#* ✶ ⋆ — she will rise with a spine like steal‚ and a roar like thunder ┊ ❛ bloom ❜

[pres5play]

catch up tags: canon characters.

[kylorengarbagedump]

Defy Your Authority: Chapter 3

Read on AO3. Part 2 here. Part 4 here.

Summary: You always hated tagging along on boys' night.

Words: 3300

Warnings: tw//kassanovella

Characters: Kylo Ren x Reader

A/N: HI LOOK AT ME I GOT THIS OUT IN TIME. I did indeed test positive for COVID so this was wrought through my fatigue--and may be why there is a delay for the next chapter. We'll see!

I hope y'all enjoyed this. I am doing my best to respond to all the feedback, but I'm like... so tired LMFAO. Thank you so much for your support and engagement. It literally means the world to me and is so encouraging.

I love you. ❤️

It didn’t matter how many times you told yourself to calm down. Your pulse bounded like a rabbit, every thump a reminder of your tightening chest. The walls of the Steadfast washed past in black-silver blurs, your mind wild with fear. Hux’s words replayed over and over, a cruel broadcast in your brain. Requests for response from the officers stationed there have gone unanswered. 

Realistically, that could mean anything. Pessimistically, everyone was dead and you were homeless.

The thought of losing your crew weakened your knees. For four months, they’d been your solace and something akin to a family. Not like you’d had other real options on that little butthole of a planet--but you’d gotten lucky. You’d made a home out of Orinda; a home where you’d planned to return. 

Lip pinched in thought, you joined Kylo in a new turbolift, crossing to the corner again as if he were a disease you wanted to avoid. You folded your arms over your chest, stared at your shoes. If you were homeless, it was anyone’s guess as to what you’d do or where you’d go next. It was clear that your supposed… whatever he was didn’t care for your presence. 

Leather gloves scrunched in the silence. The lift arrived, and he stormed off, in expectation that you’d follow. You rolled your eyes, trailing behind him, allowing the need that had burgeoned between your thighs to deflate. 

He’d said he would punish you. But you couldn’t think of a punishment worse than going four more months without his touch. 

Kylo broke through another set of blast doors into the hangar, officers and Stormtroopers alike snapping to attention in his presence. If he noticed or cared, it didn’t show--he pushed through the quiet floor, furious stride carrying him toward one of the ugliest ships you’d ever seen. 

Black durasteel panels formed a long, cylindrical frame, the bow outfitted with a row of rakish teeth and bordered by two guiding flaps. The engines looped like two smooth bricks at the stern of the vessel, the two ends connected by rows of external piping and guarded by a sprinkle of gunning stations. Its blocky build bore a resemblance to a prison transport--if that prison transport was then modified by an eager, unsophisticated halfwit. 

He climbed the descended ramp in thundering strides, and you skulked in his wake, only to be greeted with one of the mercenaries you’d seen earlier. You paused, but Kylo passed the soldier, marching toward the stern and abandoning you in the main corridor. The man--at least, you were fairly certain he was a man--wore a mask embedded with breathing tubes, a huge, heavy club in his hands. The weight of his gaze anchored you to the floor. He said nothing.

“Uhm…” You tried to find an introduction, but none seemed appropriate. Grimacing, you offered him a half-hearted salute. “Sir.”

The man did not respond. Face burning, you scurried into the ship, hot on Kylo’s heels. 

Few lights rimmed the interior of the vessel, your only guide the resonant thump of his boots along the durasteel slats. It was as dim as it was dank--the deeper you delved, the heavier the air. It was sticky with the stench of war, weighed with iron and brimmed with smoke. And underneath that, a scent you’d only describe as one owned by a pack of panting massiffs.

A chill crept over your scalp. This ship was empty of kindness, barren of mercy. You didn’t need the Force to know that nothing good had ever happened within these walls.

Your fear had you scampering to keep pace. Kylo led you through a flickering hall and turned a corner, swiped a switch. A set of blast doors opened to sharp steps, another pair of doors at the top. Those parted as you approached, light spilling from the Steadfast hangar through wide slats of red transparisteel. You’d arrived in the cockpit.

Six chairs lined the wrap-around dashboard. Two as pilot seats, two positioned at gunning and weapons systems, and two plugged toward the back, each in front of a monitoring station. One seemed to handle communications--or lack thereof, the radio receivers and wiring were all almost entirely torn out--and the other dedicated to internal surveillance. At the latter, a matrix of screens with live feed of the interior of the ship.

Even through the shadowed halls, you could distinguish a handful of prison cells. Each of them was torn apart, littered with metal scrap and half-shorn weaponry. The walls themselves were adorned with sloppy graffiti, one of them decorated by a mural of a massive, five-legged lizard beast. A huge red beam was bursting through its neck. Within the tiny walls were separate collections of cultured artifacts. You knew enough about war to know they were trophies.

Every room also possessed a rumpled, dirty bed. A flash of hall light near one cell, illuminating notches in the durasteel where the head of the bedframe met the wall. Like the frame had been slammed against it. Over and over and over.

You swallowed. On one of the feeds, a body slipped through the hall like a living shade. Pausing, you watched until it disappeared from view. The sound of footsteps whispered, then hummed, then roared. You spun, seeking out Kylo, finding him by the co-pilot’s chair, and darted into the pilot’s spot as if this was a totally normal occasion and you weren’t on a weird deathship surrounded by his weird death bodyguards.

Kylo turned to gaze at you, and the blast doors opened, stealing his attention. In the frame stood another would-be man, outfitted with a ribbed-weave robe and carting a huge plasma rifle. Filth smothered him from his boots halfway up his legs, and his head was obscured by a helmet, not unlike the one you’d known Kylo to wear. This one had two blinders on either side, like this man was a predator. 

Like he was a hunter.

Whatever fear you felt for him, he certainly did not feel it for you. He glanced between you and Kylo, trying to ascertain the relationship that resulted in your presence.

“She’s in my seat.” His voice was grainy, like glass on stone, distorted underneath his mask.

You held up your hands in deference. “Hey, sorry. I had no idea this was your seat.” You went to stand, frowning at Kylo, who was studying your every movement. Really had to love how helpful he was being.

“Hurry up,” the man said. 

Nodding, you wriggled around the chair with your hands still raised, as if this would offer any form of protection between you and this fully armed guard. He squared his feet and stalked toward the pilot’s seat. You side-stepped him, but he shoulder-checked you despite it, and you stumbled back, wincing. 

“What the f--”

Kylo Ren’s saber screamed to life, slicing a divide between the hunter and the chair. He stalled, fists balled, neck rolling to stare at Kylo. You gulped, rubbing your arm, your eyes flipping between him and the crackling rod of plasma only a foot away from the man’s waist.

“Sir.”

“Careful,” Kylo said.

He snorted. “Of a Lieutenant--”

“Kuruk.”

Kuruk pivoted to you, and you met his stare somewhere behind the shield of metal. Whoever was underneath the helmet was rending you apart in his mind. 

He shrugged his shoulder and looked back to Kylo.

“Excuse me. Sir.”

The saber disappeared, and Kuruk took his seat at the dashboard. You flushed. At least he’d done that much. You snuck to the back of the cockpit, thinking to sit at the surveillance station, but pausing there too. Every one of these seats could have an owner whose name you didn’t know. Glimpsing Kylo, you threw up your hands in confusion.

Kylo caught this, but did not acknowledge it. “Resistance activity was spotted on the scanners. Get Cardo and Trudgen on the turrets. Ushar gunning.”

“Yes, Master.” 

Your eyes widened. Master? 

Kuruk fussed with the dashboard, relaying the information, and you gazed at Kylo, examining his body in the same routine you’d practiced nightly with your hands between your legs. Fuck, he was big--the thick expanse of chest rose with a slow breath, and you watched it fall, then watched his neck tense as he turned, attuned to your observation. Heat rushed your spine when you linked eyes. His jaw stiffened.

“Get in your seat, Lieutenant.”

“Oh,” you replied. “Is this my seat? I didn’t know.” You sank into it, shooting him a wide, sparkling smile. “Thank you, Master.”

Kylo swallowed.

The blast doors opened again, the soldier you’d seen at the entrance bursting through and tromping to a gunner console--you assumed this was Ushar. He tossed his club to the side, flicking on the controls and calibrating the sights. The ship itself bellowed to life, rising from the floor, and you gripped the seat, unable to force your focus from Kylo--just as he was unable to force his from you. 

The two of you were in competition. That much was clear. 

You just couldn’t figure out what the loser would be impaled with--or if that would make them a winner, instead. 

The Buzzard shot into the stars, coasting in a direct path toward Orinda. You broke the staring contest, glimpsing the little planet through the cockpit, pulse picking up again. Requests for response unanswered. Once you got on the ground, you’d go find your crew and make sure they were safe. That’s all you needed to know. Whether or not Kylo wanted you to come back was irrelevant.

You met his gaze again, his irises hiding a storm. Blood bit your cheeks.

Mostly. 

“Nothing detected on the sensors,” said Ushar. 

Kylo glanced at him then turned toward the transparisteel, searing you with a leer before he sat at the dash. You shivered. Whatever you’d done to make him feel this way, his brief glimmers of favor only made it worse. Maybe you did want to fuck him so you could get a chance to figure it out. Or maybe it was just frustrating to know him in ways no one else had while simultaneously knowing almost nothing at all.

The three men operated in silence as you approached Orinda. From space, it seemed normal. With no starcraft popping up, there was a chance it was a false alarm. That it had been a fly-by. You held your breath when you broke the atmosphere, flames whipping the transparisteel. The Buzzard trembled with gravity, diving toward the ground, greens and browns and blues splitting to trees and fields and sea. 

Then a flash of light, smog blooming to life, tiny fires swallowing your narrowing field of vision. Air froze in your lungs, nails biting the hard back of the seat. 

“Fuck.” You launched from the chair, scrambled toward the dashboard. “No, no no…”

Kylo spun to face you, but you ignored him, shoving between the two pilot seats to crane over the console and peer through the transparisteel. 

