#His aura vision is very weak he can barely make her out like at all

[mushroom-for-art]

Short little fic about @blues-sues Reverse Pip and my oc Nessa, basically what happens when you put a muted human in with a blinded muted two

Check up

His wound itched, it was sore and it burned and it tore at his senses ripping up his nerves and sending tremors through his forearm, he wanted to scratch at it to rake and itch to the bone until the sensation stopped until he finally got peace. He wasn't allowed though he knew that if he scratched at it again he'd be in trouble, he stretched his arm and lightly rolled his wrist at the memory of the restraint that had been placed on him, pinning his whole arm to his side to prevent movement entirely. Moving his head in a shake he tried to push those memories away, the nipping of the metal parts on his skin and the coldness of it too.

He heard the door softly hiss as it slid open, usually the only warning he got before company as he tilted his head, from the area of the doorway he heard a knock, knuckles on metal doorway. He turned his head fully despite being unable to see, the aura outline unfocused and blurred, fading in and out of his senses as it floated across the room tracking the sound of heels on flooring better than the aura itself. They stopped but their aura continued to flicker and sway about in a way that was distracting, she moved her foot to tap the toe of her shoe into the floor with an audible set of thunks before loading supplies from different drawers and shelves onto a small metal trolley that clattered and wheezed on movement.

He heard it squeaking and struggle rattling across the floor despite the tiles being smooth as she pulled it over to him, by now any other would have dragged him over to where they wanted him, but if this was the same person she did it differently. The trolley went quiet as she stopped, he assumed she was somewhere in front of him now, the soft thump of her shoe on the tiles confirmed his suspicions that she must have been in front of him. He waited a moment to see what she would do or if she would give him an order, when none came he slowly lifted his bandages arm out in front of him presumably towards her.

He felt small warm hands take his hand on their own and her fingers squeezed around his digits in a way that was strange, if she was trying to cause harm to him she wasn't succeeding. One hand remained holding his thumb as the other moved up and stopped just before the bandaging, there was a pause as she looked at his face though he couldn't tell and after judging he seemed to know what she was doing she began to undress his wound.

He remained still as he stood in front of her feeling the bandaging come away from his arm and wound, the old bandages being placed in a waste bag that rustled. She moved to grab an antiseptic wipe from the medical supplies as the wound still oozed faintly due to the special ability of the other pokemon that had inflicted it. He felt the cool wet of the wipe just below his wound and his brows furrowed a little wondering if this person was just as hard sighted as him..

He was at least prepared for the sting as she cleaned his wound his muscles tensing but he remained still, her fingers squeezed his digit again as she wiped the wound clean like it was some odd combo attack, that still seemed very inefficient. With wound cleaned the wipe also went in the waste bag before she picked up a healing spray, her fingers tapped on the plastic bottle before she lightly swayed it from side to side the slosh of liquid inside reaching his ears. He heard her click the nozzle before feeling the liquid droplets scatter over his wound and skin, it didn't sting as much as the wipes did but had he not heard it may have still startled him.

Her hand released his thumb, and from the routine he knew now was the part where she applies a new bandage, he felt the fabric as she rewrapped his wound the snip of scissors once it was wrapped and felt it tighten as she tied it off but it wasn't uncomfortable not as tight as some of the others had done it, he heard the scissors clank on the metal trolley as they were placed back down before her hands held his once more and one hand patted the back of his hand. It was, a very pathetic attempt of a strike, if she could only achieve this type of contact she would surely be in harms way if a pokemon attacked her.

There was an uncomfortably loud buzz of static as a speaker overhead came to life, "If you're finished in there Vanessa put the equipment away and remove yourself from Mewtwos room," the voice had them both flinch for the volume and recognition of who it was. Her hands released his once more as he heard the trolley squeak and rattle as it was placed back where it had previously been stood, he could make out her shoes on the tiles as she moved back over to the door, knuckles tapped on metal frame again as she waved a hand goodbye, her aura moved in lines and dances just enough for him to make it out and he found his hand raised enough to tilt side to side to return a wave back before the hiss of the door sliding shut left him alone in his room once more.

At least his wound didn't ache and itch so much anymore..

[joannasteez]

Hey lovely! Could I request a little something for Jax? It could be a headcanon or imagine, it’s up to you. But could it be about the reader is Angel and Ez’s little sister, and she’s in love with Jax?

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔 {𝐇.𝐂}

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Jax Teller x Reyes!Reader

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: The emotional direction wasn’t specified so I kind of just went with what came to me, by the way, This is my very first request!!, so hope whoever sent it in enjoys ❤️

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: Angst. Fluff. I also suck at simplifying things so this is another long head canon, apologies if that sort of thing bothers you all lol.

Credits to the gif maker @tragertrap

Taglist: @my-rosegold-soul @appropriate-writers-name @est1887 @xladymacbethx @elektriknachosss @queenbeered @sesamepancakes @superhoeva @witching-hour @noz4a2 @nutterbu @withmyteeth

If you’d like to be tagged for Mayans MC fics ONLY let me know!!

☠︎

It amazed Felipe at times, scared him even, at how similar you looked to your mother Marisol. The spitting image of her; a younger, but slightly taller, reincarnation. But you were your fathers child through and through. The toothless yet warm endearing smile, the sharp intuitiveness, placid nature, and just through the black center of your eyes, enough experience to cover a few lifetimes. It’s what the Reyes men feared the most, that uncanny familial trait that forces you to bury such soul crushing pain, to turn cold to things that warrant warmth. Your father has it, your brothers as well, Ezekiel more than Angel, and so do you.

You had it now, that calm, collected demeanor, as the guys brought in a bleeding Jax Teller through the entry doors of the lodge. He was barely conscious, eyes dim, limbs heavy, and blood staining all along his color drained skin and the aged leather of his kutte. If you were anyone else you’d be alarmed, startled by the amount of blood and frantic men, but you were you, having seen too many things that resembled such a scene to let even a shudder pass through you.

“Get the kit, we need you to sew him up but he’s lost a lot of blood.”, Bishop says briskly, filled with worry, and your feet move faster than your mind can comprehend, snatching the kit laying near by and pacing to the bedroom where they have Jax. His head elevated by pillows, Both Ezekiel and Angel hot on your tail waiting for you to give them directions.

There’s a poorly wrapped cloth that lays against the wound, and just as you peel it back you pressurize the wound with a gauze. “I need gloves”, you say.

Angel’s a bit taken back, the President of the Sons original charter is on the precipice of death and you’re talking about gloves. “We don’t have time for that”.

“Just get the fucking gloves Angel”, you clip. Tone harsher than it’s meant to be, but he takes no offense and moves quick for the gloves before coming back.

You’re cleaning Jax’s skin once there on, wiping away all the blood that pours from him. A needle in your hand, eyes steady. “This is gonna hurt”.

Jax is sweating, teeth clenched at the piercing sting of the needle. “You sure you know what you’re doing?”

Did he really just ask you that? “I guess we’ll just have to find out”, you deadpan.

“Y/N”, Ezekiel warns.

The situation isn’t funny, a man’s life is on the line but still, you want to laugh at the audacity. “What?! He’s got a bullet in his abdomen and he’s worried about if I know what I’m doing”.

There’s silence now, a heaviness that settles to suffocate the whole lodge it seems. A dread of existential proportions that looms like a phantom in the waning rusted gold of the setting sun. The stillness is calming as you work, slipping the fine needle through his paling skin with a frightening ease that forces a worried look to Ezekiel’s face, Angel’s as well. Mayhem has consumed them all, men who laugh in the face of death everyday are doubling over, overwrought with fear, and here you are, unaware of the dark silhouette that threatens to form over Jax’s body, inching over the walls, creeping slowly as they tease whispers of death through the wispy blow of the wind.

Your brothers leave after while, called out by Bishop and Chibs who are talking over possible scenarios for revenge.

“Can you stay after this......... please?” It’s barely a whisper, and it’s drawled, but you hear the need in his voice.

It compels you to say “Okay”.

When you’re finished you wipe at Jax’s skin again, fingers trembling just the slightest as your mind catches up with your body, or is it the other way around? You’re not sure, but the two have surely had a crashing reunion and now you’re exhausted at such a fast build and fall of adrenaline. You’re thinking now, at the side of the bed, of deeply buried memories because the blood reminds you, it always does. All you see is Marisol, and your vision is blurred, eyes glistening with warm tears that comfort your skin, thumb shaking as you push the wetness away. She’s so lovely in your mind, a bright silhouette framing her and she’s so beautiful, so light and gentle. The aura of her, just from a thought, it makes her presence palpable again, till you remember she isn’t really there. Because it’s just a memory. A timeless mirage of sorts that ungrounds you from reality.

You breath, looking to the clock to find that it’s been three hours already. Three hours of you looking through your memories for your mother, Marisol. It’s purposeful, must be, why the need to think of her is so strong in this moment of all moments.

It’s infuriating, that you weren’t there, you couldn’t save her, but you were here now and you saved Jax. That counts for something right? It had to.

He’s awake again, and you’re not sure how but he is. Must be the force of his will that has his eyes opening, fighting against a sleep that feels too much like forever. “You alright?”

His eyes are a near lifeless blue but still they’ve got shine to them. “I should be asking you that, you’re the one that got shot”.

“Why the tears darlin’ ?”

You’re not up for a personal deep dive, never have been really. “Don’t know what you’re talking about”.

He smiled, noticing your reserved demeanor. “They we’re probably tears for me, I saw how worried you were earlier”, he jokes sarcastically.

You roll your eyes. “Why’d you want me to stay?”

“Didn’t want to die alone, if I did”.

You shake your head, fully convinced of otherwise. “You weren’t gonna die”.

He gives a weak smile. “I know that now since we’re talking, unless this is a dream, or some purgatory shit then I’m screwed”.

You chuckle at his dazed rambling and it makes his weak smile a little stronger as it spreads. Amusement looks good on you. Pretty. “There it is”, he says. Talking about your little smile.

There’s a stretch of silence, and it’s contemplative for Jax. Flashes of the incident from moments prior running through his mind. He’d just met Galindo for the first time, shook his hand, exchanging pleasantries. They’d talked business and at the end all parties seemed happy with the results, but it made him wary. How well everything was going, something somewhere was bound to go wrong, and yeah maybe he was a bit too pessimistic in the moment but it proved him right. The Sons and The Mayans were riding back to the lodge when the Lobos attacked and he can’t remember much after that, just feeling more than alive and then a little ways from death. His father calling him and then his mother, and he almost answered. He’s glad he didn’t.

“I’m sure you know as much as I do, you see a lot of shit when you live this life. Seen more guys than I can count take a bullet, and more times than none I’ve been the one to give it to them”. He’s quiet, contemplative. On the rise of something that resembles an epiphany. “After a while they just become faceless y’know, nameless, just kill #52 on someone’s list. That’s what it felt like, I was about to be on somebody’s fucking list and that shit is scary”. He turns to you then. “And then the next thing I know I’m in here, with your pretty ass standing over me saving my life. I thought I was in heaven”.

You roll your eyes, it’s delirium from the blood loss, making him say things he doesn’t mean. “Even with a bullet wound, flattery gets you no where Teller”.

“Tell me what does”.

———————————————————

𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑 & 𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇 𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑

He’s warm under your skin, heartbeat a sweet song that pulses a quiet steady rhythm into your ears. It’s a comforting thing, soothing and mellow like the fiery cool blend of a setting summer sun.

You feel his hand, cool rings caressing the nape of your neck. “You awake baby?”

You move against him, to let him know that you are and a hand pulls gentle at your chin. “Let me see you darlin’ ”

Your body pulls up atop of his, bare chest moving along his and toward him so that you’re face to face, legs tangled together. His hands reach to caress your face, touch a gentle flame that burns to light your skin. It’s the first time you’ve seen him in the morning for weeks, the club stealing him away every moment it could, screwing around with the days you’d set aside to see each other. He grins, loving the dim set of your sleepy eyes. “Hi”.

“Hi”, you say. Tone rasped, sleepy.

There’s a glimmer in his stare, a dazzling sparkle that lives just over the grayish blue of his irises. You don’t identify it, what the warm glint means, for fear of being wrong, but somewhere inside, you know it’s love. It looks to pure to be anything else. He’s grinning again, all nostalgic like. “I was thinking just now, about that day when you patched me up. Best day of my life”.

You scoff. “You almost died”.

“But I got to meet you”.

You’re shaking your head at how lovey dovey he’s being. “Always with the flattery”.

“I’m serious, I fuckin’ love you. More than I ever thought I could”. He rolls you both over easy, his lean build on top surrounding you, fingers still caressing idly against your face and yours drawing along his tattooed back. He kisses you, patient and deep, as if to savor this moment. Staining his memory with the soft pliant flesh of your lips, the airy moan that resonates from your chest, and the lulling skim your nails give the gold of his hair. Forget the Irish and their guns, the Cartel and their H and everything that isn’t this. If he could, he’d stay with you here. Just like this. Forever.

He’s at your neck now, teasing you with tongue wet kisses and stingless nips, but something comes to mind. A wary thought that’s bugged you for a while. “When are we gonna tell my father about us. I want you to meet him”.

He looks to you, confused. “You don’t wanna tell your brothers first?”

“Ezekiel already knows. Found out the first time we met back up to see each other”. You’d thought you’d been sneaky enough that night, leaving after everyone fell asleep, but Ezekiel was always a couple steps ahead it seemed, following you out of Santo Padre a few hours to a bar where you’d met up with Jax. The conversation with him was easier than you expected, but still he was wary, and how couldn’t he be. You were his baby sister. He’d worry till his last breath. “... and I told Angel a couple of weeks ago. Couldn’t really get out of explaining how I had your rings laying around”. You couldn’t remember much of what that admission to him entailed, besides the look of disbelief he had, and then the screaming, and then eventually the forced calm of his expression when he realized that there was nothing he could do about it. It was still unbelievable to him, you weren’t that little girl anymore, no matter how much he wanted you to be.

You were grown, beyond capable of making your own decisions. But boy did it scare you having to tell Felipe.

“Whenever you want to tell him I’m ready”.

His sureness makes you smile, wide and bright, laying a kiss to his rosy lips. “I love you too Jackson”.

[kazuhasbunny]

Giiiirl, imagine you are on Baal's side, you are a general and commanding an army against the rebels' own general, Gorou.

You are all cocky and confident, your years of experience just keeping you aware enough so you won't be consumed by your pride. But oh, your face, when after all of those carefully thought out strategies and intensive training, you end up losing to that mutt.

He is insufferable. Even though his face and body is caked in a mixture only war can give-- blood, sweat and dirt, his smile is the biggest, smuggest thing you have ever seen in your life as a warrior. It does not help that you are on your knees, back stretching forward as the grip he has on your jaw tugs you up with such a force you won't ever believe an archer, a long distance fighter, would posses. The bodies of both sides lay scattered on the defiled land, but the purple spots decorate the most, as his last men stand straight and proud behind him, just as yours do, but the lack the attentiveness. Their tired and bored countenance ticks you in a wrong way. Why they don't look happy by this result?

Does your failure was already predicted? As if this end was something that was already calculated. Taken in account.

The man holding your jaw in a bruising grip let go of you, a mere blink of respite as the next second your left cheek explodes in pain, your vision swaggers for a second as you fall on your right side from the streght of that blow. You shut your eyes and concentrate on your breathing; the fight left you completely drained, as much as your brain screamed at you to stand up and attack that man, your bones and muscles protested as you tensed in hopes of getting up, but ultimately you only made yourself look pitiful.

Gorou turns to were his men are, his gaze lingering for a second on your laughable attempt. His focus switches to the army as he starts to pace from one side to the other, the victory was already decided, but the energy from the feat itself brought a surge of emotions within him.

Another quick glance at you, and something on his mind switched. He was wondering what to do with you; killing you off felt as a meaningless action, as the Shogun won't care for someone as low as yourself. You only were deployed to fight against them to gain time for the real force, to prepare and learn how strong the rebels actually are. With how confident you looked hours ago, it seems that your benevolent Shogun forgot to grace you with such knowledge before sending you off with a bunch of newly trainees.

"First of all, congratulations, my friends, for this well earned victory" Gorou began. The group of men on front of him quickly acknowledge his words, paying attention to what he had to say.

"Even if the outcome resulted as to what we--" He turns around, your eyes opened when he began speaking. You both made eye contact, and Gorou's smirk transformed into a full smile. Was it okay for him to fill such giddiness at the sight of your equally wounded pride and body? After all, he was the one to bring you into that state, he was the one to put you in your rightful place with just one arrow, kneeling on the dirty battlefield as the geo power incased on the arrowhead did its job in petrify you.

The glint of defeat on, dare he say, those gorgeous eyes of yours really made them stand out. Actually, as he approaches your form, he's starting to see some other appealing features he couldn't notice from a longer distance. What was the Shogun thinking, in even allowing you a spot within her number when you clearly weren't made for war?

"--Expected" his pause brought your attention to what he was actually saying. So they had all of this calculated...

"But now, all that is left to do, is tend to the wounded and take care of the dead. Yours and their sacrifice will bring an end to this stupid decree in no time. We need to prepare for tougher, real..." He gives you a glance "...battles from now on. Don't let this win get in your head"

The crowd quietly cheers between them, some of them patting each other on the shoulder for a job well done. All of that camaraderie made your stomach hollow, as you recognise the same speech you have told to your former men after a battle well fought. Those piercing blue eyes of his made you painfully aware of the consecutive part of giving a victory speech, about what is waiting for the losing side, the pit in your stomach grew in size and you really wished that it could swallow you whole before the man in front of you does.

Gorou thrills in your despair. That pretty face of yours plunging into dark dephts, your mind weaving one horrifying destiny after other speaks a lot of your character, as only those who have layed a cruel end to those before them can conceive. He knows what kind of thoughts those are, but as much of a monster as you are viewing him now, he won't do such a thing. He was quite merciful while deciding what your fate will be, even if he didn't pondered a lot in the few minutes after your fall, you are but only a child with a weapon, sent to die by that horrible woman.

And something he prides himself of, is learning from mistakes. He won't throw away something that can fulfill very well other duties than warfare ones.

"Sir! If I may--" a voice spoke between the masses of helms and spears.

"I know, I know. The general" Gorou waves off his hand, his eyes never stranding away from your form for far too long.

A groan escapes your body as his foot steps on your ribcage, not too hard but your weak body sense as if he had nails attached to the sole, your skin felt cold and as if it was being prickled by a ton of needles. He pushes your your body with a gentleness unexpected from an enemy, until you were lying on your back. The new position put pressure in the arrow wound on your right/left shoulder, your dominant arm, and for a second you were grateful of the rigidness granted by the geo element yet covering half of your arm or else you are sure you would have cried in pain, the last thing you want now is to show more weakness that what you are displaying.

