#my friends were tormenting me while i was coloring this. telling me to render the lips as shiny as possible

[mars-ipan]

the parallels......

[fanfic-me-up]

All The Colors We Cannot See {Bakugou x Reader}

Synopsis: He sees you in the colors that light the sky, and longs for you in the darkness that follows.

Pairing: Pro Hero! Bakugou Katsuki x fem! reader

Warnings: attempted suicide, suicidal thoughts, language

Word Count: 4k+

A/N: This took me like 9 months to complete, but it’s finally here. I didn’t completely stick to the request, but this is what came out. I still hope you like it! Banner made by my amazingly talented friend, go follow her @jm.rvice on instagram! 💖

💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

Blood pumps to his legs. Cement pounds his feet. Bits of rubble catch in his boots. The first spark of the night shoots up- swallowed whole by the black sky. A trail of embers remains in its wake. 

Katsuki stops. And waits.

A second passes- the crowd silent in anticipation. No one can see the spark, but everyone knows it’s there… waiting…  for the right time to explode. And just when the darkness thinks it has won, an enormous burst of light blankets the sky. In that moment, it’s so bright that Katsuki can see the skyline. Like paint splattered on a blank canvas, the sky now bleeds in red, and the explosion leaves an imprint the size of a supernova long after it’s gone. 

The crowd applauds. 

A roar is ripped from Katsuki’s throat. He pounds at the brick wall again and again, despite blood trickling down his fists. He rips his cochlear and smashes it against the wall. A sick satisfaction settles within him. The ringing that greets him is like a devil sucking on the lobe, whispering tempestuous nothings into his ear. 

Katsuki continues his ascent, taking steps by three until he reaches the top. The poor door is yanked off its hinges, but it doesn’t even cross Katsuki’s mind as he’s hit by everything all at once. Smoke slithers down his throat, roasted yakitori wafts up his nose, the rhythmic booms caress his ear, and the lavender shaded sky comforts his eyes. From up here, the people below remind Katsuki of the dots he used to see after he ignited a big explosion- how the dots blur, mix, and separate in one fluid motion again and again. 

His phone ringing is a distant echo. They’re looking for him no doubt, but who the hell cares. Not like they’d find him up here. This was yours and Katsuki’s place.

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He’d blow himself up if he missed even a second. 

His lungs burned. They ached for a clean breath, yet inhaled the stench of nitroglycerin-like sweat. He could’ve just blasted himself to the top and saved himself the trouble, but fuck. That. Katsuki thrived on a challenge. He loved the rush of adrenaline more than his own mother. (He’d never tell her that- she’d kill him before he reached this goddamn roof.)

He threw himself against the door in time to see the first burst of citrine hit the sky. But he also saw you, a trespasser, standing on the ledge and looking like you were about to kill yourself. You didn’t flinch at the sonic boom (like most people) nor cringe at the heat. It was like you thought the beauty outweighed its destruction. 

All that said you were fucking stupid.

“Oi! Get down from there!” 

You were immersed in skylight, and though your back was turned, Katsuki knew you were staring up in awe; your eyes reminiscent of glassy pools reflecting red, yellow, blue and all the possibilities they create. 

“Fuckin’ hell…” Katsuki muttered. He just wanted to enjoy the show in his spot. Alone. Like he did every year. “Oi, lady! You wanna kill yourself? Do it on some other roof dammit!” 

You jumped at the blasted words, losing your balance and falling off the ledge. Katsuki expected you to scream, to gasp, to cry... anything but fucking wink on your way down like playing with death is just some fucking game. But Katsuki had no time to think before he blasted himself across the roof to grab your hand- but you didn’t need it. You threw a safety line in mid-air, hooked it to the ledge with skillful precision, and used the leverage to hurl yourself back up. You landed on the ledge like a ballerina tip-toeing on a tightrope. The sheer turn of events rendered Katsuki speechless. 

 “Phew! That was fun! Let’s do it again sometime, yeah?” You wrapped the safety chord before bouncing up to Katsuki.

The fuck?

How did you…? 

 You didn’t seem to notice Katsuki’s loss for words.

“I’ve never met someone with a quirk like yours. You could put on your very own firework show!”

You tried grabbing his hand, but Katsuki’s growl stopped you. The flickers popping in his hands were a sign to back the fuck off.

You’re scared. Good, Katsuki thought.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m a bit of a pyro.” You sheepishly smiled, twirling a pink and yellow band around your finger. (You’d later twirl your wedding ring the same way.) 

Katsuki’s growl cut in its tracks. You weren’t scared like he thought, in fact, you looked lost in his sparks- your eyes zooming back and forth, trying to catch each and every one. Katsuki killed his sparks, causing you to look up at him in disappointment.

“I can’t. Mine don’t change color,” he muttered. 

Fireworks always fascinated Katsuki. As a child, he wished his explosions could change color. He imagined people looking up in awe when his sparks rained down. They’d recognize the power and the beauty.

“Hmm…color is what makes a firework...” you trailed off.

“No shit,” Katsuki snorted. How stupid are you? 

“Hold out your hands.” 

Katsuki crossed his arms, “No.”

“Oh, c’mon! Gimme your hands!” You bounced up and down, overcome with excitement. Katsuki stepped back but immediately stopped himself because Bakugou Katsuki never backs down. 

“I’m not giving you anything, woman. You’re fuckin’ weird for jumpin’ off roofs and asking for stranger’s hands. Stay the fuck away from me. In fact, this is my fuckin’ roof. Find your own.” Katsuki looked down to see his hands popping. It must’ve happened on instinct- a defense mechanism to scare off the extras who won’t leave him the fuck alone. 

Except it didn’t work on you. You only came closer. 

“Do you want to burn in color or not?” 

Katsuki saw flashes of himself in your eyes everytime a firework went off. A hunger burned in the pit of his stomach- one he’s felt countless times during battle, but this one was different. This strange warmth made him feel like jumping off the roof himself, and if he put all his might into it, he could brush the spark of a firework from fifty feet above.

“Yes,” he said. 

“Then you’re gonna have to trust me.”

“Trust you!?” Katsuki shook his head, “I don’t even know you!”

“That’s half the fun, isn’t it?” You giggled, “Now hold still.” 

Katsuki grumbled how ridiculous this was, and that whatever you tried wouldn’t work, but you ignored him in favor of pulling his hands and laying them face up. You nodded and Katsuki sighed, activating his quirk anyway because what the hell.

You’re entranced from the moment flickers popped, one by one, in his hands. They died as quickly as they were born, but still left their mark in the air. 

Katsuki’s sparks faltered as cool fingertips brushed against his wrist. 

“It’s okay, keep going,” you encourage, and he does. 

He can’t pinpoint exactly when the change happened. Like all change, he blinked and suddenly his sparks burned in color. Angry red, rooted in tormented crimson, ravished the usual, boring, orange of his sparks. 

Katsuki laughed in disbelief because how is this real? Yellow began to flicker in and out of the red, until it finally caught like a flame and engulfed the red like a warm blanket. Pink and light green began to swirl around the yellow, and the firework show Katsuki had been looking forward to all year didn’t hold a candle to the fireworks fluttering in the palms of his hands.

Katsuki looked up at you. 

Who the fuck are you? 

You giggled at his awed expression, “Our very own firework show.”

And that’s how you spent the rest of the night. His hands in yours while he burned in color for the first time.

Katsuki later discovered you could read emotions through auras. The aura becomes visible, allowing you to color a person’s quirk.

He also discovered that you didn’t need to hold his hand for it to work.

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

A round of fireworks triggers the ringing in Katsuki’s ear. He throws his head back in ecstasy and prays the sensation tickles his eardrum for a little longer- enough to shut the part of his brain that keeps remembering you. 

Katsuki pulls the pistol out. The leather grip, so slick with sweat, that Katsuki has to wipe his hand to make sure he doesn’t accidentally set off his quirk. 

He’s not an amateur. He’s held a gun before. Every pro-hero has to undergo weapons training, but he’s never used one in combat. His quirk was always more than enough. But there’s something inherently dangerous about a gun. His quirk is an extension of himself, but a gun is a separate entity altogether- and it was designed to kill. 

Growing up, adults would praise Katsuki for his quirk. They’d say, “With a quirk like that, you’re destined to become a hero!” But they were still afraid to get too close. They saw his quirk as a weapon that was designed to destroy. And soon enough, Katsuki became the embodiment of just that. But he always felt incomplete. He wanted to be a hero like All Might. One that people looked up to- in awe of their power, not in fear of it.

That’s why he loved fireworks. The only explosion that makes people stop and stare, instead of running away, in fear for their lives.

You were the first and only person to see the beauty in his quirk.

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

“What’s your favorite color?” 

Such a basic question that Katsuki should already have the answer to. But color meant so much more to you. You saw the world in a way that made everyone else seem colorblind. 

You twirled that same pink and yellow band around your finger as Katsuki twirled the ring in his pocket. You leaned in closer, basking in the warmth radiating from Katsuki. He watched how your eyes never left the sky, and he was content with missing the show if it meant he can watch you instead. He caught glimpses of you only when lit by a firework. He made sure not to blink during those moments else he’d miss you. Your expressions mixed and swirled as the fireworks continued, but you never lost the primary color of mesmerization painting your face.

“Blue,” you said. Katsuki had to lean in to listen; your voice an ember in a sea of fire. “But not sky blue like on a sunny day. It’s nice, but I much prefer the darker washes of blue, deep like sapphire.”

Blue, the color of sadness. 

“Why blue?” Katsuki asked. The ring in his pocket danced between his fingers.

You turned back to the fireworks. You always made sure to think before you speak when answering a question that mattered.

“Because there’s always an interesting story behind an aura of such sorrow, more importantly, there’s always a light at the end of the tunnel.”

“So your favorite color isn’t blue, it’s yellow,” Katsuki cut in, but you shook your head.

“There’s nowhere to go but down with yellow. Yellow is the epitome of brightness and joy, and when you crash during the high, you crash hard. But when you’re drowning in deep blue, as I’ve seen many people do, you’re at the lowest of lows- you really can’t get any lower in this life. But when an aura- and I’ve only seen this once- when an aura changes from the deepest of sapphire to sunrise yellow- well it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

The twirling of the ring in his pocket stopped. 

“That is why I believe blue is the true color of hope,” you whispered.

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Katsuki should feel the smooth texture of leather as he grips the gun in his hand. He should feel the weight of the gun as he brings it to his temple. But he’s numb to it all. It’s like an invisible string, pulling at his muscles, directing his body how to move. His mind goes blank for the first time, and all the inner-turmoil he’s been unable to escape just straight up… stops. It’s like he’s floating in a body of water with no current. Complete and utter stillness.

It scares the fuck outta him, but it feels good. 

As he’s about to turn the safety off, his phone rings again, snapping him back to reality. Katsuki guts his phone.

“Die!” 

The phone slides down the door like a dead pidgeon. 

“God-fuckin’-damn it...” He pushes the barrel back to his temple, craving that mind-numbing stillness once more. Anything to stop the feelings that just won’t seem to go away. 

The fireworks crescendo as the show reaches its climax. The colors begin to mix and blur together so much that it becomes too convoluted to look at. An infinite regress of color swirling in Katsuki’s mind.

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

You glowed on purpose so Katsuki could find you. He spotted you from miles away, like a beacon of light in the middle of a storm. The melancholic blue of your aura contrasted against the raging reds that painted the sky.

Katsuki ran. He pushed and pushed past his limit, harder than any battle he’s fought in. He could’ve made it if he used his quirk, but he was in a crowded marketplace with too many people. He ripped off his gauntlets and threw them in a random alley. He immediately gained speed. A couple more feet and one minute left.

He should’ve saved his breath. If he did, he would’ve caught you in time. But he had to make sure you knew he was there. You looked down at the sound of your name. He could barely make out your face, but you saw him. He knew you saw him because your aura changed from that melancholic blue to sunrise yellow in an instant. Everyone around him gasped at the flood of light emanating from above. 

