#your reminder: he held his child while wearing those talons

[perpetual-bad-guy-shipper]

i’ve given up wondering how he fits that hair under his mask and hood
maybe ortet belos just never wears those….

#when you need to work on portfolio stuff but all you want to draw is a hot single parent who's also a dictator #bone of ortet au #emperor belos #toh emperor belos #the owl house #the owl house au #fanart #this guys lines take decades i swear to god but its my own fault cause i literally designed him hhgggng #your reminder: he held his child while wearing those talons #digital art #cheshire art

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

The Cult Girl (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 5

Alright we're finally at the wedding part. Hope it was worth the wait. The next part is probably also gonna take part at the wedding too.

Trigger warning: confronting abusers, gaslighting, mentions of death, brief mention of child sex abuse

Life with your grandmother and cousins was a neverending war. But this was a battle you intended to win.

Anna was getting married on a beach near the Eastern Shore, about fifty minutes away from Baltimore. The ceremony would take place at the waterfront, while the reception would be held in one of the grand ballrooms of your grandmother’s exclusive country club. This was clearly for a tactical advantage. Your grandmother used the country club as her own personal castle. Throwing obscene amounts of money into events was her favorite intimidation strategy.

The beach was overrun with people. That was her second intimidation strategy. She undoubtedly forced Anna to add the entire country club to her guest list, because half the guests were far too old to run in the same circles as the young couple.

You were relieved to see that none of the guests adhered to the supposed dress code, which revealed itself to be just a last-minute power grab. She just wanted to see you blindly obey her one last time.

Hannibal laced his fingers between yours, reminding you of your one major advantage. You weren't alone anymore.

"That woman in the coral dress," He leaned over and whispered to you. "That is Theresa, yes?"

Your eyes scanned the crowd. Even though her back was to you, you could recognize that aggressive auburn updo anywhere. "That's her."

"And the woman at her side," he continued. "The one that understands that it's rude to wear white to a wedding but did anyway-"

"Yep." You sighed. "That's her."

As if on cue, Theresa turned around and saw you. You could barely make out a flash of excitement on her face before she plastered on her characteristic fake smile. She whispered something to your grandmother. Something too long for a simple utterance of "[F/N] is here". Something that visibly caught your grandmother’s attention. Without so much as excusing herself from whatever conversation she was clearly in the middle of, she and Theresa approached you.

You felt like a baby gazelle dipped in steak sauce in the middle of the serengeti. The lions were closing in on you. You briefly considered causing some kind of distraction, but you knew it was too late. You tightened your grip on Hannibal's hand as your grandmother and cousin stepped into earshot.

"[Y/N]!" Your grandmother exclaimed, her voice jumping to an unnatural register. She pulled you in for a hug, which you weakly returned.

"I didn't think you would make it." Theresa said, her voice full of venom. When she hugged you, you fully expected to break the embrace with a serated kitchen knife sticking out of your back.

"And who is this," Your grandma paused, scanning Hannibal up and down. Her expression was unreadable, which was never a good sign. "Charming gentleman?"

You looked back at Hannibal, wearing your sudden excitement on your face. "Grandma, Theresa. This is Dr. Hannibal Lecter, my fiancé."

"So nice to finally meet you, Mrs. [L/N]." Hannibal offered her his hand.

"Oh, it's Ms. [L/N]." Your grandmother corrected. "I threw [F/N]'s grandfather out with the garbage."

You vividly recalled the day you found your grandfather's urn in the trash compactor. Hannibal knew about it too. Six year old [F/N] had nightmares for months.

Theresa's expression was significantly more legible. She offered him the back of her hand while glaring at you from the side of her eye. "Dr. Lecter, it's a pleasure."

"Theresa, yes." Hannibal tucked his hands into his pockets. "[F/N] has told me all about you."

Theresa clutched her wine glass between her talons. Beneath her plastic smile, she was coiled and ready to strike.

"[F/N], how did you meet this fine man?" Your grandma asked, running her hand down his arm.

This was an approach you'd never seen her use, but it didn’t surprise you to see her using it either. Hannibal was only attractive to her because he was yours. Even though you knew this, you still felt a tad possessive of him. You snaked your arm around his and held him close.

He looked down at you lovingly. "She and I have a field of study in common, so it was only a matter of time, really. She's a brilliant conversationalist."

"She gets that from me." Your grandmother, always ready to take credit for anything and everything, said. "So you're a psychologist?"

"Yes, ma'am." He nodded. "A psychiatrist, to be precise."

"So you're gonna charge me when I complain to you about [F/N]?" She joked. "This one gave me more than a few grey hairs."

"Beatrice?" A passing woman interrupted, stealing your grandmother's attention.

"Gladys! Thank you so much for coming!" She said before wandering off without so much as a goodbye. That left you, Hannibal and Theresa.

"[F/N], I'm a little surprised." Theresa commented, taking a sip from her wine glass. "I would have never guessed that you were a gold digger."

Okay, so we're doing this, you thought. Grandma had left you unsupervised and the gloves were coming off. Let's fucking dance.

"And how's your husband, Theresa?" You matched her sickly sweet tone.

"My husband the senator?" Theresa perked up. "He's wonderful. We're enjoying the East Coast summer. It gets so dreadfully dry in Utah."

"Must be hard to enjoy your vacation while fighting off all those abuse allegations." You added.

She seemed to have forgotten that you too could switch from passive-aggressive to aggressive-aggressive on a dime. That you did learn from your grandmother.

Theresa tensed up, though her smile didn't falter. "Well, you know. It's a witch hunt out there. All those women just want to ruin a poor man's life."

"Children." You corrected, finishing your wine in one swig. "I think you meant to say children."

The wedding bells began to ring, alerting the guests that the ceremony was about to commence. You thanked the maker that you'd gotten the last word in.

"Well, I have to go join my sister at the altar." She placed her empty wine glass on a table. "It's been a pleasure."

"Theresa, how long are you and your husband in town for?" Hannibal asked, seemingly out of nowhere. "[F/N] and I would be honored to have both of you for dinner."

"Well, at least one of you has manners." Theresa sneered at you. "We would love to join you, Dr. Lecter. Thank you ever so much for the invitation."

Once Theresa was out of earshot, you let the confusion and outrage overtake your face.

"Hannibal, I ask this with love," you began, choosing your words carefully. "But are you going to poison them?"

"No, love." Hannibal snickered.

"You're right. Poisoning would be too good for her." You said through gritted teeth. "She doesn't deserve a quick death."

"All in due time, darling." He stroked your hair in reassurance. "Come, let's take our seats. The ceremony is about to start."

#hannibal lecter #hannibal x reader #hannibal x you #hannibal nbc #wedding #fake engagement #tw csa mention #tw gaslighting #tw emotional manipulation

[tazzytypes]

Apocalypse: Sanctuary -- Chap 18

Hey guys! Still working on my professional writing endeavors, getting past some BETA reading stages atm. However, I had this unfinished chapter in my WIP pile, so I thought I'd add more to it to work past some writer's block. Thank you guys for all the continued support both for this story and my professional writing career! I'm hoping to respond to some of y'all's comments soon!

Read More on AO3 or see MASTERPOST for more chapters!

Michael let out a sigh as he entered his room, the smile he had been wearing all day finally leaving his lips. He could handle the attention if he didn’t need to smile at every moment. It was annoying, their pride. As if they were the ones who had descended into hell. As if they had seen the river Styx and spoken to the devil himself. Michael had known they would treat him like a puppet, but he hadn’t expected it to be so annoying.

Ariel tried his patience the most. The blond boy could barely get in a word when he was around, hand on his shoulder and speaking for him. If not for Miss Mead, Michael wouldn’t be able to bear it. Who did the man think he was? His father? Then again… the two weren’t as different, he supposed.

He let his bag fall off his shoulder and onto the floor. Why he even bothered with classes anymore was a mystery. What little friends he had — if he could call them that — shrank away from him. Such was the cost of power. That’s what Mead always said.

He missed her.

Pulling off his tie, he settled into his desk chair. Taking a book from the collection in his room, he set to reading. That girl had been looking at it while the witches and warlocks discussed the semantics of the Seven Wonders. He could still feel the way his finger burned, the way her green eyes bugged from her head before she tossed the book back on the shelf.

The last thing he needed was some inexperienced witch accidentally putting a hex on him. What sort of fool read magic spells aloud without considering the consequences? Had she not seen a single horror movie?

Michael remembered her eyes, the milky film that came to them in hell and the fire that burned in them when she faced that demon. If she were a fool, she was certainly a competent one.

Written mainly in Latin, Michael did his best to translate the words of the tome, some of them lost to water damage or tears. Speaking Latin, which had slowly become a synonym for the devil’s language, was simple for him to master. He thanked Satan for that ability. It was the only thing that could have put him behind his fellow warlocks. Ariel and the others had to think the blond boy was perfect. Anything less would ruin his plans.

Even so, perfection wasn’t easy. Mead assured him he was, but perfections seemed more impossible than hell itself.

He tutted at himself. So, this is what the girl had been talking about.

With a sigh, Michael moved to ready himself for bed. Passing the Seven Wonders only ensured him more work during the day. Ariel may not be a demon, but he certainly worked to possess the boy day and night. Nothing would satisfy the man until Michael moved like him, sounded like him, ruled like him. A perfect replica.

It was pathetic, really.

He tossed his tie onto the bed and slowly went to work unbuttoning his shirt. There was not a moment in the day where he wasn’t deep in thought, planning, re-planning, checking the chessboard to see how his pawns moved in his absence. The only time his mind was silent was when he dreamed. Even then, they felt like fevered visions, quickly forgotten when his alarm rang in his ear.

Unbuttoning his sleeve, Michael was startled by a flurry of pages. He jumped and his eyes were wide for only a moment before they hardened into an unreadable mask. When he turned, the pages of the tome were moving on their own, the force behind it frantically searching for something.

“Finis venit, ante initium.” A chilling breeze whispered.

The end comes before the beginning.

Slowly, Michael moved closer, body tense and on alert. He half expected the book to fling itself from the desk. His father was always impatient.

Finally, the pages settled. Craning his desk light closer, Michael saw the layout of a summoning circle. The spell, its components and the words to be spoken, were laid out in perfect detail. What it was to summon, however, was but a blur of intelligible ink.

The faint voice continued to whisper, “Mulieres gladius tuus sic recensetur. Tempus belli.”

Your sword has awoken. It is time for war.

.

.

.

Emily stood in a field, a sea of green reaching out for miles around her, no sign of ever stopping. She spun like a dog chasing its tail, hunting for something familiar. There were no wildflowers, no clouds in the sky. The air was not too warm nor too cool. It was, in all ways, perfect.

She didn’t know tranquility could be so suffocating.

Panic rose in her bell. In hell, at least she had Michael, but here she was alone. Emily ran towards the horizon even though she knew it would never end, tall grass catching at her legs like a million tiny hands. They whispered as she pushed on.

Alone.

Alone.

Alone.

The mere thought was enough to make her breath catch in her throat. If she had any need to breathe, that is. Dreams were peculiar that way. You could be strangled even when your body needed no air.

“You’re back!” A voice cried. Emily turned to the familiar figure, tripping over her own feet before righting herself. Her chest heaved and her eyes were dilated in alarm. A dark figure stood in long robes, unaware of the heat. How long had the heat been there? “They said it would take longer, but I knew you’d get Cordelia’s help.”

“Nan?”

Emily’s mouth had opened to say the name, but it was not her voice that spoke. Instead, another’s passed her lips. It was an unpleasant feeling — as if someone had reached down her throat and pulled out her tongue.

Her head turned as if someone were doing it for her. The brunette’s resistance only made it worse. Behind her, Cordelia stood almost swallowed by the verdant grass. Each step she took was careful and calculated. If she ran, the pair would only get further away… or so she believed.

Nan.

Nan.

Nan.

Then she was by Emily’s side, placing a hand on her shoulder. They felt like talons instead of flesh, digging into her shoulder; a breath away from being painful. She did not want to look. Looking made it real.

“What are you doing here?” Cordelia asked.

“I was asked to be here,” Nan replied, then nodded to Emily, “to meet a friend.”

The younger witch spared a glance to her Supreme, brown eyes meeting green for a fraction of a second. Those brown eyes quickly flicked back to Nan, unwilling to give anything else her attention. Emily opened her mouth to speak, to ask Nan all the questions that had been plaguing her since Hawthorne — What voice had spoken to her? Why had it spoken to her? What did it all mean? Why her?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Once again, she was spoken over. The words caught in her throat by something she could not see. Green eyes narrowed and grew dark, annoyed as Cordelia spoke once more.

“Nan, where are you?”

Emily’s heart fell. This was her Supreme’s true intention. She shouldn’t have been surprised. When Cordelia had said the spell would unleash the true potential of her powers, Emily had expected something different. Optimism had made her foolish.

The sky turned dark, gray clouds replacing azure skies. Emily did not notice, far too consumed by her doubts and fears. Why were her dreams always subverted? Why did they always get torn out and turned into another’s designs?

Why?

Why?

Why?

Nan’s eyes dashed from Cordelia, eyes narrowing as she observed the changing sky. She did not have time for this. Cordelia was a side effect and the spell would only last so long. There was work to do, work Cordelia would never comprehend or appreciate. Nan walked towards Emily, shuffling through the tall grass, her hand reaching into her cloak to pull out a bright, shining orb from the void and shadow.

Emily was nice. Her thoughts were nice. Overcast skies peeled away into bright blue once more. Nan’s eyes flickered towards her former Supreme whose brown eyes looked upwards in silent awe. Her thoughts were less nice. Then again, they had always been that way. She blamed Fiona.

With a flourish of her robe, Nan’s face lit up with a proud grin she couldn’t control.

“I believe this is yours.”

Confusion laid wake to slow joy which reminded Nan of a child on Christmas. It flickered in and out, but never disappeared, her mind warring between blinded optimism and pessimistic doubt.

It was beautiful, more than beautiful; opalescent and scattering light like the brightest star in the sky. Blue skies and the bright sun paled in its wake. A rainbow of refracted light scattered colors here and there.

Dainty hands hovered over the orb as if the smallest touch would burst it like a bubble. It was warm, magnetic — like a fire on a cold day.

The dead witch held the orb out even further, nodding to Emily with enthusiasm. Cordelia should appreciate the girl more, Nan thought. Perhaps, after this, she would. There were so many plans for the girl. More plans than a mortal mind could comprehend.

Emily cradled the orb like a child, her chest thrumming. A buzz filled her body. She looked between Nan and the object in her arms, unsure which she should focus on.

“What is it?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper, “is it—”

Nan smiled, “Exactly!”

Emily stared at her. Reading her thoughts, Nan smiled and nodded, giving the girl time to process.

“Your power,” Cordelia said.

Her eyes fixated on the orb as if it were a star held in Emily’s arm. “I’ve never seen—”

“I tried to give it to you last time,” Nan said, leaning in to whisper, “but you weren’t ready for it yet.”

“Ready?”

She looked to Cordelia, but the woman held no answers for her. When Emily turned back to Nan, the girl was gone, carried away by the breeze.

Cordelia looked to Emily only to stumble back and fall to the grass. Swallowed whole by verdant green. There was no pain. No sense of impact. Even if there were, she would not have noticed. All she could do was stare.

Emily’s green eyes had become a solid, glowing white that matched the glow of the orb in her hand. The girl looked ethereal — skin as clear as marble, hair swaying as if it were in water instead of air. When Emily knitted her brows and cocked her head in confusion, she didn’t look human at all. She looked… more.

Her gaze quickly returned to the orb, curling around it like a content cat. The smile on her face was that of relief, of a mother holding a newborn babe. Her hand gently brushed over the orb, trying to convince herself it was real.

“I’m afraid it will disappear as soon as I awake,” Emily said, a faint laugh leaving her as she said the words and looked back to Cordelia. “No matter how hard I try to pull it into the physical realm.”

Even her speech sounded different. Cordelia, at that moment, realized why Emily was so different than her other girls. With a power rooted in the limbo world — the world of visions, dreams, and hellish realms — Emily belonged more there than she did in the physical plane. The strain, the spark not quite a flame, was not her power trapped in this plane, but her body trapped in theirs.

Emily watched Cordelia, a flicker of anxiety and fear breaking past the overwhelming joy, “What must I do?”

The Supreme sputtered. She and Myrtle had worked tirelessly to create this spell, to get them into this limbo, but the next steps were lost to her. The blissful smile left the girl’s lips, Cordelia’s doubt hanging in the air like suffocating humidity. Why? Why did she torment her like this — with intangible possibilities and crushing hope?

The brunette’s voice caught in her throat. The sound startled the Supreme. “Please.”

For a moment, it seemed golden tears would pour from eyes of pure light. “I have missed it so much.”

One moment Cordelia was sprawled in the grass. The next she was standing. She had not moved to stand. It just, quite simply, was a fact. Something in her hand threw her off balance, hard and cool — A dagger, sharp enough to cut stone and polished so well she could see the conflict dancing in her eyes. Those eyes looked to the weapon with furrowed brows. Then, they looked at the girl before her.

What was this power? If she looked in her own soul, would her eyes be consumed by the same light? She thought of the dream Emily had told her, the child witch nearly burned to cinders. Was this the force that saved her that day?

Would this be a force that could save them?

But why was Nan there? Was it even Nan or was it a spirit playing pretend? You could never trust anything in a dream.

Emily stood, enamored by the orb, wanting to commit it to memory before it was lost for good.

Cordelia spared one last glance to the shining beacon in her student’s arms. The knife felt heavy. That heaviness only grew as the moments passed. It was divine, that light. She didn’t want to move. She wanted to bask in its light till the world stopped spinning.

But she was the supreme.

She was a leader.

She had lives to protect.

She had no choice.

In the end, it took little force to strike. Weight was but a concept in this realm. Cordelia’s ears rung as blinding light burst forth, a bomb of magic. Its comforting warmth burned with the heat of a thousand suns.

She had no choice.

The good of the coven had to come before all else.

.

.

.

“Delia? Delia, are you alright?”

Cordelia was pulled from her dream by an urgent voice. A blur of red was all she could see of Myrtle, a blur that refused to go away. Her hands shook over her face as she tried to rub her sight back into existence. Was she blind again? What had she done? She couldn’t be blind. Not now. There was far too much work to do. Far too much—

The Supreme swayed ever slightly and steadying hands tightened around her arms.

“Get me a chair,” Myrtle ordered.

“I’m fine,” Cordelia insisted, “Did we get it right? Did we—”

“Calm yourself, Delia. Getting worked up won’t help anyone.”

Cordelia felt a stood hit the back of her leg. With shaking hands, she reached back and lowered herself upon it. She couldn’t do this again. The girls could not see her fading. The warlocks could not see her fading. Not now. Not like this.

“Emily?” Cordelia called out, “Emily?”

Misty came beside her Supreme, brows knit with worry and hands reaching out for hers, “Miss Cordelia—”

Words were torn from her mouth as a loud gasp filled the room followed by a gust of wind that those of the inner circle could not shield themselves from. Queenie ducked to the ground, Myrtle to the table, and Madison to Zoe. If not for Misty, Cordelia would have been thrown to the ground. They shielded their eyes from the dust and debris that had accumulated over decades and when the wind stopped all they could do was stare with open mouths.

The greenhouse had always been well-loved. It had been attended to over the years by many a witch, creating a chaotic accumulation of plants, dirt, and tools. Cordelia herself had spent many an hour inside those walls. However, with her role as Supreme, she had found herself there less and less. The plants that did continue to grow were stubborn and dry, the colorful petals of flowers muted and wilting.

Cordelia rubbed her eyes and the blur receded from her sight, details coming into focus. First her fingers, then the table, and finally beyond.

“Oh, my god,” Zoe said, hardly louder than a whisper. Cordelia’s vision continued to clear, but she did not need sight to know the look upon the young woman’s face.

Queenie looked to her friend, muttering out, “holy fucking shit.”

Every brown, dry, and twisted stem now grew a verdant green. The flowers were brighter than any they had ever seen. Vines curled and moved before their eyes, curling up the table and around Emily’s arms.

She was still panting, covered in a cold sweat as if she had woken from a nightmare, but she could feel the vines slowly creeping up her hand. She held it up before her, eyes wide as the vine continued to advance up her arm. Her body was buzzing. The vine seemed to be a part of her, yet entirely separate from her being, a phantom limb or a tail that moved in instinct. It reached towards her wrist and settled in the palm of her hand, blooming a single small wisteria flower.

