspiration from art history so I believe it is worth elaborating on.  The animus for the candle originates in the Arnolfini Portrait by Jan Van Eyck.  Below is an image of the painting with the pertinent candle circled.

Art history scholars have a number of different readings about the candle’s presence, but the one I was taught in Art History is that the lit candle indicates the presence of the holy ghost or the watchful eye of God.  Three Houses draws from a number of religions for its world building, in the case of The Church of Serios, the developers took the majority of their cues from The Catholic Church.  If a lit candle would suggest Edelgard’s faith in the Goddess, then an extinguished one must imply Edelgard’s *loss* of faith. 

In addition to the extinguished candle, I would also like to direct viewers to the reflection of the candle in the polished wood table surface. In the reflection the candle is still burning very brightly, almost down to the base of the candelabra.

The purpose of this image is to recall a saying from old Taoism Philosophy in China: “The candle that burns twice as bright burns half as long.”  Those who are familiar with Edelgard’s back story in Three Houses will find its relevance obvious.  I doubt I am the only one to make the allusion.

This brings me to the next major piece of symbolism I employed in the painting, the dagger and the drapery on the table.  The dagger’s significance should go without saying, but its application as a device will become more apparent after I explain the table cloth.  To put it succinctly, the majority of the dark shadow shapes made by the tablecloth are arranged to evoke the shape of the crest of flames.  Below is another visual to help illuminate this detail. 

The immediate implication here is the detail of Edelgard possessing the crest of flames.  As for why I decided to depict it in a more concealed way…When I first got the idea for this painting, the whole concept was that if a person saw this painting in a gallery, they would be looking at an actual artifact from Fodlan, one that created by an artist who actually lived there.  This is why the second row of the inscription reads “In the Imperial Year” on the left side and “1179” on the right.  This means the painting would have been completed just before Edelgard starts attending Gareg Mach, and long before the greater public would know she has the crest of flames.  How the artist came to know this would remain a mystery.  I like to imagine it as a detail that Fodlan’s historians would debate over for years after the game’s narrative.

There is also a second message that I have intended with the dagger’s placement cutting (heh) across the crest…Gripping the dagger over the crest of flames is a statement about what the path is that Edelgard will take, especially when the crest is examined as representing the Goddess Sothis.  In fact, there are two (technically three) lines of dialogue from Three Houses I had in mind for this symbolism.

That about sums it up!  I may do a couple more posts in the future where I show how the painting evolved from thumbnails, to studies to the finished image if theres interest in that sort of thing.

[crackedpumpkin]

|| ʟɪᴀʀ || ʀɪꜱᴇ! ʟᴇᴏ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ||

I'll be real with y'all, I might have been going through the grieving process of my recent breakup while writing this lmfao. But hey! I don't see much tmnt angst lately so here you go~ I hope this makes you cry! Or sob, or tear up etc.

Love, crackedpumpkin. part two (optional)

He was late. Again.

You sigh, starting to keep the plates of food you had painstakingly prepared for tonight. Perfectly sliced sandwiches wrapped in cling film are carelessly tossed back into the basket, and potato salad in a disposable bowl is thrown in the trash.

Candles are extinguished, and the flames are snuffed out. Fairy lights are kept, and empty plastic cups are disposed of.

You pack up the picnic mat you had been sitting on for over an hour, stumbling slightly as you regain feeling in your legs. You glance down at the framed picture you had brought with you, your heart sinking as you place it back in the basket and everything else.

This was the sixth time Leo had stood you up. Maybe you were a fool for hoping things would work out. But this was too much. Tears prick the corner of your eyes, clouding your vision as you sit in the back of a cab, making your way back home.

You pull out your phone, opening the chat between you and Leo.

Hey, are you reaching anytime soon? - Unread, sent at 6.30pm.

You okay? You’re not picking up my calls. - Unread, sent at 7pm.

Leo, I’m getting worried. Where are you? - Unread, sent at 7.15pm.

I’m going home. - Unread, sent at 7.30pm.

You set your phone down, locking the screen so that its lifeless black form is all you see. It doesn’t help how your heart clenches in your chest, and it’s suddenly hard to breathe.

You reach your apartment at eight-thirty p.m. on the dot, having travelled far just to set up the picnic date at the park where you two had first met. You let the basket slip from your grasp, clattering to the floor. You could care less about the noise; too emotionally drained.

You drape yourself across your bed, curling up with a plushie. Leo won it for you at the annual carnival to commemorate your first date. It was starting to get tattered, the once bright green of the turtle plushie fading with time.

You feel your phone buzz in your pocket, pull it out and turn it on. You squint at the bright screen, eyes adjusting to the sudden light in the dark room.

Hey, got caught up with hero things. Won’t be able to make it tonight. How’s tomorrow at Run of the Mill, 7pm? - Leo <3 , Sent at 9pm.

You scoff, releasing your grip on your phone and allowing it to slide onto the bed, looking away.

You hold out for five minutes before turning and grabbing your phone, texting back.

I understand. I’ll see you tomorrow then? - Unread, sent at 9.10pm.

Hopefully, you’d actually get to see his face tomorrow.

— — — — — — — —

You glance in the bathroom mirror, checking that your lashes are perfectly curled. You blink, checking on your eyeliner and lip tint. You run your fingers through your hair, smooth locks framing your face perfectly.

You had spent over an hour getting ready, wanting everything to go perfectly tonight. You wave goodbye to your parents, watching television in the living room, shutting the door behind you before heading to the alleyway that leads to Run of the Mill.

You hail a cab, reaching Run of the Mill half an hour late on purpose. You glance around, frowning when you don’t see your boyfriend. You pull out your phone, dialling his number and hold it to your ear.

“Hey, you’ve just reached the voicemail of Leonardo. I’ll call you back if I like you. If not, then that’s too bad!”

The beep that comes after is poison to your ears, and you bitterly press the button to hang up, choosing to message him.

Babe, I’m at Run of the Mill now. Where are you?” - Unread, sent at 7.35pm.

You lean against the wall, entertaining yourself by scrolling through social media and texting your friends. You pause when you open Instagram, noticing that Mikey has posted on his close friends' story.

You tap on the green circle around his profile picture, a video playing.

“Yooo, that’s so sick! He did it again, two nights in a row!” Mikey’s voice plays over the phone speaker, but it’s who he’s filming that makes your smile drop and your heart plummet.

Leo stands confidently on the skate ramp in their lair, a smug smile on his lips as he poses for another skateboard trick.

“I can’t believe it!” Raph’s shout from somewhere off-camera is filled with disbelief.

“If you insist, ladies and gentlemen, I shall demonstrate my awesome skills and amazing talent yet again!” Leo grins but pauses momentarily to check his phone.

The call sign on his screen, a picture of the two of you smiling widely, is visible. However, he turns it off without hesitation, pocketing his phone again and jumping down the ramp on his skateboard with a loud whoop.

The story ends there, an ad for cruises popping up next. You’re surprised when drops of water land on the screen but realize that your vision has gone blurry from the hot tears that fill your eyes. They overflow, trickling down your cheeks.

It’s hard to swallow down the golf-ball-sized lump in your throat, leaning against the wall as you struggle to breathe through the hiccups. Your nose is runny, and you’re sure you look like a mess right now. However, not a single cry makes it past your lips, the crushing sensation almost too much to bear.

He’s not going to show up.

He was never going to show up.

The realization hits you like a truck just as it starts to rain. It soaks through your dress and your makeup, leaving you shivering in the cold weather. You hail a cab back home, sitting silently in the backseat and ignoring the concerned glances of the taxi driver.

You enter your home a soaked mess, rainwater having mixed with your tears. Streaks of mascara and eyeliner decorate your cheeks, and your eyes are bloodshot. You don’t know how else to react, your heart filled with conflicting emotions that crash into each other like violent waves.

You can barely wash up, and your arms are heavy when scrubbing your body. Somehow, you end up sitting on your shower floor, staring blankly at the wall. You drag yourself out of the shower once your skin wrinkles and your body shivers.

You change into pyjamas, standing in the doorway of your bedroom. You shut the door, and it closes with a silent click. You grab the framed picture of you and Leo on your desk, and a flash of anger fills your heart. You hold it above the trash bin, ready to throw it inside.

But you hesitate.

Your eyes sting, tears brimming in the corners. All too soon, the anger disappears, and emptiness fills its place. You sit on your bed in silence, your eyes blank and hands tightly gripping the framed picture. You sit for a long while, only stirring to life when the rising sun’s rays shine into your room.

You hear a buzz and look to your side to see your phone halfway out of the purse, the screen lighting up with a message. You grab it, unlock it and click on the notification.

Hey babe! Sorry, got caught up in more hero stuff again. - Leo <3, sent at 6am.

You choke on a sob that tears itself from your throat, muffling a cry that threatens to wake everyone up. Your chest is threatening to collapse in on itself, a feeling you never wanted to experience, much less because of him.

You immediately call him, slightly surprised when he actually picks up.

“Yellow?”

Your voice dies in your throat before the words can even make it past your lips. You’re silent once you hear his voice, wanting nothing more than to forgive and forget; to go back to the days when you were loved and treated right.

“Babe?” He laughs at Mikey’s muffled words a distance away, “If you butt-dialled me, you should at least say so. I’ll hang up now!”

“We’re over.” You whisper, forcing the words out.

“What was that?” Leo’s voice is still playful.

You take a deep breath, forcing down the lump in your throat.

“We’re over,” you repeat, stronger this time.

“Good one, Y/n.” He chuckles, though a hint of concern laces his words.

“This isn’t a joke, Leo. We’re over.” You breathe, hands gripping your sheets so tightly that your knuckles turn white. “Whatever we have — what we used to have, it’s gone. We’re done.”

You press the red button on your screen, hanging up on him before he can get a word in. You knew that if you didn’t, you’d have broken down before ending the call. A sob bursts past your lips that are pressed together tightly.

Then another. And another, until you’re crumpled into your bed, arms desperately clutching your pillow as you inhale shuddering breaths. You ignore the knock at your window, even as it becomes more frantic.

“Y/n?” You don’t respond, stifling the cries that threaten to alert him to your presence. Leo finally leaves after what seems like hours, and you inhale deeply, trying to calm yourself down.

Your breaths slow, and your body is no longer shaking. You slide out of bed, grab a spare tote bag and fill it with everything he had left around your room whenever he visited.

His jacket, his spare bandanna, his cologne. It all went into the bag, along with plenty of photos of the two of you. You pause when you open your closet door, taking out the pyjama shirt you usually slept in. You stole it from the lair, though you knew Leo had just let you take it from his room. You fold it up and stuff it into the tote bag, along with a necklace he had gifted you for your three-month anniversary.

You open the window, peeking outside to see if he’s still around. He wasn’t. You place the bag onto the small ledge, step back into your room and shut the window.

You were done.

[miitgaanar]

Whumptober prompt! Requested by @evecoffn!

No. 4: HALLUCINATIONS

Hypnosis | Sensory Deprivation | “You’re still alive in my head.” (Billy Lockett, More) for Zaresh

**********

Zaresh tried to scream.  He pounded at the door with his small fists, tears streaming down his face as he begged and pleaded for help.  Hoping that someone—anyone—would take pity on him and let him out of that small, dark, utterly soundless room.

And yet there was nothing. No matter how loud he wailed or how hard he cried, no matter how his throat burned with the effort of his empty screams, he was met with a silence so thick it made his ears ache.

The mistress had muttered something before she had shoved him in the room and locked the door, a terrible sneer etched into her fine features.  He hadn't realized what she had done until he began to cry for his father; when his attempts to call out did nothing to break the noiseless veil that had fallen over him.

And then panic set in.

It must have been some kind of spell, he realized.  Something that dampened all sound around him.  No, not dampened—eliminated.  Not even his attempts to bang on the heavy wooden door elicited so much as a soft thump.  As if he had vanished from the world. As if he had never existed at all.

Zaresh was no stranger to darkness.  Cicecta laid deep within the bowels of the Underdark, the drow born of the inky abyss in which it thrived.  But this was different.  So, so different.  He had been locked up in varying rooms and closets before, the candles snuffed out and all faerie fire extinguished, but this—

He started to cry again, his heaving sobs amounting to nothing.  The silence was complete, leaving him imprisoned within what might as well have been his tomb.  Zaresh had heard plenty of stories about hunting parties going missing, only for their remains to be found months later within a caved-in section of a cavern.  

It was also one of the mistress' favorite punishments, to bury people alive in some long forgotten corner of their subterranean home, their pleas for mercy falling on deaf ears as the order to block the entrance was given.

Zaresh only began to cry harder as his mind raced, his throat sore from the strain of his silent wails.  What if she left him in here to die?  Like all of the other houseboys she so loved to torment.  It wouldn't be the first time she did away with one for her own amusement.

Nausea curdled within the depths of his belly, his legs trembling violently as he at last fell to his knees before the immovable door.  His head swam, a terrible dizziness overcoming him as he fought for air.  His lungs heaved desperately, and yet it wasn't enough to chase away the clawing tightness engulfing his chest.  He curled up on the cold, dirty floor of the small, long forgotten room, a frightening numbness seeping into his fingers.

Father would come looking for him, right?  He'd realize that his son was missing.  Of course he would.  He was ever-present at the mistress' side, his scarlet gaze always alert and watching.  He'd notice that Zaresh was not among the servants running about the halls, that he had yet to see a single pair of ice-blue eyes among a sea of crimson irises. He had to.

Father, Zaresh pleaded silently, a hiccup he felt, but could not hear, wracking his body.  I'll never anger the mistress again.  Never ever again.  I swear it.  Please, father.  Just come find me.  Please.

He didn't realize he had fallen asleep until the room was abruptly flooded with light, jolting him awake.  He squinted against the sudden brightness as he scrambled to his feet, rushing forward.  His eyes were bleary and puffy, and his head throbbed fiercely—but he pushed his way through the doorway and over the threshold, and was rewarded with an onslaught of noise.

A kobold hissed loudly as Zaresh barreled into it, the small, reptilian creature hitting the stone floor with a faint thud.  The telltale sound of his bare feet slapping against the floor.  The ragged sound of his desperate breathing.  The rapid, panicked beating of his own heart.

The relief of it all was so overwhelming, he almost burst into a fresh round of tears.

Zaresh pushed himself upright, his bright blue eyes scanning the dimly lit hallway—hoping, praying to see a tall, familiar figure.  Desperate to know that he hadn’t been forgotten.  That he hadn’t been left to die a silent death amongst the roaches and rats.

But, other than the agitated kobold growling softly to himself, Zaresh was completely and utterly alone.

[feline-gal]

The door slams loudly against the wall as it's kicked open, it's rusty old latch still stuck in the strike.

“Go, go, go!” Nightwing commands, the civilians obediently hurrying out and down the fire escape “C'mon, guys, single file, just 'cuz the landlord doesn't follow code doesn't give you a free pass.”

Once the last of the floor's tenants are out the poorly maintained door, Dick charges through the burning building, keeping an eye out for any more people in need, listening carefully for any cries for help through the roaring of the flames.

As well as the roaring of something else.

Soon enough he finds some and starts guiding them to safety, reassuring them that everything's going to be fine.

An already open fire escape door just comes into view when, as if to spite him, the ceiling suddenly starts collapsing on top of them.

“Look out!” Nightwing exclaims as he bodily shoves a couple people out of the way, taking the brunt of the falling rubble. He pushes himself up as much as he can with a groan “Everyone OK?” he asks, glancing around at the frightened civilians.

They each give an affirmation, some start trying to help the vigilante out from under the debris.

“Something's up there!” one says panickedly, pointing up towards the new hole in the ceiling.

The sounds of tromping footsteps and animalistic growling corroborate the claim.