You were right. It was the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

If Katsuki produced a strong enough blast, he could make his way to the top and get you out before the bomb went off. At this point, he didn’t care who else might get hurt in the process. Next to him, Kirishima knew what Katsuki was thinking. He hardened himself to block Katsuki’s takeoff.

“Don’t do it, bro.”

“Get outta my way.”

“You can’t make it.”

“Yes I can.”

“You’ll both die.”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP” Katsuki pushed him away, and prepared to blast himself, when two other heroes stepped in to hold him down, but no one stood a chance when Katsuki goes feral. Explosions erupted, not enough to seriously hurt, but enough to get people to back the fuck off. Even Kirishima (whose quirk is to literally be a human barricade) was having trouble blocking Katsuki. One more blast was enough to send Kirishima back and Katsuki used that half a second to blast off. But suddenly he couldn’t. He tried and he tried, but his quirk refused to work. A growl escaped from low in his throat as he whipped his head around, trying to find the cause to his problem so he could decimate it. 

Target acquired. 

Katsuki was about to march right up to his high school homeroom teacher and deck him right in his fuckin’ face, but before he could, he was held down once again.

He couldn’t fight three pro-heroes off without his quirk. He couldn’t get to you without his quirk. All Katsuki could do was look up and watch you die. 

Five seconds left.

He saw it in your face. The moment you realized he wouldn’t be able to save you. The yellow of your aura growing dimmer and dimmer.

Three.

You smiled through your tears.

Two.

And winked. 

One.

Then closed your eyes as you took your last breath.

The darkness that followed was unbearable.

A cacophonous wail erupted from Katsuki’s throat- loud enough to go up against any explosion. He couldn’t help but fall to his knees, unable to hold himself up any longer. He still wasn’t able to use his quirk and that only frustrated him more. 

He’d never felt so helpless in his life.

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

He hardly uses his quirk anymore because he sees you in the sparks. He’s got no drive to be Number 1 if you’re not here to watch him do it. His will to live is gone without you and that scares the fuck outta him. He hates you for filling his head with ridiculous bullshit. He hates you for opening his mind to the possibility of love, and hope, and shit that shouldn’t matter but it fuckin’ does for some goddamn reason. He hates you. He hates you. He hates you.

That same cacophonous wail erupts from his very core. The gun falls from his hands, to the ground. It could’ve gone off at that moment and Katsuki would never know. 

His focus zeroes on his hands. How tense they get when he flexes them, how the vein protrudes from his wrist, and how his glands secrete sweat from his palms. He points them to the sky, and a familiar rush of power, that he hasn’t felt in months, surges through him. His blood boils from under his skin and he’s literally shaking from the intensity. Like a volcano spewing hot-blooded lava after an eternity of dormancy, he shoots blinding white heat into the black night.

The color from the fireworks surround his explosions as if they’re echoing his sentiment. Hot red dominates the sky- reminding Katsuki of the sky that night. This causes Katsuki to rattle off explosions quicker, setting off one after another in a staccato rhythm. The crimson sky ravishes all other color. 

If only he saved his breath. If only he’d taken off his gauntlets sooner. If only he ran a little faster. If only he blasted himself a second earlier. If only he didn’t stay back at work that day. If only he turned right instead of left at that goddamn intersection. If only he picked up the ingredients for your favorite meal the day before so he could go straight home. If only he didn’t have to drive back to the market because he fuckin’ forgot the milk again. If only he decided it was still worth it to pick you up from work early like he planned. If only he cared more about your anniversary than about cracking Top 10. If only he went to more of your art shows instead of taking extra patrols. If only he went on that trip to New York with you instead of cancelling last minute because the agency needed him. If only he realized that you meant more to him than being Number 1 before it was too late.

Little by little the crimson wash is buried by the black night and Katsuki’s eyes hurt just staring into the black abyss. It’s suffocating him, weighing his chest down and making it hard to breathe. It’s enough to drop him to his knees, just like he did that night.

You and Katsuki had long talks about your future plans. How you fit into his life, and how he fit into yours. When you’d be able to properly settle down and have kids. You accepted that the first couple years into his career would be the toughest on your marriage. Katsuki would spend more time at the agency than at home with you. Relationships with pro-heroes were like that. But you respected his ambitions. You understood the amount of time that was required to fulfill those ambitions. You never held it over him, never guilted him into spending more time with you, and never made him choose between you or his career. You loved him enough to share him with the rest of the world. You were never each other’s other halves. Instead, you co-existed as separate individuals who made the best team Katsuki’s ever been a part of. 

Yellow begins to flicker in and out, but it’s muted behind the black veil of regret. The more Katsuki thinks of your empathy and your love, the stronger the yellow becomes. It finally brightens the black sky, to the point that Katsuki almost has to cover his eyes because it’s like looking into the sun in the middle of the day. 

And that’s when it clicks.

He’s burning in color.

You must be conducting this masterpiece from above, using the sky as your canvas and coloring the emotions coming from within him.

He kills his explosions as quickly as he fired them. The fireworks come to an end at the same time. The crowd’s cheers is a fly on the wall to Katsuki.

He falls back, lying flat on the ground and looking up at the sky still shaded in yellow. His chest heaves as he tries to get his breathing back to normal, and the sloppy mixture of sweat and tears continue to slide down his face. The cool breeze is a blessing against the nape of his neck.

He struggles to hold his hands up, they shake as he brings them up to his face. He reignites his quirk with the last bit of strength. The sparks lack their usual vigor as they flutter lazily in his palms. They remind him of fireflies swirling in a jar. For once, the orange doesn’t piss him off. 

Has anyone else seen his quirk like this? When he’s not trying to intimidate or take down a villain? The only person he could think of was you. Maybe his quirk wouldn’t be seen as a weapon, maybe he wouldn’t be seen as a villain, if the world saw what he’s seeing right now.

Katsuki sits in this revelation, and the calm that washes over him is nothing like the numbness from before. He’s far from being okay, and he still longs for you in these moments, but Katsuki has a hunch that if you were here right now - holding his hands in yours- his sparks would be burning in your favorite color. And he’s okay with that.

“That is why I believe blue is the true color of hope.”

Katsuki’s phone goes off even in its broken state. His eyes dart between the phone and the gun. He groans as he gets up. His limbs, heavy, after exerting himself. He picks up his phone.

“Hey. Yeah, man, I’m fine, don’t worry about it.” 

Katsuki’s about to hang up when he takes a look at the gun. A reminder of what he was about to do. A decision he could never come back from.

 If things turned out different, he would not be here right now.  

Just the thought is enough to make Katsuki slide down the wall. He takes a deep breath- his heart beating rapidly at what he’s about to admit aloud for the first time.

“Actually, I’m not okay. I need you to come get me.”

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The Plus Ultra Chronicle

Musutafu Tower Attack: 06/18/2020

WHEN HOPE PREVAILS:

A DAY OF REMEMBRANCE

By: Yamamoto Ichika

06/18/2021

Today marks the one year anniversary of the 2020 Musutafu Tower Attack. Hundreds gathered this morning in remembrance of the lives lost that night. Several people who’ve lost loved ones in the attack have already come forward with statements.

Of those people, Number 7 Hero, Dynamight, has chosen to sit down with The Plus Ultra Chronicle for an all-exclusive interview. His late wife, Bakugou Y/N, was among the citizens that were held hostage that night. After taking a year sabbatical, he has decided to return to the field of pro-hero work. Here is a snippet of that interview; you can find the full interview here. 

“Thank you, Dynamight, for sitting down with us. It is truly an honor. The people want to know- what are your thoughts on what occurred that night? Can you take us through what happened?”

“It was hard on us all. Whether you were at home watching on a screen or out there in person. All of us heroes felt like sh*t- unable to do anything. It’s even worse when you had a personal attachment to a victim like I did.”

“It must’ve been difficult as a hero- having to make quick decisions that forced you to separate your personal life from the objectivity of the situation.”

“If I’m being honest, I couldn’t, and it took a toll on me.”

“Is that why you took the sabbatical?”

“Yes. I constantly questioned the validity of my title. Whether or not I deserved to be called a ‘hero’ if I couldn’t save the one person I vowed to always protect.”

“You’ll be returning to the field next month, and with a new addition to your hero costume. An amulet of what looks to be a blue-colored spark attached to the left side of your chest. It stands out against the black, orange, and green of your costume. What is the meaning of this?” 

“When I was at my lowest, my failures were all I could see. But someone once told me that you can’t get any lower when you’re at that point. The only real change you can make is to acknowledge and move forward.” 

“A symbol of hope is definitely something we all need right now. What made you decide to finally give an official statement?”

“It is my responsibility to protect the citizens of Japan so this never happens again. But I also think it is important for people to see the shortcomings of the heroes they look up to. We’re human too. We f*ck up. I used to think that made someone weak. Now, I see it as part of the journey. The testament of a true hero.”

[probablyjustamagpie]

So I wrote this last October, and figured I’d share. Hope you enjoy!

The Witch’s Brew

Inkblot, my raven, perches on my shoulder as I close the door to the dorm, cooing softly to the  rhythm of my roommate’s snores from where she lays among a tangle of blankets. Our morning walk is quiet and uneventful, with the city just barely awake. The autumn air fills my lungs and I feel good despite the rather dreary weather of the morning. The rain patters gently as I walk, and I resolve to make myself a mocha when I get to the store to warm myself up.

The Witch’s Brew is only a few blocks away from the dorm, and is still technically on campus. Nora is already there when I arrive, getting the register ready. Inkblot swoops over to the ornate metal tree that many bird familiars like to inhabit when they come in. Occasionally, the odd raccoon or squirrel familiar will find their place there too.  Nora and I smile at each other, but we don’t talk much unless it’s about work.

As I’m placing the last of the blueberry muffins in the glass display case, the first of the morning coffee rush begins to trickle in. The day always starts the same way, with the early morning regulars hurrying in to get their caffeine fix, off to their office jobs. Nora and I rush to get all the orders out in time; macchiato with a luck enchantment, plain black coffee with a joy enchantment, a regular cinnamon bun, the list only goes on and on and the rain only drums harder and harder on the windows.

The morning coffee surge is still in full swing nearly an hour later, but now it's more tourists and travelers, bright eyed and bushy tailed, sometimes literally. The full moon was last night, so tired werewolves are commonplace this morning.

It’s yet another hour and a half before Micha and Cecily wander in. They'd promised that they were going to stop by, just like every week. By now it was just another part of our routine. Cecily always orders iced coffee with an extra shot of espresso and two pumps of vanilla, while Micha likes to switch it up. Neither of them ever asks for an enchantment on their drink.

“What will it be, oh-indecisive-one?” I ask Micha as he stares helplessly at the menu. 

Alphonse, his familiar, peers at me from the pocket in Micha’s hoodie, before scrabbling up his arm and curling his long ferret body around Micha’s shoulders like a fluffy, living scarf.

“Uh, Chai tea? With extra cinnamon?”

“Hot or cold?” “Hot. Seems too late in the year to get it iced.”

“Lame,” interjects Cecily, “It is never too cold for iced coffee!”

“You are a living stereotype,” Micha tells her.

I make their drinks quickly, as they head off to find one of the unclaimed tables among the crowded coffee shop. The Witch’s Brew is a popular place, big windows and lots of seating, though most of it is now taken. Along one side of the main counter, there is a bar of sorts, where people can sit, order drinks, and chat with the baristas as they zip around. It’s there that Micha and Cecily inevitably find themselves..

“It’s only because we don’t want to take up a table. We definitely wouldn’t want to distract you.”

“Mmhmm, somehow I don’t believe you, Cess,” I say, handing them their drinks.

I turn back to the door in time to catch a flash of bright red hair, a smiling face, and a denim jacket coming through the glass doors. My calm demeanor cracks for a moment and I’m certain my mouth won’t close all the way.

There is one girl from school who I am absolutely terrified of talking to, and that's Blaine Rynn, the owner of that bright, soft hair, that kind and stunning smile, that fur-lined and pin-covered jacket. I’ve never seen a pride pin on it, though, and thus is the endless torment of a gay girl.

I whirl back to Micha and Cecily, who snicker. As my best friends they, of course, have been subjected to my endless pining for the one girl I can’t muster the guts to talk too. But Nora is helping someone else, and I shall never cease suffering, so I make my way to the register.

