#ending up an only slightly brighter than normal version of the tree light

[maglorslostsilmaril]

hc that as a side effect of the oath, the sons of feanor, as they became more and more silmaril-obsessed and oath-driven, start to become more and more like the things they swore the oath to.

like, they begin to look faded and washed out, aside from their eyes, which turn blindingly bright.

despite all the evil they’ve done, the silmarils are hallowed by varda, and so their skin burns to the touch of those who have also done wrong.

(also i think they should glow in the dark a little bit. as a treat.)

by the end of it they’re more wraiths than anything else, halfway between elf and those oathbreakers in RotK; the oath not only mentally but physically consumes them.

[riotwritesthings]

The Curious Witch and the Cursed Wolf

Chapter 3: A Name and A Feeling | AO3

Art by the wonderful and adorable @gayspacesprinkles​

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Title: The Curious Witch and the Cursed Wolf (Chapter 3) Collaborator(s): Riot @buckybarnesbingo​ Square Filled: B4, warm and fuzzy feelings @starkbucksbingo​ Square Filled: N4, “Why aren’t you afraid of me?” Ship/Main Pairing: WinterIron Rating: T Major Tags/Warnings: fantasy AU, witch!Tony, wolf!Bucky, fairytale vibes, Non-graphic injury Summary: Once upon a time there was a man, and a wolf. They both went into the forest looking for different things, and instead they found each other. Word Count: 1,697

~~~

Once upon a time there was a man, soaring through the air, weaving through the trees, laughing, lighter than he’d ever felt in more ways than one.

“I’m doing it, I’m flying! Look look!”

Tony, the wolf says in his strange voice, like a whisper in the back of Tony’s mind, like it’s being spoken warm and low directly in his ear.

“Are you looking?!” Tony demands as he circles the clearing, picking up speed.

Don’t fly into a tree, the wolf tells him, but Tony is too busy crashing into a tree and hitting the ground to respond.

“Owww,” he whines and then squeaks when the wolf’s cold nose presses to the back of his neck.

Conjuring a broom for himself hadn’t been hard, once he’d simply told himself that he could, and getting it off the ground hadn’t been hard either. Just like the stories.

It turned out that steering was the hard part.

At least he’d thought to conjure himself up some new clothes too, hadn't scraped himself up too badly on the tree bark.

“You can, but we’re in a forest, I was going to say,” the ball of light says with a huff, and Tony just laughs.

He has magic. He can do so many things, now. He'll be able to make things so much better.

"That was awesome!" Tony says gleefully as he pushes himself upright again, laughing and pushing the wolf away when he continues sniffing at Tony with obvious concern.

"Oh no, you're an idiot," the ball of light says, with a sighing sound like a soft breeze. "And you're probably going to die."

Tony is going to protest, because he's not, he's just excited, but the wolf beats him to it with a low growl.

He was doin' okay right up 'til the end, the wolf says.

The ball of light screams, flashing brighter for a second.

"Y-you can talk?" She demands in a squeaking voice, bobbing up higher into the air.

"He's been talking the whole time," Tony says, wrinkling his nose in confusion.

Only to you, says the wolf, and Tony can see the amusement beneath the stormy blue of his eyes.

"He can talk," the light says again.

"Is that not normal?" Tony asks, still more confused than anything. "I mean, I'm a witch, apparently."

"No," the ball of light says with feeling as she floats hesitantly closer.

You're a talkin' firefly, the wolf points out, baring his fangs and then snapping them when the light floats a little too close.

"He's not wrong," Tony says helpfully. The wolf lets out another soft huff of breath, his tail thumping once against the ground, and Tony smiles.

“I’m not a firefly,” the light protests, wings shaking with agitation. “My name is Pepper.”

“Hi,” Tony says. “I’m Tony, and this is a wolf.”

The wolf makes a sound that Tony is pretty sure is a laugh, tail thumping against the ground as Pepper makes an annoyed sound.

“Are you—" she trails off, circling the wolf, and Tony steps closer because he doesn't care if the wolf isn't 'normal.'

Tony isn't normal, never has been, and maybe all he knows is that the wolf has been through more than enough but that's plenty. So Pepper dips down towards the wolf again Tony bats at her with a glare.

"He's under a curse,” she says, floating up above their heads again. "A strong one."

"Oh," Tony says, even though it really shouldn't be a surprise at this point. “Do you know—“

”Look, I'm a messenger, I’m not here to answer a million questions," Pepper says, sounding huffy. “I have more messages to deliver, and I'm late because I had to chase you down for so long."

"Wait—" Tony says, because he does have a million more questions, but she’s already floating away, still grumbling to herself.

Tony watches her go, the wolf still seated huge and solid and wild beside him. When Tony looks over at him the wolf lets his tongue loll out in an expression that Tony is pretty sure is a smile.

"So, cursed huh?" Tony asks, and the wolf tips its head to the side for a moment before nodding slowly. “Do, um... do you have a name?”

Don’t know, says the wolf, ears drooping a little.

Tony can’t let that stand, has to do something.

“Well you need a name,” he declares. “So we’ll just have to give you one. What do you want it to be?”

The wolf shifts, still a little unsteady on three legs, and droops a little further.

“Well, you probably don’t want me picking out a name for you,” Tony says with a sheepish grin. “You’ll end up with something like Buttercup.”

The wolf lets out a sharp huff of breath.

Bucky, he finally says. I think... it used to be Bucky.

“That’s a terrible name,” Tony says gleefully, “I love it. I’m going to call you Buckaroo, and Bucky-bear, and—“

Don’t, Bucky says with a flash of his teeth.

Tony just laughs. Bucky leans over and nudges his huge head into Tony’s chest, knocking him over in the dirt again.

He pushes himself upright and Bucky is smiling at him again, eyes bright. He continues watching Tony, like he’s waiting for something, head cocked slightly to the side.

“It probably won’t be long until you’re walking as good as new,” Tony says slowly, because he doesn’t want to say goodbye. “I guess, you probably have somewhere you need to be—“

Bucky whines again, such a deep and sorrowful sound, drops his chin down to rest on his front paw and stares up at Tony with big sad eyes.

“Or!” Tony says quickly, heart jumping. “Or, you, if you wanted to come with me...”

Bucky’s tail wags aggressively, and Tony smiles. The stone in his chest glows bright enough to shine through his shirt, like it’s connected directly to the warmth spreading through his heart.

“I’ll get better at flying,” Tony says quickly, “So I won’t hold you back, your stride has to be huge—“

No flyin’ in the trees, Bucky interrupts, and then huffs when Tony pouts.

Bucky pushes himself to his feet, gives himself a great shake like he’s shaking off water, and Tony watches in awe as half of his size melts away. Until Bucky’s head is barely even with his shoulder, much smaller but no less fearsome.

Ready, Bucky says, smiling again, white fangs no less intimidating now that they’re smaller.

Tony smiles back, collects all his things, and they go.

 ~~~

They walk deeper into the forest, and Tony tells stories of all the things he’s seen so far, all the people he’s met and the ideas he’s had, all the new ideas that he has now.

There are so many inventions he can build now that he can summon the parts he needs. So many people he can help back in his old village, that he can heal, and maybe they’ll actually listen to him this time. Maybe they’ll let him help.

Bucky listens, asks questions, lets Tony grab onto him for balance when he gets distracted talking with his hands and tips over a tree root.

Bucky says that he doesn’t remember much, only running, being hunted. Tony doesn’t ask any questions.

As the trees grow even taller around them though Bucky slowly says that sometimes, he remembers more. What it was like to have a home, a life, but it’s faded, barely more than a dream now.

Tony doesn’t know what to say so he reaches out instead, runs his fingers through Bucky’s thick fur a couple times. Bucky’s steps lighten, ears and tail perking up again, and Tony smiles.

It’s nice, not to be alone.

Night falls early, this deep in the forest. The thick leaves blot out all light from the stars, and the darkness is deep and cool around them.

"Do you think I can manage an all-night magical fire to keep us warm?" Tony asks once they find a place to spend the night, safe between an outcropping of rock and the roots of an ancient oak tree. "Or should I just magic us up some blankets?"

He does want to try the fire, but he also wants to not burn them both to a crisp overnight.

Blankets, Bucky scoffs and gives him a look that Tony quickly figured out is his version of a teasing grin, stops sniffing at the ground to push himself to his feet and then stretches, stretches, stretches himself out huge again. Until he once again stands taller than Tony's head, huge and fearsome.

Then he drops down to the ground again, makes himself comfortable and gives Tony an expectant look. He huffs in fake annoyance when Tony flops out on top of him, but Tony isn’t buying it.

Tony wiggles and shifts until he can prop his crossed arms and chin on top of Bucky’s massive head, grinning down at him. Snuggling into Bucky thick fur and soaking up all his warmth.