“Great.” Nightwing comments sardonically “That's great. Gonna have to deal with that as soon as I'm out of here. Just gotta grab some..”

As he's reaching for the pocket containing his fire extinguisher pellet bombs, an unnaturally cold wind starts billowing through the room, snuffing much of the surrounding flames and leaving frost in it's wake before dying down just as suddenly as it'd started up.

Nightwing blinks “Or, that could happen.” he says as he shoves the now brittle debris off himself and stands back up on his feet, dusting himself off “Okay, everybody, let's not look a gift horse in the mouth and get back to getting the heck out of dodge.”

With that he ushers the civilians the rest of the way out of the building, then heads back over to the rubble pile and parkours his way up through the hole to the next floor, which isn't in any better condition than the others.

Through a couple charred holes in a couple walls, he sees a large hulking figure ambling about unbothered by the flames engulfing it's body.

Nightwing pulls his escrima sticks out of their holsters and makes his way towards the creature as quickly and stealthily as he can.

The beast suddenly jolts and lets out a pained roar, thrashing it's limbs wildly in an attempt to hit some unseen attacker. It's frantic swinging sends a piece of furniture flying right towards Nightwing, forcing him to leap out of the way and into the open.

“Yo! Where's the fire?” he snarks. The creature focuses on him and growls, baring it's too many razor sharp teeth at him. Nightwing grins cockily at it from under his gas mask as he takes in it's bear-like appearance “And just what are you supposed to be? Smokey Bear's arsonist cousin he never talks about?”

The flaming zombie bear thing doesn't seem to appreciate the vigilante's sense of humor and grabs another piece of furniture to throw at him.

Nightwing dashes and ducks under the oncoming projectile, gets up close to the beast and leaps into the air with a flip, aiming a kick to it's jaw..

Only for his foot to go right through like it isn't even there.

And as his backflip spins him back around, he finds himself facing an open maw full of very sharp teeth.

“Whoop!”

Nightwing suddenly feels himself being yanked back, the creature's jaws snapping shut on the air where his face just was. It snarls angrily at the loss of it's prey, then gets blasted in the face by a bright blue laser beam that leaves a chunk of solid ice.

“Careful there!” a somewhat familiar voice chides as it's owner sets the vigilante down a fair distance away from the beast now struggling to claw ice off it's face.

Looking over, Nightwing finds a tall, broad shouldered man, very similar to the one who'd saved him the other day, only his skin isn't so much green as it is unnaturally pale, his snow white hair casually defies gravity but moves nothing like the flames surrounding them, and the eyes that quickly glance him over for serious injuries are an eerie shade of green that reminds him of Jason's rare episodes of Pit Madness.

The new stranger meets his eyes and flashes a smile “Don't want you becoming a song lyric now, do we?” he quips.

Nightwing chuckles “Heh, yeah. Thanks for not letting that happen, Jack Frost.”

The stranger gives a chuckle of his own “Name's Phantom, actually.” he introduces.

“Never heard of ya'.” Nightwing comments “You new to this hero business?”

“Nah.” Phantom waves off “I've been around a while, just don't get out of my hometown very often, prefer to keep this-” he gestures to the flaming bear thing still working on it's unwanted ice mask “-particular brand of crazy contained.”

“Seems like there's been a breach.” the more local hero points out.

“Not my fault.” the newcomer states, then under his breath mutters “This time.”

“Sure.” is all Nightwing says about that “So, I'm guessing I'm a little bit totally ineffective against this thing?”

“No, actually.” Phantom declares, pointing at the strip of metal wrapped around the beast's neck “The one thing on it you can touch is the collar that's driving it crazy,” as if on cue, the lights and circuit patterns on the neckband begin glowing brighter and crackling with electricity, causing the bear thing to let out another pained roar “and said collar doesn't particularly like me touching it. Soo..”

“You'll keep Burny Bear busy while I go for his jewelry?” Nightwing asks, shifting into a ready position as he watches the creature finally break the ice off it's face.

“Exactly!” Phantom confirms with a thumbs up, also shifting his stance.

The beast lets out another roar and charges at them.

Nightwing dodges to the side while Phantom jumps backwards, keeping the thing's attention on him as he allows it to chase but never touch him.

The former boy wonder keeps to the creature's blind spots as he watches Phantom dodge it's strikes, weaving through the air with all the grace that came with several years worth of practice, his legs at some point having turned into a wispy black tail, occasionally firing off blasts of either icy blue or Lazarus Waters green.

The bear thing sinks it's claws into a larger piece of furniture and swings it's forelimbs upwards, sending the object flying at the Meta pestering it. The item goes right through Phantom like he isn't even there and crashes into the ceiling, sending dust and debris falling down around the floating hero.

Phantom pokes his head out of the dust cloud only to get smacked in the face by one of the beast's paws, sending him careening into a wall.

Nightwing's eyes widen in horror at the sight of the Meta's crumpled body, his neck bent at an unnatural angle.

“Ow.” Phantom groans as he lifts his head and snaps his neck back into place with a series of sickening cracks.

The local vigilante sighs in relief at the revelation of the newcomer's healing factor, but doesn't let his guard drop.

The bear thing lunges at the downed hero, claws and fangs bared with vicious intent. Phantom throws up his hands and a wall of that Lazarus green energy materializes between him and the creature, blocking it's attacks.

“Y'see, Burny;” he quips “This shit is why you don't get invited to Thanksgiving dinner anymore.”

Burny bear roars indignantly at the comment and continues slashing and biting at the energy shield.

Seeing his opportunity, Nightwing exchanges his escrima sticks for a pair of explosive Wing-Dings as he charges towards the beast. He leaps into the air and jams the bladed weapons into the seams of the collar, priming them, before kicking off the wall and reverse somersaulting away.

The creature pauses in it's ineffectual assault to wonder at the strange new beeping devices attached to it's neck before they promptly explode. It growls and shakes it's head, seeming more bothered by the loud noise and flash of light than anything else. Meanwhile, it's collar just barely survived the dual blasts and is now sparking wildly.

Once it regains it's vision, the bear thing catches sight of Nightwing and snarls, beginning to advance upon him.

“Oh no you don't!” Phantom exclaims as he drops his shield and pounces up onto the creature's back, clamping his hands down around it's jaws. The beast reels back and thrashes, trying to dislodge the Meta from it's back.

Nightwing pulls his escrima sticks back out, with the click of a button they whir to life, electricity crackling around their ends. Once again he runs right back up to the creature and jams the charged bastons into the exposed circuitry of the collar.

The bear thing lets out another roar of pain as electric bolts dance across it's upper body in a dazzling display that Nightwing has to shut his eyes against to avoid getting blinded by.

After a moment, the collar finally breaks apart and crumbles off it's wearer, who's pained cry peters out as it starts to fall over.

Nightwing steps back from the toppling beast while Phantom simply hovers in place over it. The two heroes let out a sigh as they watch their opponent crash to the ground, it's flames dimming somewhat.

“And now;” Phantom says as he pulls an odd high-tech looking cylinder off his belt “Soup time!” with that he pops the cap off the item, points it's open end towards the bear thing and clicks the button on it's side. With a bright blue light and a rush of air, the creature is sucked into the object, which Phantom promptly re-caps.

Nightwing blinks “Is that-” he points at the item “-a thermos?”

“Yup!” Phantom confirms cheerily.

“So, when you said 'soup time'..”

“No.” Phantom waves off with a roll of his eyes “I'm not actually going to turn it into soup and eat it. I'm gonna release it into it's natural habitat as soon as I get the chance.”

Nightwing blinks again “That thing has a natural habitat?”

“Yup!” Phantom again confirms cheerily.

“Where?” Nightwing quirks a brow “In hell?”

“Prob'ly.” Phantom replies with a shrug “Speaking of which, I better start putting out all this fire.” with that he flies off, a strong gust of unnaturally cold wind following him as he makes a circuit around the floor, dowsing the flames as he goes and leaving patches of frost in his wake.

Seeing as the other hero has the situation well in hand, Nightwing makes his way out of the building and onto the rooftop of a nearby, less scorched building, watching the newcomer's work from afar.

Eventually, Phantom rises up into the air in front of the local vigilante “Nice teaming up with you, Nightwing.” he comments, not halting in his ascent “See ya around!” he says with a two fingered salute before fading into invisibility.

“Same to you.” Nightwing replies to the seemingly empty air.

He hums contemplatively to himself as he muses over this second new Meta and his familiar appearance.

Curiouser and Curiouser..

Soulmate Song

After a long day at his work, Dick starts walking back to his apartment humming his soulmate song. A large man that looks vaguely like Clark shows up and starts calling him "Dan" and telling him that he shouldn't wander off in a new city without letting him know. There was also something about "changing appearances" in the lecture too, but he wasn't able to get a word in edgewise. So, he just stood there letting the man fuss over him.

After a while, another guy shows up whistling his soulmate song! The new guy was just as tall and broad shouldered as the first but with wavy silver hair that he had in a low ponytail. The first guy called him Dan and quickly realized what had happened. He'd been mistaken for his soulmate. How did that happen?

As he starts trying to talk to the guy, the two men apologize and disappear.

Now, Dick had to find his soulmate before he leaves Bludhaven.

[c-is-writing]

extinguished

pairing: kara danvers x gn!reader

genre: 100% angst

word count: 1577

warnings: none

a/n: aahhh writing a full angst was a bit hard for me bc i still need to practice writing angst but i hope that this at least makes your heart ache >:DD

original request

12 unread messages, 4 voicemails, 2 cold dinners, and 1 missed date. The dimly lit kitchen feels suffocating as the last candle finally burns out. You watch as the wisps of smoke float through the air before fading away. You know, candles are such interesting and versatile objects. They can be used to express a variety of emotions like calm or somberness. These hard wax pillars can soften overtime once a flame is ignited within them, creating a warm glow that surrounds them. However, like all good things, the flame slowly burns out until there’s nothing left to burn, leaving a thin trail of smoke in its wake. 

Distracted by your thoughts as you watch the grey swirls fill the air, you don’t notice the arrival of a certain blonde. Before you can lose yourself once again in your thoughts, a voice calls out for you. Turning around, you see your girlfriend standing in front of the balcony door in her Supergirl regalia. You let out a sigh as you turn away from her, choosing to focus on the plate in front of you. The clicking of boots on the hardwood floor grow louder and louder before coming to a stop. A soft hand is gently placed on yours, resting on the dining table. Kara kneels beside you as she pulls your hand towards her, bringing your attention lower to face her. Running a hand through her wind-blown hair, she lets out a heavy sigh. You already know what’s about to happen as you hear the three words you’re beginning to really despise.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Kara says, voice filled with guilt.

Shaking your head, you give her a small smile. “Please, stop saying that Kara.”

Taken aback by your response, she’s left at a complete loss for words. You brush a strand of hair out of her face as you continue.

“I know that you’re sorry, Kara, but I’m beginning to think that you’re sorry for a lot more than missing another dinner date.”

“What? What do you mean?”

There’s no way she could be that clueless, right? The painful smile quickly drops from your face as you lock eyes with the crouching woman. 

Annoyance seeps into your voice as you speak. “You’re kidding me, right? Do not play oblivious with me, Kara.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Y/N. What do you mean by, ‘I’m sorry for a lot more than missing dinner’?”

“No, I don’t believe you” --you scoff-- “There’s no absolute way in hell you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Kara drops your hand and instantly stands up, getting into a defensive stance. 

“We can’t talk about this properly if you won’t tell me what the problem is. So, spit it out, Y/N. What is the problem with me? What do you know about me that I don’t know?”

You quickly stand up, pushing the chair back, and point an accusing finger at her. Frustrated with the whole ordeal, you begin to rant.

“What’s the problem? What’s the problem?! Kara, I can see it in your eyes. Those bright blue eyes that used to look at me in adoration no longer do that. That shine in your eyes whenever I cooked your favorite meals dulled. What happened to us, Kara? Am I not enough for you anymore? You barely text me that you’re okay whenever you finish Supergirl duties. You’ve missed countless dates, always brushing me off in favor of doing other things and going to other places. Hell, you don’t even cuddle with me in bed anymore! There’s no lingering touches, sleepy kisses, nothing.”

At this point, you want to continue your speech but angry sobs rack your body, interrupting your train of thought. The dark apartment goes silent as Kara watches as you wipe at your burning tears. In a soft voice, Kara tries to reason with you.

“Y/N. I-” -- she sighs -- “I don’t know where to begin except for the fact that I’m sorry about hurting you like this. I guess I’ve just been really tired lately. With everything going on with the DEO and CatCo, I don’t really have the energy to do these things anymore and a lot of the time, these just slip my mind. I-”

Regaining your breath and partial composure, you explode at her.

“KARA DANVERS, DO NOT START THAT WITH ME.” Clenching your fists, you take a breath and continue. “I think I understand it now. You’ve fallen out of love with me, right? That flame we had was finally extinguished because you grew tired of me. Tell me, who did you fall in love with this time?”

You watch as Kara’s eyes are flooded with guilt and she gulps. In a quiet and nearly broken voice, Kara gives you the answer you were looking for.

“Lena.”

Drawing your lips into a thin smile, you nod as tears begin to fill your vision once more. You chew on your lip as everything finally begins to fall into place.

---

You were at Alex’s apartment, having a game night with the Superfriends. The group decided to play Charades and wanted to split up the couples so you were paired up with Alex as Kara was paired with Lena. While everyone was laughing at Winn trying to act out his word, you sat off to the side of the couch, sipping your drink. Across the room, you could see how Kara was practically glowing as she talked with Lena. Those ocean blue eyes you fell in love with were falling in love with someone else and you watched as your relationship with Kara began to slowly unravel. With every touch, laugh, and smile the pair shared, you could feel your heart sinking and crack bit by bit.

A hand gently shook your shoulder, pulling you out of your thoughts. You looked up to see Alex’s eyes filled with concern as she asks if you’re okay. Brushing her off, you nod your head and get ready for your turn, missing the way Kara ignored you, not sparing a second thought as she continued her conversation with Lena.

The next time you realized that your girlfriend was falling out of love with you and instead with someone in your friend group was when you were reading a couple of random blog posts about Supergirl. Something that caught your eye was a comment under an article about L-Corp.

> Isn’t that the place that Supergirl keeps going to?

> OMG yeah! i’ve heard about a lot of supergirl sightings in that area

> A friend of mine goes to a park nearby there and says that he sees a streak of blue and red fly by at the same time nearly every day.

> I wonder why she keeps going there. Don’t Supers and Luthors have a bad history with each other?

> yeah, i think they do but it seems like supergirl and lena luthor like each other.

You scoffed at that last comment. Yeah, more like they love each other. Pausing, you realized that Kara is falling in love with Lena. The two of them have been spending a lot more time together, arguably Kara has spent more time with her than you within the past few weeks. Your heart clenched at the thought and you shook your head, wanting to dispel the idea out of your head. There’s no way. Kara would at least tell me. Right? Tears began to well up in your eyes as you let out a few pitiful sobs. Fuck.

---

“Leave. I don’t want to see you in this apartment ever again.”

“Y/N, I-”

“Don’t say it,” you practically beg her, “please.

She whispers in a guilt-ridden voice, “Okay.”

Continuing, you stare at the ground as you say, “I want all of your things out of here by morning. I’m going to Nia’s apartment tonight.”

At this point, the two of you are standing in the kitchen at an arm's length, trying to hide your tears from each other. You’re the first to turn away as you head to your bedroom to pack an overnight bag. Quickly sending a text to Nia, you pack what you need to stay the night and you check your phone, seeing a text message giving you the okay to stay over. A sigh of relief escapes your lips as you pocket the phone and brush away stray tears. 