“Hello! Welcome to the Witch’s Brew, what can I get you today?” My brain goes into autopilot, and I plaster on my best customer service smile.

“I’ll get an iced caramel mocha - for here, please.”

That only reminds me of the mocha I never made this morning, and suddenly I wish I was making that instead. Nevertheless, I try to make some semblance of conversation, though my voice shakes just a little.  “Squeezing out the last few days of the season?”

“It's never too cold for iced coffee.”

I laugh a little, finally look Blaine in the eyes, and smile. Tamping down the little flare in my chest, I try to return to the task at hand. Iced coffee year-round does not mean she’s gay, despite to jokes Micha and I make.

“Anything else?” My voice comes out an octave too high.

“Uh, maybe a blueberry muffin too. Luck enchantment on the coffee, please.”

I nod, and ring her up, silent. I no longer trust my voice.

“I like your glasses by the way. They’re cute.” Blaine says, before finding a table.

“Thanks!” I say, and  in that moment, my face gets oh-so-very warm.

Her order shouldn’t take much time, but it takes longer for me to make than normal due to Micha and Cecily winking at me and making faces. The sigil for the enchantment is easy enough when I cast it on her glass, and using my magic steals something inside me, easing the stormy sea that is my stomach.

I place it delicately at her table, and she smiles so brightly when I give it to her that I almost ask her out right there, but I hold myself back. You hardly know her, Tia, I try to remind myself. Well, you know she volunteers at the aquarium, and takes bio with Iris, and that she’s a selkie. You know Blaine has the best smiles and her choppy bob is perpetually messy in a stylish way, and she always steps on the crunchy leaves, and-

I shake my head a little as I make my way back to the counter. That line of thinking never leads anywhere good.

“Have you asked her out yet?” Cecily asks.

“No.”

“Just do it! What could go wrong?”

“So, so much. She could be straight, she could be homophobic, she could just plain not be interested!”

“But do you know that?” Micha adds.

“No?” I despise his voice of reason.

“Then ask!” they say at the same time.

“I - no. Too much could go wrong.”

Cecily grabs a pen from the counter, and scribbles a note on the just slightly coffee-stained napkin next to her.

“Inkblot!”

He swoops over, and lands at her side.

“Give this to the selkie over in the window, please.”

In a traitorous swish of black feathers, he does. 

“Cecily!” I say, loudly enough that a patron or two gives me a look.

I look over at Blaine, who seems perplexed at the bird now trying to drop a napkin in her drink. When she grabs it though, and reads it, her face turns a light shade of pink. It's a really cute blush, in all honesty, and her freckles contrast against the red of her cheeks.

I watch as she stands up, and Inkblot flutters back to me, like he didn’t sign my death warrant. As she makes her way over, I swear someone must have done a time freeze spell, because even the rain seems to stop.

“Was this yours?”

“Yeah, the little traitor bird belongs to me.”

Blaine laughs a bit, and the full force of her smile shines on me, rendering me somewhat speechless.

“I think my luck enchantment worked. I’ll, uh, call you tonight?”

“Yeah, tonight works.” I give her a smile too, and the little flare in my chest turns to a blaze.

As Blaine walks back to her table, Micha gives me a ‘I told you so’ look, which Alphonse mimics. I can’t help but laugh at how easy and simple that was, and how light I feel now. 

“Perhaps, just maybe, I should listen to you two more often.”

Cecily and Micha leave soon after, coffee finished and homework looming,  and I find the rest of the day passes in a blur. When I leave the shop in the late afternoon, there’s a spring in my step and I practically float, despite not casting any spells. Inkblot soars above me, enjoying the clear sky. The leaves seem a little brighter in color on the few trees along the sidewalk, the sky a fresh, bright blue after the morning rain.

[mzargentum]

The Stormsender’s Daughter | Chapter XII | Third Eye

Chapter XI | Chapter XII | Chapter XIII

Word Count: 5,114

Warnings: None.

A sudden pulse like a solid punch to the chest ferociously yanked Ceres from her meditation.

Taking her breath away, leaving her in a heavy pant.

She clutched her chest in slight fear by the random sensation. Cautiousness and curiosity filled her mind.

She had never felt such a reaction from her daily routine. Especially since her meditation period was meant to keep her emotions at bay. Or risk her Third Eye leveling the entire kingdom. 

The stress of a Queen was not like any other.

Once she began to catch her composure, Ceres examined the bruise upon her chest.

Despite the light pain it caused, somehow it was...heartwarming.

What about this particular spot made her feel such a nurturing acceptance toward the impact?

As she scoured her memories to learn what the great Ramuh was trying to tell her, the only one she could pinpoint was one day some years ago...

...a gentle presence gracefully resting upon her breast...

...it was the day she lost...

“Muerlin...!”

It had been 14 years since Willownoire lost its princess...

14 years since she was taken away from the family that loved her dearly.

Those years had not been too kind to the Zephyr’s.

Sure, they were beloved by all who knew them throughout the kingdom, but losing Muerlin caused a strain on the family.

The sorrow within the hearts of Silvanus and Ceres weighed heavy on their 4 remaining children.

Ein, being the eldest Zephyr child, was proper heir to the throne, but declined it at a much younger age. Instead he join the kingdom’s military forced at 17 and at 24 has climbed the ranks to Captain of Willownoire’s Glaive.

He had always been a straight forward and no-nonsense character. Unfortunately his upbringing made it difficult for him to really enjoy his childhood.

He rarely spoke of Muerlin for he was aware of the main purpose he joined the military rankings. Muerlin was the Pythoness and the prophecy state that the Stormsender’s Daughter would succeed the throne.

His job was to make sure his little sister had the support system she needed to do so...whether he was here or not.

He was one of the only two of the Zephyr children that was aware of his potential fate. Yes, the kingdom was prosperous now, but the Zephyr’s had previously concluded that their days of serving Niflheim were over.

...and Ein was prepared to protect his sister’s legacy by whatever meant necessary.

The second eldest Zephyr child, had a different approach...

Gaea had spent most of her adolescence despising her parents for what happened to Muerlin. 

She saw them as cowards for letting the Nifs take away their own flesh and blood and seemingly replacing her with two more children.

As she grew, that resentment wained, but forgiveness was a much bigger step.

At 21, forgiveness was knocking upon her door. Though she hated the idea of her parents potentially trying to replace Muerlin, she understood what was at stake during that time.

But she still wasn’t about to sit by and allow her sister to return to a ruined kingdom.

As Ceres grew older, she was less able to keep up with the forests and the gardens.

Gaea gladly took upon the role of Guardian of the Forests. She scours the kingdom watching over the inhabitants of the forests. Keeping the wildlife in good health, the trees, the soil, the rivers.

As the Zephyr almost always on the prowl to better the wilderness, seeing her around House Zephyr was rare. As well as seeing her around the cities at all.

Younger children throughout the kingdom made up rumors of her existence and she became a model of protection in the kingdom.

it was rumored by the children that if you ever saw her, you were immune to daemons.

For the Guardian would always protect you.

This fine morning, Gaea had just finished her first sweep of the east forests and was taking a break perched in a high tree top.

The air was crisp emitting a delicate breeze that very much pleased the young princess’ senses.

Weather in Willownoire was usually nice, but today...it was especially lovely. Gaea didn’t think much of it for a moment until...

...a light growl in the distance interrupted her trance.

She pondered it for a moment for it wasn’t like anything she heard before.

“Wait...no way...”, she lightly exclaimed before bolting in the direction of the growl.

As she approached the sound, she remembered a story she was told as a child...

When Asteria was young, she played with all the creatures of Willownoire. Then one day Ramuh asked her which was her favorite and she said the behemoths.

So Ramuh found the purest, most gorgeous behemoth he could find and gave it to the little girl as a present.

The night she perished, he infused part of his life force into the creature making it immortal and sending it into hibernation in a cave far from the cities...

...and it was only to awaken when the Pythoness returned to the light.

Gaea had never really believed the story as more than an old fairytale, but the more she grew, the more she hoped it were true.

And sure enough...at the far east of the forest...emerging from a monumental cave...the more spectacular behemoth Gaea had ever seen. It towered the size of the average full grown beast. It’s eyes were a crystalline teal...just like Muerlin’s.

“It can’t be....”, Gaea’s shock still overcame her senses as she watched the beautiful creature take its first steps in centuries.

“Wait...”, she paused. “That must mean...”, a sharp gasp escaped her throat as a smile stretched across her face.

She finally had a reason to go home. The wind carrying her at light speed.

As years passed, Silvanus spent most of his time in a constant brooding state. As King, his responsibilities were to his people, but his depression grew and grew. 

Ein and Gaea were usually busy and rarely home. Though he had his wife and two youngest, Talon kept mostly to himself and tiny Heira was so oblivious to the chaos within her family that he felt constant guilt when he was near her.

Losing Muerlin did not only plague him to the brink of sickness due to his failure as a father, but showing his family love seemed so fake that he couldn’t bare to look them in their eyes.

A father giving away his little girl is supposed to be a momentous occasion of hope and joy as he gave someone who adored her for everything she is and gave her the best love she could ever feel the keys to his heart.

But this...

He never even got to look her in her eyes for the first time and tell her how much he loved her.

How much she meant to him.

And protect her like a father really should.

How could he prove to her that she was his everything when he gave her absolutely nothing?

Every night he imagined what she could’ve possibly looked like. What color were her eyes?

Were they his lavender hues or Ceres’ celeste?

Did she have Ceres’ full cheeks?

Her crooked grin?

Her quips and quirks?

Who was his little girl now?

At 14, she must know, wherever she is, she doesn’t truly belong...she must know she’s different.

Does she know about him? Her family? Did she hate him...?

So many questions.

So many what ifs unanswered...and as far as it looked for him, they never would.

Until...

“King Silavnus!!!”, a light shrill startled the tortured king, lifting him to his feet.

“What is it?”

“It’s...it’s Lady Ceres”, Yurin, one of the loyal servants of House Zephyr, and personal friend of the queen, panted in-between her words.

“What’s happened?”, Silvanus’ youth beginning to rush back at the worry of his wife.

“She collapsed in the east corridor. She told me to fetch you right away”, the panicked servant explained before Silvanus rushed by at a full sprint, Yurin following behind.

“CERES?!”, the desperate king called out toward his wife before he found her on the floor of her meditation chamber panting and wheezing while holding onto her chest.

Frantic of what could possibly be ailing his wife, rendering her immobile, he hurries to her aid.

However, when he reaches her, he notices that her face is drenched with tears.

“Ceres, what is it? What’s wrong?”, Silvanus takes his wife into his arms. To his surprise, upon lifting her gaze to meet his, he realized...she was smiling?

“What the devil...?”, the stunned king thought out loud.

“I-It’s her...”, the overjoyed queen replied between sobs, “I felt her...”.

“Who?”, Silvanus’ confusion still evident.

“Muerlin”.

At that moment, the king felt his heart stop with one booming beat.

“But...but how is that possible? How could you know?!”, he spouted in disbelief.

“R-Ramuh told me...”, the scatterbrained mother stammered, “I-I don’t know how, but...she’s alive...a-and...she’s coming home. She’s coming home, Silv!!”

Unable to contain her excitement over the matter, she began to shake.

And, honestly, who could blame her? Certainly not Silvanus for he yanked his elated wife into his arms for the most warming embrace, no longer able to hold back the tears that had built in his ever so tormented lavender eyes.

Their daughter was finally returning home.

After a moment...

“My King”, a low firm voice echoed through the meditation chamber catching the attention of the royals and Yurin.

“Sir Jerith”, Yurin gently greeting the elder whom merely glanced at her with a stern eye.

Jerith Atrium was the head councilmen of Willownoire and Silvanus’ merciless, no-nonsense advisor. 

“Ah, Jerith”, Silvanus greeted the man catching his composure. “What brings you out of your cave?”, he teased the ever so stoic man.

“Our meeting to discuss new policies on the military academic programs. It was meant to start nearly a half hour ago”, the elder stated, seemingly irritated by their king’s forgetfulness.

