#banishing away like dust flowing through the wind

[lukedrawzstuff]

explaining why I'm being a Lil absent on Tumblr

Hey guys, so sorry for not posting anything, I know it's been two weeks, I think, but I just want to say that there's a lot going on with my Lil moth brain and I'm just... Exhausted, too exhausted, I need time, I'll probably post something every once in a while but don't expect a lot of art... Again I'm sorry and happy halloween '¦)

[0v3rcast]

Gnaw (3)

(Warnings: Blood, Violence, Body Horror)

When you wake, you are starving. It feels like someone's torn out your stomach and left a yawning cavern inside of you that threatens to make you collapse in on yourself in a desperate attempt to fill the void.

You cannot think through the sheer ravenousness of this hunger. Morals and principles have dissolved under the infinite maw within that threatens to consume you.

You stand shakily, eyes darting around as you search for even the faintest hint to the location of nearby food.

And then you see it. The most beautiful thing you've ever laid eyes on.

A sparrow.

Your mouth begins to water at the thought of meat. Pork, beef, fowl, venison, mutton? It's food.

You creep towards it, vision already tunneling, and prepare to lunge. In a burst of movement, you blitz towards the unaware bird and your hand clamps down on it like a vice.

It is at this point that another, more sane person would kill the animal and dress it for cooking. You are not that person right now.

You stuff the bird into your mouth and begin to chew. You don't particularly give a shit if it's alive right now, you're starving.

You bravely ignore the way it sounds like the world's most morbid popcorn.

Blood hits your tongue. It's the most brilliant thing you've ever tasted. There is no tang of iron or bitterness. There is just warmth that flows through your veins like a wildfire inside you.

If anything, you feel a little high.

Perhaps, in another time, the thought of consuming another living being might have turned your stomach. Maybe you'd sworn off meats at all in favor of something less cruel.

You aren't at the pilot seat right now. There is an animal there, sating the most primal urge in existence - to live.

For a moment, though, let's step away from your perspective, and instead talk about what's happening to you.

From the moment you came to Teyvat, dormant bits of your biology have been returning to function now that there is elemental energy to sustain them.

Those parts will rewrite your genetic code to restore you to godhood.

Right now, however, you are in a rather malleable state - not quite human anymore, but not quite divine.

Luckily for you, there are options other than waiting.

Everything on this planet has a trace of what you were in it. Every being, every plant, every animal, every stone, and every speck of dust has an itty bitty bit of you in the form of elemental energy. And you can reclaim it.

By dying, you've been taking back the energy from the strikes used to end you.

By eating, you absorb the elemental energy inside the food.

You, much like the allogenes, have some limits to break, each step bringing you closer to the next 'star'.

You've just reached the first one. Congratulations.

All of a sudden, you feel like, well, a new person. It's as though you've woken up from the aftereffects of a really shitty nap and banished the grogginess.

You are awake in a way you weren't, and suddenly, the world just feels sharper.

(In a separate dimension, the elements of Teyvat cheer. You're one step closer to taking this place back from your poor imitation.)

Unbeknownst to you, attacking you has had consequences for Mondstadt.

Their wine is vinegar now. It's as if someone's mixed every last drop of booze with lots and lots of fresh air.

Oops.

Beer? Gone. That's just trash now. Oxidation wrecks the flavor in that, too.

Stored meat has been rotting, plants are wilting on the vine, animals birth nothing. The clouds have parted, and a miserably hot sun has decided to cheerily bake the faces of every single human being in Mondstadt.

The winds do not blow. There is no breeze.

(The only person not feeling like they've stepped into an oven is Eula, who is beginning to suffer the effects of hypothermia.

She killed you, and now Cryo is going to punish her by not regulating the energy they push into her Vision. She will slowly freeze to death and feel every cell of her body dying from cold unless she grovels at your feet.

Cryo - an ancient, inhuman element as old as this universe - thinks this is a rather lenient punishment and not an excruciating torture. You will likely need to teach them otherwise when you reclaim your throne.)

Prayers in Mondstadt have doubled and maybe even tripled. Sacrifices of food can't be given, so instead, they're offering Mora. Piles and piles of coins now give your shrines a stately golden glow under the light of the vicious sun.

For the first time in centuries, Venti takes to his knees and prays.

You are not there to hear their begging for clemency.

And as a god, you never particularly thought you'd need an answering machine, so it's not like the prayers get saved.

(This is the first time since your creation of Teyvat that the elements have put their squabbles aside and the first time they've worked together to make a group of people absolutely miserable, and honestly? They're having a great time.)

You've been running around this beach for a while, laughing happily as you enjoy your newfound strength and stamina.

You can skip a rock fifteen times before it sinks. That's pretty dope. You didn't even know you got the technique down so perfectly until now.

A strange pressure builds in your head and you begin to have a vision. Not the kind you wear on your person, and grants you elemental powers - the kind where you have an out-of-body experience and See Some Shit.

Before you stands a tall, androgynous figure. They're dressed in comfy clothes that lack any regional indicator of origin. If anything, the style reminds you of clothing from Earth.

Hell, they just look like someone that probably would have belonged to your old world. The reason you know who they are is their eyes and the symbol where a pupil would normally be.

They give you a crooked grin, face brightening just a tiny bit as they offer a hand to shake.

"Hello again, Great Maelstrom. I think it's time you and I reconnected, hm?"

((Taglist of lovely people:

@the-dumber-scaramouche

@thatdeadaquarius

@ssak-i

@imyme20

@fried-lotud

@acacla

@itz-luna

@iruiji

@crierofirony

@itsredactedlove

@sweetsthetik

@leafanonsforest

@kkazuyass

@featuredtofu

@oxyotl (whose name I misspelled in my taglist notes as 'oxylotl', like some kind of oxygen axolotl)

Apologies to @galaxy-batsy-world, it refuses to let me tag you. Do you have a different @?))

[lilies-and-forget-me-nots]

The Fallen and Forgotten

“There were once two demons who roamed the wastes

The rebellious angel who had betrayed God

and the capricious woman who God had betrayed.”

One thousand years of war—

Lucifer was the demon who roamed Old Eden.

Half-formed mountains, rivers that do not flow, the blood red sky—the half-finished world that God had abandoned halfway through.

Lucifer thought it was heaven for he and his fallen companions—angels that fought by his side, more noble than the archangels. They no longer had their beautiful forms—they had become less than animals. All claws and sharp teeth, writhing in the dirt with their jaws changed form, leaving them unable to speak.

Their howls, their roars—“We have lost. We have lost,” they screamed, though the words never form.

Was it his power that allowed him to keep his form, or was it part of his eternal punishment?

He walked the wastes by himself, watching as He created the New Eden, filled with lush forests and billowing fields, nourished by the gentle wind and the soft downpour of rain. 

There, the breeze carried the promise of life. Here, it carried the cries of the fallen.

Eventually, they had made a home there. The bats found solace in the darkness of endless caves, the eagles have taken the mountains as their own, the wolves now roam the forests, and the snakes slithered through the vast deserts.

Then, she came.

Her eyes, rings of gray. Her hair, white like endless starlight.

It was no wonder that she was God's finest creation.

“I am Lilith,” she said. “I was created from the earth. I was created as my husband’s equal.”

(Equal, Lucifer scoffed.

He already knows why she was banished.)

“You are just like me.

Replaced. A replacement.”

His clawed hand wormed itself into the red soil. Fingers cracking, rocks crushing at the unwelcome force—

He pulls out a silver sword, covered in crimson dust and dried blood.

“So, do as I had failed to do, and take your rightful place!”

Her return was the sign of her failure.

“She did nothing to earn my ire,” she said, “and my husband had already forgotten about me. There is no place to return to.”

“Then let go of my sword, and crawl on the ground like the rest of us.”

("Then submit to him, and squirm at his feet.")

Lilith raised the sword, and said what she had told God that fateful day—

“I refuse.”

There was a smell of copper throughout Old Eden.

A woman, stained deeply in sin, cut through more and more of the fallen.

The massacre of his brethren, the depravity of her actions against her cold, mindless gaze. 

Lucifer had only seen archangels with this bloodlust. He had seen more sadism and amorality in those creatures cloaked in starlight, basked in God’s favor, than his own companions, creatures of the night, cursed for eternity.

One thousand days of bloodshed—

Lilith was the demon who roamed Old Eden.

Taking on an enlarged form, Lucifer took his last stand against the demon standing before him. Her hair whipped against the cold, metallic wind—it almost seemed as if she had wings, like a butterfly fluttering into the predator’s den.

How ironic, then, that he took the form of a spider—

for in the end, it was he who was entangled in her web.

(Blue skies,

rivers flowing into sparkling lakes,

mountains that touched the clouds—

The fallen had been banished beyond the River Styx, and Lilith had created her heaven in Hell.

He would remain by her side, he would be everything she was not and be everything she does not have—the ambition in her lightless eyes, the anger in her blank expression.

If she will not punish the girl who took everything away from her, then he will do it for her.

If she wishes to destroy the world around them, then he will be the trigger that she pulls to enact her judgement.

He will grant her powers unimaginable, for he loved her, 

and her beauty captivated him so.)

[yurayuramiharin]

Kim'dael/Aaravos : 6

Ship + kiss writing challenge

6: A kiss on a falling tear

Thank you so much for this one 🤍

The night has fallen on the ruins of Elarion, slowly putting the burned city to sleep. Despite the comfort of the darkness, Kim'dael kept herself hidden under the dark cloak that protected her from sunlight during the day and the prying eyes of humans and elves who watched her with horror when they passed her on the road. 

She, who used to be the pride of Silvergrove and the entire Moonshadow race was now an outcast, an exile, a blemish. All she had wanted was to do the right thing, but no one understood her. They said her magic was no different from the cruel tricks used by powerless humans but Kim'dael knew it was more than that, for blood was the true essence of life.

For two years Kim'dael had been wandering Xadian lands, searching for a new purpose and cultivating her magic. She found herself at the headland by the Sea of the Castout, a place fitting for someone like her. 

Her steps carried her through the dead city covered in ashes and dust. She knew it used to be a great city once, immortalized in many books and poems that lived on when Elarion was no more. No one would write poems about someone like her. Despite her greatness, Kim'dael could only become a grim tale, not a heroine who'd saved Silvergrove from a mass attack by the human mages. Everyone would always remember her as a bloodthirsty mage, not a saviour. 

She was tired, so, so tired.

About an hour later, she'd reached the outskirts of the ancient city. She could hear the sound of the waves crashing against the nearby shore. She pulled off her hood and let the salty breeze wash over her. Only then did she hear another distant sound: trees rustling in the wind, idle voices laughing. 

Kim'dael sighed. It was all her imagination, her loneliness driving her to the edge of insanity where she imagined voices in this abandoned city. 

"Come closer," 

Kim'dael heard a voice in the back of her head. She turned around to see a small group of trees not too far away from her. There was a faint light glowing somewhere between them, calling her like a moth to the moonlight. 

"Come,"

It beckoned her again and she listened.

She stepped into a space filled with short trees. Even in the dark, she could see that they were heavy with fruit, but those fruits were unlike anything she'd seen before. They were small, round and red, like a heart torn out from a chest. She wondered what they tasted like.

"Come closer," The voice called, but this time it reached her ears directly. Kim'dael turned to the side and to her utmost surprise, she saw two figures in front of her, one of them sitting on a fallen trunk and watching the other sleep on the ground by a small fire. Sensing no danger, she approached them to realize that one of them was an elf, his skin glistening in the warm hue. The other one, shockingly, was a young human girl, sleeping so deeply that she didn't even stir when Kim'dael walked closer. She couldn't believe her own eyes.

"Here, join us," said the elf and gestured at the free space on the other side of the trunk. Kim'dael took it, still too shocked to fully believe in a genuine act of kindness coming from this stranger. 

"Who are you?" Kim'dael asked, her voice hoarse and strained after weeks of silence.

"We are outcasts," the elf sighed. Upon a closer look, Kim'dael could see stars of all shapes and sizes on his skin, mirroring the distant sky above them. Startouch elves are extinct, she thought. 

"I'm an outcast too. My people… they banished me because I saved them with magic unknown to elfkind before," Kim'dael explained, feeling her throat tightening when more painful memories flowed into her head. "I saved them…."

"And yet, they refused to understand you," the Startouch elf spoke softly. "You've done so much and all they did was condemn you. I know how you feel," He said, reaching the depths of Kim'dael's heart with his words. Before she knew it, hot tears were trailing down her cheeks.

"I-I just wanted to do the right thing…" Kim'dael sobbed, her body practically trembling with all the pain and misery that washed over her. Finally, someone understood her. Finally, she was no longer alone. "I found a way, a magic stronger than Moonshadow illusions, I-" Her voice broke and soon she was howling like a wounded animal, letting her emotions come out to the surface after two years of suppressing them. It felt like she was bleeding out.

The other elf moved closer, his warm body pressed against her side. "Shhhh…." He tried to soothe her and wrapped her in his arms where she continued sobbing like she'd never done before. The human girl mumbled something in her sleep and turned to the other side. 

"One day they will realize the mistake they've made," The elf whispered, placing his star-touched palm on Kim'dael's scarred cheek to make her look up and when she did, Moon and shadows knew that she was lost in the gold of his eyes. She felt him press his lips to hers, a chaste kiss that was gone too soon but instantly worked to calm her down and ground her right at this moment. 

Kim'dael closed her eyes and breathed, in the arms of a stranger who felt more familiar than anyone before and she knew her journey was over.

[bloodycassian]

Tension - reader x Azriel - reader keeps a secret, Az finds out during battle. 

Quietly stacking books, you hummed to yourself. Below the house of wind was one of the most massive libraries in the world, and it was your happy place. The smell of worn leather and the age of the books was comforting. Then there was the monastery screeching coming from the pit.  Cassian was yelling too as he shot upwards, like a shooting star sent from hell. And after him, whipping tentacles of darkness that licked at his heels. Then, a blue shield right alongside those arms shooting upwards.  The priestess screamed, frantically hiding behind bookcases or feeling to exit. You stood from where you had hid under a desk. Knowing Azriel, he would have told you about the attack if he had the ability to do so. He would have warned you if a threat was about to hit the temple. So this was...unexpected then. Suspicion rose in your chest, making you weary. But the threat was real. The whipping of those ugly arms breaking the railing above was real. You felt the light emerge from you before you could even think of it. The cool thrum of power flowed over you. Taking a breath, you centered yourself and walked to the edge of the balcony, gripping the rail and peeking down. The tendrils of darkness leaked translucent slime down. Not Byraxis, no... Something far more power thirsty. Azriel grunted as he pulled his sword from the side of a thick tendril licking upward.  You summoned the light from your chest, coaxing it out of you. Cassian was slicing away at the tentacles that reached for him, while they began retreating. Inquiring about the new power source they felt. You let out your song of light, letting it bleed into that dark abyss below.  "The guardian" Someone gasped from the balcony above. "Shes the temple champion." Silence, then awes rang out from all levels. Your light flooded the area, forcing the beast to retreat lower into the abyss. You paused only to hop over the railing into Cassian's arm. He still had his sword at the ready in the other hand. Azriel was far below, avoiding your light. He kept a safe distance away. You cursed yourself, knowing the information you withheld from him was going to cause issues.  Your nose crackled at the pressure as Cassian slowly glided you down floor after floor. Chasing those slimy tentacles all the way down. You dared not speak, fearing the darkness would whisk your voice itself away. Whisper it as secrets to other dark forces. You did however, think about all the insults you wanted to throw at the two Illyrians for not warning you of their spying under the temple grounds.  No one knew of what forces lurked in the tunnels below. Built by ancient fae along ago, no one remembered. No one dared to try to find out. Cassian and Azriel had only been down there to find out if Byraxis still lived, if the creature had returned to its chasam after the war somehow. The smell was putrid at best. Nauseating at worst. You held in a gag when Cassian landed with you. Your light burned into the side of the fish-like body that lay below, cowering from your light. Azriel stood in a corner behind you, siphons glowing in a blue that matched your light. Pure, bright light.  "What exactly do you two plan to do with this now?" You said, biting back the anger that rose in your tone.  "We need a spell seeker, someone who can find the book to vanish this thing." Azriel spoke from behind. "And it seems you would be that someone." He nodded to how the monster filling the pit seemed to cower from you. "Check the lower levels, for any spellbook that stands out to you. Cass you're with me." Az waved his friend over, both their siphons flaring as the beast moved weakly. You tried to ignore that clipped tone he used. How his eyes refused to even skim your way. Shame coiled in your gut as you ran to the stairs.  You glanced one more time back to Azriel. Wholly focused on the monster in front of him, he tried to ignore the panging urge to protect you. You rushed up the stairs to the bookshelves that were still intact after Byraxis' attack.  You followed your gut, trying to get rid of the nagging pull that was trying to bring you back down to Azriel. You closed your eyes, hands out in front of you and let your other senses guide you. Straight into the side of a bookshelf.  You knew the Illyrians would be laughing if they had witnessed it. But it led you to just what you needed. The old wooden shelves were cracked with age, weathered. The second shelf from the top seemed to be singing to you. Like a magnet drawing you to it.  You reached, standing on your toes. Then jolted back at the sharp sting that zapped through you.  + Azriel's heart sank as more and more time passed. The weight of betrayal was still there, but concern overlapped it. The beast hissed and occasionally whipped a tentacle out - testing them. And it grew more confident with each minute.  He cursed under his breath, his shadows unable to tell him anything about the dark thing. Cassian roared, spearing his sword into a writhing tentacle that wrapped around his leg. Azriel knew they had to keep it where it was so you could banish it. But the temptation to fly above and dislodge a rock big enough to hold it in place was growing.  "I have it!" His heart gave in to relief at the sound of your voice. You held the book above your head triumphantly. "I just need to-" Before you could finish, you were swooped into the air. The smell was worse than before. You clutched the book like a lifeline.  Az's shadows flared, beelining to you immediately. They hovered around, unable to spear through that light you emitted. You began glowing again, that blue light flickering as you moved the book away from your chest. The beast wailed.Az's heart lurched in his throat. He took off with a roar, sword out. And sliced precisely through the thick member that had been holding you in place. You fell.  Cassian's soft laugh was a comfort. He held you against his chest, sword still out. "Miss me?" He asked, angling his siphon to fend off an attack. He turned serious as he looked down. You could have swore you saw his dark skin turn ashen.  "Say the spell, just.. yell. Yell it now." He grunted, swinging his sword and trying to balance you in an arm and fly all at the same time. You stumbled over your words, but summoned that familiar light inside you. You opened the book and began. The ground shook when the beast screeched. Cassian's next words were muffled. Not words, cheering and jostling you in his arms. Azriel circled below, making sure the monster was really leaving. It turned to dust below you slowly, its ashes circling upward and covering you. Cassian coughed. You looked up to see the specks floating high above, shimmering in your light like snowflakes. They raced up, going to that moonlight hole in the roof of the library.  "Good work, Champion." Cassian congratulated as he set you down on the floor. Your feet stuck slightly, but the odor was dissipating quickly.  Azriel did not look as pleased. He stared at the two of you with the icyness that would make enemies weary. "Why didnt you tell us?"  "Why didnt you already know?" You winked, making Cassian hold back a laugh. You turned, going to place the book back where you had found it. It was calling for its home, as if it knew it had served its purpose.  There were mutters of the two Illyrians behind you, then rustling of wings as one took off. Azriel followed you, you could feel those cool shadows nipping at your heels. They never fully encompassed you like you'd seen done to his friends. It was like they were weary of you, afraid perhaps. He jogged to catch up to you. "You could have been killed." He growled beside you. His wings were still flared out, as if still waiting battle.  You smirked to yourself, not allowing his bad mood to ruin your after battle high. "So could you. Anyone can die at any moment." You didnt spare him a glance, you knew that he was brooding. He said nothing else as he followed you to the bookshelf. You placed the book back with a sigh, the attachment fading. The book seemed to whisper a sort of goodbye before that hum dulled into nothing, and you could feel the exhaustion beginning to gather around you.  Azriel had not taken his eyes off you. That cold stare burned into you, and when you finally met his gaze his eyes flared. You could feel those shadows circling you, trying their best to take you in. You let a flicker of that light flare out of you and they retreated. He hissed, taking a step back. "Take a break from it Az, you cant possibly know everything." you scolded, trying to shove past him.  He grabbed your hand, pulling you back. "I know about those powers. I know the stories." He bit back a smile as your face flashed in shock. "And I know there are only three of you left." He held your hand still, locking you in place even further. The cool thrill of terror thrummed deep in your bones. You smiled sweetly at him though, hoping to play it off. "I have no idea what you're talking about." You ripped your hand away, your power thrumming in preparation for a fight if he tried.  He only chuckled to himself, nodding. Those shadows made him seem menacing, whirling around him in a way that made a bit of fear come out. His wings seemed to grow, towering over his head. "Enjoy the walk up." He winked, before turning and taking off with those powerful wings.  You cursed to yourself, stunned there at the bottom of the pit alone. Your mind raced the entire way back up, your light the only thing making it possible to make it past the first six floors. Once there was enough faelight to guide the rest of the way, you tucked that light back into yourself.  You could have sworn you heard a soft laugh from the pit. 