“Behold,” Myrtle spoke, “our oracle has awoken.”

Emily’s green eyes danced around her. Her heart drummed in her ears and nearly burst from her chest.

“Did I — Did I do this?”

Misty left Cordelia’s side, content now that the perceived danger had passed. A smile came to her lips as she came to Emily’s side, a spring in her step. She regarded Emily’s wide-eyed awe with amusement.

“I’m going to teach you about Louisiana mud now.”

“O— ok.”

“I don’t think she needs Louisiana mud,” Queenie noted, pulling off a few plants that had rooted themselves around her leg.

Misty frowned, “A little mud never hurt nobody.”

“Say that to my neck,” Madison scoffed, “I still have to use a bottle of perfume to mask the smell of shit.”

“I think that’s just you,” Zoe said.

“Whatever.”

Queenie moved closer to Emily as the two began to bicker.

“Did you see Nan again?” she asked.

Emily regarded her expression, the grief in her eyes and the heavy weight which pressed upon her shoulders. She nodded.

“Did she say anything?”

The expression on the brunette’s face spoke louder than her words. “Nothing beyond the circumstances.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you done being a killjoy?” Madison snapped from across the table.

Queenie’s grief quickly melded to annoyance, “You done being a bitch?”

“You say that like a bad thing.”

“Because it is.”

“Whatever.”

Flicking some dust off her shirt, Madison sauntered to the door only to turn back at the last moment.

“Welcome to the coven, bitch.” She said, “You’re our new Sabrina.”

When Emily stepped out of the greenhouse, the sky was scattered with stars. Time was different in the other. She shouldn’t have been surprised, but her mind was still buzzing, her ears still ringing.

She was a witch.

She was powerful.

She was something.

“Someone looks happy,” Misty noted, linking their arms together. Emily wasn’t even put off by the contact. All she could do was beam until her cheeks hurt. Words were intangible. Not a single one could describe the elation that beat in her chest with every step. If she could, she would soar.

“Careful there!”

Cordelia’s voice cut through the night, the songs of crickets and frogs stopping in their tracks. A hand latched on to the back of Emily’s shirt, pulling her back like a toddler on a leash. Her feet sink into the grass… or, should she say, back on the grass. The light from the house was enough for her to see Cordelia’s expression turn from that of surprise into one of amusement.

“Let’s save the levitation for later.”

“…my bad.”

The Supreme couldn’t quite place the look Emily gave her. It felt like she was looking past her… into her. She didn’t move, a deer caught in headlights. Her hand remained balled around a piece of Emily’s shirt until another voice broke the silence.

“Don’t worry, Miss Cordelia,” Misty assured, tightening her hold on the girl as the Supreme fell back into pace with her red-haired mentor, “I won’t let her float away.”

Queenie bumped Emily’s shoulder. “What else you got? Besides that, Airbender, Earthbender shit.”

“I… have no idea,” Emily said, “What else is there?”

Cordelia’s voice rang out behind them once more.

“Perhaps we should leave the experimentation for later.”

“You’re the one who keeps telling us to push ourselves.” Queenie reminded, reaching into her pockets and presenting a coin. “Here. Take it.”

Emily did as she was told, plucking the coin from her hand.

“Not like that, idiot. With your mind.”

“Oh.”

Holding the coin in her palm, Emily focused on her hand. Her fingers curled around the coin as if she were holding an apple instead. A picture of the coin pushed into her mind, she imagined plucking it up with her fingers, turning it in her hand.

The coin rose, fell, then rose again. Twisting her hand, it began to travel towards the girl before dropping in her empty palm. Emily shook her hand free of the buzzing, cracking her fingers for good measure.

“Smart-ass,” Queenie muttered.

“But you said—”

“I’m teasing, girl. Relax.”

“At least now you can actually participate during lessons,” Zoe noted, stepping aside to let Emily up the back steps of the mansion.

The brunette frowned, reaching for the handle of the back door, “I participate.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Look—”

One moment she was opening the door and the next she was in the hall. The breath left her lungs as she fell face-first onto the hardwood floors.

Zoe’s voice came from down the hall, “Emily?!”

“I’m fine,” the girl groaned, rolling over and laying on her back. When she looked up, the inner circle was coming around the corner. Queenie and Misty were snickering at the sight. She frowned.

“Oh. shut up.”

“At least you weren’t impaled,” Zoe offered, moving to help the girl to her feet.

“At least I wasn’t what now?”

“Don’t worry. Misty would make you good as new. You’ll smell like shit for a while, though — Louisiana Mud and all that.”

“Okay. Wait. Hold on.” Emily said, pushing up her glasses just so her hands had something to do, “Let’s go back for a second. You were way too calm about that. How often does this shit happen?”

“What was it?” Queenie asked, looking to Misty as she counted on her hand, “Madison died twice, Zoe died and came back, you died and came back and died again. Plus Nan, then me. So… seven times?”

“Don’t forget Myrtle.”

“Oh shit, you’re right. That’s two more deaths — so nine?”

“She died twice?”

“You were dead the second time,” Zoe interjected. Misty simply nodded in acknowledgment. “And don’t forget Fiona.”

“Fiona doesn’t count. She was a bitch.”

“So is Madison.”

Madison, who had been regarding the interaction quietly, frowned. “Hey!”

“Fair point. So that’s a total of ten.”

Emily looked to the three women with an expression of concern — like watching the village idiot run into a wall over and over and over.

“Only one impalement, though,” Misty reassured.

Emily sighed, “This place really needs to come with a liability warning.”

Zoe shrugged, “Just don’t use it to play tag and you should be good.”

“Well damn, that ruins all my plans for tomorrow.”

Zoe smiled and shook her head, “I think all that power is going to your head.”

“… maybe a little.”

“At least you’re honest.”

“One question: How do I stop the spontaneous…” Emily said, gesturing about her, “y’know?”

“Only by training and hard work, my dear” Myrtle spoke. “Which is why my dear Cordelia made you this.”

From her hands, a necklace hung. It wasn’t fancy or ornate. A simple thing, really. It looked like something you might find in a thrift store. At the end of the leather chain was a gold coin with a singular line carved in the center.

“It’s —”

Emily interrupted before she could finish, “The Isa rune.”

Myrtle smiled and nodded. Good. The girl was prepared. She would need that knowledge in the coming conflict.

“Simple, but effective,” The red-head said, “It should help you channel your power properly until you can do so yourself.”

The brunette looked at the amulet for a moment, turning it this way and that. Had runes always felt so… alive? The closest way she could describe magic was the buzzing of bees in your body mixed with a magnetic pull. Her eyes flickered between Myrtle and the coin.

“Thank you,” She finally spoke, moving to place the object around her neck. It weighed more than she thought it would and rested right under her heart.

“Think of it as insurance,” Myrtle said, “we’ve got enough destruction with our younger girls.”

“At least now I can keep up with them.”

“Or join them,” Madison said, pushing herself around the small crowd they had formed in the center of the hall, “now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more important things to do… like sleep.”

Emily listened to the sound of footsteps on the stairs behind her. Then, she turned.

“Madison.”

The woman sighed and turned around, “What?”

“Thank you.”

The former starlet was silent for a moment, then turned around and kept walking. “… Whatever.”

Emily smiled ever slightly and turned to the other girls. “You guys, too.”

“You know what they say:” Myrtle said with a knowing smile, “blood of the coven is thicker than the water of the womb.”

Her words echoed in Emily’s mind as she prepared for bed; rosewater for her face, rosemary for her hair. Before, they were household remedies. Rose was an anti-inflammatory that helped with redness. Rosemary promoted hair growth. There was something more to them now — her skin glowed and freckles danced across her face like stars, her hair was soft under her fingers and shone in the bathroom light.

Misty was already snoring when she made it back to her room, curled up on a thin mattress set up beside Emily’s bed. The brunette tip-toed across the floor, avoiding the creaky floorboard she had come to know by heart.

Heavy eyes pulled her towards the realm of dreams. The bed was warm, the sheets just heavy enough to sink her into the bed. Her thoughts began to slip into white noise, echoes of words that could not be recalled.

“Finis venit, ante initium.” A voice whispered, just as she was about to doze off. She hummed in annoyance, turning over on her side.

A cry made her blood turn to ice. She shot up in her bed, looking around for the source. She had nieces and nephews. She knew the sound of a baby’s cry. Footsteps paced the floor above and the cry continued — the attic.

“Misty,” She hissed, “Misty!”

Silence consumed the room, only broken by the baby’s cries. Emily climbed across her bed and reached to shake the woman awake.

“Misty! Do you hear that?”

The woman groaned and swatted at the hand that shook her. Her words came out low and slurred. “’Is jus’ a bird. Go t’ sleep.”

Emily looked to Misty, then back at the ceiling. Footsteps came from above once more. Then, as quickly as it had begun, the crying stopped. She regarded the ceiling with narrowed eyes, then slowly lowered herself back in the bed. Someone must have taken care of it. One of the younger girls probably had a nightmare.

With a sigh, she turned on her side, willing sleep to return to her. Her hair continued to stand on edge and an intense need to move plagued her limbs. With the grace of a mouse, she scampered over to the door, locked it, and threw herself into the covers once more.

The moon cast the room in a pale glow. Emily had lucked out, the room facing the back of the house where she was free from the obnoxious yellow lights from the street lamps. She looked at the plant on her bedside, wilted flowers now proudly blooming. She reached out a hand, picturing water crawling up the stem. Yellow petals turned blue, the color sweeping across them like an ink stain. Even when she pulled back, the color proudly stood. One minute, two minutes, three — the color remained.

Emily stared at it with pride. Something had awoken inside her, something she had yearned for since the moment she was born.

Power.

She finally had power.

#michael langdon #michael langdon x reader #michael langdon x you #michael langdon x oc #michael langdon imagine

[chronicbatfictioner]

Exchanges and Compromises - Chapter 12

It was decided then that the Talon - Dick Grayson - should accompany Jason to the Wayne Manor. The Oracle has decided that being the only one without 'attachment', i.e. normal people's identity that could be used against them.

The pretty little kitten's name, Jason eventually found out, was Tim Drake. And he would be providing one of the exit strategies. His home, apparently, was right next to the Wayne Manor. His words about knowing of losing parents through violence only made sense after Jason googled the name, and discovered the news article on the kidnapping and murder of Jack and Janet Drake, Tim's parents. It was apparently quite a news back then, only Jason never heard of it since he was already residing in Eth

He was right when he guessed - mostly through his manner and speech - that Tim Drake was rich. The Drake House - although smaller than the Wayne Manor - was still bigger than most homes in the suburbs that Jason knew of. Plus there was a massive yard, sky-high fence, several garages, a greenhouse, and a garden.

And then there were the tunnels.

Tim said that according to the Waynes' side of the architecture, the tunnels tend to lead to nowhere, and were not sturdy enough to be explored. Tim, however, had explored the tunnels when he was really little - as in ten-year-old 'little' and discovered that most were natural tunnels and have exits.

"I hope you've explored with someone who's like, my size." Jason reminded him just as they laid down the plans to him.

Tim glared at him top-to-bottom and then glared at Dick.

"Yeeeah... he's definitely not my size." Jason pointed out. Dick might have been muscular, but more on the lean side. Jason was built like a brick house and a few inches taller and wider than Dick.

"If it's any consolation, I didn't need to squeeze through anything when I went," Dick told him.

"I'll map the dimensions of the exits, anyway, just in case. We went with cameras back then." Tim said. "And now that we've covered the exits, how about the entrance? Would you rather walk right up there and say something along the line of, 'hey, I'm here to deliver the next Wayne heir. And by the way, you owed Talia Al Ghul some child support, but on the bright side, you won't need to pay 'em anymore,'?"

"Yeah, that sounded like a really quick way to get into an altercation." Jason retorted.

"I advise you, Tim, to take them there. Sort of like safety in numbers scenario - whatever happened, the Waynes won't be able to... make Jason and Damian 'disappear' because someone else already knew of their presence in Gotham." Barbara advised. "I've put the articles on stand-by, and shall have Vicky Vale start sniffing around by one week."

"We've got Grayson here as an extra pair of watchful eyes, so to speak. I don't think they'll do anything dramatic." Jason reminded. "Also, if they think they could kill me and take Damian just like that, they might be in for a surprise. Damian isn't... easily persuaded through blood and gore." He stopped short of accidentally revealing that the 'training' he and Damian returned from when they discovered the death of Ra's and Talia at the Algol Island had been Damian's 'training' in death and destruction. Colloquially referred to as the 'Year of the Blood', Damian was sent to retrieve a number of relics from around the world; most held in private collections by colonists who had acquired said relics from native people by force. Combine 'acquisition' and 'force', it was safe to reason that said 'colonists' would have had armies protecting the relic. And Damian had gone through them fairly easily.

And bloodily.

But that was not something Jason would reveal. It would be up to Damian's discretion - later or never - to tell his father. Surely he would not wish to have such thing revealed to a group of people calling themselves 'heroes'.

"I'm in favor of the more the merrier, really. In spite of me being the so-called 'extra' pair of eyes, Tim Drake has higher visibility when it comes to... well... the common people..." Dick remarked. "There might not need to be blood and gore in the immediate future. Plus, I'm not there as a Talon."

"You're there as Damian's guard, the White Ghost. Anyone familiar with the lores surrounding the Al Ghuls would not suspect a thing..." Jason started.

"Can I be the blue ghost, instead?" Dick wanted to know, grinning impishly.

Tim, too, was grinning impishly.

"What," Jason growled, suddenly realized that he was being played.

"I kinda liked blue better than white, y'know?" Dick replied.

"You're not taking this seriously, are you?"

"Oh, I am. I mean, there's a kid's life on the line; a lot more money than I'd ever seen if they were in the form of unpopped corn kernels; heritage; people of Gotham, etc, etc... why wouldn't I take this seriously?" Dick replied as he walked away from the table. "But I still think I look better in blue, right?" he added, pulling out a set of costumes from the cabinets. It was modeled after Jason's costume - "to have a more cohesive look between us," Dick had said. And it was in blue, whilst Jason's was in green.

He groaned exasperatedly. "There is no blue ghost in our ranks..."

"Well, they don't need to know that, do they?" Dick reasoned.

Jason glared at Tim for help. But the boy shrugged, "he's had that made since the day you came. He actually has several sets of those... He said your outfit made for pure awesome day clothes. I, too, worry about his fashion sense."

"Why." Jason partly wanted to know, partly wanted to know what the hell he'd done in the past that landed him with the Marx brothers right there. His costume would work well for the desert - where the Al Ghul's strongholds were mostly at; the jungle surrounding the Al Ghul Island where Damian and Talia would reside during the summer months; or in combat. For daily use, however, Jason would have worn normal suits. "For the love of all things mighty, you folks didn't look through my suitcase, did you?"

"Oh, we know of the suits. The normal people suits, don't worry. I have those made for Dick, too - in blue as per his insistence." Oracle intoned. "And no, Richard, you are not wearing costumes when you walk to the Waynes' front door."

Thank god for the voice of reason.

"Aww... buuuut, it will be more impressive!" Dick wailed, dead-set looked crestfallen, and gave puppy-dog eyes toward Oracle. Jason sighed again. For what seemed like the umpteenth time of the day.

"No means no, Dick. Now, if you'd come up straight from the desert and whatnot, that wouldn't be so strange. But you - and by 'you' I meant Jason and Damian - arrived in Gotham more than a week ago and stayed at the Ritz, 'fer cryin' out loud!" Oracle snapped back.

"Ritz this ain't, but I agree, if we've stayed at the Ritz, there would be questions as to why hasn't anyone seen us. My costume isn't exactly made for urban living." Jason pointed out. Dick was still sulking, but it looked like he - thankfully - finally conceded.

"Fine, I'll wear the monkey suits..." he grumbled. Jason mouthed a 'thank you' toward the projection.

"Okay! Next, backstory excluding the fact that... Talia and Ra's' being murdered and stuff - that what you're planning to say right, Jason?" Oracle continued, ignoring Dick's whines.

"Yes, there's no point in hiding it since Wayne would want to know who the mother was, and we have set out news stating Ra's and Talia Al Ghul being killed in an airplane crash," Jason told her.

"I've seen that news and marked all the news portals that mentioned them. I would like you two to keep an eye on Bane's reaction, as minute as they might be. Dick?"

"Got it. If he as much as breathe wrong in Damian's direction, we kill him." Dick replied. To Tim's and Jason's withering glare, he demanded, "what?"

"Why can't we just have Tim accompanying me, anyway?" Jason finally blurted. "He could jeopardize the whole thing."

"No, he's not. He's just pulling that one out of his ass. He's not gonna kill anybody, right Dick?" Oracle prompted. "Plus, it would be fairly odd if Tim Drake accompanies you, as he himself is quite a well-known individual within the city."

"Hhh... alright..." Jason still grumbled but decided to let it go for now. There were far more important objectives to be had.

"I much prefer Grayson to be with us as well, Jason." Damian suddenly piped up. He has been sitting there, at the head of the table, watching the processions. "With most adult's predisposition to undermine non-adults, Grayson's presence there could deter anyone from trying mischief right away." he reasoned. "Timothy, while I daresay have sufficient combat skills when required, has the benefit of being a public persona while being a child and thus would not come across as strange that I - as a child as well - should come to him first and foremost for assistance."

"Why, thanks, Damian. I think..." Tim replied.

"That is... quite an interesting psychological insight, and validated our plan, I think," Oracle remarked after a few seconds of silence. "Okay, gentlemen? Shall we get the plan rolling, then?"

"We shall," Damian replied. "I cannot wait to see how my father will react."

#Jason Todd #Tim Drake #JayTim #Red Ghost!jason #Stray!Tim #Talon!Dick #Damian Wayne #Damian Al-Ghul #Dick Grayson #Barbara Gordon #Oracle!Barbara #Batless!AU

[darkjanet2]

Drusilla’s Soul Ch. 14

Odiaba, Japan

A 14-year-old boy was practicing with his band. His name was Yamato “Matt” Ishida, he was handsome, cool, intelligent, and he was a bearer of Friendship. He had medium length blond hair and a green school uniform.

You've got a boy, you've got a girl,

Sitting' underneath a tree

They sit there everyday

And even though, you may think

this is the way the things should be,

It may not always be that way

You can't take nothing for granted,

You've gotta live life today

“Your music is really good. You can tour the world once you get a good enough agent, then you and the band will be world wide, Matt.” said the boy with a guitar.

(A/N: I don’t know their names for the Teenage Wolves band. I hope you don’t mind.)

The keyboard player nodded, “ I agree with him, but there are always other ways.”

“You really think we can travel the globe if we sign an agent? That’d be awesome, but I wonder who will watch TK while I’m gone?” Matt asked, “I mean, he’s 11. You think he can take care of himself?”

“That’s true, bro, but don’t you think you’re being a bit more like a parent than a brother? Being overprotective may make it harder for TK to seem more like a child than an adult, but I may have someone that can watch him while we’re gone.” said the drummer.

Matt looked at the drummer, “Who do you have in mind?”

“My cousin, she is cool.” the drummer responded.

“We have a gig to start next week. We are not going to travel nor will TK stay on his own. Besides, let’s do this gig and then we will start a concert.” said Matt.

They resumed playing music and the music level was absolutely brilliant.

After they finished practicing, they packed their instruments and fist bumped each other.

“That was really great practice, you guys. I’ll see you later.” Matt waved his friends goodbye.

“See ya, Matt.” said the keyboard player, waving goodbye to his friend.

Later that night

TK was playing Tekken 7 along with Patamon. His mother went to work until 6 PM. TK’s Tekken character was Paul Phoenix and Patamon’s Tekken character was Steve Fox. Paul was fighting Steve while his health bar was depleted. Patamon was trying to find a way to get his health bar up. TK was looking for power ups in the game, but couldn't find any. And Patamon also tried to find power ups, and he found it. Steve finally powered up and pummeled Paul to death. A K.O. appeared on the screen. Steve danced in victory. TK hung his head in defeat and Patamon won. TK couldn’t help but smile.

“You played well, Patamon. Wanna play another round?” asked TK.

“No. I'm kinda hungry. So what is your mother doing?" asked Patamon.

“She works at the newspaper company as a journalist. So she'll be back soon.” TK said, “Let’s have a hot pocket for dinner.”

“Okay.” said Patamon.

TK went to the kitchen and took out two frozen hot pockets from the freezer. He put them in the microwave to warm them up, and the microwave beeped those pizza pockets were done. He grabbed the saucers and carefully took them out of the microwave because it was hot.