Why aren’t you afraid of me? Bucky asks, his usually quiet voice even softer.

"Why would I be?" Tony asks, frowning a little.

All he's seen of Bucky so far has been pain, and fear, a hesitant reaching out and a warm soul beneath it all. The way he'd jumped in front of Tony when Pepper first showed up.

Nothing that Tony should be scared of.

He pushes his fingers into Bucky's fur, scratches behind his ear, and smiles again when Bucky's eyes fall closed.

"Why aren't you afraid of me?" Tony has to know, because he'd seen the way Bucky had gone tense at the word witch. He'd seen the wound that took Bucky's leg, seared and torn as if by some incredible force and heat. Something unnatural and terrible.

He'd really expected Bucky to leave.

You're... different, Bucky says slowly, so warm. Safe. Good.

Tony presses his smile into Bucky's fur, cheeks warm.

"Well, since neither of us have anything to be afraid of, maybe we should stick together,” Tony says. "You know, for safety."

For safety, Bucky agrees, and presses his head up harder into Tony's hand.

[ravenbrenna09]

Jij Verliest - Chapter One: Clip #8

Note: the full, edited version of Chapter One will be posted either tonight or tomorrow. I still need to do some editing.  

master list previous

Vrijdag 20:23

Robbe couldn’t remember the last time that he laughed so hard. 

They had arrived at the bar that Jens had chosen an hour ago and Robbe hadn’t felt as relaxed as he did now in the past three months. It was a small bar with just enough people inside to fill the tables, a jukebox playing a soft 80s song that Thomas would’ve hated, and a billiards table with a crowd of people around it. There were enough tables to form a pathway and a black-haired man behind the bar with black-framed glasses on his face. There were various groups around the bar—a loud group by the jukebox, others around the room, one on the edge of the bar. 

It was the type of bar where friends came to hang out and have a good time. But overall, it wasn’t Jens’s typical style for clubs. 

Jens liked hanging out at clubs with bright neon lights and pounding music. After getting a beer or two, he used to hype up Moyo to talk to the girl that he had been eyeing, pat him on the back for making an attempt, and eventually find someone to spend the evening with. Once he and Lucas had started dating, the last step morphed into him dragging Lucas onto the dance floor, a little buzzed and drunk on each other’s presence. 

But when Robbe arrived with Lucas in tow, his best friend seemed at ease, grinning from ear-to-ear when he saw them and craning his head to kiss his boyfriend. All of their friends had arrived before them, waiting patiently at the six-chaired table they had chosen. Lucas and Robbe had been cornered by Milan on their way out of the apartment to get their opinion on his date outfit for his third date with Jonathon. Then they argued about taking the bus vs. their bikes (“No, I’m taking my bike because you’re probably going to Jens’s place,” and then, “Robbe, I don’t know that,” and then, “Really? Every time we go out, you go home with him. I’m right and you know it. I’m taking my bike,” and finally “Okay, you’ve got a point.”). While Lucas claimed the seat next to Jens, Robbe chose the seat where he could see the rest of the bar. 

For the first ten minutes, there was an awkwardness in the air that none of them could shake. It was like they were all struggling to get used to the “new normal.” Robbe tucked his feet beneath his thighs as his friends struggled to find things to talk about. Aaron started talking about his recent date with Amber, but it ended after Jens subtly shook his head (Robbe pretended that he didn’t notice). Moyo talked about how he met a girl in one of his classes, but that earned him a head shake from Jens as well. Finally, Lucas started telling stories of what he had witnessed at the coffee shop, which kicked off a series of laughs and groans of embarrassment. 

Within thirty minutes, Robbe felt the tension in his shoulders melt away. His laughter was practically ripped out of his chest, increasing in magnitude with each new story that Lucas told with a frightening amount of detail. After a handful of stories and a beer or two in his system, Lucas was half-leaning against Jens’ side, his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder. A story about two baristas who ended up spilling frappuccino all over each other brought out laughs from everyone.

“Better a frappuccino than a hot coffee!” Moyo pointed out, his hands covering his face. Beside him, Aaron cackled loudly, his eyes scrunching up as he shoved a handful of chips into his mouth. Lucas laughed as Jens tightened his hold on him. 

“But,” Lucas spoke up, looking serious out of nowhere. He sat up in Jens’s arms and pivoted to the group, leaning in to talk to them like he had a big secret. Robbe took a drink of his second beer, which he had been nursing since he downed the first one. “That’s not nearly as embarrassing as the story where that guy had something to prove at the bar.” Lucas turned to Jens, who ran a hand over his face and groaned loudly. “It was embarrassing to witness.”

“How bad?” Robbe asked, giggling. 

“So bad,” Jens answered, letting out a low whistle. 

“Well, come on, tell us the story!” Aaron urged. 

Jens rolled his eyes, sitting up. “Fine, fine. It was somewhere around Christmas, right? So it’s late in the evening and we’ve got this huge party that’s coming in. Lots of food and a free bar tab that the company is paying for or whatever and-” 

A loud laugh echoed through the bar, over the sound of his best friend’s chatter, over the gentle murmur of the bar. While he could still hear Jens chattering, his brain tuned it out and his eyes immediately went to the bar, searching out the laugh in question. It took several glances over the bar before he found the back of Thomas’s head—which he could recognize anywhere. He found his ex sitting across from a guy with dirty blond hair and a pair of glasses. The two of them were talking to each other, laughing over a couple of beers. 

All at once, the bar felt suffocating, closing in on him from the outside. Robbe reached out, grabbing his second beer and downing it. If his best friends thought it was weird, they didn’t say it (though Jens did send him a questioning glance mid-sentence). However, downing the remainder of his beer did next to nothing to distract him from Thomas. Sure, his mind was a little bit hazy now, but his eyes were still drawn to Thomas, and the bar still felt like it was suffocating. 

Without thinking, Robbe got on his feet and pushed his chair in. Once he realized his friends were staring, he said, “I’m going to get some air.” 

“Are you okay?” Jens asked, concerned. 

“I’m fine,” Robbe lied. “I’m just going to get some air. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” 

Even as Robbe stepped into the summer night, he knew his best friend wasn’t convinced. The door slammed shut behind him, abruptly cutting off the 80s music with a sharp snap. Even though he had simply stepped outside, he felt like he could breathe again—at least better than in the bar. In the warm night air, Robbe could feel his hazy mind wanting to collapse and hide in the shame of his feelings. But he consciously stepped towards the bike rack; away from the bar, away from his friends. 

Once he had taken a few steps, he glanced over his shoulder and relief flooded his system when he realized his friends couldn’t see him anymore. 

Without consciously making the decision to, Robbe collapsed against the brick wall. Through his t-shirt, the brick scratched relentlessly against his back as he slid to the pavement. He pulled his knees up against his chest and wrapped his arms around his knees, like he was trying to hold himself together. He didn’t want to ruin what was supposed to be “guy’s night out.” Robbe’s breath was shaky as he exhaled, resting his forehead against his knees to even his breath. 

From a distance, he heard the bar door open. There was a brief, abrupt moment of that 80s song interrupting the silence in the street before it was cut off with the slam of the door. Still wrapped in his cocoon of his arms and legs, he could hear someone walking in his direction and the mechanical sounds of a lighter. The footsteps stopped as a shadow passed over him. A deep voice—one that Robbe didn’t recognize—asked, “Are you okay?” 

Robbe wasn’t—and he was certain this stranger knew that or he wouldn’t have asked—but Robbe wasn’t the type of person to pour his heart out to a random stranger, so he mumbled, in the most sincere tone he could manage, “I’m fine.” 

There was a moment of quiet.

Then, “Well, you don’t look fine.” Robbe snorted. “In fact, you look the opposite of it. And when I don’t look fine, my roommate always suggests that I smoke and talk about my troubles… So, here.”

Robbe tilted his head towards the stranger. The refusal was on the tip of his tongue. He might be confused, desperate to forget Thomas, and buzzed, but Robbe was smart enough not to take a drag from a stranger’s cigarette. As he turned, his eyes caught sight of the joint. It rested between the tips of the stranger’s long and tanned fingers, held out for him to take. The refusal caught in his throat as his eyes caught sight of the tattoos on his wrist.

It started at his wrist, tall black grass encompassing his wrist completely before extending upward as tall black trees. Each tree reached a different spot on his arm and they all stopped before reaching his elbow. The space between the trees was filled with other tattoos—a sunflower, two different dragonflies, and some which Robbe’s hazy, emotional brain couldn’t identify. Each piece flowed together and intertwined like one seamless, intricate design. From his angle, he could tell that the tattoo continued beneath the sleeve of his shirt, but he couldn’t identify what it was.