"What I am going to do with her... I didn't know myself when we first begun this battle" Gorou continued. He removed his shoe from your chest to your side on the floor, so you'll be cage between his legs while he looks down on you. His arms crossed across his chest and he tilted his head to the side, as in assessing you, taking on your face just as covered in grime as his but not diminish your beauty in the slightest. He really made a good decision in regard of your fate.

The soldiers stood still, the atmosphere felt heavy like the air on a hot summer afternoon that feels stuffy on your lungs as your breath in. Their general had an unseen aura surrounding him, his usual careless actitud makes everyone forget that there's an animal side to him, although they aren't sure they will presence it for the first time, their captain is definitely switching towards that side... they even feel a little bit of pity for the woman under him.

"But as I see her like this, beaten, it makes me remember something of old, that the victorous usually sow. Can you guys guess what it is?" He squats over you, sweetly combing a couple of strands of hair out of your face.

Whispers break among the army after the question. One of them raised his hand, no barely 18 years old as he was one of the shortest in comparison to his bigger and wider shouldered comrades. The young recruit promptly lowered his arm as the general wasn't looking at their direction but that didn't stopped him from answering, eyes shining with excitement:

"They take something as a token of their victory, sir!"

Gorou hummed in affirmation. "Yes, they did. A spoil of war, if you may"

Dread washed over you. He wasn't going to kill you, as a way to demonstrate their superiority? To be taken as a trophy, a possession... He surely won't mean that, right? They are going to torture you and extract every drop of information that you have, until the last thing left in you is blood to shed on their hands as your usefulness is cut short like your troath.

You needed to say something. Anything, as long as it would arise anger within the young male, anything as long as you aren't degrade far from what you have been.

Gorou raised his eyebrows as you coughed. He wasn't expecting a monologue from you but neither silence. Your sudden wish of speaking made the men jump into action, their spears pointing at you with such terrifying speed made you realise furthermore that this battle was destined to end like this, another stripe to the tiger just like a new blow to your pride.

"Just kill me already. I won't say anything, and if given the opportunity, I will end it myself" you spat. You tried to transmit all of your pain, hate and shame in one stare, you won't go happy until you make that man see what you feel, how big your abhorrence is to his being.

All the males stare in silence, until the general himself chuckled. Your cheeks burn with rage, your teeth clenched together as you tried yo surf this flare of emotions. How dare he laugh like that! He already won and you won't speak a thing about the Shogun, why acting like that? Isn't the rebels supposed to act with nobility and fairness?

Gorou took a breath in. He's happy he didn't went for the traditional route and killed you.

"Aw, now you just proved me correct, sweetheart. I'll enjoy making you into a proper wife"

All of that just to say "Imagine being taken as Gorou's prize and he makes you his whore wife" LMAO

(Also? In the part that reader coughs? I wanted to put that Gorou spits on your lips because you looked thirsty AODJFJDC)

THIS 🙏 yes i’d love to be gorou’s housewife he should really take me in and train me to obey him . please i’d do anything for him

AND pleasee omg ... if u actually put that in i’d die on my chair it’s too hot i can’t hjnhnggrh

[aspoonofsugar]

Your Power...Your Theme

This post is born because of @waywardtravelerfart asking about a comparison between Semblances (Rwby) and Quirks (BNHA).

In general, I am not a hardcore BNHA fan, though, so I decided to drag other magic systems in this comparison.

So, I will be comparing...

1) Semblances:

2) Quirks:

3) Nen (HxH):

4) Abilities (BSD):

5) Magic (WHA):

Body and Soul

1) & 3)

Pyrrha: Aura is the manifestation of our soul. It bears our burdens and shields our hearts. Have you ever felt you were being watched without knowing that someone was there? With practice, our Aura can be our shield. Everyone has it, even animals.

Nen and Semblances are very similar ideas. Both have their root in the concept of aura aka life force and are trained through specific exercises that are based on martial arts.

More importantly, they are manifestations of a person’s soul.

This is why in both series they are linked to one’s individuality:

Ren: A common philosophy is that a warrior’s Semblance is a part of who they are.

And both Nen and Semblances grow and evolve with the person.

At the same time, both stories focus not only on the soul, but also on the body.

In HxH Gon and Killua must train their bodies just as much as their nen. No matter how much stronger their auras become, they would still be left defenseless if they forget about basic training and if they do not take care of their bodies.

Similarly, Huntsmen and Huntresses in Rwby have both Semblances and Weapons:

By baring your soul outward as a force, you can deflect harm. All of our tools and equipment are conduits for Aura. You protect yourself and your soul when fighting.

Weapons are linked to personalities just like Semblances are:

Ruby: Just weapons? They’re an extension of ourselves! They’re a part of us! Oh, they’re so cool.

It is only through the combination of weapons and semblances that one becomes strong and whole.

In order to experience humanity to its fullest, one needs both a soul:

And a body:

In short, Semblances and Nen are representative of the Soul. They are a physical projection of it. Moreover, they need to be completed by the Body to properly work.

4)

BSD abilities are similar because they clearly symbolize characters’ coping mechanisms.

They are linked to people’s personalities and their effects are highly variegated and impossible to explain through biology alone (for example, a character is able to materialize a whole room in another dimension).

At the same time, they seem to have some physical properties.

For example, it is possible to create artificial abilities and to implant them into people. The process has yet to be properly explained, though.

This can be compared to the research on aura made in Rwby.

That said, this specific research is framed negatively by the narrative because it is an attempt to control what it should not be (a person’s soul).

Similary, in BSD, such experiments are criticized as well because they violate human rights and are an attempt to weaponize abilities, which is an ongoing topic explored by the story.

2)

Quirks are instead framed as the result of biological evolution. This creates an interesting inversion compared to the other stories. Quirks are not simply physical representations of a character’s psychology, but they are a part of the reason why that character develops a specific coping mechanism.

Toga is attracted to blood because her Quirk is about drinking blood, so she naturally likes it.

Shigaraki’s destruction traumatizes him because it leads to his family’s death.

Touya’s weak constitution makes his power difficult to use, hence he develops self-hurting tendencies.

5)

Finally, Magic in WHA is something that exists outside the characters.

It is not something people are born with, but an art they can master through study and dedication.

Its origin is still unknown, but it is explained that it works thanks to specific materials:

And even human blood can be used to strengthen it:

In short, Magic is a human art that makes use of specific natural resources and a specific knowledge to create several effects. In a sense, its logic is similar to both art and programming. It is similar to art because the witches need to exercise on drawing and to be creative on their approaches to things. It is similar to programming because they must use what is basically a specific language made of symbols to create different effects.

So, Magic is not linked to a person’s soul in the way other magical systems are, but a character’s personality still emerges from the kind of magic they specialize in. This is something unavoiable... after all this is how personality works in real life as well... we all have different approaches to problems and beliefs that will emerge in our art and in our jobs.

In conclusion, all these magical systems are connected in different ways to characters’ personalities, to their flaws and to their symbolic roles in the narrative.

In these metas, there are some examples of how this happens for HxH, Rwby, BSD and WHA.

Power and Privilege

3) & 5)

Nen and Magic are similar:

With enough training, both powers can be used by everyone.

However, both HxH society and WHA society choose to keep them secret because the damage that could come from sharing this knowledge is potentially devastating.

That said, both stories also show how there is hypocrisy behind this stance.

HxH does so in an indirect way.

Nen is supposed to be secret, so that dangerous people can’t use its power for wrong reasons.

However, many hunters are not really moral people. If anything many are violent and ready to kill. The exam itself encourages these tendencies since it does not punish murderers. Moreover, it turns out that very dangerous people already know about nen:

WHA explores this theme more directly:

The secret behind magic creates inequality. Magic could be used to help much more people, but it is limited by the law that imposes witches to keep the secret and forbids them from using magic to heal.

The result is an unjust society and a paradox. Isn’t there another way to use magic that it is less elitarian?

2) Similarly, quirks create inequality in BNHA. However, the mechanisms behind it are slightly different.

Not only people without quirks are discriminated, but also people with specific powers are considered less than others.

This happens either because the power is considered weak or lame or because it is considered a villain power.

In other words, BNHA society nurtures a simplicistic and black and white vision of quirks and people. This leads to some being discriminated for their quirks and to others being excused of everything because of their abilities.

4) In BSD, we have a similar yet partly opposite situation.

Ability users are mostly dehumanized and weaponized by society.

Basically the series explores how society makes use of its more vulnerable members and objectifies them.

So, in BSD having an ability is not really a synomim of privilege, but it is rather something that can set you apart and make you a victim of your country or your organization.

Because of this,the characters struggle to both accept their powers, but also not to be defined by it.

1) Finally, the case of RWBY is interesting because even if society is founded on privilege and inequity, semblances are not really a pivotal part of it.

It is much more common for people to be discriminated because of their bodies (like the Faunus) or their social status than for their semblances. Surely, cases like those exist, but they are not particularly explored by the story.

This might be because semblances are just one of many factors that determine a personal’s stance in society. Moreover, it is not even that clear how much common people know about semblances and aura. I would not say it is exactly a secret, especially because semblances can manifest themselves in a variety of situations. Still, it seems to me that they are mostly aknowledged and accepted by common people, but not exactly pursued or studied.

Symbolically, semblances are linked to an ancient magic that has been forgotten by people. This could tie with why some people, especially in Atlas, have been dismissive of them to an extent. Whitley dismisses his own and is not interested in developing it, while Watts is one of the few characters who fight without a semblance.

It might very well be that human technology and dust make so many different effects possible that a semblance, even if important for a warrior’s own strength and individuality, is not really the only factor that determines the place of a person in society.

In conclusion, all these power systems are linked to privilege in different ways. They are used to explore social inequality or parts of the society that are either repressed or not aknowledged.

Choices and limits

1) 2) & 4)

Quirks, Abilities, Semblances and their limits are not chosen. You are born with them and the most you can do is to try and overcome the limitations or to come up with clever ways to use your power.

You can train your Quirk, so that it becomes stronger.

When it comes to Abilities instead, characters usually must train to control what are potentially dangerous powers.

There are also abilities that help other people to control their powers and modify how these powers work. For example, there is a character whose ability is about summoning a fighting avatar. However, to do so, she needs to be called on a specific phone and it is actually the one calling that commands the avatar. Still, thanks to the influence of the above mentioned ability, she becomes able to summon the avatar at will and does not need the phone anymore.

Finally, in the case of Semblances, you need to meditate and to train your semblance, so that it can evolve. At the same time, though, semblance evolution can happen also because of specifical psychological conditions.

For example, Ren’s Tranquility both activates and evolves not because of physical training, but because of stress (the first time) and emotional growth (the second). This is fitting because his ability has mostly to do with emotions, so it is telling that it evolves as he grows emotionally rather than physically.

Ruby’s semblance is instead a physical one since she is super fast. So it is fitting that it mostly manifests and evolves with her training at using it.

Finally, when it comes to semblances, you do not really choose how they evolve and what new effects you gain. They are mostly an unconscious part of yourself that grows with you.

3) & 5)

The kind of magic you specialize in and the nen power you are gonna have are things one chooses.

To be more specific, they are influenced from one’s talents, but then they evolve according to a person’s choice.

For example, the protagonist Gon has an aura which is particularly good to strengthen things, so he chooses to use it to strengthen his punch. Moreover, he really likes Jankenpon, so he comes up with a power that uses this game. It is a technique that creates different effects depending on what he chooses to “play” (scissors, rock or paper).

Similarly, Coco is good at drawing straight lines and this makes her good with basic magic, that she uses in original ways because of her thinking outside the box. Her teacher Qifrey instead specializes in water magic because he used to be scared of water when he was little and wanted to overcome this fear.

At the same time, both nen users and witches must face limitations.

Nen has limitations that are self-imposed and decided by the users.

Magic has limitations that are imposed by society and codified through law.

Nen works with the idea that the stronger the limitation you set, the stronger will be your power. Similarly, if you sacrifice something, you can obtain a more powerful effect.

For example, another character called Kurapika creates chains with different powers. One of his chains has the limitation to only work on the members of a specific criminal group. Moreover, if Kurapika breaks this rule, he’ll lose his life. Since the sacrifice Kurapika has decided is pretty extreme, that chain is basically impossible to break.

Of course, limitations do not need to be so extreme. The protagonist’s jankenpon is limited by the fact he says out loud the name of his technique and takes time to use it (both goes against him, since it gives his opponent time to prepare). In this way the power gets stronger.

Magic is a very dangerous force, so it is prohibited to use magic on people’s bodies. This includes the idea that you can’t heal bodies directly or that you can’t change the way you look. It also forbids people from using blood to make magic stronger and to put glyphs on a person’s skin.

These limitations challenge the characters and force them to think outside the box. For example, Coco wants to save her mom who became a stone. The best way to do so is  to use magic on her, but this is prohibited hence Coco keeps brainstorming about how she can do it and even thinks about breaking the law multiple times.

In conclusion, powers are often linked to the self and the degree of control and choices characters have on them is symbolic of which part of the self we are talking about.

In the case of semblances and abilities, they mirror an unconscious part.

A Quirk is a biological factor that influences one’s self instead and that everyone can try ot develop in a way they like.

Finally, nen and magic are a conscious part of the self that still mirrors unconscious tendencies.

Not only that, but abilties have limits that come from either outside the person or inside them.

POWER SYSTEMS AND THE FIVE KINDS OF CONFLICT

In stories, there are at least five types of conflict.

1) Man vs Self

2) Man vs Society

3) Man vs Man

4) Man vs Nature

5) Man vs God

The magic systems we explored are linked to at least three of these five types.

Man vs Self

Supernatural abilities are linked to a person’s interiority and personality. Often they are representative of the character’s flaw and their limits can be overcome only by the person’s growth.

Man vs Society

Power systems end up being influenced and influence fictional societies.

They can represent privilege or some wrongdoing in society itself.

Alternatively, they can be limited by society’s rules and imposed laws.

Man vs Man

It is not uncommon to have special powers used in fights. In this case, they become symbolic ways to explore characters’ relationships, themes and different value systems.

This is something that BSD, HxH and Rwby do a lot. WHA has had less fights as for now, but it is definately something that has come up and will come up more in the future. Finally, I am not too much into BNHA to comment on the series, but I would be surprised if it is not the same there as well.

In conclusion, I do not really have much to say on the onthology of powers in different narrative worlds and tbh I do not think this is really what many writers think about when they design them. I think what writers focus on is how to make interesting powers that convey a character’s personality, can be used to explore the world and give life to entertaining fights.

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

BTS DRABBLE-Yoongi

You’re more than thrilled to be on set with your boyfriend as he films his newest music video prior to his second mixtape release. But you simply can’t imagine Yoongi-quiet, reserved, introverted-performing in front of the camera as a mad emperor. He’s a professional, but this is going to be difficult right? Fortunately, Yoongi surprises you once again and has a trick up his sleeve to help loosen him up-a trick which makes him a little bit more forward and daring in every aspect.

Tags: BTS, Bangtan Boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boy Scouts, Beyond the scene, BTS Drabble, Daechwita, D-2, Agust D, Min Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi x you, Yoongi x reader, BTS x you, BTS x reader, Fluff

Genre: Fluff, Suggestive

Warnings: I mean, there’s mention of alcohol. 🤷

Title: The Mad King

“Holy shit, this place is freaking beautiful.” You can’t stop the words from leaving your mouth-eyes wide-as you look around the main courtyard and palace of Dae Jang Geum Park. 

The set for the music video, the park is already bustling and full of activity, even this early in the morning-extras being told where to stand and position, trailers with equipment pulling in, makeup and hair artists scurrying back and forth from one of the buildings. 

Yoongi’s new music video is a huge deal. Just like the man himself. 

“It’s gorgeous, heh?” Yoongi’s makeup noona appears beside you and slings her arm across your shoulders, her thick heavy black boots loud on the courtyard tiles as she joins you in staring in awe up at the large building before you. “He picked a perfect set.” 

“You’re telling me.” You say breathlessly, before you glance over at her once more, realizing now who’s talking to you. “Wait. Are you done?” 

She laughs, tossing the end of her high, dark ponytail over her shoulder, and you realize that she’s dressed in a different outfit than before. “Honey, I’ve been done with your boyfriend for hours. I had to get myself ready.” 

“You look amazing.” You pull back from her to hold her at arm’s length. “You get a scene right?” 

“Damn straight! I don’t look this good for nothing!” She exclaims, and you both laugh, before someone calls out her name, and she glances over her shoulder with a sigh. “Speaking of which, I gotta get back to work.” She winks at you. “Go find that boy of yours before we start filming and wish him luck.” 

It takes you awhile to find Yoongi, but when you do, he’s right where you would have expected him to be-on the uppermost floor of the palace, leaning against the railing, look out over the bustle of the courtyard. 

“Yoongs?” You ask softly as you step into the throne room, and when he turns to look at you, you almost lose your breath. 

He’s dressed head to toe in traditional royal Hanbok, a slender samurai sword strapped at his waist. His dark hair is hidden beneath a very realistic looking blonde wig, pulled up at the crown, and a long, angry red scar crosses one of his eyes. 

“Holy shit.” You find yourself saying beneath your breath for the second time that day, and the corner of his mouth starts to pull up into a smile at your surprised exclamation, flashing pink gums and white teeth. 

“Like it?” He steps toward you, holding his arms out at his side, and suddenly, you get the vision of the mad king much more now than you had before-the outfit and something about his aura has you suddenly viewing him in a different light. 

“I-” You can’t seem to find the words, because staring at Yoongi-confident and slightly smug-before you, playing the part of a deranged emperor, is suddenly making you feel some sort of way in the pit of your stomach. 

“You’re speechless?” This time, his lips pull back completely to give you a sort of self satisfied smirk, and the caramel irises of his eyes warm and darken, his pupils blowing wide, as he approaches you on sure, slow footsteps. 

“I’m speechless.” You confirm breathlessly, and he’s close to you now, so close that you can smell the scent of his cologne-fresh and stark and familiar-in your nose. And suddenly, your heart is doing flips against your rib cage, at the look of pure intent that washes across his gaze as he stares down at you. 

“Are you nervous?” You manage to stutter out, swallowing hard, trying to distract yourself from the arousal that is pooling in your stomach as his eyes hold your own.  

“No.” Yoongi replies, surprising you, and once again, the corner of his lip lifts slightly, creasing the scar that crosses his eye. “I’m not nervous.” 

You open your mouth to ask him what has him so confident, but before the words can leave your tongue, Yoongi is leaning into you and slanting his mouth over your own, in a very sudden and very urgent kiss, that catches you off guard in the best way possible. 