When you leave the bedroom, Kara hasn’t moved an inch, just staring aimlessly into the ground. At the sound of your door closing, she looks up to see you walking past her with a bag hung on your shoulder. Placing your hand on the door handle, you’re about to open the door when you pause and look over your shoulder. The blonde looks so defeated in her place; head hung low, shoulders slumped over, eyes red and lined with tears. The two of you make eye contact as you give her a small smile and step out of the apartment, leaving the superhero alone with her thoughts and guilt.

Just like a candle, your relationship that once burned bright dwindled down until it was on its last legs. The argument snuffed the flame, once and for all, leaving the both of you to fade into the smoke that was the irreparable relationship that could no longer be rekindled. Relationships that were broken had the chance at being repaired but those that burned out could no longer be reignited.

taglist (all): @teenwonder @procrastinatingsapphictrash  @owloftheshadows

taglist (kara danvers): @karazorxel

[hopecountyisforlovers]

Case#0122208

rating: spooky stuff in here but otherwise general

pairing: none

words: 1727

summary: Statement of Roger Tao regarding his time lost at sea. Original statement given August 22nd, 2012. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

( this was my go at writing a statement about my newest magnus archives s/i, alexei underwood ! i wont give away much more than that BUT i will say tumblr really fucked up the formatting on this one. it was set up to look like a transcript on word. oh well )

----------x----------

Archivist

Statement of Roger Tao regarding his time lost at sea. Original statement given August 22nd, 2012. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

Archivist

I've always loved the ocean. The crash of the waves against the shore, the cries of sea birds, the way the sun dyes the water orange and red, the reflection of the moon against the rippling water. The serenity of it.... on the beach at night, it almost feels like you could easily be the last person on earth.

I used to.....to find that a comfort, believe it or not. That it was just me- that I had no worries in regards to taking care of anyone else, no family, no job that I hated that I still had to get back to once my short respite was done. Don't get me wrong, I love my wife, and my kids, I just- a man needs his alone time, doesn't he? An escape from the... hectic pace, of everyday life.

It was like a routine- every Friday afternoon, after getting off work, I would make the hour-and-then-some drive to Whitstable Beach. I'd bring, you know- a folding chair, maybe a beer or two.. and stay just long enough to get my fill of what I was seeking all the way out there. Peace, I guess.

That night was like most others- I had had a few. Not enough to be proper drunk, mind you, just enough to put a buzz in my head and a tingle in my fingertips. The sun fell in the sky as it always did, and still does- the moon shone up off the water, full and fat and round, a distorted image that didn't quite match its partner in the sky.

I had just risen from my folding chair to stretch, having sobered up enough to consider making my way home, when... when I saw someone, standing a ways down the beach from where I was. It sent a shiver down my spine- how long had they been there? It's a scary thing, to suddenly realize one is not as alone as they previously thought they were. But even more frightening than that was... was their stillness. The water washed in over their trouser legs, soaking them, but... but they just. Stood there. Staring out over the ocean. Just like I had been, I guess, but. Something about looking at them... made me feel....cold, despite the balm of the summer night.

I didn't realize I was getting closer until I could start to make out their features. It was a man, albeit a feminine one- long, mist-and-water colored hair flowed down his back, blew in the sea breeze that didn't seem to bother him despite his wet clothing.

I stopped, dead in my tracks, making for the first time that night an audible shuffling sound as my feet planted in the damp sand. It was barely loud enough for me to hear, and...and yet...

He turned, slow, fluid- and looked right at me.

His face was soft and round, I could tell even from a distance. But his eyes... they glowed, bright blue-white, with all the force of a sunny sky. It hurt my eyes to look at, and I felt all at once vertigo, and that bone-chilling cold- as if I had been shoved off of a frozen mountaintop.

I could have sworn I saw him smile.

And... and then. Well, here's the part where you're going to start thinking I'm crazy. Or that I was drunk, I guess, but I swear to you that I wasn't. Even if I had been... No. No. I saw what I saw. What happened to me... what happened to me was real. It had to be. He has to be.

He turned away from me, and... and he walked onto the water. Not into it. On top of it. The man took a few steps, looking back at me expectantly- I wanted nothing more than to run, at that moment. To turn the other way and get back in my car and never come back to this beach again. Except that I didn't- that was what my rational brain was screaming at me of course, but.... but something much, much deeper, more ingrained, a part forgotten by modern society... it begged me to follow him.

So follow him I did.

I truly don't know what I thought I would accomplish. In a way, it almost didn't matter- when I took my first step on top of the water, he turned back to look at me. Up close, his smile was sweet and demure. He giggled, honest to God giggled, and although looking him directly in the eyes made my knees weak and my fingers cold and my stomach feel like it was about to evacuate it contents, I couldn't look away. But no- I didn't want to look away, anymore than I didn't not want to follow him.

It's embarrassing to say, but... that was all it took. I had forgotten my family, my life- all I wanted was to see that smile again. It dominated my mind so easily that I didn't even notice when he had begun walking forward again, away from the safety of the shore and into the deep, inky black of the ocean we were standing on.

I don't know how long we walked. It could have been minutes, hours, days... but the moon never moved from it's position in the sky, so I figured it couldn't have been too long. The ocean stretched on and on for miles and miles, and I watched him. I kept such a close eye on him, the new focal point of my universe, the only thing that mattered. Every so often, when my legs would go weak and I'd consider the traitorous thought of turning back, he would stop and turn around, eyes lighting up the night, smile making my heart race, and.. and I would be refreshed.

It went on like that....until he....disappeared.

There isn't a better word for it, really. He turned back towards me, smiled his incandecant smile, and....and it happened so instantly, like he had been swallowed up by the mist and fog that rested gently atop the water, that I thought for sure it must be a trick of the dark. Surely, he had to still be there. Surely.

But.. but he wasn't. He was gone. And I realized with a newfound panic when I spun around that the shore was gone, too. That I wasn't even sure what direction it was in, or if we had been walking in a straight line the whole time. It wasn't even a pinprick in the horizon.

That wasn't... wasn't the worst part of it, though. If it had been cold, to look at him, being without him now felt like...like whatever warmth lives inside us and makes us human had been all but extinguished. I fell to my knees on the water, but not through it, somehow, soaking my pant legs, clutching my chest where that flame had once lived so happily like it was the bloody hole it felt like as heaving sobs overtook my body.

They wouldn't stop, incensed by the pain that ripped and tore it's way through my chest. Tears fell to join the ocean water, the mist that covered it rising and swirling and wrapping around me like it was overjoyed by my pain. I know... I know I heard him giggle, again. The same way that he had when I had first started following him.

I don't know how long it was, how long I spent out there, pouring my anguish and grief into the unforgiving ocean, before the energy left my body so thoroughly that I collapsed onto the water. Only that when I awoke on the beach the next morning, waterlogged and with a sore throat but no worse for wear, families were just starting to gather on the sand, setting up blankets. One of the children even waved at me, although they were quickly chided by a protective parent for doing so.

I packed up, got back in my car, and drove home. Linda was speaking with the police, when I got there and was all but overjoyed- if not incensed, to see me in one piece. She told me... told me that I had been missing for almost 3 days. She hugged me, and I apologized, but..

I wish I could say I never went back to that beach. I wish I could say that I didn't see him in my dreams every time I manage to fall asleep, beckoning for me to follow him, smiling that angels smile. I wish I could say that I didn't still want to. I wish I could say I'm still a devoted husband and father of two.

But it would be a lie. I'm there every night, now. Watching. Waiting. I need... I need for him to come back. I need to see him again. The empty space in me that he created.. the light that he snuffed out. It hurts. It hurts. I can't.. laugh. Or smile. When I try, it... it just sounds. Looks.

People have stopped inviting me out. I think my wife might leave me.

I just have to see him again.

Archivist

Statement ends.

This one is rather easy to corroborate, but much harder to actually prove, if such a thing is possible. Police reports do indicate that Mr. Tao was reported missing by his wife Linda on the 10th of August 2012, stating that he had been gone without a trace for 48 hours, a missing persons inquest that was succinctly called off when he returned home the next day while the officers interviewed her.

I had Martin do some digging, and unfortunately, Mr. Tao was found dead shortly after a motion was filed for his divorce. Someone who lived in a home near Whitstable Beach reported seeing him simply walk into the ocean and never come back out. The police eventually did locate his body- cause of death was, unremarkably, drowning. On his person was what seemed to be a letter, although it had become soaked through to the point it was quite unreadable.

One can only hope it was not a love letter.

[f0xfordcomma]

Happy FFWF! Since I missed last week this one is a two-for. Do you have a favorite sentence/scene you've written in any of your fics? Link the fic it's from and tell us a little about that part. Then, what do you do when you wind up having to cut a sentence/scene that you *love* from your work? Do you save it somewhere to maybe use later or just cut it and cry a little?

Happy ffwtuesday hotwife!!

So, I have a scene from my miraculous ladybug multi-chap fic the solitude of cinders that just makes me FEEL things every time I read it. I started writing meta on Adrien that turned into a whole chapter and then (because you know I can't just ~not~ turn an idea into an entire dang production) evolved into a multi-chap monstrosity. I did HOURS of research on greek mythology and rose variants and baking competitions for this bad boy. Will I ever finish writing it, who the heck knows. But the notes are all there. Anyone want to write it for me? Bueller? Bueller? NO? Dang it. I am a mess.

(I'll put the scene below the cut bc it'll make this a wee bit long.)

The worst/ best writing advice I've ever heard is "kill your darlings." It plays throughout my head whenever I'm editing and usually (out of spite for that annoying little voice in my head) I ignore it. I am a compulsive editor as I write, so I usually end up cutting sentence as I am writing and don't let myself get too too attached to anything (but this also means I am *the* world's slowest writer) when I do, inevitably, have to cut or edit something, depending on HOW in love with it I am, I'll just save it at the bottom of the document for ~posterity~ or to possibly use later on in the fic if the time comes. Or I'll just try to edit the phrasing enough to fit tonally where I need it to. (Thesaurus.com and Rhyme Zone, my beloveds.)

Usually, this happens with snippets of dialogue, which are always fun to look back on and marvel at how hilarious these little characters (and the *very* humble writer who loves them *very* much) are.

When I write poetry I'll save images/ snippets a lot more often. I have a document in the notes on my phone and a document in my google drive just full of random images that make zero sense out of context. One of my favorite late-night poetry notes document additions is just: "write a poem about the holiness of shit." I don't remember where it came from or what I was writing at the time that gave me this idea... but now i HAVE to write a poem about the holiness of shit.

Anyway, here's the scene!

Though he had been sheltered by fame and fortune his whole life, Adrien Agreste was self-aware enough to never carry any grand delusions of importance. Sure, his face was plastered all across Paris and there were always autographs to sign and interviews to do, but that was all just because he was pretty. Pretty wasn’t important.

Important, Adrien knew, was the way his father had smiled at his mother when she’d cracked a particularly corny joke. The way he had held her hand a little too long after pressing a chaste kiss to her fingertips on his way out the door each morning.

Important, Adrien had learned, was a lonely man and the countless hours he spent appealing to a painting of a ghost—hoping, Adrien assumed, to hear the voice of his muse; to relish in her inspiration; to catch, just once more, the light in her eyes (eyes that, Adrien knew, were all wrong on canvas). Important was discarded designs and missed meals all in search of that spark.

See, if Emilie Agreste had been a spark, her son was a cinder.

Adrien knew this, too.

Her pyre had been a brilliant blaze, but it had been snuffed out much too soon. All that was left of her inferno was smoldering cinders. Cinders which, in order to prevent the fire from extinguishing entirely, needed to be prodded and protected.

A bonfire built from cinders could be just as warm and just as bright, but it took a lot of work to nurse a flame back from near nothingness. Strike a match and in an instant, you’ve got fire. In the presence of a firesource, one needn’t bother with smoking remains. But when the spark is gone, the cinders become vital. The only hope for heat on the coldest of nights.

Adrien was a cinder.

He could sputter and smolder and produce heat when he needed to. But it never reached his eyes. (Her eyes.)

Adrien had her eyes.

His were green in the way that hers had been viridian. He was pretty in the way that she had been beautiful.

And pretty wasn’t important. And Adrien was very pretty.

[smells-like-mettaton]

Rating: G

Summary:

“There is nothing I can do, then.” His voice fell somewhere between a statement and a question.

Her palms felt hot. She clenched her fists, snuffing out the fire before it could ignite.

“You can bring back my children.”

(Asgore and Toriel angst, post-pacifist route. Takes place the first night on the surface.)

Word Count: 1,878

XXX

Toriel expected sleeping on the surface to feel a little more comfortable.

Of course, laying sprawled in the grass couldn’t compare to her queen-sized bed.  And the breeze was new and old and restless, dancing in her fur and keeping her awake.  And somehow, despite not having lungs, Sans was snoring.  

Those were just excuses, she knew.  The real interruption to her sleep lay on the other side of the clearing, his hulking form too still to be unconscious.

Her ex-husband.

The murderer of her children.

She wasn’t afraid of him. But after all these years, her anger and disgust had fermented to something even more bitter.  If she had her way, he would never set foot near her child.

But Frisk was forgiving.  More forgiving than Toriel could be.

She sat up just a bit, trying not to make a sound, just so she could check on Frisk.  They were still bundled in Sans’ bony arms, seemingly oblivious to the thundering snores.  Toriel trusted Sans—despite everything, her friend had fulfilled his promise—but it still pricked a bit that Frisk had chosen him to protect them, rather than her.

It made sense. She’d learned that Sans was the only one who didn’t fight them.

She rolled over.  A pointy rock jutted into the fur between her shoulder blades.  The stars were too bright.

And Asgore was still too close for comfort.

With a muffled sigh, Toriel got to her feet and padded towards the edge of the clearing.  Sans and the others could protect Frisk for now.  She just needed a moment to clear her head, to be…

Alone.  How long had she been alone?  Perhaps that was the problem.  So many monsters—and one human—breathing in sync, filling the air with the sounds of life.

You missed that.  You missed them.  Do not pretend he has not caused your pain.

It was a short walk back to the cliff where they’d exited the underground.  The moon—the moon, oh, it was beautiful—hung bright and round as a butterscotch pie.  The whole world seemed to spread beneath her feet.  The wind caressed her face with the tenderness of a lover—

A lover who had seen her children destroyed.  Dead.  Stolen from their home, struck down when they set foot outside, rammed through with a trident meant to protect— 

“Could you not sleep, either?”

She jolted up at the voice, fire magic already flaring in her palms.  The voice’s identity didn’t give her much incentive to put it out.

“Dreemurr,” she said curtly, turning back towards the moon and reluctantly extinguishing her flames.  “Do you not have better places to be than bothering a tired old woman?”

“Um.”  He coughed.  Even after all these years, that cough felt so familiar.  “I thought, perhaps you would like some company… but it appears I was mistaken.”

Despite that, she didn’t hear his footsteps leave.  Insufferable man.

“You wanted the company.”

He chuckled sadly.  “You always could see right through me, Tori—Toriel.”

She pursed her lips at the nickname.  How could he still call her that, even by accident?  How could he think things could be the same, when he had her children’s blood on his hands?

Paige. Finn. Ceil. Ren. Malia. Dylan. And very nearly Frisk.

“Things will be difficult for us monsters on the surface,” Asgore murmured.  “I do not relish leading our people alone.”

Our people.  The words stung.  The monsters were still her people, but they weren’t her people.  She could no longer be their queen. Some wounds just went too deep.

“You will manage, I am sure.”  Look at the moon. Not at the man she once loved.  “You will have Undyne, and all of the Royal Guard.  Against my better judgement, you will have Frisk as your ambassador.  You will not be alone.”

The wind whistled between them, almost obscuring Asgore’s next words.

“But they will not be you.”

Toriel’s fur bristled.  “You should be grateful they are not.  You will find them much more willing to forgive you.”