His eyes flickered up the rest of the way, catching sight of the man’s features, slightly obscured by shadows. From where he was standing, he was blocking the light above Robbe’s head, which shined down on his head like a real-life halo. The halo effect shined a little brighter because of his bright, bleached hair, like Zoë’s. The man moved to sit down beside Robbe, sliding down against the brick, and it was only then that he saw his features in full. The sharp curve of his jawline—bright green eyes, a dark eyebrow that quirked up as a silent question, a crooked smirk of a smile, the meticulous style of his white-blond hair. 

Fuck, Robbe thought, immediately averting his eyes.

The man extended the joint again. Swallowing, Robbe managed to shake his head and get out. “No, thank you.”

“I didn’t poison it,” the mysterious (hot) stranger said, a slight tilt in his voice. As if to prove his point, he brought the joint up to his lips and took a long drag. Robbe watched briefly as the smoke poured from his lips before turning back to the street in front of them. “So, what’s going on?” the stranger asked. Robbe glanced over at him as he leaned against the building. “I saw you leave the bar a little bit ago.” Robbe didn’t believe that, but he didn’t refute. “And you were sitting quite dramatically. Something must’ve happened.” 

Okay, he lied. Sober, level-headed Robbe wouldn’t spill his heart out to a stranger. But currently, Robbe was neither sober nor level-headed. And the stranger had asked him what was wrong, which was more than Thomas had done in the last few months of their relationship. He let out a heavy sigh and said, “My ex was inside… with someone else and I just don’t want to deal with it. I had to get out.” 

“Ouch,” the stranger said, wincing. “That must suck.”

“A little, yeah,” Robbe admitted. 

“Was it a bad breakup?” the stranger asked. “I’ve had at least one messy one, so I can relate if that’s the case.”

Robbe let out another sigh, turning to him. The stranger stared at him with bright, curious green eyes. The joint was still resting in his fingers. The tip balanced dangerously on his bottom lip before he parted his lips and took another drag. “It wasn’t really messy,” Robbe admitted, the smoke filling the space around them briefly before it dispersed. “It was mostly mutual because we had started to pull apart from each other and such. But, it still…” he trailed off, unable to find the words.

“Hurts,” the stranger filled in. 

Unable to say anything else, Robbe nodded. He could see the stranger nodding out of the corner of his eyes, breathing out smoke into the air around them. Silence fell over the space between them and Robbe bit down on his lip. The man looked like he was about to say something else and Robbe turned to him, ready to hear what he might say. 

But, quite abruptly, the door to the bar flew open again. 

The sound of the jukebox spilled out onto the street, suddenly and loudly, now playing a modern rap song. Robbe turned toward the front door—in his periphery, he saw the mysterious stranger doing the same—to see who was leaving the bar. Dread temporarily formed in his stomach, wondering if it would be Thomas and his date. But it was Jens who stepped out. Once he spotted Robbe, he made a beeline for them. Behind him, his boyfriend and their friends exited the building quickly. Jens stopped in front of Robbe and said, hurriedly, “We’re leaving, Robbe.” 

“Huh? What do you mean?” Robbe asked, blinking up at him. 

“Well, Moyo got a text from Luca about a club that she’s at with the girls and we wanted to go check it out if you wanted to,” Jens answered matter-of-factly. “We might gain some of the girls. But it’s still going to be guys’ night and we just might manage to get Moyo a date.”

Despite being happy at the prospect of leaving, Robbe was confused. Jens had talked about how he had picked this bar (based on Senne’s recommendations) so they could hang out without the distractions of the typical club: neon lights, pounding music, chaos. But now they were going to go to the same place that he had been trying to avoid?

Looking for answers, Robbe glanced at their friends. He could see that the three of them were tense and maybe a little lost. Aaron was the closest to the street, typing away at his phone. Lucas was talking to Moyo in hushed voices as he sent a glare into the bar. Without needing to ask, Robbe knew who he was looking at. Whenever Thomas was mentioned, Lucas would make the same face, a mixture of distaste and protectiveness. 

Realization hit him.

They must’ve seen Thomas.

“Okay,” Robbe said. He pushed himself up to his knees, but, once he was standing, he remembered that he wasn’t alone against the brick wall. He glanced down at the stranger, who was still sitting against the wall with the cigarette in his mouth. He wore an amused grin as his green eyes darted between them. “Thanks for the talk, um…” Robbe trailed off. In the few minutes since he had sat down, Robbe realized that he had never gotten the mysterious stranger’s name. 

The man held out his hand and Robbe took it. His hand was much larger than Robbe’s, practically swallowing his smaller hand, and warm to the touch. “Sander.” 

Robbe nodded, sending him a small grin. “Thank you, Sander.”

The mysterious man, no, Sander, beamed up at him, his lips twisting in a quirky smirk as he said, “You’re welcome, Robbe.” 

End Chapter One next (Zaterdag)

[sincognito]

And So The Dragons Fell From Grace | Chapter 2.

Pairing: Spicyhoney (Mapleblossom and papgore will be later).

Universe: Undertale, Underfell, Underswap, Swapfell (both versions).

Warnings: Slavery, Speciesism, Kidnapping, other chapters will be tagged for other content.

Overview: Rus is mindlessly beginning to settle in with his new routine, slowly beginning to forget any plans of escape he may have had. However, eventually, his past will catch up to him.

A/N: Second chapter of the fic, there’s a little jump from the last chapter to this one, but it’s nothing major :3

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Read on AO3: HERE

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The days that followed seemed to progress at an agonisingly slow pace. The dragon, Edge, would leave at dawn before Rus woke to begin his patrol of his territory, scouting out the nearby mountain ranges for any trace of intruders, before returning just before midday. More often than not the skeletal reptile would return with a fresh catch – usually wild elk or the occasional sheep or cow – that he would quickly devour, leaving not a scrap for Rus. The skeleton knew better than to disturb a dragon while feeding.

After his meal, Edge would return to his pile of gold, curling up in it with a pleasant hum as his body converted the newly eaten flesh into usable magic to fuel his soul. Rus had quickly learnt that the dragon was not one for simply lazing about, and while he lay still to digest, he was constantly filling the air with conversation, albeit largely one sided. His claws would tap at the floor with poorly veiled restlessness as he eagerly awaited his chance to move around again. And move he could.

One afternoon Rus had walked to the opening of the dragon’s lair and had been rewarded with the stunning sight of Edge as he effortlessly spiralled up beyond the clouds, before abruptly shifting direction and allowing his massive body to plummet down towards the ground, halting his dissent just in time for him to gracefully switch to a swift glide, swooping down low over the trees. It was in that moment that Rus felt his hope of escape begin to slip further away.

It was on a particularly warm evening that Rus had finally decided to explore the cave in greater detail. With most of the vast cavern lit only by the small torch he clutched firmly in his fragile hands, he cautiously began to examine all of the intricate carvings of mighty dragons on the walls and pillars that seemed to hold up the entire ceiling above them. As he slowly moved, he came to realise that the dragon depicted in all of the art was in fact the same one.

While the drawings offered only little information about it, Rus found his mind wandering – what colour had its beautiful scales been? Did they flicker in the light like the gems it horded? – if one thing was for certain, it was that whoever the dragon had been, it was greatly adored by the humans of the valley. There were images of the dragon keeping their land safe from invaders and offering its service to all who needed it, acting as a benevolent protector and friend.  

The clacking of bone against stone drew Rus’ attention and he glanced away from the carved walls to watch as Edge approached, his head low as if trying not to frighten off the monster. Not that he had anywhere to run anyway.

“What are you doing?” the dragon rumbled, his eyes narrowing slightly, “I thought you were going to retire for the evening.” Originally Rus had stated that he would go to bed early but had perhaps been too absorbed by his imagination, thinking up fanciful scenes of humans and monsters living at peace with dragons. It was a foolish, naïve idea, but weren’t all stories about love and happy endings fabricated by the mind of a hopeful child?

“I was just looking at the carvings,” he explained, motioning to the pillar beside him with the torch, “but I can head off to bed if you would prefer, master.”

The dragon hummed to itself for a moment, its eyes scanning over the art as a distant look began to take over his face, “They loved their dragon,” Edge finally breathed, his eyes seeming to lose their normal focus, “They built him shrines and would provide him an offering at the beginning of every spring in thanks.”

“How do you know?” He knew it was improper for him to question a dragon without invitation, but Edge either didn’t seem to notice or didn’t mind the inquiry.

“I remember it.” He said simply with a soft puff of smoke, turning away to signal the end of their conversation. The answer had done nothing but further his confusion and for a moment Rus simply stood staring dumbly, even after the dragon had returned to its pile of treasure to prepare for his inevitable slumber.

Realising he was making an even larger fool of himself the longer he continued to watch, he quickly made his way towards his own sleeping quarters. He had a small bed, a slightly worn pillow and a small pile of plush blankets to pick from. It was a rather humble set-up, but it was far superior than sleeping on the floor. While it wasn’t exactly a closed off room, he still received a pleasant amount of privacy from the way his sleeping area was dug deep into the side of one of the cave’s walls.