“Oh, dear...”, Silvanus sighed. “Is it that time already? It completely slipped my mind”, he cleared his throat as he stood from the floor, assisting his nearly calm wife.

“Um...I shall be up momentari-”.

“THE BEHEMOTH IS AWAKE!!!”, an abrupt shriek filled the room halting the king’s sentence, also startling the grumpy elder.

All eyes were on the panting, virtually exhausted Gaea.

“Lady Gaea?!”, Yurin gasped as she had not seen the princess in multiple weeks.

This was the first time she had graced the palace with her presence by her own will in quite some time.

“What is the meaning of this, Lady Gaea? You are completely covered in sweat”, the elder nagged the young woman. 

“What I just said, Jerith”, she retorted. Not having any of the man’s sass. “The behemoth hidden away in the east forest!! It’s awake!!”

“You mean...”, Yurin began in disbelief, “from the stories?”

“Impossible”, Jerith spouted toward the young adult like she was delusional. “That story is only an old folk to pacify children with fears of the dark”, he continued receiving an annoyed glare from Gaea. “Besides, if the behemoth of legend was real, it would only awaken if-”.

“If the it sensed it true owner; the Pythoness. MY sister”, she retorted.

“How are you even certain that you didn’t just see a lowly behemoth prowling about?”, Jerith continued to goad the Guardian. “There is a possibility you were patrolling the forests in the west and didn’t even know it”.

“Oh, just because I’m not an 800 year old asshat with rank prune breath, I can’t tell direction?”, Gaea mocked the elder as she stepped toward him.

“Gaea”, Silvanus called toward his daughter.

“I know what I saw!!”, Gaea spouted toward her father.

“She is right”, Ceres’ soft voice sliced through the tension as she finally recollected herself. All attention now on the queen’s stern gaze.

“Muerlin is alive. She is returning to Willownoire. I received a message from Ramuh himself. She has been sent down the path toward home. Only time will tell when she will arrive at our gates”.

Silence filled the room as the gravity of the realization settled within everyone.

With a shake of his head and light eye roll, Jeirth finally surrendered.

“I will postpone the meeting”, he released in sighed.

That night...

The eldest Zephyrs gathered in the drawing room.

The only light within the room was the subtle glow emitting from the fire place.

The only sound was the crackling of the flames until...

“So”, Ein broke the silence in a hushed tone, “...Tenebrae, huh?”

“Yes”, Ceres confirmed. “That was the direction of her essence resonated from”.

“It’s been 14 years. How was she able to hide out there for so long?”, Gaea curiously asked, starring out the window by her seat to the starlit skies above.

“My guess would be the Nox Flueret’s...”, Ein replied in turning his gaze toward his mother whom emitted a light smile.

“Oh, Sylva...”, Ceres softly chuckled, remembering her dear late friend. “Always full of surprises...”.

“So, what do we do now?”, Gaea turned her gaze toward her family. “Niflheim troops are most likely looking for her. Shouldn’t we find a way to go get her?”

“Unfortunately, we cannot”, Silvanus replied. “It would only threaten her safety more”.

“How? We’d be going to keep her safe from the Nifs. Couldn’t Ein send his men on a retrieval mission or something?”

Silvanus shook his head. “That would only make it worse. The presence of Zephyr’s outside of Willownoire would cause suspicion. Suspicion will cause curiosity. Curiosity brings chaos”.

“But she’s walking from Tenebrae and no one’s even heard a peep”, the Guardian protested still not understanding her father’s point.

“And why do you think that is?”, Ein chimed in. “The Nif’s wouldn’t want anyone else knowing that she’s alive. There would be worldwide panic”, he explained.

“Well, if the Nifs don’t want her being discovered, why would they allow her out of Imperial Territory? They had to know she was there...right?”, Gaea turned toward her mother.

“Not necessarily. Sylva would’ve taken precaution...for Muerlin to not draw attention to herself, she had to have a life outside the palace”, Ceres explained. Plus Niflheim is a large place...as well as Tenebrae...I’m sure the Chancellor kept her mostly a secret from a large portion of his army as well”.

“Precisely”, Silvanus agreed with his wife. “The fewer people that know of your treasure, the less likely you are to lose it”.

The thought of his sister being a trophy in Niflheim’s treasury burned Ein to his core. “Hmph...bastard...”.

“Okay...so they didn’t know she was in Tenebrae”, Gaea shrugged. “Still, it seems weird that she would be able to just walk out like it’s nothing”.

“That is true”, Ceres agreed lifting a pondering finger to her chin.

“Maybe they found out...”, Silvanus thought out loud.

“...hmm...it would make her departure more plausible”, Ein confirmed. “Despite being Imperial Territory, the longer she remained there, her powers would be nulled to a dormant state. Her appearance being all that set her apart from the norm...unfortunately...if her hand had been forced, she may have had no choice”.

“But how?”, Gaea asked. “If her powers were in a dormant state, wouldn’t that mean she couldn’t use them? How could they have found out?”

“Well...”, Ceres began to explain. “Her powers being nulled don’t exactly mean she couldn’t use them. It’s like the Third Eye. My abilities are driven off emotion so it’s imperative that I remain cool and collective at all times. Even if there was an adversary at hand. I meditate daily to keep myself in this state. If not, I risk losing control. The Pythoness’ power ranges at a much larger scale than mine so Muerlin will have a lot more to keep in check. Plus....there is the daemonic essence she harbors from Asteria. This essence is constantly battling her psyche for control. If she isn’t subjected to understanding her abilities, she is more susceptible to lose control...and the consequences could be apocalyptic”.

Understand this, horror filled within Gaea’s heart as she imagined what could’ve possibly happened to her sister. “Do you think...”.

“...it’s possible”, Ceres concluded.

The atmosphere shifted to a more somber state as the family mulled over the potential turmoil that their beloved Muerlin must’ve faced to result in her departure from Tenebrae.

“Not to change the subject, but...”, Ein began as he turned toward his father with a stern eye. “...if we conclude that the Nifs forced Muerlin out of Tenebrae, we must address the possibility that they will proceed to make their way here to find her”.

Silvanus sighed at his son’s remark. Although he did not want to admit it, he was correct. Chancellor Izunia would most likely assume she would be returning to Willownoire and would expand his efforts to retrieve her once again.

The ladies turned their attention toward the king.

“Ein is right...if Muerlin is not apprehended on her journey, the Chancellor will most certainly turn his attention to us to draw her out”.

“So, what do we do?!”, Gaea exclaimed. “We can’t just sit on our hands and wait for him to show up! The citizens; they wouldn’t stand a chance!”

“Gaea is right...”, Ein chimed in. His tone more stern than usual. “Muerlin is top priority, but we cannot allow the Chancellor to lay waste to the entire kingdom”.

Ceres couldn’t help, but smile in pride of her children. “Besides...how is Muerlin to return home if she doesn’t have a home to return to?”

Silvanus couldn’t smile despite the determination of his family.

“Still”, he began. His tone as heavy as his heart. “...determination and courage is one thing...but situations of this caliber often end in sacrifice...”.

Ceres was fully aware of this notion, Silvanus knew, but what about the other two?

Ein and Gaea locked eyes for a moment.

Despite Muerlin’s importance to Willownoire, she wasn’t the only child the king and queen cared for. “

“The weight could be too great...”, Silvanus spoke up against the silence, “...you two may have each other and your younger brother and sister to look out for”.

“They depend on you”, Ceres lightly added.

“So, if it comes down to it-”.

“We will see it this through until the very end”, Ein cut off his father.

“No matter the cost”, Gaea chimed in expressing to the two adults they were not fearful of their fate.

“Ein...Gaea...”, Ceres lightly pleaded toward her children, “this isn’t your burden to bare”.

“Like hell it isn’t!”, Gaea rose from her seat. “Those damned Nifs destroyed our family! Made us resent each other AND ourselves!”

“They need to learn whom they are toying with”, Ein added. “Muerlin is not the only Zephyr they need to worry about...they will pay...whether it’s Muerlin...or us”.

Despite the horror of the situation, Silvanus and Ceres can’t help, but feel an unfathomable warmth and pride for their children’s tenacity.

“Alright...so it’s settled”, Silvanus concluded the meeting. “Gaea, would you mind making sure Talon and...”, a sudden creak from the door behind them hushed the king.

After a moment, the azure gaze of Talon came into view.

The four remained silent upon his entry.

The somberness of his stare broke their hearts.

Did...did he hear the whole conversation?

“Talon?”, Ein broke the silence, shifting the young boy’s gaze to his older brother on the couch. “Is something the matter?”

“...Heira had a nightmare and woke me”, he murmured.

“Oh, dear”, Ceres responded in attempt to sound like her normal cheery, collected self. “Perhaps, you’d like to-”.

“She’s in her room...”, Talon abruptly interrupted his mother before taking his leave.

Ceres returned her gaze to Silvanus in worry. He definitely was listening to them.

“I’ll go check on him”, Gaea volunteered to ease her mother’s mind on the matter disappearing from sight as she ventured through the pitch halls.

Talon’s room was in the south wing of the castle on the second floor.

Although Gaea was rarely home, she knew how much he preferred his privacy for his door was almost always locked.

She hadn’t been inside for about 4 years. She didn’t really know how to approach him anymore, but she was already standing in front of his door so backing out was not an option.

“Here goes nothing”, she sighed before gently knocking upon the door. “Talon?”

No one answered.

“Talon, it’s Gaea...”, she tried again. “Can I come in?”

Silence.

She glanced down toward the door handle, biting her lip anxiously. She had no idea why she was so nervous about this. He was her little brother. This shouldn’t be this stressful. It should literally be cake, but for some reason it wasn’t.

Regardless, it had to be done...so, swallowing up her fear, Gaea turned the knob, gave it a light push and...

“...Talon?”, she whispered into the abyss only welcomed by more silence. “Are you in here?”

Flipping the switch to illuminate his room, it was determined that it was barren.

Her anxious mind had egged her to close the door and wait, but her curiosity drove her mad.

Talon was now 13 years old. Gaea hadn’t really seen him since he was about to turn 10.

Even at that time, he had distanced himself from the rest of his family.

He began to let go of the cheerful, optimistic, goofy child he was in the past and absorbed the darker aspects of what the life as a Zephyr was truly like, but judging by what Gaea saw by entering his room...his love for one thing hadn’t changed...

Muerlin.

His walls were cluttered from the ceiling to the floor of portraits of a girl with teal iris’ and silver hair. 

They all had subtle differences like the facial structure, hair length, but they all looked like their parents in some way.

The Guardian was torn between marveling in her brother’s unbelievable talent and mourning for his saddened soul for the longing of their sister.

“What’re you doing?!”, a growl startled the young woman.

She quickly spun around to see her younger brother standing at his door, completely mortified by Gaea’s intrusion.

“Talon...did you draw all of these...?”, Gaea asked in absolute awe. “How long...have you been doing this?...Is this why you’re always in here?...”

The teen had nothing to say...his innermost feelings and possessions have been discovered.

As much as it burned Gaea’s heart that the lad would keep such a talent hidden from the rest of their family, it hurt more knowing that he was hurting so...

Noticing a few incomplete sketches on his desk, she approached to get a better look.

“Talon...why didn’t you come to us?...You’re hurting...why won’t you let us help?”

“...you wouldn’t understand”, the boy replied, holding back bitter tears.

“Talon...”, Gaea’s voice softened, “we all miss Muerlin. You can talk to us about it whenev-”.

“No, I can’t”, the boy spouted. His pain beginning to take over his emotions. “I can’t talk to any of you about it...”, he insisted.

“The only person that could understand is Heira.....and she’s too damn stupid to know anything because you try so hard to protect her from the truth...”, he lightly growled, his gaze turning into a heart wrenching glare.

“But she’ll learn when Niflheim blows us sky high...”, the boy mumbles, confronting his sister over the earlier meeting, much to her dismay.

“Talon...”, she began hoping to explain.

“Just get out!!!”, the boy shrieked as he dashed toward his sister and began to shove her out of his room refusing to allow her to view his tears.