He flinched.  She wasn’t sure when she’d started looking at him again.

“There is nothing I can do, then.” His voice fell somewhere between a statement and a question.

Her palms felt hot.  She clenched her fists, snuffing out the fire before it could ignite.

“You can bring back my children.”

Asgore closed his eyes.  The moonlight highlighted the creases in his fur, the centuries of pain carved there.

She would know. She’d collected those centuries like scars herself.

“If only I could, Toriel,” he whispered. “If only I could.”

He settled down on the ground a ways off. Just far enough to not technically be in the same space, yet still near enough to make her fur itch.

She should go back to the clearing. Her new friends and her child were there. Without Asgore nearby, she might even be able to sleep.

...No. She doubted she would get a wink now.

Sighing, she started down the path to the clearing—

“Would you tell me about them?”

She paused at his voice, her eyes narrowing.  “I suspect you will get to know Frisk well enough on your own.”

“No—them, plural. Your children. The ones I… no.” He shook his head, horns glinting in the moonlight. “I would not cause you more pain if I can help it.  I think of Asriel and Chara every day. I thought, perhaps, if you wished to share your fond memories… but I would only taint them.”

He wiped his face with one paw. “I am sorry. There truly is nothing I can do, though I wish with all my soul.”

She blinked at him.  His apology, his wishes, his sorrow—none of it could make a difference. None of it could bring her children back.

Paige. Finn. Ceil. Ren. Malia. Dylan.

(Asriel. Chara.)

But she’d saved one.  Well, Frisk had mostly saved themself.  According to Sans, they’d survived most of the Underground with very little interference. All Toriel had done was return in time to, as Sans put it, “dunk on the king.”

“Toriel…?”

Right. She had been staring.

With a heavy sigh, she settled down in the dirt. Not too close. But not too far, either.

She wouldn't sleep tonight anyway. There were worse things she could do than remember the children who had sacrificed their lives for her freedom.

“Paige,” she said quietly.

“Hmm?” Asgore straightened.

“Paige.  She was the first human who fell, after… after Chara.”  She swallowed.  Heavens, this would not be easy. Yet somehow, despite everything, it felt right.

“Your guards found her in the Ruins. Before I sealed the entrance.  She would have stayed with me forever, if it were not for that. I know it.”

She was only seven.  Smaller than Frisk, but louder—full of life, full of energy, and at most times, full of the monster candy Toriel left out for the Whimsuns and Froggits. A pink ribbon shimmered in her ponytail, catching the light of Toriel’s fire when they cooked together. Well, when Toriel cooked, and Paige pretended to slice vegetables with her toy knife.

Wherever human souls went to when they died, Toriel hoped she was happy.

“Finn was the next to fall,” she continued.  “He had come to Mount Ebott on purpose—I do not think Paige did. I never did figure out how she ended up there…” And Toriel never would, thanks to the man beside her.

Realistically, Paige would be dead by now anyway. Humans did not share the lifespan of boss monsters, and she had fallen hundreds of years ago, so soon after Toriel had lost Asriel and Chara.

And yet it was still an innocent life, ended too soon.

“Finn,” Asgore repeated quietly. Toriel had almost managed to ignore his presence until then.

“He was an odd one. Always surprised that I knew that he was a boy, as if I could not see his soul. Perhaps humans are less discerning in that regard. He loved to play catch in the front yard, and he never gained the taste for snail pie, though he single-handedly kept the spider bakery in business.”

She smiled at that memory. On the few occasions Muffet visited the ruins, she always gave Finn an extra cup of cider with his donuts.

Muffet had later delivered the horrible news herself, rather than leaving it to the spider gossip chain. Finn had been captured by a dog monster outside Snowdin. He’d never gotten to taste the Cinnamon Bunnies he’d snuck off to buy.

She said a prayer for him, though she was no longer sure anyone listened. If someone had, Finn and the other children would still be with her.

“He sounds like quite the sweetheart,” Asgore murmured. Present tense. As if his orders hadn’t been the cause for Finn’s demise.

“I… I can’t do this, Dreemurr.”  She squeezed her eyes shut, but all she could see was blood.  Blood and dust.

She was free. They were all free. With Frisk’s help, no monsters and humans would fight again.

Was she still too stuck in the past to appreciate just how bright their future could be?

“Toriel—I’m sorry.”  His arms fell back to his sides. He had been reaching out, as if to hug her. “I am so sorry…”

“Ceil was sorry,” she whispered. “She left me a note before she disappeared. Nabstablook told her of a cousin with a talent for dance, and she… she wanted nothing more than to perform for monsters, to show that humans were not to be feared…

“And Ren. Always exploring.  Reading. Learning. Soaking up whatever knowledge he could, and writing it in his little notebook. I wonder what happened to it when he… when he…”

Tears ran down her face, staining the front of her tunic. Embarrassment flushed her, but why should she care? This was the man who had killed her Ren. Why should she hide her grief?

“Tori—”

“Malia,” she cut him off, her voice shaking. “Always wanted to help. Tried to make my butterscotch pie… I’ll never forget the f-flour on her face…

“And Dylan. Malia’s older brother, searching when she never returned. I had to tell him… tell him I couldn’t protect her…”

She huddled her knees close to her chest, all pretense of dignity gone. It didn’t matter what Asgore thought of her. She knew what she thought of him.

He was a murderer. No matter his intentions, she could not, would not forgive that.

“I…” He held out a hand.

“Don’t touch me, Dreemurr,” she snapped, though her soul was hardly in it.

Her anger wouldn’t bring her children back, any more than Asgore’s regret would.

“I will not.” His voice was soft. The voice of a husband, not a murderer, but ears could deceived. The soul could not.

She had seen the extermination points shielding his soul. Strengthening his trident. He was not the man she remembered.

“Thank you,” he whispered, “for telling me of them.”

She looked up, meeting his tearful gaze with her own.

“You can thank me by removing yourself from my life,” she growled.

Then she stood, and made her way down the mountain.

Her child—the one she had left—would be waiting for her.

[chaoticevilbean]

“Ugh.” Jet stood up slowly, hand at his head in pain. Everything ached, and he could feel dust in his throat. A look around gave him a clear view of the now much smaller cave. A passage further in, a crumbled wall, and glow-moss covering enough of the stone for him to see. Among the stalagmites, three other forms moved sluggishly.

He moved towards the closest one, blurry vision fading as he did so. Suki was waking quickly, covered in dust and a few chunks of rock.

“Hey, you good?” His voice was scratchy, and he attempted to clear it, with painful results. The girl woke fully at the noise, eyes hazily training on him. She weakly took his proffered hand, allowing herself to be pulled into a sitting position. A wince escaped her lips when her left wing brushed a stalagmite.

“Think my wing’s busted. Don’t know how bad. Who else is down here?”

“Me.” The two turned towards the newly awoken person, relieved to see Zuko rising on his own. “And I’m not injured, if you’re worried.”

“So just Suki, then. All three of us were lucky.” Jet’s gaze turned towards the cave-in, drawing the others’ attention to it as well. “It could’ve been much worse.”

“Yeah,” Suki replied breathlessly, blinking rather owlishly at the crumbled wall. “A busted wing is better than a busted skull.” She groaned as she used the hand still holding hers as leverage, stumbling to her feet.

“Be careful. We don’t want you getting more hurt.”

“Thanks for the concern, but we need a way out. There’s still a battle going on, or at least a war.” Zuko shuffled over, quick to help support the girl. The glow-moss cast a strange light over his scar, as though the skin was still sick from the tri-year ago wound.

“So, should we just head out?” he asked, pointing at the passage to their collective right. Suki nodded, about to agree, when Jet grabbed both their arms and yanked them behind the nearest outcrop of stone. They stumbled into him, but didn’t protest. Instead, they looked for what caused the currently most aware of their group to hide.

A fourth person rose from the ground, on their hands and knees as they slid up. Dark feathers ruffled slightly as they shifted, yet not a single one looked out-of-place. Blue eyes as bright as a sunny sky were visible even from across the shrunken cave. There were several small noises of exertion and pain as the being slowly stood. Brown and blue clothes fit in just as much among the gray stone and blue-green glow-moss as they did among the trees that morning.

Three breaths caught in dusty throats.

“Wild.”

The word was only a mutter, tiny and soft. From the distance they had between them, there was no way it could be heard. But this was a Wild, and Wilds didn’t follow rules. The person’s head snapped towards them, sending their features into sharp view. An assumption could be made that they were a male teenager, likely of Water descent.

The trio sat stock-still, still holding their breaths. The blue eyes of the Wild blinked rapidly, dissipating their glassy look. His brow furrowed, expression almost a glare. Then, just as quickly as he had caught sight of them, something in his face shifted.

A squawk ripped through the silence, jolting the three backwards and out of their shock. With a sudden burst of movement that blurred into a streak, the Wild teen was atop the crumbled rock. His hands scrabbled at the blocks, pulling and pushing them out of the way. Distressed sounds echoed off the walls, resounding into a cacophony of panic.

“He’s going to bring the whole place down!” Suki rushed forward, straight for the Wild. She was right, of course. Dust was once more filling the empty air, small pieces of rocks falling near the cave-in. Each moved chunk of stone was further unstabilizing the ceiling, a looming threat in many senses. The boys hurried to aid their female companion, who had just reached the frantic stranger.

“Stop!” Suki’s hands grasped at the brown and blue clothes, trying to tug them away from the collapsed wall. It did nothing to deter the owner, who continued his panicked struggle to break through the fallen slabs. “Stop! You’ll kill us all if you don’t stop!”

Two more sets of hands joined the first, and with a combined heave, the three friends fell backwards, dragging the Wild away from the stone. An enraged screech tore from his throat, limbs thrashing in an effort to free himself from the triple grip.

“How is he so strong🙹” Jet huffed at the strain of holding back the other teen, who, despite not once opening his wings, still managed to nearly pry himself free. “Does anyone know how to calm him down🙹”

“HEY!” All three boys froze, eyes wide and trained on Suki. Her finger jabbed into the Wild’s face, her expression set in a determined scowl. “Calm. Down.” The finger pointed at the dust still falling from the ceiling, only just beginning to settle again. “You’re making this place collapse. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to die down here.”

Blue eyes flicked between the grey powder and wall that had once been a ceiling. A few seconds passed. Then, slowly, the Wild went rather limp, eyelids sliding shut as a whine exited his lips.

~ * ~

Screeches and squawks and screams and various other cries tore through the sky. Trees shook and leaves rained down as bodies slammed into wooden trunks. Feathers and scales clashed just as much as steel and bone, the sounds reverberating in the dense forest.

“C’mon, girls! Flank those Earth from the right!”

“Suki!” She turned just in time to dodge an attack, a blur of movement too fast to distinguish features. She spared it no mind for then. The Divers never went after a target if it dodged them. They simply went around bombing anyone they could.

But she was wrong this time. She had lined up her fan, ready to fling it at a blue-clad Wild, when the Diver had hit her from behind. She fell, spiraling towards the dirt.

Another blow came from her side, and then they were crashing into something wet, something hard, something rough. Finally, darkness.

~ * ~

“Is he okay?” Zuko let go of the whining teen, hands fidgeting in uncertainty.

“He was trying to get back to the battle,” Jet added helpfully.

“We all are, but- oh.” Suki glanced down at who she now recognized as the one who took her from the skies. “He’s not trying to get back to the battle. He’s trying to get back to someone.”

“Care to explain?” The girl motioned them back, giving the Diver space, which he used to curl into an upset ball.

“He’s a Diver, the one who knocked me down, but I wasn’t expecting it.”

“That’s how Divers work, Suki.”

“No, I mean he passed me already. I thought I was safe, and I think I was, but I was lining up a shot with someone who looked just like him.”

“What does that mean?”

“Blue and brown, Water descent, dark wings. She was a bender, so I was gonna take her out of the fight, but she must be his sister or something. Why else would he come after me a second time?”

“New tactic?”

“In an unplanned battle? I saw the other Divers. Not a single one acted differently than usual, except this one.”

They all fell silent as the Wild stood up. His gaze shifted over them, pausing on both Jet and Zuko’s swords, on Suki’s disheveled feathers, on the red and green insignias over their hearts. He finally turned away, head swiveling between the rubble and the pitch-black passage. No glow-moss grew near enough to cast light into the tunnel, leaving it to the shadows.

The teen’s back straightened, and the trio could tell he had decided on a course of action.

With another blur of movement, he had shot off into the shaft. That wasn’t the most startling thing, however, for only a second later, there was a loud noise of impact and a few chirps of pain. Accompanying the chirps were groans.

Zuko was the first to the entrance of the pass, fire igniting in his palm. The others followed him as he reached further in, illuminating the earthen walls.

“AANG!” Jet and Suki raced forwards, helping the small boy to his feet. He was rubbing his head, a motion mimicked by the Wild still on the floor.

“Well, that hurt,” the nomad quipped, smiling broadly at his friends.

“What’re you doing down here? I didn’t see you get hit.” Suki began looking over him, checking for any wounds and only finding some small bruises.

“Toph. She tossed me down the tunnel so I wouldn’t get caught in the battle. I hit my head when I landed, and it took forever just to stand up. I’m fine now, but I heard the crash, and then there was that squawking and- Is that a Wild?” Aang’s head tilted as he stared at the stranger.

“Yes, but why were you running?”

“Because I heard you guys! Also, did you know that his eyes glow in the dark?”

Jet jerked away from the Water-descended teen, looking like a frightened turtleduck. All three of the older non-Wild peered at the blue eyes, wondering if they were going to indeed start glowing. Those eyes stared back, confused and on edge at the sudden attention.

“Aang, how do you know his eyes glow?”

“Oh, I was right here when he ran in and I saw them right before we collided! Put out the fire! It’s so cool!”

Zuko glanced at his palm a moment, and the red flames that burned there. With a short inhale, he closed his fist, snuffing out the fire. A pitch blackness fell around all of them, taking their sight with it.

Two blue eyes shone brightly in the darkness. Their pupils had shifted into slits, like those of a feline.

The fire lit back up, revealing to each kid the shocked expressions of the others and the still confused one of the Wild. Zuko intermittently ignited and extinguished the flames. With each darkness, the blue eyes lit back up, but flicked to a normal illumination when there was light. The pupils never even appeared to adjust, simply changing with the glow in an instant.

It seemed that the stranger had caught on, as a slow grin crept up his face. He warbled at them, an obvious laugh at their reactions. Aang chuckled, waving his hand in front of Suki’s face to break her from her startled stupor. She blinked, attempting to process the image now stuck in her head.

“Well, that’s… something.”

“I vote on ignoring that for now and focusing on getting the heck out of this cave,” Jet said with false cheeriness.

“Seconded.” Zuko settled his arms on each other, supporting the hand that held their light source. He turned towards the direction that hopefully led out, slowly and cautiously beginning to move forward. The others followed, eyes on both the Wild and the darkness ahead. Fortunately, both ended up in the same area as the strange teen strode to the front. He seemed perfectly fine with having them at his back, and with walking down an unknown path.

It almost seemed like he wasn’t a Wild at all, but another member of the group, taking the lead so the others were safer. But that was a preposterous thought, cast out of mind in a moment. Wilds had always been, well, wild, and had always been dangerous. They were from a world that didn’t have the same rules, and those differences clashed immensely. Every attempt at living in harmony with the Wilds had led to bloodshed and battle.

Aang wasn’t one to let something like years of fighting get his way. The presumably youngest of the group fluttered along, just a step behind the stranger. He whistled a tune as they walked, and kept waving off his friends’ concerned expressions. Surprisingly, the Wild didn’t screech or move away from the close proximity with an enemy. Instead, he actually seemed to enjoy the presence.

“I definitely have questions,” Jet muttered to the other two, eyes narrowed at the duo in front of them.