They began to eat their food, it was so delicious and cheesy and it tasted like real pizza. They were soon full and sleepy.

“Ah, that was so good,” said Patamon blissfully.

“Yeah, it was." TK replied.

A phone rang in the kitchen. TK answered the phone.

“Hello?”

“Hey, TK.” greeted Matt.

“Hey, Matt. How have you been?” asked TK.

“I’m fine. The practice was really great, and the gig will start next week. Would you like to come?” asked Matt.

“Yeah, I can’t wait. Is all the gang going to be there?” TK replied.

“Sure, they are,” said Matt.

“Awesome! We haven’t seen them in a while.” said TK.

“You better be there next week ‘cause you don’t wanna miss it.” said Matt.

“Oh, I won’t miss it. I’ll set up a reminder, so I won’t forget that.” said TK.

“Okay, great. Is Mom home?” he asked.

“She’ll be back home until 6:00. I’ll tell her about this.” replied TK.

“Okay, I’ll see you later, bro.” said Matt.

“Bye, Matt.” TK hung up.

“Matt is having a gig next week. I think you should come, too.” smiled TK.

“Really?” Patamon beamed.

“Yeah, so are our friends, too.” said TK.

Patamon squealed in excitement and hugged TK, and TK hugged him back.

Somewhere in Underground

One night there was an underground crypt filled with candles resembling the church. The vampire minions gathered their leader. An ancient vampire was sitting on his throne who was old and hideous. He had white pale skin, a bald head with pointed ears and yellowish, talon-like nails. His face had the basic vampire brow ridge, wrinkles and fangs, except with red eyes instead of yellow ones; and a snub, bat-like nose. He also had blood-stained on his nose down to his mouth. He was wearing a leather jacket with matching pants and boots.

“My children, gather and listen to your Master,” the creepy looking creature said, as the vampires began to gather their master.

“Yes, my lord.” said the group of vampires.

"My children, have you obtained the items I need to free myself from this Hell Hole?" asked the Master.

One vampire kneeled in front of him, "Not yet Master, the Book Of Crimson Rituals and the Dagger Of Vladimir still have not been found, Master.” said the vampire named Luke.

The Master bent down and placed his index finger under the vampire's chin. "You best not fail again, my child or I will have to make an example of you."

“I won’t fail you, my Lord.” Luke said. " I'll find that book no matter what." Luke said.

“Anyway, I have a mission for you. There are some valuable items in Japan, Romania, and Denmark. I need three things that I have to free myself from this barrier.” said the Master.

“What are three items you need, Master?” asked Darla.

“The first item is Dagger of Vladimir that lies in Romania, the second item is a book called Crimson Ceremony that lies in Denmark, and the third item is Pigeon Blood gem that lies in Japan. This gem is precious.

Luke said, " I'll do whatever it takes to find that book Master. I won't let you down. I'll give you my word."

Angelus whispered to Darla, "This is ludicrous. Why do I have to stick with this prune face?”

“Because he’s trapped underground and the barrier held him off." replied Darla.

Angelus replied, "If we freed him, why can’t he just do it himself?”

“I heard that! Do you disobey my order?” asked The Master.

“Of course not, Master. We're just getting our plan of action together." said Darla.

“That's right. We'll be heading out soon." said Angelus.

“Of course you will, but if you disrespect your master, I will gladly dust you away like you're nothing.” said the Master.

Angelus scoffed, “Why not? You’ve been trapped underground with the barrier for 60 years!”

The Master said,"Don't make me kill you Angelus! Just do as I say!"

Luke said, “Well, speak of the devil, this girl called Drusilla was cursed by a gypsy to have a soul.”

“So Angelus was the one who sired her— no, he drove her insane before he turned into one of us." said the Master.

“And she fled from us, she was no longer with us. She has a damned soul and helped people.” said Angelus.

" What in the hell did you say? How would you know?” asked the Master.

“Because I have seen her every media report, Drusilla helped people from danger. The President had given her awards and a statue that made her a hero. It made my blood boil!” said Darla, in an angry voice.

Luke said, " And it's all on the head of one person. Angelus! I'll see you when I get back. I'm going to look for that book."

“Go ahead,” said Angelus. "Knock yourself out."

“I'm going to find the dagger, Master.” said Darla, bowing respectfully.

“You may go now, Darla.” the Master looked at Angelus, “ And it goes for you, Angelus. If you screw up even once, you're dead! Understand?”

Angelus paused before he responded, Yes, Master. I understand.” said Angelus, dully.

“Now go on. Your mission has begun.” said the Master.

They headed out on their mission determined to find the items for the Master.

One Week Later

Drusilla packed her belongings to get ready for the mission trip to Japan. She was dressed in a red dress and coat and shoes. Her hair was tied up as a bun and part of her mane down. She called David and Britney to come over to take care of her cat, Jade.

When they arrived at her house, she welcomed them.

“Hey, guys. Thanks for coming.” said Drusilla.

“It’s no problem. Guess where you are going?” asked Britney.

“Well, I have a mission to go to Japan. I’m on my way to the Princess Cruise, there are some strange creatures around here.” said Drusilla.

“Really? When are you coming back, Dru?” asked Britney.

“About 2 weeks.” replied Drusilla.

“Then you should be right back, right?” Britney asked.

“Yeah,I won’t be gone for too long. Before I go, please make sure you feed her, groom her, play with her, and wash her while I’m gone.” said Drusilla.

“Okay, we’ll do that.” said David, in affirmative.

“Please be careful. We’ll take care of Jade.” said Britney.

Drusilla nodded when she heard notification from her Uber app that had arrived at her house.

“Well, there goes my ride.” Drusilla patted Jade on the head saying goodbye. “Bye, Jade. Be a good cat and get along with them, okay?”

As Drusilla went out and got into the Uber and departed for the Princess Cruise. Drusilla called her boyfriend, Leon.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Leon.”

“Hey, Dru. How are you doing?” he asked.

“I’m fine. I’m on my way to the Princess Cruise.” replied Drusilla.

“Really? Where to?” asked Leon.

“Odaiba, Japan.” Drusilla said, “I have a mission trip right now, and I won’t be back until I return in 2 weeks.”

“You’re going on your own? If I come with you, it’s pretty dangerous to go on by yourself, you know?” said Leon.

“You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be okay, Leon. Like I said, I’ll return in 2 weeks.” said Drusilla.

“Okay. I’m gonna miss you, Dru.” said Leon, sadly.

“I’ll miss you, too, Leon.” Drusilla smiled sadly.

“Take care, Dru.” said Leon.

“You, too.” Drusilla hung up.

After they had arrived at the Princess Cruise at the port. Drusilla thanked the Uber driver and took her luggage out of the trunk, walked to the entrance and gave them a valid ticket. As the cruise began to depart from the port, the passengers were exploring the ocean or relaxing.

A light switch came on, Drusilla scanned around the luxurious room. It had a Smart TV, queen bed, nice furniture, and there was a window where you could see the ocean. She opened the door to reveal a luxurious bathroom- beautiful.

It had a bathtub next to the shower, it had a sink and a toilet. So Drusilla made herself comfortable, so she turned on the TV to watch Family Guy.

#digimon adventure #btvs #btvs fanfiction #alternative universe #au crossover #drusilla #tk takaishi #matt ishida #takeru takaishi #yamato ishida

[takakuyaku-archive]

THE NIGHT is quiet... so much time had been leading up to this moment. Years of thinking, contemplating; batteling an unnatural fear that he had been running from since the day he decided to leave the nest. His destination unclear, but he knew that day he would fly and fly with whatever he had on his back. With whatever he could carry in his small 13 year old arms. The threat of his parents getting a hold of him, hurting him and blaming him for his siblings mistakes, his own mistakes, it’s been following him and filling him with irrational dread.

And with that came restless nights where he contemplates what it would be like to return the favor. To wring his mothers throat the same way she did when his little brother got hurt from running just a tad bit too fast. Or leaving his father with the same black eye after he did poorly in a recital he had practiced months for nonstop with him only to arrive to it with a sore throat and puberty trying to hit at the most inappropriate moment. He’s been wanting to return those favors. A pair that he’s hesitated on only because of the fear they instilled in him for so long.

“A new year... should come with new changes.”

HE MUTTERS to himself as he continues to tap at the edge of his building with the tip of his talon. Tapping in a series of patterns that could only be deduced as some form of morsecode. A trick he picked up in his adolescence to communicate with his group of thieves, but now? It’s his way of coping, willing himself to rid of this burden over his head. Remembering this trauma and having to witness his sibling’s trauma as well. The multitude of times where he knew something wasn’t right about himself, but constantly dismissed by his parents like it were okay to be the way he is. He wants retribution in his own right and now that Tartarus no longer holds him prisoner he has that chance.

His wings extend outwards and he whispers to himself where each and every feather he has scattered in Japan to start coming back. Trying to sense the right feather his pupils dilate and then round out multiple times before finally forcing himself off the building he was on. Soaring into the sky and heading back to his hometown. Back to his old home he hasn’t seen in 32 years and not a single thing has changed. As he stops in front of the building his body actually reacts. His heart races and for a moment he looks confused and presses his hand to his chest. Is he sick? He can’t be fucking up right now.

HE TAKES a deep breath before raking his nails against the door with a knock behind it. Stepping backwards from the front door expecting silence, until he felt footsteps and he shoots up to perch on the roof. Hidden away as golden eyes search for the man who was at their door. An elder with cleanly cut blonde hair, tired eyes and pale complextion. Long, large red wings extend from their back and they weren’t pleased by this supposed trick being played. At least, that’s what he thinks. He turns to go back indoors and by the time he does Takami finds himself coming in through his old bedroom window. Turning to be more discreet until he makes eye contact with his mother. A woman with a mix of black and red hair, striking red eyes with shaking pale hands gripping onto one of Takumi’s old toys he obsessed with as a child.

Her gold wings flex and tighten around her in fear. Her eyes widen and she stares at him as he looks back, tilting his head and shooting his feather forward to force the bedroom door to lock. She flinches and looks back, turning her head quickly to look at him again before dropping the plush from her hand and reaching for him. “T-Taku—“ “Don’t touch me.” He cuts her off and slaps her hands away before grabbing her by the throat to pin her to the ground. His heart is beating faster. Interesting.

THE OLD woman shakes in fear and opens her mouth to scream but he uses his feather to silence her. He shakes his head, wanting to have dragged this out, put them through the same pain and torture they put him and his siblings through, but his anger bubbles and boils and with no hesitation he takes his longest blade to stab into her chest where her heart it. A gasp escapes her and he can see the light leave her eyes with tears stinging the corners of them. But he didn’t care. He continues to stab at her body angrily multiple times until his hands were coated with blood. Gritting his teeth he looms and spits at her corpse. “You get no pity from me.” He spat out like venom as he looks towards the door, pulling his feather out and allowing the man from earlier to barge in as he had been banging against the door trying to barge in.

He sees the display, stumbling forward and drawing his own feather blade while his eyes bounce around the room to allow this scene to register in his head. “TAKUMI WHAT HAVE YOU D—“ he doesn’t wait and lunges forward. With the same feather blade he goes to strike but his father brings up his own blade to try and block him. Holding his ground and struggling which brought a sick twisted grin to Takumi’s face. A challenge he wasn’t expecting? This should be FUN! He slides the feather blade from the clash that held them in position, twisting it around to try and slash at him but his father continues to block and back away. His wings open to be bigger and be glares back at him.

“Do you really think this will solve anything?!”

“Why yes. Yes I do. I think it’s well deserved closure between us. To think I almost pitied you.”

HE CRACKS a bigger smile that couldn’t be concealed no matter how hard he tries. A burst of maniacal laughter coming out as he continues to fight blade to blade with his father. Precious items crashing and shattering to the ground as he goes toe to toe with him and makes an attempt on his life.

“Forgive me for not maintaning perfect composure since truth be told, why would I EVER pity a monster like you?”

He recalls his feathers from around the building and they start shooting in and going into a circular pattern around his father. For once the man looks scattered and Takumi catches him off guard. Forcing him to bang against the wall with his family’s portrait just barely hanging on. An image of his parents with his siblings, they couldn’t be much older than 6? 7? His memory fails there, but his focus is on his cornered father. Tip of his blade pointed at his throat as he stares him down.

“I should leave you to rot with this pain. No limbs, no tongue, no eyes, only the memory and the constant reminder of your biggest failure.”

HE GESTURES to himself with a cocky smile before he strikes to cut the hand away that held a feather blade on his father’s body. The old man falling to his knees to scream and try to grip the nub left behind.

“No, no, that’s not part of the script. You... don’t get to make noise.”

He launches forward to grab his father by the hair and slam his head back to the wall. Using his blade to shove down his mouth until it goes as far as it possibly could. Listening to him choke and struggle, attempting to push and shove Takumi away, but he wouldn’t allow it. He wanted to see this man suffer and struggle and the more blood that fell on him, the more this man convulses and chokes, the more pleasure and serotonin filled his mind with the greatest release he hasn’t felt in years. This looming presence is finally gone and his life leaves his eyes. He lets the body fall against him and he hushes him, using two fingers to close his eyes.

“Rest well and... Happy New Year, Father”

HE RELEASES him and stands, brushing himself down and going into his parent’s bathroom to shower, taking his father’s loose clothing to wear as replacements to his bloodied ones before leaving the scene for good.

Pleased and finally feeling more free than he has ever been.

#[ let's reminisce shall we? ;; drabbles ] #tw blood #tw gore #tw character death #tw violence #tw child abuse mention #tw abuse mention #tw torture #tw dismemberment #[ casually leaves here... ]

[eternalstrigoii]

Your Own - II

We have something they didn’t plan on: alternating POV. I Borra (Maleficent: Mistress of Evil) x Desert Warrior Dark Fey (Reader); Maleficent x Diaval; Aurora x Philip; Conall x A Break.

Yet another love-filled shoutout to @vespertineoracle for putting up with my nonsense + loaning Nyvi where he’s needed.

               “Dwellings space out along here,” Borra traced the open swath of farmland on the map between the stone walls of one human kingdom and the since-crumbled wall of thorns around the moors. “They’re surrounded on all sides but the sea.”

It was a matter of concern, and for good reason. Forays into the moors rarely went above single-pair scouting parties, and almost never included those who were not Conall, Borra, or you anymore.

“How do they survive?” Ini wondered aloud, scowling at the shapes meant to represent high peaks and rolling valleys; dense fields of crops nearly walled with grain. If not for the danger it held, the beauty of the rolling landscape bathed in night would’ve pleased you immensely. (You ran your tongue against the backs of your teeth at the memory of a melon stolen from a vine, its sweet, green flesh sugary and easily rent by your talons in the safety of the nest.)

“With help,” you replied, banishing the memory as quickly as it came.

Borra met your eyes, and you shifted your weight to the balls of your feet to keep your wings from drooping. He’d gone out alone the night before; he was as tense before he left as you were when he did. He cared for those defenseless creatures, some of the last of your kind left mostly-undisturbed. (Your kind, even if they weren’t precisely yours; they could do nothing to alleviate your plight, though there was much you could do for theirs.) You were the shield at his back, and you stayed to protect them while he was gone. You’d watched the sea for ships, for lights, for anything that could’ve been a threat until he returned. Unscathed, which pleased you. Angry, which did not. There were more poachers, and one of them got away. With a fey, he presumed, for he never saw the little creature return.

And now he seethed. He plotted, restless, at your side.

“Can we monitor a route?” Ini asked.

You were thinking less of scheduled routes and more of establishing your own sort of battlements, your own stations around the moors where they could be stopped before they entered.

You nearly thought Shrike had come to join you when she landed, except she stalked toward you with much too clear of intent. “Is it true?”

You were all torn away. Borra’s head quirked.

“Conall found a newcomer. One of us, out there.”

The since-crumbled wall of thorns, your mind reminded though you shoved the thought away.

You stood with him, followed without being prompted. Whispers betrayed collective curiosity, though no one dared approach. No one should; migrations were rarer and rarer these days. It was as though, beyond your self-imposed isolation, nothing of your people was left.

Maybe there weren’t. Maybe this one was all that remained.

You followed the scent of iron-burned flesh to the healers’ nest. You stood behind him as Conall kept pressure on her wound while Nyvi, cradling something that did not look like a bolt or the head of an arrow, placed it into the black stone bowl. It hissed, boiling the water while it burned off her blood.

You rested a hand on his back, watching the seawater froth and churn. The object bobbed, small and round. Compact. Like a stone for a slingshot, easily fired from a distance.

“They plucked her from the sky,” you whispered.

Conall’s gaze lifted. They were both soaked to the skin, you realized, and they had yet to unwrap a strange, bird-skull decorated material from around her head. It looked like leather, though why one would wear leather armor on their head puzzled you for a moment. Just a moment. Until the severity of her wound regarded you, and you tore your eyes away from the blood-soaked cotton Conall held to her skin.

“Will she live?” Borra asked, though not even he could keep the tension from his voice.

“She won’t die,” Nyvi responded. “Conall brought her in time.”

“Who is she?” you managed, though your voice was hardly above a whisper.

“I don’t know,” Conall replied, his voice even and low. Betraying nothing that the bone-dressed fabric plastered to her skin did not. “I watched her fall into the sea.”

You looked to him, though you knew he’d already decided. The wall of thorns was not made by collective strength or unity amongst the moor-folk; the crumbled wall of thorns had to be hers. They had to be her doing, though you couldn’t imagine why she would let them fall.

“Borra,” Conall cautioned.

He looked to you. You nodded without needing to be asked; the others could stay. If there was a chance he’d be fired upon, you wouldn’t let him go alone.

“Suren.” His voice was less guarded with you; don’t do this.

You had gone last down the woven flight-tunnel, though, and that meant you would be the first to leave. So you did, with Borra at your back and something like fear weighing heavy in your chest.

The others watched you leave as though they knew you would once word reached you. You wondered if they knew about the iron ball withdrawn from her side, and you bristled at the thought. You didn’t know her, yet you didn’t want her to die. Humans shed blood often enough at the expense of your people’s lives, people you had known since you fledged and those who had been lost long before you existed. Outsider though she was, she was one of you.

You kept close to the water with him. Your ascent hugged the cliffs. It was cool and quiet with thin clouds passing before the moon; the high twinkle of stars painted the black sky in a hue of glittering magic.

He held out his hand, and you fell back. Your wings flattened; you coasted alongside him into the low branches of a nearby tree.

There was a horse coming. It struggled across the river, with the water rushing violently around it, but it was sure-footed and its rider…

Was not dressed like a poacher. Not at all.

You scowled and lowered into a familiar crouch, keeping an eye on the big, white beast and the golden-haired child perched on its back. Her cloak was as white as its fur, and the floral pinkness of her dress made your eyes narrow.

Some part of you wish she’d seen you, quirking your head like the hawk watches prey. Saw the moonlight on your golden eyes and faltered. But it was the part of you that also held those moor-folk dear, and the part that backed your confusion as the girl swiftly dismount. “Maleficent?!”

The moor-folk gathered as she ran over the grass and the moss. They knew her.

“Godmother?!” Her voice cracked. She sunk onto a chair of woven branches, her slender body wracked with early sobs.

You looked to him, refusing to believe what it was you thought you saw. He was always so near to you in thought that if he believed it, you would’ve also.

But he watched her with sharpness in his eyes, and you shifted your weight nearer to him as though in preparation for attack. It would not be the first time you’d witnessed human deception.

“Please,” her voice was small and breathless, “come back.”

The moor-folk didn’t know what to make of her, but they gathered. They gathered like they wanted to comfort her. Like they knew her, and the absurdity of the thought nearly made you shake your head. Humans do not commune peacefully with fey, they never have.

“She’s not on the moors,” another voice called, and you raised your talons in preparation.

“Oh, Diaval!” the girl gathered her skirts and ran from the branch-chair into the arms of another man – human, you thought, though the only human smell came from her. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“No one’s seen her.” So they did commune with the fey. These two, at least. They understood their language, and the moor-folk…cared for them? Knew them in return? “She’s nowhere to be found.”

Not to them. But you knew where she was, and you knew who she was, though you waited for confirmation.

They both looked wrought.

“What if she never comes back?” Diaval asked, and suddenly patted the front of his feathered coat, “What if I’m stuck as a human forever?”

Then what are you? you thought, quirking your head again.

“I have to find her,” the teary child replied, and you bristled.

You can’t, you shan’t, and you don’t deserve to. Your kind shot her from the sky.