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 46

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You try to find your way back.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: Angst, anxiety, mild body horror

AO3

You woke up coughing and gagging, pulling your jacket out from under your head to wrap it around your face. For there to be so much dust in the air, another dust storm must have kicked up outside.

Just as predicted, when you looked out one of the air holes of the cave system, you saw the wall of dust that cut off all sight after a few feet.

You sighed and sat back in the deepest part of the cave, making sure to keep the jacket wrapped around your head. It was much different being here as a physical entity instead of just living in someone’s head. You knew which one you preferred.

Still coughing frequently, you picked up a stone tool, no bigger than a piece of chalk, and added another tick to the rows of marks Bucky had started. Tenth day in the demon realm, with no sign of rescue.

It had been sheer luck that you’d woken up in a place with landmarks you actually recognized. You weren’t far from Bucky’s old territory, and after hours of walking barefoot through the sand, socks stuffed into your pockets, you made it to the cave system he’d used as a home base.

Seeing the same walls, the edible fungus, the dried “bamboo” strips as bedding, even the old journal Bucky had left behind, it had been the most relieving and the most painful thing you’d felt in a while. That was saying a lot, considering you’d been murdered just a few hours prior.

Your shelter and source of food and water secured, you’d done nothing but decompress, going over everything that had happened.

Bucky falling into Zemo’s trap. Forced to be a weapon once more and ordered to kill Rogers. He probably would have if you hadn’t managed to pull on the thin thread that had remained of your bond.

The irony wasn’t lost on you. The bond you’d both wanted to get rid of had been the thing to save Bucky’s life. The cursed book had been right; the only thing that could break your bond was Bucky’s death… or yours. It hadn’t said the death would result in you being banished to the demon realm, but it wasn’t like the damn book had been trying to be helpful to begin with.

No, if anything, the ancient sorcerer whose words it had quoted had been more insightful. Especially the part where he’d witnessed a human slave die in his master’s place, and his body had burned to ashes.

Is that what had happened to you? Had Bucky been forced to watch as you’d crumpled to dust in his hands? God, you hoped not.

At least it explained how you ended up here and that corpse you’d seen through Bucky’s eyes. A human with a demon sigil, it could only mean one thing. This was where all human slaves ended up, eventually.

You just hoped you wouldn’t meet the same fate.

Thoughts turned back to Bucky as they usually were, you couldn’t begin to imagine how Bucky was dealing with your death. All you could hope was that he realized it hadn’t been permanent, and that he would find a way to the demon realm without dying himself. Knowing him, Bucky would take that route if he had to.

But here it was, day ten, and you were beginning to have doubts. You knew time flowed differently here and you would have to be patient, but it was impossibly difficult. You just prayed you wouldn’t have to wait another fifty years. Unlike Bucky, you doubted you would remain ageless in this place.

Day ten became day eleven. And then twelve. And then you’d been in the demon realm for two weeks with no sign of Bucky or the wizards.

At day fifteen, you decided it was time to stop waiting, and time to start being proactive. If your rescuers couldn’t come to you, perhaps you could bring yourselves to them. You’d glimpsed the truth in Bucky’s memories after him coming through the portal. Your younger self had practically bragged about opening a portal, and you’d been ten years old.

Surely you could still do it, even if you didn’t remember how… and even though you’d never shown a spark of magic while training under Wong.

But what else was there to do? It wasn’t as if there was anyone else around to embarrass yourself in front of.

Only… that turned out not to be the case.

You had managed to create a spark in the air. It was orange and sputtered after a few seconds, but it was the most you’d ever accomplished before. After a few more hours, you got a glowing circle the size of a hula-hoop.

But it was the wrong color, orange and not blue, and the image you could see through it was just more red sand. You didn’t need to travel across the planet; you needed to get away from it.

Frustrated, you weren’t as aware of your surroundings as you should have been, and that was when the demon attacked. Drooling and growling, it charged at you from over the sands and chased you into the cave system. You recognized it from before; a large beast that looked like it was part-bear, part-bull, and it was pissed.

Terrified and without thought, you made a jerky circular motion just as the demon launched itself at you.

The portal fizzled to life and vanished just as quickly, and the bottom half of a demon body landed on top of you. It was still smoking from where the portal had sliced through it like a hot blade.

It was the first and last time you tried to make a portal.

The days continued to crawl by until a month had passed, or at least, the best you could guess as days and months when the sunlight never changed or faded.

Until it finally did. And that’s when things truly started to take a turn for the worst.

You’d managed to keep your spirits up by reading the journal Bucky had left behind, reliving the time you’d spent together in a weird, symbiotic partnership, but when the rare night came and shrouded everything in cold darkness, you didn’t even have Bucky’s words to comfort you. The jacket was no longer a breathing mask and went back on your shoulders, barely keeping the chill at bay.

Through the dim starlight that came through the overhead holes in the ceiling, you could see your breath fogging up before you. You huddled into a tighter ball, tried to keep your emotions in check, and eventually gave up. You turned your head and sobbed quietly into your arms, letting the despair and fear pour out of you like a flooded dam.

And still it grew colder. You couldn’t remember Bucky being this cold, but then again, he wasn’t fully human. Plus, even though you’d been an observer in his head, you’d been able to raise his body temperature and keep him warm.

Now, all you could do was shiver and stay huddled against the wall that still retained heat from the day. You didn’t want to think about what you’d do when it faded.

Somehow in the night, you’d managed to fall asleep, or maybe fall unconscious. When you stirred, something was… wrong. You shifted your arms and legs and your skin tingled oddly, goosebumps breaking out along your flesh as the sensations felt off, both muffled and heightened at the same time.

You opened your eyes and wished you hadn’t. Instead of the bare skin of your arms… they were covered with grey-blue fur. Smooth, short, and thick, like a cat’s.

The panicked sound you made wasn’t human, and that just made the panic worse. You scrambled across the cave floor and ran to the nearby underground stream. There would be enough light now that the sun had risen for you to see…

Horns.

The face staring back at you was barely your own. Thin fur covered your face entirely, your pupils were no longer round but narrowed into slits, and the horns. They curved from either side of your forehead, several inches in length and grey, like ashy bone.

That wasn’t the only oddity. You turned your head and gasped at the long, pointed ears sticking out from under your hair.

You looked like a strange mixture of part-human, part-demon, part-cat.

This can’t be real. I’m hallucinating. Exposed to the cold, this is just the effect of a dying mind.

Expect, it didn’t go away. Your shock continued to mount as you took stock of the rest of yourself. The same blue-grey fur covered every inch of you. When you flexed your fingers, sharp nails slide outward from the nailbed, strange but natural at the same time.

You weren’t completely cat-like. There were the horns, of course, but when you stretched and felt along the back of your neck, scaly ridges continued all the way down your spine to your—

You jumped when something moved inside your pant leg, and you earned yourself a flare of pain when you slapped it to discover it was a long, puffed up, furry tail.

You startled giggling. The giggling devolved into hysterical laughter, and when that faded, it turned into breathless crying.

Now you knew why you hadn’t frozen to death in the night.

Your curiosity as to what you had become waned along with the days. The anxiety and fear was gone too. Something important had slipped your mind, like a half-forgotten dream, but there was nothing to remember. You had your cave system, your food source, and your territory to defend. There was nothing else you could possibly want.

Even the scorching sunlight no longer bothered you and instead filled you with strength. Your fur protected you from the worse of the sandy wind, and a third eyelid, transparent and able to cover your eye, allowed you to see even in the worst of dust storms. And there was a power that seemed to sustain you, an energy from this place that kept you strong and brimming with a power you didn’t quite understand.

Your body was perfectly suited for this world, and after a while, you couldn’t remember a time when it’d been any different.

Sometimes, you had dreams. Confusing ones, because they were of both a man and a demon. You always woke from these with your chest aching and your vision blurred, but you blinked the moisture away and soon, those were also forgotten.

Most demons knew better than to encroach on your territory, and in turn, you left them to theirs. Any demons foolish enough to ignore your boundaries were easily chased away with your outstretched talons and ripping claws. Once, when a demon that stood twice your size and had the head of a skeletal horse (how did you know that word?) tried to push you out, you conjured a rope of fiery orange. Striking at the beast, you’d left a burn across its back, and it hadn’t returned since.

You were comfortable in your solitude. Barring the strange dreams and the moments when you would wake up, confused into believing something was missing, you were content.

Until the day when a new, strange demon encroached on your territory. Worse than that, he’d wandered into your cave system. You were grooming yourself, tongue licking across the fur on your forearm, when you heard the telltale sounds of feet moving against the stone floor.

You hid in the shadows, eyes narrowed into slits as you waited. It didn’t take long for the intruder to walk directly into your cave, and you were taken aback at its appearance.

It—no, he, the demon was definitely masculine, with broad shoulders and prominent facial features. He seemed human, but the rest of him was not, with a demonic arm, wings, horns, and a tail.

He raised his head and flared his nostrils, testing the air at the same moment you caught a whiff of his scent. It was almost overpowering, heady and male, and your fur puffed up in response. This demon would try to take your home from you, and you wouldn’t allow it. You’d defeated bigger threats than him.

When he turned toward your makeshift nest and bent down to open the journal you no longer took interest in, you crept from your hidden nook. The demon was still crouched, his tail lying flat against the ground, but the tip flicked back and forth.

You drew closer, closer still, completely silent and pointed teeth bared. Bunching your muscles into a tight coil you leapt, claws outstretched.

The demon turned just before you landed.

He grabbed you around the throat, spun in one fluid motion, and slammed you against the cave wall.

You released a yowl and dug your claws into him, but they merely skidded off the shifting plates of his arm, leaving him unmarked.

Pinned with your back to the wall, you were trapped with his claws around your neck. The demon bared his teeth in his own impressive growl, inches from your face. His eyes were a cold sort of fury that made you doubt your chances of survival.

“Where is she!”

He spoke a language you somehow understood. The words had meaning, but you didn’t know what they were, so you remained silent.

When you didn’t answer he leaned forward, fangs sharp and ready to tear open your throat.

“You reek of her, and these are her clothes. Did you—did you kill her?”

You gave him nothing but a growl in your throat. When he squeezed tighter around your neck, you bared your teeth and snarled in hatred.

Just as quickly as it had arrived, his deadly glare vanished. He blinked rapidly, brows furrowed as if trying to put together a puzzle. And then his grip relaxed as something very different crossed over his face.

“No…”

He was distracted, his mind clearly elsewhere, and you wiggled out of his grip and tried to dart past him. The demon immediately seized you from behind, wrapping his arms tightly around you so you couldn’t escape.

You screamed and fought, your feet shoving against the ground for purchase, but with your arms pinned to your sides you couldn’t even conjure the fiery rope to defend yourself.

“Stop, stop, it’s me!” he cried. “It’s Bucky!”

His words were simply noise, and you swiveled your head to bite into his shoulder, this time making sure it was the fleshy one. But he still wouldn’t release you, even as the coppery taste of blood touched your tongue.

He gripped you tighter, and you let go of his shoulder and continued to struggle. He was much larger and stronger than you, and he didn’t move an inch. Instead, something soft touched your hair, and you realized it was one of his hands.

Gathering your strength for one last attempt, you twisted violently in his arms, pulled back your lips and sank your teeth into the junction between neck and shoulder, biting down. You were about to take out a chunk of his flesh when the concentrated aroma of his scent slammed into you.

You released him, licking the blood off your lips, and carefully sniffed higher up his neck. Something pulled at you, something familiar but lost, and you gave a curious lick just below his jawline.

Pine trees, earth, warm stone. He smelled like…

He smelled like…

Home.

You pulled back, staring in horror as blood continued to trickle down his neck.

You knew him. You knew him, how could you forget him, how could you forget—

You tried to say his name, but no words came out. You couldn’t speak. When had you lost the ability to talk?

When had you forgotten Bucky?

“Sweetheart?”

You whimpered at the cautious hope in his voice, at the pet name, at him being here.

Bucky wrapped his arms tighter around you, and you began to lick at the wound you’d caused, an apology and a way to prove he was real and you weren’t imagining this. To force yourself to remember everything you’d almost lost, even as the pain and grief grew worse every second.

Bucky had finally found you.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he apologized, voice choked with tears. “I came as soon as I could… I thought I was too late.”

But he was too late, wasn’t he?

You stopped mid-lick. Your tongue had done a decent job of cleaning his wound, because it wasn’t a human tongue anymore. It was dry and barbed, like a cat’s.

You buried your face into his shoulder, giving another miserable noise. How could you go back home now? You were a monster. A thing made of the demon realm. How could Bucky stand to even look at you, let alone touch you?

When you tried to pull away, he wouldn’t let you. Even his tail was stubbornly wound around your leg now.

“We’re going home,” he said, pulling back just enough to cup your face in his hands. You tried to jerk away, not wanting him to look at you, but he didn’t let you budge an inch. “We are going home.”

His image blurred as your eyes stung. How could he say that when you were… when you…

“It’s okay,” he said when the tears slipped down your furred cheeks. He brushed them away and pressed his lips against your forehead. You sighed and closed your eyes. “You’re okay. I’m not leaving you. This time, for good.”

You wanted to believe him, but how could you when you had the face of the very thing he hated about himself?

As if knowing your thoughts and afraid you would bolt, Bucky kept one arm firmly around your waist. He turned you toward the cave exit that would lead into the tunnels, but you resisted, pointing down to the nest when he looked at you.

Seeing what you were pointing at, a brief flash of fondness and pain crossed his face. He picked up the book, Bucky’s old journal that had documented his days and adventures with the “mysterious voice,” and you grabbed it and held it to your chest. You’d forgotten before, but now you remembered how this book had been your lifeline, and you couldn’t bear to leave it behind.

“Ready?” he asked, voice soft, eyes even softer.

You nodded, leaning into him when he tucked you against his side. Now that you remembered who he was, the thought of not touching him for even a second was unthinkable.

Bucky led you outside, and you spared a single glance backwards at the series of mounds, hills, and boulders that signified there was an underground cave system. It had saved your life, and before that, Bucky’s. It had been your temporary shelter, but it wasn’t where you belonged.

Spreading his wings, Bucky lifted you easily into his arms and leapt into the air. You curled protectively around the journal, but you felt safer now than you had since being captured by Zemo. As the hot, dry air ruffled your hair and fur, a deep rumbling came from inside your chest. It took you a moment to realize you were purring. Indicating he could hear it too, Bucky kissed the top of your head, making your purring even louder.

You kept your eyes closed and pressed to Bucky’s tactical vest until he said, “There it is.”

You turned to look, eyes widening at the sight of a shimmering blue portal near the ground. It looked tiny from this distance, and your stomach churned with nerves.

“Hold on!”

Taking Bucky’s advice, you gripped onto him tightly as he dived. Just before he went through, you shut your eyes tight.

The difference between the demon realm and Earth was a lot more extreme than you remembered filtered through Bucky’s memories. You immediately started shivering, buffeted by the cold air, taking shallow breaths because each one felt like you were breathing ice water.

The colors assaulted your vision—bluebluegreenblue—leaving you whimpering into Bucky’s shoulder, painful after you’d seen nothing but red for so long.

And the smells. No longer diluted with dry air constantly in motion, the salty and perfumed scent of multiple humans, of mildew and stone and ozone that made the tip of your tongue tingle—

It was too much. As soon as Bucky slightly relaxed his hold, you dropped the journal and scrambled behind him, hiding between his wings as you buried your face in the back of his neck.

It was toomuchtoomuchtoomuch—

“Sergeant Barnes, is that… who I think it is?”

The smooth, commanding voice was familiar, but you couldn’t place it. Unlike your recognition of Bucky, everything else was a struggle to recall. You didn’t even know where you were, the domed room unfamiliar and intimidating.

“Yes,” Bucky responded in a low tone.

“Ah, well, that is… unfortunate.” The man who had originally spoken cleared his throat. “We will need to do a thorough examination—“

You had peeked over Bucky’s shoulder to get a better look at the others in the room—they were wizards, weren’t they?—but as soon as one of them drew forward, you gave a spitting snarl.

“Or not,” the man said, raising his hands. He had a goatee and a ridiculous red cape. Your ruffled fur went flat against your skin. Was that… Strange? And next to him, concerned but not without pity, your mentor, Wong.

How could you have forgotten so much? How long had you been gone?

You hid behind Bucky’s shoulder blades, misery forcing your ears to fold back and curl your tail between your legs.

“I’m taking her home,” Bucky said quietly.

“But—“

“No,” he said, more firmly this time. “I’ve been where she is and I know what she needs. She needs to feel safe, somewhere quiet and familiar.”

He waited a beat.

“Are you going to stop me?”

“No.” Strange’s tone was weary but surprisingly relenting. “I’m not. Just make sure you take your next doses with you.”

“I know,” Bucky muttered and then bent down to pick up the journal you’d dropped.

He did it slowly and carefully so as not to dislodge you, because you still half-clung to his back like a lost duckling. It would have been funny if you weren’t already knee-deep in the urge to bolt. Your fur was puffed again, as far as it would go, heart hammering in your chest, and all of your senses were in overdrive as you struggled and failed to adjust to your new environment.

When Bucky straightened up again, you retreated into the sanctum of his folded wings and refused to let go. You couldn’t bear to look around, not when you could sense the wizard’s peering at you, at the freakish thing you’d become. Just the thought of it provoked a whine from your throat.

“One of you mind making a portal?” Bucky said dryly. “The sun’s still up and we’re obviously not taking a cab.”

You heard footsteps shuffling against the stones, and you clung tighter to Bucky. He reached back and put a hand on your leg, reassuring you he wasn’t leaving. Your trembling subsided slightly, but every muscle of your body was still taut enough to snap.

When he stepped forward, you went with him, keeping your eyes shut until you felt the familiar but unsettling shift of space as you stepped through a portal. Only when it fizzled out behind you and you caught the comforting scent of Bucky’s penthouse did you open your eyes.

You thought by “home” he would take you back to your room at the Sanctum. Instead, you were standing in the middle of Bucky’s loft.

Before Bucky could say or do anything, you buried your face in his jacket and released everything you’d kept buried, your soft keening echoing inside the old clock tower.

Next Chapter

[crowtrinkets]

There are No Ghosts at Fathom Castle

The barista cannot sleep because something or someone is making noises late at night. Felix tries to convince them there are no ghosts. But is it true?