[nearlynorth]

get up, get out, relight that spark

A look into the life of Julie Molina.

*Written as part of the same series as the pretty lies, the ugly truth, my Carrie Wilson character-study, but it is able to be read as a stand-alone.*

Title is from Wake Up.

This is for @pearlseleganciess because you love Julie Molina just as much as I do and you mentioned that you wanted to see more fics about her. 

Cross posted on ao3. 

(I talk about fire and matches and things like that in this, just a warning!)

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

She was bright. She was a candle, shining out into the darkness, music notes and laughter and happiness. 

But candles only burned if someone else lit them up. Someone else had to light a match, touch the spark to her wick to make her burn. Her mother did that for her, setting up a cycle of giving. She learned to give, to give until her own light burned out. 

She grew up in a home that was full of matches. She was constantly being encased in warm flames, never too hot, never too cold, and she let herself burn. 

Music lit her up. She loved the way that music brought people together, the way that it connected lights from all over the globe. The world was covered in the strands of connection, crisscrossing and interesting and bringing brightness. The music linked her to her mother, to Carrie, to Flynn. It brought her closer to them, pulling and pulling and pulling. 

Music poured out of her, on the smooth crescendo of her voice, onto the smooth cream paper, onto the black and white piano keys, and everything was good. Everything was so good and she felt like her light would never burn out. 

Her mom was there, lighting her up and making her taller, until one day she wasn’t. It was quick and painless, the doctors said, her light snuffed out in one single night.

And suddenly there was no one to light her candle again. She tried so hard, she tried for herself for her friends, for her family, but it was like her wick had been snapped. There was no way for her to mend it again, no way for her to relight the spark. 

She was extinguished, for a year. A year of no light, of no music. A year where she was given so many chances and she just couldn’t touch herself to the flame. 

And then three ghost boys poofed into her life. And she woke up. 

Some would say that she found someone new to light her fire, to light her wick. But no, that’s not true. She had had a cloud pulled over her head, a shroud pulled over her eyes. And she fought tooth-and-tail to push it away, to pull it off. She fought and she fought and she fought. She drowned and she drowned until she wanted to give up. But then she learned to swim, she learned to stand again. She stood tall against the wind beating her down.

She was no longer a candle, reliant on the light of others. Like a butterfly going through a metamorphosis, she turned into a sun. She had her own energy, combustion within her. She lit up others around her, she started her own fires. She blazed a trail through the sky, through the woods and the trees that tried to drown out her light.

Like it had once, music was the fiery tail behind her. It was bright and hot, blue flames that protected her heart from those that got too close. It floated in the air, surrounded her with warmth. 

She went to sleep each night in a cocoon of brightness, a clarity in her sight and a smile on her face. 

When things tried to drown her out, when life tried to snuff her light, she let herself shine. She stopped holding herself back, she stopped being the one on the back of the page, the one in the background. She was no longer the girl that people walked all over. 

She had been that girl once, she had loved that girl once, but she was no longer that version of herself. That girl wasn’t dead, no, it hadn’t been a funeral when she said goodbye. She had grown, she had changed, caterpillar to butterfly, candle to sun. 

Julie Molina was bright. She was a shining sun, a star in the sky. She was her own fire, the chemical combustion her power. She was her own match, her own alarm clock. She woke up, and she was brighter than she had ever been.

[frizz22]

Prompt: what if there was a time Sabrina died (maybe when she was quite young?) and the aunties had to use the Cain pit to resurrect her?

It’s been a hot minute... okay, lots and lots of minutes, but I’m back and working on my one shots! 😜 hope you enjoy! Read on ao3

It was Sabrina’s second Solstice; her first without her parents. Not that the girl was aware, the sweet thing too young to know the difference.

Still, she and Hilda made an effort to keep the traditions the little family started the year before; roasted chestnuts, Ambrose reading aloud from The Christmas Carol—which had been done at Diana’s insistence… not that Zelda minded after the ghosts appeared.

After those traditions were observed though, there wasn’t much else to do or that they wanted to do. Neither she nor Hilda were in the mood for a boisterous holiday when they were experiencing their grief anew.

Firsts were always hard.

Thankfully, Ambrose seemed to be enjoying himself. He’d practically run from the room after they’d given him a new chemistry set for the holiday. And based on the sounds emanating from the attic it seemed their nephew was experimenting with how to blend the mortal science with magic.

A particularly loud bang had them jumping, first because of the noise and second because somehow the resulting combination snuffed out all the lights.

Grumbling good naturedly, Zelda made for the fuse box—which would likely see more use in the near future—while Hilda waved a hand to light some of the candles around the kitchen.

“Ambrose, love,” Hilda called as she picked up a candle and moved towards the stairs to check on their nephew. Just as Zelda flipped the switches and restored the electricity, though, Hilda shouted. “Zelda!”

Alarmed by her sister’s tone, Zelda rushed back through the house and found Hilda in the parlor, pointing to the fireplace.

The Yule log was out.

“Quickly!” Zelda exclaimed, rounding the armchairs and beginning the enchantment; Hilda joining her seconds later to add her strength.

Once the fire was relit, Hilda worried her lower lip. “Do you think anything got through? It was only out a minute.”

Frowning, Zelda shook her head. “With how close spirits roam to this realm during Solstice, a minute might be all they needed. Go get Ambrose, no more experimenting tonight. I’ll get Sabrina and check the house for malevolent presences.”

Her girl tucked firmly on her hip and the crook of her arm, Zelda moved through the house, tool in hand, praying to Satan it wouldn’t stop spinning.

It did.

Zelda squeezed her eyes shut and carefully backed out of the nursery where the device indicated the spirits were. She shut the door softly behind her though she knew it wouldn’t make a difference to the non-corporeal beings now haunting their house.

Hurrying back down the stairs, Zelda found the rest of her family huddled around the Yule log, making sure it remained lit.

“Auntie, I am a so sorry,” Ambrose began, rubbing the back of his neck ruefully. “I have no idea how I managed to extinguish all light, but I certainly didn’t intend—"

She cupped his cheek and managed a weak smile. “I know, sweetheart, you wouldn’t have risked the spell of you’d known.” Ambrose exhaled in relief and covered her hand with his and pressed his cheek into her palm.

“Did, did you find anything?” Hilda murmured, coming up behind Ambrose and wrapping a protective arm around him.

With a grim nod, Zelda’s eyes lifted to the ceiling where they could hear the beginnings of the spirits moving around. “In the nursery. I don’t know what, yet, but we do have spirits.” She switched Sabrina to her other hip as the sounds above continued.

Brow furrowing, Ambrose inclined his head, listening hard. “Are, are they playing with Sabrina’s toys?” He asked, eyes drifting upwards once more.

At the suggestion, all three of them fell silent and waited. Sure enough, the bells attached to the mobile hanging above Sabrina’s crib tinkled and a musical tune from another toy broke the quiet.

Sighing slowly, Zelda turned to Hilda and her sister nodded. “The Yule lads.” They stated in tandem.

“Yule lads?” Ambrose repeated, tucking his hands under his arms. “Wait, they’re, they’re poltergeists are they not? A simple banishing spell should do the trick.”

Zelda shook her head. “Poltergeists of a sort,” she corrected, wincing as something crashed to the floor above them. “They listen to no one but their,” her mouth twisted, “their ‘mother’.”

A grimace pulling her features, Hilda turned towards the kitchen. “I’ll get the offering ready.” She muttered, clearly unhappy about giving up even some of the food she’d prepared.

Her nephew frowned. “Offering? Who do the Yule lads listen to?”

Surprised there was something Ambrose didn’t know, Zelda bounced slightly to keep Sabrina pacified. “Gryla, a powerful hedge witch who is centuries older than Hilda and me. She,” Zelda shook her head in disgust, clutched Sabrina closer and then went on to explain who Gryla was; her horrendous act of eating her child, the betrayal she felt when the other witch broke the pact. And how, for the past thousand years, Gryla attempted to replace her lost child by taking others; specifically, orphans or those who weren’t with their biological family.

Blanching, Ambrose covered his mouth. “She, she ate—"

“Yes.” Zelda cut in, not wanting to dwell on Gryla’s grisly history. “And she replaces that child by taking others and turning them into spirits. Spirits that only listen to her. Which is why,” she moved to the kitchen to see how Hilda was coming along, “we must summon Gryla. So, she can collect her Yule lads before they do too much damage.”

A series of loud clatters sounded from upstairs followed by another loud crash of what sounded like one of the dressers in their bedrooms being knocked over.

Setting out another plate of cookies, Hilda huffed. “And to appease her, for the audacity of summoning her, we make an offering.” She gestured to the large amount of food spread out on the table with a scowl.

Ambrose spread his hands out, at a loss and still processing this newest piece of witching history. “How can I help?” He finally managed.

Carefully placing Sabrina in her highchair, with an extra protection spell, Zelda cupped Ambrose’s chin. “You, my dear felon, can hide.”

Confused, and not listening, Ambrose grabbed a plate and carried to the table. “Why would I hide? I came help.”

She shared a quick look with Hilda and then blurted it out. “Gryla was abandoned by her husband and she doesn’t like men.” Though if her spouse ate their only child Zelda knew for a fact she’d have abandoned them as well—if not killed them. Of course, Gryla didn’t see it that way.

Poorly suppressing a smile, Hilda added on. “She does like eating them.”

Appalled, Ambrose swallowed hard. “Oh,” he murmured faintly, setting the plate in his hands down with deliberate ease. “I suppose the basement or my room would be sufficient?”

Unable to help herself, Zelda chuckled softly at his reaction. “Yes, either will do. Though the basement may be safer, the lads seem to still be wreaking havoc upstairs.” The sound of breaking glass confirmed her thinking. “Make sure to cast silencing spells on the room, so we can’t hear you, but you can hear us.”

“Of course, Auntie, I might just go prepare now, why wait until she’s almost here?” With a slightly grey tinge to his skin, Ambrose scurried off.

Turning back to Hilda, Zelda arched a brow. “Are we ready?”