They looked off into the peaks, and you followed their gaze to the highest of them – the one that would make the best fortress, should their people need to be gathered.

“She’s the only one who can break the curse.”

Curses. Humans communing with fey. Absurd.

And yet, you still looked to Borra in hopes he thought the same. As though your uncertainty wouldn’t be mirrored.

Curses. Humans communing with fey. Poachers on the moors, and a dark fey nesting in the peaks none the wiser. None of it made sense.

“Have you ever gone there without flying?” the girl asked Diaval.

“No,” he admitted. “It’s a sheer drop. It won’t be easy.”

“We must.” The girl was…willful. Strange. She moved across the moors like she knew them well, and the flare of concern in your chest when she approached the little creatures wasn’t a response you could stifle.

“Leif?” she paused before one of the tree-men gathered along the forest’s seam, “Would you help me get there?”

The tree men communed, all three of them, before agreeing.

“You should let me go first.” Diaval joined her. “She may not…” He paused, as though struggling to find words. “She may not be open to your company right now.”

The child had her shot from the sky.

You bristled so hard, the flare of your wings came so abruptly, that Borra had to rest a hand on your shoulder to stop you from disturbing the trees.

“Please.” The child’s voice broke again, and real tears came this time. “This is all my fault. I need her, Diaval.”

The not-human was her mate, you thought in passing; he didn’t smell like fey, but the pain that flickered clearly across his face betrayed his agreement. He feared for her, the half-dead fey Conall brought back to the nest. There could be no one else. You hoped there could be no one else.

“We’ll find her, Aurora,” he said, drawing her close again. “I promise.”

    You hated doing nothing, but nothing was what you did. When they left for the peaks, you and Borra took to the skies with information that you thought made no sense separately or together.

Not to anyone but Conall.

You left them to make sense of it on their own. In the safety of the nest, with Ini watching for ships or lights or flying projectiles, you had fewer qualms about leaving him on his own.

Or, so you told yourself. But you had to see her.

She slept still, her dark wings unfurled to her sides. They were preened enough to properly dry, though that didn’t stop you from combing out a spot of matted feathers when you saw it.

Nyvi redressed her wound. Again. You could tell by the growing pile of saturated bandages that he’d done it several times in your absence.

She was beautiful. There were chips in her horns like they’d been clipped by weapons, but they were nearly pristine. Her hair was long and straight, the color of wet bark. Her lips were the color of ripe berries. She was of the forest, then; appropriate that Conall of all of you would find her.

“Did you find those responsible?”

You tore your eyes from her face to offer Nyvi use of your hands. He accepted them willingly, offering you the pad of cloth that would continue to absorb her blood as long as it flowed. You held pressure while he gathered new bandages for her wound.

“We know they came from the fortress on the other side of the river.” Ulstead, you thought with mounting disgust. A name like spitting up a half-eaten bone. “She was there, and then they shot her from the sky when she departed.”

“Why would she go to a human fortress?” He slipped the bandages under her with the ease of pouring sea water, and wound them tightly around her stomach.

You were silent for a moment. It made no sense to you either, but neither you nor Borra could deny outright what you’d learned. “Because she has a human daughter, and it was a matter of courtship between her human daughter and their prince.”

His hands paused. He looked at you like you’d grown another set of horns.

“I know. Conall believes she’s already begun forging peace.”

“And what do you?”

You believed only what you knew, and the black marks around your wrists may have been covered by your gauntlets, but the ones around your ankles never were. The piebald scald on Borra’s back and sides. The lameness in Nyvi’s left wing.

“I believe what I see,” you whispered. “How much blood has she lost?”

“A deal. She’ll be weak for a time, but she should recover.”

Maleficent. You thought her name over, and it was nearly on the tip of your tongue when Nyvi gently moved your hands to finish folding her bandages. They were separate from the ones around her chest, covering her in place of armor.

“She won’t die?” you verified. It was because Borra had taken to protecting the creatures of the moors, you justified to yourself; she was one of you, whether or not you knew her. Your wariness, your hesitation, wasn’t mirrored in your mate. He wanted to protect her just as fiercely as the other little creatures who couldn’t defend themselves. He wanted to protect her even if she was shot down for attempting to forge an alliance between humans and fey.

“She won’t die.” Nyvi’s hands closed over yours and gave them a comfortable, chilly squeeze. “Come. We need to let her rest. I imagine Borra and Conall will be holding council soon.”

You nodded, fully in agreement, and yet you lingered.

You were used to rage when they tried to take your peoples’ lives. You seethed with him at the vanished moor-folk; every vanished fey was to be presumed dead for good reason. But, at least for the time, you were sad for her.

“She was all alone out there,” you said before Nyvi fully left. “With a human for a child and another creature for a mate.”

“She’s home now,” he said and caught your fingers once again. “Let her rest.”

You did, allowing yourself to be guided from the nest in which she slept with the cushion of shed down beneath your feet muffling your retreat.

You were sad for her, and you were sad for Conall, and you were, in part, sad for yourself, because his rescuing her from the bottom of the sea proved that there could be no diplomacy. If your people were to have peace, there must first be war.

   “If Conall hadn’t found her, she would be dead.”

One of the forest-women nearby shifted restlessly. You knew her from the last celebration; she’d just welcomed a child into the nest, her first with her mate. They weren’t even a moon old.

You all had vested interest in Maleficent. In what became of her. Her existence was as much a joy as a threat, and, though Conall and Borra were largely in agreement, the gravity of your newfound situation escaped no one.

He told them of her daughter’s search. He told them everything – of the girl, of Diaval, of the moor-folk and his time protecting them. He told them how, in all that time, she evaded sight. Conall pressed that her defense of her human child shouldn’t come as concern, and Borra agreed; it wouldn’t be the first time the fey were blamed for carrying off one that was unwanted. But it changed nothing of the circumstance that brought her to you, the potential for that same child’s betrayal despite what you’d seen.

The only advantage that you had in regards to housing her was that no one launched ships. Not yet. Because the moors were surrounded on all sides but the sea, and that made the moors a clear advantage.

He held up the iron bullet, and the sound of burning flesh set your teeth on edge. He was used to pain, and you sought to be just as comfortable, but it was different when it was him. The sear of iron on your skin could be ignored, but the possibility of his pain could not, even when he didn’t flinch.

You were grateful that Nyvi stayed close. That his wing brushed yours even when it was physically difficult for you to unwind your talons from your palms long enough to provide a gentle touch in return. You had to brush his wing with your own in thanks; you couldn’t recall when last your circumstances escalated so quickly. Poachers. Escape. A mysterious dark fey shot down from the sky. A mysterious dark fey communing with humans. You should’ve distrusted her, and you did not, because she was alone and as badly in need of family as the rest of you.

Entertaining the alternative was too much. A traitor in your nest. Brought home and cared for by the people you loved most. Someone who would turn on you, let you die – or worse.

You all gathered because you were afraid. Afraid of what she meant, what had been done, and what would be done in retaliation.

You could offer them no comfort.

And that was why you were glad Borra rose to the occasion. He thought clearly. He planned ahead. If you were to go to war, he would lead once he knew the odds.

Conall must know that.

You couldn’t keep your eyes on either of them for very long. You were tense and it had no outlet. You were tired of planning; he should’ve taken you with to the moors the night before last. If you’d been able to do something with yourself before all of this, maybe what was left unknown wouldn’t make your skin crawl.

Like her loyalty. Like why she had been shot down now.

Like why you’d never seen her. With all the berries you’d foraged, the rabbits you killed, the herbs you fetched for the healers for their balms and salves and tonics; how hadn’t you seen her? How hadn’t you crossed her path? You had a suspicion, a faint, nagging thought that couldn’t be dismissed – had she seen you? Were you both predators keeping watchful eye on the other, or had your dance changed? Which of you remained the predator and which became unwitting prey?

“You’re wrong, Con,” Borra said, and your attention returned. Sometimes you thought he could’ve spoken from miles away and you would’ve heard him. “We have something they didn’t plan on.” He turned away from Conall. Stared into the shadows at the flight-path’s entrance. “We have her.”

You bristled, and you hated how quickly it began to ease.

She was no threat to you. She was wounded, cowering as though she’d never seen another of her own. Her eyes were bright like Conall’s, the crisp green of a forest in spring, and they were wide. Her wing was even partly folded around herself for protection.

Good, you thought. She distrusts you as much as you distrust her. But only that much. There was a glimmer of curiosity in her eyes. If you were kind, you would acknowledge her relief.

It was no wonder Borra didn’t share your reservations.

The collective of you shifted toward her, their attention piqued. Even Nyvi moved closer to you; you glanced his way and refused to acknowledge the quiet surprise in his features. She wasn’t supposed to be awake and mobile.

“She holds powers none of us possess.” He presumed. You presumed. You hoped. All the talk of curses and thorn-walls and great battles with fallen kingdoms leaving shifted soil and shattered trees had to mean something. But you didn’t know her, so it was little more than an educated guess.

“She’s wounded, Borra,” Conall replied, and you poorly resisted the urge to note his reservation.

“Who are you?” she cried. Maleficent. What would she have done if you breathed her name?

Probably what she did when Borra approached her. Her wings flared in self-defense, drawn up and fluffed to make her look larger than she was.

She’s been hurt before.

She was no warrior. Not like you, not even like the majority of you. When he got close to her, she froze, tense. The antelope in the open grass.

Teach her to fight, the part of you whispered that wasn’t demanding she show you that she already could. She held her own just fine with Borra studying her, with no space between them besides the teasing breath of provocation. You knew what he was doing, and yet you snarled low in your chest when he abruptly flew backward, momentarily engulfed by a swirling, green mist.

He didn’t land hard. He wasn’t hurt. But the step forward you’d taken was instinctual.

“You see?” You knew he spoke to Conall above the rest, and yet you forced yourself to release your breath. “You see what’s inside her?”

“Yes,” you whispered with them. He was right. Whatever he noticed, he baited the truth out of her, and it panned out in his favor.

“That is what will save us all.”

Or doom you, that nagging part of you whispered in the back of your thoughts.

But you trusted him. When the others took flight – when you all left her – you did not stay behind.

Whatever fear you have of her, place your trust in him. He has yet to be wrong.

             “Are you coming with me?” He ran his hands over your arms while you stared into the darkness from whence you’d come. You watched the flickering bonfires of families not too much unlike your own, long lost, and the moist chill of the caverns bled into your clothes.

“Back to the moors?”

His fingers trailed over you. You closed your eyes, folded your wings. Sunk back into him. “We have to know what we’re up against.”

“We can’t afford to move quickly.” Though you couldn’t afford to doubt him, either. There was a reason he led, and it was the same reason that you loved him. He was smart, keen, attentive. And, as his wings folded around you, you released the tension in your posture at the reminder that he would never allow harm to come to any of you – not in battle, and certainly not in the damp cold of a lower altitude.

“The escalation worries you.” A statement, not a question, but an invitation all the same. He rubbed warmth into your arms and you leaned against him with your eyes closed, basking in his warmth like the lizard in the sun.

“She worries me,” you admitted. “Her closeness to them. She may be one of us, but she was alone, Borra. She doesn’t know our people. She has no loyalty.”

He sighed. The movement of his whole body against yours offered you comfort even when the subject didn’t.

“You saw her,” you pressed.

“She was afraid,” he murmured near your ear in effort to keep it between the both of you.

You felt for her. Truly, you did, but you stared at him. As though fear hasn’t led humans to hatred. As though fear wasn’t the undercurrent leading you to war – not fear of death or fear of extermination, but fear of whatever else might come instead. Whatever they did to those little fey, whether they killed them or entrapped them or kept them as live decorations; if they killed enough of you, there was nothing to stop them from doing the same to the ones that remained.

As deeply as you longed for freedom, you wanted to shed the fledge-down of fear that clung to you even more.

“Come with me,” he repeated, more gently. “I need your eyes.”

Take Ini, you almost said, but it would do you no good to wander around the nest and play at killing deer on the plains with your kinsman’s daughter.

You pressed close to him. Nodded into the crook of his neck.

       The tide was high. You should’ve known with the moon the night before, but you took the long path into the moors, avoiding Ulstead altogether. There were necessary tactical advantages to your detour, especially considering you didn’t know whether or not the potential remained that you both could be shot from the skies, but you strongly suspected he had an ulterior motive in bringing you outside the nest on one of those rare daylight excursions.

The sun on your back made you splay your wings and coast on the tidal currents. There was brine in the air and it filled your chest with its freshness, its purity. The wheat fields were thick and golden and your fingers skimmed them when you had to fly low over them, the brush of their seeds against your palm tickling like the fine hair of some strange creature.

Low clouds kissed the peaks and traced their misty lips over your skin. You did a twirl onto your back, careful to keep high enough to remain out of sight.

But the wind still startled right out from under you when a voice rang out from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

“To all who live on the moors--”

“Great skies,” you whispered, diving to stick close. You were high in the trees, and yet the sound reached you as though divine. Like the phoenix herself spoke from the belly of the earth.

Borra landed with you at his side, your fleeting dream of catching fish for lunch and perching in the mountains to let the wind caress your hair gone with the warmth of the sun while shielded in the canopy.

“--And kingdoms far and wide, the king and queen invite you to attend the wedding of their son, Philip, to Aurora in three days’ time. All are welcome--”

You looked to one another, doing nothing to quiet your surprise in the privacy of mutual isolation. Aurora? The daughter? Maleficent’s daughter? The girl on horseback last night?

Great skies. He was right.

“--And all are expected.”

You watched his eyes change. He planned, though you knew what would be done: fly low, scope out the battlement, keep to the trees and return the way you came. All potential threats needed to be identified; whatever you couldn’t do now would have to be revisited under the cover of darkness – you’d have to know the numbers of their men, the prevalence of their iron, the tricks they had up their sleeves.

“She betrayed her,” you whispered, though it sat strangely on your tongue. You’d witnessed mortal deception, but it never looked quite as authentic as the child made it seem.

“It’s what they do,” he agreed. “We’ll have to scope the battlement—”

“Know their men. Find their iron, and their tricks,” you finished.

His wings quirked, and the faintest hint of pleasure touched the curve of his lips.

“I won’t go into war not knowing what it is we’re up against,” you reminded him, though you knew he didn’t need to be. He wouldn’t ask any of you to follow him blindly into the unknown. You already knew they were taking fey, that they refined their weapons and had new methods of shooting you down from the very sky.

“I’ll never ask you to.” His fingers found yours and laced through them securely.

It was different, out there. Less stifling. Maybe it was because you’d soared freely through the peaks, or maybe it was the familiar comfort of his body heat perched beside you, but you abandoned your reservations.

You could be ready for war in three days. All of you, together. The risk was high, but with attention to detail and a prayer to your ancestors for luck that, in your heart, you’d already begun, your people might soon know freedom.

#Dark Fey #Maleficent: Mistress of Evil #Borra #Borra Maleficent #Maleficent Borra #Conall #Conall Maleficent #Maleficent Conall #Suren of the Cavernous Dark #In Which We Fill In Plot Holes And Straighten Out The Timeline (sorta) #I promised you New Content and I didn't lie but I also wasn't truthful

[mollymaymaukme]

Mollymauk x Reader: From Beyond the Grave, Part 3

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Whether by coincidence or fate Molly winds up in a tavern that the Mighty Nein go to in order to lick their wounds. The three that had been captured seem to have whiplash-- within a single day they were rescued, told of their companions death, and now walk into a bar only to see a thawing Mollymauk nursing a drink.

The Nein see him before he sees them. They are frozen with shock which melted into relief before slowly turning to fear.

“What if he is blank again?” Notts voice trembling as the goblin holds back tears, which she would vehemently deny.

“Only one way to find out.” Its Caleb who takes action, who had been forced into the role of leader when his friends were captured “Mollymauk!” His voice catches at the end, betraying the emotion he was trying to keep down.

The tiefling’s head whips around so fast that several of the chains on his horns tangle and he probably nearly snapped his own neck.

That was all the confirmation the Nein needed.

Nott is faster, and smaller, able to weasel her way to the front of the pack and wrap her arms around his middle. Beau is next, coming up behind his chair and throwing her arms around his shoulder burying her head into his hair as her own shoulder shake.

Molly’s own eyes begin to water. He hadn’t had the time to give a thought to how his companions would react. Far to focused on falling the pull in his gut.

The wizard shuffles forward “It is Mollymauk, ja?” Caleb questions with a stiff, lopsided smile.

Molly only answers by freeing one arm and pulling Caleb into a hug. The other three swarming around joining the embrace. “I am so glad that you are not dead!” Jester is squealing, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Fjord punches his shoulder “Really fuckin scared us Molly. Make up your mind”

The group breaks into chuckles and hysterical giggles, emotion so high it was bubbling up into any move they made.

When they begin to move apart Yasha takes a moment to hug Molly tightly. The tiefling winding a taloned hand into her hair as he used to do during his panic attacks back in the circus. Triggered from a variety of thing ranging from nightmares to feelings of claustrophobia.

They all pull around to many chairs to comfortably fit around the table and order drinks. “How did you get the booze? Beau stole, like, all of your money” Nott questions.

“Ya’know, with my normal charms” He shoots the goblin a tired smirk, but nonetheless sincere.

“I didn’t steal! I borrowed it so we could afford a resurrection.” Beau grumbles, the scowl on her face ruined as she wipes away the snot dripping from her nose. Once she properly dried her face on one of her scarves she is digging through Jesters bag.

The monk turns around and presents Molly’s coin purse and swords. “Sorry you had to wake up without ‘em”

The tiefling shoots her a small smile as he reaches across the table to gently hit her shoulder “Thanks for keeping them safe. . .but there’s gonna be interest on the coin you borrowed.” The monk groans as he shoots her a wink, table erupting into laughter once again.

It is then he notices a new face among them. Jester follows his gaze and quickly explains “This is Caduceus Clay, he's a cleric too!” Her bubbly nature under shot by the way her eyes still shine with tears.

“Nice to meet you Mollymauk Tealeaf. Your friends spoke very highly of you.” The firbolg reaching a large hand across the table to shake his. Caduceus stills for a moment with Molly’s hand in his grip before a grin slowly spreads across his lips. “Ah, a fellow follower of the Wildmother I see.”

The tieflings head tilts in confusion “Sorry. It's the Moonweaver actually.” Molly was intrigued though. No one but her had ever talked about the Wildmother before. She wasn’t typically worshipped by city dwellers nor had she been an approved deity of the empire. Much like the Moonweaver.

A hush falls over the table at the awkward exchange before Beau, blunt as ever, breaks it “What makes you say that Clay?”

“You have her blessing. I have a friend like you. She’s got the presence of the Wildmother all around her.” Caduceus explains completely unaware of the stifled hope he plants in Molly’s chest.

After all, it was a vain hope that they would both know the same girl in service of the Wildmother.

“We used to have a friend that worshiped the Wildmother too. She ran away a while back though.” Yasha’s soft voice pipes up from Mollys side.

The rest of the Nein looked confused so Mollymauk fills in the blanks. “The girl who was selling flowers at the circus. We think she ran off that night when everything went to shit, haven’t seen her since.” He takes a large swig from his tankard. The warm buzz welcome in his body that had been cold for to many days.

He left out how she had been his companion, his lover, and his best friend even before Yasha. The barbarian woman thankfully also kept quiet on those matters, letting him have his privacy. He had been trying to mend the break in his heart ever since it had become clear she would not return to town. Dredging up reminders of her was slowly unraveling that arduous process.

“So you always going to keep rising from the grave?” Fjord questions, eager to move on from what is quickly becoming an uncomfortable subject only to stumble onto another.

Molly shrugs, taking another swig “Beats me. I don’t know what happend. Just woke up with a strange voice talkin to me.” Another swig. With any luck he would be drunk enough to pass out into a dreamless sleep by the end of the night.

“What was it saying?” Beauregard questions, not so slyly pulling his tankard further away.

He grabs it back with a pointed glare in her direction before downing the rest of it. He wipes the back of his hand across his mouth before speaking “Dunno, just sounded like a bunch of nonsense.” His smirk coming easier as a pleasant hum filled his veins. “C’mon. I want to catch up on all the drinking i've missed.”

They leave the topic of his death there, it was obvious he was not going to relinquish much on the subject anyways. The night passes by in forced merriment. The entire group with the exception of Jester and Caduceus getting roaring drunk. It was the best coping method there is for such a situation--or at least that would be the excuse they used later to justify their actions.