“Talon, please, just listen to m-”, Gaea desperately tried to explain before having her brother’s door viciously slammed in her face and bolted shut.

As much as Talon wished his family could understand what he felt, they couldn’t. His parents, along with Ein and Gaea got to see Muerlin. Got to actually welcome her into the family.

Talon and Heira never got that privilege, but he was barely a year younger than his estranged sister.

He felt his existence was merely to shroud the fact that she was taken...alas, he grew up feeling outcasted because of this.

The affection from his family never felt real. It felt forced...and the older he got, the more it took effect. 

He grew up seeing his mother’s tears more than any of his siblings and as much as it pained Silvanus, there were times where even looking at his son was difficult.

He wished he could go to them and express how he felt, but it would only bring out the only thing he ever really gave them...sadness, so he remained in his room.

Locked away to dwell on the fact that the person he longed for most in this world, the only one that ever made him feel as if he belonged, would never know him as he gazed upon the hundreds of portraits he drew of her, unable to tell which one was really her before lowering his head against the wall...his gentle sobs filling the room.

On the lower floor of the south side of the palace...

11 year old Heira gazed from her window toward the moonlit sky, wide awake before the latch of her door caught her attention.

“Hello, sweet-tart”, Ceres pleasantly greeted her youngest daughter.

“Hi, mommy”, Heira yawned as she rubbed her eyes.

“What seems to be the matter?”, the queen asked as she took a seat on the bed next to the child. “Talon said you had a nightmare”.

“No, I didn’t”, Heira replied with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh...?”, Ceres asked realizing her son had lied to cover the fact he was eavesdropping, but with a sigh changed the subject. “Well, then why’re you awake? It’s late”.

“I know. I was just counting the stars”, the little girl admitted with a smile on her face.

Being 3 years younger than Muerlin, Heira had almost no emotional attachment to her older sister. She barely remembered her existence most of the time.

This helped the king and queen cope slightly since to her, the gloom was normal so it didn’t feel like anything was amiss, but the guilt in their secrecy was still prominent.

The only one that was oblivious was little Heira.

As Heira grew older, it just became routine to shield her from the horrors of the Zephyr family making her innocence both her best and worst quality.

Especially now...the whole legacy of the Zephyr’s could crumble into dust within the coming months and she had no idea...but how would she, as a mother, explain to an 11 year old who’s lived with a falsehood of perfection that everything she knew and loved could be destroyed because of someone she never knew?

Was there even a way?

“What’s wrong, mommy?”, the delicate child asked her mother, her majorelle iris’ glistening in the night’s hue.

“...Nothing, pumpkin”, the woman lied, upon pure instinct much to her sorrow, as she pulled her daughter into her lap and watched the stars with her. A single tear rolling down her cheek. 

“Nothing at all”.

Deeper into the night...

Little Heira had finally drifted to sleep sending Ceres on a tearful walk toward the master chambers.

Upon entering, she was surprised to see Silvanus fully dressed and packing some of his belongings.

“Silvy?”, the queen addressed her king, catching his attention. “Where are you going this time of night?”

“...Insomnia”, the man replied after a deep sigh.

“WHAT?”, Ceres loudly whispered as she rushes toward her husband. “Tell me you’re joking!”

“Alright. I’m joking”, the king replied planting a light kiss upon her cheek.

“Now say it like you mean it”, she demanded in light irritation.

“See, that’s called lying and I’ve sworn by oath never to do so to you”, the man attempted to joke to ease his wife’s worry, of course, to no avail.

“Silvanus Zephyr, do you have any idea how dangerous that is? What could you possibly need to go there for? You tell me this INSTANT or I swear on Ramuh’s grave, I will-”.

“Alright”, the king reluctantly complied to ease his fuming queen. “Alright”.

“Well?”, Ceres egged him, growing inpatient with his silence.

“Look...we both know that the day will come when Izunia seeks our end and will stop at nothing until he makes it so...”, he admitted with a sigh, discouraging Ceres despite the fact she was also aware of this.

“Whatever happens to us, we cannot allow him to find Muerlin...at least not until she’s ready”, he continued.

“So, what is your business in Insomnia?”, Ceres asked with a raised eyebrow.

“To keep her safe as she prepares for the hardships ahead...”, he finally admits. “Sylva kept her from him long enough for her to find her way home, but she will not be safe here for quite some time...and we must be prepared”.

“...but...what if he comes before she returns?”, Ceres asked in slight worry.

“I was speak to Regis of this. The point is, in her current state, she cannot stay in Willownoire”, Silvanus concluded before he finished packing. “I will return soon”, he said in-between a gentle kiss upon his wife’s lips as he exited the room, making it all the way toward Willownoire’s portal gate before...

“WAIT!”

The king turned to see his wife desperately running to him in tears.

“Ceres, what’re you doing?”, Silvanus exclaimed in concern.

“Let me go with you”, the queen begged. “With the two of us, we could watch each other’s back”.

“Ceres, you are needed here to keep the rest of them at bay”, Silvanus denied her request.

“They’re be fine. Ein and Gaea can watch Talon and Heira, it’ll be fine”.

“Ceres”.

“Please!...I won’t be able to live with myself if I lost you too...”, she sobbed, finally admitting to her worries, melting the old king’s soul.

Placing his hands upon her shoulders, Silvanus gazed lovingly into his wife’s crystal eyes.

“Ceres Hova...my love...I promise...I swear...with every ounce of my being, if I am to die soon...it’ll be aside you...protecting Willownoire”, he gently wiped her tears with his thumb before pulling her into a loving embrace.

...and with that, the King of Willownoire bid his kingdom farewell as he set off to The Crown City to ask his dear friend for one final favor.

Tagging: @digitalkanvas @insomniasix @glacian-apocalypse @aquathemermaidstripper @a-new-recipehhh @prettyprompto @dizzymoogle

[aion-rsa]

When Paul McCartney Braved the Set of Roger Corman’s The Masque of the Red Death

https://ift.tt/3p32HBm

Jane Asher is as well-known for acting as she is for dating an ex-Beatle, and in 1964 she brought Swinging London to the canteen of Roger Corman’s The Masque of the Red Death.

Based on the gothic short story “The Mask of the Red Death: A Fantasy,” the film remains the most ambitious installment in Corman’s Edgar Allen Poe cycle of movies, contrasting the bleak landscape of a dying village with the psychological torment of six rooms of color, and one with no color at all, just a deep black with a blood red crimson glow cast on it. Vincent Price stars as the sadistic and satanic Prince Prospero, whose darkness reigns over his dominions. 

Price wouldn’t be this malignant again until 1968’s Witchfinder General, which was retitled The Conqueror Worm, even though it had nothing to do with the Poe story. In Masque, he throws decadent orgies to distract himself from the catastrophes which rage out of his control around him. The Masque of the Red Death came out in 1964, but shot in London during the titillating Profumo Scandal of 1963, and the pampered and entitled characters Hazel Court (Hammer’s Curse of Frankenstein) and Patrick Magee (Dementia 13, A Clockwork Orange) played could have stood in for unholy political unions. The 19-year-old Asher, as virginal peasant girl Francesca, personified the bright lights of the other side of town.

Asher was an iconic face of Swinging London and the emerging youth culture of the early 1960s. Probably best recognized as the little girl who makes friends with the astronaut in The Quatermass Xperiment (1955), she was a child actress who first appeared on screen in the 1952 film Mandy. Before Jefferson Airplane warned about chasing “The White Rabbit,” Asher played the title role in Argo Records’ productions of Alice in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass in 1958. While her parts in films like The Greengage Summer, and the 1962 Disney production of The Prince and the Pauper increased her visibility, it was a spot on the BBC’s Juke Box Jury which forever tagged her name with the pop revolution which was swinging through London in the wake of the racket coming from the seaport of Liverpool.

Asher was 17 in 1963 when the British magazine Radio Times assigned her to cover a Beatles concert at the Royal Albert Hall. “Now these I could scream for,” she declared in the story when it came out. Asher’s onscreen persona and public profile personified hope and helpful activism which may have seemed naïve to the Prosperos of the older generation but lurked outside their castle walls. Asher’s flame-red hair promised as much of a danger to the old guard as the Red Death. And he brought that optimism to the set of Masque.

“Jane Asher was wonderful to work with,” Roger Corman tells Den of Geek while talking about the restoration of The Masque of Red Death. “She was a very young girl. She had worked on the stage. I think she was in the Young Shakespeare Group. And I don’t know if it was her first picture or not, but she was very good. She was an excellent actress and very good and easy to work with.”

Asher’s Francesca is so accommodating, she tells Prospero’s mistress Juliana, “I will do what I must to save my men. But if they die, I will die — and so will Prince Prospero.” Asher’s performance is fragile and courageous, giving the character sensuality and dignity. As part of “the Resistance,” she is a worthy opponent for Price’s dark prince. Although she is uneducated, she can counter his Satanic philosophies and self-serving moral relativism. She is also the stand-in for the audience to relate to as she ventures through the colored rooms with her eyes wide open, occasionally in shock.

The first cut of the film shocked the Catholic Legion of Decency in the U.S. and the British Board of Film Censors, which bemoaned the “Satanism and erotic costuming” on the screen, according to the booklet which comes in the restoration package. Corman cut nine frames from the scene where Francesca is stripped down and thrown into a bathtub because it gave the illusion of nudity. The removed frames ensured Asher’s breasts would not appear on screen.

Offscreen, Asher was just as fresh and friendly as her character. The actress was also dating a very famous musician, who happened to write a big hit for the band her brother, Peter Asher, was in. Den of Geek asked whether Asher introduced Corman to any of the other players in Swinging London.

“A little bit,” Corman says. “Jane and I used to have lunch together in the studio commissary. And on a Thursday, she said a friend of hers was traveling through, on his way to London the next day. Would it be all right if he came and watched a shooting during the morning, and we could all have lunch together? And I said, ‘Sure, fine.’

“So, I got a director’s chair, sitting next to mine, during the shooting. And it was a nice, young guy, and we talked during the shooting. And I explained to him a little bit between shots, how it all worked. And then we all, Jane, and he and I, had lunch together. And it all went very well. And at the end of the lunch, I said, ‘Jane tells me you’re going to London. What are you going to be doing in London?’ He said, ‘Well, I’m with a singing group from Liverpool, and we’re going to be making our debut tomorrow night in London.’”

Yes, it was Paul McCartney.

By that point, Corman had already made the jukebox movie Rock All Night, which featured the music of The Platters, and would go on to produce the 1979 punk movie classic Rock ‘n’ Roll High School. That film starred The Ramones, who got their name from Paul McCartney when he tried out the stage name Paul Ramon. But Corman had no clue who he was talking to back then, and the Mersey musician kept up his part in the masquerade of red sauce.

“He was very cool,” Corman says. “He knew that as an American, I didn’t know who The Beatles were, or what he was. And as he left, I said, ‘Well, good luck, Paul, on your debut in London tomorrow night.’ And I remember he was very cool. He understood, and he didn’t want to say, ‘Listen, buddy, we’re the number one group.’ He just said, ‘Well, we’re a singing group.’”

Whatever show it was Paul’s singing group was in town for, the band apparently passed the audition. “Then I saw the paper Sunday morning headlines, ‘Beatles conquer London,’” Corman remembers.

Read more

Culture

How The Beatles Break Up Happened

By Tony Sokol

Movies

The Roger Corman Fantastic Four Movie: The Most Faithful FF Ever

By Mike Cecchini

While McCartney never came back to the set again. It wasn’t the last informal encounter the two legends had. “We were at an Academy Award party, which was I think the Vanity Fair party, and I saw across the room Paul McCartney,” Corman recalls. “And I said, ‘Oh, there’s Paul over there.’ And my wife, Julie, said, ‘Let’s go over and talk to him.’ And I said,’”No. I had lunch with him 60 years or so ago. He isn’t going to remember some guy he had lunch with 60 years ago, and I don’t want to intrude’ because he was in a conversation.

“And Julie said, ‘Well, I want to meet Paul McCartney.’ So, she went over and talked to him, and he came over to see me. As he approached, he said, ‘Masque of the Red Death.’ He knew exactly where we’d met.”