He stood, looming over you. “Back to your seat.”

His words swum in the tsunami of your mind. The outpost was smothered with smoke. The closer you drew, the dimmer the horizon, until the Buzzard landed on the border of the eruption, the entire sky encompassed with billowing black fog. Every muscle in your chest felt like wire around your ribs, forcing the breath from your lungs. You shook your head, hands starting to tremble.

They were out there. They could be dead. 

The blast doors opened, and you whirled to leave, but Kylo caught your shoulder and stilled you. 

“What the--”

“Gather the rest,” Kylo said. He was speaking to Ushar. “Spread out and secure the perimeter.”

Ushar nodded, grabbed his club, and disappeared down the steps. Huffing, you wrenched yourself free from Kylo’s grip and stomped toward the exit only to be paralyzed by a very familiar nothing. You growled, unable to even make a fist.

“Dude!”

“You will remain on board the Buzzard until I return.”

The fact you couldn’t turn to look him in the eye made you even angrier. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you said. “That’s my crew. They’re my responsibility.”

“Stand down.”

You snorted. “Hell no.”

Two long, slow steps brought him behind you. His presence consumed you like a black hole, crushing you in darkness. 

His chest met your back. “Every one of your little quips has gone unchallenged.” Another step, and his mouth fell to your ear. “Do not test me here.”

Warmth flooded your thighs. If he didn’t like being challenged in front of his soldiers, he shouldn’t have put you all in the same space. His own fault. 

“I don’t care,” you said. “These are my crew members. You don’t know them. I do. Let me go.”

“No.”

“Why are you even doing this?” you said. “You’re the one who fucking brought me here!”

A pause. Silence settled between you, the only sounds the distant noise of destruction and your anxious, heaving breath. You heard him exhale.

“Kuruk,” he said. “Scout and support.”

Behind you, Kuruk stood, followed by the metal click of him grappling his rifle. You watched, stuck to your spot, as he charged through the cockpit and down the steps. The blast doors to the stairs shut behind him. Then the ones to the cockpit. And you two were alone.

Kylo snarled, snatched your throat--he was a swoop of rage, swiveling and slamming your back to the wall. You seethed, squirming under his grip, unable to hide the smirk curling on your lips as you tried to pry his wrist away. He subsumed you like a star subsumed space, bright hot and pure, and you were a simple nothingness, addicted to his heat.

“You think you have earned my submission,” he muttered. “You have not.”

You wheezed, gazing into his eyes, finding an electric spark of hunger and fury within them. Four months without this had been far, far too long. As long as he was treating you like a stranger, you didn’t want to give in. But that wouldn’t stop you from making this torture for him, too.

“Then what have I earned,” you purred, “Master?”

He sucked in air through his teeth, pinning your body flat--his chest rolled with excitement, his voice raked over lust. “The further you push me, the worse your earnings.”

You bit your lip, bucking your hips against his, feeling a growing bulge between his legs. “You’re ridiculous.” You’d thought he’d wanted you to go to Orinda. Maybe you’d been wrong. “What, is this because I left?”

A huff. “No.”

“Then I don’t get it.” You rolled your pelvis into him again, and he jerked forward, crushing you to the wall. “Why don’t you want me around? What did I do?”

Kylo shifted, panting into your neck, his mouth centimeters from your skin. “Not what you did,” he said, clutching your throat tighter. “What you saw. It will not happen again.”

Some bit of that stung. You saw inside of his mind. “You act like I made you admit it!” It was difficult to speak under the pressure of his palm. “You could’ve just let me go.”

“Hm.” His hand squeezed, and he dragged his hardening bulge along your thigh. “Perhaps I should have.”

So that’s what this was about. Whatever had happened, he’d decided that what he’d shared with you was weakness. And being Supreme Leader meant he couldn’t be weak. Meant he couldn’t have room or time for you. All you were was a living regret. 

Frowning, you glared at him, driving your thumbs into the meat of his wrist and throwing his hand from your neck. 

“Yeah,” you said, shoving him back. “Perhaps you should’ve.” His eye twitched. A screeching blast broke the air, and you tensed. “I’m going to find my crew.”

You stalked out of the cockpit, blast doors parting for you as you hit the stairs and cut through the halls back to exit the Buzzard. It was one thing to abandon you. One thing to make you leave. One thing to act like he’d never held you, kissed you, or whispered your name. 

But it was an entirely other thing to imply he wished it never would’ve happened. The thought pierced your heart, and you steeled your jaw, tried to pull the pain free. You didn’t have time to play Kylo Ren’s newest Game of Repressed Emotion. You had friends to find. 

The ramp to the Buzzard was already down, and you hurried to the ground, smacked with the scent of blazing fuel. Embered ash battered your eyes, and you coughed, covering your face with your arm. Under the wailing wind of heat, you heard Kylo approaching the exit, so you trudged toward the outpost, seeking out any hint of life.

“Tonis!” Your voice was eaten by the flames. “Mirna! Lin!” Narrowing your gaze to protect it, you pushed toward the hangar, knowing that if they were anywhere, they’d be there. 

Sweat crawled down your nape, scattering over your lower back as you drew nearer to the fire. The mercenaries were nowhere to be found, but you supposed that was okay, since they didn’t seem very fond of you regardless. The hangar was beyond the completely engulfed fueling station and therefore impossible to see, but as you curved around the fire, you could discern slivers of it. Edges of the building, and then whole sections.

And your stomach dropped.

Another couple of steps, only to discover the hangar scorched, collapsed in on itself like a shattered greenhouse. You stopped a scream and bolted, careening toward the wreckage to see if you could find anyone or anything among the debris. Thick durasteel girders stuck out of the heap like nails, the ridged ceiling crumpled in pieces and mirroring the fire’s light.

“Tonis!” Your back burned from the heat, but you didn’t care. You tried to find a way in, a way to pull something apart, a way to find someone. “Mirna!” You grabbed a huge wooden beam, hands slipping on the soot, but you fruitlessly tugged anyway. “Lin!”

A ragged shard of wood ripped your palm, and you shrieked, cradling it to your breast in shock. Cursing, you left the mass alone, following the foundation around the corner, hoping against hope they escaped out of the back and were huddled behind the hangar. You approached the corner, calling their names, louder and louder. They weren’t coming to meet you. Again, and louder, and you turned the corner, pleading with the Force that they’d be there.

Of course, they weren’t. 

In front of you was a cluster of discarded starship parts, all outdated or malfunctioned or busted. It was a collection you’d gathered since you’d arrived--arranged and created when more parts were added. Each fragment was unique, and when building it with your crew, it sometimes resembled a sculpture. Under the clouds of smoke, it looked like a pile of junk. 

Growling, you rushed it, kicking the base and sending it all tumbling to the ground. Your furious hands found purchase and hurled whatever they had grabbed to pieces. A scream shook your chest, and you jammed your foot against a solar array panel, cracking it in half. Underneath, you found an old, pretty fuelcell splinter. You grabbed it in your bloody hand and hissed, pulverizing it with your fist. Grunting, you threw the dust into the air, watching as the firewind ate it all.

You heard the rustle of grass behind you. Your shoulders sagged.

“There are no signatures of life remaining at this station.”

Sighing, you turned to Kylo. He was watching you, face blank.

“Yeah.” You wiped your palm on your pant leg, smearing it with blood. “I know.”

His eyes flicked to your hand for the shortest, sharpest moment. Then he met your eyes. “The silencer is still in need of repair.”

You frowned, averting your gaze. “I don’t want your pity.”

“You’d prefer to sleep outside in melted trash.”

“Maybe.” You shrugged a shoulder, crossed your arms. “Dumpster fire and all that.”

Kylo Ren held you in his stare, cape fluttering and hair rumpled in the breeze. Tears stung your eyes. You wanted nothing more than to run into his arms.

“Come.” 

He turned the corner. Clearing your throat of sadness, you followed him. You allowed him to guide you through the devastation, past the flames, and up the ramp until you were safe in the Buzzard cockpit. And then he left, likely to gather his men before departure.

And then you were alone.

[c-atm]

Possessive Protection

Possessive Protection

“This...This is wrong…”

Connie whispered that to herself as she stepped back, fear and confusion on her face. Holding her broken arm.

“This is so wrong..”

In front of her stood a familiar face, body, build, and damaged attire; a familiar visage all around.

A usually heart-skipping, cheek redding visage. One of charm and a dapper style. A visage that haunted her dreams in the most pleasant ways..

This was not the same, nowhere near it.

Despite the form, the differences were far too prominent. It was ghastly, it’s ‘Steveny’ shape flickering like a flame, ready to burn everything and it was violet.

So violet and viscous.

The purple imposter didn’t look at her at all, his..

It’s attention on the bull-like demon who was slowly getting up after being rammed through a pillar by the purple devil.  

“That’s it, rise to your feet. Regenerative bastard”

 The slasher grin on his 'Steveny' face and the blow horn pitch put her on edge, as the Minotaur snarled towards the devil, fear in its throat as the purple devil gilded forward. With a roar, the Minotaur charged forward it’s  red eyes promising death, each step cracking the tiles underneath them.It stuck forward with a punch towards the devil, it’s fist as big as the devils skull.

On instinct, Connie was prepared to scream in concern.

Only for the sound of ripping flesh to steal that worry for his well-being and replace it with fear of his abilities, as the purple Steven tore the forearm of the minotaur from its body..Before knocking the minotaur across the skull and onto its face,in front of his feet

With said arm..

“Now, a lesson to share to those in hell “ The devil teased, before bringing the limb down the minotaur skull again, like a goddamn mallet. A sickening smash of flesh resounding in the concert hall. He lifted the limb high with a frown.

“Do not…"

and brought it down again…

"Ever.."

And again

"Touch what…"

and again

"Belongs to me!"

The violent, violet demon continued to crack the minotaur head with ruthless abandon, in a pure frenzy. Each strike harder than the last. Bone and smashed flesh scattered along the walls as he beat the long silenced monster. He didn't stop until he felt Connie grabbed his waist.