With a begrudging nod, Hilda handed Sabrina part of a cookie to keep her occupied, and then joined her hand with Zelda’s to summon Gryla.

~~~~

The witch arrived with a howl of winter wind that made the windows shudder in their frames.

She curtly knocked on the door, a smug smile on her face when it swung open for her. “Have you found my Yule lads?” She remarked, arching a knowing brow as more bangs sounded from above when she entered.

“They’ve made themselves quite at home,” Zelda noted dryly, shutting the door behind the witch.

Stepping forward, Hilda swept her hand to encompass their offering. “We’ve laid out some lovely meat pies, cookies, pastries, roasted—"

Sharply holding up a hand, Gryla shifted her attention and Hilda petered off, unsure. “This child is not yours.” She breathed, eyeing Sabrina where she was happily munching on the cookie Hilda gave her.

Baffled, Zelda blinked. “Yes she is.”

A malicious smile spreading on her lips, Gryla crooked her head. “She’s not your blood. I smell it.”

The two of them moved instinctively to stand behind Sabrina, Hilda gripping the back of Sabrina’s seat before answering. “Not directly no, but she’s our niece. We are her guardians.”

Power suddenly built up around Gryla and the Yule lads abruptly appeared in the kitchen with them, knives whirling through the air forcing Zelda and Hilda to deflect them.

“Stop this!” Zelda bellowed, a blast of energy emanating from her and sending the knives flying to embed themselves in the walls. “Sabrina is our girl and you won’t touch her.”

If anything, this seemed to motivate Gryla further, a cackle escaped her as she joined the fight along with her Yule lads, eyes bright with cruel intent.

Magic thickly filled the air as she and Hilda fought ferociously to try and keep Gryla at bay; all while dodging whatever lethal missiles the Yule lads launched in their direction. A flicker of relief went through Zelda when she felt Hilda seal the basement door to prevent Ambrose from joining them; Hell knew what Gryla would do to him.

And though the strain she felt from the fight made it seem as though hours had passed; Zelda knew only minutes had gone by. Despite this, sweat dripped down Zelda’s brow as she held a shield spell in place against Gryla’s onslaught, gritting her teeth at the effort. Hilda breathed heavily behind her, the burden of fighting invisible and numerous spirits surrounding them also taking its toll.

As if sensing her growing fatigue, Gryla increased the intensity of her spell; the effect of which physically slid Zelda’s feet back several inches across the floor. Laughing, the witch dropped the spell and then launched another at Zelda’s shield, making her stagger back at the impact; her spell held, barely.

It was then Zelda realized Gryla was toying with them.

She was centuries older and far more powerful. The hedge witch was enjoying her game, the fight; but dueling with them wasn’t even a challenge for her. Their desperate effort was a lost cause.

Despite this horrible realization, despite the fact that it was futile, and Hilda likely had discovered this as well, they kept fighting.

What else could they do?

Give up? Let Gryla take Sabrina and then search the house to take what she pleased as payment for resisting her? Ultimately leading the witch to Ambrose, who she’d kill out of hand?

No.

Zelda knew neither she nor Hilda would ever let anything happen to the kids. Never. With one last frantic attempt, Zelda dropped her shield completely, concentrated her remaining energy into a lethal blow and flung it at Gryla.

The witch was thrown back over the kitchen counter with a sickening crunch and, for a moment, Zelda dared to hope. Until magic crackled in the air above where Gryla had disappeared and then shot across the room to take Zelda in the chest.

Eyes going wide in pain and panic, Zelda clutched at her chest and tried to breathe; without success.

“Zelds!” Hilda shouted, loosing a billowing cloud of fire into the air to deter the Yule lads before dropping next to her. “Easy, just let me...” Muttering a Latin phrase, Hilda countered the spell.

Air suddenly flooded Zelda’s lungs and she gasped, eyes watering. Before either of them could recover further, Gryla was looming from behind the counter and firing spells with such speed and force they couldn’t possibly block them all.

Crashes and small explosions filled the room, joining Sabrina’s shrieks which had been going since the fight began.

Then, suddenly.... The screeches fell silent.

Bruised and bloody, Zelda and Hilda whipped around to find Sabrina’s small form slumped to the side.

Not missing the lack of noise from Sabrina either, Gryla slowed her attack and then stopped altogether. She harrumphed when she saw the result of her reckless casting. “Well, either with me or dead, at least she’s not where she doesn’t belong. With you.” With an arched brow and a self-righteous smile, Gryla whistled and turned away, her lads following, scavenging the fallen food as they went.

A raw, primal roar ripped itself from Zelda’s throat and she staggered upright and after the witch. Snorting in amusement, Gryla gave her an assessing look and then teleported away; leaving Zelda to crash into the wall behind where Gryla had been standing.

Sobs wrenched themselves from her and wracked her body as Zelda slid to the floor, barely able to breathe.

Hilda painfully leveraged herself off the floor as well and carefully extracted Sabrina from the damaged highchair to cradle the inert little girl against her chest. Pale as a ghost and utterly silent in shock, Hilda turned to Zelda, mouth working uselessly.

Another howl emanated from Zelda as Ambrose barreled into the room; Hilda’s spell containing him having dissipated in her grief.

“Aunties! What—” He stumbled on the sight that greeted him in the kitchen; the room a crater of destruction and grief. When Hilda curled herself around Sabrina, a wounded wail warbling out of her at least, Ambrose strode forward; eyes focused and fierce.

When he snatched Sabrina from Hilda, Zelda almost hexed him. For being so callous, for…. It was then Zelda realized that her nephew was sprinting out to the garden.

The Cain Pit.

Gasping at the realization, Zelda lurched outside as well, ignoring the pain ricocheting through her; Hilda whimpering as she followed. Hell bless their nephew, their brilliant, beautiful, strong nephew.

By the time they caught up, Ambrose had already covered Sabrina in the shallowest layer of dirt possible and still have it count as buried. He likely dared not place her deeper, the girl certainly not old enough to dig her way out once she woke.

She and Hilda dropped onto their knees beside him; huddling together in the snow as they waited for their girl to return.

At some point Ambrose started to heal them, his hands stiff with the cold. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, casting a spell to start a small fire to keep them warm. “I’m sorry, I am so, so very sorry, Aunties, I—” falling silent, Ambrose continued to heal them. “I’m sorry.” He finished, so softly Zelda almost didn’t hear him the last time.

After yet another apology fell from his lips, Zelda turned to him and smiled tremulously. “Your quick thinking is going to save your cousin, sweetheart, don’t apologize. And if your Aunt Hilda or I had eventually gotten our shit together and thought to use the Pit, we’d have either bled out from our injuries or frozen to death without you.”

“It wasn’t quick thinking.”

Perplexed, Hilda hummed and tried to take Ambrose’s hand, but he backed away from them both. “Darling—"

“It wasn’t quick thinking,” he repeated wretchedly. “All I could do while I was stuck in the basement, listening to you fight for your lives against Gryla and her lads, was think of what I’d see when I finally got out.” Spearing his hands through his hair, Ambrose shook his head. “I figured the Pit would see some use, I just never considered that it would be Sab-, Sabrina we put inside. And,” his voice cracked, “it’s my fault they were here in the first place. My fault she was hurt. That you were hurt.”

They both exhaled in realization and converged on Ambrose, engulfing him in their embraces and murmuring reassurances; for it certainly wasn’t his fault.

Before Zelda could be sure their words had truly sunk in, though, a thin cry sounded from the Pit. “Sabrina!” She gasped, hurriedly brushing the soil off her girl and wrapping her in her arms. “My darling, my sweet girl.” Tears flowed down Zelda’s cheeks as she shifted to let Hilda and Ambrose check on Sabrina as well.

Touching Zelda’s arm, Hilda stood. “Come, let’s get the dear inside. She needs a warm bath and a bottle.”

Their normal bedtime routine took much longer than usual. Though Sabrina seemed almost entirely unaffected by the night’s events, she and Hilda couldn’t seem to put the girl down. When they finally did lay Sabrina down in her crib, neither of them moved from its side.

“I don’t understand,” Zelda murmured, breaking the silence at last as she reached down and fixed the blanket Sabrina partially kicked off. “Gryla’s abilities allow her to sense when a child is not with family which is why she feels empowered to claim them as her own. Sabrina is our blood niece, easily traceable to the Spellman line through Edward... what caused her to say such things? To attack?”

Hilda didn’t quite meet her eye, hands twitching on the crib railing. “Maybe she’s losing her touch in her old age. She’s nearly a thousand years old, after all.”

Scoffing, Zelda conjured chairs for the two of them; full well knowing neither of them would be willing to leave Sabrina’s side that night. “She must be, who else would be Sabrina’s parents? Her family?”

Making a noncommittal sound, Hilda sank into the chair next to Zelda and they started their vigil.

[zi-i-think]

16 | Restless

Pairing: Zuko x Ama (OC)

Word Count: 5500+

Rating: SFW

Masterlist link

.☽☼☾.

(A/N) Okay so usually I wouldn't post about this because it's so mild, but there's light lemon(?) I don't what it's called but it's kinda racy. This is the only time I'll be addressing something so light because I've only recently added in the book description that this book is rated M.

Happy reading!

.☽☼☾.

~Zuko ☼ ~

         “I love you.” Her raspy voice trembled to tell me. She looked up at me with a blank expression. I yelled her name for her to hold on. But the light in her eyes disappeared and then her body went completely limp in my arms. Her head which was previously looking up at me weakly felt heavier on my chest. Every muscle in my body froze. It felt like I couldn't even breath for a split second.

         “Ama?” My voice was questioning and quiet. I was in disbelief. She couldn’t be gone. Not like that. Ama was too strong, too stubborn to let herself die like that. But each passing moment where she didn’t move or where I didn’t hear her breathing, it just confirmed my fear more and more.

         I trembled while I moved her body from its upright position to just barely tilt her backward. Her face. It was too pale, too lifeless. Her blue eyes didn’t sparkle and her cheeks didn't have their rosy color. But I still didn’t, I couldn’t, believe she was gone. “Ama!” I shouted this time in desperation.

         Tears started to stream down my face. There was no fight to hold them back. “You- you can’t go yet.” I sobbed. I turned my head towards the fight my friends were still engaged in. “Katara!” I screamed. She was the only one who could heal her. Bring her back to me.

         Moments later the sound of snow crunched under someone’s feet was heard until Katara slid up on the other side of her sister. She gasped loudly and covered her mouth with her palm, seeing Ama so limp in her bloodied dress. The dark red clashed with the purple in a horrific way. Katara reached for Ama’s wrist, using two fingers to find a pulse. And when she wasn’t satisfied with the lack of movement, she checked in the spot just under her jaw.

         With tears already dropping from her eyes, Katara shook her head. Bowing her head to avoid seeing her dead sister. “No!” I refused. “Katara there has to be something you can do. Just try, please.” My voice was very clearly cracking while I sobbed.

         “There’s nothing I can do, Zuko. She’s dead.” Katara cried. Her sentenced came out in a breathy whimper.

         My chest tightened even more and another sob ripped out of me. “Please. She can’t be gone. We have to try!” I begged. I refused to let it sink in fully. Even if there were a slim chance she was still alive, we couldn’t just give up on her. I’d never do that.

         Katara looked up from the snow, seeing my broken expression. Without a word, she whipped the tears from her face and shifted to sit on her knees. Katara first ripped the hole in Ama’s dress even larger, exposing the ugly stab wound. Bending some water she brought it to Ama’s injury, letting it sink through to heal her. The liquid glowed a bright blue as it worked it's magic. Slowly but surely, the wound was healed. Leaving behind a pink scar.

         Letting her hands momentarily hover over Ama, Katara held her breath. We both stared at her, waiting for a sign, anything to let us know that she was still alive. But her entire being was still… dead. Katara’s hand shook as she reached towards her sister’s face, closing her departed eyes which were staring up at the starry sky. She heavily sat onto the ground, burying her face in her hands to bawl.

          I just sat there in despair. Breathing heavily while I stared at her. I didn’t want to believe it, but she was gone. I’d never get the chance to heat her tea after she’s neglected it for too long. I’d never get to kiss her lips or tell her how lovely she looks in purple, or in any color for that matter. All those moments just slipped through my fingers.

         I let my head fall, shutting my eyes as the tears dripped down.

         “I-” A third person spoke with hesitation, not being able to get a word in. My eyes snapped open and with a sullen look, I turned my head to Azula. I’d completely forgotten that my sister had been laying in the snow this entire time with her awestricken expression. She quickly changed to an impassive one, masking her feelings. “Maybe there’s something I can do.” She muttered to herself with a contemplative look.

         Azula began to drag herself towards us. But Katara jumped protectively between Azula and her sister. “Don’t you dare touch her.” She hissed. I’ve never seen Katara say something so darkly, so venomously, and mean it.

         “She can’t get more dead.” Azula deadpanned with a light scoff. But Katara wasn’t moving. She continued to glare daggers at my sister. “She spared my life, now let me try to save her,” Azula said quietly like she was ashamed to show any sympathy or emotions. Katara turned her head to look at me, asking without speaking whether we should let Azula try whatever it was she had in mind. I didn’t see many options. Even the Avatar couldn’t bring back the dead. If Azula could really save her… “Well, we don’t have all night,” Azula grumbled quickly.

         “Alright,” I responded with a snap. Katara scurried to the side, letting Azula sit on her knees over Ama. Not one ounce of her trusted Azula, but she trusted me enough to even give in to my sister's ideas

         “Lay her down,” Azula ordered me. Typically, I wouldn’t let someone tell me, the Fire Lord, what to do, especially with a tone like that. But that didn’t matter. Azula positioned her hands over Ama’s chest, generating electricity while Katara and I looked curiously. Suddenly, the electricity she generated zapped Ama’s chest.

         Katara and I flinched back. “What the hell was that?!” Katara shouted in disgust, ready to engage in another fight.

         “I’m restarting her heart, give me a minute,” Azula grumbled her answer, generating more lightning in her hand.

         Katara turned to me with a grimace. “Zuko, are we just going to let her shoot electricity at my sister?”

         I wasn’t sure how to answer. Katara was only looking out for Ama, she’d do anything for the people she cared about. But this could work. “Do it again,” I told Azula, ignoring the betrayed look Katara sent me. Azula didn’t waste another second to zap the waterbender again. Her body lightly jolted up at the sudden shock. Still, there was no sign that she was alive. “Again.” Azula generated more lighting and shocked her.

         The moment the electricity hit her, Ama sucked in a thin, quick breath through her nose, followed by multiple other deep inhales to steady her breathing. Katara gasped and placed her hand over her chest in relief. I let out the breath I’ve been holding and lifted her unconscious, but alive, body off the ground, cradling her in my arms. I looked at Azula and her relieved look. “Thank you,” I whispered genuinely.

         Who knew what happened between Ama and Azula. Whatever it was, it brought out a side to Azula that I hadn’t seen since we were kids, before all of the manipulation and the hate was instilled into us. Believe it or not, Azula and I didn’t always have a bad relationship. We would chase each other playfully in the gardens and mom would read to us. I missed it, in a sense.

         Still, I didn’t trust her. She may have something else up her sleeve. But she saved Ama. That was enough to give me some hope that maybe one day I’d have my sister back.

         Azula sucking in a short breath at my thanks and grimaced at the sentiment. “Well don't get all mushy about it,” she rolled her eyes. “Honestly Zuzu, hanging around these people has made you far too soft.”

         Okay, maybe it’ll take some time.

.☽☼☾.

         The atmosphere was a mixture of somber, relieved, angry, and plenty of other things. Katara only let a few people in Ama’s room at a time in case she woke up. No one wants to wake up after almost dying to have 10 pairs of eyes staring right at you. It’d probably overwhelm her. Katara said she didn’t know when she’d wake up, but it’d happen eventually.

         There were only two seats against the wall facing the bed. Sokka preferred to stay on his feet, leaning on the wall by the bed as he carved something into a piece of wood. Something both he and Ama would do if they had the tools and were anxious. I kept to one of the seats. Lighting and extinguishing a small flame in the palm of my hand in a continuous loop. “Patiently” waking for the unconscious girl to awake.

         There were thousands of other things I should be doing. Preparing to head back to the Fire Nation, signing important documents, making sure that Azula wasn’t causing any problems. But I wanted to be here next to her when she wakes up.

         Sokka nor I talked, keeping the quiet of the room. Just a few short words when we both came in. Now the only noise came from the flame and the scrapes of Sokka’s knife on the wood. They were both like ticking clocks. But as annoying as they were, the on and off of the flame kept me from losing my mind. And I’m sure it went the same for Sokka.

         After lightly blowing some of the wood shavings off the unfinished carving, Sokka gave up and stuck the knife into its small sheath before setting it and the carving on the bedside table. “So what do you think happened out there?” He wondered while he stared at his sister. “What did she say that got Azula to suddenly want to save her life?”

         My hand closed into a fist, completely having the flame snuffed out. “Not sure. Even if I did talk to Azula about it, I doubt she’d confide in me.” I looked over at Ama’s peaceful figure. “We’ll just have to wait till she’s awake and ready to talk about it.”

         “She’s taking too long.” Sokka huffed. He rested his hands on his knees and leaned over her. “Hey, sis. Wakey Wakey. It’s been over twenty-four hours.” His coaxing with a singsong voice was unsurprisingly met with no response, making Sokka frown. “If you wake up I’ll bake you some cookies.”

         “Sokka, that’s not going to work,” I grumbled in annoyance and crossed my arms.

         “Says who?” He countered and then turned around with a hopeful grin. “I know! Zuko kiss her!”

         “What?” I responded with wide, surprised eyes and flinched back. “Why would you suggest that?” Did he know something about that Ama and I were planning to get back together? Maybe she told him something about it and didn’t mention it to me? Or maybe he was just taunting me for a reaction?