His tongue slides along the part of your mouth-as if asking for entrance-and you allow him in, letting your own trace over the edge of his bottom teeth, as his hands tangle into your hair, and he lets out a low groan against your open lips in response. 

You’re too distracted-as your back hits the wall behind you, and Yoongi’s fingers drift lightly down the skin of your neck toward your collarbone-to notice for a moment, but then, the taste of something acidic and honeyed hits your taste buds. 

You pull back from him, breaking contact for a moment, and the air between you is filled with gasps for lost breath, as you glance up at him, surprise clear on your features, as you ask hoarsely, “Yoongi, did you drink?” 

He lets out a noise between swollen lips-a sound between a scoff and a dry chuckle-and his tongue darts out to wet the pink skin in a gesture that has your stomach clenching with pleasure, before he reaches up to thumb your bottom lip, half hooded eyes tracing across the features of your face. “Just a little whiskey in the bathroom during makeup and hair. I needed to loosen up to play the part.” 

“That’s-” You start to exclaim, before your words are once again cut off by his mouth finding yours. 

His teeth nip the full, plush skin of your bottom lip, and you gasp lightly, feeling him smirk against your mouth, as he palms your face, keeping you from pulling away, before he murmurs heatedly under his breath, “Irresponsible?” 

You can smell the whiskey on his breath, and it’s intoxicating, and you feel as if you’re the one who has been drinking, because your head is spinning and your whole body feels extra sensitive-to the air, to the clothes you’re wearing, to the way Yoongi’s fingers brush hotly beneath the edge of your shirt and across your bare skin. 

You shake your head, and this time, you crash your lips into his, because suddenly, you need him more than anything else in the world. 

“No.” You manage to say, frantically returning his feverish kisses in between words. “It’s-” He swipes his tongue back around the inside of your mouth-warm and persistent-and you feel yourself melt into him, his fingers digging into the skin that covers your hipbones. “Hot as hell.” 

“Yeah?” He twists his mouth into that same damn smirk that always makes you weak kneed, and presses your body further back against the wall with his own, and the way you can feel his desire for you-obvious and fervent-has your body trembling with sudden, insatiable need. 

And it doesn’t go unnoticed by Yoongi. 

His smirk disappears, and his pupils blow with desire, completely covering the warm caramel ring of his irises, as his long, slender fingers encircle your wrists and pin them up above your head in one easy movement. His tongue darts out to wet his lips once more, as his eyes rove down the length of your body, and his free hand traces down your curves to the closure of your pants. 

“Shit baby, you’re practically shaking.” He leans into you, lips brushing across the shell of your ear, breath hot and hinting at alcohol as it washes across your skin. “Do you want me that badly?” 

“Yoongi.” You turn your head into his, your lips brushing across his jawline as you speak. And when you say his name again, your fingers digging into his own, and your skin brushing his, it is in a whine, as you squirm beneath his weight. “Yoongi. Don’t tease me.” 

“I’m not teasing you, baby.” Yoongi frees his own pants, his fingers tantalizingly brushing across the skin revealed by the edge of your t-shirt, and when he speaks again, his lips once more close to yours, it is in a low growl from the back of his throat that sends pleasurable shivers down your spine. “I’m enjoying you.” 

Those are the last words either of you says for several minutes, as his mouth once again captures your own, and his fingers pin yours to the wall, and your body melds with his, and nothing but harsh breaths and moans leave your mouths, as you both give into your desires. 

“Loosening” is an understatement on the effect that whiskey has on Min Yoongi. 

When it’s all said and done, and you’re trying to straighten your jacket and fix the mess that is now your hair, Yoongi struggling to straighten his long blonde wig and reposition his traditional robes, you cant help but grin up at him, as you stay against the wall for a moment longer, trying to control the last of the trembling in your legs. 

“What?” He asks you, raising a slender dark brow in your direction, as he reaches up to thumb across the smile still curving your lips upward. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

You shrug slightly, unable to keep the happy grin from creeping back over your features, and though you are still slightly out of breath, you manage to say steadily, “I dunno.” You shrug again, unable to think of anything else to do with all of your emotions. You reach out to straighten the edge of his hanbok. “I just like the mad king. That’s all.” 

Yoongi chuckles, his face still slightly flushed from your previous activities, and probably from the effect of the loosening warm whiskey from earlier, and puts a long finger underneath your chin, to tilt your gaze to meet his own. “You like the mad king?” 

“I like the mad king.” You reiterate with a firm nod, and the thud of your heart in your chest and the way your breath is still lost, is a serious testament to the truthfulness of your words. 

[mythicamagic]

“you make me feel alive. for the first time ever, i feel like i can breathe”, I think this prompt is very SesshKag...🤭🙈💖 I hope you write something with this!🥰🥰💕💫

“you make me feel alive. for the first time ever, i feel like i can breathe” 

This one is inspired by overplaying Hozier songs.

---

Spring

He’s a taciturn creature by nature; always had been. Since silver inuyoukai were so rare, many assumed him to be a staple of his kind- a representative for how all demons of his species and calibre acted. 

Kagome knew that wasn’t the case, having gotten to know him. Having met the demons at his stronghold and witnessing their behaviour. Rather, Sesshoumaru was an exception to the rule, not the norm. 

Sesshoumaru conducted himself rigidly in terms of confronting emotions. For everything else; killing, protecting, hunting he did so sharply, carefully. Perfectly. He was young and arrogant despite his age, unblemished white snow on red hydrangeas; unshakable in his beliefs despite the human children who adored him. 

After coming to appreciate his straightforwardness and- most confusingly of all- befriending the unsociable demon, she’d sought to crumble that insurmountable wall. She wanted the glaciers to melt. To swim in those still waters that ran deep. Keeping himself at arm's length from everyone couldn’t be healthy, she’d wagered. He was surely missing out on the rich flavours of life, deaf to laughter and cold to gentle touch.

So she invites him to dance at a villager’s wedding. 

Golden eyes narrow, flitting about the strangers making merry at the celebration. All so loud. All so human and abrasive in their display of feelings. 

With a sneer, he dismisses her. 

Summer

He is protective, even if he calls it by other, more respectable sounding names. Kagome feels his gaze on her back, warming it hotter than the sun beating down upon her form. Sesshoumaru is a silent sentinel while children play, the reserved, standoffish presence at gatherings. Kagome comes to realise it’s because he’s always watching, observing. Listening for danger. It made people uncomfortable. 

She labels it as something affectionate, which he does not appreciate. When her bare skin pricks with the awareness of a honeyed gold gaze, her form barely concealed by a swimsuit due to the hot weather- Kagome feels a thrum sing down to her belly. It’s suddenly too humid, and that ice briefly melts, leaving something raw, passionate, fiery- until it's gone. The burning embers are snuffed out, mastered once more. He will not allow weakness in. 

She invites him to dance at Inuyasha’s wedding. 

The Daiyoukai looked at all the happy faces of her friends, finally landing on her. She can’t quite hide all the aches and pains of her failed first love; lingering there in her watery eyes, despite the brave face she’s painted on. 

Sesshoumaru declines to join her. 

Autumn 

Blackberry juices stain her lower lip and fingers purple like bruises. Brown leaves crunch beneath her boots as Kagome helps villagers prepare for harvest. 

Sesshoumaru slinks on the outskirts of her vision, ever unchanging as her hands become rough with peasants work. Modern life seems so far away now. Cool air renders his immortal breath visible, and on more than one occasion Kagome discovers his true form huddled inside a cave, sleeping the days away. Battles have all but stopped- warring people and demons alike too preoccupied with preparing for Winter's bite to engage in needless fighting. 

Without the bloodshed, the Killing Perfection is at his most vulnerable. Exposed to ridicule. Unnecessary. Purposeless. There is no need for him in peacetime. 

Kagome makes a place for him. She requests a hut be built within Inuyasha's forest near the Bone Eater’s Well and takes it upon herself to live outside the comforts of the village, if only to better bridge the divide between himself and others. 

Sesshoumaru frequently haunts her doorway the second it's built. He stretches out by the fire to warm his chilled body like the domesticated dog he wasn't. 

The children are all grown now. Kagome pines for some of her own. 

She invites him to dance at Rin and Kohaku's wedding.

With a conflicted, confused look, Sesshoumaru quietly tells her 'perhaps another time.’

Winter

Getting snowed in by herself causes Kagome's heart to shake and horror to freeze the blood in her veins. She tries her best to cope with the conditions alone, preserving food and keeping wrapped up. But surviving alone isn't what she's built for. 

Luckily, it's what Sesshoumaru excels at. 

He finds purpose again through killing, though not in a way that he expects. Dead animals are dragged to her door, skinned. When their furs aren't enough, Sesshoumaru sighs and invites her closer. 

They make love during a snowstorm, their auras rising. Inside his dome of youki, Kagome hears all the things he could not speak of out loud- like he knew foreign words but could not piece together the language. 

‘You make me feel alive,’ he panted, teeth bloodied from burying into her shoulder in a hard bite. ‘For the first time ever, I feel like I can breathe.’

He’s gone by the morning, and she feels all the colder for it. 

However, she finds he returns like the ebb and flow of the tide. With each glide of the surf landing upon the rocks, the wild demon lingers just a little longer in her bed, until her stomach is round with their child. 

She invites him to dance at their wedding. 

Sesshoumaru meets her gaze, as unblemished as the day she’d befriended him so many years ago. It’s she who has changed- the proof of it kicking inside her. However, when he smiles with his gilded, golden eyes- she knows the insidious effects of change are there, hidden in plain sight like the coming touch of Spring melting Winter anew. 

The demon accepts her hand with a tight grip. 

[henoda4]

--Just a little ficlet I had rolling around in my brain after the latest manga chapter. Can be read as platonic or romantic bkdk. Hopefully not too OOC, and probably some grammatical errors. Enjoy!--

* Manga spoilers- for those not caught up to chapter 317, ye' be warned!*

Finding that which is Lost:

It's been days, multiple infuriating days of searching, flying over rooftops and zigzagging through desolate alley ways and getting mostly useless information from the occasional civilian. Bakugou was pissed, hell he'd been pissed since he'd woken up in a hospital only to find out Deku was still unconscious, and then later to a goddamn letter and a nerd who'd gone off to fuck-knows-where. Uraraka had tried to tell him that he was probably just scared more so than angry, that they all were. Naturally he told her to shove it. But more than anything he'd been pissed from the moment that All Might walked right back into the UA dorms, fucking months later, looking absolutely miserable and terrified. The former Pro Hero had barely gotten the explanation out of what he and Deku had been up to before he'd straight up slugged the man. Deku left All Might behind? Deku's pushing everyone away? What the fuck does that even mean? Godammit, didn't he warn the damn nerd not to do this shit?! All Might at least had the decency to look apologetic, as if he knew he deserved the hit.

As he moves the buildings start to blur a bit and he recalls a memory from the recesses of his mind. He and Deku had been very little, he doesn't recall how old exactly, he just knew it was at some point before he had driven a wedge between their friendship, and it was the first time both of their families had gone on a camping trip. The two children had wandered away from the campsite for a bit to explore. He recalls several minutes passing and him and Deku getting separated, and even though /he/ wasn't scared of anything in the woods, he wanted to keep Deku close, you know, just in case, poor nerd would probably bawl his eyes out without him. Sure enough after a few minutes of searching he heard loud sobs and found the green haired boy crouched underneath a tree, his knees all scratched up from taking a tumble. Deku's green eyes lit up in relief upon seeing him and his little heart swelled at the reaction.

"Kacchan!"

 "Stupid Izuku! I told you to stay with me!"

"I know, I'm sorry Kacchan, I guess I got lost."

"Can you walk?"

"Yeah-"

"Well, come on then!"

He grabbed Deku's hand and yanked him upright, then practically pulled him along behind him.

He put on his best All Might voice impression, "It's okay now, ya' know why? Because I'm here so you're not lost anymore. Let's go back Izuku!"

 

If he'd turned behind him, he'd have seen the beaming smile aimed his way.

But all he heard was the small, "Thanks, Kacchan."

 

Back in the present moment, Bakugou was snapped out of his memory by a blur of green, and he abruptly came to a halt on a rooftop. Looking over the edge, he saw down to the street below where there was another flash of green and just as suddenly a figure stepped out, their silhouette half covered in shadows. His eyes widened, he was far away, so he couldn't be sure. But that lightning, the black-green tendrils that trailed the figure, it had to be...it couldn't be. He leapt ahead to the next building over making sure never to lose sight of the ground below, and then jumped down the side to stay out of the figure's line of vision. He silently thanked Hatsume for the upgrades to his gauntlets that rendered them way quieter than usual. As he peaked around the corner he saw the figure walk close to the sides of the building heading his direction. Suddenly their head came under a direct beam of light from a street lamp, and he felt his whole body freeze from the inside out.

The person in front of him, was unmistakably Deku. The teal jumpsuit, worn and disgustingly dirty and covered in various degrees of drying blood, his leg bracers ripped to shreds, those ridiculous bunny ears frayed, and those red shoes that he would recognize anywhere. It was Deku, but not Deku as he had named him, a useless person, incapable of doing anything, and not Deku as the boy himself had taken the meaning, a person capable of anything, full of unlimited promise. No this was Deku as in a doll, a mere foreboding vessel of power and purpose. There was nothing in those green eyes, glowing but soulless. It was Deku, but it was no longer the Deku he knew, and it definitely wasn't Midoriya Izuku.

"I know you're there. Although if you're not here to attack me, then what is your purpose?"

Bakugou flinched at the voice, momentarily having forgotten about "Danger sense", All Might had tried to explain before, but he'd been a little too preoccupied planning how to get around the security at UA to go after Deku to pay close attention to the details.

He figured to hell with it and stepped out into Deku's line of view.

"What the hell do you think I'm here for Deku?"

Now Deku froze, his head raising slightly. His voice came out quiet and hesitant, completely unfitting the ominous aura his appearance gave off.

"Kacchan? Is that really you?"

"Who the fuck else would it be?"

To his surprise Deku started approaching him again, the tendrils of black whip receding and the lightning dimming to nothing. When he was close enough he yanked his hood down, and Bakugou got an up close look at the grime and blood caked on his face, the sunken eyes and black bags of sleep deprivation.

"What the fuck happened to you Deku?"

The green haired boy seemed nearly ready to collapse, as if he was standing upright on sheer willpower and adrenaline alone. Bakugou fought the urge to grab him and throttle him, as fragile as he seemed at the moment, like a breathe would knock him over. Instead it was Deku who grabbed him by the arm as if he couldn't believe his eyes alone, and needed the physical confirmation of his presence.

"I'm glad you're okay. I was worried... after you, you know."

Bakugou felt his anger boil back to the surface.

"Worried about me?! What the fuck?! Worry about yourself for fucking once! Do you have any idea how upset everyone was when you took off after nearly dying, and then left only a fucking letter! How worried sick your mom is?! How scared your fucking shitty friends are?!"

He didn't realize he was shaking until he felt Deku's hand slide down his arm slightly.

"I'm sorry Kacchan, I know I should've talked to you in person. But I had to go, and if I had waited, you would have tried to stop me."

"DAMN RIGHT I WOULD HAVE!"

Silence.

"I told you not to do this shit on your own Deku, I told you not to play the hero on your own. Do you not think I'm strong enough to help you?! Are you actually fucking looking down on me this time?!"

"No, of course not! I told you I've never looked down on you. I just....I can't see you get hurt for me again. I can't risk anyone getting hurt again because of me, because I couldn't do anything to protect them....I can't let that happen! I have to do this on my own. OFA was given to me so I could-"

"You're such a fucking idiot. You think you can take down every fucking villain on your own? Take down AFO on your own?"

The little shit had the nerve to smile awkwardly at him, "I've managed fine so far."

Bakugou yanked his arm out of Deku's grasp, and gestured at his whole body.

"This! This is not fine! You're barely standing, you're covered in blood and you look like you haven't slept in weeks. When's the last time you fucking ate? You can't keep this up Deku, even in his prime All Might didn't handle shit like this. And I know I said some real shitty stuff in the past about you being quirkless, but you are more than just OFA's vessel. You were the one to fucking get that through my head.. that we are more than just our quirks. So what the hell?"

"I-"

"Just let me help you Deku."

"But Kacc-"

"Dammit! It took me years to understand that you genuinely wanted to help me not because you thought I was weak, but just because you're a natural born hero and you care about me or some shit. Just..just let me return the favor for once. You don't have to do this alone."

He turned his head away uncomfortably, suddenly acutely aware of how inept he was at expressing himself in these delicate situations.  How was he supposed to get through to Deku? Would this be enough? The nerd always seemed to be able to read him like a book, he hoped that proved to be the case now.

"Ka-"

He felt his eyes sting with unshed tears. He was running out of options, aside from pummeling the nerd into submission. But for once he wanted to chose a different option.

"Please Izuku." He lifted his gaze to meet his child hood friend's. A silent plea hanging in the air.

In the span of seconds that felt like an eternity they kept eye contact and Deku seemed like he was trying to find something in that contact, like a promise, or a confirmation, whatever it was, he finally sighed and lowered his gaze to the ground.

It was barely a whisper.

"Okay."

Bakugou let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

"Can you walk nerd?" He extended his hand out to the green haired teen who took it right away. He tightened his grip immediately.

"Yeah, but I'm a little sleepy-"

Before Deku could finish, and without a word Bakugou yanked the other teen towards himself and lifted him up. The teen seemed surprisingly small and light in his arms, a far cry from the monstrous visage he painted when they first crossed paths several minutes ago.

As he walked down the blocks and could feel the tension leave Deku's body as his form went slack, he gazed down to see the nerd's eyes slowly closing, he must be exhausted. He kept walking down the vacant streets, on alert for any potential threats, the nerd's weight a comforting presence in his arms.  He assumed the other teen was already unconscious .

 He briefly gazed up and saw the stars through the gaps between the building silhouettes, he thought back again to that time in the forest as kids.

He whispered in the dark, "It's okay now, ya' know why? Because I'm here so you're not lost anymore. Let's go back."

If he had looked down a second time he would have seen the subtle but content smile aimed at him. But all he heard was the small, "Thanks, Kacchan." before the teen fell asleep in his arms.

[azure-firecracker]

For your prompt list, can you do #36- "I never wanted to hurt you' for Azutara.

I'm gonna set this one up a bit if that's ok. This prompt reminds me of a scene from the soulmate au I'm working on (hopefully will one day finish lol)

If you don't wanna use this then that's absolutely fine. With that being said, here's the relevant info.