Taking a moment to release some of the tension in his back with a few cracks, Rus swiftly moved to removing his hoodie, noting with a slight frown that it was due to be washed. He was just about to begin taking off his shorts and was more than a little startled when a large head appeared at the entrance to his room causing him to jerk slightly.

Upon noticing what Rus was doing Edge made a sound unbefitting of his fearsome appearance, immediately aborting whatever he had planned and retreating back around the corner once more. The sound of valuables clinking was enough of a signal that the dragon had gone back to his horde, obviously deciding against speaking to Rus again.

It hadn’t really registered with Rus that the dragon wasn’t exactly a real dragon but a monster in possession of a dragon’s soul until that point. He could feel his skull warming slightly as he considered Edge’s reaction as the reaction of another person, another skeleton just like him. He wasn’t entirely sure how to feel about it but decided that standing half naked in his room wasn’t going to help him decipher his emotions.

The following morning Edge was acting completely normal – leaving early on patrol, taking some time to track down a meal and then sleeping it off – his mind no longer lingered on the concerns he had held the evening just passed and he was quick to return to routine. While Rus was by no means the cleanest monster out there, he had quickly learnt that if his cleaning skills were not up to par he would be rather harshly reprimanded; the scars that lined his back were a testament to that. He had yet to see Edge’s true ire and if he could he would try his utmost to keep it that way.

His morning was spent sweeping out all of the leaves and dust that had blown into the dragon’s cave during the night – a surprising amount of work due to how enormous the cave was – and he was only just finishing up when Edge had returned from his morning meal. Rus shivered slightly as he watched the fat drops of crimson drip from the dragon’s maw, a tongue snaking its way from his mouth to lick away the final remainder of whatever it was he had hunted down.

With a soft sigh Edge stretched out his joints like some sort of overgrown cat, his chest vibrating slightly as he prepared to sleep off his breakfast as normal. His eyes scanned the cave, seeming to roll over each and every one of the dragon’s possessions in turn, including Rus himself. Once satisfied that nothing was out of place, he happily padded over to his usual napping place.

Before Edge could completely settle in to sleep Rus finally managed to find his voice, “I-I need to clean some of my clothes down by the stream,” he began, pausing slightly when the dragon narrowed his eyes on him suspiciously, “With your permission, of course, master.”

Edge tilted his head to the side briefly in what seemed to be contemplation before growling slightly, “Fine. But don’t even consider running away,” he hissed, his tail thrashing in obvious agitation, knocking a large antique wardrobe over. Dragons hated letting their possessions out of their sight, and for Rus to leave Edge’s den while he slept? It was no wonder the reptile was anxious.

Rus gave a slightly awkward bow, “I wouldn’t dream of it, your eternal eminence.” The flattery seemed to at least calm the dragon, even if only slightly, as he merely waved for the smaller skeleton to leave in feigned disinterest. Unfortunately, the regal effect was ruined by the way he seemed to preen at the compliment.

He was able to hold in a snicker until he was finally outside the cave, it was rather entertaining to watch how easy dragons were to please. They were by no means dull, simple creatures, but it was almost ridiculously easy to play into their good graces with a few sweet words and admiring looks from afar. Perhaps Edge just wanted someone to tell him he looked handsome every morning. Thinking back on it, he wouldn’t exactly put it past the dragon to do such a thing.

The woodland air was clean and crisp, the scent of fresh pine heavy in the air. The smell filled Rus’ nose with a familiarity that had his heart aching and his mind wandering to a simpler, kinder time when everyone was safe. The sun above shone strong, and yet, it almost seemed that underground the world had been brighter.

Rus could see the nearby village in the distance at the base of the mountain. A kindly old lady had allowed him to stay in her stable one evening, even going as far as to bring him breakfast when he woke and a mug of sweet tea to wash it all down before he left to continue his journey. He wondered if he would ever be able to repay her kindness.

It was no secret that humans hated monsters, they always had and likely always would if those deemed ‘fell’ monsters had their way. Most humans would have turned Rus away or simply slammed the door in his face if he’d asked for somewhere to spend the night. When he wasn’t out trekking through the wilderness he usually found himself huddled up on a cold street corner, hoping that no one would pay him any mind or pass him off as just a poor beggar.

It was quiet as Rus began to walk down the mountainside toward where he had been told there was a small stream he could use to wash his clothes and himself. He had been completely lost in his thoughts, but he slowly began to realise just how quiet the woods were. There were no sounds drifting up from the usually busy village below and not a bird to be seen in any of the trees.

At the eeriness of the forest he slowed his movements, contemplating returning to the cave and cleaning later on. There were very few things that could scare away all the animals of a forest, and Rus wasn’t eager to encounter any of them.

There was a loud snap as a nearby branch was torn from a tree and Rus found himself running before he had even registered where the sound had come from. Much to his dismay, running back uphill was a far more tedious task than it had been to leisurely stroll down and he found that no matter how quickly he tried to sprint away from whatever dangerous creatures lurked in the woods he made no significant ground.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise when something snatched Rus’ legs out from underneath him, causing him to fall face first into the hard ground. He gave a weak groan, his hand seeking out the front of his skull to clutch his face as it seemed to pulse with pain. He felt something warm and wet trickling onto his phalanges and pulled his hand away from his face to see it stained red with marrow. It seemed that the rocky ground was a little sturdier than his face.

A laugh sounded from behind him and Rus felt his blood run cold, “You seriously thought you could get away from us?” It chortled in amusement, a clawed paw easily grasping his legs to prevent any attempt at escape. Even if he had wanted to, Rus was unable to even consider trying to get away, not with the way his head seemed to be spinning, red liquid dripping down into his sockets from his forehead and only serving to disorientate him further.

He fell limp against the ground, his mind growing fuzzy and drowning out whatever it was his attacker was saying. He could hear roaring and there suddenly seemed to be a lot of fire everywhere, but Rus didn’t mind, even if it was a little warm. Why was Edge looking at him? When did he get there? It likely didn’t matter, Rus was tired, his sockets growing heavy. Edge seemed to be saying something but Rus ignored him, he’d ask him what he was trying to say when he woke up.

[uglymanchronicles]

UMC: R Chapter 9: Execute

He finally does it.  This is the last chapter of what I’m calling “Book 1″, and officially ends the prequel.  From here on out the “books” will be shorter, basically starting up where the original UMC started, though things will go much differently this time around.

Evan shoved the cabin door open and stomped inside, trying hard to keep himself from panicking.  It had taken him a whole hour to drag Carmichael's carcass sufficiently far into the woods, and half an hour more to find his way back to the cabin.  The crescent moon was now high and bright in the sky, which meant Evan was running out of time.

He gave the rune a cursory glance as he strode towards the bedroom.  It was still glowing; in fact, it seemed to be glowing even brighter now that the moonlight was shining on it through the window.  Assuming that was as good a sign as any, Evan strode into the bedroom.

Considering himself fortunate that Carmichael had been enough of professional not completely toss the place, Evan gathered up the contents of his bags in one big armful and hurried back into the main room.

This goes here, that goes there… Clutching his notes in one hand, Evan set about placing the esoteric miscellany of the ritual's components in their designated spots.  After everything was in its place, he began placing voice recorders around the apex points of the sigil.  This was the part he was most uncertain about.  Nothing in the notes said anything about the nature of the people involved with the ritual, so he was banking on recordings of himself chanting to stand in for having friends.  

It was time for a last-minute check.  Evan took off his jacket and unstrapped the MANUS from his forearms.  He needed his arms uncovered because a component of the final stage of the ritual was on one of them.  

A simple tattoo, still slightly tender from its recent creation, adorned the inside of his left forearm.  He hadn’t wanted anything fancy, and fortunately, the ritual didn’t call for anything fancy.    It had only called for a tattoo of some kind of symbol of personal importance, infused with a strange mixture of (thankfully harmless) ground-up minerals.  It had been a bit of work to find a tattoo artist willing to use ink Evan had provided himself, but if there was one thing Evan had learned recently, it was that the ability to bribe people might as well have been a superpower on its own.

It was four simple words in blue in a vaguely gothic script: BE YOUR OWN HERO.  The first three words were smaller and sat above the fourth.  Evan thought it looked decent enough, but he was well aware that graphic design was not a particularly strong suit of his.  The ‘O' of ‘HERO' didn't connect completely; a very thin line of bare skin bisected the loop.  Closing that was the lynchpin of the ritual.  Another indicator that this was not intended to be a solo endeavor—the subject of the ritual had to be holding both the focus and the Book itself in separate hands during the whole thing, which made finishing the tattoo something of a tricky task.  He'd done a few dry runs, though, and was convinced he could successfully (if not steadily) manipulate a needle with Mr. Nex clenched in the same hand.  It wouldn't be pretty, but, well, neither was he.