Shortly after the filming of The Masque of the Red Death, McCartney moved into the attic of Asher’s parents’ 18th-century London townhouse. McCartney and John Lennon wrote many of their signature songs in a music room in the basement, including “I Want to Hold Your Hand.”

Asher inspired McCartney to write classic love songs like “All My Loving,” “And I Love Her,” and “Here There and Everywhere.” Their relationship also drove him to pen the equally classic “We Can Work It Out,” “You Won’t See Me,” and “I’m Looking Through You,” which McCartney says, in the biography Many Years From Now by Barry Miles, “I seem to remember after an argument with Jane.”

Jane’s mother, Margaret Asher, taught McCartney to play the recorder, which was used on the song “The Fool on the Hill.” That song was written about Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, and Asher was part of the Beatles’ entourage on the band’s meditation retreat to India.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

After The Masque of the Red Death, Asher would go on to star in Alfie opposite Michael Caine in 1966 and continue a diverse artistic course. Besides being a consistent presence on film, television, and stage, Asher has written three novels: The Longing, The Question, and Losing It.The Masque of the Red Death will be available on Blu-Ray, DVD and Digital on Jan. 25.

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from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/39PchBs

[sennextheassasinkingoflight]

A Soul Rendered Asunder

Warnings:

implied self harm (in a couple forms) alcohol abuse, angst, hurt no comfort. I’m going to suggest M and up audiences. Major character death. Trigger warnings.

I wrote a chapter two on accident.

Chapter 1: I can’t forgive myself. But,

It’s been three months. Three months since his heart was torn out of his chest, thrown on the ground, stomped upon, shattered into fractals and splinters and thrown to the wind like ashes from a fire, like piss from a pot, on that mountain top. He can’t play any more. He tries and tries and tries to write anything. To compose lyrics, poems, prose and ballads, nothing comes. He tries to form a song, he whistles without melody, sings off tune, he plays his lute in dissonance. Of the other instruments he’s learned he can only look at them, let alone fathom to play them. The only coin he has left is that from gambling on gwent. He doesn’t play. He can't, he has tried but he gets in front of that crowd and he freezes. Not frightened, not afraid, but unable to play that which he had been able to before. He flat out refuses to play anything about Geralt but even playing Fishmonger or Merry Maids of Nilfgaard he can’t do well.

Now, he’s waiting in a grand ballroom at a lord's manor and he’s trying so hard to figure out how to politely decline the request for him to play at tomorrow's events; a coming of age party. He wants to play, he really does. He could definitely use the coin. A nice bath and bed tonight, maybe even the ability to get the shadows off his face, out from under his eyes. He stares at his lute, even if he manages to play tomorrow, the calluses on his fingers are almost completely gone and it will physically hurt to play. He wonders if that would be good, pain seems to be all he can feel lately. So much so that he seeks it out, because it’s better than the numbness and bitterness that wells up inside him. It doesn’t matter if its color is purple and blue, brown, black, and yellow, or if it’s red.

“Hello?” It’s a quiet voice, a peaceful voice. Kind, he thinks, very kind.

“Hello.” He forces himself to smile, the girl, maybe sixteen looks at him with pity.

She’s pretty, freckle faced, and rather well endowed. Her hair is gold and her eyes are a deep and knowing green.

“I’m sorry, I noticed you staring at your lute. Are you the bard, Jaskier?, that my father wishes to higher?” He laughs a little bitterly.

“Yes.”

“You do not seem inclined to accept his offer. Why?”

Her brows pinch together but her voice is still gentle and her tone holds only curiosity, and he is bubbling inside, boiling. He has wanted to speak about it to anyone, but no one would listen, not while sober, not while drunk and suddenly he can’t hold his tongue. Everything he’s been feeling is right there in his mouth. He opens his mouth and closes it. He shouldn’t, shouldn’t be honest with her. He should say she is correct and that his business is his own. He should leave as soon as he has. He should go with an apology and bow.

He doesn’t. He looks at her wide curious eyes and his tongue moves of its own accord.

“ I can’t play. Not anymore.” He looks at the ground. “ I’ve lost my muse and my reason. A part of my soul.”

“Dear bard, what do you mean? Please, tell me. You seem so troubled.”

She puts a hand on his arm, and her touch is so, so gentle, and the first touch that hasn’t come from a drunk man in a dirty alley outside a seedy bar. The first touch that won't leave him with bruises when he wakes up in the morning; won't leave him retching from disgust at what he has done and let be done to him. He leans into it, desperate. She cocks her head at him, worry written on her face.

“Walk with me.” She takes his hand and leads him into the garden. The sun is shining, and it's rather beautiful, really, and in another time he might enjoy it. The sun is warm on his skin, still he feels cold, as he follows beside her. Flowers of every color and type line the walkways. They walk in silence and he notices with some morbid amusement the only flowers that aren't flourishing are the little yellow blossoms near the pond. Buttercups. And ironically, there is not a single dandelion in sight. They continue on, walking around the pond. She doesn’t push but her mere presence asks him to tell, to pour out his heart. It starts a whisper.

“I’ve never been wanted...I-I’ve always been sent away, so it shouldn’t hurt as much as it does now to have been sent away… again. To be forgotten, discarded... neglected. I thought maybe it would be different. I tried not to get attached. I really,” a labored breath, “really did, but he let me stay. Stay for years. Twenty two years. I traveled with him for more of my life than not. I had finally settled in. Accepted that maybe… I allowed myself to think I was wanted, even if I was never called a friend.”

He swallows tightly, exhales a shaky breath and continues a little bolder now that his voice is in use.

“Now, I find that I can’t turn my pain into anything. How could I? How can I when everything I have loved for the last two decades has been ripped from me. When my soul has been torn asunder, plundered, stomped upon, stretched, and battered. My soul, the essence of my being has been burned and the ashes scattered to the wind, and the remnants of my heart wrapped in thorns and thrust back into my chest without my permission.”

There are tears in his eyes now, because this hurts. It hurts so much more than ignoring it, pretending things were getting better. He breathes harshly. He looks to the sky and tries to stop the tears. He doesn't notice that they’re sitting now beneath an apple tree in bloom.

“ How can I… How can I continue as I have when the one I love, loved, the one I called home and trusted has sent me away? Has tortured me slowly all these years? Torments me still in my dreams, and can’t even find me to apologize. I am a storyteller and a musician and there is nothing left in my soul which wishes to speak. I once sung of lore and myth, of war and peace, of home and hearth, of trust and loyalty, of love and lust. Now, all of those have a face, a face that makes me, hates me, blames me for all life’s troubles.”

His voice is breaking, and he’s a line away from sobbing. He wipes uselessly at his face with his sleeve.

“Forgive me my lady, I am truly sorry for this uhm...” He clears his throat. “All I mean to say is I cannot play. I wish you a wonderful party, and better luck at this life.” He stands and bows, placing a kiss to her hand. He turns to go, not sure where yet, simply away. Away from his problems, his voice, his thoughts. Wherever, with whomever, that might be.

“Please tell your father I am sorry, but there are other, better poets than I, that could sing for you tomorrow.”

If he had sung, he might have noticed a man in the shadows, a silver pendant at his chest.

Cross posted on A03 at this link https://archiveofourown.org/works/22786408

[hfeproductions]

The Torment and Comfort of Laura Dynamite

Summary: Laura's terrified of all the noises ringing out tonight.

Rating: General Audiences

Words: 2791

A story by Hale Fannar Ethan

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19318105

Patreon link: https://www.patreon.com/posts/27820387

There was an intermittent thrumming somewhere outside Laura's room. It wasn't the dryer or the washing machine, because the dryer and the washing machine would've been a lot louder and more chuggier.

There was also chatter that didn't sound like her mothers. It sounded like someone who relied on their nose for all the sounds they made: their words, their laughter, their whines, and their complaints.

Just when Laura decided that the chatter was probably just a show her mothers had put on, something decided to briiiiiiiiing. It sounded like a doorbell and a cuckoo clock, but no polite person rang the doorbell after bedtime, and Laura's house didn't have any cuckoo clocks.

Then there came the screeeeeeeeee. Someone had to have been dragging a nail across the window. Laura didn't dare look at it. As long as she stayed under the blankets, nobody would be able to see her.

Laura was in tears from how much she wanted her mothers, but what if whoever had rung the doorbell and/or come to sell cuckoo clocks was already inside with their nasally friend. Laura's mothers could've already dead via whatever was still thrumming. If Laura called out for her mothers, she'd give away her position to all these ne'er-do-wells too.

If Laura left her room, they'd find her for sure. Laura would've tripped on several stuffed animals just on the journey to the door, and a ne'er-do-well would've heard her stumbling and rushed in to kill her too or take her away or whatever these particular ne'er-do-wells did with children.

If she stayed in her room, there was a chance they'd just peek inside and move on. It was dark enough that not even the doorknob reflected light. Laura might've been fine if she hid under the covers and stayed still and quiet.

However, Laura knew she was tall for her age, so staying under the covers wasn't an option. She'd make a lump on her bed, and she knew that ne'er-do-wells knew that bed lumps equaled children. Plus the scree-er at the window might've already seen her.

Leaving the room also wasn't an option. Even if she could make it to her mothers' room, the ne'er-do-wells were probably already there too.

Under her desk wasn't an option because with how the door and desk were positioned, the ne'er-do-wells could open the door, turn on the lights or a flashlight, and see Laura right there.

That left the closet.

Unlike most children she knew, Laura had a futon. That meant she didn't have far at all to go from the floor, plus her floor was carpeted, so movement would make minimal noise. What did make noise was the closet door. Laura thought for sure that the ne'er-do-wells were on their way after the closet creaked with every centimeter she nudged it.

She couldn't get in there fast enough. She huddled in the corner between the wall and her toybox, scrunching herself up to be as small as possible. She stifled her sobs and stilled her shaking as best she could. The chatter didn't stop, the thrumming began pulsing even faster, the bringing droned on and on, and the scree-ing continued without any remorse.

Laura picked her head up when she heard laughter and giggling. There were tinny sounds reminiscent of how 8-bit videogames rendered sparkling. She hunkered down, yet the new noises didn't stop. What they did do was drown out the previous noises.

Even so slowly, Laura looked over her shoulder. A breeze hit her skin. Her sight was too blurry to see shapes, yet she could see purples, blues, pinks, and greens. She wiped the tears away to see properly. The carpet gradually morphed into grass as it got farther away from her current spot. The sky was a night sky, but instead of being devoid of color and celestial bodies like the one outside her window, this one shined with auroras and stars. The sky was an iridescent duvet over this world she'd found.

The grass beneath her socks was short and soft like freshly-shorn hair. Laura watched for rocks and sticks and other things that might poke her feet, but there was no danger to be found. Instead, she found particles glittering in the grass.  A path of these particles lead her to a nearby hill. As she drew closer, Laura made out lights floating at the top. Laura paused at the base of the hill and watched the lights. Some of them floated still while others rushed about as if they were playing tag. The lights came in many colors, but primarily pastel yellows and whites that were so soft, they could've been mistaken for snowballs.

Laura looked back towards her closet. It was a blotch of darkness amidst this colorful world. It then occurred to Laura that she couldn't hear the scary noises anymore; there was just the laughter, the tinny sounds, and her own steps across the grass.

Just as she began to take her first step up the hill, there was a burst of laughter before the surprised shout of a child tumbling down the hill. The tumbling child was followed by a floating adult who moved as if he was being dragged by the child, yet there was no chord tying them together that Laura could see. Laura scrambled out of their way.

She moved towards the child to help him up once he'd rolled to a stop, but he got back to his feet with a carefree, "I'm okay!"

The adult exhaled relief, "Good. But try to be careful next time, alright?"

"Okay!" the child smiled, already on his way back up the hill without so much as stopping to dust himself off.

The adult rolled his eyes and moved to follow him, but he stopped once he saw Laura.  She took a step back and made herself look smaller, caught between whether she should flee or surrender. The adult seemed like he was about to speak when he got tugged towards the child.