-Soulmarks are rare to appear. Everyone has a soulmate, but the only thing that's guaranteed is that you'll be in the general vicinity of them at some point in your life. The mark won't appear until you directly speak to each other, in this case it was the throne room scene from the show. When you are both aware of the mark, you become spiritually connected. This connection is different for every person. In thier case, the mark worked two ways 1) during moments of high stress, the non-stressed one's spirit is pulled to the other (think astral projection but they can't be seen) to provide support/comfort. 2) they see various memories of the other through dreams. I plan on using this aspect to build a connection between them since they hardly directly interacted during the show. Katara's memories and some of the actions Azula witnesses from Katara both inspire her to want to be a better ruler and show her that Katara is her equal. Katara sees a lot of the more negative memories of Azula, like when her mother implied there was something wrong with her, harsh training from Ozai, her mother disappearing, Zuko's Agni Kai. Azula also has anxiety from her past traumas so, needless to say, Katara's been providing quite a bit of comfort (Azula has a mark mirroring Katara's necklace and Katara has one of a Blue Dragon going down her spine)

Next point - the Crossroads of Destiny never happened. Azula freed Katara after seeing the soulmark. She didn't tell her about it and instead offered a deal. Her freedom in exchange for information on Zuko's location. Azula had the Dai lee lower the walls before trying to capture Zuko, so he had already fled when she goes to capture him.

Azula gets called back to the fire nation by Ozai, leaving War Minister Qin in charge of the city. When she gives her report to Ozai, she left out the info about Katara, which Ozai knew about thanks to Qin's report sent via messenger hawk. He accuses her of trying to hide her failure and also brings up her inability to capture Zuko. He decides to overlook the slight in lieu of her victory but threatens her to never fail him again. Katara saw all of this and her spirit is pulled behind the princess as she returned to her room and proceeded to lose her public composure, falling into a panic attack. That was the first time Katara provided comfort but the relevant part is Ozai's threat.

Later, on the Day of Black Sun, Azula had decided she was going to leave the capital, planning to teach Aang firebending. Her plan was to safely slip into the night after the invasion (she didn't leave during it because she needed to make sure her people were protected). She set up a plan to stall Aang using far more Dai lee than she did in the show. She gave them orders not to capture him however. With the invasion thwarted, she went to give her report to Ozai. She didn't get a chance to speak as he started laying into her about allowing the Avatar to escape. (Katara astral projects in. At this point her body is on Appa as they prepare to flee) When she tried to speak Ozai back handed her yelling/asking when she became so weak. The sudden movement shifted her shirt enough for Ozai the see a hint of blue in her neck. He pulls down her collar revealing the soulmark. The last thing Katara sees is Ozai throw Azula back, causing her to stumble as he calls he a born traitor throwing lightning in the process.

This is a spoiler point. I have Ty lee rescuing Azula with airbending. As the lightning kept from Ozai's fingers, she slammed him with a gust of wind, sending him flying. The lightning, with it's trajectory changed, strikes Azula in the shoulder. When Ozai looks back, the room is empty.

Ty lee, following the spiritual connection through Azula's aura, brings her to the Western Air Temple.

I'm curious to see your take on what happens next and this prompt seemed to fit it quite well. Perhaps you'll have Katara speaking to an unconscious Azula. Or maybe you'll have a couple scenes, one when Azula arrives and another when combustion man attacks, having Azula wake up, stumble out and strike him with lightning leading to Katara freaking out about her condition. There are really a lot of different ways this could go. If you decide to do it, I admit I'm very interested to see what you come up with. 🙂

Sorry this took so long but I really wanted to make sure I got this right, especially after you left all of those wonderful comments on my fic! This AU is absolutely incredible, and I hope I did it justice.

***

Katara awoke with a gasp and found herself lying on a flat stone ledge. Around her were her friends, each looking dejected after their recent failure. But Katara had other things on her mind.

She hadn’t told her friends about the blue dragon that had appeared on her back in Ba Sing Se, or where she really found herself when she “fell asleep.” She wasn’t exactly sure why she hadn’t told them. It was partially because they had so much going on already, but partially because she was afraid they wouldn’t trust Azula.

Azula...the girl had turned out to be so much more than Katara had ever imagined. Far from pure evil, she was a broken teenager with fierce protectiveness deep inside her, and Katara had found that they weren’t as different as she’d once thought. She was her soulmate, as strange as that was. Katara never would have expected it, but she had come to care deeply about her.

She paced the Air Temple in worry, wishing she could do more than just move her spirit into Azula’s mind, that she could help in some way. The last thing she remembered was seeing the girl at the mercy of her father. Katara thought she would know if Azula had died, but her heart still ached with fear.

« Help! » came a cry from far above. Katara leaped to her feet and glanced up into the sky. There was a Fire Nation airship zigzagging towards them. Sokka raised his sword, but Katara held out her hand to stop him. This ship was clearly being flown by someone who didn’t know what they were doing. Something wasn’t right.

The ship suddenly tipped forward, pointing straight down and hurtling towards the bottom of the canyon. At the last moment, Katara saw a strange form leap from the front window towards them, falling just short of the edge of the cliff. Katara raced towards them, but Aang was faster, leaping off the edge with his glider, falling into a dive. A moment later, he was back, and he wasn’t alone. Ty Lee was hanging on to his feet with one hand, and somehow she was helping propel them through the air. Was she...was she airbending? In her other arm was the limp body of Azula. Katara felt her heart leap.

Katara raced towards them as they landed on the side of the ledge. Aang and Ty Lee began a conversation, but Katara barely registered it. She ran straight to Azula and dropped to her knees, instinctively scooping the girl up in her arms. Thank the spirits, she thought. Azula was alive, if weak.

Quickly, Katara drew her water out of her pouch, her hands moving over Azula’s shoulder, feeling the electricity coursing through her. Healing Azula was, in some ways, the easiest thing she’d ever done, because the pattern of her heart and her spirit was so similar to her own.

Azula stirred in Katara’s lap and slowly opened her eyes. As her vision cleared, she groaned, and tears instantly filled her eyes.

« I’m sorry, Katara. »

Katara blinked. « What for? »

Azula sighed, tears still spilling down her cheeks. « I’m sorry that you’ve got me for whatever this soulmate thing is. You’ve done everything for me. You showed me compassion when no one else would, you calmed me down, you were open with me when you never had to be. You made me a better person. And me? All I did was hurt you. I tried to kill your friends, and now my father won’t stop until he kills me too. I’m a failure and a monster. » She looked up, right into Katara’s eyes. « I never meant to hurt you. »

Katara suspected that the girl’s weak physical state was part of what was making her so vulnerable. She’d never seen Azula be so honest, even with herself. It made her heart swell, with sadness for the girl who’d been made to believe she was a monster, when Katara knew that that couldn’t be further from the truth.

She pulled Azula up into a tight hug. She’d never hugged her before, but it felt right. Like they’d been made to put their arms around each other just like that. « Azula, you’re my soulmate. I...I love you. I love you because you’re a person, because you’re passionate and strong and human. You could never be a monster. »

Azula didn’t speak, maybe because she was still too injured, maybe because she had nothing to say. She just wrapped her arms tighter around Katara, and held onto her like she was the most important thing in the world.

A voice came from behind them.

« Wait a second. She’s your WHAT?! »

***

This was a super fun prompt! You’re amazing so I hope it made you happy! This is an amazing idea and I can’t wait to see where you go with it!!!

[obeymeaskme]

Obey Me!: Human and Demon Hearts!

A/N: Make sure to check my pinned post for the whole story so far!

Chapter Two: Reaching the bare minimum (2/2)

Word Count: 1,926

Rating: 18+

Away in her self cleaned room, Noelle had laid in her bed. Face burrowed in the pillow, as she sobbed quietly. Thankfully enough time went by for her tears to subside, as a knock came from her door. Grumbling about being interrupted from almost falling asleep, she turned on the lights, and opened the door, peeking her head through. She didn't see anyone immediately, but caught the sounds of Satan's footsteps and soft humming as he walked back down to the dining room. A soft warm, and earthy smell dragged her attention to the plate of food sitting on the ground. A side of normal looking mashed potatoes, and a ham and pineapple dish made her sigh in relief of not having to go hungry for the night. She ate her food, and decided to wash the dishes in the morning.

The full swing of the weekend had stirred Noelle from her sleep. And much like she promised herself, she got dressed and made her way to the stone kitchen to wash her platter. She jumped slightly as Satan and Lucifer were already in the kitchen, yet they showed no sign of noticing her. Noelle ducked behind the wall, not wanting to intervene just yet. Her heart almost sank as she quickly learned what Satan was explaining to Lucifer, which was what she had told satan the previous day in the library. this caused her emotions to rush back to her while Satan expressed concern over Levi's attitude to her during their art class. Lucifer seemed to hum in thought and had quickly reminded Satan that this was what she had asked for, and a small argument broke out.

It seemed that even Satan was aware of how cruel his brothers were beginning to act towards her. Lucifer seemed stunned at his reasoning, and shot back at him, reminding Satan that he wasn't the eldest, and he doesn't know a thing. Noelle felt herself become defensive for the only Demon she had found safety in. she stood in the doorway, a set of tears stroked her cheeks as she spoke.

“So what?” Was all she could muster with her crackling voice.

The two brothers seemed stunned. Satan felt the growing anger and defense within her arise. Feeding into his own sin. Lucifer closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose before responding.

“And just how long were you standing there?”

Another surge of courage ripped through Noelle, as the familiar sensation of being pushed too far made her swallow what tears she had shed. Her voice came back out in full.

“Long enough. If you're going to talk shit about me, at least grow the balls to say it to my face, coward.”

A line was crossed and Lucifer had glared at her. Noelle's hand reached over her lips, touching them gently. Part of her was surprised and impressed, but the other part of her knew how grave of a mistake she just made. Lucifer was the Avatar of Pride. A demon who found entertainment in being above everyone, unchallenged. He even showed some grace as he sauntered up to her, backing her up into the hallway and against the wall. The other demons of the house had sensed Lucifer's aura and had made their way to the kitchen, stopping at the scene before them.

It was at that point that Noelle realized why she had struggled so much with the citizens of Devildom.

Lucifer's voice dropped into a growl. An inhuman growl.

“If you're going to be so bold to ask me, I will tell you. You are a small, and weak human in a world of strong demons who could rip you to shreds. If it wasn't for Lord Diavolo's orders to maintain your safety, I'd have yanked that flapping, moronic tongue of yours out of that little useless cavern you call a mouth. So we shall make this clear once, and once only. Do. Not. Speak ill of me like that again. Or so help me, there will be 'a case of rules meant to be broken'...”

He took a quick, short pause to inhale deeply, and spoke with a final, shaky voice.

“Along with a few broken bones, do I make myself clear?”

Noelle's body was only able to shake violently in fear. She heard what he had said; What he had threatened. Her mistake was forgetting where she was, and what she was surrounded by. Demons.

Her mind may have refused to process a response, but she felt every inch of her body screaming “I'll behave”. White hair and brown leather blocked her vision, and Mammon stepped between them, trying to coax Lucifer down from his rage.

“Alright there, uh Lucy! You don't have to go that far! And besides, the kid's shaking in her boots! I think um- she gets your point.”

A silent scoff was heard, and he looked past his brother and gave a final glare before walking away. Finally out of his eyesight she realized the black wings of his apparent demon form. She watched as the almost emperor like clothing, along with the wings, burned to ash, showcasing Lucifer's casual outfit. Then she dropped to the floor.

Breathing heavily, and still shaking. Even with her physical form showing her fear, her mind became painfully calm in contrast to the intense moment that just passed. The remaining brother's grew uncomfortable, but a small chuckle was heard. It came from Levi.

“Wooow! What Did you do to make him so grouchy?”

Satan started scolding Levi for such a vicious remark, and Mammon knelt down to Noelle's side, cautiously placing a hand on her shoulder. He jumped a bit as she got up quickly, and walked halfway to Levi, catching his attention. She looked around at the brother's before her. She spoke, her voice stuttering and shaky.

“Grouchy- That's just grouchy? You- you all just.. you- just stood there. Why? Why would- why would-”

Mammon had quickly placed a hand back on her shoulder as the rest looked on in sympathy. Even Leviathan had realized the trauma that was just bestowed upon her. Satan was next to speak, walking up to her and ruffling her hair in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Yeah- That's Lucifer when he's grouchy. What you just witnessed was a Demon Feeding. Come to think about it...” Before he finished his thought, Mammon gathered everyone's attention and reminded them that it was best to go back to what they were doing. Leaving just Satan and Noelle in the hallway. He looked at her. Having felt the anger and confusion she had hidden so well in the moment. He felt it all crumble, and then he felt... nothing.

He led her into the kitchen, and she watched him as he made the family breakfast. Silence drumming out to their ears. That was until Noelle found her voice again, calm and recovered.

“That was... scary...”

Satan hummed in response.

“It could have been worse.” He looked back at her, studying her in her response.

“what... was that about Demon feeding?”

Satan chortled, clearly amused by something, but answered her nonetheless.

“Before you had decided to entertain everyone just then, I was telling Lucifer, or more so reminding him, that you're human. A lot of times you have kept yourself vulnerable. You're mostly honest, you tend to reach out to others before they even consider asking for help... to a demon you're a very tempting snack.”

Noelle shuddered and swallowed her collective saliva, as she listened to Satan explain further.

“Demons, even if they're fallen angels, have this weak spot for humans like you. The response to that weak spot can go one of three ways. The first two are usually the most common, I'd say about 99.5% common. A demon will take interest in your soul and have the urge to make a contract with you, or will Feed off of you. Which is exactly what everyone has been doing to you. Well except me and the few others who don't bother interacting with you.”

Noelle tilted her head, and Satan sighed, resting himself next her, as she sat on the counter.

“What I mean is, since you're a relatively pure and kind person, despite your perverse sense of humor, you're the kind of person demons just love to torment. When a Demon Feeding takes place they're, in a way, suffocating your soul, and eating at the desired emotion they want.”

Satan rubbed his neck, and an almost visible light bulb went off as he turned towards her, seemingly excited with what he was going to say.

“It's almost like chewing bubble gum!”

Satan's smirk grew playful, and he elicited a laugh out of Noelle. Through her short laugh she asked him what he meant, to which he responded with great theatrics-

“It's just a taste of the soul without eating it! Incubi, and Succubi do it all the time! Ew-”

Noelle laughed harder at his outburst, almost falling off the counter. Satan had caught her before doing so, and led her off the counter tops back to the ground. She was quickly silenced by Satan's glare at her before he finally spoke up again.

“The best way to prevent this, is to not back down. Don't give anyone else the ability to scare you, or get what they want. I won't lie, because you've already gave some a taste it will be harder to fight them off. Bella hasn't been affected by the same condition because Belphegor and Beel have the most history with humans, therefore lacking the desire to take what's not rightfully theirs.”

He began to speak with a light blush.

“I'll even admit that seeing you overwhelmed with anger, made me tempted to feed off you as well... It's an instinctual thing... and it's.. different from what Lucifer did to you.”

Noelle scrunched her face in confusion.

“what do you mean?”

“that third option... The .5% reaction... If a human and demon have some form of common ground, then instead of wanting their soul, they find pleasure more so in amplifying emotions. It's like when you protected Bella when you first got here. She gave you the strength to face demons without thought. It's like an urge to connect with a human, except it's through a more spiritual means. So technically speaking... this was my fault. I think I accidentally amplified my feelings towards Lucifer to you. So uh- I'm sorry.”

Noelle nodded at him, and smiled lightly. A soft weight lifting from her shoulder as she gave him a hug. Speaking as she pulled back.

“It's okay. I'm just glad this just means no one here completely hates me... I was worried. Maybe you need to stick around me more often ya' know? Give me a boost of confidence to start finally sticking up for myself.”

Satan smiled at her, and playfully thought about it before nodding at her.

“Perhaps I do...”

“Hey Satan?”

“Yeah?”

Noelle sniffed the air and before she could ask, Satan had jumped up and rushed to the burning food.

“SHIT!”

[winzenni]

didn't mean to make you cry (lee donghyuck)

Summary: when your design project partner’s joking criticism unintentionally makes you cry, how will he fix it? after all, you’re his crush...

Genre: hurt/comfort?, fluff

Pairing: donghyuck x artist!reader, high school!au

Word count: 1.5k

When you were paired up with the outgoing, edgy, purple-haired boy in class for your design assignment, you thought your final grade was done for. The purple-haired class clown, Lee Donghyuck, who wears leather jackets and looks like he plays with fire in his free time, but actually has a kind heart and warm aura. 

You thought Donghyuck would ditch you in the very beginning, dumping the entire assignment onto you and opting to hit up the local night market with his friends instead, but he had surprised you. Throughout the month, Donghyuck had stayed on task in classes and been very attentive to your vision and goals for the project. Together, you were assigned to create a design layout that would display students’ artwork and be printed in the school newspaper.

Though your peers in class all opted for a traditional newspaper design, with serif fonts and boxy modules, you wanted to break out of the norm and create a futuristic vibe, with circles and vivid motifs, to emanate a clean aura in your work. When you were paired with Donghyuck, you feared he would shut down your creative vision, but instead, he had been extremely supportive and helpful in the project, even offering insight to improve the layout and refine the modern look of the pages.

For fun, you had put some close-up photos of your old sketches and drawings in the background. You thought Donghyuck would have called you self-centered for putting your own personal works on the page, but he had proven you wrong by complimenting the design afterwards. Together, your smooth black pen lines and colored pencil textures created a personal, diary-like feeling to the design, while the minimalistic modules and white space kept the clean modern vibes. 

His willingness to cooperate and kindness to you and your ideas had truly shocked you, and erased the bad boy/lazy rebel image you had thought of him. He seemed like someone you wanted to get closer with, maybe.

“Donghyuck and Y/N, time for your evaluation.” the teacher called you two up.

“Hm, this corner of the page is a little crowded. It’s hard on the eyes,” Ms. Kang says. 

“It’s because y/n drew the picture there,” says Donghyuck. “It’s ugly, right?” He says it in a joking manner, and you know he doesn’t mean it like that, but the words stir up some insecurities you’ve suppressed for a long time.

Ms. Kang laughs along with him. “Donghyuck, don’t be mean. Her drawing looks fine…”

--

You know he was joking when he had called your drawing ugly, but you couldn’t help but think that maybe he truly meant it. People were always like that to you.

In elementary school, your parents had loved your art. Your scribbly golden retrievers, your painted landscapes, they had praised each one and hung them up on the refrigerator, and you were so proud to have a talent that they were proud of. 

In eighth grade, your hyper realistic self-portrait earned you a ticket to New York to have your art displayed at a museum’s exhibit highlighting children’s artworks. You began to think this talent could take off and become a career, but your parents disagreed.

“Art doesn’t make money, y/n. Do you want to starve when you grow up?”

As you grew older, your art got better but your parents’ support decreased. Though you could draw a golden retriever 100 times better than before, your parents weren’t praising you.

“It’s ok, y/n. It looks kind of ugly.”