         Sokka chuckled at my immediate response and casually sat down into the chair next to me. “When we were little my mom used to tell this fairytale story about a princess who falls unconscious from some spell. The only way to wake up was from true love’s kiss and one day her prince came and woke her up. It used to be Ama’s favorite story.”

         I smiled softly at that. It was always a joy to hear about what Ama enjoyed as a kid. She loved to tell me tons of stories, and boy were there hundreds of them. In her own words “growing up in a small, boring village just called for me to get into some trouble.” But she never mentioned anything about this story. I made a mental note to ask for a more in-depth version of it later.

         “She’s going to be traumatized after this,” Sokka said softly, a dismal look in his eye. “Dying and then coming back to life, it’s… a scary thought. And she actually lived it.” Sokka turned to give me an asking look. “She’s going to need you, Zuko.”

         My jaw dropped slightly at what he said. Okay, he definately knows something. “How…?”

         Sokka shook his head in amusement. “I saw it the first day you got here. That look you gave her. It was a short glance, but it was the same look I give Suki after the weeks or even months we’re apart. And it just got more obvious as time went on. Most of the others started to take notice while you guys continuously glanced at each other at dinner. Plus there was that one time you two were cuddling on the couch.”

         “We weren’t cuddling....” I flushed just remembering the morning I woke up on the large couch with Ama. How she snuggled closer to me in her slumber. It was probably the best sleep I’ve had in a long time. But the embarrassing part came the morning after when we both woke up by loud whispers and giggles.

         Sokka laughed loudly, slapping my shoulder firmly and keeping his hand there. “Zuko, blushing? That’s not something you see every day.” I lightly clenched my jaw and rolled my eyes as Sokka teased me. “In all seriousness though,” He started while his laughter died down to just a mild smile. “You two care about each other deeply. And while I will never forget that you broke her heart six years ago, I approve of your relationship.”

         “Thanks, Sokka.” I gave him an appreciative smile. Reciprocating his action, I placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “That means a lot.”

         “Just promise me you won’t hurt her again. Especially not now.” Both our heads turned to the bed, the mood of the room got a lot bleaker. I couldn’t help but admire her. She looked stunning with the midday sunlight shining on her through the window, outlining her soft facial features. And her brown hair laid beside her head like silk. I could admire her all day. If only the circumstances were different.

         I sighed heavily, a thin smile appearing on my lips. “You have my word, Sokka,” I promised him.

         Suddenly the room door opened, grabbing Sokka’s and I’s attention. Katara stepped in with Aang and closed the door once they entered. “Any change?” She asked, anxiously walking to the bed.

         “No,” Sokka responded with a frown. But he kept his voice light and tried to have a cheerful tone so that Katara wouldn’t worry more than she already was.

         The room was silent again while Katara checked her sister’s pulse in her neck, then touching her forehead with the back of her hand. Making sure that everything was normal. “All good.” She sighed in relief to herself. Katara took a seat on the bed while she kept an eye on Ama.

         “Any signs that she might wake up soon?” I wondered, furrowing my eyebrows in a way that was curious and uneasy.

         Katara shook her head “no” as she brushed through her sister’s hair. “Just give her time. She’ll come around.” Even though Katara answered the question, I could tell that it was said absentmindedly. Her full attention was on her sister in concern. Not that I could blame her her. A part of me wondered if she accused herself for getting there too late and was now wondering what may have happened if Azula didn’t offer to help. It wasn’t my place to ask. Besides. Her husband was always better at talking to her and calming her down.

         Aang stepped beside Katara, rubbing her back in a slow circle. “Zuko, maybe we should leave the siblings alone for a bit.” He suggested quietly. I nodded in understanding and stood from my seat, following Aang out of the room. Neither of us said a word until Aang shut the door behind him and let out a tense sigh.

         “Are you doing alright?” I wondered. The two of us started to walk down the blue-accented hall slowly and heavily.

         Aang nodded but kept his eyes ahead of him. “Katara’s just been really worried. We agreed to push back the honeymoon until Ama’s better.”

         “I’m sorry. This never should have happened.” I responded disappointedly in myself. I couldn’t help but feel guilty for everything that happened. I didn’t know that all along, I was playing into Azula’s trap to get to Ama. I thought I was being smart for keeping an eye on Suh, but I was so obviously wrong.

         Aang turned her head to raise his brow at me. “It’s not your fault Zuko. No one knew what to expect. If anything, it’s Azula’s fault.” Couldn’t argue with him there. “Have you figured out what to do with her yet?”

         And there was the question everyone repetitively asked. Everyone else had already stated firmly that they thought she should serve life in prison. But ultimately it was up to me. And I wasn’t sure what to do. I wanted so badly to believe that she could change. And I had hope that she had that potential. After saving Ama’s life, she didn’t fight against being restrained and put in a jail cell. Not one snarky comment was made while we were questioning her.

         There was only one more opinion that I needed when it came to Azula’s fate. Ama’s. I needed to know what happened before Suh stabbed her. But Ama was also incredibly effected by Azula’s actions. She needed justice for it all. In my mind, she should have the greatest say.

         “Not yet,” I told Aang straight-faced.

         Aang blandly rolled his eyes at my simple answer but knew better than to push it. “Anyways,” He dragged the word. “How are you holding up?”

         I almost stumbled at the question. That was something no one has asked me yet. And quite frankly, I haven’t even asked myself that question. It wasn’t exactly easy to answer. I didn’t like to dwell on my feelings. And I definitely didn’t want to dwell on these. Because every time I started to think about it, my mind would take me back to the other night. Seeing her eyes dull and feeling her soul leave her body. I didn’t want to think about it.

         Usually, I’d focus my time and energy on something else. But I knew I wouldn’t be able to concentrate on anything. My thoughts kept drifting to her and wondering when I’d be able to actually see her again. And when I was in the room next to her, it grounded me. I didn’t want to think about how I felt.

         I didn’t answer Aang. But he must have noticed my hand clench into a fist and my face harden. “Zuko, if you aren’t going to talk to me about it, please talk to someone. Anyone. It’s not healthy to keep everything to yourself.”

         “Yeah, okay,” I mumbled. But I didn’t mean it. I didn't need to talk. I needed to redirect my focus for the time being. “I have things to do. I’ll see you at dinner.” My pace quickened leaving Aang to walk by himself. I heard his frustrated sigh, but he made no efforts to follow me or persuade me to talk.

.☽☼☾.

         Thick, hot flames erupted from my fists. I violently punched the air before stepping forward with my other foot, bursting flames from my other fist. Despite the freezing temperatures, the fire and my rapid movements made me sweat. My shoulders ached and my hips started to feel tightened. I’d lost track of the hours I’ve been out here.

         I tried doing official Fire Lord business. But I was so distracted with other thoughts I wouldn’t even process the words I was reading. I eventually just gave up and tried to sleep, but that only made things worse. I’d close my eyes, and my dreams took me back to the other night. Holding her in my arms then losing her. That brought me out here. Vehemently spewing fire in every direction in the dead of night.

         A strong, cold wind blew through the air, hitting my back. I could feel it through the two layers of clothing. As a firebender, I don’t usually get cold. But the freezing air sent a shiver up my spine. My fire extinguished quickly and my arms fell to my side. My body was too tired, but my mind was restless. There was only one thing that could possibly calm me.

         I rushed back into the palace, eager to get out of the cold. And soon enough, I found myself in Ama’s dimly lit room. The windows were closed, hiding the moon. But there were only two candles placed on her bedside, being the only lighting in the room. She was still asleep. Her arms rested outside of the blanket, laying on her stomach. She still looked so unnatural laying like that.

         I grabbed one of the chairs by the top, moving it to sit directly next to the bed before I took a seat in it. Letting out a deep sigh, I intertwined my hands together. “I don’t know if you can hear me or not. But I just wanted to talk for a minute.” I started with my gaze was fixed on my hands. “I know Uncle Iroh would probably hear me out and give his ever so wise advice, but I don’t need advice, I just need… I need to talk it out. I guess.”

         “I miss you, Ama. A lot. These past 6 years have been so dreadful without you.” I scoffed at myself and pinched the bridge of my nose as I shut my eyes. “That probably sounds super dramatic.” Damn it, Zuko. Just get it off your chest. Who cares if it’s dramatic? “It felt like I’d just gotten you back and then you were gone. I watched you die and it tore my heart apart. I felt so empty.”

         I cleared my throat just as the quiet tears pooling at my eyes fell down my cheek. “I would have given anything to take your place. I don’t know what I would’ve done if Azula didn’t do what she did. But I still keep seeing you. Dead. Every time I close my eyes. I can’t even sleep.” I looked over at her, seeing her still sleeping figure. I felt more peaceful just seeing her there. Safe. “I need to remind myself that you're okay. Hence why I’m here.”

         “I can't help but blame myself for what happened. Aang and Katara say that it’s not my fault for their wedding being interrupted like that. And Uncle Iroh has told me that none of this is my fault. But I feel the most guilt just thinking about what I could have done to stop Suh. I should’ve kept a closer eye on her.”

         I brought my hand up to her face, just barely stroking her cheek with my thumb. “I’m just glad you’re okay. And I'm going to be here for you. No matter what you need.” I stood up from the seat and gently leaned over her. “Because I love you, too,” I whispered, pressing a delicate kiss on her forehead.

         I was still hovering over her when I pulled away. My hand softly cupping her face. My eyes trailed to her lips as I thought back to what Sokka said. About the story. I doubted that true love’s kiss was a real thing. Just a fairy tale. But what if it was? Would she wake up? Or what if I wasn’t her true love? None of it was real anyway, what did it matter? Still. My greed took over. And I found myself leaning down and placing a chaste kiss on her soft lips.

        Disconnecting my lips from hers, I pulled away just slightly and opened my eyes. I marveled at her for another moment. Wishing that she’d wake up soon. And while I was gazing at her, I could’ve sworn I saw her lips twitch into a smile. I thought it was just my imagination. Until her eyes fluttered open. Her blue eyes immediately met mine and she smiled instantly. All while I probably looked like an awestricken fool; leaning over her with my jaw dropped and my eyes wide.

         "Well, that's one way to wake up." She giggled. Her hand went up to stroke the side of my face.

         It took a moment for me to react with a wide smile. “You’re awake.” I sighed gratefully. She’s here. She’s smiling. She's healthy.

         “And you’re sweaty.” She huffed a laugh as she noticed the thin layer of sweat that still stuck to my forehead.

         I shook my head at how that was completely unimportance, yet she still took notice in the small details. “I was just training outside for a bit.”

         Her brows furrowed together and her head turned to look out the window but found them closed. “Sprits, what time is it?” She wondered as she tried to sit up on the bed, breathing in sharply in pain at the sudden movement.

         “Hey, hey. Careful.” I scolded her softly. Immediately moving the pillows behind her and helping her lean back into them comfortably. “It’s like midnight. Something like that.” I answered her question.

         “Spirits, Zuko. What are you doing up training? It’s freezing out.” She worried as she leaned into the pillows slowly.

         I didn’t respond. I could come to the conclusion that she didn’t hear my little rant while she was unconscious. I didn’t know whether I should feel relieved or not. But I pushed it all aside and shook my head at her question. “That doesn’t matter. What does is that you’re awake and you’re okay.” I continued to smile, cupping both of her cheeks again and grinning happily. But then that smile faded at a realization. “Ama, do you know that you-”

         “Died?” She finished flatly. “Yeah, Zuko.” Her expression was generally unreadable. She gave me a flat smile and her eyes were indifferent.

         I didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable with the subject, but if she was hurting and didn’t want to tell me I’d want to let her know that she could talk to me. “And how are you feeling?” I wondered, sitting next to her on the bed and leaning into the pillows.

         Ama shrugged her shoulders quickly and lightly. Her left hand slid into my right one, intertwining her fingers in mine. “I feel fine. My whole body feels sore, though.” She grumbled, leaning her head back into the pillows.

         “Other than that?” I pressed. The last thing I wanted was for Ama to feel pain. She’d already been through so much. And in a few hours or so, the others would immediately start to throw all these arguments and questions in her face about Azula. She shouldn’t have to carry all those burdens by herself.

         Ama turned her head to look at me, giving me a content smile. “Feeling great.” She smiled. But it felt like it was a lie. She died and came back to life. However, knowing Ama, she’d probably bury her feelings in order to keep herself from inconveniencing anyone. Even though she wouldn’t be inconveniencing anyone.

         “Ama, you know you can tell me anything-”

         “Zuko, I’m fine.” She laughed, shaking her head like I was the one exaggerating. I raised an unbelieving brow at her. Her smile fell a bit, but she quickly looked away from me. Instead, she rested her head on my shoulder. “I do have a million questions, though.”

         I sighed, unsatisfied with the fact that she wasn’t confiding in me. She was a strong person, mentally and physically, so maybe she really was fine. I wouldn’t know. Maybe she just hadn't processed it all, yet. I had to give her time. “And I will happily answer them all,” I responded quietly. A yawn leaving my mouth as sleepiness started to overtake me.

         A gorgeous giggle left Ama’s lips. I felt her hand delicately find my jaw turning my head to look at her. Her sparkling eyes met my tired ones. “You should get some sleep.” She whispered.

         “I’d much rather stay here,” I responded just as quietly. Ama opened her mouth to say something but no words came out as a slight blush crept up her face. A low chuckled left my lips at it. Seeing her get flustered always made me feel a bit prideful. With most others, she’d find a quip or answer back confidently. But with me, she’d cower back bashfully. Even if she didn’t like to admit it.

         “Fine.” She huffed with a shrug. She removed her hand from mine to move her body to the other side of the bed. A low grunt sounded from her nose while she did so.

         “Should I get Katara?” I wondered. I knew it was most likely normal to feel sore after that fight and then sleeping in the same position for over a day. Still, I didn’t want her to be in pain. And Katara wouldn’t mind in the slightest to check on her.

         Ama shook her head. “Let her rest.” She told me, rearranging the pillows behind her. “Knowing her, she hasn’t had a lot of sleep.” Her hand pat the spot next to her, telling me to get in bed.

         Now it was my turn to feel a bit flushed. I rubbed the back of my neck nervously and awkwardly. “I’m still kind of sweaty.” I said, not wanting to dirty her sheets. She opened her mouth to comment, but stopped herself. Instead, an amused giggle fell from her lips and she leaned her head into her hand. “What?” I asked, confused as to what she found funny.

         “Nothing, I was about to say something, but I really shouldn’t.” She continued to giggle. I furrowed my eyebrows and tilted my head. Ama saw the pondering look I had on my face before giving in to my question. “When has being sweaty stopped anyone from sleeping in bed.” She softly remarked, throwing using her head back in laughter and running her hand through her hair.

         I was still confused. Wondering what she meant but that. Was she referring to my firebending? No. It didn’t make sense. Sex, Zuko. She’s talking about sweaty people and sex. My mouth immediately went into an “o” shape once I understood. Quickly transforming my expression, I gave her a smirk while climbing into bed. “Well I thought you’d want me to be sweaty for different reasons before sleeping together.” I played into her reference roguishly.

         Despite another blush creeping up, Ama snorted a laugh. “You wish.” She countered, holding her head high. I didn’t quite get into the covers yet, still making my way in to the bed. Ama’s body stiffened a bit, seeing me get close to her on my knees. Her smug smile turned into a desiring one; her lips slightly parted. My hand went under her chin, guiding her a bit closer to me.

         Our lips were inches away until I stopped. Taking the moment to admire how close we were. “I missed you so much.” I whispered.

         Ama placed her hand on the side of my neck, rubbing the spot beside my jaw. “I missed you too.” She reciprocated. Leaning up to get rid of the inch between us, Ama connected our lips again. It started chaste and gentle, but quickly turned more eager and thirstful. The burning sensation in my chest only grew every second that her lips were on mine. Suddenly, I wasn’t tired anymore.

         Greedily, my tough swiped her bottom lip, asking for more permission. Ama quickly granted it. Her hand slid behind my head, tangling her fingers in my hair pulling me closer. My hands found their way to her waist, trailing down to her hips slowly and carefully. Once feeling the curve of her wide hips, I gripped them ever so slightly. But it was enough to get a low, quiet moan from her.

         My lips curved up into a smile in the kiss. Ama’s hands pulled me down into the bed. A light thud sounded when she hit the pillows. Leaving her lips, I started to create a trail of worshiping kisses on her jaw. A content sigh left Ama’s lips and she tilted her head up, allowing me to go further.

         But just as things were getting interesting, there was a knock on the door. I jumped off Ama as she scrambled to sit up. We shared the same surprised and sort of embarrassed look. “Who’s up?” She whispered first, eyeing the door.

         “Not sure.” I responded lowly as I slowly and carefully got off the bed while Ama remained where she was. But we were both preparing mentally for a fight. No one else should be up at this time. Other than the guards of course, but they never had reasons to go into anyone's rooms. And who’d knock if it was known among everyone in the palace that Ama was unconscious? Well, until just now.