Gender Neutral Reader as always

I hope people laugh at the BuzzFeed unsolved quotes as I did lol. I don't have a set time that this takes place, just sometime after the MC yknow *dead sounds*The trash house story is actually based on a house my friends and I found one, we all dicked around in it like a bunch of idiots and I'm p sure something followed me home :)

Tags: @sadnhvibes @uselessbeanies

Words: 3,514

*THUMP*

I am roused from my sleep, sitting up quickly, frantically looking for the source of the sound. Nothing. What was I doing? I glance down and notice the book in front of me. Right, I was reading and I guess I must have fallen asleep.

"Stella? Did you break into my room again? You better not be knocking Felix's books over again you know how he hates that," I call out. I don't hear the telltale sign of Stella's meows so she must not be in here. I sit up properly, stretching my sore muscles, groaning with my aching bones. I stand and stumble over to my bed, if I'm going to be asleep it should at least be somewhere comfortable. Curling up in my blankets, I let my eyes flutter shut and slowly drift off.

*THUMP*

I snap my eyes open when I hear the sound a second time, this time it's followed by footsteps. That definitely was not Stella. I grab my blanket and wrap it around myself, grabbing a nearby lit candle. I hastily put on my shoes and cautiously approach the door. I slowly push it open, enough that the hinges don't creek.

Stepping out of my room, trying desperately to remain quiet and unseen, I cup my hand around the flame to protect it and shield the light from whoever is lurking in the halls. The steps are getting louder, approaching me ever so slowly. Like its taunting me. I back up against the wall, just before the corner turns, and take in a deep breath. I should have brought a weapon but maybe I can scare the intruder, I grab the corner of my blanket so I can throw it if need be. The steps are louder now, just before they reach the corner I swing around to catch them by surprise.

"AAAAH-AAUGHHHH!" I drop the candle before I can get a good look at the intruder's to face. In an instant, green flames are thrown at me, along with the intruder's screams, I fall backward and toss my blanket at the flames, scooting backward, frantically trying to get away. My blanket catches alight and falls to the ground, a flurry of green flames and feathers. I look up and meet the intruder's eyes, my breath labored and heavy.

"Felix!?" I say. Felix has his hand supporting him against the wall, trying to catch his own breath. He meets my eyes and speaks my name.

"What are you doing attacking me with your bedding in the dead of night?" Felix tries to remain whispering, but his voice is high-pitched with fear.

"What are you doing stalking around at night? And what's with the thumping?" I point at him accusatorially from the ground. Felix eyes me up and down, his gaze dropping to my blanket, which is still very much on fire. The flames illuminate his expression. Casting green light and shadows on his tired yet confused expression. I finally get to my feet dusting myself off.

"I could not sleep… Anyhow, are you alright? Not singed or injured in any way?" Felix's concern seems serious but I can't help but still feel shaken.

"No, but I feel like I lost 5 years off my lifespan," I run a hand through my hair trying to calm my violently beating heart.

"Well, yes, dying and coming back will do that to you,"

"Huh?"

"What?" Felix's eyes snap to mine, the hallway filling with an awkward silence.

"I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that," I say with a sigh. Just then the fire from the blanket goes out. "Oh great now its pitch black, and I dropped my candle too," I grumble. I hear metal clinking and then suddenly my candle is alight in Felix's hand, who hands it to me.

"Oh um, thank you," I say, reaching to take it from his hand. Our fingers graze and I suddenly feel more awake and aware, or maybe it was because I had the bejeezus scared out of me a second ago. Taking the candle holder from Felix I clear my throat.

"So um, couldn't sleep? Does thumping around relax you or something?" I try to joke.

"Thumping? I'm afraid I don’t know what you're talking about?" Felix states, crossing his arms.

"Well, it sure as hell wasn't Stella,"

"You'd be surprised what she can do," his tone turning serious.

"Well if you weren't making those thumping sounds then who was?" Felix gives me a shrug. I chuckle slightly. "Maybe it was a ghost,"

"Oh please, if there were ghosts here I would know, and besides they wouldn't just make things go bump in the night,"

"Says the man that turned into a ghost and followed me from Porrima back to Fathom,"

"I was not-!" Felix cuts himself off with a sigh. "Trust me when I tell you this dear barista, there are no ghosts in Fathom castle,"

THUMP

We both jump, inching closer together, frantically looking around in the darkness, I hold the candle up to see if I can illuminate the hallway a bit, but it remains dark and shadowy, much to our dismay.

"That definitely didn’t come from Stella," my voice barely above a whisper.

"Please, if anything it's probably Sage trying to mess with us," Felix takes a step forward, trying to appear brave, but I can hear the shake of his voice. "Hilarious Sage, you can stop your charade now though, no need to frighten out friend, the hour is late,"

No response.

"Felix I don't think it's Sage,"

"Isn't there a particular bar calling your name about now?" Felix shouts down the dark hall. Still no response. His shoulders drop as he takes a step back, his eyes still scanning the darkened hallway.

"Maybe it was a ghooost" I mimic my best haunting voice and wave my free hand ominously at Felix who only scoffs.

"If there were ghosts here they would not be able to move objects on their own, and they do not sound like that!" Felix states, but I can sense a hint of a smile in the candlelight.

“Well, I won't be able to go back to bed now, fancy some ghost hunting Felix?” I nudge his side. Felix lets out a sigh as he glances at me, eyeing me up and down.

“Well alright, but don’t get your hopes up, I doubt we’ll see anything,” I can feel the excitement, or maybe fear, well in me, we begin to walk down the hallway together, looking for the source of the sound.

“So Felix, tell me about Fathom's ghostly history?”

“What other than the thousands of Starsworn who died?

“Right… Well, every haunted place has a story of some sort, it explains why it’s haunted,”

“Oh really? Such as?” Felix’s tone is almost teasing, as a smirk form upon his lips.

“Well, hmm… Oh, one time when I was a teenager my friends and I went walking in the dark. We found an abandoned house that was absolutely filled with trash and other items,”

“What does this have to do with hauntings?”

“Well, someone wrote 'it's under the house' on one of the walls,”

“And what was under the house?”

“I’m not actually sure, none of us wanted to go digging in trash, but I'm sure something followed me home, I would always hear weird sounds at night after that day,” I hear Felix scoff once again.

“Even if there were ghosts in that place I doubt they would follow you home, you were probably paranoid,” I shrug off his comment and we continue to walk down the corridor in silence.

Our shoes echo off the walks, the only sound other than the wick of the candle, popping occasionally. We continue to walk in silence, almost like we have run out of things to say. And neither one of us dare to break it. But the thump comes once again, stopping us in our tracks, wind flows through the corridor putting out my light. Without thinking I reach for Felix’s hand in the darkness as I let out a startled gasp. I can hear Felix’s breath hitch as he grips my hand as well.

"Felix, you're not doing that right?"

"No of course not!" the thumping becomes more frantic and louder. It's getting closer.

"Well, I'm not staying to find out!" I grip Felix's hand and book it back towards my room. Dragging Felix back with me, throwing the candle holder in the direction of the sound. He yelps in response but follows me through the dark halls. We finally make it to my room and I close the door behind us.

"Why did you run? I thought you wanted to find the ghost?" Felix says between gasps.

"I'm not fond of being attacked in the dark" I say.

"Well, now you've tossed away our light source,"

"Oh, Ummm," I think for a moment and walk to the table in my room, I rummage through my backpack which is placed on top. I pull out my house keys and remove the miniature flashlight from the key ring. I flick it on and shine it on Felix, avoiding his face, he squints at the sudden light facing him.

"Gods, what is that?"

"It's a flashlight, just a handy dandy Earth invention,"

"Your Earth 'slang' as you call it, never ceases to baffle me,"

"You wouldn't happen to have holy water? Or even a crucifix?"

"A what?"

"Ok, maybe we can just will the ghost away?"

"What? What are you talking about,"

“So we can banish the ghost!” I say almost a little too enthusiastically.

“There is no ghost!” Felix sounds exasperated at this point.

“You’re right, it can’t be a ghost…. More than anything it’s a poltergeist or a demon,” a smile creeps across my lips. Felix lets out a long sigh, he stares at the ceiling almost like he’s asking the heavens ‘why’.

“C’mon Felix it’s just for fun, and besides something is making that sound so we have to find it,” I approach Felix, hoping he’s not too annoyed and will go with me. His eyes meet mine and he stares just for a second.

“Fine, yes, we really should find the source of the noise,” I return Felix's grimace with a smile as we exit my room.

The hallway is just as dark and ominous as before. I scan my flashlight as far as it will reach. It’s a cheap dollar store flashlight I got for emergencies, so it doesn’t reach that far, but it's better than nothing.

“Hey there demons, it's me, ya Earthling,” I call out into the hallway.

“What? What does that even mean?” Felix sounds utterly dumbfounded. I’m now reminding myself to brush him up on the great Earth classics.

“Its nothing, just a little friendly greeting for the ghosts,”

THUMP

The sound again. It comes from one end of the hallway. Felix and I glance at each other and with a nod, we head towards its direction. I light up what little I can of the hallway as we make our way to the source of the sound. Our breath shallow so as to not allow whoever's there to hear us approaching. We make our way around a corner, peaking just before we move forward.

“Do you hear that?” Felix puts a hand out in front of me.

“What I don’t hear-“ I stop when the sound of a wailing echoes silently through the hall. “I-is that a woman crying?”

“It must be the wind, there’s a terrible draft in this castle,” Felix’s voice wavers slightly, but he clears his throat as though to mask it.

“No… that sounds like a woman crying,” I feel my nerves bubble in my stomach, telling me to go back to the safety of my room. But I have to know what this sound is, and even then I don’t think I'd be able to fall asleep. I suddenly feel warmth on my hand, even in the dark I can tell it's Felix. I squeeze his fingers in mine.

“Let's keep moving,” he whispers to me, we then continue down the path, towards the crying voice.

“Yknow back on Earth there's a famous ghost called La Llorona, she wanders the streets at night wailing for her dead children,”

“I guess grief can transcend the grave as well,”

“Well, some people say she killed them,”

“...Maybe we should talk about something else,”

“Right,”

As we continue down the halls, the wailing seems to travel, never in one spot or room, it’s almost as though it wants us to follow. Eventually, we end up outside of the castle, where we approach a rather rickety-looking bridge connecting two sections of the castle together. We walk into the moonlight, the chill air nipping at our skin. I am suddenly mourning my blanket.

Felix pulls his hand away from mine and walks over to the ledge of a wall near the bridge, looking up at the sky. Turning off and pocketing my flashlight I stand by his side.

“Are you usually up this late?” I break the silence.

“Usually yes, my sleeping habits are temperamental so I tend to take walks, hence why I was out and about when you frightened me,” Felix says, eyes never leaving the stars.

“Right, sorry about that, you do owe me a new blanket though,”

“Yes, I suppose,” Felix chuckles. I lean forward on the wall and look at the surroundings of the castle, lots of water, I can also see the forest I occasionally take walks in. Taking a deep breath I start again.

“If you ever can't sleep you can always see if I'm up, and if I am we can take a walk together,” I glance over at Felix who stiffens slightly, but then a small smile forms on his lips,”

“I would very much enjoy that,” he states. The moonlight shining brightly on him, casting his frame in cool blue light, fitting to the cold air surrounding us.

Suddenly a rattling sound startles us. Both straightening from our spots Felix and I look at the bridge, which shakes slightly. Felix and I approach it, gawking at the bridge which starts to shake more and more violently, almost like someone is jumping on it. I look across the other side and see a door in the castle wall, slightly ajar, something white flowing in the corner.

“What is that!” I point across the bridge. Felix squints.

“I’m not sure, but there must be some explanation,” at this point the bridge is rattling loud enough that Felix and I have to yell.

“Is there an explanation for a bridge moving violently like this?!” I wildly gesture at the bridge. Felix winces at my comment.

“No I don’t think so,”

"Screw this," I take a deep breath and grip Felix’s sleeve.

“FUCK YOU, GOATMAN!” I shout at the top of my lungs, running as fast as possible across the bridge, dragging Felix in tow. The bridge continues to shake but I keep my balance and speed. As I run towards the door frame the white object disappears behind the door, I kick in the door, and once Felix and I make it inside I slam it shut. I scan for whatever disappeared behind the door but I don't see it.

“Goatman?” Is all Felix can blurt out.

“Oh yknow, another famous Earth ghost. He attacks people who play on his bridge, thought I would cover my bases and scream at him,”

“Earth is quite obsessed with death and the afterlife, and you call me morbid,” Felix retorts. I look around the room for any doors or hallways, but there are only stairs that lead back to the inside of the castle.

“I guess all we can do is head down,” Felix nods and once I bring out my flashlight, we descend the stairs. Once we reach the bottom I notice a white blur disappear behind a door. I grab onto Felix’s sleeve and pull him close so I can whisper into his ear.

“I saw something go into that door Felix, I think it’s the ghost we saw earlier,”

“I didn’t see anything,”

“Well, I did! And at this point, I'm tired of chasing it!" I storm towards the door, Felix whispering protests behind me. I kick open the door and scan my flashlight around the room. It seems we're in a small mess hall of sorts. There are tables and benches everywhere, but I don't see anyone else in the room.

"I don't see the point of chasing something that potentially isn't even there!" Felix comes up behind me, sounding very done with our hunt. Just as Felix makes his way in, the door slams shut behind us. I shine my light at the door and see no one behind us. I approach the door and pull on the knob, trying to get it open, but it won't budge. I shoot Felix a worried glance, his lips forming into a grimace.

"Open the door!" Felix's voice wavers between scared and annoyed.

"I'm trying it won't budge!" I continue to pull on the door. Felix approaches and pulls on the door as well. But it remains closed. I suddenly feel the hairs on my neck stand, almost like someone is watching me, I tense my shoulders daring not to turn around. Put a hand on Felix's shoulders, I lean in to whisper in his ear.

"Felix I think someone is behind me," without waiting for a beat Felix turns around, his eyes going wide, he backs against the door and grabs my arm pulling me close. I turn around to see what he's looking at. There stands, the shape of a woman, standing a few feet away. White cloths drape her figure shielding her face. She reaches a hand out to us and the wailing we heard earlier in the castle starts to emit from her. At this point, my whole body is shaking.

"Felix I think that's the ghost,"

"N-no! It cant be, it must be Sage," Felix continues to grip my arm, holding me close to him or maybe he's shielding himself but at this point, I'm too scared to question it. "Ok Sage you can let up now, we're trapped in this room so there's no reason to keep going with your little prank," But the figure continues to advance on us. I reach behind me and continue to pull on the doorknob, hoping it finally opens. However, my prayers are answered too soon and the door does open. Felix and I falling backward, our backs hitting something behind us.

"Boo," a deep voice growls into our ears.

"AAAUGH!" Felix and I both jump and swing around to see…

"Sage!!" I shout, my thoughts catch up to me and I turn back around only to see.

"Annie!?" Felix retorts. Anisa pulls the cloth from her face and bursts out laughing, Sage, following suit. In between shaky breathes Felix and I look at the two of them and back at each other, confusion and fear plastered on our faces.

"I think I need to sit down," I stumble over to the wall and lean against it, sliding down until I'm sitting on the floor.

"I knew it was just Sage messing with us, but Anisa! How could you,"

"I'm so sorry! It's just Sage had the idea and I couldn't resist having a little fun," Anisa says as she wipes tears from her eyes. Her fangs poking through her smile. Sage is now on the floor, having difficulty containing his laughter.

"Oh, the look on your faces! And Felix trying so hard to open the door!" Sage grips his stomach until his laughing subsides to which he lets out a sigh and sits up, using his left arm to support himself.

"So the wailing in the castle? That was you?" He gestures to Anisa who nods in response, trying to stifle her laugh.

"What about the bridge that couldn't have possibly been you?" he turns to Sage.

"Tied a rope to the bridge and pulled on it from the moat! I got a little wet in the process but I feel it was worth it," Sage sends a wink in my direction. To which I roll my eyes, still trying to calm my nerves.

"I do hope you'll forgive us," Anisa walks over to me and crouches by my side. I let out a sigh and look between Sage and Anisa.

"I guess it was kind of funny," I say.

"Nothing funny about scaring the lights out of someone," Felix mumbles under his breath.

"I think I can recall a certain someone setting many things on fire as a "prank", Felix?" Anisa shoots him a smug smile. Felix flushes slightly and shrugs. Anisa calls my name to get my attention. "How are you feeling?" I finally sit up from the wall and look at the three of them processing the night I just had with Felix.

"Like, you all owe me a new blanket,"

[pitterpatterpot]

Hello sweetie! Can I give you a Lion's Pride prompt? If you don't feel like it or if you don't like it, feel free to ignore.

Aedion: "YOU GAVE AWAY YOUR FIRST BORN IN A BET!"

Gavriel: "I NEVER PLANNED TO HAVE YOU AEDION"

Aedion: "ooh is that suppose to make me feel better? because it doesn't."

Gavriel: "i'm sorry, I promis i'll fix it."

(cadre's name that won the bet 100 years ago): "your mine now boyo. You're my son now, time to raise you. Wait how do you raise a child?"

Could never ignore your wonderful text prompts xxx

~~~

Aedion freezes, looking down the long, winding hallway that leads to the throne room. He approaches said room, expecting Aelin to be sitting on her throne with a devilish smirk. If their last stunt is anything to go by, Rowan will attempt to banish him. But that wasn’t the kings voice summoning him. So he expects Rowan and maybe a formal advisor or two, trying to find a loophole around the immunity Aelin gifted him.

Not for Rowan to be sitting in his throne with an exasperated look, Vaughan doing a small small dance next to him while Gavriel sits on the small steps leading up to the thrones with his head in his hands. Fenrys stands to the side, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed.

“Has... something happened?” Aedion asks.

Vaughan throws his arms up in victory as Gavriel moans. It’s the first time Aedion has ever viewed the other male so animated and expressive.

“I have a son!” Vaughan announces.

Aedion’s brows fly up in surprise, his eyes cutting over to Fenrys. “You two are taking in a child?”

Fenrys finally cracks a smile, looking away, shoulders shaking. “This is more of Vaughan’s thing. But I would be honoured if you accepted me in that c-capacity.”

The male breaks off at the end, wheezing and doubling over. Gavriel releases a pitying whine. Aedion looks between the four of them, from Vaughan’s small dance to his fathers clear dismay.

“I need more information,” Aedion announces.

~~~

“-so we all thought Gavriel would never, never have a bastard child, out of all of us,” Vaughan explains, a wide grin splitting his face. “But, obviously, you exist. And that’s the story.”

Aedion blinks, then laughs. Rowan looks at him with a raised brow, Gavriel staring in horror at his reaction. Unaware of their expressions Aedion looks to Vaughan, grinning.

“Very funny story,” Aedion grins. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have about forty kids waiting outside for basic self defence classes.”

“Aedion,” Rowan’s form tone stops him. “This is not a jest. They both swore on the bet in old tongue. By all fae laws, it is legitimate.”

Turning back, Aedion blinks. Then whirls to Gavriel.

“YOU GAVE AWAY YOUR FIRST BORN IN A BET!” Aedion roars, tensing in anger. “Who does that?!”

“I NEVER PLANNED TO HAVE YOU, AEDION,” Gavriel yells back, face twisted in panic and dismay, his raised voice a sign of how frazzled he’s become.

“Ooh,” Aedion narrows his eyes, crossing his arms and leaning back, “is that supposed to make me feel better? Because it doesn’t!”

“I’m sorry, I promise I’ll fix it,” Gavriel swears, near tears.

Vaughan cackles from where he stands. “You’re mine now, boyo. You're my son now, time to raise you,” hesitation flickers briefly in Vaughan’s stance. “Wait, how do you raise a child?”