"Phantom, come back for a sec!" the adult said over his shoulder.

The child, presumably this Phantom, whipped around. He dashed towards Laura as soon as he saw her. The adult got the wind knocked out of him as he got tugged towards the child yet again.

"Hi! I'm Phantom!" the child locked his eyes on Laura's while he glomped the teen. The child's arms initially went through the adult as if the grownup was made of fog. The adult solidified and smirked as Phantom barreled through introductions. "And this is Misty! He's a ghost, but don't worry, he won't haunt you; he only haunts me!"

Misty became incorporeal again and asked Laura, "What's your name, kid?"

"Laura," she said, speaking quieter than Misty and especially Phantom did.

"That's a weird name," said Phantom.

"Phantom," Misty sharpened the word—the name—with sternness.

"You're named Phantom," Laura pointed out.

"Yep," Phantom said without a hint of self-awareness. "And my brother's named Misty."

Misty. Laura suspected that his actual name was just Mist, but what dominated her attention about him was that while incorporeal, light drenched his brown skin. His whole form became translucent. He was also at least double Laura's height, with even more height tacked on because he floated. He also had a curly beard and curlier hair that made him look older than he sounded. Laura couldn't tell if he was an adult or a teenager anymore.

Phantom, on the other hand, was definitely a child—a living child, even! He only came up to Laura's shoulders, but he'd be tall amongst her classmates. His grin displayed a gap in his teeth that was ever so steadily being replaced. His skin was the same light brown as his brother's corporeal skin. His hair bubbled on top and faded down the sides, so he and Laura had bubbly hair in common; although Laura preferred hers in pigtails.

"Mind if we move up the hill?" Misty said after glancing back at it. "Don't wanna lose any of the flock."

Laura followed along. Misty was content to go at her pace, but Phantom was eager to get back to the top.

"We're star shepherds!" said Phantom. "We raise stars for their star dust, and when they're old enough, we send them off into the sky! Stars are nocturnal, so I get to stay up later than all the other kids!"

Misty snorted.

"How did you die?" Laura asked Misty.

"Rude!" Phantom hissed.

"It's alright, Phantom," Misty made a placating gesture at him before addressing Laura. "I'm guessing I'm the first ghost you've ever met."

"I'm sorry," Laura frowned.

"Don't worry about it, you didn't know. But yeah, I'm dead. I have to stay within a certain distance of Phantom, and it's exhausting to stay corporeal for long, but whatever," he said with a shrug. "Some people are paralyzed, some people are blind, and some people are dead. That's life for you."

"You mean afterlife!" chimed Phantom.

Misty groaned, "That was funny the first time I said it, not the nine-thousandth time you've said it."

"But if Laura's never met a ghost before, this has to be the first time she's heard it!"

Misty conceded that Phantom had a point, but he clearly wasn't happy about it, "The problem is you've told it to everyone since I've been dead."

"Well, it wasn't funny when you were alive."

Misty groaned again.

Laura listened and observed, fascinated by the anomaly of siblings. Laura liked being an only child. She didn't have to share her toys, her mothers, or her room. Then again, if she had an older sibling, they'd be brave enough and tough enough to thwart any ne'er-do-wells. If she was the older sibling, she'd have to do the thwarting, and Laura knew she was a shrimp in the grand scheme of things.  She assumed she wouldn't be any good at thwarting.

"Alright, baby stars, we're packing it in for the night," Misty announced when they got to the top of the hill. There were stars all over it. The grass sparkled, presumably with their star dust.

The stars made a bunch of tinny sounds. Laura supposed they were jubilant. Some of them gathered around Laura and circled her like satellites.

"Oh, they do that," Misty said. "They won't bite."

"Stars have teeth?" Laura grimaced.

Phantom smiled too widely to hide his intentions, "Should we tell her?"

Misty sighed before assuring her that stars didn't have teeth. However, one star did rub against her like a cat, leaving a splotch of star dust on her shirt. This inspired more stars to sprinkle stardust on her until Misty waved them away. Phantom gathered them all into what looked like a tiny, star-shaped purse. Phantom clipped this tiny purse onto a messenger bag once he'd collected all the stars. The messenger bag looked big for him, but Laura assumed it'd once been Misty's.

"We're gonna head home, Laura," Misty said. "It was nice to meet you."

Phantom glomped her, "Come earlier next time, and you can play with the stars. You have lots of stardust on you; that means they like you!"

"Just take a bath, and it'll wash right out," said Misty.

"Okay," Laura stood there, watching them go until she finally spoke up. "Mister Misty?"

"Hm?" Misty immediately turned to look at her. "What's up?"

"I'm afraid to go home."

Misty's eyes flared wide, and his fists balled up, "Phantom, hang on."

Phantom looked back. Only his head was visible over the hill, yet he returned when he saw Misty and Laura.

"Laura, do your parents…?" Misty interrupted himself. "Does your family hurt you?"

Worry drowned Phantom's face.

"No," Laura tilted her head to the side, looking at the boys skeptically. "There's lots of noises tonight, and bad guys might be in the house."

Phantom's breath hitched. He looked up at Misty, who took a deep breath before speaking calmly, "Alright, I'll go check it out. One good thing about being a ghost," Laura was amazed when he disappeared from view for a moment, "is I can become invisible. Lead the way, kid."

Laura led them back to the dark blot on the colorful world: her closet. She didn't even want to go back through it if she didn't have to, but Misty couldn't leave a world if Phantom stayed behind.

Slowly but surely, Laura padded back into her room. She wrapped herself up in a blanket before sitting on her bed. Phantom followed Misty to the door, but Misty told him to stay with Laura. Phantom pouted until he saw her face. Laura was trying to keep herself together, but she started to hear the scree-ing again. Phantom sat down in front of her. She sniffled. He fidgeted. He clearly was more comfortable being in motion, yet just as clearly, he wanted to stay with her.

Inspiration splashed across his face.  He took out a wand from the messenger bag. It had a star-shaped attachment at the end. He waved it around Laura. She looked up to see all the stardust drifting towards the wand. It stayed put as if magnetized while Phantom took a jar out of the messenger bag. He opened the jar and tapped the wand against the edge. The stardust steadily fell from the wand and filled the jar. The end product looked like someone had shaken a jar of glow-in-the-dark sand art. There was no dominant color; instead, it was a lantern of pastel particles.

Phantom presented the jar with a flourish, "Ta-da!"

The jar seized her attention. She took it, admired it. The scree-ing quieted down. The stardust spread light generously throughout the room without bothering Laura's eyes.

"Thank you," she said.

Phantom said, "No problem!"

She put it on the floor by her pillow because she wanted it right next to her when she got to sleep again.

"Do you have any stars?" Phantom asked. "Some people keep stars as pets."

"No, but Mama wants a cat. She had one while she and Mom were in college, but he died a little after I was born. Mama says she's ready for a new one now though. She takes me to pet stores and lets me pick out cat toys, but she wants to wait for Mom's next day off so we can all go and adopt a cat."

"Oh wow!" Phantom's eyes practically sparkled with excitement. "Misty says after collecting the next batch of stardust, we'll have enough for a stellar collie!"

"What's a stellar collie?"

"That's a stardog. It's like a sheepdog, but for stars! They're fluffy, but not too fluffy; and they come in a bunch of different colors and patterns. Our neighbor's had puppies a while, and she saved me the one I want. I'm pretty sure she's selling it to us for half-price or something cuz Misty made his you-don't-have-to-give-this-to-us face at her," Phantom frowned and crossed his arms to imitate Misty, although his smile swiftly returned. "But she did her own thing way before Misty died, so if she wants to sell it to us for less, she's gonna sell it to us for less. She lets me walk it and bring it over to me and Misty's house for visits—and there was one time she let it stay over cuz she was at a family reunion for a weekend."

Phantom went on and on about this awesome stellar collie. Its coat was marbled with gold, ruby, and obsidian. It had one floppy ear and one straight ear. It always bolted out the door when Phantom arrived to walk it, yet it always came back when he called for it.

Misty passed through the door, fully visible. Phantom was used to it; Laura was initially surprised to see it, but it eventually made sense to her that a ghost wouldn't bother opening a door.

"I didn't see or hear anybody out there," Misty said. "You're all clear, kid."

"Thank you, Mister Misty."

"No problem. Like Phantom said, come back again sometime. We're out on that hill every night unless it rains."

"Yeah!" added Phantom, already halfway in the closet. "You gotta come back to see my puppy! You can bring your cat too."

"Cats don't usually like leaving their territory."

"Oh, well, I'll just bring my puppy here! Bye!"

Misty followed Phantom into the closet. Laura flipped over her pillow and pulled up the blankets. She fell asleep studying her jar of stardust: how the different colors of particles scattered throughout, the texture of the jar and lid, the heftiness of the whole object. As she lay between the state of awake and asleep, she realized that the scree-ing and all the other noises had stopped.

[wclfwiife]

The Night the Lights Went Out in Briarcliff...

    “C’mon,” she gestured for him to follow her without waiting for him to respond. The lights were out, which didn’t sit well with the psych patient...she hated the dark, but when the power went out, she knew it was going to be big trouble for everyone inside these walls. Looking back at the guard she’d grown quite fond of, Ash huffed at his hesitance. “Come on!” she repeated, this time with more urgency and held out her hand for him to take. “I’m gonna get you outta here.”      The man watched her as she moved, following slowly, although his mind was racing in twenty different directions as to what he should do. He should be rounding up patients, getting everyone into their rooms and finding his fellow security guards to find out more about their situation and how long the power would be out, why the back up generators weren’t kicking on, etc... He wasn’t going to just leave. “I have to get you back to your room, Sp--Ms. Collinson.” He decided that their little nicknames wouldn’t be helpful in this moment, especially since he would have to use his authority voice to coax his rambunctious and incredibly stubborn, albeit his favorite patient, back to her room where she’d be safe until the power came back on. The she-wolf rolled her eyes at that. “Seriously? Now we’re gonna be all formal and shit? I need to get you out of here, so you have to come with me. It isn’t safe for you here. Not when the lights go out...” she lowered her voice, not purposely but more out of a certain level of what sounded like genuine fear for a moment, “---bad things happen when the lights go out.” 