"Stop, Steven! Please!"

He looked back at her with a bit of a glare. 

"Steven?" He tossed the limb aside carelessly, allowing it and the Minotaur body to fade away in a black smoke leaving a gem.

His cold, slithering voice caused her to step back, chilling her heart. So different from the pleasing tone of her beloved partner.

 Facing him face to face, staring at his dead black eyes and dark purple pupils froze her spine and stole her breath.

"I guess that's not completely wrong."  He chuckled. Looking at her holding her arm, he stalked towards her.

"You're hurt, boon."

"Boon?" Connie inquired trying to push down her fear as she stepped back. She soon found herself between a pillar and the violet demon. She shivered as he moved his face close to her neck breathing in her fright with a teasing chuckle.

"Who are you?" 

He smirked at the steel in her voice. "Me?..I'm what 'he' hides from you, my boon." 

She trembled as he lifted his hand to her chin and ran his thumb across her bottom lip.

'So cold like the arctic, It feels as if I'll freeze to death staying by him.'

She moved her face away from his grip, sneering at the doppleganger. "What do you mean, 'you are what he hides?' "

His eyes narrowed as he gripped her chin tightly. "Hey now, You should be appreciative to me, fledgling. I did save your ass…" He smirked as he looked her up and down, lingering at her hips a bit. "Cute as it is."

*WHAP!* 

The sound of Connie slapping the demon reverberated against the hall.

"Disgusting Demon!" She roared, her eyes blazing in anger. "I don't know who you think you are to speak to me like that, but you are NOT MY STEVEN!"

He laughed cruelly but respectfully, licking the blood off his lip.  "Ooh, I understand why he's so taken with you .That beautiful blazing spirit to match that body….You're definitely worthy to be my boon." Giving her a hungry grin, he kissed her deeply.

Connie screamed through the kiss before pushing the purple beast back with both arms.  

"Bastard!" She swung a fist at the devil who dodged the blow. She attacked again with her left, recently healed, fist only to have him  grab her hand and pull her close 

Black eyes met violet, fiery rage met possessive obsession.

"Is that how you treat someone who healed you? That's fine, it makes me want you m-"

The purple demon voice started to strain as he backed up. Pain on his face as his hands gripped his head and the purple began to flicker and dim.

"HOW DARE YOU!?" The familiar voice of the Steven she knew, ranged out of the demon. "YOU DARE TO DISRESPECT HER!?" 

"I protected and healed her in your stead HUMAN! HOW I take my reward from my boon, my property, is my business...Besides it's not like you don't feel the same way!." 

Connie could only watch shocked, fear and embarrassment on her face as the purple demon fell to the floor on all fours, clawing at the marble scarring it like a jagged knife as he argued in agonizing pain with himself.

"SHUT UP!"

"It's true!!"

"Get out!!"

"You lust for her!"

"I SAID LEAVE, VIOLET!"

Connie covered her mouth as she watched Steven lift his head and thundered out as he clawed his face, ripping the purple flame off his visage and tossing it to the side. 

"S-S-Steven?" Connie cautioned as she took a step forward,  seeing him back to normal, breathing hard on all fours, quivering a bit.

"My..My lady." 

That voice as tired and broken as it was shook her heart as it always did...Connie took a step forward only for Steven to raise his hand.

"Hold on, My lady." Steven grunted as he turned to the purple flames watching it form to a ghostly purple spectre of himself. 

"Violet." His voice was full of hate as he stood in front of Connie protectively. 

“Steven" Violet responded as his translucent and ghostly figure  floated in place, a smirk on his face. "What do you think you're doing?" He pointed his finger tauntingly. “I know you don't think you're gonna keep me from My Boon in some misguided act of protecting her."

"There's nothing misguided about keeping My Lady safe...Especially from the likes of you."  Steven stood in a low stance, his hands in front of his chest in a clawed stance. 

"Don't you mean...'Likes of ME?" Violet grinned, his purple eyes staring straight into Steven's pink ones, before taking one glance at the witch among them. "We're one in the same, My boon."

"Stop talking to.."

"Are you serious?" Connie watched Steven's shoulder tensed ever so lightly. "Steven?"

"I'm his truest, darkest feelings made sentient and given form...You can call me Violet, My Boon."

"SHE ISN'T YOUR BOON!!"

"But she's your 'Lady'? Possessive, aren't we…"

Steven growled ready to strike, when a calming hand rested on his shoulder.

"Steven…"

Steven turned to look at Connie, a flash of shame in his eyes, before turning forward. He breathed deeply and relaxed his stance. "Come on Violet, enough playing." His glare stood as he held out his hand.

Violet kissed his teeth."'What do you mean? No games are being played."

"What's your objective here then, What are you trying to accomplish?"

"....You are useless..as a familiar" Violet growled " You fail at protecting our possession far too often., I refuse to trust you with My boon…:

Steven didn't say anything in response. His fist clenched in anger as his other words hit his heart.

"He protects me just fine, Monster." Connie spoke from behind her Steven, staring defiant at Violet as she stood beside her partner

"As long as I'm present, yes." Violet retorted " All those victories, all those rescues..They could have never been achieved without darker designs. Without me being present, Boon."

"I'm just as capable without you." Steven answered as he cracked his fingers.

"Allowing something to break our things shows capability?!" 

"How about you stop talking as If I’m an object." Connie Intervened, the crest on her wrist glowing. 

"You are!" Violet barked "You are my Boon, Meant to benefit me and enrich my life for my protection power and service.. That's the basis of our contract.!"

"Is that so." She smirked as she thought of what Violet just stated. "Then fulfill your part of the deal Violet and heed my command. RETURN TO STEVEN!"

Before Violet could fathom what was going on, he found himself being pulled towards his more benevolent half. He couldn't  fight it for long at all.. Her command was absolute and felt the need to see it through right down to his core..The need to get her favor.

He hated it, the feeling of being controlled even by her, the lack of freedom annoyed him. At the same time, it made Violet that more obsessive over his boon. Unlike Steven, who wants an equal love with the witch, he would be happy with her completely submitting to him, to stay untainted by unworthy hands. 

To remain his Boon and only touched by him.

"Remember,..I AM HIS THOUGHTS GIVEN FORM, MY BOON! EVERYTHING I SAID. EVERYTHING I DID. HE HAS THE SAME CAPACITY AS WELL!"

Violet gave a howling laugh as he was pulled towards Steven fading out of sight. 

Steven grunted and shook his head, the feeling of rejoining with Violet in such away was a new experience, a worryingly one as well. His confrontations with Violet had never been in the waking world until now. He didn't  have time to think it over as He felt two arms wrapped around him and a head on his chest. 

" My. My lady-I-"

"You're warm.." She gripped the back of his ripped shirt and smothered her face in his mid. "Stars above, you're so warm….It's a lively warmth." 

Steven could only hold her back as she began to quiver and his shirt began to dampen.

[wickedxlovely]

CIRILLA. ( THE ETHEREAL . )

❝ SHE WILL RISE . WITH A SPINE OF STEAL AND A ROAR LIKE THUNDER , SHE WILL RISE .

THE PAST.

❝ HE LOOKED AT ME AND SUDDENLY FLOWERS GREW IN MY CHEST ; They say the first day of summer brings the most light, the sun and the sky awake for the longest day of the year. It was on that day that Cirilla was born, a product of a love affair between Amara, the Seelie Queen, and a faerie of the Wild Hunt. A princess’ birth was meant to be celebrated, but fate that day had another plan. A curse befell the child and a great sickness overtook her. Amara was forced to give her only daughter away. She was exchanged with a changeling child—she going to live with mundane parents and a human child taking her place, growing up with loving fey parents in the Queen’s court. As she grew, her body became stronger, overcoming the sickness that plagued her as the years went by. She did not know her heritage, that she was faerie, that she was royal, but Cirilla knew she was different. It was not normal for a human to be unable to lie, to bring plants to life with just the touch of her fingertips, to drift into others’ dreams, to breathe in sunlight like it was air and life. It was not until a warlock discovered her and took her under their wing. She learned what she was—Faerie—and with the help of the warlock and their friends, she learned her magic, her nature and the supernatural around her. But the mundane world was no longer enough for her, she yearned for her people, to know more about where she came from. The day that she decided to live in Faerieland was the day that fate would come for her again. Faerie consumed her. She grew more distant from the outside world, her fey nature growing inside her like a poison, wicked and lovely. But there is always more than meets the eye. She was trapped, her mother making herself known, the truth revealed to her—she was to become queen one day. Amara would not let her daughter slip back to her old life, keeping her in Faerie to train her to become the next queen. Cruelty was both a beauty and terror of the Seelie Queen and Cirilla faced it alone, a decision by her own choosing, but one she could not escape. But in time, everyone meets their end and a new era begins—Amara died and Cirilla was to become the new queen.

THE PRESENT.

❝ OH SUMMER NIGHT, A SMILE OF LIGHT AS SHE SITS ON A SAPPHIRE THRONE ; But how the weight of a crown could changed her. In the last two years since she was anointed the Seelie Queen, she has grown distant from her family and friends, putting her kingdom before all. There are those within her own court that are unsure if she is fit to rule—she was raised by mundanes and is still so young for a fey. She has much to prove, to her own people and to those who could oppose her. Bringing the clave and other supernaturals into her realm by force was just the beginning of the queen’s true power…

THE HEADCANONS.

❝ SHE WAS OTHERWORLDLY AND VAGUELY THREATENING ;

Though her curse is broken, it left a signature on her body. The magic weakened her body and every once in a while, her body becomes frail and sick—it can last a few hours, a few days, and come ins and goes as it pleases. It often leaves her bedridden until it passes. Only a few, very close people know of it.

Her eyes change colour depending on her mood.

She is also referred to as the Summer Queen, being born on the summer solstice.

She will glamour things she does not want people to see.

Like other fae, she cannot lie.

She found an abandoned fae-bird while she was in the mundane world and adopted him; his name is Fuego ( he takes the form of a red-tailed hawk ). The bird never leaves his Queen’s side; he will fly around the room she is in or be perched nearby.