“You tell me,” Gavriel mutters, head bowed to the floor and rubbing his brow.

Aedion glares at his father out of the corner of his eye as he addresses Vaughan. “You’re not raising shit. Now all of you fuck off and find a way to fix this or I’ll disown all of you.”

“I’ve done nothing!” Fenrys scowls.

“You laughed,” Aedion hisses, turning on his heel and storming out.

“You couldn’t have had a less dramatic child,” Rowan snaps at Gavriel.

“Well, he was just traded away,” Vaughan grins, rubbing his hands together. “Now, if you’ll excuse me- son, wait! Let’s have lunch!”

Gavriel whines, crumpling once again as Vaughan chases after Aedion.

~~~

“There has to be some loophole,” Gavriel mutters, hunched over an ancient text in the library. “A fae oath must have some method of cancellation.”

“Don’t ask me, I didn’t even know the scholars managed to hide books this old,” Aelin hums, pouring over a large, leather bound book. “Maybe there’s a Wyd mark I could use... why did it have to be an oath? Couldn’t you have just done an ordinary bet?”

“I was drunk,” Gavriel groans, leaning back in his chair.

Rowan walks in, placing another book on the library table. A fine layer of dust covers the king thanks to his trips into the deepest basements of the library.

“Most of the rest are water damaged,” he informs them, sighing through his nose. “It’s lucky you two didn’t make a blood pact on it; oaths and promises through magic are more likely to be reversed.”

“Where is Aedion?” Aelin questions.

“He’s playing catch with Vaughan.”

Gavriel chokes.

~~~

“Is he watching?” Aedion asks through his smile, passing Vaughan a ball.

The male laughs as he catches it, nearly looking to one of the many palace windows that peer down into the gardens. “You’re a cruel child. You do realise this is killing him?”

“He deserves it. Now pass it back and look like we’re bonding.”

“I think he’s weeping.”

“Good. After this do you want to go on a hunt with a few members of the Bane and I?”

Vaughan perks. “I would be overjoyed.”

“Excellent. But just so you know, we can get...” Aedion smirks, “...a little wild.”