“That’s supposed to be you? It’s ugly-”

“Why did you draw me so ugly-”

Ugly was such a short word. But why did it hurt so much? Whenever you saw your parents’ faces, you just thought about your ugly, meaningless passion: art.

--

The bell rang. 

“Ah, I barely noticed the time. We’ll finish grading your design next class.” says Ms. Kang.

“Cool, thanks seonsaengnim,” Donghyuck responds. “Y/n, what did you think? She really liked the-”

You stand up, grabbing your bag and leaving for the cafeteria. You couldn’t hear Donghyuck’s words over your parents’ criticisms ringing in your head.

“Are you dumb? You’re NOT going to art school.” “No more art, y/n. It’s meaningless.” It had been a while since the word “ugly” had come up when talking about your art, your hobby, your talent, no -- your sole passion in life that gave you a purpose. You didn’t even notice your eyes watering up.

“Y/n, didn’t you hear me?” Donghyuck catches up beside you. “Ms. Kang said -- wait, are you crying?”

You’re taken aback, looking up to the face on your left. Concern flashes through his eyes as a sense of embarrassment pierces your chest. He thinks I cried because of a dumb joke he made, you think to yourself. He thinks I’m too sensitive and weak like that.

“Don’t worry about it,” you tell him, taking a u-turn to seek refuge in the bathroom. 

At lunch, you plop your tray beside your friend Renjun, taking a seat.

“How was the project evaluation?” He asks. 

“Renjun, you’re gonna laugh when I say this. I cried for no reason in front of Donghyuck,” you reveal.

“Why? What happened?” He asks worriedly.

You explain the purple-haired kid in your class, the design project, the thoughts that had rushed through your mind after Donghyuck had jokingly called your art ugly. Renjun, who you had first met in art class and hoped to become an art student himself, was one of few people who truly understood your insecurities about your future in art. 

“He probably thinks I’m weird and too sensitive now,” you say.

“Maybe,” he says. Renjun was never one to lie, even if the truth hurt a little bit. “It’s okay though, you probably won’t see him ever again after this year.” He puts a hand on your shoulder, patting it comfortingly.

“You’re right,” you laugh, scooping up another spoonful of rice.

--

How can she be laughing so much after crying less than twenty minutes ago? Donghyuck asks himself from across the cafeteria. Did I do something wrong?

“Donghyuck, what’s on your mind?” pipes up Jeno. “What are you looking at?”

“Hm? Oh… Earlier in class, that girl over there cried after I said something but I’m not sure why.” Donghyuck answers.

Jeno raises his head to look over at the girl in question. “Oh! Y/n? She’s so nice though, how did you even make her cry?” “I don’t know! That’s what I want to know!” Donghyuck defends himself. “Who’s sitting next to her though? She was just crying last class, why is she laughing already?”

“Oh, that’s Renjun. Why don’t you just ask him? He seemed pretty chill in math class last year,” Jeno suggests. 

-- 

When Donghyuck sees Renjun turn into the boys’ bathroom before class, he follows.

“Renjun!” he calls out.

Renjun turns around to see the owner of the unfamiliar voice. 

“Why did y/n cry? Did I do something wrong?”

Tilting his head to process the sudden interrogation, Renjun notices Donghyuck’s bright purple hair and makes the connection.

“Oh, you’re Donghyuck,” he remarks.

“Please, Renjun, tell me if I did something wrong. I need to know.”

“Why do you care so much?” Renjun asks. “Don’t worry about it, she’s not mad at you.”

“No, please. Please tell me. I-” Donghyuck starts. How can he admit his crush on you to a stranger right now? He can’t miss his chance. “I-I like y/n. I need to know if I did something wrong. I want to fix it. Please, Renjun.” 

Donghyuck had loved your drawings. He had loved your designs too. And loved you too. He loved how concentrated you focused when designing the layout, how your fingers gracefully pushed hair behind your ears when it fell in your face. He loved how your passion and dedication shined through in everything you did, whether it was your voice in a presentation, or the speed and concentration of your fingers on a keyboard. You were his crush, but also his role model. He couldn’t live with himself if he had made you cry.

Renjun explained your situation, your art, your parents, your self-doubt to Donghyuck. “Shoot your shot, Donghyuck. I think maybe y/n likes you too,” he said before pushing the door open and leaving quickly to hide his growing smile.

Alone in the bathroom, Donghyuck breathes a sigh of relief.

--

The next day in class, Donghyuck slides his backpack on the desk beside you, instead of his usual seat in the back. 

You look up, unsure how to face him. Should you explain why you cried? Or pretend like it didn’t happen?

He slips a folded pink piece of paper onto your desk, nodding at you to open it. 

You unfold the paper to see a doodle of a girl and boy, painting the sky together under some clouds. Amongst the clouds read “Your art is amazing. And you are too.” in a neat script. On the bottom of the paper: “Wanna come with me to the night market on Saturday?”

You look up at Donghyuck, searching his eyes to see if this is some pitiful joke or attempt to amend. Instead, you just see a glazed, lovestruck gaze in his eyes.

“I promise I won’t make you cry this time,” he says.

[lunari-cour]

Pandora - Chapter 1

The clouds were purple and yellow today. Usually they were one or the other, but rarely both. Yoojung laid in the grass on the crest of the hill, overlooking the settlement. The metal walls and buildings of the compound stuck out as an eyesore in the vast plains of grass. Even if the grass was dead - which it was - it at least held a burnt yellow hue. The compound was colorless, devoid of feeling. Yoojung turned, looking at the massive mountain range. Pandora, it was called. Yoojung wondered if you could see the compound from the top or if it faded from existence.

Just as she was zoning out, the siren sounded. The spinning speaker high above the town hall spun in cold, calculated circles.

Yoojung jumped up, carefully running down the hill. She huffed, fear shaking her bones.

The siren was usually a normal sound - it was tested every week. It was used for a variety of things, but all were to signify some form of danger. The alarm test day was on Fridays. It was a Wednesday.

She ran full speed down the hill, feet fumbling on the rocks protruding from the ground. Her legs were screaming, trying to prevent herself from falling headfirst down the hill; granded, she would get to her destination faster, although in shambles.

Within distance, she noticed the first sign her fear was justified: where the armed guards usually stood, their guns laid haphazardly. She paused, shuffling to a stop. The tall metal gate that usually remained closed was propped open. Her mind, as was her heart, raced. The siren continued to wail through the business of her mind clouding the sound from reaching her perception. She feared to see what sat at the other side of the gates. Nevertheless, she slowly opened the door, careful to not make a sound to alert her presence.

What she found was silence. Nothing. This may seem positive, yet this severely confused her. Usually the compound was full of noise - if not human then mechanical screeching from the factory.

She slid through, leaving the door ajar behind her. She proceeded cautiously into the compound, her eyes sliding across the terrain.

Smoke billowed from distant houses. Steam wafed up from puddles - it had not rained in a week. Doors sat ajar or hanging off their dilapidated hinges. She walked down the main street towards her home: she hopefully could find some solace in her tiny room. She hoped it had gone ignored. What had happened?

As she pondered this thought - uprising? Mass hysteria? - her answer came to her in a hand grabbing her arm, pulling her into an alleyway. As she prepared to scream, a hand came to hush her with a shaking finger. She looked up to see the owner.

“Ms. Stephania?”

“Shh!”

Ms. Stephania had been Yoojung’s history teacher in the third grade. She was well-loved in and out of the classroom. Yoojung had admired her growing up as she had always shown compassion and care to her students; a mentality seldom held by educators in the compound. Not to mention that she was also beautifully elegant, always put together as if she was out to a gathering on the main planet, Yetta.

Yet now, in front of Yoojung sat a very different Ms. Stephania. She appeared to have aged dramatically overnight. Bags adorned her eyes, hair disheveled. Her eyes bulged with frantic energy.

“Listen Yoojung. Are you listening?” She whispered quickly. Yoojung nodded, still in shock.

“Bad people are here. They have been for a long time, but now they are doing bad. You have to leave now, Yoojung. You must leave this planet.” Yoojung held in a gasp. Leave this planet? Sure, she had dreamed of the universe beyond while bored in class, but she had long come to terms with her predetermined future. She had already taken up an apprenticeship with the local herbalist, perfectly happy with becoming the local healer in the future. Yet now Ms. Stephania…

“What?” Yoojung slipped in, shocked.

“This compound will be gone soon. It already is.” Ms. Stephania gulped, putting a hand on Yoojung’s shoulder, before turning to direct her down a side street.

“You must leave now before they see you.”

“But-” Then it came. A shock of icy coldness shot through her body as the blood curdling screech echoed through the town. Yoojung looked to Ms. Stephania as if expecting an answer. Their eyes met.

“Go!” The urgency in Ms. Stephania’s voice sent Yoojung running. She mentally drew a map of the compound. Yes, the Southern gate was the safest, as she could get there through mainly back streets. She made her way through her well-known labyrinth of a town. She had long known these complex streets as home, yet now they sat torn and abandoned from some unknown menace.

She came to a halt at the sight of the Herbalist Shop. The back door sat closed, seemingly undisturbed. She knew the place as an extension of herself. She surely could grab some supplies for her unknown journey ahead.

She approached the door, opening it with ease.

The inside did not resemble the back alleyway that exuded tranquility. It had been ravaged, bottles of salves and stalks of herbs thrown around the room like litter. Yoojung quickly grabbed a medium sized knapsack in the rubble, usually used for deliveries. It was dirtied but the canvas was still intact. She quickly rooted through the rubble, grabbing edibles and healing herbs.

As she scoured the back office, she heard the familiar creek of the front door. She paused, listening.

“The others have already been here.” The voice was barely audible but distinguishable to understand both its words and its undeniably inhuman drawl. She felt the vibrations of large, heavy steps on the wooden floor, slowly making their way towards her.

Yoojung panicked, searching for an escape yet the room had only one door. Instead, she opted for the flipped desk, hiding in the corner behind its strong oak surface like a barricade. As she nestled behind it, the speakers got to the door, presumably looking in.

“Damn, even back here.”

“What can I say? I trained you all well.” The voice jarred her. Unlike the other, it was human. Worst yet, it was undeniably the local pastor, Mr. Russell. She didn’t know him well as she rarely found herself at the church yet his prominence in town made him recognizable. She heard the footsteps echo into the room, her breath suspended as she awaited the creature and Russell’s next move.

“It still smells of dirty humans in here.” The creature said as it kicked what Yoojung assumed was a glass bottle as the crystalline shatter followed.

“Unfortunately there is not much we can do about that,” Russell chuckled. “It will fade with time.” He paused, taking a breath seemingly hardening his aura. “I believe it is time to head back to the main street,” He said. “We should meet the others.” they promptly withdrew from the room, as did Yoojung’s breath.

Yoojung fumbled the canvas backpack on as she slid out the back door. She looked both ways cautiously, as if expecting an automobile to whiz by.

In reality, she didn’t know what she would do if she saw something. She didn’t even know what that monstrous sounding creature looked like, nevertheless its speed or weaknesses. She stuck close to the buildings, as if the metal awnings would offer her some protection from sight. Could they smell her? Could they hear her feet patter through the mud? After what felt like an eon, she finally came to the large metal wall of the boundary. She placed her hand on the cool metal, almost like a goodbye. Her future of simple peace may be gone on a long vacation. She also knew that in a few seconds she would be at the gate right on the main boulevard.

She stepped through Mrs. Galil’s side garden onto the main road. To her luck, the main gate was propped open, as was the last. The simplicity of her escape caused her to look back with longing. Yet her reminiscent glance turned to bile rising to burn her mouth.

Aligned on the road like parked automobiles lay the torn corpses of her classmates, her teachers, her neighbors; stomachs opened and stripsearched like a black market organ harvest.

Her pause to swallow her bile led to her eyes meeting the church boy’s, Erik - crazed ones. He stood by a bush a block down; their community members like stepping stones between them.

“Yoojung! It’s okay,” he said, a crazed calm soaking his voice. “They won’t hurt us.” His hand reached out as if to beckon her. She scoffed, angry tears clouding her vision, her eyes meeting the body of Ms. Stephania among the rest.

“And why is that?” He smiled as if asked a simple, solemn question.

“Because we are special.”

Yoojung turned, hair chasing as she ran out of the compound, leaving the strange words of the boy behind.

[delicatelyherdreams]

Pragma(tic) 21: She Faces the End

Pairing: Persephone!Bucky Barnes x Hades!Reader

Summary: In a world where the old gods never truly died, you must learn to navigate your way through the ups and downs of immortality. And if living forever wasn’t hard enough, an ancient evil is now threatening to break free after centuries of silence. And as if that still wasn’t hard enough for you, now a pesky and infuriatingly handsome god is trying to wedge his way into your life. Gods, work, love, and conflict—what more could a goddess need? [Hades & Persephone AU]

Word Count: 5229

Warnings: Language, violence, blood, fighting, war

Pragma(tic) Masterlist

Previous 20: She Begs for a Promise

The valley at the heart of Thessaly was just as you remembered it from all those centuries ago, but the grass was greener here. It’d been fertilized by the ichor spilled by gods and titans both during the Titanomachy. Craters still dotted the earth from where lightning or bodies had struck it. There was still a trench tearing it apart from where you’d dragged your bident through the dirt, attempting to cut one of your uncles in half. It was a battleground—populated with new plants and life, but a battleground nonetheless.

The scene was one of legends: titans and gods standing once again in two lines.

The brothers stood in an arch, Kronos at the point with his brothers flanking his sides evenly. A large golden scythe—his signature weapon—filled his hand, its shaft embedded into the dirt of the earth. His lips were curled up in a lazy smirk, his eyes half-lidded and content. He was amused as he looked across the valley at you, his red eyes never leaving yours.

He and his brothers were dressed in the very basics of armor; they didn’t think they needed it. They were titans—nearly invincible. They feared nothing, least of all bodily harm.

Funny, considering how many scars coated their arms from the last war.

The gods were prepared. With your sister as the figurehead, you and Natasha at her sides, and the gods flanking you three, you stood strong. 

You could feel Bucky at your side, his aura engulfing you. He was on the side of you, separated only by your weapon which was tightly grasped in your hand. Your knuckles were white as you gripped the shaft, the stress in your body apparent as you glared across the meadow at the man who haunted your nightmares.

You hadn’t visited this place since the war, and now history was repeating itself.

The air was thick with tension. It weighed down on your shoulders like a burden, trying to shove you down into the ground and break your resolve. Neither side budged; all stood still as statues. No one wanted to be the immortal to instigate the fight. Not even your father who lived for conflict. He only smirked at you, his eyes bypassing his youngest and finding you—his firstborn and first victim.

Oh, how you loathed him. Oh, how you wished you could just end this now, snap your fingers and be back in your living room safe and sound with Bucky by your side. What would you be doing right now if none of this had happened? You’d probably be at home, maybe having brunch with your mother and Bucky or hosting your sisters for the morning. Maybe you’d be spending it on Olympus for once, roaming the shops with Bucky before getting bored of all the stares and going down to the Mortal World. Or maybe you’d be stuck in the office tackling an enormous mountain of paperwork. Whatever you’d be doing, it would be a hell of a lot better than what you were doing now.

The silence refused to let its hold of the valley go, and you found yourself begging for someone—anyone—to just break it already. It was deafening.

Your father, ironically, was the only one who seemed to catch the silent plea.

His smirk only grew as he looked at you, and, finally, he greeted you saying, “My darling daughters, at last. Right where this all began. You might’ve had the upper hand last time, but I have spent centuries growing stronger, and—Finally!—I have the power to end the gods.”

Carol grit her teeth as she stared across the valley at your father, her eyes darkening. Her back straightened and you could see the queen in her emerging. She viewed your father not as family, but as an adversary. She was diplomatic and regal as she tightened her grip on her weapon: a six-foot staff of pure electricity. The concentrated bolt of lightning crackled in response to her annoyance and agitation. It glowed a bright white in her grasp, radiating pure power. “Turn back now, Father. Your threats will not be tolerated; your presence will not be allowed. Surrender and you might just survive this encounter unscathed.”

He roared with laughter, throwing his head back. “Oh, Carol, my youngest and most naive daughter. You think you have the authority to tell me what to do? You are not a titan, you are not even the first god. That honor would go to your beloved sister now, wouldn’t it?” His red eyes found your face off to her side and they crinkled around the edges in a grin. “I never did understand why you gave up the throne, my child. It was yours by birthright.”

He was provoking you; that much was clear to see. It was almost as if he was trying to turn you against your sisters by igniting a sense of entitlement in you.

It was pathetic.

You lifted your chin in annoyance. “I am not the queen here, Father. I was wise enough to know my place.” You picked your bident of the ground and lowered the tip in his direction. “Now you heard her: surrender now or suffer the consequences. We will not hold back. You will not be spared.”

“You don’t scare me. You are nothing but a god. I am a titan—the king of the titans. I have more power than you will ever know.”

“Then how did we defeat you?” You were growing agitated now, sick of his talk. “Make no mistake, Father, we were the victors of the war. We bested you, and the only reason you managed to free yourself was that you played dirty and corrupted one of our own.”

At the mention of his efforts to poison you, Bucky bristled at your side. You could feel anger rolling off him in waves.

Instantly your hand found his and you squeezed it as if to say, “Be still. Now is not the time.”

Thankfully he understood. It was an obvious effort for him, but he did retreat a step or so back.

For once he decided to listen to you and you were grateful for that. 

This little exchange did not go unnoticed. 

Kronos’ smirk only widened as his eyes switched between the two of you. “Oh, (y/n)... You got yourself a little pet. Are you supposed to be my son-in-law, boy? Is that what this is?”

“Leave him out of this, Father,” you hissed, your voice turning low and threatening. You were not in the mood for these antics.

“And what if I don’t? What if I decide that it’s fun?” His red eyes held your gaze before dipping to your lover. “What ever happened to that nymph? Last I heard she was making love to him every night. Did she get tired of him and come to you, boy? Did she decide that she needed a god to satisfy her instead?”

“Shut up,” Bucky growled, his possessiveness coming out. 

“Oh! I see. You want to defend her honor!” Kronos cackled. “My lovely daughter has found herself a lover then—a man to finally settle down with.” He crossed his arms and looked Bucky and up and down, scrutinizing every inch of him. “A god of spring. Minor. Young. Little to no experience with real life. (y/n), you really had to pick him? He can’t protect you from anything. Or maybe you were thinking you’d be the one to protect him! Fancy that! A queen putting her life on the line to save her lover.”

“Stop,” you growled. You could see where he was going with this and it made your blood sizzle beneath the surface. The temperature dropped around you in response to your annoyance.