She rides a unicorn named Faramir.

THE CONNECTIONS.

❝ I AM SO MUCH MORE THAN ROYAL ;

hearts are wild creatures, our ribs our cages ( OPEN CONNECTION ) — her father is part of the Wild Hunt and had an affair with the former Seelie Queen ( Amara ); please see wc link for more info.

as different as the sun and moon ( EUDORA ) — her half-sister that she did not know existed until after some time coming to faerie or will discover; please see wc link for more info.

blood makes you related, loyalty makes you family ( ASTRA TALAIKKOLI , LEOPOLD WAYNE , ELENORA WAYNE & OPEN MOTHER-IN-LAW ) — the warlocks who took her in, trained her, helped her discover she was a faerie. over time they became more than mentors, more than friends, and finally her family. but now, a century after cutting ties with them, things have become complicated.

if I told you about the darkness inside of me would you still look at me like I’m the sun ( LEOPOLD WAYNE ) — ex-lover/best-friend/mentor. she went back home to faerieland to find her biological family, but in doing so she lost him.

love her soul, protect her heart ( SELENIA MARAIS , OPEN PERSONAL GUARDS ) — the queen’s guard; an innner circle of cirilla’s closet guards.

you’re a weapon and weapon’s don’t weep ( OPEN ADVISORS ) — seelies and other species with a title .

all part of the game ( DARCY CORTEZ , OPEN POTENTIAL ALLIES ) — she will offer you protection… for a price. these are people she has made dealings and promises to work with her in exchange for her shield, gifts, etc.

she wasn’t looking for a knight, she was looking for a sword ( KOSMO REYES ) — while the queen may know magic, she doesn’t know how to physically fight. this person is training how to fight with her body.

smile brighter, laugh louder, live better ( ASHLEY WILLIAMS , OPEN ) — friends.

the thunder upon our heads ( JULIAN RHODES , GABRIELLA DELACY , OPEN ) — rocky relationships.

fear her when she looks into a fire a smiles ( CASSIAN GRAVES, WAR SEO-YEON SEOK , OPEN ENEMIES ) — enemies she has made along the way.

THE TAGS.

interactions ; mirror ; musings ; headcanons ; self para ; answers ; tasks ; outfits .

( template & psd by goodvibesrph. )

[maxparkhurst]

Chapter One: A Bond We Share

“It rained when Augustine was born… 

As if the tide wept…

Heralding a Parkhurst…

While mourning another…”

The room laid silent save for an infant’s cry rolling in tandem to thunder. Swaddled in the midwife’s arms he gulped his first breaths of air, expelling them out in drawing wails. Below them a mother drew her last breath, withering away in her blankets as she squeezed her husband’s hand in parting. During a summer shower, Augustine Parkhurst made his entrance and Martha Parkhurst exited the stage. 

Only three witnesses were present that day: A consoling midwife, a crestfallen Forgemaster, and the eldest Parkhurst child who watched it all through a crack in the door. 

Subsequenting days passed in a blur. A wet nurse flitted through the Parkhurst home, coming in every so often to feed Augustine, clean up a bit, and leave. In the hours between her trips, the house was filled with his crying. They echoed off the walls and trailed down the halls, one lingering in the air long enough for him to take a breath and unleash another. Each one pulsed in Maxinora’s head. 

Soon after he was born she came to realize babies are stupid and don’t do much other than poop and cry.  She wanted part in neither and extracted herself from the equation, escaping outside to do whatever it was she so please. Summer afternoons spent in the shade while she read was almost enough to cull a icky concoction brewing in her stomach. 

It gurgled and bubbled like a witch’s cauldron. A tummy ache? Maybe, Max reasoned. Certainly tasted bitter. The acrid taste lingered in the back of her throat and surfaced in an unpalatable force when she burped. Then again, she’d never had a tummy ache quite like this before. She didn’t know what to call it, this brewing feeling. All she knew was she felt it the most when he cried. It dripped hot and angry into her stomach, her neck hot and itchy under the collar.

On days she’d be stuck inside Max sat on her bed, eyes screwed shut and hands clasped tightly over her ears. Sometimes hours passed with her humming to drown out his boisterous wails until the wet nurse finally arrived. 

“Babies are stupid,” she thought, “Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!” 

***

Rain pattered against the glass, window panes shuttering in a howling wind. The wet nurse wiped her hands clean after placing Augustine in his crib, stealing a glance outside at the encroaching storm. She tucked the boy in and made haste for her coat and hat kept by the door before slipping out of the Parkhurst home. 

No sooner did the door close did his crying begin. 

Maxinora winced at his shrill voice and slammed her book shut. Loose parchment paper laid scattered across her bed, some even tacked to the wall. Circles and symbols were scrawled over them, their edges smudged with ink from an unsteady hand. She snatched her current page, crumbled it, and threw it across the room. It soundlessly bounced off her door. 

The icky brew bubbled in her stomach. 

She plugged her ears and closed her eyes, willing it away. His muffled cries wormed their way through though and brought her stomach to a boil. Her neck grew hot and itchy, and a lump that she couldn’t swallow formed in her throat. Sweat pricked her brow and made her skin crawl. The feeling in her stomach rose to her chest and her heart swelt to contain it- she felt as if she couldn’t breath. All she could hear was Augustine. 

Enough was enough! 

The door flung open and his crying paused for a short moment. Max stood in the doorway, hands balled in tight fists as she heaved to catch her breath. She saw him through the rungs of his crib.  He laid on his back, face red and puffy and smothered in tears. A hiccup rocked his body and he took a deep breath, releasing it for another round of crying. 

Her heart seized as she screamed back.at him, getting louder and louder to match him. All the icky brew erupted from her in that moment, hot tears streaking down her cheeks as she shook his crib. 

“Stop it!” she cried, “Stop it right now!” 

It hurt. All of it hurt so much. This feeling with no name stung not only her hoarse throat but also her chest. The rising tension exploded in each of her wails, subsiding back into the recesses of her fragile body before crashing down again with a vengeance. She wanted her mom right now. She wanted to be held close to her chest, have her hair stroked, and listen to all of Mom’s stories. She wanted to smell her perfume again, wanted to hear her voice again, wanted to feel her embrace again. 

But all she got was this crying baby instead. 

Through her mist of tears she saw him flail and kick, his chubby face contorted and mouth open enough for her to see down his throat. She leaned over the crib and yelled even louder. 

“STOP IT!” 

They’re screaming match could’ve lasted hours or minutes and Max would’ve never known either way- nor did she care. An eerie silence filled the room, both Parkhurst children wheezing a little from exhaustion. A hollowness lingered where the icky brew once sat. Was that a good thing? She had nothing left save for a numbing emptiness. 

Tentatively she pushed herself up and found Augustine asleep in his crib. 

***

Maxinora heard the wet nurse return later that evening. She never announced her comings and goings, but Max knew it was her by the sound of her shoes clicking against the hardwood floor. She made it a point to ignore the wet nurse; she cared for the noisy baby and therefore was no friend of Max’s. But this afternoon’s excursions left the eldest Parkhurst feeling some kind of way. 

The icky brew never did come back; instead, it left behind a chill she couldn’t shake. It made it hard to concentrate on her readings and her hands shook anytime she touched a quill. Frustrating to say the least. All she managed to do was stare up at her ceiling as the sun waned into evening. 

She heard Augustine rouse from his slumber. He hadn’t cried once since their spat and Max counted it as a win. Thus finding she had missed hearing him in some way came as a surprise. The house was quiet without him. Papa spent all his time now at his forge, coming home only to lock himself in his room with a new bottle clutched in his hands. He didn’t talk much after Mom’s passing and he rarely peeked in on either of them in the passing months. Reluctant to admit it, Max realized that Augustine had been her only companion- albeit a poor one. 

His tiny cries carried through the hall and dispersed- he was feeding now. Max waited on the edge of her bed, legs crossed and eyes set on the door across the hall. The idea stirred in her head for some time before she mustered the courage to get up and peek her head inside his nursery. 

The wet nurse sat in the rocking chair, Augustine cradled in her arms in a milk-drunk stupor. Her gaze flicked up to the creaking door and she smiled at Maxinora. Max bristled and dropped her gaze to the floor, slipping inside without a sound. 

“He’s got quite the appetite,” the nurse jested. 

Dorothy. She remembered the nurse’s name was Dorothy. 

Max’s brows furrowed and her lips puckered in a defiant pout. “All he drinks s’ milk. And cry. A lot.” A pause followed. “A lot, a lot.” 

Dorothy brushed it off with a good hearted chuckle. “Aye. Babies do that. How else are they suppose to tell you they want somethin’?” 

Want something? Max hadn’t thought of that until then. She didn’t think babies thought, much less wanted. 

“I dunno.”

“Babies don’t know anythin’ Miss Parkhurst. You’ve got tae teach them.” 

A smile spread across Dorothy’s lips. She brushed aside a few errant wisps of Augustine’s hair before stealing a glance up at his sister. There was a look in her eyes Maxinora couldn’t explain, though. They glistened in the dim light like two glossy marbles and looking at them made her chest tighten. 

It disappeared just as quickly as it came as Dorothy readjusted Augustine in her arms. “Ya’ want tae hold him?” 

“I don’t know how.” 

“S’ easy,” Dorothy breathed, rising from her chair. Carefully she sat Augustine in Max’s outstretched arms, guiding her hands to their proper position. “Place his head in the crook of your arm and support his bottom. No, no. Keep his head up. There ya’ go. A perfect fit.” 

Maxinora knew babies were fragile but no one ever told her they were soft. His body radiated a warmth which lifted the tightness from her chest. She released a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding and eased herself into the rocking chair, vigilant as to not jostle him.  

Maybe babies weren’t so bad. 

“Say hello to your sister, Augustine,” Dorothy said over Max’s shoulder. 