“Nothing I won’t be able to handle.”

~~~

“Looks like Vaughan will just have to willingly pass parenthood of Aedion back over to Gavriel,” Rowan sighs, rubbing his temple as he closes a book placed on the war rooms table. “With that this entire meeting can be done with.”

All present Cadre members nod from their places, Aedion glowering and Arlington and Lysandra raising a brow each. Vaughan nods in his seat, skin strangely pale and clammy.

“Two days of research for that,” Fenrys snorts. “Alright Vaughan, give Aedion back to Gavriel.”

“I’m not some loaf of bread to be traded!”

“Of course not!” Gavriel quickly placates his son. “That’s not what anyone meant.”

“The issue with all this,” Vaughan clicks his tongue, a glint in his eyes, “is that I’ve quite enjoyed having a child. I’m not sure I’m ready to stop being a father.”

“I will find you a baby,” Gavriel whirls on him, snarling. “My son, now.”

Eyes wide, Vaughan nods. “I pass parenthood of Aedion Ashryver onto Gavriel, the Lion. May my position be removed and passed onto him.”

They clasp hands, all the tension releasing in Gavriel’s shoulders as a flow of magic transfers between them.

“Interesting,” Aelin murmurs, eyes fixed on where their hands meet.

“There,” Aedion huffs. “And no one in this family is ever allowed to place me as collateral on a bet ever again.”

“...I may need to speak to Kyllian...”

“Lysandra!”

Rowan and Vaughan watch as everyone files out of the room, Lysandra and Gavriel both arguing with Aedion as Aelin and Fenrys laugh. Rowan turns to Vaughan once the door is firmly shut behind them.

“You couldn’t wait to be rid of him, could you?” Rowan smirks.

Vaughan laughs weakly, shoulders drooping. “That obvious? We went on a hunt and things were more intense then I expected.”

“It couldn’t have been that-“

“I found a grey hair, Rowan!”

[voidsentprinces]

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Not a gust of wind nor a rustle of leaves.

The kind of silence that comes after death, after shock, or in this case, the realization that the fight is nearly over.

Long had they fought these featureless nightmares. Long had the darkness held sway on the lands. But, now, now the shadow was driven from the field. Victory was near. A final push, a flash of steel, and the only sure way victory was to ever be achieved. A thousand, a million, a billion, a trillion actions all happening at once. Like clockwork meshing together, the actions of the men and women on the field taking it upon themselves to secure their win. And, of course, the safe passage back home to family or loved ones.

This was it, they would banish the nightmares from the streets. The army of darkness recoiled from the valor, these valiant warriors showed. For the first time since of fall of the Old Civilization. The armies of the world united to drive by the dark. Scour the land of shade and banish the shadow from the land. A key difference is that Death didn’t lead this army. It was the Wolves, the Wolves who had now been cornered as the World’s Armies took from them their streets, took from them their trenches, took from them their lands. Long had it been that man had ever sought to banish the Wolves’ wickedness from this realm.

No more dread. No more fear. No more Long Dark Nights. Where the Winter swallowed the sun whole for four months. No more bitter winds or overgrown forests to give the Wolves a foot hold on this world. Now man had come to burn away their strongholds and finally put to torch, their nests.

The armies pushed, the shadow reeled back, the men and women of realm pressed inward. The shade diminished, a wave of steel and valor. No more lives lost this day. Only victory. Victory and then seeing to the dead who sacrificed for this moment.

Flags raised. Banners flowed in the wind. The sun shined upon them and then--Silence. Absolute silence. The day was theirs, the shadow was gone and now they need only take the Wolves hidden in a Church of the Old Civilization. Remnants of the past five centuries, burned away and cast aside for a brighter future.

Hubris.

Hubris? Aye, the defiance and excessive pride in front of the Gods. Leading to nemesis. But what God was so twisted, that they would see shadow turned away by man, rightfully?

A mad one.

The silence was broken by droning. The droning of ancient organ. Its pipes blowing dust as a rusted wind rose up. Keys out of tune, but harrowing in their cacophony. The droning deepening as the keys were played by wicked fingers.

The Wolves. The Wolves were playing a requiem. Man had extended his reach so far. But, cutting off the head of a hydra without seeing to the body will only allow doom to grow back. So hungry for victory was man, that the Wolves had put their plan into action. The organ droned on and on. Calling forth into the black coffin. That damnable relic an antidiluvian origin. Never budging. Never shuttering. Never quaking. Save for this one singular moment. The coffin came alive.

Whispers. Mutterings. The wind rose and with it came, the mumbling of unseen voices. Speaking in unknowable tongues. Chattering their teeth, clacking their mandibles, sighing their breath. Machinating.

The coffin began to glow with veins of red. Jagged, inelegant, haphazardly etches upon the surface of the obsidian relic. Unseen in the brightest light but here at the heart of darkness. Like an smoldering ember ready to give its last light and then suddenly reignited. Filling like molten lava through every crevice until reaching the core of the object.

Wind growing louder and louder. A swarm. An audience unseen.

Tension coated the air. As the organ swelled its tune. The chattering, the instrument, and anticipation reaching a climax. Until, the coffin popped. An explosive opening of its lid.

At the same time, all which man had taken from the Wolves revolted all at once. The sky turning a hellish, clouded red. The sun devoured by a blacked void eclipsing light from the land. Earth, stone, and even plant turned to flesh, breathing, heart beating, slick and sticky. Holes appearing, mires of eyes and maws of teeth erupting. Wood twisted into festering nest. Leave into sinew and bone. Warm and unnervingly corpulent.

Rancid was the smell, the very land now breathing began to conceive and go int labor. From such event was born things of many mouths and many legs. Too many eyes, noses, and teeth. Chaotic and unfathomable in their construction. Things that should not exist, that go against nature and natural order burst forth from the maws.

Buzzing, insects from the hived of the Once-Trees. Now flowing out in a pestilent plague, harrying the battle field in a tidal way of gnawing, biting, stinging. An accursed gale of incessant noise.

Before man could get their bearings, the brave soldiers shocked from the sudden change in environs.  Began to fall into the open maws, coated in black bodies and clear wings. Twisted by many arms, consumed by many mouths. At the mercy of the things that the land now vomited forth.

Command broke down. Seconds from victory, shadow banished. Man now came face to face with a different force of evil. One without mercy. A stark contrast to the featureless shadow. Now these abominations had too many wrong ones.

And whence came this shift in the tide of war? The Black Coffin’s lid now blown completely off. It’s harbinger began to climb out. Four long, knobby arms, pallid, so very pallid, never having seen the light of day nor the love of health. Blackened veins running through its gaunt limbs. Too many fingers, each with elongated, curved and blackened nails. Broken shackles instead of wrists. The height of the harbinger reaching near the roof of the Old Church, hunched over like an animal. Never eaten in its life. Starved for food and thirsting for quench. Skin stretched far too thin, hugging its skeleton like too little web cover too much branch.

Unhinged jaw for a mouth, drool, and what one hopes is blood dripping from the unsanitary maw. Eyes covering its faces like freckles. Small, big, reptilian, human, cat. Many eyes, from many things, and no nose to give it balance. Barely tufts of blackened, greasy weeds for hair around its scalp which had been similarly over taken like its face. The multitude of orbs all shifting, glancing, independent of the other. No ears but one could tell from its movements, erratic as they were, it could still hear, smell, and taste and worst of all--understand.

Four sided appended feet comprised of ape, hoof, fin, and paw setting down upon the ground and the symbols, oh the symbols. Despite the papery density of what could charitably be called its skin, blackened ink carved into its body numerously. Eldritch, biblical, and ancient languages from every conceivable corner of the realm. This thing had been damned by deity, priest, king, and peasant. At the center of its sternum only one two words could be deciphered: Aŋra Mainiiu

It chattered, grumbled, and then its ribs cracked inward as a unnerving shriek pierced the air. Cutting through the chaotic massacre on the battle field like a knife in the dark. Unsettling to the core, nothing of the realm and certainly nothing from any star. This malevolent deity wouldn’t be welcome in the depths of a black hole from the sound it just made.

The symbols ignited across its body and began to singe it the creature. Smell of overly cooked meat following such an action. But it didn’t seem to even register the pain. It was too busy bending its body horrifically, as the sound of its bones splitting asunder erupted. Its rib cage threatening to break the surface of its skin. And at the center a sudden burst of magical energy, a circle marked in the foulest of language appeared. Its equally many eyes and mouths twitching and bursting outward. Tendrils, intangible and power blew the church to splinters as it cascaded outward.

It hounded any remaining humans and flicked their foreheads. As if over come with illness. Falling to their knees, stomach clutch, a nausetic wave over coming them. They were reduce to heaps and then they shuttered back to life. Those unfortunate enough to maintain a semblance of cognition were haunted by sights. Their fellow man had been turned into monsters, chattering, twisted, and slobbering.

Fight or flight? For those who fought, they fought with vigor, valor, and fury only found in man. Only to come to hours later having found their allies normal and beaten to a bloody mess. If they came to at all.

Those who fled would be comforted by their families and friends. But, wait...were their loved ones always this murky? Decaying? Some of them were missing noses and mouths. The dead had come. Come to beckon them away from this massacre. Come join them on the other side of the veil. Many obliged after witnessing the ground birth horrors.

Those who loss their senses were found falling into laughing messes. Joining the cacophony of sound as they trashed around. Losing all motor function as their bodies contorted like live bait. Drawing in the abominations to take their wiggling worms.

Lastly, the remaining were to fall to instinct. Pure instinct. How long had they been fighting? How long since they had a wink of sleep? How long had they had a ration? Oh, how very, very, hungry they were. And here they were on the battlefield...surrounded by long pig.

The World’s Army crumbled before such sights. Hubris giving way to nemesis. The cruelest of all divine retribution. Brought about by a creature of pure malice. None would survive this battle and when the things had nothing else to feast upon. They began following their harbinger. The shadow had been banished from the land. But the night was now filled with screams and horror.

The Wolves had brought frenzy to the realm of man and even now they laugh in the dark.

[angularbean]

Snuggles Not Struggles - Zuko x Reader

This is my first Zuko x Reader, I’m sorry if its bad! This gif isn’t mine but please enjoy! I got a bit carried away! Please request!

Word Count: 2489

---

You stared out at the sky where fluffy clouds were scattered within it, your (h/c) hair whipping around your face. Here you sat, with your knees tucked underneath your chin, on your third day of nonstop travel with the rest of the Gaang. The cool wind felt nice against your hot skin, but sitting on Appa for three days straight was starting to get to you. Everything started to get irritable. Katara and Sokka bickered for what it seemed like the millionth time that day for whatever reason, something about food or something which would make sense because Sokka always seemed to be hungry.

“Will you two just shut up!” Toph screamed, looking, or at least trying to, towards the sound of the bickering siblings. 

“Don’t tell us what to do!” Sokka retaliated as Katara ‘hmphed’ and nodded in agreement. 

You let out a sigh and looked over to your friends. Sokka and Katara sat in one of the corners of Appa’s saddle, shoving each other as they still continued to bicker despite Toph’s protest. Top sat in the corner next to them, outwardly groaning as she threw herself on her back and covering her face with her hands. Your eyes traveled to the corner next to you, where a certain banished prince sat. He rolled his eyes at the scene in front of him and rested his chin on his hand, looking out towards the trees below them as Appa finally descended closer to the ground. His hair flowed in the wind as his pale skin glistened in the sunlight. He looked so, in short, beautiful. 

It wasn’t a secret about how you felt about him. Everything about Zuko just made your heart flutter. From the first time you met him at Kyoshi island, to the time he tried to join the Gaang. You don’t know why he made your heart skip a beat. Maybe it was the way his black hair fluttered in the wind, or how his eyes shone like flecks of gold in the sunlight, or even how his voice always seemed to soothe you no matter how anxious you were. Okay, maybe you did know why you crushed on him but you would never admit it. You would never hear the end of it from Katara. She had caught you staring at him as he trained with Aang once, and she never let go. She would always give you knowing smirks or winks whenever you’re around Zuko. 

As you admired how Zuko looked in the golden sunlight the sunset produced, he turned and his golden eyes met your (h/c) ones. You felt your whole face flush and quickly turned away. He caught you staring, how embarrassing. Desperately, you covered your face with your hands to cover faint blush dusting your (s/c) cheeks. Next to you, Zuko’s face was dusted with the same blush. Unbeknownst to you, he had been admiring you just a few minutes before. 

“Look a village!” Aang pointed, gaining the attention of everyone. “We can stop there for the night!” He continued which elicited cheers from everyone as he landed Appa near the entrance of the tiny village.

Sokka was the first one off of Appa, planting kisses on the grass. Everyone took the time to stretch their limbs. After three consecutive days of being on Appa, it really took a toll on your limbs. You stretched until you heard a satisfying pop, causing you to sigh in content. 

“Oh, ground! I never knew I’d miss you so much!” Sokka practically moaned, still kissing the grass.

“That’s how you get sick. Disgusting,” Katara stated as her face contorted in disgust which caused Sokka to glare at her. Sokka opened his mouth to deliver a snarky response but you quickly stopped it.

“Come on guys, no more fighting. Let’s find somewhere to stay,” You stated, trying to keep the peace. Zuko walked over to you and placed a hand on your shoulder closest to him.

“(Y/N)’s right. We should head in before the sunsets.” Zuko agreed, a trace of nervousness his voice. He quickly removed his hand and walked towards the village.

Sokka grinned at you and placed his hand on the same shoulder Zuko had.

“(Y/N)’s right. We should head in before the sunsets. Also, (Y/N), I’m in love with you but I’m too much of a baby to admit it. Let’s make out.” He mocked, deepening his voice as best he could, as he made kissing noises at you. 

You quickly shoved Sokka off of you as your blush deepened from the small contact you had with Zuko, which caused Katara to giggle. 

“Shut up.” You muttered as you headed towards the village with the rest of the Gaang in tow, who continued to tease you. 

---

Everyone decided to do some quick supply shopping before you all turned in for the night. Since the food had run out everyone decided to get some nonperishable food first, considering no one wanted Sokka to whine about there not being food. Sokka lead the group through the market, with Toph next to him, Katara and Aang chatting behind those two, which left you with Zuko. As you walked, there would be the occasional brushing hands together but neither of you stopped nor acted upon it. 

Sokka stopped to browse one of the stands, in turn, you decided to look around as well. Your eyes landed on a small stand run by a young woman, it was a little jewelry stand. You approached it as the lady made eye contact with you.

“Hello! Is there anything I can help you with? Is there something specific you’re looking for?” She asked.

“No thank you, I’m just browsing,” you answered as you offered her a smile.

“Let me know if you need anything!”

With that, she left you. Your eyes scanned through the jewelry; necklaces, bracelets, rings came in all sorts of assortments, sizes, and color. As you browsed, your eyes landed on a small necklace. The necklace itself was simple, the centerpiece was a small crystal held horizontally by small chains. Regardless of its simplicity, you loved it. You made a mental note to come back tomorrow morning as the sun began to finally set. You hoped it would be there tomorrow as you headed back to where your friends were.

Before the Gaang began their shopping trip, this wonderful elderly couple offered their shed to them. One thing they forgot to mention was the bed arrangement. As they entered the shed, they realized how spacious it was but the problem was that there was one four beds, each on a different wall of the shed. There was six of you. None of you thought to bring your sleeping bags with you and Appa was all the way back at the entrance so everyone fought for those four beds. 

Toph already called one of the beds and no one really wanted to fight her for it. For someone that small, she could really pack a punch. Everyone else had to decided who got what. Of course the only way to do it was playing elemental rock, paper, scissors. In the end, Sokka came out as the victor and earned a bed to himself. That left you, Katara, Aang, and Zuko. It seemed the obvious arrangement would be you and Katara then Aang and Zuko. However, it seemed Katara had different plans. Her lips spread into a condescending grin as she pulled Aang to one of the other beds.

“Goodnight (Y/N)!” She sang as she dragged the poor air bender behind her, who had an obvious blush coating his face. 

It was obvious what she was doing, and it frustrated you. How could she, you’d never forgive her! 

You and Zuko looked at each other in disbelief.

“Uh. We don’t have to share a bed if you don’t want to. I-I can sleep on the floor.” Zuko offered as he refused to make eye contact with you, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. This time, you didn’t miss the pink tinge of his cheeks.

“No!” you responded a little to quickly causing a feeling of embarrassment to rush through your veins. “I mean, n-no I-I don’t mind. The floor wouldn’t be too comfortable anyway.” Zuko gave you a small smile in response. 

You couldn’t believe how attractive this man was, especially in the light of the fire that you guys had started. He practically glowed. Maybe, you could forgive Katara, just this once. Zuko had already climbed into bed, facing the wall. Not wanting to seem weird for staring, you climbed in after, facing the fire that was a good couple of feet away from you. The bed was small to the point that your backs were touching which caused your heart to flutter. You tried to sleep for a good ten minutes but you couldn’t seem to. To be fair, you were sleeping next to your crush. Kind of a hard situation to just ignore. You tried shifting around a little bit by placing your leg over the side of the bed, but that proved to be very uncomfortable. There were’t very many positions you could sleep in since most of the space was compromised. 

No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get comfortable. You tried shutting your eyes and forcing yourself to sleep but it never worked. Zuko didn’t seem to be able to sleep either, as he continuously shifted on his side of the bed. Eventually he just flipped over. His back was pressed against the wall as he faced you. That seemed to prove more comfortable for him as he stopped shifting. You could feel his warm breath on the back of your neck, causing you to tense up; creating goosebumps on the back of your neck. Your heart beat rang loudly in your ears and you silently hoped that he couldn’t hear it, but you doubt he couldn’t. Hell, you’re pretty sure Toph could hear it from the other side of the room. 

You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding and shifted for the millionth time. Your body was close enough to the edge of the bed to the point you thought you were going to fall off, maybe you should just sleep on the floor. Maybe then you’d stop your heart from racing.

Suddenly, she felt arms wrap around her waist that pulled her back slightly.

“Is this okay?” A sleepy Zuko whispered in her ear. In that moment you were sure your ovaries exploded. And you thought his voice was attractive as it was, his sleep voice was even better. 

“Y-Yeah,” you chocked out after trying to get a coherent sentence out. You silently cursed at yourself for stuttering and tried to even out your breathing. 

You could still feel his even breath on your skin, so he had to be asleep. Everything felt unreal. Here you were, being spooned by the most attractive person you’ve ever met. There was no was you were going to be able to sleep. 

About half an hour passed and you still had no success in sleeping. You decided to shift your position one last time. You sat up a little, pushing up the thin blanket covering you, and pushed your self back into Zuko’s chest. While trying not to wake him up, you tried to mold yourself against him as you push your backside against him still trying to get comfortable. A soft grunt escaped Zuko’s lips as his hands gripped your waist, holding you in place. 

“Are you trying to turn me on?” Zuko grunted in your ear. “Stay still.”

Blood immediately rushed to your face as you struggled to formulate words. 

“I-I’m so-so s-sorry.” In which Zuko on hummed in response. Where did this come from, last time you checked this boy was awkward as hell. Yet here he was, spooning you while he rested his head on the crook of your neck. His surprisingly soft hair tickling you. Your heart was beating out of your chest and your mind was racing. You couldn’t believe this was happening and how nonchalant he was about it!

Your body seemed to give you mercy as you finally were able to fall asleep.

---

Sunlight immediately impeded your vision, causing you to squint your eyes. Your eyes were met with Zuko, sleeping peacefully his hair covering his face. Man, you could get used to this. His eyes fluttered open, gold ones meeting (e/c) ones. You couldn’t quite name the look in his eyes, maybe the best way to describe it was adoration. Zuko smiled softly as he raised one of his hands from the small of your back to brush a strand of hair out of your face. He opened his mouth to say something but he was instead interrupted by squealing. 

Startled, you pushed yourself away from Zuko, causing you to fall of the bed. You groaned in pain as you rubbed your back. Zuko immediately sat up and looked down at you.

“Are you okay?!”

---

As you headed back to Appa, you never heard the end of it. Katara talked off your ear, asking you a bunch of questions which you didn’t answer. Toph just teased you about the whole thing. You were sure the boys were doing the same exact thing to Zuko a few feet behind you. Ignoring everyone else, Zuko caught up to you gaining your attention.

“Hey so uh, I saw you looking at this yesterday and I thought it would look really pretty on you. Not that I was staring at you or anything I just happened to notice...” Zuko rambled. He gave you a cute little box that was topped off with a bow. You raised an eyebrow and opened it. You then realized that it was the necklace you were looking at. Grinning you threw yourself onto Zuko, pecking him on the lips; successfully shutting him up. 

“Zuko, I love it! You didn’t have to!” You smiled at him. “Can you put it on me?” You asked, handing him the necklace. He nodded and motioned you to turn around, which you did. His fingertips brushed your shoulders and the back of your neck as he clipped on the necklace, causing your skin to tingle. Once he was done you turned and faced him, the necklace resting in between your collarbones. 

“Beautiful.” Zuko stated as he wrapped his arms around you, pushing you flush against his chest. Both of you leaned in until there was little to no space left in between you. 

“Finally! I thought we were going to have to force them to kiss!”

“Sokka! Shut up! You’re ruining the moment!” Katara scolded, causing the two to start bickering.

Rolling your eyes, you closed the space, pressing your lips against Zuko’s as the siblings bickered in the background.

[assumingminds19]

anastasia's mate

“Anyone can play, right?”

Kara felt like she was going to bounce out of her own skin, finally daring to do this, sitting on her chair and whispering to the white-bearded man next to her. Eagerness vibrated against her ribs alongside her heart. She’d asked the same man she’d seen the dark-haired woman playing the most, watching from far away. But her eyes were on the woman herself, standing back as the row of old men set their boards.

“Of course, moy dorogoy,” he answered through a thick Russian accent, his hands shaking over his pawns. “But be warned, poteryannaya printsessa is playing all quickly today.”

“What-“

Before she could finish, the woman was suddenly in front of her, Kara’s breath and question caught in her throat at finally being so close. But she didn’t even look at Kara, only at her bright, shiny and unused board for a second, before making her move and rotating back down to the end of the line.

Even though she was playing seven of them at once, Kara could barely keep up, losing first, embarrassment twisting in her gut. The rest fell in quick succession, and before she knew it, the men were packing up. The woman had vanished, leaving Kara wondering what’d just happened.

“That’s it?” She asked. “But I-“

“Don’t be upset,” the Russian replied. “She always wins.”

Kara blinked, looking back to her board and the pattern of her loss.

“Does she ever speak?”

“Da,” he laughed. “Sometimes.”

xxx

The next time they played, it was just the two of them. Kara hadn’t been expecting to play her at all. For the past month, the woman had switched only between the Russian and another man with a thick scarf. But today, before Kara had even finished setting up her board, the woman landed in the chair in front of her, waiting silently. Kara’s mouth gaped, her eyes darted towards her new Russian friend, panicked. The man���s lips twitched, and he nodded in encouragement before returning to his own game.

Kara hesitated, waiting for some cue from the other woman, but she was still just watching Kara quietly. Kara rushed to set up the pieces, feeling obligated to give the woman white as thanks for choosing her.

It was the longest game Kara had ever played, all of fifteen minutes. The woman’s moves slow and deliberate enough for her to clue in that she was giving Kara a game without pressure. An unachievable goal, Kara barely able to focus on the pieces, distracted by the lavender smell her nose caught on the wind, wondering if it was the woman’s perfume.

Still, once she’d lost, Kara frowned at the board, trying to understand.

“You shouldn’t have castled.”

It was a lovely voice, smooth, husky and crisp all at once. Wrapped around the consonants and tilting them up in a distinctly un-American way. Kara had trouble believing it was directed at her.

“I’m sorry?”

She winced at the way her voice squeaked, but the woman didn’t seem to notice, just kept watching her with vibrant green eyes.

“In your game.”

Kara’s foggy brain tried to catch up. She looked back at the board, trying to see what the woman was telling her.

“I needed to get the rook out.”

The woman didn’t wait, fingers reaching and darting over the pieces, resetting the play.

“You lost your advantage,” she answered, moving the carved wood. “I played pawn takes pawn, you couldn’t take back. Your problem was your queen knight.”