“You thought you’d save your precious prince? Twist the fairy tale a bit? You think you’re strong enough for that? How could you—a goddess who can barely keep a titan contained and who can be incapacitated by a small bit of poison—protect or save anyone?”

“Father, enough!” 

“You think you can save your friends? You think you can save anyone? You think you can defeat me? I am a titan! I am the first! I created you and I can destroy you just as easily! You are an insect: insignificant and puny. A waste of space! Unfit for anything you have.”

The world was turning red. The hue started at the edges of your vision and only flooded in, coating the entirety of your sight. Your hands trembled with rage. Your grip grew impossibly tight on your bident. 

His words enraged you. You knew they shouldn’t, but the taunting affected you more than you’d care to admit. You prided yourself on your power, and here he was accusing you of having not even that. But it wasn’t that the accusations angered you—no—what angered you was the possibility that he might be right.

The smile splitting his lips only grew wider. His chest puffed out in preeminence as he spoke, bolstering himself. His voice seemed to grow louder with every syllable. “You are weak. You are useless. You are still that pathetic girl I ate all those centuries ago!”

You knew Bucky’s hand was on your back as he tried to calm you, but you didn’t register it at all. Instead, you simply trembled and pulled your bident off the ground.

Kronos locked eyes with you across the valley. You could see that the anger on his face matched your own. He was mad at you. He was venting, letting loose all the feelings he’d built up over the centuries of his imprisonment. And now he was letting it go; attacking you with a first wave. His voice filled with poison as he yelled, “You! Are! Nothing!”

The scream that tore through your throat was earsplitting and you jammed your bident into the dirt beneath you. The crack that followed cut through the air and the ground, tearing a chasm in the earth. It shot at him like a flood, only halting when he drove his own weapon into the ground in its path.

The silence that followed was heavy. The gods around you looked too afraid to even speak. The titans were too stunned to move.

Only your father reacted. “Ah hah! Now there’s that fire in you I know you got from me.” He twirled his scythe in the air, the sound of the blade cutting nothing echoing through the valley. “Now come and show me that you really are my daughter.” And with that, he began his descent, his brothers close behind.

And that was your cue to move.

The world passed in slow motion as the titans and the gods moved down their respective mountains into the valley. Weapons glittered in the sunlight and the air filled with battle cries. If it wasn’t real and your immediate situation, you would have laughed at how cliche the scene was. However, there was no laughing as you saw your father’s scythe coming down in a golden arc across the length of the valley. 

Time slowed. 

Literally.

It suddenly felt like you were running through a wall of molasses. Your legs were sluggish; your body heavy. Time had slowed to a crawl and you were trapped in it.

It wasn’t just you.

Looking around, you could see the other gods were just as bewildered as you were. Looks of panic covered their faces. They didn’t know what was going on.

But you knew. With a sickening drop of your stomach, you knew.

Kronos’ sneer gave it all away.

He was the titan of time. Of course, he could manipulate it. 

The titans moved in normal time while the gods were trapped in their sloth-like prison. The titans had slowed their pace to a lazy gait, conserving energy and taunting you with their sheer presence. 

You grit your teeth as you slowly pulled your energy back. Two could play at that game. If they wanted to slow you, then you were going to take advantage of the extra time. 

The fire was slow to catch in your stomach, but you could feel its warmth bubbling up, boiling just beneath the surface. His hold on you would break at some point, and when it did, you’d be ready.

Kronos waited until the titans were nearly on top of you to release his hold. 

And, when he did, you were ready.

With your newly regained strength, you stopped dead in your tracks and jammed your bident into the earth once more. But this time, you didn’t split it.

A wave of darkness rolled out from the point of impact, rushing the titans with pure force. The sky blackened and the titans were pushed back. 

And that was all the gods needed. What once was an advantage for the titans quickly did a one-eighty and turned in your favor. 

You could see the utter shock and annoyance reflect in Kronos’ eyes as he realized his plan backfired and watched his brothers fall into the gods’ onslaught.

Outnumbered five to fourteen, the battle should’ve been obvious; but the titans possessed a strength that the gods never would. 

Crius, Iapetus, Coeus, and Hyperion didn’t hesitate to engage the fight, but Kronos simply stood back and watched, his red eyes sweeping over the valley.

You chose to do the same, leaving your bident stuck in the ground. 

Four rings of battles formed, one for each titan.

Your sisters wove in and out of the clusters, migrating to wherever their aide was needed most. Hyperion was proving to be a formidable foe for Valkyrie, Thor, and Loki. With Natasha’s help, they managed to shove down the golden titan’s sword, holding him back with their strength alone.

Maria and Clint worked in tandem with Carol against Coeus. Carol never let your uncle near her wife, protecting Maria with a fierce fire in her eyes as she let lightning fall from the sky across his body. But Maria was not useless. Armed with an elegant spear, she landed blow after blow, dancing just out of the titan’s reach. Clint stood apart from them, using his marksman aim to make ranged attacks. Arrows would sprout from the titan’s back and body at random intervals, and you knew he was hard at work. You just hoped he’d brought more than eleven arrows.

Tony and Pepper held their own against Crius. The titan of heavenly constellations was just barely a match for the husband and wife duo. Tony had armed himself with an armor of his own creation (which he affectionately named Mark 85 because it was his eighty-fifth suit) and used the built-in projectile system to rain fire down on the titan. Pepper was also adorned in an armor of Tony’s creation. The blue of her suit complimented the red of his perfectly. She provided backup and additional fire against the titan. Together, they kept the titan pinned and flailing. They were an arc of destruction.

And that led your gaze to the last battle.

It was Bucky, his mother, and the twins against Iapetus. The four gods matched the titan perfectly as blades clashed. Winnifred had her long sword interlocked with Iapetus’ spear as Wanda attacked with her magic and Pietro zipped around the titan, jabbing his sword into any gap in the armor he could find.

Bucky did what he said he would: he brought the wrath of Spring.

It was beautiful chaos and Bucky stood at its center. A king commanding his forces, he guided vines and roses full of thorns around Iapetus’ legs, anchoring him to the ground and drawing golden ichor from his flesh. He directed the thorns to bite the titan with a flawless fluidity, hardly even breaking a sweat. He was powerful and—at that moment—you understood why people called it a “force of nature.”

They were winning their fight. Iapetus buckled under their pressure, his own resolve faltering as fear took over his pale face and ichor spilled from his wounds. It was so amazing that you could’ve just cried with joy.

But, as with all things, the joy came to an end as someone moving in the corner of your vision drew your attention.

In the midst of the chaos, Kronos sauntered between individual battles with his head held high. He barely spared glances to the gods around him as some of them turned away from their own battles to try and strike him. Any feeble attempt at an attack was simply batted to the side. He couldn’t be bothered; he’d set his sights on his target and his mouth split into a sadistic grin. His red eyes bore into your skull. He was coming straight towards you.

Bucky glanced up as he felt the evil presence approaching, turning his attention from your uncle to your father. At once, his eyes darkened and he turned his body towards Kronos. His grip on his sword tightened as he moved to step in his path and keep Kronos away from you. 

Kronos simply smirked as he stared at Bucky. “Move, or I will kill you, godling,” he said, his step unwavering. 

Bucky—stupid, stupid Bucky—held his ground. “I won’t let you hurt her.”

“You don’t have a choice.” Kronos twirled his scythe and lifted it up in an arc over his head, ready to swipe down at Bucky. 

“No!” You were in front of Bucky in an instant, lifting your bident up to stop the blade of the scythe. Vibranium clashed with gold and sparks flew. It was a merciless torrent raining down on a cloudless day. Your eyes burned red through your lashes. “Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare,” you hissed. The words were nothing but a harsh growl as they cut through the air, but you weren’t playing. 

Kronos’ lips twitched up. “My, my. Such vulgar language.”

You sneered at him and addressed Bucky without ever taking your eyes off the titan, “Deal with the others; I can handle him.” 

You could feel Bucky taking reluctant steps away from you as he rejoined his fight, but he wasn’t far away if you needed him.

Kronos grinned down at you, his scythe still interlocked with your bident. “Are you sure, daughter? Are you sure you’re strong enough?”

“I know I am.” Your eyes traced the arcs that made up his face. Looking in the mirror that was your father, you could feel your heart retreating back into your chest with dread; but you stood your ground as determination bubbled up, taking the place of fear and anxiety. Your lips split into a taunting grin. “After all, you couldn’t even hurt me yourself. You had to use extortion and trickery to weaken me.”

A low growl rumbled in the back of his throat as he added to the pressure pushing at your weapon. “We’ll see who will hurt the other.”

“I guess we will.” You shoved up, using an element of surprise to your advantage to push him away and swipe at his legs. 

It was a miracle he jumped backward. The tip of your bident soared dangerously close to his kneecaps.

You recovered from your miss fairly quickly, standing and twirling around to try and land a blow.

He was ready this time as he brought his scythe up to block you. He shoved you back and made an attack of his own.

But you blocked as well.

Back and forth you danced in an endless circle of attacking and blocking. It was growing tedious honestly. But it was necessary. You couldn’t allow your focus to drop for even a second otherwise he would hurt you.

But you knew he’d hurt you anyways.

So it was no surprise when you felt a searing pain across your calf as he swiped up with his scythe and dragged the blade against the surface of your skin. 

You screamed and leapt away from him, glancing down to assess the damage. It wasn’t bad, thank the gods, but it was enough that ichor began to pour from the wound.

Kronos’ smirk deepened as he stalked towards you. But he didn’t attack, instead he circled you as a predator does to prey. His laugh was cold and deep. “It’s you and me, daughter, as it always should have been.”

You grit your teeth as you pivoted, refusing to let your back be exposed to him. You felt like an injured animal being circled by a lion: trapped and desperate. But you refused to let him see that. “I hate you,” you hissed in a low voice.

“Oh, I know you do. The feeling is quite mutual.” He twirled his scythe, the blade audibly cutting the air. “I should’ve killed you when I had the chance, back when you were only but a child. Eating you was too generous.”

“Then why didn’t you? Why didn’t you just end it when you could?”

His steps slowed until he finally stopped, and when he looked at you, you saw, for perhaps the first and only time ever, his gaze softened to an almost affectionate glance. But as soon as it had appeared, it was gone and he was gritting his teeth once more. “Call it a father’s idiocy. Maybe I did have an ounce of love for you. But whatever it was has been dead for a long time.”

The words hit you like a slap to the face and any hope you’d ever even maybe had of having even a tolerable relationship with your father vanished. Instead, red-hot rage filled you and you shot towards him.

You were before him in an instant, raining down hatred with your weapon.

He took advantage of your eagerness to attack to make a swipe at you with his scythe, this time aiming for your head. You backed off just in time to save your neck, but not to save your cheek. Pain cut across your face, thin as a thread but intense enough to make tears prick at your eyes. Even without looking, you knew that that one was most likely going to leave a scar. 

Gritting your teeth, you cut an arc through the air and the prongs of your bident fell squarely on the blade of his scythe as he blocked. You pulled away briefly before swiping in again. Once more he blocked. This time he retracted his weapon before lunging.

But, in his desperate frenzy, he overshot himself.

For once, time seemed to slow in your favor. You saw where he would land, and you acted accordingly. Stepping to the side, you waited until he was right beside you before bringing your weapon down on his back.

Golden ichor poured from his newest wound and he faltered ever so slightly.

It was all you needed. 

The fires of Hades were on your side as you attacked, unrelenting and merciless. Never once did you ease the pressure. 

The effort paid off.

Cuts of all shapes and sizes began to appear over his body as your weapon found its mark. It was an extension of you and your anger towards him and you finally let all the pent up rage go.

He was kneeling now, and he finally found the chance to raise his scythe to block you. But even with it raised, you still attacked over and over again, striking one spot with growing intensity.

And, staring down at him, you realized something.

You were winning. 

You were actually winning and it was an amazing feeling. You were making him small—as small as he made you felt. You pushed him down, blow after blow. The gold of his scythe glowed hot from the hellfire that rained down on it and the shaft actually began to bend under pressure. 

The fear in Kronos’ eyes went unmasked. He didn’t even have the strength to fake composure.

You were glowing. Was anyone else seeing this? How were the others doing? You took your eyes off of your father and glanced around the battlefield to look for Bucky.

You wish you hadn’t.

You found Bucky. He was still fighting Iapetus. His mother and the twins had been swatted to the side and were regrouping. It was just Bucky against the titan. It was a fight you knew Bucky would lose. And you had turned just in time to see Iapetus bring his spear down on Bucky’s chest, drawing a thin line of golden ichor through the god’s skin. You saw Bucky’s face contort in anguish as he was cut.

His pain made you falter.

And that’s all Kronos needed.

Suddenly his weapon wasn’t beneath yours. It was cutting your legs, tearing at the muscles in your thighs.

Burning fire shot through your body and you went down at once. Already you could feel your immortality trying to heal you, knitting together the destroyed muscle and tissue, but it wouldn’t be quick enough. You fell down hard on your hands and knees and ichor poured from your wounds, flooding the ground beneath you.

You gripped your bident tighter as you screamed and tried to muster a sitting position, but you weren’t allowed to get that far.

The curved blade of the scythe plunged into your right shoulder and lifted you from the ground like a ragdoll. You couldn’t tell if the screaming came from your own mouth or from those around you as Kronos picked you up and flung you across the valley.

Your back hit the stone of a nearby boulder and you could feel the bones cracking under the pressure. The pain was excruciating, but you couldn’t even scream. Your voice was arrested by the agony you were in. The metallic taste of ichor filled your mouth. Your blood rushing in your ears was the only audible sound for about five seconds and the red faded from your gaze. 

Through the dim haze that lingered, you could see him—Kronos—coming for you. 

He twirled his scythe in the sunlight, the blade dancing dangerously through the air. He stopped just feet away from you and stared down at you, his face betraying nothing.

You tried to move, tried to speak, tried to do anything at all, but your body would not respond. It was too busy dealing with the pain from the gaping wound in your shoulder and desperately trying to mend it. You could feel the muscle painfully knitting itself together at an agonizingly slow pace. Every second was filled with knives digging into your flesh again and again. 

But despite the regeneration, you knew it wouldn’t be done fast enough to make a difference.

Kronos sucked in a breath as he dipped his scythe, letting the blade rest just below your chin and bring it up to face him. His red eyes glowed with venom and victory and he smirked. “For 2,825 years… I have dreamt of this moment… The moment when I, Kronos, titan of time and King of all… Finally… Put an end to the wretched gods I created… Reclaim the throne that was brutally stolen from me… And killed the one person I loathe the most in this world.”

You mustered up all your strength and, not moving your neck for fear of an early and accidental death, spat at him. The ichor that filled your mouth landed on his foot—not a great distance but enough to make your point. You sneered at him. “This isn’t over. Even if you kill me, there will be those that will take you down!” Gods… Even saying that hurt you. Your breathing was growing more labored and painful; every inhale sent fire to your lungs.

“Maybe… But regardless, I will finally be victorious after I have killed the one, consistent thorn in my side.” He chuckled darkly and raised his scythe. “I wish there was something waiting in death for you, my dear, but I know the god of it and—trust me—there is nothing but pain and suffering in store for you. I have waited for this moment for too long, and now…” 

The gold of his scythe blocked out the sunlight, the glow impossibly blinding. It was all you could look at. The gold and the red of your father’s eyes. How many times had you seen those eyes and wondered why he was your father? How many times had you looked in the mirror at your red and wondered why your father hated you? How many times had you wondered what you had done to have such a horrible father?

But none of it mattered now. Looking up, you didn’t see the man who helped create you; instead, you saw a monster. You saw the man who would bring your end. 

And you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him. 

Because, suddenly, you were a seven-year-old kid again.

Staring up into the eyes of your father.

Wondering what you had done to deserve such a fate.

You could hear the faint sounds of battle around you growing fainter and fainter and you knew this was it. You knew that there was no coming back from this.

You were going to die and leave everything behind.

Would your sisters avenge you? Would they kill your father once and for all or would they join you in the grave? Would you get a proper funeral with an obol sealing your lips to pay your fare to the Underworld? Imagine that: the Queen of the Underworld paying a fee to enter her own kingdom. Or was your father right in saying that only pain awaited you after death?

Would your mother cry for days after your death, wishing she’d never brought you into the world at all so that you wouldn’t have to endure such pain?

Who would take care of Cerebus? Peggy maybe? Or would she be so weighed down with grief and new responsibilities as Queen of the Underworld to play with him properly?

And Bucky…

Oh gods… 

Bucky would probably take your death the hardest. He loved you after all.

Would he find love after you? Or would he be inconsolable? Would he learn to live in a world that you weren’t in? Or would he succumb to a depression that not even his friends could rouse him from? 

You prayed to anyone that would listen that he’d be alright without you because you knew you wouldn’t rest in peace if you were the one to destroy him.

But, despite these fears, you knew they’d all be okay after you went. They wouldn’t be alone. They’d have each other.

And that was a comforting thought.

Drawing in a shaky breath, you looked up at your father and set your stare in stone. You wouldn’t let him see your sadness or despair. Instead, you’d leave him with one last image of a brave face—one that wasn’t scared of him and embraced death like an old friend.

“...you die!” He swung down at you, the gold of his scythe slicing an arc in the air.

It was only then that you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for a pain that was indescribable.

For a pain that never came. 

It should’ve been over. Is this what death was? Painless? You expected death to be painful as he cut through you, but you felt nothing.

For a moment, there was absolutely nothing; just silence. 

And then you heard it: the cry of agony.

Next 22: She Unleashes Hell

[crystalxfrost]

To Live or To Die

I gripped my steering wheel tightly, knuckles bone-white with tension, shoulders bunched up and sore. The road spun out endlessly under my tires, a strip of slick black silk painted with bold yellow lines. My eyes noticed and then promptly ignored the beauty of the dark-washed scenery around me; there was only one room for one thought in my mind.

I had been at the end of my rope for some time now, but still too much of a coward to just turn out my own lights. I had tried therapy, only for the bitch to laugh and tell me I was beyond help. I had tried talking to the people in my life, but my own parents just shrugged it off. I had even tried drugs and alcohol to drown my depression, but I had found out the hard way that it wasn't the right road to go down. I had been debating over the best method of my execution when a friend of mine I hadn't heard from in years messaged me out of the blue.

After some very emotional pouring out that left me feeling drained but somewhat relieved, my friend gave me some information that had led me to where I am now, driving down Route 236 in the middle of the night. She had told me to come to the beginning of the highway and just drive and think about my feelings and my depression, let it really take me over. Then, she'd said, that's when SHE would come and make it all better.

I remember pressing her on who SHE was, but she wouldn't tell me. She just said that SHE would come only when I was at the very very end and couldn't stand it anymore and that SHE would take all the hurt away. She had made it abundantly clear that for the entire time SHE was with me, I was not to look at her or I would belong to her. As long as I kept my eyes away, I would be fine...I would be healed. Desperate for any relief from the impending shadow of my own death, I had agreed.