They were skimping on coin and only rented three rooms for the night. Beau, Jester, and Nott to one room. The next held Caleb and Fjord. Molly was meant to stay with them but he ended up insisting to stay with Yasha, who had agreed to share with Caduceus.

He didn’t want to be without her, knowing the nightmares of drowning in dirt would only be renewed by his recent experience. Being the amazing friend she was she carried the drunk tiefling up the stairs and into their room, the booze affecting her far less.

Molly twirled one of her braids around a finger as he leaned his cheek against her shoulder. Laughter dying on his tongue as they slipped into their room. Yasha set him down on one of the beds and helped him unlace his boots and take off his coat.

Only once they were both tucked into the bed, Caduceus settled in the other one, did he turn on his side to face her. “Yasha?” he meant it as a whisper but failed. She makes a noise of acknowledgment. Molly feels the tears welling up in his eyes before he even begins “I heard her. . .Y/n, I heard her say my name.”

“Was that the voice you said was nonsense?” The woman questioned gently rolling to face the tiefling.

“No.” He is crying now “No. Some lady said something about getting her child, waking her up or something. . .but, but after that I-. . .  I heard y/n.” He sucks up snot noisily as he blubbers out his explanation. A shuddered exhale, then “I miss her Yasha”

“I know Molly. I know.” The barbarian woman draws him to her chest as she rubs his back soothingly while he begins to sob. The firbolg turning away from them to give the illusion of privacy. Mollymauk’s cries come to a crescendo before trailing off into small sniffles over the course of an hour. The tiefling eventually wears himself out and falls into a dreamless sleep.

#mollymauk #mollymauk critical role #mollymauk x reader #mollymauk tealeaf #mollymauk fanfic #mollymauk fic #mollymauk fanfiction #cr #cr2 #fix it fic #critical role #critical role 2 #caduceus clay #caduceus cr #caduces #yasha #beau #fjord #jester #caleb #nott #frumpkin #m9 #mighty nein

[livvywrites]

the curse that failed (or, the witch’s guide to true love, part 2)

so while i get some outlining done in prep for Camp NaNo and also to keep myself from tearing my own hair out while writing, i’ve also decided to try my hand (once again) at short story writing.

this is based on a prompt I found here, which i’ll reply to or @ once I actually finish the damn thing. 

However, the prompt itself was: 

A princess accidentally wrongs a witch and is cursed so that no man shall ever love her. Fortunately, the princess is a lesbian, and is overjoyed. When the witch finds out that her spell backfired, she is furious, and goes to confront the princess. Except now that she’s a little calmer, the princess is super cute? Sparks fly, and not because of a magic spell. 

The ‘part 2′ in the title actually refers to the idea for a prequel I got as I was writing it, so.

Anyway, I strayed from the prompt A LOT but here’s a snippet of what I have so far!! 

this is also one of many fairy tale-esque stories i have in the works, oops

Annalise didn’t know the woman was a witch. Which… in some cases, wouldn’t make it better to have offended her. But in this case, she was rather sure she could be forgiven.

Witches were so touchy, you see. Offended by the smallest slight. From being offered a pink rose rather than a yellow one to being seated by a fairy at dinner.

Though that last one did have political connotations, at the very least. Bit like sitting two nobles locked in a blood feud next to each other. Poor cousin Marjorie. A hundred year old oak table, gone. In an instant. To say nothing of the—quite excellent—meal. Oh, and those lovely dishes. Quite the tragedy, insofar as material possessions went. No one was hurt physically, at the very least, as the fight was broken up by an excellent diplomat. The two were even close friends now, imagine that.

Anyway.

You never could tell what would set them off. And Annalise had been having a bad day that day, so it wasn’t as if she was paying attention.

And. Well. Alright. So maybe she did a little more than just “offend” the witch. But she really didn’t mean to knock the bucket over! Especially not on the day the servants were replacing the wards on the castle walls. Especially, especially not on a magic-born witch.

That was just… Well, that was just plain old bad luck.

But the witch didn’t see it that way. It was always a personal insult with that bunch, and when faced with such an insult, they were generally act-first, ask-questions-later.

So when the witch screwed her face up and pointed one talon-tipped finger in Annalise’s face, she was fully prepared to be turned into a frog. Or something. Instead she just felt tingly all over. And not in a good way. A, bugs-are-crawling-all-over-my-skin way. Very unpleasant.

Imperiously, the witch spoke.

“For this attempt upon my life I decree That no man shall ever wish to wed thee For your sins, you shall pay until your last breathing day.”

Suddenly, it was all Annalise could do not to grin.

Kali had been told since the day she cast her first spell that her temper would get her in trouble one day. She’d always brushed these warnings off, despite her mothers’ best intentions. Until one summer’s day, when she was visiting the palace in [kingdom] and Princess Annalise, only child of the king and queen, knocked a bucket of water in her path.

Water mixed with soap, lemon juice, and powdered golem’s teeth. Not an easy thing to come by, these days—making golems was an art falling to the wayside, since they were immune to magic once created. Or—well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. It was more like they took these spells and then added them to their own power source, like a constant source of recharging. At any rate, they could be a drain to keep up with, constantly needing to be fed, and what with most witches and wizards working with the general populace—and each other—these days… Well, it was just a pain. Not to mention the effort that went into building them in the first place.

Much easier to use a temporary animation spell—perhaps combined with an enlargement charm.

At any rate, golem teeth made an excellent tool for dispelling magic. Excellent for wiping away old wards to be replaced with new ones. Not so excellent when you were magic-born. As in. Literally made of magic. Created by her mothers, in an act of their love for each other. (And what love it was, considering they had been together for the better part of 200 years now.) A dispelling charm would just cause her to need reforming, but a dispelling liquid? Now that could kill her.

So of course, she freaked out.

Her mothers would say that was no excuse to go around cursing people, especially not before you double checked their intent.

But, what was done was done. Curses could be broken. It was done all the time! Generally by true love’s kiss, but, in this case, her mothers would probably make her do it. If they found out.

…When they found out.

Nosy old crones.

To say Annalise’s parents weren’t pleased was an understatement. Especially considering they had just finished brokering a deal for Annalise to be married off to some wealthy youngest prince of some neighboring nation. Annalise hadn’t been impressed from the get go, honestly. Prince Theodore sounded like a lovely man on all accounts, don’t get her wrong, but honestly… Annalise simply had no interest in him. Or anyone like him. By which she meant men. In general.

They made excellent friends. Annalise slipped out of the castle pretty regularly to go drinking with a few of them. (Specifically a knight-in-training; an apprentice smith; and a silver-tongued bard. Wasn’t that just the cast of a good adventure story?) Romantically, however, Annalise simply had no use for them. And she had never quite understood why there always had to be a king and a queen… or why each had their own separate duties. Why not divide them up as they were suited for them—and not by some archaic definition of suited either. Suited as to the individual.

Annalise had always believed her mother was more fit to lead an army than her father. And her father—oh, he was much better at planning seating arrangements than her mother could ever hope to be. Yet, tradition dictated that her mother be the one to arrange parties while her father barked orders at tin soldiers. It was sad, really.

But Annalise’s ideas were too “wild” to be entertained. (“Centuries of tradition cannot be wrong, Annalise.”  Her parent’s favorite reply. Annalise had once bitten her tongue to bleeding to keep from reminding them that, centuries of tradition had been broken by a princess before, and had resulted in a lovely peace between humans and magical creatures. Which had advanced medicine and technology to heights that would have been unthinkable a decade ago.)

“If I didn’t know better, I would swear you had done it on purpose,” her father said, face flushed with irritation. His beard twitched as he scowled. “After all that work. Do you realize how difficult it was to find you a husband, Annalise? Especially after that… that scandal!” Her father narrowed his eyes at her, bushy brows coming together.

He was, of course, referring to the time when visiting monarchs had caught her wearing men’s practice clothes in the yard and dueling with her knight-in-training friend. To be fair, it was the yard furthest from the castle, and the one hardly ever toured. The odds that they would be found were extremely low. But found they had been.

Her father had been furious. Annalise had been under guard for weeks before he finally deemed her contrite enough.

Thank goodness for her acting lessons.

Or, rather, her lessons-in-how-to-be-polite-when-you’d-really-rather-not.

Or, rather, etiquette.

(Now they held their practice sessions in the woods, and got their blades from the apprentice smith.)

Her mother cleared her throat, face placid as usual. “Your father raises a good point, darling.” Oh, no. Her mother breaking out the pet names was never a good sign. “You didn’t do this on purpose… did you?”

Annalise had to curl her fists to keep from scowling. “Of course not! Prince Theodore is a lovely fellow. It would be an honor to marry him.”

Her mother raised an eyebrow. “Dear, I think your father and I both know you better than that. You’ve been sullen ever since the marriage was first set upon the table. And don’t think we haven’t noticed how much cheerful you’ve been since that curse.”

Annalise’s mouth twisted. “Mother, I swear, I didn’t do it on purpose. I don’t even know any witches. Except for the castle apothecary, but, she’s from the order of alchemists. They don’t do curses. And she’s far too proper to ever have a hand in something like this!”

Her mother scrutinized her for a moment more, before humming to herself. “Yes, I suppose if you had truly sought to get out of the marriage, you would have simply run away.”

Annalise thought about the plans she had made with her friends—plans she had called off, not long after the curse was cast. And the bag she had yet to unpack, beneath her bed. “Ah. Yes. That… would have been more my style.”

Her mother let out a long, drawn out sigh.

Her father simply stared at her. “Annalise.”

“What?”

He pinched his nose. “Running away is not acceptable behavior for a princess. Particularly not for the sole heir of the throne.”

“I haven’t run away!”

Her mother put a hand on her father’s arm. “Know which battles you should leave alone, love.” She cut her gaze to Annalise. “This is going to make your ascension that much more complicated. You only have a few years before you’ll be expected to take over. The kingdom cannot be without a king.”

“Then why not just make it a title?” Annalise asked.

“It is a title,” her father said wearily.

“No, that’s not what I meant! I meant a title that… well. Anyone could wear. Regardless of their sex. As the true-blooded heir, I could be king, and whoever I married could be queen. If I can’t marry a man, then, well. There are plenty of suitable princesses, right?”

Her parents exchanged a glance.

��My dear, centuries of tradition are in place for a reason,” her father said.

Annalise crossed her arms. “I bet that’s what Queen Irzabel’s parents told her, when she wanted to establish a treaty with the magic folk. Peace wasn’t easy to find between us, that’s undeniable, but think about how much better things are than they were a decade ago. Plagues don’t wipe out kingdoms, or even whole villages anymore! Communication between kingdoms is near instantaneous. And if a magic-user goes rogue, we have wards to paint on the walls and shield spells that can be activated. And that’s just the start. More and more things are being implemented daily.

“Now imagine what could happen if we started something new. A woman becomes king. Suddenly, she’s eligible to marry princesses. How many times have kingdoms had to be absorbed into others, losing whole bloodlines and family names because monarchs could only conceive girls? A man becomes a queen—and suddenly middle sons have another fate then being sent off to be knights or settling down with noble girls of lower bloodline.

“Not every tradition needs to be abolished, but… Sometimes change is good.”

Her parents exchanged a look, and while her father looked incredulous, her mother looked contemplative.

Annalise bit back a squeal of glee.

Her father might have been called an immovable stone by their people, but they had never seen him bend beneath her mother’s gaze. Annalise had. Her mother could topple mountains with a look alone, and her father was helpless to it. All these months of biting her tongue had been worth it.

Pick your battles indeed.

“Kali.” Ma’s tone was honed with a finely sharpened edge, and Kali had seen her draw blood with it before anyone even realized that it was poised to strike. As such, Kali was always wary when it was turned on her. “Do you know what I was treated with this morning?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “A very, very irate couple claiming that you had cursed their daughter! What have we said about throwing around curses?”

Kali winced. “Ma, I swear I had a good reason. It was ward-cleansing day. She almost splashed me!”

Ma’s stern edges wavered for a moment. “I’m sure that was terrifying. But, you should have made sure it was an honest attempt on your life before you throw around curses. Particularly ones that affect an entire kingdom.”

Kali’s wince deepened. “I’ll dispel it, I promise. I need to finish a new batch of protection amulets for the store tonight, and then tomorrow, I promised Petra I would head over to hers first thing in the morning to perform a purification ritual. I’ll head back to the castle tomorrow afternoon. The next morning, at the latest. Surely they can wait a day.”

Ma pursed her lips. “Let me guess. Petra’s precious plant absorbed another curse, didn’t it?”

Kali sighed. “Yes. This one was meant to make all of her teeth rot, I think. Or maybe her fingers were supposed to shrivel? Whatever it is, the poor thing is losing vines left and right.”

Ma shook her head. “Mum will take care of it. She can probably set up a renewal charm, to keep the poor thing from almost dying to every minor curse someone casts. And perhaps figure out the source of them. Finish the protection amulets tonight, and then first thing tomorrow morning, you make reparations with the king and queen. Your mother and I are not moving again, do you hear me? We finally have a nice place set up, thanks to that treaty. Don’t go infuriating the monarchy. Bad enough your mother makes a habit of pissing off dragons.”

“Ah. Did she…”

“Steal another trinket from a wyrm? Yes. This one barely has any magical value.” Ma scoffed. “An enchanted coin that glows in the dark. A child’s first enchantment. There was no value in it!”

“That’s where you’re wrong, my dear!” The chimney exploded with light, and Mum ducked out of the fireplace with a beaming grin, soot staining her face. She pulled a vial of flickering flame from her belt. “Dragon’s breath! Not the plant, mind, but the literal thing!” She cackled in glee. “The coin itself was worthless, I’ll admit that—I threw it back on the hoard, by the way, the one I pulled out was just for story purposes. But this. Now this is priceless!” She tucked it back into her belt.

“Couldn’t you have just asked them to breathe flames.”

“Not if I’m translating this spell right,” Mum said airily. “Now, what’s got you all bothered? Other than my usual shenanigans.”

Ma huffed. “Kali cursed the princess. Her parents are more than a bit upset.”

“I’m going to undo it!”

Mum snorted. “The king and queen are a reasonable bunch. More’n you can say about these pesky hoarders. Long as Kali undoes what she started, we’re all in the clear.” She eyed Kali. “What did you curse her with, anyway?”

“Ah. I… might have made it so that she’ll never find a husband. Or a man to fall in love with her, romantically, at all?” Kali winced.

Mum, however, started laughing. Uproariously.

“There’s nothing funny about this!” Ma scowled harder. “That is the kingdom’s future she’s playing with.”

Mum grinned. “Haha, dear. Haven’t you heard? Little Annalise is… haha… gay as they come!”

Ma blinked. “What.”

Mum wiped at her eyes. “Oh, boy. I needed that.” She wiped soot off her cheeks. “It’s all very hush-hush, mind. But sweet little Annalise was caught kissing a baker’s daughter, ‘bout a year back. This was right before she was caught swordfighting on castle grounds. The girl was shipped off to a good culinary school, and Annalise was reminded of her duties as heir to the kingdom, but. Ah. I doubt she was too unhappy about your curse, Kali.” Mum considered a moment. “Her parents, on the other hand, did just finish brokering a marriage for her. Jokes on them, though, cause Theo’s as gay as their daughter is, and I’m pretty sure he’s involved with that knight of his. Being the youngest prince, I wouldn’t be surprised if he just ran off and eloped, to tell you the truth. Your curse will probably give him the nudge, so. Excellent matchmaking, I suppose.”

Ma groaned. “Don’t encourage her!”

“I’m only pointing out the positive happenstance of a bad decision,” Mum retorted, because she had never been one to fear Ma’s wrath. Or much of anything at all, really. Kali thought she’d had too many run ins with dragons. Now everything else seemed mundane in comparison. “Kali, you can’t go around cursing people willy-nilly. That’s how our kind ended up with such a bad reputation to begin with. Time’s done a lot to change that, but I’d rather not regress any, yes?” Mum paused. “Besides, that’s just bad magic casting.”

Kali recoiled. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, daughter-of-mine. What’s the number one rule we have for casting spells? Particularly long-lasting ones.”

Kali frowned. “Do your research.”

“Exactly. Research your spell, especially if it’s one you’re just cobbling together, as most curses tend to be. Research your target. Make sure that the spell is suited for their life—and in this case, it most definitely was not. Or was, in some ways, I suppose. Make sure there isn’t a way you could cast it better, stronger. If you’re going to use magic for it, at least make sure it’s worth it.” Mum flicked her fingers. “Otherwise it’s just a waste of time and mana. And you know how I hate wasting mana. You’re a witch of no little talent, my dear. Don’t squander it because you have a bit of a temper and some power.”

Kali sighed. “Yes, mum. I really am going to undo it, though.”

Mum was the one to hum in thought this time. “Don’t give it any rush. Word on the street is, pretty little Annalise has some lovely ideas for reformation that I would love to see come into play. Would be good for the nation, I think. By all means, go and make your best attempt, but, don’t rush it. Take your time. Make up excuses for why you’re doing so.”

Ma sighed. “This is why we never get invited to the coven meet ups,” she said flatly. “You always want to get involved.”

“What’s the point of having ears if you don’t listen?” Mum wondered. One of her favorite phrases. “I hear things. I put them to use. Longevity has little point if all you do is watch the seasons pass. Are we supposed to stop doing things once we turn fifty? Eighty? I think not! A bit of encouragement here and there is good for the world… so long as you know which things to encourage. Or, rather, which battles to pick.” Mum winked.

Ma rolled her eyes. “And the issue of the matter is, that both of you pick far too many.” She looked at Mum. “Stop picking fights with dragons. You’re going to piss one off enough to attack, and we’re going to be blamed. Ten years is not enough time to get rid of prejudice.” She looked at Kali. “And you stop casting curses every time someone looks at you funny! Turning people’s tongues blue is funny the first time. It’s not funny the second, or any time after that. Nor is it funny to mess with the fate of an entire kingdom. Restraint. Both of you.” She whirled away, presumably to go tend the herb garden, as she always did when she was miffed.

Mum cocked her head to the side.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t your ma once piss off a king by insinuating he was little more than a giant baby unfit for his throne?”

“Yeah. That was ma.”

“I thought so.”

#writeblr #writelr #writers of tumblr #creative writing #amwriting #amwritingfantasy #short stories #short fiction #fantasy fiction #fantasy #original fiction #original writing #original stories #original works #my writing #the curse that failed #original fairy tales

[veryrealimagination]

Whumptober Day 4

Day No: 4

Prompt: “Do you trust me?” | Taken Hostage | Pushed

Fandom/OC: Superman & Lois (2021)

Medium: Fic

Trigger Warnings:

SFW/NSFW

Additional Tags: Smallville (2001) Enemy Appearance, Some of original Multiverse still exists after Crisis,

He doesn’t know how he fell into this Smallville. He only knows that it’s not his Smallville. Lana Lang isn’t married to Lex Luthor. Never had been. He never even lived in the town. Neither, none of the Luthors did. (Another Luthor sister, although this one wasn’t Tess Mercer. She actually carried the name Luthor.) He didn’t know anyone named Kyle Cushing. The Talon doesn’t exist. The name Chloe Sullivan gets him a lot of strange looks. There’s never been a Chloe Sullivan here? She was Lois Lane’s cousin. That name got attention, as the woman now lives in Martha’s old house with her twins and her husband, Clark.

Clark Kent.

He exists here, whatever universe he apparently ended up. There was a Clark Kent here. And there was a Superman. He remembered those powers. He remembered feeling great, powerful and stronger than everyone else around him. The fear of his parents, but the satisfaction of being better, finally. He could get them back. This Smallville still had Kryptonite. He saw it wandering through the woods trying to find evidence of people. There was already a good sized crystal in his pockets. Another surge of electricity with a Clark Kent that didn’t know what it could do with him holding the other side.

But, would that work? This Clark was older, married to Pulitzer Prize winner Lois Lane. She would figure out what happened after a minute of listening to the story. Her father was DOD, the military had recently been here. Would he be able to get away with the switch?

It was hard finding a hiding spot, but the man managed it. The trees were further away than he liked, but the stuff he stole off of someone that didn’t lock their house. God, people were really idiots in small towns. He remembered people doing that as well back in Smallville. His Smallville. The Kents were always like that, although they had a superpowered kid to protect them.

The first one out was some teen. Did Clark have a kid? The kid had some of his traits. Tall, easy-going. He had lighter colored hair and he knew Kent and Lane were dark brunettes. Maybe she cheated. It was a dark thought, but one that brought a chuckle. He doubted Lois Lane, cousin of Chloe Sullivan, would ever cheat. Chloe Sullivan-Queen was a bitter thought that popped in. Chloe had been a natural blonde. Maybe it was from her side. It was the second one that really looked like Clark, although he didn’t look to really act like him. He had two?