Kara blinked, still not seeing it. At her non-answer, the other woman let out a soft sigh and stood.

“Think it out.”

She breezed away with the chill wind before Kara could reply, leaving her frustrated and mournful watching her go.

A deep laugh sounded. Kara looked to the old Russian, finished now and shaking the hand of his opponent.

“You are like sobaka chasing its tail.”

Kara scowled, annoyed and began to pack up her own pieces.

“What is with her?” She grumbled.

“Fascinated?” He teased standing, board under his arm. “You’re not the first, even though you are the first she’s shown how they lost.”

Kara scowled, feeling the butt of a joke she had no part of.

“She’s good, so what?”

The man’s bushy eyebrows reached his hairline.

“She’s three times international champion before she was sixteen, devushka,” he answered, making her feel thick for not knowing. “She beat Petrovick in Paris before she was a grandmaster. You’ve been playing with Bog shakhmat, my dear. The Lost Princess, God of Chess. Don’t wonder how you lose, just be glad she picked you.”

xxxxx

Lena Luthor was her real name. From there, Kara spent half a day googling everything she could about her. Chess champion, a child prodigy, winning more competitive games before she was fourteen then most played in their career. Article after article calling her the greatest chess player to ever live. All until her final match at sixteen, the first loss of her career, when she seemed to vanish from the chess scene and the earth. Except she hadn’t. She was here, in National City, playing in the park with old men and Kara.

Kara’s cursor hovered over the video of an old interview, Lena’s young face so sombre and severe for a child of twelve.

“It was the board I noticed first. It’s an entire world of just sixty-four squares. I feel safe in it. I can control it. I can dominate it. And it’s predictable, so if I get hurt, I only have myself to blame.”

“And what do you do for fun?”

“I stay awake as long as I can, reading my books, learning the Sicilian Defence. There are fifty-seven pages about it in the book I’m reading, with one hundred and seventy lines stemming from P to QB4. I’ll memorise them and play through them in my mind.”

“There’s more to life than chess, you know.”

“Is there?”

Kara absorbed the words, her curiosity ferocious before she closed her laptop screen and picked up the second-hand, dog eared book on chess openings she had bought, settling back on her couch to reread it again.

xxxxx

The third time they played, Kara was the one to choose Lena, marching right up and sitting across from her before Lena had the chance to choose anyone else. It sent a mutter through the crowd of old men, but Lena took it in her stride, a ghost of a smile on her lips and didn’t say a word as Kara set up the board, this time choosing white.

Kara made her first move deliberately, watching Lena’s face as she did, daring her with it. Lena’s eyes raked the board, then Kara’s face in turn, sparkling before she made her answering move.

It was long and complicated, and Kara spent more time hung up on moves that should have been simple when Lena countered with something that sent her in a whole new direction. By the time the game had stretched into an hour, none of the men were playing anymore. Instead, they gathered in a small crowd around them, watching quietly as their match ebbed and flowed.  

Once, Kara was convinced she was going to lose, seeing Lena’s path to victory in three more moves when suddenly, Lena did something completely unexpected. Sacrificing her queen and leaving her king exposed. At first, Kara thought she had missed something herself, wondering if she had tripped into a mistake. But the more she looked, the worse it all became for Lena. It caught Kara off-guard. It would be a brutal play. It would be the kind of thing Lena did to other people, and for a minute Kara wondered if she should do it at all. But something was pushing her in the back of her mind—an urge for this to be more than a pastime. More then a compulsion or an addiction, and Kara wondered when this had become less about knowing Lena and more about knowing herself. It was a demand, an obsession—a thirst for something more.

Kara made the play, her fingers unable to let go of her piece as she watched, recalculated and watched again before she let it go. Kara saw it in Lena’s eyes then, a softness. An acceptance. And then, Lena was holding out her hand for Kara to take, her king in her palm.

“It’s your game,” she whispered. “Take it.”

Kara did, her skin tingling where their hands touched, a part of her was too dumbfounded to realise that the roaring in her ears was the sound of applause from the crowd around them. Lena dropped their joined hands with a smile and melted back through the group. Kara tried to follow as the men held her back, offering their congratulations. In an undoubtedly rude move, she ignored and pushed past them, head twisting around, scanning the people in the park, finally spotting Lena’s back as she walked away.

Kara ran after her, calling out.

“Hey, wait!”

Lena stopped, turned around, an eyebrow arched when Kara slid to a stop in front of her. Without the barrier of chess between them, Kara found herself at a loss for words, caught in Lena’s green eyes.

“I… uhhh… hello.”

It was all she could dumbly manage.

“Hello.”

There was a long pause, too long beyond comfortable, before the only thought Kara could think spilled from her lips.

“Did you let me win?”

“No.”

Kara hesitated, the insecurity mixed with the flush of victory banished at Lena’s quick answer. Somehow knowing without knowing that Lena wasn’t a person who’d lie.

“But you did before,” Kara continued instead, pressing, searching for something to hold onto. “Your game… when you were sixteen.”

Lena looked out and away from her for a beat.



“Yes,” she answered quietly, looking back.

Kara’s mouth worked silently, tasting the answer on her tongue.

“Why?”

Lena took another pause before she replied.

“When winning takes everything, what are you left with?”

Kara shouldn’t know what she meant. How could she possibly? But part of her felt it in her bones anyway.

“Chess isn’t always competitive though,” Kara whispered. “It can also be-“  

“Beautiful.”

The bare branches of the park dusted light through their snow-covered boughs. They haloed them perfectly, Kara thought, capturing this moment, frozen eternal.

“Why did I win?” She needed to know, not fully understanding herself. “You’ve been playing all your life, I’ve only been playing for three months.”

Lena didn’t seem to think her question stupid, or ridiculous, or any of the things Kara feared it was. She just stepped forward, an inch, but enough to make a point, her eyes darkening to a deeper green.

“Because I was only playing chess, darling,” the final word rippled down Kara’s spine. “You spent three months learning to play chess with me. You’re very good. Raw, unpredictable… when you’re not overthinking. You made a marvellous recovery today.”

Kara knew. She’d almost opened herself up to check in five moves. But the fact that Lena knew that Kara knew and fixed it made her preen, a blush filling her cheeks.

“Thank you. I… I’ve been watching you, for a while on my lunch break,” she admitted. “You were always here, the only colour in a sea of silver.”

“You were fascinated by it.”

“Not it,” Kara quickened. “You.”

Lena’s head tilted, and not for the first time, Kara hungered to know what exactly was going on under that pale and beautiful mask.

“What’s your name?” Lena asked, voice soft, welcoming and unexpected.

“Kara. Kara Danvers.”

“Would you like to go out to dinner?”

“Like a date?” Kara blinked, wondering if she’d misheard.

“Yes,” Lena smiled.

“Ye.. yeah!” Kara stumbled, unable to reign in her enthusiasm. “Umm, tonight?”

“I have a standing engagement.” Before Kara could feel disappointed, Lena countered. “Tomorrow?”

Kara nodded, head bobbing like she was on the dashboard of a car.

“Ok.”

One second. Then two.

“Your number?”

“Oh, yeah…” Kara blushed again. “Here, I’ll um… put it into your… yep.”

She typed it dutifully into Lena’s outstretched phone, sending herself a text to make sure, before handing it back.

“Tomorrow then,” Lena answered, phone safely back in her pocket. “Kara Danvers.”

She leaned forward, brushing her warm lips against Kara’s cheek, her hand giving Kara’s arm a small squeeze through the fabric of her winter coat. Then she was floating away once more, Kara staring after her.

“Wow.”

That night Kara dreamt of rooks and castles and lost princesses, found again.

[maythedreadwolfbreakyou]

To Catch Me When I Fall

A Story of Friendship

     Beyond the balcony, the warm orange glow of the setting sun fell beyond the seam of the world, slowly casting the valley and the surrounding mountains into darkness. They would be lighting the braziers on the ramparts soon. 

     The cold mountain breeze rushed through the open balcony door and blew straight through Ghilina's casual evening finery, licking at the skin beneath with its wintry chill.

     She dared to look out the tall, ornate windows to see the sky tinged the color of Spindleweed, and the matte black that slowly swept across the sky like a rising tide, bringing with it the beauty of the stars.

     The moon had a milky glow in the inky black sky, amidst an array of diamond dust stars. The cool wind tugged at the free locks of her black hair, tickling her neck. Ghilina only smiled as she took comfort from the gentle, melodic timbre of the voice behind her. She snuggled her back deeper into his warm, broad chest as his outstretched arm pointed out ancient constellations written in those stars.

     Ghilina set her jaw as she shook the memory from her mind, viciously blinking back the sting of tears that they often brought. Instead she forced her mind away, placing an elbow on the desk as the width of her forehead rested between her thumb and forefinger. 

     The shudder from the ever cooling breeze made her involuntarily shudder, but she did not tear her focus from the documents she pored over by candlelight. Documents that had gone neglected in the days leading up to Corypheus, and she was determined to keep her mind busy.

     A quick set of knocks echoing from her chamber door startled her as she looked up, the door swinging open before she could answer. 

     Walking inside was the dashing dark-haired, bronze-skinned Dorian whose curled mustache bowed with his frown.

"Honestly," he complained, crossing the room in a long-legged stride to the open balcony, "I haven't the foggiest how you could concentrate on anything with this cold."

     He pulled the balcony doors shut with a clatter as Ghilina watched with an amused grin, leaning back in her seat, arms folded.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, mister Pavus?" Ghilina asked.

"You know I am to return to Tevinter, yes?" Dorian began, "It has been many months since we defeated Corypheus, and I cannot postpone my journey much longer."

"When are you leaving?" 

"Tomorrow," he answered sadly, "I've given my goodbyes to the others. It will be strange to be without them. For my last night in Skyhold, I wanted to spend it with you."

Ghilina gaped with astonishment, "with me? What did you have in mind?"

Dorian reached for her hand and pulled her from her chair, "A few ideas, just know I won't take no for an answer. Come with me."

Ghilina couldn't help but smile as he led her from her chamber and down the stone steps.

     The blanket draped around her shoulders was thick and warm in the cold night, it failed to reach her toes which would feel the chill before too long. 

     Ghilina heard the murmurs behind her and turned to look. Dorian was accepting two large steaming mugs from one of the kitchen girls whose head peaked up from the hole leading into the Mage tower. Ghilina admired the girl's courage, even now few were willing to brave the inside of the tower, much less climb the ladder to the roof. 

     The girl gave Dorian a final toothy smile before the loud clack of boots against wooden ladder rungs signaled her descent. 

     The mug Dorian offered was filled with a dark and hot liquid. Ghilina accepted the mug gingerly and wrapped her hands around its metallic surface, letting the warmth flow through her fingers and banish the wintry chill. 

"I trust you wouldn't think I had it poisoned," Dorian teased lightly, "I'm told it's good for a wounded heart."

Ghilina could not hide the surprise from her face, to which Dorian greeted with a delighted laugh.

"You didn't really think you were hiding it, did you?"

Ghilina looked down, "I had hoped I was."

She took a drink from her mug to hide her embarrassment, and what greeted her was a dark, hot liquid that was rich and creamy as it coated her tongue thickly. It smoothly flowed down her throat.

"Chocolate?" She asked, staring into her mug.

"Hot Cocoa," Dorian corrected, "or so I am told. It was among the many gifts sent to the Inquisition for their help against the Red Templars. Quite popular in the more cold and rural parts of Orlais, I hear."

     She watched him from beneath the lip of her cup as he sat across the table, a knowing smile on his face. He lifted his gaze for only a moment to meet hers. But a moment was all it took for her heart to flutter like the butterflies in her stomach.

     Her vision blurred as her eyes glimmered with tears. She looked skyward before they could fall, quickly blinking them away. 

     Dorian took her cup from her hands then and placed it on the wall's ledge with his own, "There will be none of that."

     Before Ghilina could protest, Dorian had gently pulled her to his chest and held her affectionately. She could not hide the surprise from her voice, "Dorian, what-"

"If it is uncomfortable, I will stop." He interrupted, "I have seen how strong you have tried to be, you are the Inquisitor and no one should see you vulnerable. We both know I am not no one. I am not Cole so I have no way to offer help as he could, but I would still offer help as a friend. You can cry here, get angry, fume, with just us and no one else."

     Those words were all it took for the walls Ghilina had built to hold her up and make her strong, to crumble and collapse at his feet. Moment by moment, they fell like the tears from her chin. 

     He continued softly, "What is tearing you apart shouldn't remain apart of you, you taught me that. Let it out, dear girl."

     She sobbed into his chest unceasingly, hands clutching at the fabrics of his mage robes. 

     Ghilina loved her hair, her hair very much like her mother's and all too uncommon among the Dalish, but it wasn't the best thing about her. It fell in raven-black waves against her ominously fair skin, so striking that it was one of the only things anyone in her clan commented on. But Solas, he barely seemed to notice it at all. Many times, she had caught him as he watched her like she held stars in her hands and left flowers in her wake. It was enough to bring heat to her face and wonder, fleetingly, what his lips might feel like against her own.

     The happy memories she had once treasured like kind and welcome friends in the darkest of times came to her now, each one bearing a dagger for her already vulnerable heart.

     Dorian only held her in silence, rocking her slowly and stroking her hair as the tears soaked his chest. 

     She stared back at him for what felt like hours as they exchanged shy, affectionate words in the snow, until finally she dropped her gaze, "Sweet talker," her voice was quieter now, less confident.

     Ghilina dared herself to look up; a gentle flush of pink against her skin that was not because of the biting cold. She held her breath as she leaned up on the tips of her toes, turning his face to her's by the chin, before tentatively pressing her lips to his. 

     Her head had gone hazy; her body stagnant for all but the sensation of their lips intertwined, so sweet and silken, it was unlike any kiss before. 

     Before she could regret, to see the discomfort of her boldness on his face, she retreated. Only to feel his hands grip her and pull her back in for a more experienced kiss that robbed her of her breath and her heart.

     She trembled and whimpered between waves of misery. Minutes of sobbing broken apart by short pauses for breath. But always she returned, hurling herself back into the open arms of her grief until her whole world faded to black.

     Ghilina found herself in her own bed when she was startled awake by the familiar belly laugh of The Iron Bull.

"Oh come on, Kadan. By the look on your face when I found you, I'd have thought you never had seen a woman fainting before."

Ghilina's back was to them, she found as she opened her eyes. Instinctively, she remained still as she listened.

"Could you keep your voice down, Amatus?" Dorian chided, "Half the castle must have heard you, and in case it went unnoticed, the Inquisitor is sleeping."

"Besides," he continued, "the only women I had seen fainting were never my closest friends. This was new, and more concerning."

The Iron Bull grunted, "Judging by the dark circles under her eyes, she must not be sleeping well."

Silence descended on the room then, for so long that Ghilina began to think they might have silently slipped out. The silence was shattered unexpectedly when Dorian spoke. 

"She must have been burying herself in work to keep her mind occupied." Dorian quavered with sadness, "You should have seen her when she finally let go, she was… beside herself with grief."

"I can guess. Just seeing that fake smile on her face for our benefit... She was holding everything back."

"You care much more than you pretend to, Amatus." Dorian teased.

Ghilina could hear the smile in Bull's voice, "Hey, I care a great deal."

"Of that, I am certain." Dorian gritted his teeth then, and continued, "What I cannot understand is how Solas could do this to her. No explanation, no closure, nothing. If I ever see him again, I'll… I don't know, but I'll do something to make him regret breaking her heart."

"You are a good one, Kadan. I don't know if she would like hearing you say that. But you're a good man all the same, and a good friend." The pride on Bull's voice was tangible. 

"I try to be. Ghilina has become one of my best friends in such a short amount of time. She doesn't deserve this. What he did to her."

     Dorian giggled suggestively before he reluctantly agreed. Ghilina heard their receding footsteps shortly after, followed by the soft clatter of her chamber door.

"No, she doesn't." Ghilina heard the creak of a chair, "We should go, Kadan. Let her rest. Besides, you're setting off tomorrow and I would hate to see you go without something to remember me by."

She sat up in bed and stretched, her eyes were sore and swollen, no doubt glaringly red, and feeling puffy at the touch. Her cheeks felt stiff and worn from the dried tears, and her head ached. Yet despite all of that, she felt surprisingly refreshed. Perhaps some time on the balcony would help relieve some of the swelling and soreness she felt.

     She paused suddenly as Dorian and Bull's words sank in, had she really been that obvious? It shamed her to think they had noticed how hard she had been trying to prevent them from worrying about her, only for it to backfire. But as much as her heart yet pained and ached, there was a warmth that spread there in the holes left behind. Comfort taken in knowing she had such devoted friends who cared as much about her as she did for them. Friends she had come to consider more like a chosen family, a thought like a salve on a wounded heart that made her smile. A genuine smile that left a strange feeling after faking one for so long.

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Emily's Awakening, Part Five

The humongous demon raised its other gargantuan hand and pointed to the iron, gauntlet-shaped tower on the horizon, commenting on it no further. Emily instantly sensed that Catechism had issued a challenge. It was upon her to observe it—and embrace it.

“It’s now or never,” she said, not missing a beat.

The tower pulsed as if responding to her resolute comment. It throbbed. Or was it Emily herself, resonating with it? Her temples thrummed in unison with her own pulse, with the pulse she felt from the iron tower.

This whole world had a heartbeat. The volcanic eruptions all around matched its rhythm. Emily felt it mirrored in herself, like reflections of her own being. Was this where she came from? Where her soul truly belonged?

Just as she saw the tower, it saw her. Emily and the tower looked at each other. It had no eyes but it saw all. It understood her, and vice versa. Her vices, tempered through the trials of the maze. Her virtues, her own to hone for any purpose she decided on pursuing.

The moment she doubted any of this as reality, the moment she doubted herself, she sensed the oblivion behind her again. The padded cell. The demon she named “Stinky Jim” laughing at her while she rocked back and forth, alone in the psych ward, drooling. Helpless. Insane.

Turning back had ceased being an option. It ceased being that a while ago now, lost somewhere in the maze. She looked up at the horrendous face of Wise Man Catechism, feeling nothing but calm and thriving in the hellish melody, feeling a certain serenity in how her heartbeat matched the pulse of Pandemonium. He turned his head to look back at her through his one thousand eyes. They nodded at each other in silent agreement.

“I am ready,” she said. Her words a vow for the future, a pledge to brave any challenges ahead.

Just then, a tiny creature emerged from the mountains. Scrambling, running, hopping from shattered stone ruin to volcanic island to solid ground, braving the fires. A man in a black suit, with a long white coat draped over his shoulders.

Jones.

Here, a foreign presence. He did not belong. The frayed edges of his manifestation stood in contrast to the inferno all around him, like he had invaded this place and it threatened to eject him any moment now, like two realities clashing in paradox.

Jones yelled. His hollering echoed between the volcanic mountains where Catechism stood, and his shouts reached Emily’s ears despite the incredible distance, “No! Don’t let her do it!”

He jumped at Catechism’s spiked tail and grabbed hold of its end. Catechism turned his head and just glared at the intruder. Jones’ arm withered like a plant drying out on a video recording being fast-forwarded, until it shriveled away and turned into dust. Judging by the horrified expression on Jones’ face, he had expected as much, though it would not deter him.

Catechism’s presence surged with waves of raw power—an incomprehensible hatred. Emily felt the waves of contempt and rebellion pass through her as they emanated from the monolithic demon, but they had no effect on her. The magnitude of this aura expanded outwards and engulfed Jones, banishing him from the Pandemonium. Just winked out of existence. There in one moment, gone instantly in the next.

“This is my sacred world,” Catechism and Emily said in unison.

Though now she understood: they were not as one. Catechism was not an aspect of herself. This chthonian being was one of the masters of this realm.

Before she could dwell on this, the demon took flight, shooting into the skies. The winds turned into tempests and Emily held onto the fissures in the lines of the labyrinth upon Catechism’s palm. She held on for her dear life as the infernal wastelands flashed by, thousands of feet below.

Everywhere, beings of fire lurked. Vices manifest. She could not always make out their exact appearances or shapes, but she knew what they were. Fears, sins. Liars. Criminals. Fools. All of them here, suffering in eternal torment, left behind for their misdeeds and crushed under the weight of their personal burdens. Chained to burning stone, melting in pools of searing-hot blood.

As Catechism crossed over the Abyss of Wrath with a flap of his mighty wings, Emily caught a glimpse of the forces gathered there. Locked in an grueling war, battling eternally in continuous strife. The heartbeat she felt from this entire world beat the strongest here—it resonated the most with her here.

If she ever failed, if she ever gave in, then this is where she would end. And there would be no return from it. She felt the pull of this Abyss. Like she belonged here the most. Something like a sweet smell of peaches, the same sort of satisfaction Emily felt whenever she smoked a cigarette and sipped from a bottle of beer to celebrate work well done, but blending with the twisted delight in winning an argument or insulting a person who had it coming. Tempting her to let go, here and now. Just see if she could survive the fall, and see up close what forces roiled down there. To see what she could do. If she could emerge the victor with her new powers of the mind.

“When the universe was forged by the ancient dragons, that is where wrath itself was hammered into shape. You can return here, but only if there is truly no redemption left for you,” Catechism’s voice thundered through the sulfurous winds to her. “If you have more to fight for—if there is truly more to your will, then you must press on.”

It took little convincing for Emily to continue clinging onto Catechism’s palm. The fall still frightened her. Most of all, though, finding her inner demons down there in that Abyss horrified her the most. Part of her knew that she would never return from that battlefield. She pictured how the red hot fire inside of her—that cradle of rage—would just consume her, turn her into one of the awful creatures that dwelt in this world, consuming her life force until she too was nothing but a burnt out husk.

The iron gauntlet-shaped tower neared. Loomed. The acidic clouds parted. Each repeated flap of Catechism’s wings carried them closer, caused a mighty thunderclap to ripple through the skies, driving fiery tears into Emily’s iron eyes. The tower seemingly grew to ever greater heights: the closer they got, the bigger it appeared. Or it had been this mighty and majestic all along. Impenetrable, unfathomable, and insurmountable.

Yet as they neared, Emily felt a thirst for knowledge. Just like she always sought to reveal the truth to the world, she now felt the drive to explore this tower. To see what secrets awaited her at its top.

With a final flap of his wings, fueled by all the will she had channeled into his hand when she braved the maze of her madness, the gigantic demon hurtled towards the tower base, then arched his flight path upwards. They ascended until Catechism landed upon a platform, halfway up the entire height of this impossible structure.

The world shifted and turned again until Emily realized that the demon had knelt down, lowering his hand to the platform. With legs as shaky as rubber, she traversed his mighty palm and hopped down. The weight of her iron body clanked as she connected to the solid pitch-black iron grounds of the platform, causing the metals to ring in accordance with each other. Harmonizing like tuning forks.

Perched like a gargoyle on the platform, the tower dwarfed even the mighty chthonic Catechism. He pointed to the rest of the tower above them, reaching into the blackened churning vortex of clouds in the sky, roiling in a spiraling shape around the tip of the gauntlet.

“You belong there, but I cannot carry you any farther. You must take the final steps on your own,” said the demon. Instead of the booming voice, it was the voice of the Wise Man, riding on the resonance of the singing metals.

Fiery veins ran just underneath the surface of the tower, casting a faint glow through the fissures forged in its unnatural construction. Within those fissures, souls cooked; bubbling and boiling. They fed the heat here, flowing upwards. Souls of all those who had come this far—but failed to rise any higher.

Dizziness caused Emily to sway as she looked up the height of the tower, clashing with her desire to climb it.

“Many children come here,” said Wise Man with the same resolution as he had spoken with on the night before Emily’s awakening. “But only few have the will to return and master this place.”

Unlike the rest of the hellscape, this iron tower had been built here. Effort manifest. Not anything animalistic or instinctual. Neither a relic ripped from other worlds and times and placed here in punishment.

No—the tower, ending in a massive iron gauntlet clenched into a fist—had been shaped by human consciousness; intellectual thought; and cold, hard logic. Every inch of it had been intricately designed by the minds of the many, coalescing into a collective product of human ingenuity.