Magic book.  Makeshift tattoo needle.  Stuffed giraffe.  As good of components for a world-changing ritual as any.  Components in hand, Evan sat down cross-legged in the middle of the rune, took a deep breath, and said, “System: Begin sequence.”

The voice recorders beeped to life.  Evan’s own voice, phonetically reciting languages he didn’t know, echoed around him in an unnerving chorus.  After a few minutes, the air in the cabin began to take on a slightly greasy feeling. The light from the rune began to stretch upwards, extending several feet over Evan’s head.  Evan felt his heart rate quicken.  It’s working!  It’s actually working!  He tightened his grip on Mr. Nex and prayed, not for the first time, that being the conduit for ancient magic wouldn’t prove terminally destructive to his childhood friend.  

It had been maybe fifteen minutes.  Evan couldn’t see the walls of the cabin any more.  The scintillating lights had grown more intense, more opaque; before it had reached up to the ceiling, it had begun to curve in on itself.  A dome of light nearly surrounded Evan, with only a small, rapidly-shrinking clearing directly above his head.  The air felt volatile, and Evan swore he could hear sounds beyond the recordings of his own voice.  He couldn’t figure out what it was, almost as if he couldn’t focus on it, like the auditory version of grasping for an almost-remembered thought. Was it music?  

Evan checked his watch. Only a few minutes now.  It was evident that the ritual was approaching its climax, even without the timer; the light was now a complete dome above him and it felt as though something were pressing on his skin, searching for a way in.  It was like being underwater if the water was half as dense as normal.  Evan couldn’t decide if the sensation was comforting or frightening.  

There.  A small chime in the remaining voice track.  It was time.  Evan shifted his grip on the needle and turned his forearm upwards.  Wincing slightly as he pricked his skin, he spoke aloud the puzzling final phrase of the ritual.

“I accept this responsibility for the good of all.”

The light suddenly went dark, and for a moment, Evan thought he’d done something wrong.  Then he realized he couldn’t see the wall.  His first impression was that his night vision had simply been erased by the glow.   But… he could see himself perfectly.  There were no spots in his eyes.  There was

Falling.  Falling inwards.  Falling into myself.  How far down? How far will OH GODDDDDDD

He didn’t remember much of it afterwards, just faint impressions, like emotions attached to memories he’d forgotten.  Every time tried to recall details, they seemed to change.  Puzzlingly, he seemed to recall standing in what seemed to be a darkened subway car at some point.  Each time he thought about the memory, there were different people in the car: sometimes it was full of varying numbers of shadowy figures, other times, he was alone, and he once swore he heard the door open and someone enter behind him.  He never was sure when he got off the train, if he ever did.  There was a constant sensation of being simultaneously pushed in all directions, of being compressed down while expanding rapidly, all contradictory sensations that added up to a glimpse of something massive beyond scale and more intimate than the dearest of secrets.  He felt as though he'd glimpsed the infinite and, instead of being rendered inchoate by his relative insignificance, had understood, just for an instant, his place in the whole thing.

 Significance.

Eventually, he found himself lying on the floor of the cabin.  He wasn't sure how long he'd been out, but the sun was up.  He was exhausted; whatever he'd been doing for the past several hours, it wasn't sleeping.  His body didn't so much ache as it felt loose and weak, like he'd been dancing for hours. For all he knew, he might have been.

With some effort, he sat up. A thought struck him suddenly and he felt panic begin to grip his chest, but before the fear could even take root, he looked down and saw Mr. Nex, looking none the worse for wear, still clutched in his hand.  With a happy sob, Evan hugged the stuffed giraffe to his chest and stood up.  

He barely managed to stumble into the bedroom and line himself up with the bed before exhaustion took over.  The straw mattress felt like heaven.

When Evan woke up, the sun had begun to set.  Did he feel different?  He couldn’t tell.  He tried not to think about it too much as he cleaned up the remnants of the rune, rearranged the furniture, and disarmed all the traps and alarms he could remember setting. If he thought about it too much, he might start imagining things.  It was done, and it had worked, and now it was time to figure out the next step. But first he had to get back to the RV—back home.  

God, it’s beautiful out here, he thought, turning to take in the sunset over the trees as he left the cabin.  Maybe it had something to do with the ritual, maybe it was just the afterglow of accomplishing a goal, but he felt like he could appreciate everything just a little more now.  He had a long way to hike and it was getting dark, but he wasn’t worried.  As he set off through the trees, for reasons he couldn’t explain, he felt the urge to sing, as surely as if he could actually hear the music:

“Don’t call it a comeback.

I’ve been here for years!”

[sapphicscholar]

A/N: Set in S2 before Cat’s end of season return but completely ignoring a certain alien who arrived in a pod and need not be included

Chapter Text:

Kara stared at the invitation in her hand, drumming her fingers against the countertop as she tried to figure out whether it was some kind of forgery—perhaps a Mischief Night prank that didn’t involve the usual toilet paper thrown across tree branches and eggs tossed at houses. Surely—surely, Cat’s way of reaching out after so many months away would involve more than an invitation to a Halloween party signed by both Carter and, Kara assumed, a rather begrudging Cat. She could at least that it was printed on cardstock as nice as the stuff Cat normally insisted upon, though it lacked the usual CatCo watermark.

As she debated the merits of reaching out to Cat to confirm that surely she had received the invitation by mistake, that surely Cat hadn’t returned from her many months away—months where Kara could have used her guidance, her advice, her help and, dare she say it, friendship—only to throw a Halloween party, her phone trilled.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” Alex’s voice crackled through the line, the sound of Maggie calling out a greeting in the background. “I know you said something about using your day off for cleaning, but I wanted to see if you wanted some company for lunch.”

Kara grinned. It had taken a little while for Alex to find the right balance between her new relationship with Maggie and her existing commitments—and Kara certainly wouldn’t begrudge Alex her newfound happiness now that she was out and had come into her own, even if she sometimes missed how easy it used to be for Alex to drop everything and come over whenever she was feeling down—but they’d found a new balance. Kara had learned that it was no longer a good idea to swoop in through the large bay windows unannounced, and Alex had realized that, as much as she loved Maggie, they didn’t need to spend every second together for that level of commitment to still hold true. And now that she got along a bit better with Maggie, Kara found that she enjoyed having the couple over too, relishing in the chance to see Alex taking her advice to heart and letting herself be open to love and other people, to living that full, happy life she’d promised Kara she would try to find.

“Yeah, that sounds great,” Kara agreed, figuring she could use a burst of superspeed to get the living room back in order in time for them to come over. Sure, it wasn’t the slow, methodical deep-cleaning she found soothed her anxiety when life felt like it was on just the wrong side of overwhelming, when she could have used nothing more than one of Cat’s slightly acerbic pep talks that always got right to the heart of just what was bothering her, but it would do.

“Perfect, we’ll pick up pizza and be there in twenty.”

With a quick goodbye, Kara put down the invitation to deal with at a later time and sped through the living room, distributing her newly organized piles into drawers and cabinets until the room looked perfectly clean. As she debated the merits of rearranging the furniture, she heard the sound of Alex and Maggie’s voices down the hallway. Swinging open the door before they could knock, Kara pulled them inside, hugging Alex as hard as she knew she could and letting the touch ground her in a way that few other things on this planet did.

“Damn, it looks so clean,” Maggie whistled, giving the apartment an appraising once over.

“So, what’d Snapper say this time?” Alex asked. She knew well enough from having shared a room with Kara over the years that things only reached this level of clean and organized when something was bothering her.

“Nothing.” Seeing Alex’s knowing look, Kara shrugged, her gaze dropping to her hands as she picked at her nails. “Just something about how I’m not getting better—I keep turning in the same biased op-eds when I’m supposed to be writing news.”

“Are you still covering the anti-alien attacks?”

“Yeah,” Kara admitted.

Stepping closer to her little sister and throwing an arm around her, Alex kissed her forehead. “Of course it’s hard for you to try to write only the facts when you’re this passionate. You know things and have experienced things that other journalists haven’t. And you know my offer to come threaten this bald little man still stands. Always.”

Kara snorted, shaking her head. “I should probably fight this one on my own.”

“If I know your sister—and I think I do—I know she’s not kidding about those offers. Plus, I prefer a pro-alien bias to my news,” Maggie added with a wink.

Figuring Kara could use more in the way of distraction and less discussion of Snapper, Alex motioned to the pizzas Maggie was still holding. “We come bearing food.”

“Did you get the garlic knots this time?”

“After the guilt trip we got last time, you really think we’d forget?” Alex teased, motioning for Maggie to drop the pizza off on the counter, while she pulled out plates and napkins.

“Ooh, what’s this?” Maggie asked, gesturing to the invitation left on the counter. “Got a Halloween party you’re not inviting us to?”