I scoured the shadowed landscape around me for any sign of movement but saw nothing. My fingers clenched even tighter as hot tears prickled behind my eyes and my chest hitched, and suddenly I was bawling out loud, great big gasping sobs that racked my body and forced me to struggle for breath. I pulled over blindly on the side of the highway, threw the car in park, buried my face in my hands and just openly sobbed. It was like expressing poison from a snake bite; an enormous weight lifted off my chest in a flood of emotional downpour as I cried out every bit of hurt I'd ever struggled to push down.

In the midst of my sobs, the temperature in my car dropped noticeably, and even in the dry heat of the desert summer, goosebumps rose to prominence on my arms. A cold chill wormed its way up my spine and between my shoulderblades with an icy fingertip and my breath hung in the air like frozen crystal vapors. Then the voice spoke from behind me, murmuring soft things I could almost hear.

Immediately my hair stood on end. The voice, which I had been somewhat expecting to be deep and powerful, was little more than a high-pitched whisper of breath that drifted to my ears from somewhere beyond my vision. But it felt...wrong. My entire being screamed at me to not turn around, not to lay my eyes on whatever was currently occupying my back seat because to do so would mean the instant loss of whatever sanity I had left. And all at once, I knew that SHE had come.

As if in response to my mental acknowledgement of the heavy presence, a soft breath drifted to my ears, but with it came the sickening stench of a thousand rotting corpses under a blanket of desert sun, and I was unable to stop myself. I threw open the car door and emptied the last three days worth of food from my stomach in a splatter on the pavement.

After my stomach had settled, the voice came again. "I can taaaaaste your paaaiiin." Then a hiss like an indrawn breath. "What issss it you waaant from meeee? "

I had had a million things to ask, a million points of hurt I wanted to spill, but that all vanished in an instant, leaving only white hot honesty. With tears threatening to fall again, I sighed brokenly. "I want it to stop hurting."

There was silence, followed by a darkly throaty chuckle that made me want to scream. "Isss that all? Coommme. I want to shhhhooowww you sssomethinnng." The back door of my car opened then and I physically felt the oppressive presence leave my aura. Careful to keep my eyes averted, I followed the voice over to the side of the road. I sensed rather than saw her raise an arm and point down into the darkness. "Look theeerrre."

I squinted out into the darkness and was able to barely make out a pair of glowing taillights far down below. With horror I realized that there was no footing there, only an endless void of darkness down a sheer face. I stepped back, a lump in my throat, and turned back for the comfort of my car, but when I turned around, my car was gone.

Sputtering and stammering, I nearly forgot myself then, turning in the general direction of the voice. I managed to catch myself just as a flash of white flickered into and back out of my view. "Where is my car?"

Again I sensed her point down at those suddenly damning twin spots of flame red so far down in the darkness. "That is yoooouuuu down theerre. You drove yourssssself off the cliiiiffff."

"No, no, no, no..." I pressed my hands hard against my ears and squeezed my eyes shut in a weak attempt to block out her lies, but all at once, freezing cold hands were on mine, forcing my hands down to my sides and unblocking my ears, and her rancid breath flooded my nostrils with the odor of rot. I swallowed my gorge and forced my eyes shut even tighter, my friend's warning standing out in stark white against the blank whirling fury of my mind.

"You wanted to die, did you not?!" The voice was no longer a breathy whisper, but a deep roar of monstrous proportions. The force of the voice blew my hair back and showered my face with foul-smelling spittle. I felt the cold hands move up and grip me by my upper arms, and suddenly I knew what was coming next. I struggled to twist away from those freezing cold hands.

"No, please..."

The voice boomed again, "You wanted to die. So DIE!" And with that, I was thrown violently out off the cliff and into the void of darkness. I snapped my eyes open and screamed, covering my face with my arms and fighting to brace for impact, and when it finally came...

...I crashed against the surface and plummeted down underneath the freezing cold water. Disoriented, sore from the impact and still screaming, I clawed my way up to the surface, my scream choking off when I felt the icy hand grip my ankle and pull me down, hold me down under the water. I kicked at the fingers that dug into the tender skin of my ankle but it was like kicking stone. My lungs burned in my chest and I felt myself start to gray out. My vision went dark, and I opened my mouth to scream. The water poured down my throat and into my lungs, and just as my lungs felt like they were about to explode...

...I was hauled out of the water by more hands I couldn't see, which pulled me to my feet none too gently. I was surrounded by yammering voices, some men and some women, and was soaking wet and gasping for air, but the invisible hands that gripped me forced me along anyway to a wooden pole standing upright all by itself. The voices around me began to clear up even as I felt more hands press my back up against the pole. My hands were then tied behind me with thick rough rope that dug deep and scraped my wrists raw. It was then that I heard the chant begin spreading.

"Burn the witch...burn the witch...burn the witch..."

"Wait...what?!" I cried out, fighting to get free of the ropes that lashed me fast to the hard post behind me, to no avail. "I'm not a witch!"

"Tha's wot they all say," an invisible woman's voice jeered in my ear. "But yer a witch just as clear as I c'n see ya. 'n guess wot? Yer goin ta buuuuurn." The voices around me melted back into a wordless clamor...and then I felt the heat and looked down in horror. A flame had already been drawn to life in the pile of wood that now surrounded my feet, and the yellow-red tongues climbed higher, licking at my feet hungrily. I screamed in pain as my pants caught fire and my skin began to bubble and char as the fabric seared to my very flesh. In mere moments I was reduced to helpless agony as I felt my flesh melting off of my bones, leaving huge exposed sections of sinewy muscle and bone for the fire to take. And still the voices clamored on.

It was when my hair caught fire and my face begin to first grow warm, then melt into liquid puddles of pulpy flesh, that I found a new voice, carried on new waves of fresh pain. The flames consumed my entire body, and as I felt myself dying and was ready to give in to the sweet release of death...

...the car blared its horn as it missed me by a hair, goddamn asshole city drivers. I was no longer wet, nor on fire, but I was terrified nonetheless. I scanned my surroundings wildly but saw only a busy street filled with the hustle and bustle of the city's nightlife. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, so I took a few seconds to prepare myself for whatever horrible thing might happen next.

A footstep next to me made me jerk wildly, and I glanced up to see a large man in a mask staring down at me where I was sitting. That in itself wasn't terrible. What made it much worse was the dark empty tunnel of the gun barrel that was pointed directly at my forehead. The man pulled the hammer back slowly, and when I heard the bullet enter the chamber, I froze.

"Please..." I breathed, every muscle as taut as wire. "Please...don't kill me."

The man's eyes remained locked on mine. His breathing came heavy and ragged, and when he spoke, his voice was deep and gravelly. "Do exactly what I say and I'll let you live." I let out a shaky whimper as he gripped my arm and forced me to my feet, then propelled me into the nearest dark doorway. The next thing I knew, he was on me then, grunting like a beast in heat.

The hand with the gun stayed pointed at my head while the man pushed me down with the other hand onto the hard concrete floor. I struggled to get away, but the icy hands once again gripped me by the shoulders and pinned my legs apart, through the floor somehow, and I found myself powerless to move. The man straddled me then, dripping sweat onto me as he fumbled clumsily for his knife. Almost teasingly, he snapped the blade out, turning it back and forth a few times so the light caught the silver blade's edge. Then with a few unskilled cuts, he cut through my shirt, my bra and my pants, leaving me only in my underwear. And still the hands held me down, that breathy voice now laughing wickedly in my mind.

The man turned the blade then even as I screamed and fought against the hands that pinned me down and slid the blade underneath the bottom of my underwear. With a sudden sharp jerk, he jabbed me lightly with the blade on the inside of my thigh and I bit back a sob of fear. Then he simply turned the blade again and cut through my underwear, leaving me now fully exposed and powerless to escape.

Thankfully, I blacked out before the man was done, but the torture and abuse was something I'd only ever heard about or read in books. I was used several times in several different ways as the man acted out every one of his depraved fantasies on me, and when he was finally finished and was pulling up his jeans, I looked up at him through swollen eyes from where I lay on the floor, bleeding and bruised, and he returned the look, not one of pity, but of disgust. "You probably liked that, didn't you, you filthy whore?" he growled.

Too weak to move, I simply lay there shivering and aching, and he clicked his tongue in disgust. My vision grayed out even as I felt myself fading out, but was brought back swiftly and in sharp relief by the sound of the gun cocking back. I managed to look back at him again to see that the gun was once more trained on my head.

With all my strength, I whispered through battered and cracked lips, "You said...you...wouldn't kill me...if I did...what you wanted."

The man shrugged. "I lied." I somehow found the strength to scream once more, squeezing my eyes shut.

"Nooo! Please, that's enough! I don't want to die anymore!" The gunshot was deafening in the tiny room and I tensed, waiting for the bullet to tear my skull apart...

...but instead, I found myself standing back on the edge of the cliff in the darkness. I was whole, and not naked, or drowned, or burned, but most of all, I was alive, and never before in my life had I been so happy to be on solid ground. I stumbled back in relief, sobbing openly again but with celebration of my life, and felt the familiar and welcome smooth texture of the door of my car.

The voice came then from somewhere in the darkness, once more that terribly wrong high-pitched whisper. "You no looonnngggeer wish to diiiieee?" Unable to answer, I could only keep my head down. "Tell me noooowww!" the voice whispered demandingly. "Will your life become miiiinnne? Make the chooooiiiccce!"

I shook my head back and forth furiously. "No! Never! I want to live! I want to live!" Sobbing harder, I dropped to my knees, and I felt the icy hand touch me gently on the top of my head.

"Then live you shaaaalll. But jussst know that I will allllwwaayys be watching you. And should you eeeeevvveer decide to taaaakkke your own liiiifffe again, I will be theeerre, and you wiiilll belong to meeeee." The hand drew back. "Now goooo. Go and never eeeevvveer come back!"

I needed no more coaching. I leaped into my car, shoved the key into the ignition and slammed my foot down on the pedal, spinning my tires wildly as I peeled off in the direction I had come earlier that night.

I have heard some say that their guardian angel saved them, sat on their shoulder and protected them from some danger. But what about when all the guardian angels are busy? I still say it was a demon that saved my life that night, that pulled me back from my dark thoughts and made me realize that my life is worth it. And who knows? Maybe if someday another one like me happens to feel like their life is as worthless as I thought mine was, maybe they'll find Route 236, and maybe they'll meet HER too. And maybe, just maybe, they'll be braver than I was.

[kaen-ace-of-diamonds]

Homecoming

Word Count: 6,800+ (chapter 6) [AO3]

(chapter 5) (chapter 4) (chapter 3) (chapter 2) (chapter 1)

Genre: Angst/Hurt/Comfort

Pairing: one-sided Emerald/Cinder

Characters: Cinder Fall, Salem, Tyrian Callows, Emerald Sustrai, Mercury Black

Summary: Making it out of Beacon alive turned out to be the easy part of the whole disaster.Returning home in agony and shame, learning how to take the first steps forward into living in this newly broken state...that, Cinder has decided, is definitely going to be the hard part.

Warnings for implications of abuse and graphic descriptions of injury.

~0~

“Does it get your blood boiling, does it make you see red?

Do you wanna destroy it, does it get in your head?

'Cause it gets my blood boiling and I'm coming unglued

It would hit you like poison if you knew what I knew.”

- Angry Too, Lola Blanc

~0~

After so many months, Cinder was beginning to feel a nervous shake in her stomach every time she turned the corner and saw the door to this training chamber. 

Ridiculous, really, she chided herself. It wasn’t even as if it were an intelligent human opponent she was facing, just a pack of the same Grimm she’d been exterminating ever since she was old enough to hold a blade. It didn’t matter how many there were. Power would always triumph over everything else, up to and including a beast’s instincts. 

But then again, there were far more frightening things in this world than the Grimm.

Salem had nothing to say to her as she opened the door and stepped inside. What had at the start of this new wave of training been reassuring smiles and instructions, had now faded into a cold glare. A warning to prove herself for another day. 

Her beloved bow and arrows still wouldn’t come to her, which twisted her heart every time she tried and failed to get them back. And even if she did, it would be another trial entirely to relearn how to use it sans binocular vision. A small, bitter voice at the back of her mind told her it wasn’t even worth it to try.

However, a single sword was getting easier to form with every attempt, and the one that molded itself into her hand now was like a slab of molten rock. It didn’t feel the same as Midnight, which she had been unshakably confident would never break. This one felt somehow incomplete. It was narrower than before, with far more visible imperfections and cracks running through the surface. And if one perfect sword was unachievable, then two was entirely out of the question. 

Cinder did not like to have Emerald’s voice running through her head as well as talking her intact ear off, but she could still hear her infuriatingly gentle reminder, One step at a time.

So she would make this do for now. She had no choice. 

She brandished the sword before her, and braced herself. Mere moments later, the shadows began to move. 

The clicking of claws and gnashing of teeth followed soon after. A small pack of Beowolves stalked towards her in a semicircle, surrounding her. She hadn’t had to fight down her fear of death like this since she was a child...

(“Feel nothing,” rumbling in her ears as the hilt of the knife slips around in her small, sweating hand, shaking more than ever. She tells herself it’s from exhaustion, but the eyes boring into her always know better. “Fear nothing. You’re still too weak to matter.”)

She grit her teeth, burningly aware of the scar on her face. It had taken years for her to understand. But he was wrong. She did not fear. She was not small. And she was not weak!

Heedless of danger — for nothing could be more dangerous than the eyes boring into her back — Cinder threw herself into the fray with a vicious slash of her blade. The Beowolves howled with hunger and fell upon her, all six of them. She couldn’t take her eyes off their claws, long as her arrows. A chill settled in her gut that hadn’t in years: the one that chased away all thoughts of battle and replaced them with those claws curving underneath her remaining eyeball to tear it out and blind her completely.

(“ — no point in keeping broken tools. If you’re no longer useful, you’ll be thrown away.”

“Like they threw you away?”

Her heart leaps into her throat, afraid that she’d blurted out too much. But the mouth twists further, into a sickly smile. 

“Exactly.”)

She was no longer the refuse of Mistral’s underbelly. She was more than him, more than all of them, like he’d wanted but never believed.

Just a few months ago her flames had been second nature to her. Now, to swing her arm and bring a swath of fire with it was like pulling teeth. Well...her arm worked just fine, more or less. It was this thing stuck to her that was holding her back. She swung and clawed back, as she weaved her way around the thrashing limbs and snapping jaws. Her heart pounded, to flood her veins so strongly with adrenaline that she barely felt it when they tore her dress and grazed her skin. 

She felt nothing. She feared nothing. Her determination to kill, the wrath that spurred her forward, were all that mattered. 

It was as natural to her as breathing, why were only these pathetic spurts of flame coming out now, after everything she’d done?!

Even now her attacks still hit more often than not; she wasn’t entirely broken. But still it took her what felt like an eternity to do what once took only minutes. She stood like a cornered animal at the side of the room, as the final Beowolf advanced on her, growling and slavering. It wasn’t like the Wyvern, or any other Grimm. It did not see her as a hand of its master, or as one of its own. Only as prey. A worthless little thing to be slaughtered and tossed—

(“Alone now, girl?”) 

The beast surged towards her, towering over her, gold shining from its faceless head as the giant hand reached for her — no —

Hands —

Blade —

Claws —

Her blood hasn’t spilled yet but gods, she can smell his, sour and heavy, filling her nose and polluting the fresh air, and that’s what she’ll look like, they’ll rot together, if she doesn’t do something right now!

A sharp white point starts to dig under her skin, snapping her back into the present with a gasp. Why had she been reaching for Scorching Caress when the blade was in her hand? This wasn’t — she wasn’t the one who —

Sunlight and wind were worlds away. Everything now was darkness and smoke and how long had she been frozen, her shoulder swelling and burning? She didn’t have time to consider it. Before she knew it, fire was flaring from what felt like every pore in her body, beyond any semblance of her control despite the arm she had thrown out in front of her much too late. 

The Beowolf didn’t have time to howl as it burned away, scraps of filmy black floating into the air before disintegrating. Cinder heard it anyway, in the ringing of her ears in the newly silent room. 

As she crouched there — like a cowed animal, the small rational part of her sneered — she realized several things in rapid succession. She realized that she was frozen, unable even to tremble. She realized that a thick, warm drop of blood was trickling down her good cheek, her depleted Aura delaying in patching up the claw graze beneath her eyelid. And she realized that the narrow place around her left shoulder, where flesh met Grimm, was a ring of searing pain. The only reason the arm hadn’t dropped limply to her side like the rest of her was —

Her gasp of horror came out sounding more like a cough, but it seemed to burn her throat all the same. The arm was rippling, stretching, elongating and springing off like the branches and twigs of a dead tree. Every muscle in her upper arm felt ablaze, and her mind raced trying to remember her lessons, what to do to make the Grimm inside her bend to her will instead of letting it run free and wild on its own. 

But she couldn’t, her head was too full of glittering gold and burning, burning silver to fit a single other coherent thought in. 

And then there came a different kind of burning, a cold and ice-white burn, and all of a sudden she felt as if her entire limb was shriveling, sucking itself inward. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but the pressure and the wrongness of the sensation took Cinder’s breath away and nearly doubled her over. A soft, disappointed sigh came from just above her shoulder, and without thinking about it she went utterly still.

“Cinder. Did you listen when I taught you how to control your gift?” 

Her instinct, shamefully, was to cringe. But she fought it — her master was not the sort to be sated by groveling — and turned to look her in the eyes as she nodded. 

Salem fixed her with a glare that would shrivel lesser humans like weeds in frost. “Then why do you continue to let it control you?”

Cinder did not whimper as her master’s claws retracted from her skin, their tips thinly lined with blood; after all her treatment sessions, she was used to it by now. The Grimm in her was cowed back to its proper shape and size, but she could feel its roots buried deep in her muscles and nerves. It was a part of her now, it would obey her like any other part. It should obey her...

“You already know, don’t you? You still dread it.”

She swallowed hard, uncaring of the twinge of pain it still caused her throat. Sometimes she truly hated it when her master was right.

“In the spawning pool, while it was bonding with you, it communicated with you, didn’t it?”

Cinder startled badly. It was only a vague memory now, like a childhood nightmare. But still, it had happened, and she was glad for the concrete confirmation. She nodded.

“I told you before I put you under what was in there: everything a Grimm is. Hunger, desperation, fear...the things that were buried deep inside you and that now have been brought to the surface.”

Cinder had to try very hard not to stare. So that was why...

“You must be better than that part of yourself. If you’re not, after all the time and effort that’s been put into you, then at best you’ll never unlock the Maiden’s true power again. At worst, the Grimm will realize it’s the dominant presence in your body, and consume you from the inside out.”