The veins of molten souls looked like different metals—like brass and tin, woven into the iron body of the tower. The walls at the end of the platform shifted. Iron squealed and screeched as the walls parted like a sliding door, opening up a passageway that would lead Emily inside. Flames burst out from the tower’s depths, licking at the sulfurous air outside, both taunting and intimidating Emily with their animate audacity.

Now up close, Emily realized that strange symbols covered every surface of the tower. They were no language she knew. Something ancient, something she couldn’t understand, yet she comprehended it perfectly without knowing why. The glyphs spoke to her through her own mind. Like kindred spirits touching and becoming one.

“Enter if you dare, upon the threat of peril, oh, Warlock on the Path of the Scourging. Scion on the Watchtower of the Iron Gauntlet, in the Realm of Pandemonium, Kingdom of Nightmares, and abode of demons. Enter you may if your soul carries the spark of Gnosis. And from now on, bear the name of Mastigos—or perish in the Abyss,” read the ancient tongue engraved into the iron.

Without turning away from it, Emily felt the heat surge through her. Become part of her. Her iron body shone, reflecting the fires from inside the tower, and the words written upon it.

“How many failed before me?” she asked Catechism.

The demon waved the maze-hand upon which she had arrived in Pandemonium. Just like the lines of the maze upon his palm glowed, the brass veins of the tower flared up with orange light. The lava comprised of souls within them burst into flames, continuing to flow upwards, defying gravity as they matched the same pulse of the rest of this world, rising in zigzag patterns to the top of the tower, feeding its power.

With the glow of the brass veins, iron plates bolted onto the tower’s walls flared up, revealing themselves to be vignettes carrying the names of thousands. Millions.

Some names had been written comprehensibly, in alphabets and tongues that Emily recognized. Others took the appearance of hieroglyphs or unrecognizable, alien symbols. All of them had been marked in different fashions: in dark ink, engraved, etched, embossed, written in blood, brushed with excrement, anything she could imagine. Those names all glowed for a moment.

The world rumbled.

Emily’s gaze followed the length of the river of burning souls to the base of the tower and only now perceived how it all flowed together there. Rivers from all over the hellscape converged with the tower at their center—the brain—rivers coursing through Pandemonium like a nervous system running through the entire world. They reached so far into the horizon that the mists and mountains and ruins all swallowed their ends.

In those mists, she could see other monolithic creatures to match Catechism’s magnitude and foreboding presence. An entity wreathed in dark tempests, another swimming through molten steel, one that slept within jagged mountains and hungered as it devoured the edges of this world.

Thrumming to the same rhythm of her heartbeat, the veins of molten souls glowed for a few more seconds until Catechism lowered his hand, and their brightness died down to the soft glow they had displayed before.

Emily turned to see the names vanish from the iron vignettes making up the face of the tower’s walls. Their presence stayed palpable and their meaning became as crisp as the jagged edges of the ashen particles that wafted through the toxic air of Pandemonium.

She, too, would inscribe her name here. But how high would she get?

As if on cue, Catechism plucked the smallest spike from his tail—the one that Mister Jones had latched onto before the demon withered his arm and banished him from Pandemonium. Gingerly, the building-sized demon held out the tiny spike between two of its colossal claws, hovering just above Emily.

She held out her open palms. Catechism dropped the spike and she received it in her hands, holding onto it like a precious treasure, then gripping it like the tool and weapon that it simultaneously was.

With that, the demon flapped his wings. The ensuing gale swept over the platform with startling force, yet Emily stood her ground. That single flap carried him into the air by the tower’s side, and another took him farther away. Yielding no more words, Catechism flew off, heading towards the horizon, soaring back to the fiery mountains from which he had carried Emily.

She took a deep breath, tasting the toxic tinge of sin in the air of Pandemonium, and turned to face the burning portal that had opened for her. Emily entered, ignoring the flames that continued to flicker within.

Beyond the portal lay an infinite stairwell, spiraling both up and down and descending into festering, shadowy depths; as well as reaching dizzying heights. The awakened woman recognized it now: a place from her memories, her dreams and nightmares. She had been here before, somehow, although only partially. Where she had once stepped foot inside this tower in spirit, her entire being and consciousness had reached the tower now, in this hyperreality.

Mere moments after she dithered to marvel at this monument of honed madness, shouts began to echo from the depths.

“I hate you,” sneered the voice of Christine.

“Maybe you were worthless after all,” said Sean, her father.

“Our relationship was a mistake,” thought Julian.

A raging fire, red-hot and all-devouring, rose from the darkness below. It billowed forth, climbing upwards, in the shape of crimson smoke. Deadly fire pierced through its edges, threatening to melt Emily and pull her into the veins of molten souls.

And it quickly closed in on her.

Instead of returning outside through the portal, she dashed up the stairs with the dark fire right on her heels. Always taunting her with twisted thoughts, of words that came threateningly close to blackening her heart with despair. Transported by familiar voices, aimed at breaking her will.

“I told you to shut the fuck up because you have nothing worthwhile to say,” Chris said.

“I regret having any more kids after the first,” groaned her mother, Melissa.

“When I’m out, I’m going to kill you,” Kathryn said, cackling like the demon of madness, Stinky Jim.

But these were not just fears of Emily’s which the rising darkness threatened to make flesh. They were echoes from different times, different places—the results of different realities coalescing, coagulating—the aftermath of different decisions she could have made, of all the things she changed for the better all going wrong. The flames of that dark fire fed on that negativity, and her dread—for Emily’s legs buckled, she almost crumpled as she imagined that those things might all overwrite the reality she knew or believed to know.

The same despair that made her mind flash back to the padded cell. To that madness and surrendering. So enticing, all over again, to just turn around. And descend. Give up. No more pain, no more suffering. Why not let others bear the weight of the world?

While she could keep up the pace and the cloud of despair at a range, the malevolent whispers of its dark fire caught up to her. They sapped her of her strength, rendering her legs wearier under the weight of her iron body.

She focused on the gauntlet on her hand, manifest once more. She imagined the top of the tower, resolving to one day reach its impossible pinnacles. Emily mustered every last ounce of strength and will, ignoring how her body burnt with scorching heat and her lungs screamed for sweet reprieve.

“What if that creature was the one who did all the work for you?” asked Stinky Jim.

His laughter echoed from the cloud of darkness, bleeding into the voice of her dead colleague Hal saying, “What if the camera does all the work? You know, people don’t give a shit about the talking head or some faceless writer, only how cool or appalling shit looks on screen. Reporters like you are worthless. Just do us all a favor and finally drown yourself in your damned bottle, ‘kay?”

The cloud of dark fire consumed the doubts welling up inside of Emily and swelled to greater proportions, gaining more ground on her. The flames shot forth and ate away at the stairs. The iron steps melted away, exploding into puffs of smoke and ashes. The weariness of her legs overwhelmed her, a final step in her running stride cut short—and she fell. Plummeted. Resigned to the doom that awaited her.

“Fuck you. Fuck all of you. At least I fucking tried,” she muttered. Still, she defied it. She refused to accept her failure.

A freight train of pure force hit her and before she knew it, she was hurtling through the air again. Her cat, Charlotte—in her giant saber-toothed tiger form—had leapt from nothingness to rescue her from this doom.

Charlotte clutched Emily’s iron body between her deadly teeth. The giant cat jumped from one crumbling step to the next disintegrating step, crossing the growing gaps in leaps and bounds. The dark cloud devoured more of the infinite stairwell and Charlotte took a final leap.

With a sinking sense of dread, Emily knew her loyal companion would not make it. Charlotte hurled Emily away mid-air, causing her to land on a platform higher up. Emily screamed as she watched Charlotte’s arc curve down and the wildcat vanish as the cloud swallowed her whole, leaving only the shredded memory of a roar whose defiance matched the one in Emily’s soul.

In her heart of hearts, she knew, Charlotte was lost. Consumed by something eternal—something formless and voracious that consumed all things across all iterations of existence. Emily cried bloody tears but had no time to grieve. She swiveled to continue her flight up the stairs, escaping from the cloud of darkness as fast as she could.

She found the blue flame deep within her. She was not just Iron Emily. Not just a body with massive weight, resistant to the fires of hell, an unmoving rock. She was also Blue Flame Emily, the one who harnessed the fury, controlled it. Together, they sparked new fire onto the final kindling of her hopes and dreams.

Julian would be with her, always. Miranda and Samantha remained. Carlos would start a new life, far away from all this madness.

Emily believed: she would change the world.

And the world, here, now—it changed in kind. The walls shifted, forming new stairs where the cloud had demolished them, creating barriers behind her to shield her from the deathly flames, sliding to and fro to create new passageways for survival. The tower moved, adjusting continuously to help her ascend, countering whenever the dark cloud hindered her and made things harder.

All the while, the gauntlet encasing her hand throbbed. The entire tower thrummed to this primal tune, ever-shifting to match the rhythm of each heartbeat.

The tower wanted her to succeed.

The cloud of darkness billowed up; opened up behind her like a hungry mouth, lined with teeth made of dark red fire. In its nebulous and inconsistent shapes, Emily saw many faces rapidly surface and disappear; faces of the screaming, the crying, and the suffering. Faces both familiar and unknown. She saw her own fears and regrets bubbling to its surface, catching up to her. She even saw her own face in there.

Above and ahead, the murky twilight of Pandemonium shone through another open portal; the sweet promise of escape from the tower’s deadly interior and perhaps a place to rest and evade the cloud entirely, for it existed in this form only within the iron walls—a pool of lost souls that sought to fill its own void with the souls of those who still held hope in their hearts. Jumping, leaping, taking running steps in stride, Emily made her way closer and closer to this exit. The noxious clouds never looked so enticing.

The darkness sensed this—as her hope of escaping it flared up, so did its never-ending hunger. It shot forth and began to envelop Emily, with the field of her vision darkening as the cloud’s billowing form wrapped around. It chewed at the final footholds she would need to jump from to reach the portal leading outside the tower. Her mouth stayed shut but her soul screamed louder than anything that came from the cloud and she took one last leap of faith.

Screeching metal reflected the walls sliding shut behind her, sealing the portal and making return another impossibility. Emily tumbled onto the ground outside, where cold, unforgiving winds carrying ash and shattered memories swept across the plane. The tower sealed the cloud of darkness inside its bowels, keeping it where it belonged. Maintaining it as a trial to those who dared ascend, and culling those whose will could not be tempered.

Rising to her feet, Emily took in her environment and marveled how much higher she had gotten on the tower in such little time. None of that made sense, but this world obeyed different laws. She stood on the heel of the hand of the tower’s gauntlet, this clenched iron fist that stood as a monument to Pandemonium’s mysteries.

Still farther to go.

“Only you can go there, mom,” echoed the child-like voice in her mind. Tran’s kid, or one of Emily’s cats? It didn’t matter. Just a faint reminder that she had to take responsibility for losing Charlotte. She had to make her death count. She had to make all deaths count. Everybody had helped her get this far, and their efforts and losses would not be in vain.

The concept of time unraveled while Emily climbed the thumb of the gauntlet. Every single decision in her life returned to her. The memories did not always arrive in form of haunting regret, but when they did, Emily savored their taste—now understanding that they left scars, where the tissue of her spirit healed over and she became stronger for it. The memories did not always transport happiness, but when they did, Emily’s mind caressed them and kissed them goodbye—now understanding that she could not dwell in the past any longer, nor let any of it hold her back.

Perhaps she climbed for minutes, or perhaps for ten thousand years. She had to stop every now and then to catch her breath, to gather her strength once more. The tower sometimes ached and squealed to create holds that she could grasp in her ongoing ascent. The lifetime she looked back on, the life that might have ended in death at the hands of the human traffickers underneath the Estoria Pacific, or in a padded cell—it felt like a lifetime to look back upon every facet of it. And climbing the gauntlet forced her to interrogate each second of her life.

Infinity passed in the blink of an eye.

It took her hours or years to understand that no strength remained in her muscles. Her iron body defied gravity in strange ways, and the only thing that propelled her forth, allowing her to climb ever higher, was her own sheer force of will.

Emily climbed past rivers of lava flowing upwards, past hypnotic patterns of names written in foreign alphabets. The names and the plates they were inscribed upon kept shifting their placements to the tune of metal scraping upon metal. The arrangements directed her attention and kept pointing the way she needed to take in her ascent, for she could not climb in a straight line upwards to overcome this challenge. The names guided her.

She found it hard to believe when she reached the top of the gauntlet and collapsed. She fell to her knees and felt her willpower fading. Just a small flame left over, hidden deep inside, like freezing hands cupped around the tiny light on a candle. Blue, turning cold, almost fading away. Barely more than a spark. She gripped her chest with the gauntlet on her hand, much like a dying body attempting to hold onto the last leg of life left within it.

As the fingers of her gauntlet splayed, the tower moved, mirroring the exact motions. The walls groaned and ached. The brass veins of molten souls bubbled and gurgled. Metal scratched, scraped. The gauntlet shape of the tower transformed with unfathomable speed and precision.

Just in time, Emily dug the claws of the gauntlet on her hand into the gaps between the metal plates she knelt upon. The world spun, turned upside down, shifting, twisting, gyrating, turning the right side up again; orchestrated by the symphony of moving iron parts. Like a gigantic clockwork and its myriads of gears all interlocking, all working towards one concerted goal, fulfilling a singular purpose.

The clenched fist had unfurled, with all fingers pointing heavenwards.

Emily stood atop the gauntlet’s fingers, farthest above the hellscape of Pandemonium. The infinite climb had robbed her of everything save the last shred of will she still possessed. Now the incredible vista robbed her of her breath. The chthonic entities looming on the horizon all looked to the tower in unison. Creatures so vast and ancient that mortal minds could shatter in the effort of trying to comprehend their existence—they all looked at Emily. Where these beings had just lingered in Pandemonium when she first saw them, uncaring and unaware of her presence, they now stared at the tower. At her. Waiting. Anticipating. Catechism, among them, observed from so far away that she could not see his individual eyes, but she felt them transfixed upon her.

They knew what was to follow.

The metal shifted once more. A wall—the claw or nail of the gauntlet’s fingertip she stood upon—rose before her. Plates with names glowed, revealing a direct path to an altar that arose in front of that wall, presenting itself to Emily.

The maze and now the tower had stripped her of any vestiges of misplaced defiance. All that remained was her righteous fury and that last spark of blue fire, nestled deep within her soul. Not only had she come too far to turn back now, she now saw her own skeins of destiny and willingly—consciously—chose to embrace them.

The first step towards the altar was a wobbly one, a timid one. The steps that followed swelled with strength and vigor. That spark of blue fire was all it needed. All it took. Emily neared the altar, following the names upon the risen plates. They burned brightly whenever she neared and their glow died down as she left them behind her.

Some of the names on those plates caught her eye: Sigmund Freud, Dante Alighieri, Ricardo Gomez, Count Giovanni Angelo Braschi, Vladimir Bekhterev, Hippolyte Bernheim, Oliver Cromwell, Otto Eduard Leopold von Bismarck, Magus Bardiya Guamata, Darius the Great, Xerxes I, Pontius Pilate. Many of them unsettled her. Sowed doubt.

The moment she stepped foot before the altar, its individual pieces parted, allowing an empty vignette to rise to its surface, just in front of her.

An empty spot. Her vignette.

She wondered if she had dreamt this before, overcome by a sense of déjà vu.

As she unfolded the gauntlet on her hand, the demon spike from Catechism emerged from her palm until it came to gently rest there. Emily knew what to do.

She pierced her left arm with the demonic knife-like claw. The iron of her arm offered no resistance and the blackened spike just sank in like a needle piercing soft flesh. She withdrew it and fiery blood trickled out of her arm and onto the vignette.

Her blood glowed with fiery light and flowed with the viscosity of lava. Wherever it dripped onto the metal of the vignette, it sizzled and burned, searing shapes into the iron. Her own name took shape, cutting itself into its rightful place.

Emily Graves.

The tower rumbled. The chthonian creatures at the edge of Pandemonium’s inferno did not move, but the palpable presence of their watchful eyes grew in their intensity. The sensation of hearing feedback of a microphone flared up, a metallic screeching that cut through reality and into the back of Emily’s mind.

A darkness began to encroach from the edges of her field of vision once more.

The darkness itself was comforting, however.

It claimed her senses, shushing any protests she might have uttered, with the whispered promise of returning her in due time—gentle, like Julian’s kiss and breathed words that spelled out love without explicitly expressing it.

The nothingness that followed mimicked slumber. A short amount of time or a possible infinity. A dreamless state of mind, taken by the tides of sleep. Waves of a poisonous ocean lapping at the shores of distant realities, where worlds connected through the haze of memories.

Everything and nothing whatsoever until Emily woke up again.

The smell of sulfur was gone. She awoke to the smell of rubber, and plastic, and dust. And fouler smells yet; the smells of rotten meat, and smoke—from a fire. A sliver of light blinded her, above her, outlining the dark coffin she had woken up in.

She pawed at the light, grasping at the gap in between the metal walls around her with trembling fingers. Fingers made of flesh and blood, rather than living iron and animate fire.

Instead of howling winds and the screams of the damned, she heard the howling of sirens in the distance—of police cars, ambulances, and fire trucks. Shouts and yells of desperate people. And the roar of a tremendous fire.

As she pushed at the lid, metal hinges squeaked. Emily understood where she had awoken. Inside a dumpster. So hot from the blasting sunlight that dumpster’s insides cooked and the sweat erupted from her pores. The breath of fresh air from outside of it when she pushed the lid up high enough to spy on the world outside made her shiver—she was naked.

The building outside the dumpster was the apartment block she lived in. Her home was ablaze. Wherever her specific apartment once used to be located in within the structure was now just a gaping hole. An infernal fire burned there.

A stark contrast to everything she had witnessed. Landing here after her time in Pandemonium, overcoming her own rage and madness in the maze, and rising to the top of the iron tower.

Emily knew the events in these two distinct realities were connected. Everything was connected.

Mister Jones and his damned case filled with obscene amounts of cash. And a bomb that had obliterated her apartment.

A cut on her left arm reminded her of where she had pierced her own flesh to sign her name in the tower. Made it clear that everything in Pandemonium and everything here had truly happened. She had returned to the world she had lived in all her life, a world populated with people who would never understand what she had experienced; who would think she lost her mind if she told them about it. But it was all real.

If she had any last doubts to quash about that realization, she shifted uncomfortably as something pressed against her leg. Burrowing through the trash with her hand—the one that wore the gauntlet in Pandemonium—she found purchase. The object throbbed to the rhythm of her heartbeat.

She clutched the item, and raised it to eye level. To grasp how real everything was. In her fist, she held Catechism’s black demon spike. It thrummed in unison with her temples. It pulsed with purpose.

Mister Jones. He had his fingers in everything, involved in the transgressions she had witnessed and experienced in both worlds. He was going to pay.

The only problem Emily now faced was the mystery of how she was going to get across the city. First responders clustered around the burning city block, scrambling to quell the chaos.

Climbing out of the dumpster was one thing. But she was buck naked.

This was going to be a long day.

—Submitted by Wratts

[trojantoast]

“The Love, The Dark, The Light, The Flame” - Zutara Week 2019

Day One “Gifts”

“I've been through the desert and I've been across the sea I've been walking through the mountains and wandered through the trees for her I have been trying to find her want to give what I got She lit a fire, but now she's in my every thought”

- “She Lit a Fire” Lord Huron

@zutaraweek  

“She’ll be here soon, you need to calm down Sparky.” The laughter in Toph’s voice, though familiar, was not appreciated.

“I’m completely calm.” Zuko gritted out, not missing her pronoun use, but not denying where his concern was focused.

“And I’m a flying purple hog monkey.”

Zuko grumbled and paced the foyer again. “They should be here by now.”

“Twinkle Toes probably stopped to go sightseeing, or ride a terrifying monster, or something equally as time-wasting, on his way to Ba Sing Se.” Toph leaned against a nearby table, sightless eyes staring at the ceiling, absentmindedly spinning her meteorite bracelet between her fingers.

Zuko could barely contain his nerves. He wasn’t surprised they were late. In his seven years of knowing Aang, the avatar had never proven himself to be the most punctual of people, nor the most accurate, so the fact that the “noon arrival” had turned into a late afternoon arrival was not shocking.

Still, Zuko paced.

“Sparky, you need to take a chill pill Aang-” 

“Lord Zuko? The Avatar's bison has been spotted over the hills.” A servant entered with a polite bow. Zuko’s heart jumped to his throat, perking up at the news. He remembered when those words would send a much different emotion rocketing through veins. But now he greeted them with a warm feeling, that could only be described as joy.

Toph joined him as he charged through the front door into the peaceful courtyard beyond. A white blur crested his vision with a deep bellow.

“See Sparky, there was nothing to be worried about.”

Zuko smile to himself as the great beast landed with a gust of wind. Without thinking Zuko’s gaze combed Appa’s saddle, looking for a flash of hair, or the familiar expression on her brow. Before he could get a good look he was blown over by a very energetic hug from Aang. 

Over the years the avatar had grown tall and lanky, now standing at a solid six foot. To Zuko’s quiet relief he hadn’t yet passed Zuko in stature. 

“Hi Aang.” the airbender released him with a grin. 

“Sorry we were a little late, I tried to ride the Unagi again.”

“Told ya.” Zuko didn't miss Toph’s smug comment.

“It was wild! I almost got eaten!” he looked down bashfully, “...again.” Aang turned to Toph and began to recite a play-by-play description of the encounter. Zuko looked up again to see Sokka slide, gracelessly, off Appa’s saddle and stride towards the group. 

“How’s my favorite Fire Lord!” He shouted. 

Aang had not gotten taller than Zuko, but the firebender couldn’t say the same for Sokka. At the start of the twenties, Sokka began to favor his father and was now distictly buff. The two men greeted each other with a warriors handshake that evolved into a strong embrace. They separated and Zuko met Sokka’s cooky smile,

 “I’m good, how’s Suk-”

“Hey Sokka! A little help here?!” immediately Zuko’s attention was drawn to the achingly familiar voice from atop Appa’s saddle. She was attempting to help a heavily pregnant Suki down, who was halfway hanging off the animal looking very nervous.

“Here I've got it!” a small gust of wind gently carried Suki to the ground with a puff of dust. 

“Thanks Aang!” Sokka’s wife said brightly. 

Zuko froze as Katara smoothly slid down one of Appa’s legs and brushed off her skirts, their eyes met. Before he had time to do anything else, Katara had crossed the distance and was hugging him, pressed against his chest.

Her hair smelled like rosemary. Her figure fit into his like a tailored glove, strong shoulders fit snugly under his arms, head tucked into the curve of his neck. Warmth flooded his chest. They seperated quickly but their gazes did not split. 

Katara was dressed in sea green, a loose two piece that flowed in the breeze. Her hair billowed around her, providing a sharp contrast to the pale fabric. She was just as stunning as he remembered, and the small moment, standing so close to he, made his heart jump. Her eyes, as round and hopeful as ever, bewitched him. He prayed she would never look away. 

“When you two are done making googly eyes at each other I want a tour, Zuko.” 

Zuko’s face turned beet red at Sokka’s suggestion, he turned away clearing his throat, a part of him stayed though, in that moment. 

What Zuko didn’t see was the way that Katara’s eyes lingered on his face as he led the group inside. 

 When Zuko had talked about renovating the beach house Katara had imagined fresh paint, maybe some pruning, or perhaps a new front door. It turned out “renovating” included adding a new wing and knocking out multiple walls to create a sprawling campus of rooms connected with hallways crowned with floor to ceiling windows. The interior was painted white, each room was filled with plants and fresh air, color was added with intricate rugs, paintings, and tapestries. The difference was astounding, the clearly abandoned house of the past, covered in dust, and filled with uneasiness, like you were somewhere you weren't supposed to be and someone could walk in at any moment, had changed into a welcoming estate surrounded by the sea. 

Some things hadn't changed too much. The second story, the private quarters of the Fire Lord and his guests, was the same. The addition of open windows and a good dusting removed the greyness from the last time Katara had been there.