It was a shame that he couldn’t hear like Clark at the moment. And the people that he stole the binoculars, the money, and a few other things from didn’t have a listening device. Instead, he could only watch as the two threw a football around. He was an only child, and no one stayed friends with him after they experienced his parents a couple of times. The easy way they treated each other, laughter as one fumbled a bit, fake fighting, grew and gnawed as his already depleted state of mind. Clark Kent had to have it all. A loving set of parents, some of the hottest girls hanging off of him. Friends that would die to keep his secret and protect his life.

Why couldn’t he have that? He got stuck with the father that berated him for not being good enough. A mother that didn’t fight for him. People that shoved him around when he tried to help. Okay, he was really only helping Holly because she was cute, but even just getting a smile from a cute girl was something that he never really got. When he got powers, it was the best for a short while. People wanted to be near him. To know him. If he got those powers back, he could have that again.

His eyes had glazed over with the trip into his inner consciousness, but it came back when he saw the boys had switched games. The truck that had to be older than he was, and that was saying something because he was just as old as Clark, his Clark was. The lighter haired one was egging on his brother.

The man gasped as he saw mini Clark lift the truck from the side and hold it for a good sixty seconds before placing it down. “He inherited them,” he muttered, before realizing he had talked aloud near two possible superhearing people. Seeing that the boys hadn’t noticed him, he watched for their father to come out instead.

Lois came out instead.

It was horrifically weird seeing this woman. There was a freak in the asylum that managed to woo over a Luthor guard and would find out everything from the outside. She managed to get pictures in. That’s when he first saw Chloe’s cousin. It seared in his mind, along with Chloe, Pete, Martha, and other superheroes that helped the man out. People that Clark got to have. She wasn’t a clone of that one, but she was similar enough. As if someone played with pictures and applied filters to her face to get a new one. Creepy.

She must have been chastising the boys, both looking sheepish. It wasn’t too terrible though, because she just shook her head and started laughing. He could hear scant amounts of it. It must be nice to have that. The three of them went into the house after that, and he took the opportunity to escape before their version of Clark showed up.

-

Jonathan had gone out for a quick run around town. It was more to keep himself in shape than to train for anything. He wasn’t sure if he was going to do football again in the fall. He wanted to, it was his favorite sport to really play. Jordan wanted to as well, even though his first season was bumpy. The coach liked them well enough, the guys were still okay with them even after leaving roughly. A few seniors were obviously leaving and that would give them some places that they could fill.

There was, however, always the family stuff. Jordan still spontaneously spouted powers that sometimes took him out of school for a few days. His strength control was better, much to Jordan’s comfort. Jonathan was wary of his own possibility that he might develop something. Jordan’s happened because he was in danger. He hasn’t developed any yet. But it was always a yet.

His running took him around the three stages of school, elementary, middle, then the high, before he decided to start going through the old industrial park as well. The broken cement reminded him of some of the parking lots, roads, and running trails that he ran around Metropolis. He had to be more cautious, and he considered it a bit of field training as well. Some of the schools they used to go to had lumpy fields that the schools probably tried fixing and couldn’t manage like bigger schools could.

He didn’t wear earbuds now, so the scrapping of metal stopped him in his tracks. The industrial park was mostly abandoned, as companies started leaving when the economy turned bad. There were two that still had operations there. A Queen plant, and a Luthor. He was near neither of those.

Curious, he moved over, seeing a broken door barely covered by plywood. He thought about calling Jordan, knowing he would be by in a couple of seconds. He should call Jordan, or better yet, walk away. Mom’s voice was in his head insisting that. Instead, he pulled it back and headed inside. Looking around, he saw a sign for Mercer & Company. He hadn’t heard of them. Maybe he would have to ask his Dad after this. The floor of the building had deep holes. Above those were old cauldrons for smelting metals. Most of them were barricaded, but a few of the metal poles had rusted and given out. “Maybe I just heard one of those breaking,” he muttered, to himself. “Creepy old factory. Bad idea, Jonathan.”

“I don’t know, I thought it was a pretty good one,” someone said, startling him. Before he turned around, someone had an arm around his neck. He struggled, hoping that a cliched appearance of super strength came out so he could toss whatever creep decided to lure him into an abandoned factory. Jordan was going to hold this over him. Going into an abandoned area to investigate some sound. Mom was going to ground him when this came out. “You know, I am so glad you haven’t gotten your father’s powers.”

That shocked him to stop struggling, which made it easier for this strange guy to drag him over old metal stairs. “Powers? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tried, a strained smile settling on his face to try and pass for easy-going, “My Dad’s just a farm guy. Mom’s got the real superpowers. She can manage me and my brother at the same time. We’re kinda a handful.”

The guy actually chuckled a bit as Jonathan started struggling again as they got higher. “Oh, yeah, Clark’s a real farmer. Good old Jonathan Kent taught him. Your grandfather, right?” he said, “Everyone always wondered how the old man got things done so fast. As it turns out, having a superpowered kid dropped into your lap helps.”

Again, shocked. How did this guy know so much about his family? They were steadily getting to a catwalk that went over the entire floor. Bits were broken, and it squeaked, but held as he was let go for a moment. However, the guy brought out a gun, and pointed it at him. He held up his hands automatically. That’s what he was supposed to do. His Mom usually did that until she brought out a taser, or the ELT to get Dad to respond. He had the ELT. In his pocket. In his jeans. At home. He forgot his ELT. Did he have his phone? Yes, he did, it was on his bicep in the holder. “Okay, so, how did you meet my Dad?” he asked, half interested, half terrified.

“I didn’t,” he said, “Keep moving forward.”

Jonathan was now confused. He knew about Dad, knew about his powers. Knew about his grandparents adopting him. Maybe knew about the alien part? He had to stop thinking as the catwalk threatened to give out from underneath him. He kept going after hitting a safe area. “For someone that’s never met my Dad, you sure know a lot about him.” He scanned ahead of him and saw a pair of suspiciously white zip cuffs ahead of him.

“I said I never met your Dad. I know my Clark Kent, though. And his family.” That actually made a lot of sense. The guy’s from a different universe? Jonathan turned around when he got to the zip cuffs. The guy actually smirked. “Sit down, put those around your ankles.” Nervous, he tried to gently sit down and got his feet through the loops. “Now tighten them.” Jonathan stared at the guy before he carefully closed the loops to where he could barely move around.

“Alternate universe? Cool,” he said, his voice only slightly cracking. His parents were always careful, and they weren’t really in any danger from their stories. It was only after coming back to Smallville with Jordan’s powers and Edge’s plans that they really started seeing some of the danger that their parents faced for years. A little crack in his voice was better than breaking down screaming for help. Why did he do that? His Dad could just fly in, grab this guy, then fly off again. He watched the guy pull out another zip cuff.

“Hands in front of you,” the man directed. Jonathan watched him zip his hands with one hand, keeping the gun pointed at his head.

“So, what, uh, what’s different about our universe?” he asked.

The guy glanced at him for a minute. “Anyone in your family named Chloe Sullivan?”

He had never heard of that name. “Nope.”

The guy nodded, getting confirming the answer. “In mine, she’s a cousin of your mother. Grew up in Smallville and went to school with Clark. They were best friends.”

Third shock of the day. Besides the hostage situation, which he felt he was handling very well. Very, very well. “Mom never mentions any cousins. She barely mentions our Aunt.” And his Dad doesn’t mention his cousin. They rarely talked to ‘Uncle’ Jimmy anymore. Their Dad really needed more people to talk with. So did they.

Maybe he wasn’t doing so well with the handling part with his mind and mouth running faster than making Eliza angry a year ago.

The guy put the gun away. Didn’t need it at the moment. “So, how should I contact your brother?” he asked, staring down at him.

Jonathan looked at him, the pit of his stomach developing ice blocks. “What do you want with Jordan?”

The guy shrugged. “His powers.”

That sounded crazy. “What?!” The man had a twitch in his hand, and he hoped that the gun wasn’t going to come back out. He didn’t want to get shot today. He also didn’t want to fall down any of those holes in the ground, but he had a bad feeling about those things.

“I can take his powers,” he stated. “Got everything here for it. Your brother gets to be human, and I get to be better.”

“There’s gotta be a catch,” he said.

“It hurts a bit. The best things do.” The guy was smiling. “How do I call your brother? Has his hearing picked up?” He noticed the band on his arm and held him in place to remove his phone. “Damn. Didn’t have this when I was a kid.”

“That’s been out for a year.”

“Yeah, the ‘smartphone’ stuff started happening after I was locked up in an asylum. Wasn’t even old enough to drive yet,” he mused. “I missed a lot.”

“You were institutionalized?” Good, Jonathan. Nice language that won’t hopefully piss the guy with a gun off.

He laughed. “Yeah. ‘Institutionalized.’” He knelt down to directly stare at him. “All meteor freaks were. Develop powers, then get shipped off to a hospital that kept you contained so you don’t harm other people. Experimented on to see if your powers were good for weaponizing. They couldn’t weaponize me, but they couldn’t let me out thanks to my many issues. Then, there’s the fact I know that Superman is Clark Kent.” He stood back up, holding off on so much that he could tell this kid.

“Hey!” Jonathan would never admit it was a squeak that came out when the man dragged him up. It didn’t completely pass his attention that they were set up near one of the deep holes. The furnace that sat above it was half-gone. The catwalk had a suspicious part of its railing right over that hole, and he was being forced to stand right in front of it. His toes were just over the catwalk. “You know, I think I should sit back down. I’m getting a bit of vertigo and kinda wobbly on my legs right now.”

“Don’t move too much and you’ll be fine,” he jokingly warned. Jonathan glared at him.

Staring down at the darkness below was a terrible idea. Too bad it was sort of enchanting in a black way. Fall over and disappear. So, he switched his head up. The sun was higher, lighting up the interior of the factory. He could see more rust on the metals, broken equipment and forgotten tools lying about. The hole beneath him, however, grew more shadowed, the darkness getting darker as the sun couldn’t get over the lip of the edge to get through. He was staring down at the hole again. It terrified him now, thinking about not knowing what he was going to land on if he was pushed over. He could hear himself getting worse.

Any anxiety that was about to boil over was shoved down when his phone started going off. The guy started messing with the phone until he managed to answer. “Hey Jon, Mom and Dad want to know when you’re going to be back,” Jordan said.

“Jordan, get Dad!”

“Jon, what’s going on?”

“Jonathan, named after your farmer grandfather. How adorable,” the guy said, “But, I’m the one on the phone, and not you.” A hand grabbed the collar of his shirt and held him out over the hole. He screamed, his knees locking to keep his legs straight so he wouldn’t collapse.

“Jon!”

“Still here!” he yelled. That hole was looking blacker than a power outage in a Metropolis subway. He didn’t want to fall in today.

“He’s fine, maybe.” His arm moved, dragging Jonathan’s body around to increase his fear.

“Oh my god! Please stop doing that.”

“What the hell are you doing to my brother?!”

“Oh, nothing much. Just holding him over a concrete hole about 50 feet above the ground.But, hey. You can get him back, almost mint condition. You just gotta meet us in Mercer and Company’s old factory. Don’t tell your parents where you’re going, though. We don’t want SuperDad to show up and have me drop Jonathan.” He ended the call after that and pulled back his arm. “You’re doing well, kid. Keep that up.”

Concentrating on his breathing, he vaguely noticed that the man was grabbing a severed power cord. The guy touched the exposed wiring and jolted when he felt it. He also smiled. “How are you taking Jordan’s powers?” he asked, his self control gathering a bit.

“It’s my freak power,” he said, pulling out a two inch solid piece of Kryptonite. “I was holding this and lightning hit Clark and I when he was trying to pull me back up the bridge. That’s how I got his powers. The times after that, we switched with electricity. It’s all I need now.”

Jordan had come in after hearing that. He wasn’t sure what the plan was, but they were trying to figure that out. First things first, he had to get the man’s attention. He entered the factory and looked up to see Jonathan on the catwalk. “Jon!”

He grinned. “Jordan!” He squawked when the guy grabbed him again.

“Up the stairs. I’ll hand him back.” Jon’s attempt at warning him were cut off when the hand tightened around his upper arm. “Start moving, kid.”

Jordan scanned for where the stairs were and moved up quickly. He just had to get Jon away from the guy. Dad actually had a whole plan for this type of stuff. He said that he and Aunt Kara had run through it a few times when someone had grabbed Mom for the same reason. To stop Superman from interfering in something. The stairs only looked weak as he moved up them quickly. It was the catwalk that he felt unsafe. The thing had more rust on it than he first saw. He moved slower to avoid breaking anything. He needed to be closer to Jon before the plan would kick in.

“That’s perfect, Jordan,” the guy said, releasing Jon’s arm. “All you have to do is give me a little handshake and you can walk out of here with your brother.” Jordan looked down at his hand and saw the tale tell sign of green Kryptonite along with a live wire nestled next to it.

“He wants your powers, Jordan. Don’t do it,” he said, wincing at the increase in pressure from the man’s hold.

“If you don’t do this, I will push your brother over and let you listen to his body breaking on the floor down there before getting those powers out of you anyways,” he threatened. Jordan looked over to Jon. Trust me? He nodded. The man seemed to know what was happening,

and pushed Jonathan over the edge.

The scream he let out was innate, terrified as he twisted in open air with his body trying to figure out what to do next. Jordan jumped after him, the guy just missing him by two inches. His focus was just on getting to Jon. Five seconds too long, he was holding onto his brother, righting himself before he switched. The air around them slowed down, until he finally was able to stop and hover. “Jordan?” his brother asked, still slightly breathless.

Staring up, he was waiting for the signal to come back. “Yeah?”

“Are you holding me bridal style?” he asked. Jon felt him nod. “Great, because I already had an embarrassing moment entering into an old factory to investigate a sound. Now I’m being held like Mom by my brother. Great.”

He snickered, “Would you rather it be Dad?”

It took a couple of seconds for him to think about that. “Only if it’s not my fault.” After a minute, he felt the two of them slowly fly up out of the hole. The first thing he searched for was his Dad, who wasn’t wearing his suit. Steel was there in his suit. The man was on his knees, apparently handcuffed. “You know, he was a little scarier like five minutes ago.”

“I can imagine,” Clark said, coming over when Jordan landed just outside of the hole. He carefully broke the zip cuffs until the pieces landed on the floor. “So, are you good, or do you want to be carried home like your Mom?”

Jonathan took the opportunity to swing an arm around Jordan’s shoulders, completely ignoring the fact that Dad heard that. “You know, I could go for being carried home by my dear, wonderful,” he said, before Jordan forcibly dropped him onto the ground. “Rude twin brother.” He got a little help standing back up.

His Dad had his phone. “Where’s your ELT?”

“In my jeans. At home,” he admitted.

He sighed, pulling his child close to wrap an arm around his shoulders, “Jonathan.” Jordan started snickering again. He lightly bopped the other on the shoulder. “Let’s get going before the Military shows up.”

#whumptober2021 #no.4 #do you trust me #taken hostage #pushed #superman and lois #fic #it's eric summers #other Smallville meteor affected are around #because that would actually make since with the combining of the earths #167 Clark and Lois and some of theirs would end up on 1 #i also thought of evil Shawn Ashmore #because #also #no powered Jon #my writing

[cleverfoxhound-writes]

Six Steps to Death - A late Halloween Special

Based off of @auideas prompt here and also a recently played game called “The Path” which is a really good simple kinda psychological horror type game?

Kallista Kaines x Monster?Gabriel Reyes

There were six steps on your way to death’s arms once you left the safety of the path, they said to stay on the path, don’t venture off on your own, that was an unwritten law of the forest, the demon-infested forest that engulfed the small island of Gibraltar, and where Kallista found herself.

Abandoned in the middle of the dark, misty forest teaming with the unknown and secrets of many centuries passed. Kallista wasn’t a stranger to the forest, she knew about it and passed through it daily on her personal errands. Only this time she wasn’t on the safety of the path, she didn’t have the light posts to guide her if she had to do late errands.

No. She was in the thick of it.

Kallista silently cursed to herself as she sat up holding her head in pain. She must have been rushed from behind and must have been dropped off here for a reason that eluded her. She pulled her wool cloak closer to her frame as she took a moment to survey her surroundings before moving. There was still light, the forest itself seemed to be awake as the crickets sang their song and the birds called out. At a first glance, the forest seemed normal, but everyone knew that there was something living in the shadows.

Paired with the thought of something living and preying on the people that strayed from the path, it was still a forest. As a child, she had gotten lost in the deep lush green forests of England to many times to count and hopefully, this would be similar. After getting lost numerous times she learned to take note of the small things, used the stars to guide her, she used what she had learned to her advantage.

Kallista stood as quietly as she could, and scanned her body to make sure she didn’t sustain any additional injuries from what had attacked her. Her clothing was intact, her pouch around her waist was there as well, she was ok for the most part but the slight pain in the back of her head. After a moment, Kallista decided to not to spend a moment longer and began to make her way into spending a moment longer on checking herself she began to make her way into the into the unknown of the forest.

As Kallista moved through the forest she occasionally glanced up at the sky but found it blocked by the large limbs of the trees that seemed to purposely block the sky from view. The dark green foliage did nothing but to cover every possible crack of the sky that could slip through. She couldn’t use the stars to guide herself and she knew as she continued to traverse the forest her chances of finding the path was becoming slim.

She’s here…

Wait…she doesn’t

We have to tell him!

She’s here….she’s here

Kallista stopped in her tracks and quickly circled around as she looked for the source of the voices and found none. Kallista took one more look around before and gripped her cloak tighter to her body as she continued in the forest, her step much quicker than before.

The first step was the whispers, it was always the worst. Soft, loud, raspy whispers, they were constant some were coherent others weren’t, whispers of what was to come, whispers of how delicious you would taste.

It was the first sign of death approaching.

She had heard all of the stories about the Gibraltar forest and the creature that created the legend. She didn’t know about the tales of people being split apart, limbs being ripped off by creatures of the darkness and of course people being devoured while alive, but she also knew thinking about the stories that weren't going to help her current situation. She needed to keep her mind clear and focused on escaping the forest before death found her.

Sacrifice…

Girl…

It’s time...

She continued on ignoring the whispers that seemed to circle her, they followed her as she moved, turned in different directions, they were attached to her. In an attempt to make sure she didn’t cross the same path twice she marked trees, she needed to make sure she was using her surroundings to the best of her abilities.

Kallista continued on for what seemed like forever, her legs were heavy, her throat dry, she was losing strength. The pain in the back of her head did nothing but drain her more, if she were to stop there was no clear sign of her making her way back to the path.

But she did stop.

Kallista stopped suddenly, her legs shook as she stared at the gigantic dark figure with an ivory owl-like mask that stood a few feet from her. The gigantic figure’ s form was like the void itself. The blackest black,  obsidian,  nothing. The figure itself emitted no light, it only seemed to devour the light, the life from the foliage around it.

The forest that was once alive was eerily silent as the figure studied her.

Kallista’s mouth opened slightly as she stood frozen with fear, the gigantic humanoid like figure seemed to shudder before exploding into smoke and left Kallista alone.

“Fuck…” Kallista said as she looked over her shoulder expecting the figure to be behind her but there was nothing. The forest was still eerily silent as if all life stopped. Kallista’s head quickly turned to her side as she saw something move from the corner of her eye.

Again she turned to the side and nothing.

The second step was the shadows. The shadows played games with you as if they were being controlled to disorientate you. You were now their target, their prey.

It was the second sign of death approaching.

Kallista shook her head in an attempt to focus, ignoring the pain in the back of her head. She had to continue moving, she knew that time was running out along with what little sunlight penetrated the thick foliage.

She didn’t want to admit that the creature of the forest was wearing on her nerves, she didn’t want to admit that the quickening of her heartbeat, the thought of being devoured was creeping ever closer. 

She’s scared…

Fear...is delicious…

Feed…

She didn’t want to think about dying.

“No. I have time,” Kallista said to herself as she began again, moving faster through the forest and towards the little light that seemed to come from the back of the forest. Nervously she bit down on her lip to keep herself focused and to not scream and cry out. She knew that no one would come looking for her. Paranoia was slowly making its way from the chilling creeping feeling from her spine and wrapped its claws around her mind. She looked over her shoulder after every step she took, her heart hammered in her chest, her legs burned and seemed as if they were going to give out at any minute.