Plucking the invitation away from Maggie before Alex could see, Kara shook her head. “Nothing. Besides, you already have your big Halloween party.”

“Big gay Halloween party,” Maggie corrected.

“Well, I didn’t want to make assumptions.”

“No, that’s literally the name of the party. Well, party and drag show—which just makes the party better.”

“So what are you two going as?”

“We were supposed to be Danny and Sandy,” Alex began, narrowing her eyes as she looked at Maggie. “But someone decided she also wanted to be Danny.”

“Everyone knows gay Halloween is about looking cool, and leather jackets, skinny jeans, and white t-shirts are definitely the best way to do that.”

“It’s literally your outfit most days!”

“Because I’m super cool!”

Seizing the opportunity while Alex and Maggie were distracted, Kara dumped most of the garlic knots onto her plate and made her way over to the table.

“Not so quick!” Alex called out, rolling her eyes at Kara’s attempts to look innocent.

“If you want me to ignore the fact that you took most of our food, you should at least tell me who sent the invitation you’re trying so hard to hide.”

After a moment of debating whether it might be worth it to hand over one or two of her garlic knots, Kara finally admitted in a quiet voice: “Carter…and Cat.”

“Who?” Maggie asked, not yet well-versed in deciphering Kara’s mumbling.

“Cat Grant?” Alex asked, eying her sister incredulously. “What happened to her living in some yurt in the middle of the mountains?”

“I guess she came back. But I don’t know if it’s even real.”

“Well then let me see it.”

“No.”

“Why? Did she write you some special note with your invitation telling you about how smart and talented and astonishing you were?” Maggie looked slightly confused, but Alex kept going, teasing Kara as her cheeks flushed a light pink. “Or does she want you to dare and dive right into her Halloween party?”

“That sounds incredibly gay,” Maggie mused, watching as Kara flushed an even brighter shade of pink.

“She just signed it. I think Carter’s the one who actually wants me there.”

“What happened to your whole speech about how things between you and Cat had really changed? I distinctly remember you gushing about getting a promotion and an office and a hug and, oh god, how could I forget, she even used your real name!”

“Yeah, well, then she left,” Kara snapped, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. Cat had told her to dive and be brave, but she’d left her alone; she wasn’t there waiting on the shore to call out encouragement or help her know in which direction to swim. Instead she’d thrown her off the ledge and left her, and Kara didn’t feel like she was thriving and coming out a new and better version of herself; instead she felt like Icarus, launched into the sky with encouragement that melted and burned up into nothingness as Cat’s guiding hands—the words and wisdom that kept her from flying too close to the sun—vanished with barely a warning.

Maggie busied herself with finding drinks in the kitchen while Alex wrapped Kara up in her arms. “I doubt that’s what she meant to do.”

Kara sniffled, letting Alex hold her the way she had when she first made her way to the Danvers home—a lost kid without a planet, without a family, without even the mission and sense of purpose that had driven her this far. “It’s what happened, though.”

“I know. And it sucks. Trust me, I’m not Cat’s biggest fan.” Kara snorted at that understatement. Alex had loathed the woman through Kara’s entire first year at CatCo, and on more than one occasion had been ready to storm in and demand the CEO treat her sister better. “But…I can admit that by the end of it, she did right by you. And I’m sure that somehow in that perfectly styled head of hers, she thinks she was doing right by you by leaving too.”

“How? How could that possibly be helping me?”

“I thought I was helping you by encouraging you not to come out as Supergirl,” Alex shrugged, her attempt at nonchalance belied by the haunted look in her eyes, her guilt still evident even now when she knew Kara had forgiven her for doing what she thought was necessary for her protection.

“I guess.”

“So, why don’t you tell us more about this party?” Alex motioned for Maggie, who was still lingering in the kitchen, to come back and join them.

“I don’t even know what it is. It’s tomorrow night at Cat’s beach house. Apparently costumes are mandatory.”

“So you’re going, right?” Alex asked at the same time as Maggie wiggled her eyebrows and asked, “So is it a date?”

“Excuse me?” Alex and Kara exclaimed in unison.

“She told you how amazing you were. She invited you to dive into her waters or something gay like that.”

“Just dive,” Kara corrected, ignoring Alex’s wide eyes.

“Still super gay. And then the first thing she does when she gets back in town is to invite you to some party at her house. And not her National City apartment, but her house out on the coast, where she totally could have hidden herself away if she didn’t want her employees or anyone to know she was back.”

“I—I don’t think it’s like that,” Kara insisted, shaking her head as if to convince herself that the suggestion was ridiculous. Had she harbored a crush on the woman for a while now? Sure. But that was only natural—she was freakin’ Cat Grant. She was gorgeous and successful and brilliant. Who wouldn’t have a crush on her? But the idea that Cat might like her back? Well, that was just ludicrous.

“Plus, Cat’s straight,” Alex added. “She’s been married multiple times—and always to men.”

“So were you, sweetie,” Maggie reminded Alex, flashing a shit-eating grin up at her. “Besides, who knows, maybe she’s bi or pan or just head over heels in love with National City’s resident superhero.”

“I don’t think she knows I’m Supergirl—we convinced her that Kara and Supergirl were two different people.”

Maggie kept her mouth shut, though she couldn’t quite disguise the skeptical expression. She couldn’t imagine how a woman as astute as Cat Grant who worked in such close proximity to Kara and covered every single daring exploit of Supergirl’s wouldn’t be able to put two and two together, but she’d learned that it was better to let the Danvers women admit to these things on their own timeline.

“But you’re going, right? Why would you give up the opportunity to see her after all that time away?”

“I don’t know…what if she doesn’t really want to see me?”

“I might not know the woman as well as you do, but I don’t think Cat Grant is the type to let someone make decisions for her—especially if she really doesn’t want to do something.”

“Carter’s always been her weak spot.”

“Still, mothers have a way of laying down the law if it’s something genuinely important.”

“I guess.”

“So you should go,” Maggie declared, smiling and folding her hands in front of her as thought the matter were perfectly settled.

“I don’t have a costume…” Kara trailed off, looking nervous at the excited glint in Maggie’s eyes.

“Don’t you worry, little Danvers. Cat won’t believe what hit her!”

---

The next night, Kara paced nervously up and around the block one over from Cat’s beach house. She tugged down her jean shorts and shirt, feeling like even the more appropriate version of Harley Quinn’s costume was still quite a bit skimpier than she liked—though she’d chosen it in a heartbeat over the proffered spandex Catwoman suit, knowing better than to wear anything Cat-themed around Cat. She swung the baseball bat by her feet until the wood creaked under her grip, releasing it before the whole thing could splinter and leave her with an incomplete costume. Noting a large group of guests pulling up in front of Cat’s place, Kara sprinted to catch up with them, hoping she could blend in and slip into the party relatively unnoticed. Maybe she could just go say hi to Carter and then hightail it out of there…

As she watched the SUV unload, though, she saw only a group of kids Carter’s age, followed by a mere two adults—one of whom was dressed normally, while the other simply wore a witch hat overtop of a perfectly normal, decidedly “mom” outfit. Kara gulped, feeling every bit the part of Elle Woods in a costume that suddenly felt much too revealing, even if she’d flown past much skimpier costumes on her way over. Deciding it would be better to go in alone than have to face judgmental parents, Kara waited until the kids had settled in and the parents had driven away before slipping over to the front door and ringing the bell. After a moment, it swung open, revealing Carter dressed as a bow-tied Dr. Who complete with a Tardis friend, who ran off as soon as he realized the guest wasn’t another kid from their class.

He beamed and threw his arms around her as soon as he realized who it was. “Kara! You made it!”

“Of course, bud! How could I miss it?”

“Well, I know we sent your invitation a little late…I got worried…”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Really,” Kara insisted. “I’m sure as a timelord, you have plenty of other very important things to worry about.”

Looking bashful, Carter dropped his gaze down before realizing they were still in the doorway. “Oh! Come in!”

Kara stepped in and shut the door behind her, looking around as she took in the house she hadn’t visited in what felt like ages.

“Mom’s down in the kitchen. The games are downstairs, but it’s mainly the kids.”

Kara took a few deep breaths before finally leaning in and whispering, “Do you think your mom knows I’m coming?”

Carter shrugged. “She thought you might have better things to do, which is why she told me not to send an invitation.”

Kara nodded, steeling herself to go surprise Cat, knowing full well Cat hated surprises.

“I think she wanted you here though,” Carter added, shrugging and looking too wise for his age, as though he could see every one of Kara’s fears written on her face.

“Well, wish me luck. Have fun tonight, Carter!”

“You too!”

Figuring now was as good of a time as any, Kara squared her shoulders and marched back into the kitchen. She found Cat with her back to the doorway, sitting on one of the barstools and looking out over the ocean. “This isn’t quite the yurt I expected,” Kara managed, grateful that her voice had remained fairly steady.