And as if on queue he opened his eyes- bright, round, and innocent- and babbled. Max recoiled. She looked from him to Dorothy and back again, offering him a single finger. His tiny hand curled around it and a jolt ran up her spine. Something ignited in her soul. A potent something with no name, roaring as it spread like wildfire. A certain something filling the hollow in her heart and making it burn bright. 

She’d call it love. 

And she would love her brother. 

Make it so his world never dimmed. 

And he wouldn’t feel empty…

Or lonely. 

Next Chapter: A Tale of Two Siblings

[mighty-mighty-man]

All Might x Reader Rescued By All Might

Your flats scrape the sidewalk, water leaking in and pruning your toes. Dozens of people pass you by, some prepared for the weather with umbrellas, but most caught unaware. The summer shower started not long after you left the hospital. Not a cloud in the sky that morning, but now you’re getting soaked on your way to your shift at the office.

Just my luck, you suppose and shrug. The water soothes needle pricks on your forearms, even as they heal under your band-aid. You know you didn’t need one, given your quirk; but nobody passes up on a banana-shaped band-aid. Especially not you, a grown-ass woman.

A roar of thunder echoes through the streets. People scatter under awnings or on their way. Cars and buses roll their windows up. You think about using your purse to keep the rain out of your eyes, but it’s not far to walk and you have a spare set of clothes in your desk drawer. You choose to enjoy the downpour; it brings you close to nature when everything else in life is constructed by man.

Your phone beeps.

You figure it’s your boss. He might want something picked up, since he knows your routine. With a sigh, you trot off to the side and fish the device our of your satchel. It beeps a little more before you can get the screen on.

An automated text.

Villain Warning.

You peek around, puzzled over the message. Other people are looking at their phones, too, and moving off the street as well as they can. There’s no danger in sight, but you’ve been prompted to evacuate and wait for a hero or the police to resolve a situation. Yet, everything seems normal. Their system must be off.

You’re a good citizen and the last thing you want is to make trouble for heroes and cops. You head towards a store nearby, following the lead of a handful of equally confused pedestrians.

The rumble comes again.

You realize it’s not thunder you heard.

It came from below.

You walk a little faster and swallow a lump in your throat.

The sidewalk explodes.

In front of you, the cement walkway bursts into pieces, flung into the air by a rising monster. You stumble back, noticing metallic claws punching their way to the surface from under the city.

The villain shoots up with the rubble, growling and rubbing his eyes. He has goggles on, but they’re broken and there’s blood on his face. “Damn!” he hisses, whipping his arms around. His gaze settles on the group you followed.

Citizens scream from the shop, trying to shut the door. His claws could tear through the ground; a pane of glass proves worthless. You hear police sirens blaring, but you can’t see any flashing lights.

“Come here, meat-shields!” He reaches towards them, snagging a young girl by the arm. She screams and reaches for her mother.

You don’t think.

You kick the criminal in the back of the knee as hard as you can. Your soggy shoe flies off. He shouts, more out of surprise than pain, but you don’t stop. You dig your naked heel into his calf as hard as you can, and you whomp him over the head with your purse. Pens fly everywhere. Your Best Jeanist! pin sticks into the ridge of his ear.

He yelps and reels back, letting go of the girl.

But grabbing you by the neck.

You didn’t think this through.

“You’ll have to do, you little shit,” he sneers. The villain tucks you under his arm like a parcel, unmoved by your kicking and squirming. The sirens are closer now, and you swear you see the reflection of red and blue lights off the puddles. His grip on your neck tightens. You try to bite him, but you don’t have the angle.

“Drop the hostage!” There are numerous footfalls against the wet pavement.

The criminal wheels around and holds you up, still by your neck, so you can look at the gathered officers. “You come one step closer, and I’ll pop her head like a grape!” You can’t breathe. The edge of your vision starts to get fuzzy.

The officers look at each other and they hold their ground, some even take a step back.

“That’s what I thought!”

The villain digs his free claw into the side of a building, then heaves.

He’s airborne, and you with him.

You can’t get air.

You close your eyes and pry at his sharp hands, trying to steal even the smallest breath as you’re flung hither and thither. His knife-like thumb slices your hand open, but you keep trying to get him off of you. You’re not sure where you’re going. There’s movement, and all of it makes you dizzy and sick. At this rate, you only have seconds before you pass out, and--

The air whistles and crackles with energy.

BANG.

You gulp air and feel heat against your body. The spinning and jostling ends all at once, leaving the world still. You blink to focus your vision, but you know exactly who has you bundled in their arms.

“Fear not.” He says it in a quiet tone, not like the boom and pomp on television. His deep voice pours from his chest. You’ve never heard a sweeter sound. You’ve never known a noise as precious as the shadow of a laugh that chases his words while he shifts his hand against your shoulder. “For I am here.”

He sets you down at his side, hand lingering against you. Your fingers dig into the yellow pads on his elbow to keep your body upright.

When you gaze the criminal, you see danger has passed. With one concise blow, the villain was rendered unconscious. A phantom of the frightening moment lingers over you, but has already begun to lift.

It’s only you and him now.

All Might.

The most famous Hero to ever live. A beacon of hope, the Symbol of Peace.

He holds your hand and smiles at you. “You had a little adventure, I see. Are you hurt at all?” All Might guides the tips of his fingers along your jawline, tilting your face. You stare into his eyes, which are focused entirely on your neck. For a massive, powerful man, his touch his feather-light. You feel his pulse through his hot, rough hands. Maybe it’s your pulse. Your heart is racing.

“It doesn’t look as serious as I thought,” he marvels, tone hushed. “You’ll still be seeing a paramedic, of course. Great Claw Bandit could have left you with much more serious wounds.”

When you swallow, you feel his thumbs lift to give you a little extra room. To put you at ease. “I’m all right,” you assure the hero. It’s a strange sensation, trying to provide peace of mind to somebody who saved your life. “He couldn’t have done anything to me that wouldn’t heal right away.”

“Oh?” He almost chuckles. You notice the nature of his smile shift, becoming both diminished in size and more genuine. Happiness reaches his eyes when he looks at you.

“My quirk,” you explain. But you leave it at that. There are so many more interesting things to do than bother the Number One Hero with your specifics. “Th-thank you. Even if it couldn’t have gotten me killed, I’m glad you rescued me. I… I might have bitten off more than I could chew when I hit that guy.”

All Might laughs. It sends a shiver down your spine, and you flinch into letting go of his arm. What a sound. What power you feel in his aura.

He crouches down next to you, and you realize the difference in size between the two of you. All Might picks something off the rooftop you’ve been standing on, and offers it to you. “I was wondering how you managed to lose this,” he beams, gesturing to your one bare foot.

He has your shoe.

“It’s the sign of a natural-born hero, putting yourself at risk to save others. I’m not condoning that in this case; you’re a citizen, after all.” He pushes a wisp of wet hair away from your eye. You look like a mess, but his hair is strangely pristine. “Next time, and here’s hoping there isn’t a next time for hostage situations, be more careful? The world shouldn’t lose a brave soul like you.”

You tremble. “I… I understand.” You make no promises. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you know you would do this over twice as fast and exactly the same way if it meant this man would speak to you once more with his thick voice.

“May I?”

You nod, dumbstruck, as he lifts your ankle. All Might tries to pat your toes dry on the wrist of his costume, but it hardly matters. You and your shoe are hopelessly wet.

The Symbol of Peace guides your flat into place. His focus in those seconds, when his thumb is caressing your ankle, is unbreakable.

“Cinderella has nothing on this,” you murmur.

All Might stifles another laugh. His shoulders tighten, and you see color on his face. Your remark has him strawberry red, but only for a moment.

He stands and clears his throat just in time for the rooftop door to swing open. “She’s with All Might!” an officer calls, hurrying his compatriot. “She looks okay! The villain is down, too!”

All Might shrugs. “They’ll help you get down and to safety. For me, it’s back to work.”

You watch him stretch, the heat of his hand still on your leg. “I hope to see you again,” you tell him, half tongue-tied, half rushed to get everything out before the police interrupt. “Maybe without the crime?”

“I’d like that!” He gives you a thumbs-up before leaping into the air. Torrents of wind rush after All Might, nearly whipping the shoe back off your shaking foot.

Officers come to you, asking you all the important questions and trying to keep you still until the paramedics can get through the stairwell to clear you. The whole time, your skin echoes the sensation of All Might’s hands.

If giving blood always turned into such an adventure, you would do it every day.

[modelcalifornia]

She will rise. With a spine of steal and a roar like thunder, she will rise. Words by Nicole Lyons. Alessandra Ambrosio (@alessandraambrosio) by @hichem.abdedaiem. https://www.instagram.com/p/B32n5lAIAsf/?igshid=bqpq0fwfbcun

[loveinpanem-blog]

Queen of Hearts

Written by: @katnissdoesnotfollowback

Summary: We spend a couple of hours quizzing each other on military terms. I visit my mother and Prim for a while. When I’m back in my compartment, showered, staring into the darkness, I finally ask, “Johanna, could you really hear him screaming?”

“That was part of it,” she says. “Like the jabberjays in the arena. Only it was real. And it didn’t stop after an hour. Tick, tock.”

“Tick, tock,” I whisper back.  

Roses. Wolf mutts. Tributes. Frosted dolphins. Friends. Mockingjays. Stylists. Me.  

Everything screams in my dreams tonight.

– Suzanne Collins, Mockingjay, The Hunger Games Trilogy

An expanded series of scenes from Mockingjay. Text taken directly from the book in italics.

WARNING: RATED T+ for disturbing images, blood, mentions of torture. If you are expecting fluff or whimsy without some heartache first, this is not the fic you’re looking for.

Plutarch droning on about military history would be boring and awful under most circumstances, but having to listen to him during the late afternoon after several hours of running and push ups makes it unbearable. Johanna gave up on staying awake twenty minutes ago and my eyes are drooping. All of us are ready for dinner, a chorus of grumbling bellies rolling through the room periodically. The only excitement arrives when Plutarch uses a several terms that few of us recognize, not even the soldiers from Thirteen. Queen. King. Empire. Monarch. I only know the words from watching Peeta and Haymitch play chess. I didn’t realize they meant something in terms of our ancestors’ history.