Time was against her.

Faster. You have to move faster, you have to find the path, her mind screamed at her. The path was her saving grace if she were to make it back to the path she would be safe.

No.

The stench of decayed, rotten flesh assaulted her senses her hand went to her mouth in an attempt to quell nausea the aroma caused. Without warning, her legs gave out, and collapsed to her knees, choking, gagging as the aroma overwhelmed her. The aroma surrounded her forcing her to vomit the contents of her stomach. Her throat burned, her chest heaved, tears threatened to fall as fear started to sink in.

“No!” Kallista screamed as she clenched her fists. She attempted to calm herself despite the disgusting scent that lingered in the air.

It was too soon.

All of this.

The third step was the awful stench of the decaying and rotten flesh. The flesh of those who had been captured and devoured. It was meant to slow you down, a solemn reminder that you too were going to succumb to the forest and the creature within it.  Mind, body, and soul all devoured, bones discarded, no trace of who you once were.

The third sign of death approaching.

Kallista grimaced as she stood, her crystal blue eyes locking onto the crimson ones that stared back at her from the shadows. She knew it was the creature, she knew that the creature was waiting to strike.

Everything was leading to that one point.

The fourth step was the gaze, it froze you in place. To let you know that it has locked onto you. You were no longer the target of the darkness. You were its target.

The fourth sign of death approaching.

She was losing time and fast. Soon she would be caught with no way to escape, Kallista quickly stood and began running. She didn’t know where she was going, her sense of direction thrown off by the crimson orbs seared into her mind as she ran.

She couldn’t give up, she just couldn’t.

Kallista ran towards the dim light that remained in the forest, hoping that would be her guiding light through the hellish forest and the demon-like creature that stalked her from the shadows.

It couldn’t end like this, she hoped that this was some sick joke and that she would come face to face with one of her friends and that she would be safe and-

She collided with an unseen force and fell back ripping her cloak from her frame, she looked up at the tall and fairly bulky man that stood in front of her unfazed by the collision. The unknown man was dressed in darkest black clothing, the light around him seemed as if it was being drained, the foliage he stepped on was dead while the foliage a little bit away from him was full of life. Kallista quickly scanned the man and noticed that he held the same ivory owl-like mask in his taloned-hand. Only then did Kallista face the man directly, his eyes a were a vibrant crimson as he looked down at her, his features void of any emotion.

It was the thing that stalked from the shadows.

The fifth step was the creature showing itself to you, a signal of the end. A signal of its grasp around your mind, body and soul.  There was no escape. It was coming for you and there was no escape.

The fifth sign of death approaching.

“Run,”

Kallista looked at the man in shock as he continued to stare down at her, void of emotion. Kallista quickly stood and stepped back from the man.  The simple word sent a frightening shiver down her spine as she cautiously took another step back.

“Make me work for my promised meal,” the man said as ebony inky tendrils began to sprout from his back.

The final step was a game. It was all a game to the creature...and now it followed you, hunted you until you couldn’t continue until you couldn’t hide. You were in its sights and there was no escaping.

Death has come.

Kallista turned on her heel and darted back into the blackness of the forest. Her heart hammered in her chest, the sound of her blood rushing through her veins drowned out everything around her and soon gave way to ringing.

She had to run.

Her life depended on her flight instincts, the burning in her chest, the constant ringing in her ears was a clear sign that she had lost control of everything and it was spiraling towards her death of being devoured.

“Yes…” the man said as he took a calm step forward after Kallista. She had been marked as his prey and there was no way to sway him.

Kallista tumbled to the ground, cutting her forearm open as she fell. A painful yelp escaped her lips as she quickly stood, a sharp pain in her ankle as she placed weight on it, she cried out in agony.

The little lamb...injured…

Despite the pain, Kallista hobbled away from the man that calmly walked towards her, adrenaline-fueled the woman as she continued. Kallista bit down on her bottom lip to stifle her cries of pain, the blood gushed down her forearm as she hobbled towards what looked like a clearing.

Was it the path?

Her saving grace...only to be ripped away.

A biting chill invaded her mind and body as something cold, slimy wrapped itself around her waist and forcibly yanked back against an immovable, cold force, the man’s chest. Kallista struggled and screamed against the man’s grasp until he dropped her.

“N-No! P-Please!” Kallista cried out as she attempted to crawl away from the man. The man chuckled deeply from behind her as he watched her, amused by her attempt to escape.

“What’s wrong Kallista...you were so adamant about escaping...what happened to that headstrong woman I saw years ago?” the man chuckled. Kallista felt something grasp her ankle and pull her back towards the man.

“No-!” Kallista cried out.

“There’s no use in running from me...I have your scent...a taste for you...and only you. You were promised to me,” the man replied.

“P-please no! I don’t know--” Kallista pleaded

The man snarled, canines bared, his face contorted in anger, as he looked down at the frightened woman.

“No...I will not have this,” the man said as his large taloned tipped hand wrapped itself around her neck.

Kallista’s hands went to his hand in an attempt to stop him knowing that it was futile, the cold bite of his hand around her neck tightening, constricting her breaths. Kallista’s vision began to fade slowly as she looked at the man strangling the life from her.

The stoic look, the deep crimson eyes that bore into her soul and watched her strength slip away, her breaths and life fading.  One by one the inky tendrils attached themselves to Kallista’s limbs coating her in the black inky substance of the man itself.  

“It is better this way…” the man said as he held firm with his grasp.

“I used to be human once...like you...we’ve met several times as well I thought seeing me might make things a little bit easier…” the man started.

“Ple..ase...N--no...Gabriel...” Kallista choked out. “Shhh...don’t worry...I will gladly welcome you in death...Kallista…”

#Kallista Kaines x Gabriel Reyes #Monster!Gabriel Reyes #Kallista Kaines #Halloween #reeeeeal minimum spoop #idk what I was doing when I wrote this #one-shot #fanfic #fanfiction #Writer #AUideas #its kinda a mess but I tried #lol #Thanks for reading <3

[hexusproductions]

Metropolis

Title: Metropolis Summary: Margaret Pye’s infamous Superman incident Author’s Note: I’ve talked about it for a while, now here it is. Enjoy.

The sun shone bright over Gotham’s sister city, warm and cloudless weather that Gotham never had the chance to experience. A young girl, dark hair tied in pigtails, looked around at the world around her in wonder, tightly clutching the slender hand of the older woman walking next to her. The older woman had dark hair just like hers, and the same misleadingly warm green eyes, and every so often those eyes would dart to a bag or stray piece of jewellery that glinted in the light.

“Stay close.” The woman tugged the child forward, and she quickened her pace to keep up with her mother. She didn’t understand why her mummy was in such a hurry to get to the grocery store.

A couple walking in the opposite direction smiled and cooed to the young girl as they passed, and when they moved on she looked back to her mother, who now had a glittering gold bangle in her hand.

“Good job, Glimmer. Shiny, shiny…” She praised her daughter, then cooed to the bangle before slipping it into the pocket of her jeans. The young girl, Glimmer, smiled as well, for it was the only thing she knew to do.

As she had noticed, it was a wonderful day, so a large gust of wind that nearly swept everyone off their feet did not go unnoticed. Glimmer laughed gleefully, holding down the end of her floral printed dress, but the adults around her were less pleased and voiced their confusion. Those confused words turned into panicked shouts as dust rained down above their heads, and a familiar blue and read streak slammed something else into a building.

Someone cheered, and the mother who hadn’t been identified as Margaret Pye since she had come to this city, tensed. Glimmer blinked at her mother curiously before watching with the rest of the crowd as Superman battled whatever dastardly villain he was facing today. The hero, beloved, was cheered on by the spectators standing on the sidewalks and on the streets.

Margaret personally wondered what all the fuss was about. She preferred someone much more dark and brooding, like Batman and that lovely utility belt of his.

“Glimmer, come on, we’re going.” Margaret yanked her daughter forward again, darting quickly between the crowd and down the street. Glimmer stumbled and tripped along behind her, tried to shout, tried to call out that she couldn’t keep up, that she needed to slow down, but the girl’s pleas were droned out by the happy cheers. Then suddenly, her hand slipped from her mother’s hold.

Glimmer stumbled again and fell, and tears filled her eyes as she searched for her mother. Margaret kept on running, and soon she was completely out of sight. The tears fell now, large droplets running down her cheeks, and Glimmer tried to wipe her eyes as she called out again.

“Mom? Mommy!”

There was an earth-shaking thud as Superman dumped an unconscious and apparently not so foolproof battle-suit clad Lex Luthor on the ground.

“Mommy!”

Glimmer still tried to shout, and as the cheers piqued and began to ebb, someone in the crowd turned to her.

“Are you lost, sweetheart?” The voice, soft and soothing, made Glimmer look up and nod, dirt trapped in the twines of her pigtails. She listened as the voice continued to try and calm her, assuring her that everything would be all right, that they would find her mom, that she had probably run off because she had been frightened by the bad man. Glimmer took the offered hand and let herself be led down the street. The grip was so warm and careful that it felt like it was too loose and going to slip any second, and she held on extra tight. Glimmer wiped the rest of her tears and tried to smile, sure that they would find her mummy and everything would be all right again. Everything was beginning to feel fine again.

And then they reached the pigeons.

A small group of them, picking at the remains of a dropped fast food order. The young girl notice them immediately, and her eyes widened in fear and her walking slowed to a shuffle.

“Come on, dear.” The voice was sweet, but then became sour with distaste as it noticed the birds as well, “Disgusting little things.” A foot kicked out, sending the pigeons flying in panic, and Glimmer screamed. She pulled her arm free and ran in the other direction, flailing wildly if any of them decided to come after her. Glimmer ran past people, past buildings, past streets, all the while with her eyes screwed tightly shut in fear. It was a wonder she wasn’t killed.

Glimmer didn’t stop until her legs were sore and she couldn’t run anymore, and she crumpled into a ball and started crying again.

She wanted her mommy. She wanted her back and to pull her close and wrap her fingers in her hair. She wanted her back right now, to scare the awful birds away.

Glimmer sobbed, and a slight breeze brushed the loose strands of her hair.

“Now, now, it’s alright. You don’t need to cry.”

Glimmer looked up, and her eyes widened again, but not out of fright. A big man was looking down at her, dressed in blue, with a warm smile on his face. He got down on one knee, and Glimmer tried to stand. She tripped and fell down, and she felt like crying again.

“It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.” He picked her up, gently, and smiled again, “What’s your name?” Glimmer sniffed and wiped her eyes.

“Glimmer.”

The big man nodded.

“That’s a very pretty name. I like your dress.”

Glimmer smiled and tried to brush the dirt off her clothes, and the man watched before frowning slightly and looking around.

“Where are your parents?”

Instantly, Glimmer was sad again, her bottom lip trembling.

“M-My mommy left me with all the people, and I-I tried to find her but-“

He shushed her before she could get upset again, brushing the stray hair from her face.

“Everything’s going to be fine. I’ll help you find your mom, okay?”

Glimmer looked up at the man, at the pretty blue eyes and the curly piece of hair hanging over his face, and she nodded. He smiled wider in return, and carefully put her back down. She didn’t realise that they were in a gap between two buildings, a dirty alleyway where a young and defenceless child had no right to be alone. The man noticed, but he kept the scowl off his face as he took her hand and shuffled beside her back towards the main street.

“I like your cape.”

“Thank you.” He smiled again, this time with a slight chuckle, “I picked it out myself. And you look very pretty today.” Glimmer giggled, a beautiful thing like tinkling bells, before blinking those adorable big eyes at him.

“You’re very tall. Can you lift big things?”

He couldn’t help it, he had to laugh.

“Yes, yes I can.” A quick glance reminded him of the thing he was trying to distract her from, “Can you tell me what your mom looks like?” Glimmer frowned, looking down at her sparkly red shoes that made her look like Dorothy from The Wizard Of Oz.

“She was wearing a short top, I think. It showed her tummy. It was white.”

“What colour is her hair?”

“Black. Like mine.” She held up one of her pigtails. He frowned for a short moment as he scanned the part of the street they could see. No one fit the young girl’s description. He needed to find her mother, quick.

Something rattled on the fire escape above him, and the man looked up to see a thin woman glare down at him with familiar green eyes, and drop down.

“Superman…” She growled, the light catching on the dark metal talons attached to her fingers, “I wondered if I was ever going to run into you.” The man frowned. He didn’t recognise her, but Glimmer turned around and suddenly beamed. She ran for the woman, laughing as if she were her-

“Mommy!”

What on earth-

Margaret grabbed Glimmer, barely avoiding sticking her nails into her, and clutched her to her chest like a coveted prize.

“Never run away from me again!” She spoke sharply, “You are mine, my little jewel. Mine!” Superman let that scowl he had been holding come out. Something about this, about the woman especially, didn’t seem right. What she was doing, and the sadness and the shame she was causing to appear on her daughter’s face, that wasn’t what mothers were supposed to do.

“Alright, that’s enough.” His voice was stern as he took a step forward, “Who are you?” Margaret’s eyes narrowed again, but she stood up with a cocky little smile.

“Oh, surely your little friend Batman would have told you about me.” Her smile turned into a mocking pout, “The big, bad Magpie, here to ruin this annoyingly cheerful city of yours.”

Superman’s scowl worsened. Now he remembered. It was a faint memory, but years ago Batman had mentioned a woman named Magpie, a jewel thief obsessed with the trinkets she collected. She had left Gotham, and Batman had warned him that she might have fled to a neighbouring city.

Guess he had found her.

“Don’t try anything, Magpie.” Superman warned, and then nodded lightly, “I don’t want to do this in front of your daughter.”

Magpie shoved Glimmer into a pile of old boxes. Superman darted forward, grabbing Magpie by her jacket, but she latched onto his arm and tried to dig in her metal claws. The marks left were no worse than a paper cut. He changed course and stopped just before hitting the wall, pinning Magpie there with enough pressure to stop her from moving. She squirmed and struggled and snarled. There was a brief moment where he worried for Glimmer, but then Magpie managed to swipe her nails across his face, and a hand went there instinctively. Unfortunately, it was the hand that was holding her. Magpie smiled as she dropped to a crouch, darting behind him and wrapping her arms around his neck just as he recovered.

“You know, Batman would have made this much more interesting.” She hissed in his ear, trying to tighten her grip to a choke. It would have strangled any regular man. The key word being regular.

In one move, Superman picked her up, and threw her into a dumpster full of garbage bags. Superman waited to see if she would climb out, and when she didn’t, he turned around to find Glimmer. She was on her knees, sobbing, a piece of soggy cardboard sliding off of her hair.

Superman frowned slightly. He wasn’t sure how to approach her now. He had thrown her mother into garbage, after all.

A rustle of plastic, a shriek of rage, and Superman whirled around in time to see five long slashes tear down his cape. Magpie slashed again, but he grabbed her and threw her into a wall with enough force to knock her unconscious, but not to crush her. To his surprise, Magpie laughed as she went down.

“Sorry Blue. I don’t work that way.” She dragged herself to her feet, eyes glinting, “I guess you didn’t think a lady could fight, now did you?” Magpie charged at him and released an onslaught of kicks and punches.

They were, to be frank, highly ineffective.

Magpie slashed twice, and Superman stepped back, gritting his teeth. Magpie laughed again.

Okay, the claws were a little irritating.

Grabbing her, Superman spun her around and pinned both arms behind her back. Magpie squawked, which in itself was a little ironic, and she glared angrily over her shoulder as she started to squirm again.

“Not this time.” Superman tightened his grip, careful not to break her wrists.

The police arrived shortly, having just come from picking up Lex Luthor. Superman watched as Magpie, sneering and squirming, was escorted inside the car with her hands cuffed behind her back. He looked at Glimmer, and he frowned sadly. What was going to happen to her? Most likely, foster care. They wouldn’t let someone like Magpie look after a child, after all. But still, he felt horrible to see the confused look on the young girl’s face.

Magpie glared, metal clinking around her wrists as she watched Superman fly off and away. Her eyes darted to Glimmer as a police officer took her arm.

Just as the door of the car was about to close, there was a pop and the cuffs went flying out of the car, followed by Magpie. Clawing the face of the officer and beating him to the ground, she ran as fast as she could, grabbing Glimmer on the way. The child yelped as a talon dug into her back, and Magpie’s teeth gritted.

“Glimmer,” She growled, already hearing shouts from the people who had witnessed her escape, “I think we’re going to have to move.”

#roguesmols #Glimmer Pye #Margaret Pye #Magpie #Superman #Clark Kent

[asktroisiemephantom]

Until Sunrise - April 29th, 2017

In her dreams, sometimes it was herself saying it. Other times, it was Premier or Deuxième or her own mother. And if it were a particularly bad night? The words came from Madam.

She did not deserve to be paired up with you.

On this night, it was her own voice spitting it, and she woke up with a jolt. The words didn’t hurt when she heard it in her own voice; she was already used to fighting with herself. Nothing quite sinks in when she tells herself anything.

Troisième found that her legs had become twisted in her sheets. A product of restless moving during her nightmare. Being bundled close plus extra friction from the moving caused her skin to burn. It was like she was being cooked in her own bed.

The phantom untangled herself from her sheets and pulled her sweaty hair from her face. She hated having long-ish hair, but she had shorter hair when she was younger and still with her family. She wasn’t that person anymore. It was easier to look in the mirror and never have to remember ever being that person. Being physically uncomfortable was worth the protection mentally.

Casting her eyes towards the roomy bird cage in the corner of her chambers, she remembered that Hades was chilling with the other ravens in the aviary. Her raven couldn’t be kept from his social circle for too long or he’d go bonkers and start driving her batty as well.

The realization that she was alone let her mind wander. She was wide awake and probably not going to be able to fall asleep any time soon. Her bedside clock read 4:12 AM.

Focusing on her breathing, she slowly leaned back until her head touched the headboard of her bed. She exhaled with her eyes closed and saw her dream melt away. As therapeutic as it was, she still wasn’t going to fall asleep.

She peeked her eyes open, and the vague shadowy shapes surrounding her sharpened and began to actually look like her bedroom. No longer being under the sheets didn’t make her feel any less hot, and sweat still clung to her skin.

Hades was away, she was alone and wide awake. She leaned her back into her pillow and shimmied her shoulders in some vague attempt to wipe off the annoying sweat - it only succeeded in making her heart race. Though her mind was awake, it was like her body was still trying to resist moving.

Now her clock read 4:15. She sighed. Frustration, boredom, loneliness, sleeplessness - Hell, some deadly combination of all four had attacked her all at once. But she sat there with a deep scowl on her face, crossing her arms across her chest like a pouting child. If only she could just sleep and not have to deal with this.

Trois had an idea and the thought made her raise an eyebrow though her eyes remained closed. She uncrossed her arms, and shifted her legs, incidentally causing her to slide down further onto her bed.

One of her hands cautiously crept across her stomach and pulled the hem of her pyjama shirt up just a fraction of an inch. Her fingertips traced her skin at the same pace that her bedside clock made its faint ticking noise. Upon reaching the edge of her underwear she guided her fingers beneath the cloth and into the patch of hair there, but she lost her nerve.

Who was she kidding? She wasn't in the mood.

Troisieme flipped over and shoved her face into her pillow, letting out a long groan of frustration. She couldn’t stay stagnant any longer.

Lifting herself off of her sheets she crawled to the edge of her bed and sat with her hair tangled in front of her face. Her tile floor was cold against the bottoms of her bare feet, causing goosebumps to rise on her arms. She wasn’t too keen on the idea of uncovering her face and exposing it to the cool air conditioning, but she couldn’t see worth a shit.

Looking at the clock wasn’t an option anymore. Seeing how early it was would only be a disgusting reminder of how bored she was. It was that dead hour in the morning where the phantoms that go to bed at a reasonable time were still in their last hours of sleep, and those who stay up partying or working were finally knocked out. Only the insomniacs like her would be wandering half asleep through the halls of La Dame Rouge like ghosts in a fog.

Trois jolted up and pushed her hair out of her face. She sifted through her closet, looking for anything comfortable, luckily finding loose pants and a cloak to keep her arms warm.

The bedroom door closed behind her before she realized she was moving. It was no surprise that the phantoms’ quarters were deadly quiet; each of her footsteps sounded much too loud against the silence, despite her still remaining barefoot.

She ended up in the elevator without a real destination. The lighted buttons on the panel weren’t giving her any inspiration, but she jammed her finger on the one indicating the aviary. Familiar place, familiar friends, and what better thing to do than to keep yourself busy with work?