With a wry laugh, Cat spun around, freezing for a moment at the sight of her former assistant in an outfit that was a far cry from the Old Navy Cardigans and ill-fitting pants she normally wore. “Decide to play a villain for a change?”

“For a change?” Kara asked with a strained laugh.

“Mm, still playing with that old charade,” Cat muttered before speaking up. “Can I offer you anything? Glass of wine? Scotch?”

“Wine would be nice, thank you.”

Cat filled a glass and handed it over before settling back down onto the stool as the room descended into an uneasy silence.

Finally Kara broke the tension. “Why are you back?”

“Is a Halloween party not enough of a reason?”

Feeling emboldened, Kara simply arched an eyebrow in return.

“Fine. There were…perhaps, a few things I’d left unfinished in National City. And before I move into the next stage of my own diving, as it were, I thought it best to come back.”

“So are you coming back to CatCo?”

“No, no,” Cat shook her head. “Those weren’t the things I left unfinished.”

“No, you just left me there,” Kara mumbled, quickly covering her mouth with her glass as she sipped her wine.

“Left you there? Kara, I left you in a job I knew you would excel at under the direction of one of the best in the business.”

“He’s hard to handle,” Kara retorted.

“So am I.”

“It’s different.”

“He’ll make you into a seasoned reporter.”

“He’s not you!” Kara finally snapped, blushing a faint shade of pink but refusing to back down. “He wasn’t the mentor I needed when everything else was already changing.”

“Kiera—”

“It’s Kara. I know you know.”

“But you’re still going to pretend like you’re only Kara?”

Kara clenched her jaw. “What do you want me to tell you?”

“The truth.”

“Why? So you can fire me again? Abandon me again?”

With a deep breath, Cat gestured to the door that led to the small balcony overlooking the ocean. “It’s not quite 40 stories up, but the view compares.” Kara followed Cat out onto the balcony, perching her wine glass on the railing as she leaned over, breathing in the salty sea breeze.

“I—my reaction was not, perhaps, ideal.” Kara bit back a snort. “I thought that, after all the time we spent together, after how I had tried to support Supergirl, how I had tried to support you, even if I didn’t always show it in the best of ways, that you might trust me enough to tell me.”

“It’s not that simple.” Kara knew the implicit admission was there, but she couldn’t bring herself to care, knowing Cat knew, knowing she was simply waiting for the confirmation.

“After Myriad I think I understand that better. But I was hurt, and so I lashed out. I’m sure Lois or Adam or any number of my ex-husbands could tell you it’s what I do best.”

“It’s not—no, Cat, it’s not all that you are.”

“Cat, is it?”

“If we’re dropping the charade…”

“I suppose Supergirl already calls me Cat, why shouldn’t Harley Quinn get the same privilege,” Cat mused, the corner of her mouth curling up slightly.

Kara rolled her eyes but felt some of the tension ease out of her shoulders. It wasn’t just a repeat of how things were before; Cat knew—she knew and she wasn’t yelling, wasn’t firing her. Of course, there wasn’t the same charged moment of reveal—the slow removing of her glasses and awestruck expression, the soft smile and whispered thank you that left Cat close enough to touch, to kiss…

Pulling herself out of her musings, Kara shook her head. “Where’s your costume? What happened to them being mandatory?”

“Well, if you haven’t noticed, this is primarily a party for Carter’s classmates.”

“Is he doing better with making friends?”

Cat couldn’t help the soft smile; it was so like Kara to be thinking about Carter even now. “You know, his adventures with Supergirl helped to bolster his confidence. And being able to say he hugged the Girl of Steel did win him over a few admirers.”

“I do give pretty excellent hugs.”

Cat couldn’t quite help the way her mind drifted to a few other things the Girl of Steel might do exceptionally well. “Mm, yes, they were adequate.”

Kara bit back a smile and shook her head slightly. “So, if this was mainly a party for Carter’s friends, why am I here?”

“I think he likes to think you two are friends.”

“Fine, but he knew I wouldn’t be down in the basement with him and his classmates.”

“No…I think he knew that—that I wanted to see you too.”

“Just to confirm the things you already knew?” Kara asked, her voice a bit lower, knowing she was slipping into uncharted territory, knowing she could send things careening off course in all the worst of ways, but unable to find it within herself to stop. She was Icarus flying toward the sun once more, only this time, she suspected, flying close enough to its orbit might destroy her and remake her in one go in the best of ways.

“There was a part of me that wanted to know if you might tell me now—now that I’m not your boss, won’t be your boss, won’t even own CatCo anymore in a few short months.”

“What?” Kara gasped.

“It’s neither here nor there—simply part of my own diving into new waters.”

Seeing the determination not to delve into that particular subject at the moment, Kara pressed: “So you know now. Is that all you wanted?”

“If you’re still asking, I think you know it isn’t.”

“So why is it that you wanted to see me, if not just to confirm that I am exactly the person you always hoped I was?”

“You’ve always been her, Kara. It didn’t take that suit to make you exceptional.”

“So why, Cat?”

“I told you, I left certain things unfinished here. I left certain things unsaid…” Kara looked up at her expectantly, stepping just a little closer, leaving a scant few inches between them. “I can’t be the only one to dive here. I can’t be the one to push you into diving for me, either.”

Smiling softly at Cat’s consideration, Kara inched closer, nearly closing the distance between them. “Then dive with me.”

Before Cat could make a snarky remark about that metaphor becoming a bit overdone, Kara was leaning forward, and she felt herself drawn to her by some sort of inexorable pull. The soft press of lips was somehow more than she had ever imagined it might be, and as Kara let herself relax, let her strong arms slip around Cat’s small waist and pull her closer, Cat found her hands cupping at Kara’s jaw, drawing her in and kissing her deeper. The taste of expensive red wine and cheap Halloween candy mingled with something that was undeniably Kara, and Cat felt dizzy with the thrill of it all. As Kara’s tongue flicked across her lower lip, she couldn’t help the small whimper—a noise that seemed to inspire Kara as she swept Cat off her feet and into her arms.

“If you’re taking me upstairs, I want that ridiculous outfit gone.”

“Outside? Seems a little inappropriate, Ms. Grant,” Kara teased, ignoring the eyeroll and using her free hand to at least pull her hair from the high pigtails, letting it cascade into soft waves that Cat soon tangled her hand in, pulling the woman forward once more. “Is that good enough to earn a place upstairs with you?”

“It’ll do. Now come on, Supergirl, up, up, and away.”

[prismpom-moved]

Sonic Storybook Series: Horsemen of the Apocalypse

The scales were completely out of balance.

It was the first thing she noticed when she opened her eyes that morning. Upon her nightstand was a pair of brass scales. They were dull enough to not attract any unwarranted attention from the naked eye but to Famine, they were brighter than the sun, especially when they screamed for her attention. Especially on days when there was something wrong.

The shrill cry pierced her ears and she immediately bounded out of bed and wrapped herself in her black coat. Still in her pajamas, but now braced against the cold, she called for her trusted steed and off they went to find the other horsemen.

“I don’t get it, my sword has never screamed this much since when I was first appointed, what is going on?” A red-clad red panda held her mighty weapon in her hands, it was pulsating a dangerous red color.

“And my bow and arrow won’t shut up either.” A young boy dressed in the most immaculate of white clothing snapped, as he held up the glowing pair which too was bathed in a familiar hue to its owner.

The thin woman who had their back to them nodded, “My scales are doing the same thing.” She turned to the group, “Has anyone seen Death lately?”

Pestilence looked to War with a knowing, sly grin, “Oh, I have an idea.”

“Shut up, and no, I haven’t seen him since yesterday. I’m sure he’s just collecting another soul somewhere before coming here.” The young girl glared at the even younger boy menacingly.

Just then mad galloping came from the other side of the room as a pale horse ran up to the group, whinnying frantically, as if it was speaking.

War stood on guard, with a large red horse suddenly by her side, flaring its nostrils at the other equine in the room.

“Where’s Death?” she asked roughly, pointing accusingly at the animal.

The sickly-looking horse got on its hind legs and thrashed about wildly, communicating, it seemed, with the red horseman.

“Death is gone? What do you mean?” War spoke aloud, hearing the thoughts of her companion who was feeding her back the information from Death’s.

‘He has gone on, I said. The current Death is now former. I was sent to warn you of the upcoming task.’

“Well get on with it!” War screamed impatiently.

‘Without a new Death, the apocalypse will draw ever nearer until a new one is found. You all have been chosen to replace those who were before you, as I assume you surely remember. This is the same situation, Death is no longer, and to continue your journeys as the horsemen you must appoint a new one as soon as possible.’

“What is he saying?” Pestilence urged, staring in concern at War’s scrunched up face.