A soldier with graying hair asks Plutarch to explain and I drift in and out of the discussion, my mind really focused on the food I should be eating soon. When he finally finishes droning on, York shouts at us to form back up. I jab Johanna with my elbow to wake her. She flops comically for a second before rising from her chair and joining the line of us making our way back up to the surface and the training field.

We push ourselves hard for the last bit of training, a few laps and then rifle assembly. Today, Johanna actually manages to assemble her rifle without help. The fresh air and exercise work wonders to reinvigorate us after the dull lectures. By the time we reach the cafeteria, we are famished.

“Johanna, could you really hear him screaming?”

“That was part of it,” she says. “Like the jabberjays in the arena. Only it was real. And it didn’t stop after an hour. Tick, tock.”

“Tick tock,” I whisper back.

We lay in silence, fearing the night and the visions it brings. I can’t find the line between sleeping and waking. “Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick. Tock.”

There are always sounds in Thirteen. The constant whir of the ventilation systems. Strange clicks as electrical systems cycle on and off. “Tick tock,” I whisper, and they fall silent. The entire world freezes and then the gears resume.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. The beating sound echoes in my head and calls me forth. The air warms around me, thickens with humidity. Buttercup leaps onto my bed and cleans his paws, staring at me with shining yellow eyes. I try to shoo him and he jumps down. His paws leave glowing paw prints on the floor.

My footsteps follow him and the cadence of the clock. Reaching out, I touch the door and it dissolves beneath my hand, as do the walls. The jungle springs forth in their place. The awful buzzing of the insects creates a rumble, a prelude to the lightning that will soon strike the tree in the distance.

Peeta. I have to get to Peeta before the lightning starts.

Buttercup’s footsteps light the way, but as I get closer, the ground roils beneath me. A sea of litterfall that heaves and crests. Frosted dolphins breach the surface, screaming shrilly into the night before they once more disappear into the soil waves and are silenced. Over and over again.

“Tick tock. Tick tock.”

Still, the clock chimes on as I reach the beach and leave the dolphins behind, only here, the wolves prowl. Snarling with blood dripping from their fangs. Their human eyes watching me.

I cover my ears and break into a run, the screams of the dolphins growing more distant as I circle the Cornucopia. The wolves follow, their stinking breath washing down my spine, their greedy claws grabbing for vengeance. For me.

“Tick tock. Tick tock.”

They follow me as I crash into the jungle, still following Buttercup’s luminescent trail. As soon as the wolf mutts’ paws reach the dirt, their screaming intensifies. Grisly howls of pain and anguish. Then come the birds.

My legs ache with the effort of running. My chest with the pounding of my heart and the need to stop. To take deep gulps of air. But I keep going, ignoring the screams of friends as they swoop around me on dark wings. Gale, Madge, Prim, Rue, Cinna.

On and on I run until the charged air makes my hair stand on end and I skid to a halt in front of the great tree. Lightning splits the sky, cleaving the tree in two, revealing a pristine white throne, a man perched upon it dressed all in white. The remnants of the tree twist into bushes that sprout snow-white roses.

The screaming stops.

“Kneel,” a voice orders, and I have no choice, zapped into obedience by a current not unlike the one on the ladders of the hovercraft.

I cry out at the pain, and when I again lift my head, the jungle is gone. Replaced with a chessboard that stretches to the horizon and beyond, the sky above me crackles with lightning cavorting in storm clouds.

The man on the throne watches me, his face hidden behind a marble mask.

“Who’s been painting my roses red?” he asks. I command my limbs to move so I can kill him. The serpent voice behind the mask who will steal everyone I love from me. But I cannot move and shriek with rage.

“Who’s been painting my roses red?” he roars again. The wolves, dolphins, and birds resume their screams for a moment. Until he commands their silence. “You, Miss Everdeen, you dare to stain with blood and pain, my perfect flower bed?”

I open my mouth to deny it and choke on my words.

“She can’t speak, My King,” Plutarch informs him, sweeping into a grand bow before standing upright. “Allow me.”

He claps his hand, making thunder boom through the land. The screaming resumes until the King shouts for silence. Talons dig into my shoulder. A mockingjay perches there and begins to sing.

“Yes. Yes, go on,” Plutarch urges as the King leans forward in his throne.

“What does it say?” he demands.

“She did not act alone, your Grace,” Plutarch states. “She had help from the Ace.”

“The Ace, you say? Bring forth the prisoner!” the King bellows and the creatures of the night scream in answer. “Silence! Or someone shall lose their head!”

Plutarch claps his hands and two chess pawns drag a limp form across the board, his wrists in thick iron manacles. They drop him to kneel, facing me, in one of the black squares. His ash blonde waves are matted with blood, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Peeta!” The mockingjay on my shoulder screams with my voice the instant that I think his name.

A bird perches on his shoulder, a mockingjay’s direct negative. White with black underwing stripes.

“Katniss! Katniss!” the bird howls with his voice.

The king rises and walks to stand behind Peeta as the screams begin anew, a low hum that gradually grows to an unbearable lament. I cover my ears but am otherwise unable to move, forced to watch as Peeta lifts his head to look at me with pained blue eyes. The white bird flaps its wings and tries to lift him from the ground, but his knees are as useless as mine.

“No, not your head,” the king decrees. “Your heart.”

Peeta’s mouth falls open with shock, the white bird screams for him, an agonizing sound that goes on for hours. My black bird joins the chorus as my throat turns raw with the screams I can’t seem to get out, the bird releasing them for me. A red blossom forms on Peeta’s chest where I know his heart to be, growing in size apace with the agony of our screams. His eyes turn cloudy and angry and still our mingled screams fill the night, only his transform from pain and fear to a murderous rage. Blackness taints his eyes, erasing the blue. The white roses on the bushes bleed red from their centers and soon, the roses scream, too.

“Tick tock. Tick tock. Now die by the clock.”

Midnight chimes. And everything screams.

I wake thrashing in my sheets with Peeta’s name a soft wail on my lips. In the dark, I search for my pearl and hug my knees to my chest once I find it. Hold in my real screams as I press the pearl to my lips, biting the lower until I taste blood mingling with the salt of tears. And I promise myself again.

I will kill Snow for this. For taking him from me.

But more words tumble out. “You’re a painter. You’re a baker. You like to sleep with the windows open. You never take sugar in your tea. And you always double-knot your shoelaces.”

Then I dive into my tent before I do something stupid like cry.

Sleep does not come easy, and when it does, it brings no relief. There’s no clock here and still, I hear the ticking. Tick tock. Tick Tock.

Buttercup’s glowing paw prints lead me once more through city streets, littered with rubble and bodies. Tick tock. Tick tock.

Peeta’s memories are here somewhere and I must find them before midnight. Always midnight.

I get trapped, caught in tangles of wire that slither and writhe like snakes. I try to scream for help and can’t. They sprout legs, insects of great length crawling over me. My mockingjay lands nearby and pecks at them, but the insects overwhelm the creature and we are both swallowed, consumed in a black pit, falling for ages until the world flips upside down.

Lightning flashes and I land, poised on a throne overlooking the giant chess board. The bird perches on my shoulder as I survey my surroundings. Broken chess pieces cover the checkered surface. Great chasms split the squares. I glance down and find myself dressed in my Mockingjay uniform, only it’s made of blood red instead of black. When I look back at the chess board, Peeta’s there, kneeling once more, his eyes fierce black chasms of tracker-jacker rage. Hands bound, body neglected. Tortured. He looks the same as he did on the day they rescued him.

All around him, crushed white roses bleed crimson onto the marble ground. The white bird reposes on his shoulder, hissing angry words and accusations, all of them true. I left him. I left him in the arena and then I left him without a hope of recovery, leaving him in the hands of the questionable head doctors of Thirteen. With each accusation, the blood flower on his chest grows larger until he begins to fade away into it.

I will it to stop, but when I move to stand, I can’t use my hands. Glancing down, I scream at the beating mass in my palm. I try to run to him, to return what belongs to him, but I smash my toe on something solid and fall to the ground. Look back to find Snow’s visage captured in marble, severed from his marble body and seeping blood from his hideous, puffy lips.

“We painted his roses red,” Mutt Peeta’s voice snarls at me. “Tick tock.”

I scream and sit upright in my tent.

“It was the waste of a trip. She’s not here,” I tell him. Buttercup hisses again. “She’s not here. You can hiss all you like. You won’t find Prim.” At her name, he perks up. Raises his flattened ears. Begins to meow hopefully. “Get out!” He dodges the pillow I throw at him. “Go away! There’s nothing left for you here!” I start to shake, furious with him. “She’s not coming back! She’s never ever coming back here again!” I grab another pillow and get to my feet to improve my aim. Out of nowhere, the tears begin to pour down my cheeks. “She’s dead.” I clutch my middle to dull the pain. Sink down on my heels, rocking the pillow, crying. “She’s dead, you stupid cat. She’s dead.” A new sound, part crying, part singing, comes out of my body, giving voice to my despair. Buttercup begins to wail as well. No matter what I do, he won’t go. He circles me, just out of reach, as wave after wave of sobs racks my body, until eventually I fall unconscious.

Buttercup limps along the forest path lined with primroses, leaving softly glowing prints for me to follow. We trek through gauzy violet clouds that swirl around me like silk when I wave my hand through their mist. I hear faint screams and wait for the horrors to descend. A silent Mockingjay lands on my shoulder and remains.

He’s waiting for me at the edge of the woods, where the trees open up upon a wide black and white chess board. A soft meow encourages me, and I walk alone across the squares until my feet ache and my throat is parched. I pass a crumbled throne set inside a split open and charred tree. There’s no sign of the carnage caused by the occupants of the throne. Because the monster is within.

I continue to walk. The throne is not my goal.

Eventually, trees rise up from the horizon and my pulse quickens. Smoke drifts across the edges of the board as I reach its end. I kneel in the dirt and stare at the burning rose bushes that block my path. Through the smoke and the flames, I see a figure in a red-stained shirt, kneeling in the dirt. His hands work with assurance, planting seedlings.