She slumped against the elevator wall with her eyes closed as she ascended. The movement forcing her downwards reminded her of how tired she was, but the ding of the elevator reaching the top of the tower made her eyes snap open.

Even the aviary was oddly quiet, she noticed as she trudged to the cage.

Err, well it was quiet, until the phantom stepped inside and a familiar squawk broke out, with excitement.

Hades swooped down, cawing as he went, to land onto Troisième’s shoulder. She saw some of the other ravens shoot them an annoyed look as Hades interrupted their nice quiet time. Sending them an apologetic look, she went to sit down.

Her raven wouldn’t shut up and she took him off of her shoulder to question him or at least shush him. He squirmed in her hands, but at least he cut out the croaking. “What is it, love?”

He tapped his beak against the inside of Trois’ wrist, but she really wasn’t getting it. Whatever he was trying to convey, it was either too complicated to express without words, or Trois was much too out of it to figure it out. He hopped out of her hands in favor of tapping his talons on the ground by her thigh and rubbing his head where a pants pocket might be if she were wearing jeans.

“I am wearing pajama pants, you loon. Cannot carry anything if I do not have pockets. Including my phone. Do you not know what time of day it is?”

Hades shot her a glare and huffed. His look said it all. If you’re ready for your day enough to be here of all places while it’s still dark out, then why aren’t you prepared?

“Do not mock me, Hades. I have already had a rough day, and the time only further accentuates my point.” Troisième rubbed at her temples.

Her raven flew up amongst his feathered companions, and Trois felt a stinging sadness that she’d pushed away one of her few friends with her crassness. She went to apologize before being stopped by him swooping back down again, this time with Sixième’s raven, Otto, by his side.

Otto sounded a bit sleepy and withdrawn (no doubt because of suddenly getting roped into doing something) when he muttered, “Buon Compleanno.”

Trois could’ve facepalmed right then and there, if she didn’t think it would hurt Hades’ feelings.

She looked at Otto with gratitude but shook her head. Turning towards Hades, she said, “Out of all the others here to ‘translate’ for you, you chose the one who has an affinity for speaking Italian? I have no idea what he said.”

Hades looked back at her, then back at Otto and realized his mistake. Sixi’s raven flew away, realizing that he may not be needed. (Though it wasn’t like the cheeky bastard didn’t know how to speak English, so he still could’ve translated.) With a look of disappointment, he looked back at Trois and opened his beak, but nothing came out. Seeing the excitement he’d held earlier when she’d first arrived dissipate was hurtful.

She held out her hand, hoping he’d still be in the mood to sleep all ploof-ed out like normal, when some of the other ravens started croaking. First it was quiet and unintelligible, but then it got louder and a bit more clear. Though many of them spoke at different times the message was the same: Happy Birthday.

It dawned on her like a freight train. And she was the one standing on the tracks.

April 29th.

The Third Phantom was 31 years old now.

The irony that she woke up from a nightmare on the day almost made her laugh, but instead she was more in shock than anything. Thirty-one years old and she still felt like the same twenty year old who ran away from everything she’d known. Despite everything changing, she still felt the same as always.

By the time she’d snapped out of her thoughts, the other ravens had gone silent. Hades looked up at her cautiously.

She smiled, although the day was never much one she celebrated. “Thank you, buddy.” She looked up at the various tree branches that stretched above the aviary and said a quick thanks to the other ravens who spoke up as well.

Hades floofed out his feathers, happy to have finally gotten his message across. Trois liked the sight of him cheering up, so she took off her cloak and balled it up, creating a raven-sized makeshift bed. She found a clean enough section of ground and laid down on her side, pulling the cloak close to her. Her raven quickly hopped into the bed and scrunched down, content.

Although her birthday meant both so little and so much to her at the same time, it was nice to just lie there close to Hades and listen to the occasional clicks of the other birds. She set her head on her arm and looked down at Hades, who already seemed to be in comfortable bliss. Maybe it wasn’t so hard to sleep after all.

Of course, she may have to explain herself in case someone walks in before she wakes, but that was an uncomfortable conversation she’d be willing to endure if that meant getting some shut-eye. Even if it’s only until sunrise.

#La Dame Rouge #Troisième Phantom #writing #one-shot #[just pretend that i posted this a week and a half ago haha]

[lorelylantana]

Chapter 9: Shots Fired

We held the get togethers on a weekly basis. The only time we took a break was during the last week of November. This, I learned during one of our map room conferences, was a worldwide holiday in Ivaline.

“It’s the Great Gathering. Every year people of the four nations visit their families.” Atalanta explained. Kennedia continued excitedly.

“Yeah, it’s mainly for those who joined other nations. We get to see our families for a whole week! Families, like mine, with members in other countries will meet in the Valley of Avalon. You should see it Allie! There are all of these colored tents and pavilions! There is always something cooking and you can smell it from anywhere in the valley!”

“Don’t forget the gifts, Honeysuckle.”

“Oh! The gifts, everyone gives one gift to each family member. The palace gives each student a budget for gifts, so why don’t we all go to the market tomorrow!” Kennedia arranged for us to meet after breakfast and ride one of the horse drawn carriages that went to and from the palace down to the capital city below by the hour.

Lailoria was the Venice of Ivaline, the glacial water from the mountains created pristine canals running all throughout the city. They ran glowing sand down the bottom of the canals, Each street had dyed the sand a different color. The layout of the city reminded me of the agricultural plateaus that I saw when my family and I visited Peru one summer. Each street had a different elevation than the others, as well as the buildings built on it.

As we stepped out of the carriage and Kennedia dragged us to Daggers and Dresses, one of the most frequented clothing stores for the palace’s students. The palace had given us a bit of money to buy formal wear for the Gathering’s send off banquet the next day. We spent an hour picking through and trying on various outfits and scabbards.

I was trying on a formal gown that ended above my knees. It was a deep purple silk that made my newly neon eyes pop, and the bodice was an off shoulder with a velvet trim. The trim was repeated to outline the basque waist. The sleeves came down to my wrist and tapered over my hand until it came at a point at the base of my middle finger. A cape that ended at my hips hung from the back of my dress that swayed behind me as I posed in front of the mirror.

“Why do all of these dresses end above or at the knee?” I pondered as I slipped knives into their sheathes inside the knee high black leather boots.

“It’s because you can’t kick people in full length dresses,” Atalanta answered, examining her outfit with a hard eye. She wore a tight, sleeveless green shirt patterned with a deep red tiger ready to pounce. It reached mid thigh over the matching silver silk pants. Strapped to her shoulder was a black leather quiver with her arrows. The quiver had the same tiger designs pressed into the leather.

“You have to have special training before you can wear stilettos for similar reasons,” Kennedia added in as the boys walked towards us with their choices.

“Looking good ladies! Check us out!” Daedalus exclaimed as both he and Robin spun around, showing off their ensembles.

“Very beautiful, Honeysuckle, but you knew that.” Robin complemented, spinning Kennedia around in her light orange dress. It was a cheerful piece with a sweetheart neckline and a ball gown skirt. There were three  small throwing knives in their place around her calf. Robin was wearing a silver breastplate with a blue silk undershirt. He wore black trousers and a scabbard for his khopesh at his belt. Daedalus, however, seemed to be wearing a red toga with a gold trim, wearing his sword at his back. Spade formal apparel, I observed, didn’t seem to come from a particular point in time, you could find a party outfit from any point in Pangaean history, along with a few unfamiliar ones. You could wear whatever you wanted to formal functions, so long as it looked fancy.   

“Very charming.” I commented. “Now I believe we are all happy with our choices, so why don’t we finish up here and start window shopping for our parents’ presents?” Half an hour later we stood in the street debating what to do next. I had to show the cashier manning the store the bracelet marking me a student at the palace, verifying that I was old enough to buy the daggers.

“Why don’t we split into two groups and meet up at the Ebony’s at lunch?” Atalanta suggested, and it ended up she went with Robin to gaze at some music and bookstores while Kennedia and Daedalus went with me to look at some of the Guild’s shops. Kennedia bought little figurines of dragons for her little brothers, each made of a different material so they don’t get mixed up. Daedalus found a stained glass butterfly that was filled with sand so it glowed gently.

“She loves butterflies,” He told me as we were waiting in line with him, “We have a garden at home that’s filled with them every spring.”

I had to look a bit harder for my gift. Eventually though, I found a blue silk scarf for my mother and a decorative knife scabbard for her husband, who would hunt from time to time. When I was finished, we head off to meet with the others.

Ebony’s turned out to be a small cafe on the corner of a green and blue canal that Robin had discovered earlier in the year. The walls were lined by bookshelves filled to the brim with tomes of all sizes. True to its name, the tables and shelves were crafted out of ebony wood. The owners of the establishment were a sweet elderly couple, Mr. Ebony was a Guild member who had carved all of the furniture and stitched every one of the multitude of pillows. There was a fire pit in the center of the room which cast a warm glow across the cafe. Instead of normal tables and chairs, there were only armchairs and couches with small tea tables or coffee tables.

“So what did you two get for your families?” Inquired Kennedia, and it was Atalanta who answered first.

“I bought my mom and dad instruments, music kind of runs in my family.” Robin waited until bursting into a rant about all of the books he got for all of his little brothers and Dancers. He was cut off by a waiter bringing us our order.

“Oh that’s a good one!” He said, pointing to the book in Kennedia’s hand.

“I know right? He’s such a good writer!” She responded, gladly accepting her plate of pasta. After we finished eating lunch, we all ordered beverages to drink while we passed the time. We spent the next few hours sitting in that cozy cafe. Daedalus and Atalanta were playing table chess while drinking tea while the Muses and I were sitting quietly reading. I had discovered the most delightful beverage gingerbread hot chocolate and was on my third cup when I raised a question.

“What happens to those of us whose families are in other worlds?” I asked, and it was Daedalus who had the answer.

“We go visit our origin worlds, the nations always send convoys to the Tower so the Keeper can send us back into our worlds. We are each given charms that when activated transport them back to Ivaline.” As he finished he looked outside and his eyes widened.

“Blades it’s late, we’d better hurry if we don’t want to walk to the palace!”

When we stepped out into the street I was struck once again by how beautiful the capital city was. With the light fading, the canals began to glow even brighter, eliminating any need for street lights. We hurried to the carriage station, and made it just before the last one made off.

I gazed up to the palace as we neared it, and was shocked not by it’s beauty, which by now I was used to, but how intimidating it was.

The entire thing was made of blackstone, which means it stood out from the rest of the mountains. It was a classic example of gothic architecture, with looming arches and towers shooting into the sky like daggers. The intricate details and stained glass windows exuded wealth and excess. Dragons and eagles dotted the structure as gargoyles with their talons outstretched and teeth shown in a snarl. It was all for the world a dangerous beauty.

The next day was a flurry of activity. I spent most of the day with the Dancers, practicing for the dance. It was one of the few occasions that the Dancers practiced together out on the main lawn instead of their airy studios. We danced along to the Flock’s musical scores. I was currently practicing a waltz with Daniel, who seemed a bit nervous but other than that a good dancer. When the dance ended, I dropped his hand walked towards Daedalus, who was waving me over.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Belladonna’s looking for you, apparently your little turncoat hawk has returned.” Belladonna had grown quite quickly over the past month, and was able to communicate with all of the Eagles, because she trusted all of us. Because of this, she acted as something like an undercover courier. She also served as a lookout for anything suspicious, as well as she could. Usually it ended up being something trivial, given she is still a child. But this seemed important.

I slipped away from field at break and up the stairs. I made my way to the map room, where we had agreed to meet should any developments occur. Robin and Kennedia were already finished decoding the note, and Briar was perched nearby on the back of my chair. Kennedia was the only one who looked up to greet me.

“Oh good, you’re here, this note spells trouble.” She handed the freshly translated note to me.

Dear Constrictor,

It appears that our plans have been discovered, however, it seems that those aware of our schemes are little more than a band of school children. While I doubt anything shall become of this I want to be certain. I am giving you the rare chance to redeem yourself. The youths who must be silenced are named Allie Sage and Kennedia Amaryllis.

Do not disappoint me,

Ouroboros

“This is bad.” Robin exclaimed, worried.

“I heard Belladonna call for a meeting. What’s happened?” Atalanta was just coming down the steps, and we gave her a moment to read through the note.

“This is bad,” She concurred, “but it could be worse. Allie and Kennedia are the only ones listed, which shows that whoever is behind this has no knowledge that we have a plan against them. This means we can carry on mostly unhindered, although I would advise both of you to stay on your guard and together whenever possible.” When she finished the bell for lunch rang.

“Let’s go.” I said, thinking quickly. “Make sure that we enter at different times and places. Let’s sit at different tables for a while to. Robin, Kennedia, you two can go together. You’re a known couple so that won’t be as suspicious. Atalanta, Daedalus, you sit together because you always have. Make sure you enter through the same entrances you would if you were coming from practice. I’ll take lunch in my room so I can send Briar on her way. Kennedia, you copied the note down, didn’t you?”

She nodded her response, and we dispersed into the tunnels.

That evening, Atalanta walked with us to the Celebration Hall. It was decorated with an entire rainbow of silks and sands that set the room aglow. I could see couples waltzing around the room. Around, I saw some of my Dancers and Brothers dancing alone, twirling and moving around the floor in whatever way they saw fit. For a moment I was tempted to join them, I felt the pull from the core of my chest, straining to spin and step to the music.

Then I saw Kennedia shift out of the corner of my eye and came back to the situation at hand. Atalanta went off to greet a Flock friend of hers and Kennedia and I mingled a bit on the sidelines. Robin met up with us as a waiter was refilling our cups.

I took a sip of the clear blue liquid, gazing out over the dancer’s once more as they exchanged lover’s greetings. Before I could become too enthralled, however, my dragon coiled around me, and through red eyes I could see Kennedia bring a flaring red glass to her lips, drawing the now lethally scarlet drink to her mouth.

My hand lashed out, an open handed hit to her knuckles sent the drink clattering to the ground. At my throat, I felt the dragon relax.

“Blades Allie, what are you thinking?!” Kennedia exclaimed, trying to rub off some of the beverage that had spilled across the hem of her dress. I wasn’t listening, I was scanning the ballroom, and I just managed to catch a glimpse of the waiter who served us slip through the doors leading to the gardens.

I tore through the ballroom, weaving through paired and single dancers in a mad dash through the the gilded doors. I looked around frantically for a moment before stepping into the garden cautiously. My dragon showed me a shadowed figure creeping behind me.  

I whipped around just in time to dodge an axe as it came hurling down. I rolled to the side and barely had a moment to make a sword before he came at me again.

This time I was prepared, and was able to intercept the blow and redirect it before it could do any damage. Even though I knew it was coming, I misjudged the force behind it and fell to the ground. I scrambled to my feet only to be knocked out cold by a brutal hit to the back of my head.

I woke in a wagon, my dragon gave me a view of the horse drawn wagon from above, and we were moving east, away from the palace. There were two people manning the wagon up front, one driving and the other appeared to be a lookout.

“Kyrie?” I whispered, after the vision faded. “Are you there?” I heard a rustle from the corner.

“Yes.” I sighed in relief, she was flying nearby when the attack happened, so she must have followed them and flew in when they weren’t looking. It was better now that I knew I wasn’t alone, and I could feel the building anxiety settle a bit.

“Do you have a plan?” She asked, and a I shook my head. My hands were tied, literally tied. My feet weren’t spared either. I tried to loosen them, but to no avail. My captors, who I could only assume were the Vipers that were mentioned in the malevolent missives, had taken the daggers from my boots.

My eyes widened with exhilaration as I remembered my talent. My enemies could disarm me as much as they pleased but I would always have another blade waiting for them.

It was a struggle to sit up in the swaying wagon, but I managed. I kept my back straight and adjusted my hands so they weren’t in the way. I concentrated, this new blade had to be very small in order for this to work without injuring myself in the process. A few moments later I was sawing through the ropes that restrained me. As soon as my arms were free I took a couple of minutes to move them about to get circulation flowing. Once I was finished cutting my legs free I made my way to the back of the wagon as quietly as I could. I wished the Vipers were speaking to one another, so they would be distracted, instead I prayed they were drowsy in the late night.

The moment I was out of the cabin I dropped to the ground as silently as possible. Despite my efforts, I couldn’t help the dull thud that sounded when my feet slammed into the mountain path. I crouched there silently, heart pounding in my ears as I searched for any sign that they noted my departure. They only continued down the path, oblivious to my absence. Even so, I didn’t dare move until they rounded a corner and out of sight. When they did, I straightened and stretched, relieved to stand after being tied up for Winds know how long.

“Kyrie, I want you to follow them and see if you can find their camp. But try to stay out of sight, they may know you’re my companion and I don’t want a repeat of last time.” I implored, and she brushed my cheek reassuringly before flying off into the mountains. I watched her go, then turned to gaze at the palace before beginning the long trek to the palace.

I was walking for an hour and a half when I heard a familiar voice.

“Allie!” It was Magnolia, “What happened? Everyone is looking for you!” She landed on my shoulder, and I winced when her talons sunk into my unprotected shoulder.

“What happened? How long has it been since I was abducted?” I asked.

“After the party nobody could find you or Kyrie, we tried everywhere, the studio, map room, the dorms, you were nowhere to be found. Finally Atalanta put two and two together and deduced that the Vipers must have made their move, and when Robin saw signs of a struggle we knew you might have been taken alive. None of the students could leave the Palace after dark without permission, so they sent us instead. Hawthorn took the north, while Luna took the west and Belladonna the south. It must be well past midnight, do you want me to go up ahead and tell the others you’re okay?” She asked, and after a moment's consideration I shook my head.

“I sent Kyrie on a reconnaissance mission to follow my would be captors, can you back her up?” She did as I asked her, and while I was glad for her company, I was relieved that her talons were no longer in my shoulder. I carried on up towards the palace, all the while appreciative for the Spades’ taste in formal wear.

By the time I made it to the palace, I was exhausted, but I took care to avoid the patrolling guards anyway, silently thanking the person responsible for sending my dragon to me. By the time I made it to the map room I was spent. I collapsed into my blue-backed chair gratefully. In a moment I was flocked by my Eagles, checking me for wounds and questioning my whereabouts.

“Where have you been?”

“How did you escape?”

“Are you injured?”

“Do you know who attacked you?”

Atalanta and Daedalus bombarded me with inquiries until I couldn’t tell one voice from another, and while I could by no means blame them, I couldn’t mask my gratitude when Kennedia and Robin quietly wrapped my hands around a mug of cocoa and pushed a muffin in front of me. I wolfed it down only to have another one provided right in it’s wake, and I was delighted to find the mug filled with gingerbread chocolate, which, Kennedia had informed me, was ordered at Ebony’s and picked up by Robin, who had a prodigious ability for moving undetected. The chocolate had been hanging in the fireplace behind the red backed southern chair.

They let me eat and drink in peace, until at last I spoke.

“We need to up our game.” I said firmly, and all eyes snapped to me.

“We know sweetie, but can you tell us what happened to you? We were very worried and haven’t left the map room since we sent out the scouts.” Kennedia urged.

“We weren’t the only ones concerned, when other students got wind we were looking for you, they looked with us, and we had to impress upon many that the teachers were not to know about it.” Robin added, then looked at my cut shoulder, and with a gentle touch, used his magic to heal them. “Should we have gone to the teachers?” I shook my head and told them what had happened up until I sent Magnolia to follow Kyrie.

“I hope you don’t mind.” I apologized to Kennedia, but she only waved me off and looked to me to continue.

“While I hate to say it, telling the teachers again will mean alerting the whole palace, and that would mean tipping off whoever leading the Vipers. Although I will say this, we can beat them. If tonight has shown me anything, it’s that they have weaknesses, just like us. We just need to stick with our plan and be on our guard.” I said.

“I suggest we reveal the true purpose behind the student sleepovers next gathering.” Atalanta said. “With recent events, we might have more success convincing them of our cause then we would have otherwise.”

“What if one of the students decides to rat us out?” Daedalus interjected, only Robin shook his head.

“Unlikely, if they wanted to, they probably would have already. They’ve had ample opportunity. In all likelihood they will stand by us. These get togethers have made life more exciting for the students at the palace, and gave them a reason to interact with other years outside of their art. That alone has garnered a lot of respect for us and for Allie. When they hear she was captured, they may well want to do something about it, given they are Spades, and we value loyalty more than anything.” As he said it, I realized it was true, the students treated each other like family, and would no doubt be just as protective of each other.

The thought warmed me more than any cocoa.

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