    From a distance, a loud scream of agony echoed through the dark hallway and Ash ducked before pushing him into the doorway of a nearby room. “See?” She looked up at him with almost pleading eyes. “Bad things...” She took his hand this time, not waiting for him to take it willingly and led him back into the hallway and down the corridor. The guard was taken aback by her boldness for a moment, but only just, as it wasn’t completely out of character for her to be so take charge, but the fear in her eyes... that was out of character. He’d only seen it a few times and every time it was before she was heading to see her least favorite doctor in the place. He didn’t know what went on in their sessions, he assumed that she was forced to talk through her issues or made to realize why she was actually here and that’s why she hated him so much. But he had no idea that in those sessions, she was not forced to talk... but she was forced into other things. She was touched and tormented, electrocuted and beaten... She hated that man with a passion for what he was doing to her and her friends here.. he was evil. But nobody knew it... Nobody that wasn’t crazy. And who would believe a crazy person if they accused a revered doctor of such horrible things? Nobody... You have no voice when you’re on the inside of the padded cell...nobody believes a psychopath. Nobody believes a crazy person... after all, their brains aren’t like the rest of the population. They aren’t wired right. So given the choice, who would one believe? The doctor whose work and studies have been known and marveled for decades...or the medicated weirdo in a straight jacket? Hint; it isn’t the latter.       As they made their way quickly down the hall that seemed to stretch longer than he remembered, more sounds of terror and horrible screams pierced the black veil of darkness like blades of pure sorrow and fear. He had to do something, he couldn’t just escape and leave all these innocent people to whatever fate was being handed to them. It wasn’t who he was. Most of the patients here were just lost souls in need of extra care and guidance. They weren’t crazy, they were just...different. They thought and worked differently than others. They were mentally ill and they needed help. But some of them... some of them were evil, plain and simple. Not a conscience or soul to be found within them. Their intents were only to hurt other people. He’d witnessed it several times in group therapy sessions, the cafeteria at meal times, and even in the hallways during transport... He’d witnessed it when he was taking walks with Ash and one patient in particular took an interest in her in the worst way---obsession. The way he looked at her... it made Rick’s blood boil. He could see the mixture of lust and rage in the other man’s eyes when he looked in her direction and God help him when he made eye contact with her... Rick was supposed to stay neutral and level headed with the patients but that guy... he hated him. He would’ve loved nothing more than to take a swing at him a few times outside or in the hallways when he would look at her with that disturbing, grotesque look... or when he would touch her when he thought nobody was around, press his body against her in line for dinner, make obscene gestures at her from across the room... it was disgusting. He was sentenced to life in prison for mass murder, attempted murder, rape, and several other heinous crimes but the courts rendered him incapable of serving time because he was mentally unstable and criminally insane. He was in solitary for a whole month before they let him out to coexist with the other patients. The doctors believed he’d spent enough time in solitude and would benefit more from being with others, because he wasn’t a threat while medicated. But still, Rick never trusted him.       He continued to follow Ash through hallway after hallway, trying to think of plans to get her safely back to her own room where he was sure she’d be safer than wandering around in the dark, which he knew she was afraid of. It almost made him smile, the thought of her braving her fear just to help him, but this was not a time for amusement, especially when she was risking her life to get him out of danger. A sense of appreciation circulated through him, however, he wasn’t the one in danger, even if she believed that he was. His thoughts were interrupted when she stopped abruptly and turned to face him again. He stopped just as quickly as she did, although not quickly enough that he could avoid bumping into her, almost knocking her over. He grabbed her to keep her upright, holding her close as another scream broke through the air, a sound of pain and gurgling yelps followed by a low, disdainful laugh--a short praise of admiration. “Shh,” he whispered as he stroked her hair, ready to throw her into a room if he had to. There were patients that were armed, now he was positive of that as she saw the steady trickle of blood slowly run past the door frame. He never moved, not wanting to scare the girl in his grasp, but he saw it from the corner of his eye while he continued to pet her to keep her calm. What he hadn’t realized, of course, was that she’d seen much worse before she got here. She wasn’t always a nut house inmate.. there was a time when she was held in high esteem to an army of non-human warriors. It was her livelihood.. but it all got taken away when she was found guilty of a crime she didn’t commit and then charged as criminally insane before locking her away in the insane asylum because somebody had ratted her out....telling them how she believed herself to be a wolf and a general in a super powerful army of non-humans... telling the whole court how she was killing people in the name of some God nobody had ever heard of, aka; Acheron, her brother... but the killing blow was that this all came from someone who had known everything about her.. had posed as a friend and learned all of her secrets by spying on her for almost a year. Someone who posed as a powerful human with connections and ties to the government so who did they believe? Not the crazy one, of course...       “You’re stalling...” she spoke quietly, “..please, Rick... let me get you out of here. You shouldn’t be here...for any of this. You’re gonna get hurt..” He sighed, lifting her chin with a bent finger. “You should be in your room, Spark.” He mused gently, using her nickname that he gave her when he first arrived here and began getting to know her. Part of her history in her file was an arson case that was never solved, besides which, he found multiple packs of matches and several lighters in her room thereafter. She admitted to him that she found the flames to be calming and helped her relax as she watched them burn down. She liked the heat they provided. The colors of the flames as the danced and flicked just above her fingertips, licking her skin sometimes, when the match burned its way all the way down to the end she was holding, but she liked that too. It was no question that this girl was strange, but he didn’t believe she was crazy. Her imagination was one to be reckoned with, for sure, but crazy...no, she wasn’t psychotic. She was just...different. “You’re not safe here, don’t you worry about me. This is my job. To keep you safe, alright? You have to let me do that though and get you back to your room---” “NO!” She barked, grabbing his shirt as she spoke but quickly releasing him as she all but fell backwards to the wall behind her. Sinking to the floor, the wolf closed her eyes for a few seconds; seemingly having some kind of breakdown, when really, she was collecting herself so that she could think straight. Opening her eyes again, she stood with ease, sliding back up the wall and put her hair into a ponytail. “People are gonna die tonight...they already have,” she turned her head to point out the darkened pool of blood glistening just outside the door. “I’m not gonna let you be one of ‘em. You’re not dying tonight...not with me here I can help you. You have to let me help you.” It wasn’t a request, nor was it a suggestion. She was adamant on getting him out of this hospital.  She knew a secret way out that wasn’t affected by the lock downs or emergencies like this one.      Her words rang in his ears along with another pair of wild screams. “Please,” she reached her hand out to him again, this time waiting for him to respond. “I know the way out.. please let me take you there, Smokey..” His nickname from her slid easily past her lips and it sent a pang of emotion through his chest. He could see how important it was that she help him, but what she couldn’t see was how important it was that he do something to stop all this madness and restore order to this place. He couldn’t do that alone and he was wondering where the hell the other guards were and that they were doing. But he had to do something...and that something wasn’t to flee. Before he could answer her, a large metal table on squeaky castors came rolling violently into the room, knocking Rick back far enough away from Ash that he couldn’t reach her before Wallace did, the homicidal bullshitter that Rick detested. The man rushed in and grabbed the small woman by the hair, eliciting a hiss and a few choice words from her as he yanked her out into the hallway. Rick called her name in a panic, followed by Wallace’s name in a blaze of rage. He shoved to table off of him and ran out the door, looking in both directions but seeing no sign of either of them. “Dammit!” He knew Wallace was armed and that made him even more dangerous, besides which, he now had what he considered his prized possession in his grip. Rick wasn’t sure which way they had gone, and didn’t want to waste precious time by going the wrong way... until he heard a loud yell from down the hall to the right, of which he was sure was Ash. He knew her voice. Taking no time to think about it, he bolted down the corridor in the direction of scream. The hallway seemed endless as he made his way down to where he hoped he would find them...find her, alive. Much to his surprise, when he finally got there, Ash was holding her side and breathing raggedly, while the much bigger Wallace was laying on the ground with a large kitchen knife sticking out of his chest. Every breath she took was painful and her steps matched ache for ache, but she pulled the blade free from the man’s rib cage and wiped it on his shirt. She turned to see Rick in the doorway, a shocked expression on his face as he looked back and forth between both patients, though relief was prevalent among the dazed confusion to how this tiny spitfire of a woman had taken down a man twice her size. “You believe me yet, Ricky Dicky?” She breathed staggeringly, taking a few wobbly steps forwards. “C’mon..” she repeated for the third time tonight, stumbling past him out into the hallway once again. “I told you...I’m getting you the fuck out of here.” 

     He tried to get her to lay down the entire time she led him deeper into an unknown part of the hospital, when all he wanted was to get her to the infirmary so he could take care of her wounds. She wouldn’t let him see them, but he could tell that they were pretty bad by the looks of her. He hated seeing her like this.. she was usually so hyper and dancing to music nobody could hear but her. He found it charming, in a sense. When they medicated her, it seemed as if the music had stopped. She didn’t dance, she didn’t even talk. She just sat in her room, rocking back and forth or not moving at all, usually just staring at the wall until she fell asleep. He hated that... Rick wasn’t a doctor by any means, but he didn’t think she needed to be medicated, or at least, not as much as they gave to her. Again, he didn’t believe her to be crazy, so medication, though mandated by the state, seemed unnecessary in her case. She wasn’t hysterical, she wasn’t dangerous to herself or others.. she was just a little hyper. She could be painfully frustrating, stubborn, and heavily guarded at times, but when he was alone with her, it was like she was any other person he’d talked to---no, she wasn’t exactly like any other person he’d ever spoken to, she was truly a horse of a different color. But he liked that about her. She saw the world in such a beautiful way... he wondered how she could still believe it was worth saving when the people she believed herself to be helping all these years, turned on her and locked her up to rot away in a mental institution. Yet there she was, trying to help him even though she was wounded and tired and afraid of the dark.It said a lot about her as a person.. and it confirmed his belief that she was not, in fact, crazy at all, and that perhaps she didn’t belong in this place after all.      They reached a small door in a secluded area that Rick had never even been in, truthfully, didn’t even know was there. He was too distracted by the realization of how big and severely unexplored the hospital was, that he hadn’t noticed the lock picking tools she’d pulled out of her pocket. She reached back to hand him the knife to hold for her while she went to work on the padlock keeping the door sealed shut. “How did you--” she merely smirked a bit as she tinkered with the lock. “You’d be amazed at what you can trade for around here with a pack of ciggies or a lock of your hair if they’re into that shit. If you hadn’t noticed, Chief,” she looked over at him, hearing the deciphering click, click she was aiming for and yanked the lock down out of its previous position. “--this place runs kinda like a prison.” Taking the padlock off the latch, she pulled the little door open and crawled inside, motioning for him to follow once again. “You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me....” he muttered, peering inside the small, tunnel-like space. “Let’s gooo,” she more or less demanded as she reached her open palm back behind her for the knife she gave him earlier. “You got a taser, I’ll be needing that back for me.” He didn’t like the thought of handing a patient of a mental institution a weapon, but then, she wasn’t truly a mental patient. She had continuously kept proving herself to be so much more than met the eye. So he handed her the knife carefully before dropping fully to his knees and continuing their little game of follow the leader into the dingy, narrow crawl space. “You sure you know where y---” once again, she cut him off, though this time, her sentence was in fragments. “Yeah, Smokey...I know..exactly...where we’re heading..” At first he thought it was the dark, tight space that was affecting her speech but then he realized that she couldn’t hold her stab wound in here while crawling on all fours. She was bleeding out, leaving a trail of blood as she went--which he noticed when he set his hand down in something warm and sticky, soon making the realization that it was the woman’s blood seeping from her side. Her other cuts were superficial and stopped bleeding but the stab wound... it was still leaking furiously. “You need stitches, we shouldn’t be in here right now.” “I...am fine, Rick. Just worry about you, alright? You’re the good guy. I’m the psycho so just.. let me get you to safety so you...can keep being..the good guy.” He was going to reply to that--he didn’t like her referring to herself as a psycho--but before he could get a word out, they reached another door, just as small as the first, maybe a bit smaller. Ash tried to open it, but it was jammed. She grunted, in both desperation and pain, before she backed up a bit, brought her good arm back behind her shoulder, and let it fly into the door full force. It didn’t open the door, but it did manage to bust a hole straight through the wood. She scoped around a bit for the handle on the other side, finally she found it and gave a solid tug while simultaneously pushing her shoulder and body weight against it. The door swung open and the wolf all but fell through to the other side. “There,” she pointed at a crack in the floor across the room. He looked to where she was pointing and noticed that it wasn’t just a crack in the floor...it was another door. A hatch in the floor..      Ash moved as quickly as she could over to it, throwing back the small carpet that encapsulated most of the secret door. “This goes to the outside. Follow the tunnel and keep going. You’ll be outside the big fence after the first left turn. I don’t know where right goes.. so don’t go that way.” She unlatched the metal bolt and pulled the heavy door up. Its weight, which normally wouldn’t have been a problem for her, was a bit too much for her to hold while she was weakened from blood loss. It slammed to the floor beside her, pulling her to the ground with it. Rick rushed to her side, making sure she was alright, though obviously she wasn’t...not in this state. “I’m gonna get you out of here..get you to a hospital, a real hospital.” “There’s no time for that.. just go, Rick. Don’t worry about me.” She cracked a smile through her pain, knowing full well that she was probably going to die tonight. She cared about this security guard... he was the only guard, the only person, that ever really bothered to get to know her. And she appreciated that so much.. she liked him, genuinely, he was a good person. And she wished that it wasn’t the last time she would see him... “I’m gonna miss you...Smokey.” He started to argue, to convince her to come with him, but as he did, a different door flung open just as violently as the table was thrown at them earlier. “Shit,” Ash turned back to Rick, murmuring softly, “I always liked you best of all, Chief.” With that, she kissed him quickly but passionately before pushing him further into the hole. She shut the door over him despite his protests, banging on the wooden square above him with his fists, yelling for Ash to open the door. She stepped back, knife in hand and a crazed gleam in her eye. “You always wanted me, Wally. Well come’n get me.”