The bird on my shoulder takes flight, soars over the burning roses. It’s reverse leaves it’s perch on his shoulder and they cartwheel through the air for a moment before disappearing into the woods.

I want to touch him, to hold him and know that he’s alright. I call out his name. He stands and as he whispers my name, the blossom shaped sain begins to recede, leaving soft yellow in its place. The roses burn. And he waits with me.

My eyes flutter open to my room. Buttercup sits perched on the end of my bed, his tail swishing rhythmically. Tick tock. Tick tock. Eyes glowing yellow and alert in the moonlight. Guarding me until I can get past the burning rose bushes.

He’s still there in the morning. And eventually, after many lost days, both of them guard me in the night and wait for me to wake in the mornings. The yellow-eyed cat and the blue-eyed boy.

Author’s Notes:

My thanks to @titaniasfics for editing this odd little piece and making some wonderful suggestions to tie it all together. Thank you also to @peetabreadgirl for accidentally providing the inspiration for this rather last minute piece. And finally, thanks to @titaniasfics, @akai-echo, @louezem, and @thegirlfromoverthepond for running Love in Panem and this challenge. Keeping the love and the fandom alive, ladies! Thank you so much for your time and brainpower.

<3 KDNFB

[jimlingss]

A Bed of Roses [2]

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Words: 3722

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Superpower!Au

Summary: Superpowers are suppose to make you invincible, someone who could save the world, a hero. It’s not suppose to be like this...not like this.

“Unnie!” You hug her close, a hand over her head and pressing her to your chest. “They’re coming! Wha- What do we do?!”

She quivers and you exhale a soft breath, letting go. Placing hands on her shoulders, you bore eyes into her’s. “Listen. It’s going to be okay.”

But the knot in her stomach doesn’t rest and she holds her trembling hands out, staring at them. “They’re gonna take me away from you! They’re going to kill us!” She screams, a dam of tears rushing out. “This- this curse!”

You’re unable to respond when suddenly there’s banging. “POLICE! OPEN UP!” A fist booms against the door, a thunder beat that leaves the walls shaking. “WE KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE!”

Soomi begins hyperventilating, unable to breathe. “They’re going to kill us! They’re going to kill us!”

You shake her. “Soomi. Listen to me!” She stops for a moment and finally looks back into your eyes. And you make a false promise, lying straight through your teeth and cloaking your own fears. “It’s going to be okay.”

You grab her hands within yours and you close your eyes. For a moment, your skin tingles and goosebumps rise along your arms. Then suddenly pain shoots up from your hands, into your spine and straight into your skull. You repress a scream as your body heats up and your hands glow. “Unnie!”

Your heart stops beating. The pounding rattles the hinges of the door and it finally bursts open.

Your eyes shoot open and you inhale a huge breath, lungs filling with air again. Your vision darts around, confused at where you are and the surroundings shifting. But when you realize that you’re in your prison-like room, you’re comforted again.

Standing up, you shake off the queasy feeling and ignore the sweat sticking to your skin. Everything’s okay. Heading to the washrooms, you swish your mouth and splash your face with some cold water. The sedative they injected you earlier yesterday knocked you almost out for twenty four hours and now your vision still swirled a bit.

As you venture out of the bathrooms, you notice a vase full of budding, purple tulips sitting on the reception table. There’s no one around and you find yourself walking forward, as if magnetically attracted.

“Unnie! Look at what I can do!” She grins with big eyes. Inhaling a breath, she turns to the cherry tree and presses her hands flat to the bark.

The leaves rustle together and as if being called, the breeze howls. In an instant, the blossoms bloom and fall, cascading down coral petals that swirl around you like a tornado.

Blinking back from your daydream, you find a smile on your lips and you wonder why you’ve been thinking about her so much lately.

With a quirk of your head and a hum, you lift your fist to the purple tulips and without touching them, ever so slowly, you begin to open your palm. The flowers perk upwards and the petals begin to open, the fresh pollen tickling your nose. A rich scent releases into the air and the tulips intensify in colour, mauve and amethyst.

A shrill scream cuts through the air and instinctively, you run to it. “Soomi! Soomi! What’s wrong?” You find her curled up in a ball with clenched fists, pulling her own hair.

“THEY’RE SCREAMING!” She shouts in agony, voice cracking. “Make it stop! Make it stop! Make it stop!” You freeze, darting eyes around at what she could possibly be talking about. “SHUT UP!” She suddenly roars, straight from her gut and she swings her arm at the vase.

The yellow daisies fall to the ground.

Feeling a presence linger behind you, you escape your trance and turn on your heel. It’s the young man who you recognize as the one who fabricated your worst fear into reality. He was the one with eyes full of horror and the one who dropped to the floor, screaming. But today he looks much better, so you greet him with a smile.

“Lame power right?” You point your thumb to the vase full of purple tulips. “....blooming flowers…”

“YOU FREAK. YOU MONSTER. YOU WILL DIE AND BURN IN HEL-”

You purse your lips at him, narrowing your eyes. “Have I seen you somewh-”

“I’m so sorry.” He cuts you off, downcasting his entire face. You assume he must be referring to the whole fiasco yesterday.

You chuckle. “It’s alright...We can’t control it.” He lifts his head and meets your eyes. He returns your smile with a small one of his own and for a moment, you admire it. “I’m Y/N.”

“Hoseok.”

“YOU’RE A POOR EXCUSE. A SAD EXCUSE. YOU FREAK OF NATURE. YOU SHOULD JUST DIE ALREAD-”

“Wait.” You hold a figure up, smiling wide. “Can you just hold on for a second?”

He nods with a frown, slightly confused but you quickly spin around and in one motion, you rip the petals of the flower off. They shriek in your ears, hundreds of voices screaming in torment before they fade out as the petals hit the ground. For good measure, you lift the vase and chuck it across the room. It shatters against the wall into a million pieces and the rest of the tulips are smashed.

Finally it is quiet.

You sigh of relief, turning back to Hoseok with a huge grin. “Yeah...sorry about that. They’re really annoying.”

He nods slowly, lifting brows at you and his lips tug upwards. He stares at you intently as if you were a puzzle that he was trying to solve. You don’t notice though, a flying blur in the background stealing your attention. “Oh it’s a bird.” You point past him and he shifts his head to follow your finger. “How’d it get in here?”

“Must’ve somehow gotten in the building and up the elevator…” Hoseok muses and you hum.

“How strange…..I’m going to go see where it goes.” Curiosity tugs you away and he’s left staring at your back, lingering longer than necessary.

“Okay.”

The blue feared bird chirps happily, landing on tables and the tiled floor. You follow it while maintaining a good distance, trying to not scare it away. It turns to you and twists its head to the side, as if saying something to you. You wonder if it’s trying to lead you somewhere.

But it swiftly takes off again and suddenly you feel so envious that it can fly. It could leave everything behind, soar into the sky and away from this earth. Then you ponder how it got trapped in such a place, such a building...such a hell.

Mindlessly walking, you find yourself in the rec room where a brunette boy is seated, staring out the window in silence. Before you can speak up, he shoots his head around and his eyes grow wide but not at you. Instead he’s staring at the bluebird that’s perched itself on top of the bookshelf, looking down and tweedling some sort of melody.

A second passes and like a switch is flipped, the brunette boy begins screaming at the top of his lungs. He covers his ears with his hands and wails in distress as if being tortured. You’re startled and he falls out of his chair and onto the floor, curling into a ball while the bird continues to chirp, now landing on the armchair.

Two nurses rush in. “What’s going on?!” They shoot their eyes to the boy who’s shaking and wailing. One lugs in a silver cart full of metal trays and scrambles to grab a needle.

Something clicks inside your head. “NO WAIT! IT’S THE BIRD! IT’S THE BIRD!”

In one motion, you pull the white tablecloth off the table, the decks of cards fly and scatter across the floor. You lunge towards the bird and with the white sheet, you cloak and trap it.

Immediately, the boy stops screaming and his arms drop to his side, breathing stabilizing. You take a long sigh of relief as the nurse puts her needle away.

“It’s the bird…” You murmur out.

“How’d you know?” A voice catches you off guard and you turn around to another boy who was hidden in the corner, witnessing the scene.

//

The nurses escort the boy, whose name you learnt is Taehyung, back to his room to rest. One of them takes the bird wrapped in the tablecloth to set it outside and you're thankful that everything ended up okay.

“So...what’s your power?” You ask the other boy who introduced himself as Jimin. You recognize him from peeking his head out yesterday before everyone had their meltdown.

He’s pretty cute with round cheeks and plump lips. He’s shy, easily jumpy and still wary of you but you don't blame him. “That’s...a pretty straightforward question.”

“Meh, it’s better that way.” You shrug and maybe it’s your eyes playing tricks on you but is he smiling? You learn closer, stare more intently and it disappears.

“Emotions...I feel people’s emotions.. but...but ten folds the effect.” He downcasts his eyes and twiddles his fingers. “It’s kinda lame.”

“Are you kidding me?!” He jumps from your loud volume. “That’s terribly cool!”

“Terribly cool?”

“Well yeah! I mean you can tell if someone’s being honest or not, right? And oh man, you can be happy all the time! You should go feel out someone who’s won the lottery! I bet you’d be on cloud nine all the time!”

He laughs, eyes crinkling and a high pitched sound emitting from his lips. He covers his mouth and tilts his head backwards. “Ah, really…” It's contagious and you find yourself giggling with him. “Yeah...that’s not a bad idea.”

//

You quickly become acquainted with the others. Jungkook is the youngest of the seven and he’s the one who had stormed down the hallway, causing a ripple anger effect. Interesting power. He’s quiet and keeps to himself mostly but you already figured that the majority of people here are like that.

Taehyung thanks you for saving him and you brush him off, not minding much. You're far from a hero or any of the sort. You do however, take a liking to him and his positive energy, a rarity to come across in this rehabilitation center.