         My hand curved around the cold, metal door knob and turned it slowly. When I opened it, I was met with the last person I thought I’d see. “What are you doing here?” They immediately asked.

.☽☼☾.

*DISCLAIMER* None of this is medically correct. I know that electricity doesn't bring a person back to life. I wrote this for the purpose of the fic. I'm an environmental science major, not pre-med or any of that. I don't watch Grey’s Anatomy (What am I? Straight?). I don't know medical stuff. This is a fanfic, please don't take it too seriously. I try to make things as realistic as possible, but then again, bending the elements isn't exactly realistic is it?

I met my own due date! Honestly I didn't know if I'd be able to update on time, but I did! I thought this chapter would only be like 4000 words, and then more happened. I might be writing a short blurb soon and posting it on here soon. So stay tuned!

If you liked the chapter, please consider liking the post or reblogging. I love seeing notifications for my story. Lights my heart up with joy!

Love you all! Hang loose, amigos 🤙🏼

[bluexepher]

Pisces 🤘🏾

[Collaborative metal performance with Doverh on drums, Cesta Embersoot on guitar, and Xepher K’awiil on vocals] 

Cesta strolled up to the stage in heavy black leather boots. ‘IRON LYNXES’ was sewn into the back of her denim battle vest with the face of a roaring lynx below it. Numerous other patches adorned the old vest: ‘ELITE TAUREN CHIEFTAIN’, ‘MY OTHER RIDE IS YOUR MOTHER’, ‘GNOMETALLICA’, ‘BLIGHT BOAR’, SLAYER’, ‘CANNIBAL QUILBOAR’, ‘STAND IN THE FIRE’, ‘ALESTORM’, ‘GRIND GEARS’, ‘BANSHEE WAILERS’, and more!

Cesta hefted up a brutal-looking electric guitar. The body of the instrument curled into vicious, pointed blades on both sides. At her touch, a pair of horns sprouted from the head. Countless half-peeled stickers from other bands dotted the instrument. But one part of the body remained untouched: The signature from Elite Tauren Chieftain’s lead guitarist, Bergrisst.

Doverh takes the stage with bloodshot eyes, with well done banshee under-eye makeup down her cheeks. She wears a simplistic, black marching uniform fit with brown leather armor plates and plenty of belts and spiked chains by her waist. Doverh inspects her simplistic, classic set of rock and roll drums, that were also fit with unique additions like a Xylophone, multiple kick-pedals either for cymbals or her massive kickdrums. On the front of her kickdrums display a nice, well detailed piece of artwork reading “The Blight Stripes” written in red, black, and white.

Coming behind the bassist, guitarist, and drummer, a junoesque woman followed to take her place at the microphone stand. Musical tech was set around them to allow their live performance to mirror the clean studio sound while remaining evocatively raw. A wolfish grin blossomed on those full deep plum lips as her hands wrapped slowly over the microphone. She wore black jeans with a midriff baring top and vibrant combat boots. Her smokey eye makeup complimented that bold color choice. Her intricate white henna sleeve was on display under the lights, striking against deep caramel skin. Midnight blue curls were left free to fall wherever they pleased as she pressed forward.

Behind her, a tiny wyrmtongue in a similar leather battle jacket. ‘VOZ SQUAD’ was sewn into it with a tiny demonic smiley face. He pushed a giant amp up to the stage and jammed the guitar’s jack into it. From there, Cesta began to fiddle with the tuning pegs, occasionally strumming a note. Once done, she awaited the signal. Felfire coalesced between her index and thumb, solidifying into a scorched guitar pick. Blazing green flame trailed the pick as she brought it to the strings. She began to strum gentle, light notes. Despite the monstrous-looking instrument, each note produced a soft sound like tinkling glass. Cesta settled into a riff, continuing to strum as her black-nailed fingertips deftly fretted each note.

Doverh opens with her kick cymbal, quickly following with her lifting her custom, black, red, and white drumsticks to land on both her right and left drums before quickly clashing with the two cymbals above them to break the song out of the gorgeous melody of guitar, and into the darker tone. To be joined by base, she starts playing a simple drum beat, but quickly bounces her left knee, making her kick cymbal clatter from both it’s own kick mechanics and the occasional drumstick applied. It sounds fast, and rather difficult, however, Doverh makes it look anything but.

“Step forward...and meet a new sunrise. A coward..is shivering inside” Xepher sang in a melodic soft tone, her right hand slipping down the stand in hold. “Today I'll... be a friend of mine~. Who swallows suffering with smile” Her low euphonious tone carried the note as hands released the stand to float around her. “I drew a different reality. With unconditional loyalty. Ego hardly can be piqued...'Cause I'm selfless” Hands drawing whimsical shapes as her minor vocal fry sustained that last word. Xepher’s eyes came to close as she swayed to the trance of the instrumentals, body fluid and loose. 

Without warning, the guitar’s sound exploded, aggressive and distorted. The sheer noise blasted Vozraal off of the amp. The warlock’s eyes blazed bright felfire. It crackled around her, wrapping around the fretboard and igniting the strings. Flames blasted out of the instrument’s head. Each note violently roared from the strings as she strummed. Cackling skulls manifested within the green flames, wafting off of the instrument and fading into the air with a fanged smile. Her wyrmtongue took cover for dear life, tiny red hands clasping over the back of his head as if mortar fire was raining down.

Doverh joins in behind the tune of the guitar, matching with heavy kick drums and cymbals to match the beat of the wailing, crackling guitar. Doverh grits her teeth and bangs her head a fair amount as she goes.

“Scale armour blaze!” Working from the diaphragm, Xepher projected her voice through controlled false cord screams. This sound was generated by the opening of the vocal folds to allow enough air to pass through, thus flapping the false folds. “Virgin innocence” Xepher’s motions were sharp and firm, knees bending as she carried the growl. “One being brings life. Another runs for death” She maintained an even volume growl that wasn’t pushed to create the aggressive sound. As Xepher repeated the chorus, her body leaned upwards into the mic as arms shot outwards.  An expressive hand crawled towards the audience as her vowel shapes heightened the growl at “Another runs for death”.

Just as quickly the guitar blared with brutal force, it calmed. Its roaring sound gave way to gentle notes like falling rain. Cesta continued picking at the strings, her flames extinguishing from the fretboard. The horns on her guitar’s head retracted back in until they were only tiny stubs by the tuning pegs. Voz looked up with wary eyes and stood to his feet. As Cesta closed her eyes, the wyrmtongue took a seat by the amp and held a red-scaled arm up. In his hand, an ignited lighter. He slowly waved it, enjoying the brief reprieve.

Doverh transitions out of loud performance just as her other bandmates, however, she plays her first verse, with many more quick notes. It’s rapid, and back to back, keeping the adrenaline rush if not going deeper into one.

“No promises I ever give...Don't rely on me and I won't deceive” Xepher masterfully transitioned back to her clean vocals from that powerful growl. “The beginning or the end you can't tell. When I wave my fin and shake my tail” This verse sung at a higher pitch from the last, hands fluttering upwards. The note of tail wavered as her hips rolled to the melodic instrumentals. “I grew in different normality~  With unblamable morality~ Hooks and nets are there for me, but..” Xepher cooed those words, eyes darting over the audience now. “I’m skittish” A coy smirk curving those lips to display fang-like teeth.  

SYKE. Cesta’s guitar roared with even more force. The sound blasted Voz over the crowd’s heads. The wyrmtongue squealed as he flew through the air like a demonic cannonball. CRASH. Hopefully, he didn’t land in any of the merchant stalls. Unfazed, Cesta continued to strum that vicious instrument. The amp beside her crackled with green flames. Even it grew horns as sound visibly reverberated from it.The warlock stomped a heavy boot onto the amp. It boomed out with a howl, amplifying Xepher’s growls. The machine rumbled like an angry demon hunter Cesta’s boot. She smashed her steel-plated toe into its head. It submitted. For now.

Doverh’s heavy drumming quickly turns from more of the same to a quick succession of hammering on the drums, going into a tiny drum solo before ending it on a single cymbal clash. Then silence on her part, creating an emptiness for the sustained guitar note to be the focus for a moment. Doverh lightly taps out a few cymbal notes as the song calms.

“Scale armour blaze! Virgin innocence” Xepher’s husky voice boomed with immense passion, filling the air with an electric sensation. The mic ripped from the stand as her body leaned backwards in a curve, flowing tresses whipping about. “One being brings life. Another runs for death” The growler’s core strength evident as the vocal distortions bellowed forth. Xepher’s knees bent low as her head thrashed forward to the repeat of the chorus. She was no longer tethered to one spot, body moving with that unbounded energy across the stage. Thick curls thrashed about her face as the mic was pressed close for a fry scream.

Under Cesta’s heel, the amp quieted as the song relaxed once more. The demonic amp fell still, the flames around it snuffing. Voz waddled back toward the stage, scooching through the crowd to join in with his master. The warlock tipped her chin toward the amp under her feet, commanding the demon to maintain it. As Voz nodded in acknowledgment and took his place, Cesta stepped off of the amp. She picked at the strings with closed eyes, enjoying the break as she bobbed her head to Xepher’s vocals.. She’d need her energy for the next part.

“Neptulon’s child shivering inside” Xepher slid down to the ground, curly hair draped about her face like a wild mane. Her head lifted upwards as eyes appeared to close, raw fervor etched across that visage. “Drowns in the liquid gold” Body swaying to one side as a hand snaked out to the crowd. “Cherished his life to the underworld~” An even tone elongated the last word, creating a mellifluous sound. “Meet me flashing when winter cries” A ferocity glowed in Xepher’s eyes as she sensually rose back up. Muscles tensing for the final breakdown. Her body slanting as she rocked back and forth, arms pushing upwards.  

Cesta shot a signaling glance to Voz. The wyrmtongue cranked the amp’s volume up to 20. In a quick flurry of distorted notes, the amp roared to life again. The diabolical machine sprouted mechanical legs and even a tail. Voz piloted the machine like a horrific animatronic. It spewed fire out into the air as Cesta’s guitar ignited with flames. But regardless of the heat, she strummed with pride!

Doverh lays on heavy notes, almost every one heavy and fast, and most certainly joined by a kick cymbal. Doverh wrinkles her face and bangs her head to the maddening beat as the song reaches it’s climax. Doverh bounces both her feet, and makes the whole area shake as every note is joined by a heavy metal kick drum beat and cymbal until their final notes ring. She closes with a calculated flurry of notes alongside the guitar’s closing.

“Pisces swimming through the river. All their life against the stream” Xepher threw her head back in pure fry scream interlaced with overtones. “Searching for a hook to catch on. And see their sun beam~” The jump from distortion to her high mix register was effortless. In that moment, she took the cleans and screams connecting them into a unified thread. “Then suffocate in painful tortures. On cutting tables of callous men. Under a knife of handsome butchers” A crescendo of so many emotions poured from the woman as she jolted up. “Emeralds are ripped away!” Nails dragged beneath her vibrant eye as the false cord scream rose in pitch. Xepher repeated those words like an enraged siren chanting her spell on the sea. The final scream projected through an incredible amount of compression strength. Tendrils of ice crinkled up her pronounced throat muscles till she fell silent.  

The ren’dorei’s hair ignited in a bright green blaze. It floated behind her as if she were in zero gravity, sound booming all around her like artillery fire. Despite the explosive volume, Cesta remained resolute in the face of this heavy metal apocalypse. She ended with a quick flurry of brutal notes, in rhythm with the blasting drums as flames spewed out of her guitar’s head in a flashy conclusion as she flung the guitar around her body.

Drums- @ben-doverh​ , Guitarist- @embersoot​ , Vocals - bluexepher

Performed live on April 1st, 2020 at @menagerieboutique​ @succulent-tart​

[silent--sonata]

dreams can’t hurt you - ineffable husbands

angst: the pain is not ineffable. it is inevitable.

The storm, as ferocious as the first storm ever, cannot douse the flames of Aziraphale’s sword. The feathers on his white wings are darkened by the rain they have absorbed, and the runoff from his wings drips off onto the ground, splattering on the paved roads like blood on snow. His hair is pressed flat against his head in its wetness. His knuckles are white from gripping the hilt of the sword.

Crowley is on the ground, head drooping, resting against a lamppost, the skin on his hands grazed by the rough pavement. His wings are drawn back tightly against his body, and upon a second glance, Aziraphale notes that Crowley is not resting but simply unable to continue moving out of exhaustion.

Aziraphale approaches slowly, bare feet splashing in the puddles in the dips of the road. He drags his sword behind him, and it clatters against the bricks. Crowley stirs, and the usual passion in his eyes has been extinguished. All that is left is fear. There is nowhere left to crawl backwards to.

“Please, angel.” His voice comes out like smoke from a snuffed candle, weak and fading. “Please stop.”

“Stop what?” Aziraphale keeps walking forwards. Crowley sighs, resigned, and says no more. He stops in front of Crowley, and he kneels down. “Crowley, what happened?”

“You happened.” Aziraphale feels himself raising the sword, and his arms move as if commanded by a higher power. The sword is flaming still, and Crowley flinches from the heat and the light.

“No, no, no, no,” Aziraphale pleads, realisation dawning as if he already knows how the story ends, “Crowley, I can’t stop, I can’t, I can’t stop.” He chokes his words out through the tears that spring to his eyes.

The pain is not ineffable. It is inevitable.

Aziraphale fights the downward motion of the sword with every muscle in his arms. He is rooted in place, like he has gazed upon Medusa herself, and he slows the descent of the flaming blade to a grinding halt. He notices that he is shouting from the exertion of the task, and he hears the echo of his tearing voice rebound from the flats around him.

“S’okay,” Crowley says faintly, the brightness of his smile diluted by the rain and his fate, “You can’t help it, can you? You don’t have a choice. Was always meant to be like this, wasn’t it? Good triumphs over evil. God smites sinners.”

Aziraphale shakes his head vigorously. “Crowley, no!” He loses his grip on the wet hilt and feels with horror the vehemence with which his hand plunges it into Crowley’s chest. Aziraphale’s scream dies in his mouth as Crowley shakes, trying to contain the pain. Black blood seeps out from the corners of his mouth and from the stab wound. The sword burns on.

“Doesn’t hurt, angel.” Crowley tries a laugh. “You’re good, y’know that? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Then Crowley is still, eyes open, serpentine smile on his face. Aziraphale’s agency is returned to him, and he cradles Crowley’s body in his arms as the rain continues to pour down. He cries out, asking why there was no-one in all the flats around them who could help, why there was no divine intervention, why it had to end like this.

Aziraphale wakes with a start, and the fresh tears on his face are hot like little rivers of flame. He stumbles his way in the dark, ignoring the books he pushes to the ground on the way to the telephone and dials Crowley’s number, unsteady hands holding the handset.

The dial tone rings thrice. Aziraphale is starting to think that Crowley won’t pick up.

“Angel?” The familiar drawl tips a bucket of relief over Aziraphale, and he has to grip the table to make sure his legs don’t give out under him.

“Oh, Crowley, dear, you’re alright.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Nothing.” The word comes from Aziraphale’s mouth too quickly, and he covers his mouth as if that can take the words back.

“Y’alright there?”

“Absolutely.” Aziraphale hopes that the little tremors in his voice don’t give him away. “Good night, Crowley,” he says as normally as possible, and hangs up in case Crowley tries to continue the conversation. How is he meant to act normally after he has just seen someone he cares about (the love of his life, his mind says, and Aziraphale pushes it away) perish by his hand?

Usually, the Bentley takes about six minutes to get from Crowley’s flat to Aziraphale’s bookshop. Tonight, it takes three. Aziraphale is making doubly sure that the door is locked when he hears the screech of tyres and smells burning rubber. Then, right on cue, there is banging on the door.

“Angel,” Crowley is yelling, “What’s wrong?”

“Everything’s alright, Crowley,” Aziraphale begs, “You can go back.”

The banging stops. “I’ve known you for six thousand years, angel. Think I know when something’s wrong.” Aziraphale hesitates.

“Please don’t come in. You can’t come in.” Can’t be in here with me. I’ll hurt you. I have to be quarantined. I have to be alone.

“Won’t. I’ll just sit here, on your doorstep. M’not going away.” Aziraphale appreciates the gesture. He knows that Crowley could unlock the door with a snap of his fingers. The fact that he doesn’t makes Aziraphale feel a little warmer inside, like he has just had a warm cup of cocoa. It is silent between them, and that is Crowley’s way of saying go on, you can tell me what’s happened, and I’ll be here, listening, for as long as you need me to.

Aziraphale sits down on the ground, his back against the door. He takes a few deep breaths, and the words spill out of him like shooting stars, burning his throat on the way out. The rhythm of his syllables is unsteady, like they too are trying to find their way in the confusion. When his story is complete, Aziraphale waits for Crowley’s response, partly fearful that he has up and left.

“Angel,” Crowley says after what feels like another six thousand years, “You’re the best person I know. Wouldn’t even hurt a fly. Remember that time you chased someone out because they were about to step on a spider? You wouldn’t be able to hurt someone even if you wanted to.”

“But I did,” Aziraphale counters, “I did, I hurt you, and it felt so… Felt so real.”

“But it wasn’t real, was it?”

“Dreams can become a reality.”

“Not all of ‘em.” They let that hang between them. “You don’t have to be alone. I’m here.” It becomes quiet again, and they wallow in it for a while.

Aziraphale stands up, adjusting his tartan pyjamas to look as respectable as possible, and unlocks the bookshop door. He opens it as a silent invitation. Crowley is standing on the doorstep, dripping with rain from the top of his spiky hair to the bottom of his snakeskin boots. He looks like a drowned rat-snake.

“Look at you,” Aziraphale gasps.

“S’just rain.” Crowley snaps his fingers to dry himself and reaches for Aziraphale’s hand. A touch is all it takes for Aziraphale to withdraw it, almost hissing, and there is a flash of pain in Crowley’s eyes that disappears as soon as it appears. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I should be thanking you.” Aziraphale’s voice is thick with fear, and he maintains the distance between them.

Though they are only a few feet apart, Crowley cannot reach Aziraphale. Not even a miracle will let his grasp extend through the walls Aziraphale has put up.