War pat her steed on the back and glared at the ground, “Death is… dead.”

Pestilence gasped as Famine shut her eyes tightly, pursing her lips.

“But there is no time to grieve. Armistead said that for us to keep being us for long, we’ve gotta find a replacement.” War interrupted.

“Us? Find a new Death? We didn’t even know what qualified ourselves to be horsemen, how the hell are we going to know what to look for in a new ‘Death?’”

“That’s a valid question, Pestilence, and a good one at that. Normally Death would still be around to guide us to the right person, but it seems we’re on our own for this one.” Famine folded her arms, leaning to one side.

“And what’s worst is we’re on a time budget. Armistead told me that if we don’t hurry not only will our jobs be complete, but the world is going to fall sooner than we thought.” War worried aloud.

“That’s it.” The black horseman snapped metaphorically, “That’s how we’ll find the right Death.”

“What do you mean?” the crowned boy’s eyebrow raised.

“We use each of our experiences with Death to form an idea of a new one and then we consult the Prism for the one that matches it perfectly.” The jerboa smiled slightly, as the idea took full form in her brain.

“That’s actually not too bad of an idea, crow.” War admitted reluctantly which earned a courteous nod from the one addressed.

“Then we should leave now.” Famine sat upon her mount, as did War and Pestilence as they galloped out of the non-existent room.

The Prism radiated its excellence, reflecting every lifeform that had ever existed, did exist, or would exist. The three remaining horsemen gathered around it, fully clothed in their horsemen attire, as was expected for such an event as a Spectrum Reading.

One by one they rose their item or weapons, while bowing their head. They chanted in an ethereal language, as the Prism pulsated with their combined powers. First, a beam of incandescent white light shot from Pestilence’s bow, followed by him submitting his free will to the Prism. Suddenly red lightning crackled out of War’s sword and hit it, locking her into a trance in the hive mind of the mighty shape. Next came Famine’s slithering black smoke, emitting from the tip of her scales, she too gave in and soon all three came to in foreign environment.

They were in the Prism, their forms took on as spirited versions of their bodies, their eyes glowing pure white as they hovered in null space.

“We wish to find someone to take up the honor of the title of Death: Fourth Horseman of the Apocalypse. With your guidance we will bestow upon them the Scythe of Final Judgement and they will help lead us in the future Judgment when the time is neigh.” Famine commanded in a barreling voice which seemed to have risen above the Heavens themselves.

“In them we request the following attributes: They must be pure of heart and untainted by the world’s sickness and plague. They know both peace and despair. They will bring about the cleansing of the darkest souls that inhabit the Earth.” Pestilence started.

“They believe in fighting for what is right. They would not withhold from any battle or any fight. They will slaughter those who are not worthy of cleansing.” War continued.

“And finally; they are a leader who will march us forward in the darkness that is the end. They will put others before themselves and even then, before anyone else. They hunger for the restoration of balance to the world.” Famine said.

“With these in mind, Prism, please, show us who thy has chosen.” War cried out as the world began to fade away and slowly an image came to mind in everyone’s head.

“We accept the tribute, Prism.” Famine reached out to the scythe that floated softly towards her. When she grasped it, everyone was standing by their horse and they had their Death in mind.

“That guy looked so scrawny! Did you see his noodle arms? I mean nothing puts your tree branches to shame, but boy did he come close.” War spread her arms out, gesturing.

“And he doesn’t exactly look the part of someone who knows much despair. He’s grinning like a cocky show-off.” Pestilence shrugged.

“Regardless of our judgements, the Prism chose him and to him we will go.” Famine said as she sat upon her steed confidently.

The other two joined her on their own, War shrugged while rolling her eyes, “And the Prism never chooses wrong. Though I wonder with some people.” She shot a snarl at the black horseman.

“I sure hope this next Death is as mellow and wise as the old one, I can’t stand another War-like Death.” Pestilence groaned.

“That- that doesn’t even make sense, dweeb.” War guffawed at him.

“Actually, it quite does. And I can agree. Someone has to keep you two level-headed.” Famine lowered her eyelids at them.

The swan boy acted offended as War stuck her tongue out at him.

“Now. Are we going to behave like mature little Horsemen or do I have to get Opaque to shut you up?” Famine teased.

“Psh, as if that ugly beast could get through Armistead.” War laughed, as her horse turned to glare at her, “I don’t care if you two are friends, I’m not so I can say whatever I want.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Pestilence agreed.

“Good. Now, we must find the hedgehog and return him here to conduct the initiation. Hopefully he comes willingly.” Famine began to trot away.

“Or not.” War smashed her knuckles into her palm threateningly, “I’ve been droolin’ for a bruisin’.”

“That’s gross, Red.” Pestilence said flatly riding alongside the other horseman.

“What? It’s true. This sword hasn’t met flesh in weeks, she’s practically purring right now with the possibilities of a fight.” War stroked her weapon lovingly.

“You’re a very sick girl, you know that right?” the swan rolled his eyes and said jokingly.

“And you’re a very sick boy, Horsemen power pun entirely intended.” The red panda winked.

“Keep up, you two, time is of the essence.” Famine called back as she shot forward, her horse soaring through the open skies.

“Yeah, yeah. Keep your panties on, grandma.” War muttered.

[cathcacen]

What’s New Pussycat

Lars tries to save her cat from a tree and gets booked for breaking into a baron’s house.

Henri’s just afraid she’ll stop feeding him.

She’s itching for a bath by the time the keys rattle in her door. The guard motions her out with a quick jerk of the head, and she can just make out his smirk in the dim torchlight within the cavernous depths of Westmarch’s prisons. Still, she’s a daughter of Virkove and her father has taught her to bear disgrace and embarrassment with a proud, stern face. She thinks she’s gotten pretty good at it over the years.

Niall is waiting for her by the door, dressed only in light clothes. He must’ve been about ready for bed when she’d sent for him, though she has to admit he’s holding up better than she’d imagined, half a smile and a bright, amused gleam in his eyes. He greets her with a nod, and to her eternal gratitude, holds in his laughter until they’re both clear of the building.

Only then does the crusader deign to laugh – softly, at first, and then louder, his deep baritone voice echoing in the street before them.

“I’m going to kill that stupid cat.”

Niall reaches over to pick at a stuck leaf, his massive, roughened hand nonetheless gentle in her tangle of hair. “Yeah, I checked in on him on the way over here. He’s eating the supper you left out in the back yard.”

She lets out a strangled sound. Henri isn’t a particularly affectionate cat, but she hadn’t expected him to pull a stupid stunt like that. “I’m leaving him the next time he runs off like that.”

The crusader chuckles heartily. “The guard that came to fetch me said something to that effect. You were looking for him and accidentally trespassed?”

“He got trapped in some Baron’s courtyard. I thought I could just scale the outer wall and get him down from that tree, but then I got spotted and it all went downhill from there.” She rubs at the sides of her arms. In the few hours it had taken for her to explain the situation to the gaggle of disapproving and disbelieving officers, the night had grown cold.

Niall drapes a soft, slightly worn blanket over her shoulders. She hadn’t even realised he’d been carrying it. “Baron and Baroness Freschia Quinten. You’ll be pleased to hear they’re only distantly related to the royal family – some cousins of cousins by marriage, so you’re safe.” He pauses, then a slightly guilty smile spreads across his face. “I may have used your Stark name for some leverage there.”

She lets out a sigh. Her estranged grandfather had never been an active part of her life, but his name did afford her with some leeway in the city. And even better, it afforded her with more anonymity than her father’s name – her name – ever could. Cethlions are warriors. Cethlions helped to bring about the end of Diablo himself. To be a Cethlion is to cast away all hope for a normal, quiet life.

She wonders how much harder it’d be to be an Ilvait-Sagen, or a Valdel, or to be the sole surviving Serac.

“It’s okay.” She smiles at her newest friend, the faces of her oldest and dearest flashing in her mind, one by one – each brighter and more vivid than the last. “Sorry they dragged you out of bed.”

“I thought it was a joke at first.” Niall scratches at the back of his head. “Lorath forced me to come on the off-chance it wasn’t. You should buy him a drink tomorrow.”

She sighs, squinting as they round the bend to her mother’s manor. “I’ll be buying you both drinks, if that’s okay. See you tomorrow?”

Niall smiles, then gives her shoulder a light squeeze, the same way he always does when he knows she’s had a rough day. “Sure. Sleep well.”

And, as she trudges up the stairs to bed, Henri’s feather-light footsteps beside her own in what can only be his version of an apology, she thinks of days long past, when it had been – in the stead of Niall – Iliev, Mae, and Ceth who had bailed her out of trouble.

“They’d be pretty mad at you too, Henri.” She says.

His bright amber eyes are incandescent in the night. He lets out a plaintive meow. She knows it’s because he’s worried for tomorrow’s dinner.

“Don’t do it again.”