“I assumed you all would want the same rooms as last time, your things were already moved in...if that's alright.” Zuko trailed off at the end and rubbed the back of his neck, clearly nervous. Katara  reached out and rested her hand on his arm, something in his eyes was hopeful when they met hers,

“That’s wonderful Zuko, the house is stunning, you did a fantastic job.” he smiled sweetly at her.

“Actually Zuko, I was wondering if I could switch with- ow! Nevermind! I love it buddy!” Katara heard the unmistakable sound of Suki pinching Sokka to make him be quiet.

 “Come on Sokka let's go unpack!”

“But Suki we just got here- OW! What was that one for?!” Katara hear the door of her brother and his wife's room slide closed.

“Hey Twinkle Toes I saw a really great spot to do some earthbending. I’ll show you!” 

In the blink of an eye, Katara and Zuko were alone in the hallway. 

“Oh, also,I like your haircut.”

 With a blush Zuko ran his hand through the long, fluffy hair on top of his head to the shorter pieces at the nape of his neck. “Really?”

The pair began to walk down the hallway towards their rooms. They fell into an easy gait beside each other. Katara took a closer look at it. The top was significantly longer than the underside, by Katara guess it was just long enough to pull into a Fire Lord crown. 

“Yeah, it really suits you, it's quite young.” 

Zuko snorted, “Thanks, I’ll let uncle know next time I see him, maybe we can match.”

Katara lifted her hand to her mouth and giggled, “What happened the long hair? I mean I can't say I miss it, you were threatening my throne for ‘best hair in team avatar’.”

He rolled his eyes, “we both know that award goes to Aang.” There was a beat of silence, and suddenly the hallway was filled with their laughter. It was easy, laughing with Zuko, familiar. Katara’s chest soared at his happiness.

“No...no..” Zuko tried to catch his breath, “I liked it until I woke up one morning and saw my father staring back at me.”   

They had reached their doors, and the mood shifted, though the remnants of their laughter clung to them.

Katara could picture it, staring at the mirror for a long moment, your stomach in your lungs and your heart in your throat. It happened to her the one time she tried on one of her mother's parkas. Katara reached out and squeezed his hand, the touch lingering. 

“Well the long hair wore you more than you wore it.” 

 “I guess you're right, it was hot anyway.” He smiled sadly and opened her door for her, not releasing her hand.

Katara squeezed his hand and let go walking part way into her room, “It’s really good to see you again Zuko, I miss you.”

His golden eyes held her blue ones evenly, “I missed you too Katara, the letters don’t do it justice.”

They stood there for a long moment, halfway in her bedroom, halfway out. The air, once playful, was still, like even nature itself was waiting, watching. Katara felt like something was supposed to happen, in this moment. But nothing came to her. Something deep inside her told her to reach out, for something, anything, to span the space between them. Don’t make it weird, she scolded herself. So she didn’t and crossed full way into the door. 

“Um, dinner is at seven. I’m cooking.” He broke the silence, the moment passed.

“Oh, that’s great!” She shook off an unfamiliar chill. 

“Oh, uh, Katara? I’m really glad you came.” his voice was quiet.

She turned to look at Zuko, “Me too.”

When the door closed, she felt the ghost of his hand in hers. 

By six thirty the smell of food lured almost everyone downstairs. Toph and Aang were considerably dirtier than before; and Zuko noticed that the rocks in the back garden where suspiciously moved about. The two earthbenders, and Sokka, had struck up a lively game of Fire Poker in the breakfast room, adjacent to the kitchen, where Zuko had banished them when they got in the way. According to Sokka’s shrill voice Toph was, “robbing them blind”. The irony of the accusation was not lost on the group, and Aang’s laugh could be heard throughout the house.

Suki had wandered down after a short nap and was flipping through some scrolls in one of the living rooms, in more comfortable seating then could be provided by the kitchen or the breakfast room. The Kyoshi warrior seemed to be taking the pregnancy well, but Zuko didn't know much about that sort of thing in the first place.

So Zuko flitted about the kitchen, enjoying the cathartic peace provided by cooking and the simple joy found in the voices of his friends. The kitchen was filled with wonderful smells and the sizzling of meat. 

“Don't put too many fire flakes on that komodo chicken, Sokka will get sick again.” Zuko looked up to see the friendly face of Katara leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen. 

“Don’t worry, I made a seperate one without it for his sensitive stomach.” He gestured to the meat cooking on the stove. Katara chuckled quietly and walked farther into the kitchen peering over his shoulder as he cut vegetables. 

“Do you need any help?” She asked turning around and leaning against an empty bit of counter. 

“Not from you.” Zuko said absentmindedly. 

“Oh?” Realizing what he had said he looked up, panic to see Katara’s brow quirk accusingly, her arms crossed, “why ever not?” 

“Oh Agni, shit, that's not what I meant.” Zuko pancked. With a clatter, he dropped the knife on the cutting board throwing his hands up defensively, “I mean you cooked for us so many times, back during the war, it would be fair, oh.. Umm… Im so sorry.” He held the bridge of his nose, trying to control his brain, and his tongue, “I meant that since you would always cooked and did so much for us you should never have to cook again.” 

His heart beat a million miles a minute but he looked up to see a smile breaking through her now obvious disguise of anger.

“Zuko, its fine.” Katara nudged him out of the way and picked up his knife, cutting the vegetables where he had left off, “I like cooking.” 

“Really?” He asked, deciding to roll with her actions and raking the produce into a bowl.

She nodded, “In my tribe meals are communal, so is cooking. The bonding that happens as the women make dinner is a huge pillar of my culture. It starts young, I helped with my first meal when I was only three.” Zuko listened to her talk about her home as he began to saute the vegetables. “Different families host the meals each day, all the women go to the hostess’ house and help her cook for the village.”

“What do the men do?” Zuko turned and asked.

“Well,” Zuko was soon immersed in the cadence of her voice, “back when there were lots of men in the village they would hunt the animals used for meals, and then the woman would skin and prepare it for either storing for winter or for the days meal, while the warriors where catching the next days meat, so they would have something to come home to. But after my father left with his warriors, it was mostly women and children left, so me and Sokka would hunt for food in the morning and bring it back to prepare later. That’s actually what we were doing when we found Aang.”

Zuko remembered hearing the story years ago, something about Sokka ruining the canoe and Katara cracking open an ice shelf.

“Did it bother you,” Zuko searched for the right words, “that no one helped back during the war? Since cooking is communal?” 

She seemed to think about it for a while. The silence was comfortable, the gamblers in the other room had become a little quieter, but where now arguing about rules.

“I guess it did,” She finally said, “it wasn’t that I had to do it all by myself, it was just that everyone expected it to happen, without them lifting a finger.” 

“That makes sense.” Zuko said quietly, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“There's nothing to talk about really, it was in the past,” She turned to smile at him, with that stunning grin, “And you’ve all made it up to me since then.”

Zuko smiled back at her, “So, if I helped cook when I visited the South Pole would I be disrespecting Gran Gran? Cause I would love to help, but crossing her is not a wise decision.”

Katara laughed at that, “Not at all, she would welcome the help, and like I said, you could bond with the tribes women!” 

“I would love nothing more in the world.” Zuko turned back to his vegetables, “well, since you're so bent on helping could you start dishing out the rice?”

It was one of the best meals that Katara had ever had. The group had lounged around the dining room table splitting probably too many bottles of rice wine, trading stories about the times they were apart. Katara had found herself leaning closer and closer to Zuko with each glass until their thighs pressed together and their heads touched when they bent to laugh.

“So Katara insisted she stay an extra day to help.” Toph’s voice was boisterous and friendly.

“Those people needed my help!” Katara said exasperated.

“Sugar Queen, we know you can’t resist a charity case, but I had to sail all the way to the Fire Nation alone on a wooden boat.”

“I think it's cool that Katara started a hospital all by herself in the lower ring.” Aang piped up. A sly smile spread across the airbender’s lips, “Even if Appa had to fly a thousand miles out of his way…”

“Aang…” Katara sighed.

“I’m joking! I’m joking!” Aang threw his hands in the air in surrender.

Her friends weren’t completely incorrect. The hospital in the lower ring was practically her child. After spending so much time in the capital city as ambasador between the Southern Tribe and the Earth Kingdom alongside Toph (who had been acting as an advisor, but soon grew tired of “stuffy nobles” and had opened her own bending school inside the city) Katara had felt useless and she needed to get her hands dirty. So she purchased an old run down mill in the lower ring and built a hospital from the ground up, even finding some waterbenders in the process. It was open twenty-four seven and was completely free. 

She found herself there when she wasn't with the Earth King, and more than once had gotten so involved she had stayed up for days trying to heal someone, or investigating a new disease or injury. Every patient was a new challenge and she reveled in it. But, Katara  would be lying if she said that she didn't get too invested. The legend of the Painted Lady had crossed into the city, in no small part to Katara’s over-enthusiasm. 

During her pondering the conversation had moved on but Zuko leaned over and whispered into her ear, “You can feel free to open up one of those in the Fire Nation, you will not be searching for funds.”

Katara leaned over to him in turn, “I’ll keep that in mind, Fire Lord.”

For the next hour or so the dinner slowly dissolved into chaos, the only sober one being Suki (because of the baby), who retired early during the third verse of Sokka’s half-drunken rendition of a watertribe jig. Katara and Zuko were only a little tipsy because they a) could hold their liquor and b) never were passed the wine because of their position at the table.

Soon, Katara could feel her eyes getting heavy with the exhaustion of the day, and its travels and she turned to Zuko, who was laughing at a joke Toph had just cracked.

“I’m going to bed,” she muttered and punctuated her statement with a yawn. Zuko turned to her quickly,

“Before you go, I want to give you something.” he stood up, brushing some crumbs off his tunic, and extended a hand to her. She took it.

“Give me what?”

“You’ll see, come on.” He led her back to the dark kitchen, still covered in the meals dishes. 

He dropped her hand and began digging around in the cupboards. Katara watched, patient, and curious.

“Here it is!” Zuko's dark head emerged, and in his hands he held a medium sized pot, a melancholy expression crossed his face, “This was my mothers rice pot.”

“Oh, Zuko I can’t…” She covered her mouth. He ran a gentle finger around the edge. 

“It really hit me, what you said about cooking being communal. My mother taught me how to cook rice in this pot, my father didn't like it, he thought it was a peasant’s chore, but it was our little secret. I want you to have it, so everytime you’re cooking alone you can know that I’m here, and my mom is here and you’re always with someone.”

Tears streaked down Katara’s face.

“Zuko I… I love it.” She took it in her hands, feeling the worn metal, used with love. She imagined Zuko’s tiny hands cooking with it, being guided by his mother's gentle ones, “are you sure?” Katara looked into his eyes, they were glistening but filled with happiness.

“I know she would want you to have it.”

...................................................................

I’m sorry for the quality (and posting so late). I wasn't happy with any of the ideas that I had and  literally wrote this entire thing and posted in the same day. But besides that I would like to introduce you to the first of my Zutara Week entries. They are all intertwining and are part of an overarching plot. Where the Gaang is back together on Ember Island on the anniversary of the comet. Also I will be posting them all together on AO3 and probably FF.net but that will come later.

[ayeshintheclouds]

1/5

The End: Manzil

Once upon a time there was a handsome prince named Manzil with the most luxurious life in the Arabian kingdom. 

The sun-struck kingdom rose around his palace in beautiful golden minarets, the city below rich with colors and culture. His chambers overlooked the desert landscape, and he loved watching the caravans pass by, the camels adorned with vibrant little tents and the nomads dressed in flamboyant kaftans. His life in the palace was extravagant and lavish, yet he wondered what must it be like to wear clothes that flowed freely, to travel as if you have nothing to lose.

All that his father, the King, ever asked him to do, was to marry the most beautiful girl in the world. She belonged to the kingdom that his father needed to forge an alliance with, and she was the trading pawn, meant to be given to their kingdom as insurance for their contract.

The prince agreed to his father's only request the moment he set eyes upon her beauty. Her hair was as dark as the clear desert sky, her blue eyes as sparkling as the stars that bejeweled it at night. Her skin glowed bronze as if the sun itself were inside of her, radiating a light brighter than he'd ever seen another human carry.

She also carried more sorrow than he'd ever seen another human carry. After days of attempting to coax conversation out of her, he found her personality to be just as dry as the desert sky he'd compared her beauty to.

She also carried more sorrow than he'd ever seen another human carry. After days of attempting to coax conversation out of her, he found her personality to be just as dry as the desert sky he'd compared her beauty to.

"I don't understand. What is it you want?" Prince Manzil asked her one day, exhausted and frustrated from being ignored after nearly an hour of one sided conversation.

"To not marry you." was her immediate reply.

He almost choked on his tea. That was perhaps the most response he'd ever gotten out of her. Upon further questioning, he found that his princess had a lover already, that her heart had been promised to someone far before him.

"Why did you agree to this marriage then?" The prince asked, slightly sour now. He wasn't someone quite used to rejection. It did not exist in his world, where one could chop off their own hand and foot it to him if he so commanded it.

The Princess scoffed, whirling to meet his eyes. "Not all of us have a choice, your majesty." She replied venomously. "Both your father and mine would behead me if I disagreed."

Prince Manzil stared at her in shock. She was being forced into this? Was this who his father was? The man who cuts off a tigresses' claws, leaving it defenseless for his son's entertainment? The man who murders the rarest of butterflies and pins their slashed wings on his mantle as trophies?

Suddenly her beauty seemed stolen to him, as if he were wearing borrowed clothes or holding someone else's precious glass. It was a strange feeling for a man who owned anything he ever wanted. But not her. She was not his to love. Nor was she anyone's to own.

Her heart was promised to a merchant from the far corners of the kingdom, who returned every month from his travels to meet her in secret. A man like the one he'd once aspired to be, who lived freely and spoke freely, never under the shadow of his father's power. Their forbidden love stood stronger than anything the Prince ever could've felt for her, and he knew he had to right his father's wrongs. He had to release this captured songbird from her cage.

Together they planned the Princess's escape all night until she was glowing with a happiness he'd never seen her express before him. They'd contacted the man through a caravan that had agreed to bring him back on orders of the prince.

That night, as her true love stood behind the cover of the golden sand dunes, the desert sky glittered with a million stars. Yet as he released her to her lover, she turned to look at him with eyes that burned even brighter.

She touched his cheek gently, and told him, "I am not your home, kind Prince. But your home awaits you." She pointed to the vast desert stretched out before them as the Prince tried to discern what she was pointing to.

He turned back to the Princess to ask what she meant. "What do you-"

Except she was there no longer. And neither was her true love. A breeze circled where she'd stood, and he shivered, pulling his cloak over his head. Confused yet content with his decision, Prince Manzil rode his steed from the desert back into the kingdom.

Only to find the enormous kingdom gates barred.

The King sat on his horse, surrounded by servants. The desert air suddenly felt colder, until the Prince felt exposed and defenseless against his father's wrath. Yet another feeling he'd never experienced before.

"Where is the girl?" The King asked, calmly, looking right into Manzil's eyes.

Suddenly anger coursed through his every vein, fueling the rage he'd felt since he'd found out the truth. Turning his face to the King, Prince Manzil answered defiantly, "I have returned her to her true love. I will not marry someone who is being forced into a marriage for an alliance. It is against my principles."

The King sneered. "How dare your principles go against my orders? Have I not given you the most luxurious life? Bring her back, and I shall have her lover hanged."

The Prince stood his ground, his blood boiling hot underneath his skin. "I will not sacrifice someone's life for your greed, father."

Prince Manzil wasn't sure what exactly happened to the sky at the moment. The peaceful desert landscape suddenly began to rage around him, sand usurped from the ground to rain back upon them, millions of particles spinning in the air.

It was a sand storm. He'd never seen the desert so angry, so vicious. The world around him disintegrated into fractals of sand, assaulting him from every which way.

Great clouds of dust rose around them, violently swirling in the gusting wind.

"Then you are banished! As the prince, and as my son, you are banished from my kingdom!"

Prince Manzil strained to keep his eyes open against the grains of sand attacking him, barely making out the figure of the King's horse galloping away into the dust. The enormous gates were pulled shut by the helpless servants. Manzil's own horse went wild, neighing and sprinting towards the dust cyclone.

So this was who his father was. A man whose son weighed nothing against his wealth. The Prince's emotions felt like the grains of sand, millions of them flung everywhere. Tears stung his eyes, and Prince Manzil was not entirely sure if it was from the grit.

Pulling up his cloak to cover his mouth and nose, he pressed his face into the horse's mane and guided him into the clouds of dust.

Devastated and feeling like his world was ending, Manzil rode off into the desert, never looking back.

He felt himself disintegrate like sand, shattered and scattered into the air until he was everywhere, yet nowhere.

[cupidmarwani-archive]

Come Into the Water (15/15)

As the sun travels over the sea, Sarah and Ava share countless kisses and learn each other’s bodies, but as it begins to set, Sarah knows she must go home, and as such, Ava must return to her own along the far cliffside. She hikes back up, soaked in seawater, and gets into dry clothes before sitting on the cold floor in front of the last box. Still cellophane-taped together, coated in a thick layer of dust, sitting off to the side in a way which has allowed her to abandon it for far too long. She gets the sense that opening it would be a step forward, one she isn’t sure she’s prepared for. As much as she has grown and healed, it still feels unattainable. Overwhelming.

Nonetheless, she shoves her key into the gap where two cardboard flaps meet and begins to slice through the tape. Little by little, she breaks into her memory until the box falls open and she’s left staring into bubble wrap. She didn’t pack this box. She didn’t pack any of them. Everything she brought with her was carefully folded away by someone else’s hands, and as such, she isn’t sure which mementos have come with her. They could very well be reminders of what happened to her. Or they could be comforts from a home she has since overwritten with the family she’s built here.

Beneath the cushion, the first thing she lays eyes on is her graduation cap from when she did her pre-med. Sentimental, cheesy, but her own. She had been happy and excited to become a doctor and save lives before everything. Then her hands are of their own mind as she looks to see what else. Books she’s cherished. Spirals of dutiful notes from class. A trophy for winning an essay competition in grade school. Memories flood in, more bad than good, and she welcomes them with an ease she never thought she could feel about the past again. Her mind doesn’t stray to photographs on desks or coats that smell like mothballs. Instead, she takes a moment to be proud of herself for how far she got before everything. It means something, that survival. And even if she’s had to come away from it, it’s the sort of destiny that Maggie has mentioned over early morning breakfast, and the sort of good chance that Olivia mentions in prayer when she holds Sarah’s hand on rough afternoons. 

She should have done this sooner, she thinks to herself as she carries knick-knacks to the kitchen to arrange on the counters void of coffee makers or fruit bowls. All this time and still, she doesn’t cook for herself because she always eats with Olivia and Maggie, and they always welcome her into their home with open arms and a sense of being loved unconditionally. It’s warm like a matronly embrace as she arranges photos and books on marble, and feels like this space belongs to her in a way it didn’t before. Everything fits neatly among the shells Ava gave her so long ago as well. 

On the path to something worth living in, she even goes so far as to give her hair a complete run through with the brush, even if it winds up a little frizzy because she hasn’t felt like investing in a comb, and scrapes it into a ponytail before heading to Olivia and Maggie. Golden light beams onto the lawn through the open drapes, and when she reaches the front porch she can hear Noah shrieking in delight. When Sarah opens the door, it’s to Maggie teaching him how to knead dough on a plastic sheet on the living room floor as Olivia cuts cooked and seasoned chicken breast to place onto already mostly loaded plates. Although Sarah has just now shown up, there are three plates and Noah’s high chair set out and filled. She is wanted.

“Anything I can do to help?” she asks.

Olivia shakes her head, and gives her an endeared look. “You look happy.”

“I saw Ava today,” Sarah admits. “She’s having a rough time, but she does miss you all. And she does want to keep eating dinner together, if you’ll have her.”

And of course they will, which Olivia doesn’t hesitate to say, and she seems overjoyed again as they eat, as does Maggie. It feels like a celebration, almost, and yet Sarah still can’t let go of the necklace she saw in town which told of a fraught history. A creature as human and as ethereal as a mermaid passed, and the solution of the jewelers was to take her teeth and add them to a necklace which was supposed to symbolize peace. It’s inhumane. It lingers in the back of her mind in spite of the happy atmosphere and how she had felt unpacking her box of mementos, unwilling to be banished in order to save her an instance of joy she so desperately needs in a world such as this one.

After dinner, Sarah does the dishes. She thanks Olivia and Maggie for the meal. She hugs them goodbye, kisses the top of Noah’s head. She rolls up her pant legs and strips her feet bare. And again, she returns to the water and waits for Ava to come so she can touch her again and learn more of the contours of her body and the taste of her sighs and the life of each twitching sinuous muscle from a woman carved out of all the best things in the ocean.

Moonlight, obscured by clouds, does not approach her but she sees her way well enough with leftover street lamps and the way her body recognizes the contours of the tidepools. She sits, happy, and touches anemones with her icy fingertips while water flows past and warns her of an incoming high tide. Her own breath crystallizes in front of her.

She waits. 

Waiting and alive, she keeps her eyes open until finally, finally, Ava rises and wraps slippery arms around her. Close. Sarah kisses her twice, and Ava swims her out of the shallows and to where fish weave in the currents and the makos like to take precedent. She’s nervous but refuses to voice it when she has such potential for a good night and she’s preoccupied with dreams of more dinners with Ava on the beach and the euphoria of physical connection with someone who really does love her completely. The water swims around them and, as the chill of the air bites Sarah’s face, grey sharp fins begin to cut through the surface once more. Ava sees them, but doesn’t tense like Sarah does.

Ava makes a series of clicks and sounds like the makos use to communicate with each other. Sarah wonders if it’s the same language or if Ava just learned. Heads break waves, the same three who she’s already met, the young one, and a handful of others who stay back.

“Are they going to hurt us?” she whispers.

The woman trills back at Ava, who smiles in relief. “Not tonight. They came to talk to you.”

“I don’t-”

“Little English,” the woman says. Her teeth catch the limited light and Ava holds Sarah just the smallest bit tighter. “You’re nice to us. Not like others.”

“Why would I be mean?”

One of the men, the one who looks like the jeweler’s granddaughter, tilts his head to the side. “They hurt my mother,” he explains. “Her…” He waves a scaly arm in front of his face. His mother’s teeth.

“I’m not like that. Most of us, we’re not like that.”

Ava nods beside her and Sarah can feel the brush of her lips against her temple. Tenderness, safety. A reminder she is not out here alone and in an emergency, she will have the chance to get safely back to the beach and up to her home. She shivers a little. It’s cold out here.

“How can I help you with that?” she asks. “To trust us again?”

“His mother’s body,” the woman answers, gesturing toward the man who spoke. “We want to properly send her off.”

“Is her body somewhere up there? Or just her teeth?”

The man points to his mouth again. Just her teeth. Sarah pictures the necklace in her mind and knows, it may not be easy to get, but it’s the right thing to do. And maybe Claire will understand that. Hopefully, she will understand that. If not, Sarah can just pull out her mother’s card and name prices until it’s high enough. Not only is it right, but it could help protect Ava from the times these mermaids have taken out their anger on her, the one who keeps bringing humans and food and light down to the shore where it’s impossible to ignore.

But it seems they’re just scared. Grieving and in pain, wishing for a proper send-off for a loved one. It’s a human thing to feel and want, and so Sarah makes a promise to bring everything back, and they all melt back into the darkness, leaving Sarah with her legs around Ava’s waist and a question of exactly how long these people have been hurting without being able to ask anyone for help.

She wants to just enjoy this moment, but it has been tainted. Sarah’s just tired and in need of rest, after the emotional toll of this and unpacking her mementos, as well as having been able to touch Ava and understand her love as something which is attraction as much as it is affection. And that’s okay, she decides as she skims her palms along the sculpted muscle of Ava’s back and shoulders. She’s allowed. She’s loved.

They continue to drift, until Sarah eventually falls asleep cradled in Ava’s arms, and wakes up on the shore, out of low tide’s reach, with Ava’s coat wrapped around her body.