You wander around a bit more but finding there’s not much to do, you take a nap. If you weren’t being held against your will or forced in such ugly-khaki-green clothing and medication wasn’t forcibly shoved into you, you’d say this was paradise.

A knock wakes you up and you can hear the nurse’s voice. “It’s meal time! Everyone downstairs! MEAL TIME!” She walks down the hallway, thumping her fist on each door.

You rub your eyes and step out into the hallway, nodding your head in greeting to the others. The nurse inserts her key into the elevator and the doors open. Everyone steps inside and when you count inside your head. One person’s missing. “Isn’t there suppose to be one more of us?”

“Min Yoongi...he’s...” Jimin frowns, unable to find the right words.

“Unsociable.” Jungkook adds and Jimin nods.

“Tired.” Jin corrects.

“I see.” You comment and the doors shut. The terrible saxophone elevator music begins to play and you can’t hide the scowl on your face.

A young nurse is in the corner, holding her clipboard tightly against her body. Her eyes are downcast as if afraid and every so often, she glances upwards but instantly flinches when someone stares back. Handsome Jin sends her a greasy wink and she abruptly turns away to face the steel doors. You exchange grins with Hoseok.

The doors slide open and your heart squeezes at the familiarity. The first floor was vast, huge with intertwining hallways that you could explore for hours. Much more exciting than the eighth floor. Once, you found yourself at the back of some janitor’s closet and you opened a door which led to another room and then four more. The nurses weren’t very happy when they saw you strolling about but you always managed to find your bunk room again, thanks to the occasional map on the walls.

The young nurse leads you straight to the cafeteria blue double doors. “Ple- please don’t wander and when time’s up...we’ll meet- meet here again.” She stutters and Namjoon nods. The other nurses standing guard outside the cafeteria lift their eyebrows at you, staring out of the corner of their eyes.

You push the doors open and instantly the chatter silences. The flow of conversations are chopped in half as folks begin nudging each other to your group. Wow….exactly like mean girls...are we in high school? You almost burst into laughter at the tension.

Namjoon walks in between the silver railings where line-ups are supposed to be and grabs a tray. Jimin follows him and with slow steps, the rest do too. “Mommy...who are they?” A young boy asks and the lady, presumably his mother, shushes him.

“Don’t talk to them. They can’t be cured. You’ll be infected like them too if you touch them.” She hushes him harshly and you shake your head at the absurdity. The rumours that spread around are utterly ridiculous.

Murmurs start up again but you don’t pay any attention. Instead you’re gaping at how the lunch ladies have plopped down some kind of oatmeal jelly into your bowl and then they pour a spoonful of potato-shit soup on top of it. You internally die a bit.

With a heavy sigh, you shift past Taehyung and Jungkook who are standing there like statues. “Hey! How’s it going?” You plop down on a bench, placing your tray on the table. But as you sit, the rest of the people around stand up and rush to another.

You almost laugh at the childishness but hey...more space. You motion the younger boys to come take a seat and with sluggish steps, they follow. Eyes brightening when you notice a few familiar faces, they outright turn their heads away from you. Sure, you were never close to anyone since everyone was always on edge but it still hurt. The people that don’t ignore your group, send snarls and glances of disdain.

You feel goosebumps rising along your skin and when you look over, Jungkook’s got his fist clenched together. Jimin who’s affected by emotions, is not faring well either, his face filling with red. “Hey...where’d you get that?!” He becomes momentarily distracted by your question and your finger, pointing towards his fresh apple.

“There was only one left…” Jimin responds and you snag it off his tray. “Hey!”

“All’s fair game in war.” You flash a smirk and he shakes his head with a smile. You bite the apple and though it’s stale, it’s still hundreds better than the shitty-excuse-of-food on your tray. “Man...they really need to up their game here…”

“I know right!” Jin slams his fist on the table and the surrounding people flinch but he doesn’t take notice. “Like what kind of torture is this?! Food is the best thing on earth and they give us this crap!” He almost flips over his bowl. “I’m going to die!”

Hoseok starts laughing which leads Jimin into uncontrollable giggles. “Hey…” You slide your bowl over to Jungkook. “Bet you can’t finish both of it under five minutes.”

He darts his eyes over, fists unclenching and a smirk taking place on his lips. “I so can.”

“Nu-uh.” You close your eyes and shake your head. “Don’t think so.”

“Oh well I can!” He says defensively, sitting up straighter.

“You should have a race with Jin since he loves food so much.” Taehyung adds mid-spoonful with a grin.

“Why are you dragging me into this?!” Jin childishly complains and Taehyung giggles.

“One, two, three, go!” Jimin suddenly announces and the two of them scramble to grab their utensil. They shove spoonfuls until their mouths are full, like chipmunks storing acorns for winter and Jin is whimpering.

“Finish both! Finish both!” You nudge your bowl over to Jungkook’s and he mumbles something incoherent. The potato soup is dripping from his chin but he pays no attention.

“RHIS IZ DICHUGUSTING!” Jin shouts and a potato cube falls out into his mouth, back into his bowl.

Just then, Jungkook lifts the bowl to chug and everyone cheers. “Woahhhh~” You and Taehyung chime together, gaping while laughing.

“Oh my god.” Hoseok is grinning and watching intently.

Jungkook finishes the first bowl and quickly begins to chug the second one. He sputters a bit and potato chunks hit his face. Namjoon shakes his head and slaps his back, helping him through it. “Don’t die kid.”

He tips the bowl back further and with a final slurp, slams it back to the table. “DONE!” He shouts and everyone claps. You inhale a deep breath with a huge smile on your face, watching Jin smash down his spoon and slump in his seat, nagging at the world.

When Jungkook’s catching his breath, you finally notice how everyone... and by everyone you mean...everyone is watching. The adults are glaring at your table but the teenagers have grins and the children are giggling behind their hands. Jimin downcasts his face, hiding his bright beam.

“Well, nice job Kook.” You slap him on the back, standing from your seat. “You proved me wrong.”

“Of course I did.”

“Where are you going?” Hoseok asks.

“Washroom.” You answer, taking another bite of your apple. You turn on your heel and open the door. The nurses on the other side ask you the same question to which you respond with the same answer. They don’t press on any further, simply telling you the directions but you already know them.

Biting the last part of the apple, you chuck the core into the trashcan and instead of turning right to the bathrooms, you keep walking. Pushing a door open, fresh air slams into your face and tint your cheeks pink.

It was nice to be outside and for the sunshine to crash down onto your skin for once. You were sick and tired of being trapped inside, elated when you found an exit one day after wandering around the first floor, several weeks ago. But it was far from an actual escape. The rehabilitation center had stone walls that surrounded the place, tall to the roof with chicken wire at the top and rumours of an electric shock if you tried to go past it.  

It was still nice though, even if the small yard was unkempt and goddamn these dandelions, flying up your nostrils.

You sneeze, a finger rubbing under your nose and you turn when you feel a presence.

There’s a young girl who’s seated at the stone bench. Her feet are not even touching the ground but she’s sniffling, her entire body shaking. “What’s wrong?” You ask gently, tilting your head while taking a seat beside her.

She looks up surprised and tears flood her eyes, pouring hot streams down her cheeks. Bringing her arms up, she rubs them away and tries to talk to you in choked muffles. “My momm-y and...dad-dy….they’re gone!” She hiccups and you tap her back gently.

“Is that so?” You lean down, meeting her at eye-level. “Where did they go?”

“They-they got cured….and they- they...left me!” She cries harder and begins hyperventilating. You hug her shaking body, glancing at the blue sky with a long sigh. Poor girl. You assume she’s no more than six years old. “The- the nurses took them away.”

“Oh no.” You manage a small smile, speaking as gently as you did when your sister was that age. “Do you have anyone else?” She furiously shakes her head and you sigh again.

“When will they...- they let me go too?”

“I don’t know.” You honestly answer as your eyes trail to the ground. Suddenly, a light bulb flicks on in your brain. “Here! Look!”

You pluck a closed dandelion from the grass. Holding it in front of her, you hover a hand over it and it blooms. She stares intently, leaning in closer and when the flower flourishes, her eyes light up. “Woah.” She smiles, now only sniffling out of reflex. “How’d you do that?”

“Magic.” You return her smile, tucking the flower behind her ear and ignoring how it screams wretched things at you.

“Like how I can magically move places?” She looks up at you with big eyes and you frown.

“What?”

“I can do…” She places a finger on her chin and thinks deeply. “Tela-potty.”

“What?” You grin.

“Telapotty?”

“Teleportation?”

“Yeah! That!” She exclaims with a giggle. “It hurts my brain when I do it though and blood always comes. It hurts a lot.” You nod and she continues her chatter, swinging her legs happily. “Mommy said I should never use it. If the doctors find out, she said they’ll hurt me.”

You squeeze her nose and she squeals. “Then your mommy’s smart.” She nods enthusiastically and hums in agreement. After a minute of silence and staring at the cotton clouds, you speak up again. “Do you really miss your mommy and daddy?”

“Uh huh.”

“How much?”

“This much.” She turns to you and opens her arms up wide, as wide as they can go and you laugh, ruffling her hair.

“Then here. Take my hands.” Innocently, she places her small hands inside yours and you close them.

You concentrate on them and your skin begins to tingle. It heats up and then suddenly, a burn shoots up from your hands. Your muscles strain and you clench your teeth together from screaming. Your hands glow and the pain travels up your spine, settling all around you.

You grow numb and then your heart stops beating. Your vision floods with bright light and for a moment, you really think you’re going to die. But life’s not that merciful.

Inhaling a sharp breath, reality dawns back and vision returns.

“Wh-what was that?” The little girl asks with a frown and you manage a giggle.

“Shhh.” You lift your heavy arm, pressing a finger to your lips.

And she mimics you cutely, scrunching her body up and flashing a huge smile. You ignore the throb in your hands.

“Don’t tell anyone.”

[anxmalxnstincts-archived-blog]

She will rise.  With a spine of steal and a roar like thunder, she will rise.