There was a stirring from deep in her muscles, right around her shoulder bones, that felt almost spiteful. As if it were agreeing. She remembered when just the thought of rage and vengeance would bring tongues of leaping flames to her fingertips, warm her like boiling water from the inside out, the Maiden’s power surging up at her command. Now, she could practically feel it being quenched the instant she tried to let it loose. It was the closest she had come in seven years to feeling helpless again...

Without Emerald there to translate for her, it took a painfully long few seconds to choke out, “I...will...m-ma’am.”

She could have sworn she saw a smile ghost across Salem’s face. “One more question, Cinder. Do you think you’ve earned your voice back?”

Cinder didn’t enjoy feeling as if she was now the one having a carrot dangled from a string in front of her face. And she especially disliked that she didn’t have to think about the answer: not what she thought her master wanted to hear, but simply what was. 

“...No.”

“Very well, then. You are dismissed.”

With a bow, Cinder made her exit. Now that she could walk unassisted again, she appreciated the long and thankfully lonely walks around the castle. She thought she had learned as a child never to take a single thing she had for granted, but after this, the lesson was burned into her like any one of these scars. 

Now the immediate question was: where was she going? 

Before heading to her training session, she had instructed Emerald and Mercury to go to the castle library and get some research done for her, but she was hesitant to go join them just yet. The weight room appealed: her muscles still weren’t in one hundred percent fighting form, and a few runs through the basics she’d perfected years ago, and had no chance of screwing up, might make her feel better. Exhaustion was no excuse to avoid training...but it wasn’t exhaustion that made her decide against it. It simply didn’t feel like enough.

Going back to her room to rest wasn’t an option, either. Sleep had never been much of a respite for her, but she hadn’t had such constant nightmares since...well. And this time they came twofold. Gold and silver, gold and silver...

Both her fists clenched tightly; it appeared she and the Grimm were of one mind about one thing only, and that was the thirst to kill. She envisioned sinking her claws into Ruby’s flesh, the optic nerve tearing free, soft tissue shredded with a swipe of her fingers. Like the gold before it, the silver would be drowned in blood, and the girl’s scarless body ruined until even her sister couldn’t recognize her. Justice for her own body at last; she would never trust anybody who said that justice and vengeance weren’t exactly the same thing. All that was left was how to achieve it...and for that, she could not be caught off guard again. 

Fortunately, she already had the spark of an idea. She just needed information, more relevant than what she had gathered from her spying at Beacon.

And unfortunately, there was only one person she could go to about that.

Cinder bit back a frustrated growl and made a sharp turn, towards the other side of the castle.

~0~

Tyrian didn't think he was ever going to get used to this.

It certainly wasn’t the worst part of the whole disaster, but the nagging feeling of being off-balance just wouldn't go away. Perched on a wide spike jutting out from the castle’s surface, he could feel how his whole center of gravity had shifted just from losing part of his tail. He had never used to wobble up here, never feared that he would fall. 

Now, though...

Carefully, so as not to lose his balance, he brought what remained of his tail out in front of him, grimacing at the leaking blood and venom that still stained the thick bandages on the stump. He knew that the others wouldn’t notice or care, but whenever he moved, he felt as ugly and ungainly as a one-winged bird, flying helplessly in circles. 

It hadn’t had to come to this, had it? What more could he have done, what must he remember so that he would never again fail his queen so shamefully? Would he have to change his fighting style to compensate for the loss of a stinger? What was —

All right, what the hell was that incessant thumping noise behind him?

He turned and looked below him to see Cinder standing by the large window he’d climbed out from, glaring up at him and banging impatiently on the outer wall with her gloved hand. 

Tyrian’s face broke into a grin. “Why, Cinder, how long have you been there?” he called down. “If you wanted to get my attention, you should have said something!”

He didn’t understand why the girl made such a fuss about being rendered essentially mute. As she demonstrated now, she could still perfectly communicate ‘I’ll kill you’ with only her remaining eye, and really, wasn’t that all anyone could ever need? 

Despite her clear irritation, she was now gesturing insistently for him to come down to her level. Well, considering how, whether she’d wanted to or not, she had watched as he was humiliated before their queen, Cinder was perhaps the last person he wanted to interact with at the moment. But, on the other hand, the sooner he gave her whatever she had come for, the sooner she would go away and leave him alone.

So, he stood up, darted forward, and leaped from the spike, front-flipping twice in mid-air before landing hard in front of Cinder. (He managed to land on his feet well enough, but hoped that the way his legs quivered wasn't noticeable.) Before, this would be the part where Cinder would roll her eyes and call him a show-off. Now, she just gave him an unimpressed look. 

“Well, then, what is it you want?” He glanced around the hall, and realized that the little green-haired girl was nowhere to be seen. “And where's your pet rat?”

Cinder made an indignant noise and pulled out a small notepad, with a pen stuck in the spiral binding. With some difficulty, she balanced it on her new left hand, which Tyrian couldn't see underneath that huge sleeve, but which seemed to be remaining stubbornly stiff. And with her decidedly smoother functioning right, she started to shakily write something out.

Tyrian snickered. “Look at you, you’ve managed to get some of those fingers working! What an amazing accomplishment!”

She ignored him. After a moment, she held out the notepad for him to read: Tell me about your fight with Ruby Rose. 

Any happiness Tyrian had gleaned from mocking her dissipated. “You get right to the point, don't you?” he drawled, narrowing his eyes. “Have you come all this way to gloat?”

No, for once I’m taking the high road. Cinder paused, then wrote some more. You weren't really doing it for my sake, but I appreciate your ‘eye for an eye’ offer. But you understand how I can’t exactly go out and take a tail for you. For a number of reasons.

“Yes, that is rather unfortunate. It would have been an interesting little experiment had I succeeded, though, wouldn’t it? What would happen to you, I wonder, if we stuck one of those precious silver eyes in your empty socket? I ought to bring it up to our dear doctor, don't you think?”

Cinder grumbled unintelligibly: clearly, the idea of such a replacement didn't appeal to her. She has to have changed since the fall of Beacon. Tell me what she looks like now.

“Why do you need to know that? You think she’s undergone as drastic a transformation as you have?”

It’s part of my training. I won’t hold back when I’m killing her. That should be enough for you. 

“Hmph. You’re not exactly in a position to be making demands of your superiors, you know,” Tyrian reminded her, crossing his arms and pointedly looking away. 

He didn’t know how Cinder managed to make a cough sound so annoyingly high and mighty, but she did. The trademark smirk didn’t help either, as she gestured with the notepad at his poor bandaged tail: Superior? You?

“That’s right. My failure, though tragic, has left my body largely in one piece.” His goddess’ displeasure had cut far sharper than the little rose’s scythe, but Cinder’s loyalty did not quite go that far. “And my priority above all is making up for it. Where do your priorities lie, dear sister? Do you wish to further our cause, or only yourself?”

Cinder grit her teeth. Good luck, then. But that has nothing to do with this.

“And why should I help you with anything? Consider yourself lucky that I’m taking time out of my busy day to speak with you at all.”

With a disgusted noise and a roll of her eye, Cinder wrote for a very long couple minutes, while Tyrian waited. Technically, he didn’t feel the need to tap his foot impatiently, but oh, how he did love that growl of irritation the action elicited from the back of Cinder’s throat. 

You can’t tell me you don’t want to see that girl beaten and bloody. Broken beyond repair, while we recover. Move on with our lives, while hers ends here. You know more about what that might entail than I do, don’t you? 

“Oh? Don’t tell me you intend to go against our lady’s wishes by actually killing the little flower?”

Aggressive scratching of the pen. You can end someone’s life without killing them. Trust me.

“And you’re satisfied with that.”

Being captive here would be a fate worse than death.

“You really think so?” he prodded further, fighting valiantly to repress his grin.

Whatever Salem wants her alive for—

Oh, he couldn’t help it any longer, he burst into a fit of giggles. “How did you manage to infiltrate the academies with such terrible acting, little stepsister?”

Cinder nearly cracked the pen in half. She bared her teeth, hissing through them, and took a threatening step forward. Tyrian’s eyes were drawn to her fingers and the way they twitched, straining for fire and barely achieving sparks. What a far cry it was from when she had first won the Maiden powers, raising and commanding powerful flames as if she’d been born doing it. How awfully sad. How funny. 

“I would love to help you, Cinder, you know that. But in order for me to do that, you’re going to have to be a little more honest with me. Why do you actually want my help? What’s so important about hearing this, of all things?”

Why do you care? Cinder wrote, pen tip threatening to pierce the pad. The details don’t matter so long as we get what we want.

“Oh, there’s no fooling me, dear sister. You have something in mind, and I think you ought to share it with me if you want to get anything out of this conversation. If not...” He gave her a dramatic shrug. “Well, then I suppose you’ll just have to get used to being left in the dust by the privileged few, after all.”

Before she could do anything but look outraged, he spun on his heel and started away, idly waving his tail as he went. Most people, he assumed, would have left it at that, deciding that they’d thrown enough fuel on this fire for now. Tyrian was not most people.

“My, what would your father say?”

The reaction was as immediately explosive as raw Dust. Tyrian felt the heat washing over his back even before he saw the fire. 

He whipped around to see Cinder much closer than she had been a second ago, having clearly just caught herself while lunging for his throat. Flames flared from her eye, poured from her hand, and spun in a furious wheel around her feet. He could feel the sparks flying off of it, catching him in the neck and chest, and grinned.

“Oh, what’s the matter? Daddy still a sore subject?”

Cinder glared absolute murder at him, and a series of awful hissing and rattling noises came up from her throat, like a snake about to strike. Even without speech, the message was crystal clear: Not my father. Not from you. 

Perfect.

“I have to say, it’s been a long time since you wore your heart on your sleeve like this, sister. I’d say...what, seven years?”

She ground her teeth harder, plainly regretting being fifteen and far easier to trick into letting slip her deeper vulnerabilities.

“You surprise me. If I had brought up your little family just a few months ago, you wouldn’t have batted an eye. But now...what’s made you so sensitive? Something remind you of him?”

Cinder looked at him suspiciously, sensing that he already knew. Very astute of her; he would never taunt somebody with a question he was not certain of the answer to. 

“When you can, you really need to tell me exactly what it’s like down there in the depths of the spawning pool. I hear it has such sights to show you. All the things you like to think you’ve already overcome and put behind you.”

Her lips pulled into a stiff, crooked smirk as she picked the singed notepad up off the floor and scrawled, ink bleeding through the paper, I bet you’d love to relive how you got those scars on your chest, wouldn’t you?

Tyrian’s tail stump twitched, and his eyes narrowed. She clearly thought that two could play at this game. Well, she was sorely mistaken. 

“I’m not ashamed of any of my scars, Cinder. Can you say the same?”

Her smirk broadened, but she was...shaking her head? The much-abused notepad burst into a high flame in her hand, and it stayed burning that way even after the paper was ashes on her glove. 

What a confusing girl. No matter, his guesses were usually good.

“You will one day? How optimistic. Tell me, when?”

If she tapped at that glass mask just a little more aggressively, it would probably shatter. Not that it could do much more damage to that half of her face, but still. The fire in her fist burned even brighter. 

“When you get your precious revenge? How lovely. I’ll be waiting with bated breath for your next riveting performance. And I suppose I can give you the little leg up you need from me. If you fall again, it won’t be my fault, after all.”

Cinder continued to glare, and he could picture her new claws flexing hungrily inside her billowing sleeve. But that was all: with a sharp nod, she turned and started away, considering their business here finished. Tyrian wasn’t quite satisfied yet.

“Let’s just hope that when you finally face your little Huntress in battle, you’ll have more luck than Daddy did with his Huntsman.”

Cinder whirled back around blurringly fast. A truly feral growl ripped its way from her throat, and though she was visibly fighting to keep from flying at him again, her eyes burned murderously. She could only make a harsher rattling sound instead of words, but in their place, fire poured from her mouth, gleaming off her bared teeth. 

Tyrian quirked an eyebrow, still snickering. He wondered if that was the look she had worn as a child, hands about to be filthy with blood. 

This was certainly more like the Cinder he had known for so long, the one who had swapped barbs with him and shown off her new powers the same way she had the day before she left on her long mission. And yet, even with all that fuel, she still couldn’t quite bring her fire back the way she used to. It was almost a shame.

“What’s the matter, little stepsister?” He leaned forward, tail reflexively curling upward. True, it was no longer intimidating with its end blunt and bandaged, but it was just second nature. And they both knew it was far from his only strength. “Itching for a real fight? I have to say, I don’t know how well that will turn out for you. As we both have wound up with handicaps, I see no need to go easy on you.” 

Cinder kept up the growling for a few seconds more, then broke off into a frustrated huff, her shoulders sagging as the flames went out. It looked like it was physically painful for her —and, Tyrian realized, it probably was — but she surrendered the bout to him and wrenched her body around, stomping back off down the hall. Rage still radiated from every inch of her, from her frizzing hair to the downright aggressive clack of her heels.

When she was raw and irritated like this, it was so easy to poke her into an entertaining rage, and he hadn’t seen her in such a fun mood since she was a teenager. Whatever she wanted with the information he had to give, only time would tell if her plan would work. 

It was no real concern of his, anyway. Perhaps if the troublesome girl still failed to live up to Her Grace’s expectations, it would start to redeem him somewhat in her eyes. 

Giggling to himself, Tyrian spun on his heel and bounced cheerfully back out the window, swishing his tail in a far more jovial manner. It was like when Her Grace sent him out as her liaison with the sects of Grimm worshippers, scattered out there in the shadows of Remnant: conversing with the less fortunate never failed to make him feel better about himself.

Back and forth his tail swung, slower and more purposefully this time, and he made his way to the edge of the crystal spire with far better balance than before. He supposed that only time would tell whether Cinder’s stability would improve as well. 

For now, he decided, it would be home life as usual: skulking in the shadows and waiting for the next bit of fun to arrive, before he had to leave again on his endless duty.

~0~

In hindsight, Cinder thought, she should have expected to walk away from this conversation seething, no matter how calmly she had entered it. Tyrian could be perfectly tolerable when he felt like it, but in the past few months he had made himself just as unbearable as Watts. She had hoped that being beaten and mutilated just as she had would humble him somewhat, but apparently no such luck. Perhaps it was the ability to speak that made all the difference.

Well, no matter. She would get what she wanted out of him, and that was what counted, she had to remember. She could not be mired in her own self-pity any longer: she was one step closer to grabbing a rope that would pull her out of it, that she would climb back where she belonged with. Now she could, for a while, put her teammates out of her mind. 

It was a ten-minute walk from Tyrian’s chosen brooding spot to the fortress’ library. When she pushed open the heavy door, she had barely taken a step into the cavernous room before Emerald’s head popped up from behind the huge book she was perusing at a nearby table. 

“Cinder!” she said brightly, sitting bolt upright. 

She flipped over the book and left it on the table, heedless of what it might do to the spine, and darted out of her seat and over to her leader. Cinder’s leg had healed and she hadn't needed help to walk in weeks, but Emerald still felt the need to hover over her anyway, just in case of a relapse. 

(Of course Emerald would never say it out loud, but Cinder could tell: Salem’s method of healing was not one she trusted at all.) 

Cinder had been doing her best not to mind, which she had to admit had gotten much easier as she gained more and more of her autonomy back. But still, she was glad that Emerald didn't try to touch her as she walked her to the table. She didn’t think that she quite needed to have her chair pulled out for her when she got there, but she wasn’t going to complain. 

Emerald did seem to be put in better spirits by Cinder’s presence, but she still let out a huff as she sat back down in the wooden chair. 

“This whole library,” she groused, “this whole gigantic library, and only four books on sign language!”

“Well, actually...” 

The two of them looked up (and up) at the towering bookshelves next to the table. Against one of them was laid a long wheeled ladder, and twenty feet high on that ladder was Mercury, pausing from pawing through the books to smirk down at them. 

“We've only looked through half a row of these.” He waved his arm around at the dozens upon dozens of rows of floor-to-ceiling shelves, and his voice echoed in the cavernous room. “We still have the rest of this freaking place to hunt through!”

Cinder rolled her eye. Maybe the library could do with some reorganization, yes. But if a little bit of frustrated searching was the price to pay for unrestricted access to the collection her master had been patiently putting together for millennia now, then she didn't think it was anything to complain about. She caught Mercury’s eye and pointed emphatically to the chair next to Emerald.

“Fine, fine...”

Mercury gave himself a strong push on the ladder, zooming on squeaky wheels down to the end of the row and leaping off the top. Rather unnecessary, Cinder thought, giving him a supremely unimpressed look as he made his way over to them.

“So,” he said, flopping down in the chair and immediately leaning it back onto two legs, arms behind his head. “This is going to be a fun time. Does anyone remember any of the stuff Neo used to do?”

He glanced at Cinder, who shrugged. She’d reasoned back in Vale that she wouldn’t be working with Neo long enough to justify the effort of learning to understand her completely, so she hadn’t bothered to pay too much attention to the sign language that the girl had been trying to teach them. Oh, well. It wasn’t as if she’d ever see her again for any further conversation. She suspected that the Fall of Beacon had gone even worse for Roman and Neo than it had for her. 

From the blank looks Emerald and Mercury gave each other, it appeared that they hadn’t been paying enough attention either. 

“Okay. So we know nothing. Great start,” Mercury said flatly.

“That’s not true! Remember, she did that spelling thing with her fingers? We can start with that, can’t we?”

Cinder tried to answer properly anyway, lifting her hand and twisting her fingers into what she recalled of the fingerspelling alphabet. It was about the only part of the language she did remember, and only because an increasingly exasperated Neo had resorted to spelling things out when her temporary teammates couldn’t understand her words. Closed fist with the thumb outside, A. Flat hand, thumb inside, B. Curved hand, C. D...

She narrowed her eyes at her hand, as if it were to blame for her lapse in memory and would reveal its secrets if she just glared it down. 

“The D, it’s like this, right?” Mercury put his pointer finger and thumb together, holding it out to her sideways. 

“No, no, like this,” Emerald said, putting her middle finger and thumb together with the pointer sticking out. “That’s D.”

“What? No, it’s not!”

“Yes, it is!”

One hiss from Cinder nipped their argument in the bud. With her good hand — it was still hard to think of it as her human hand — she flipped back several pages in Emerald’s textbook and pointed. 

“Oh.” Mercury blinked. “Point for Emerald, then. It’s kind of cheating to look at the answers, though.”

“It’s not a test. We are all just learning this language together. Wasn’t it you who said learning was fun?”

“When do we learn the swears? Neo taught me the swears but I forgot.”

“That’s not in the book, Merc!”

Cinder tapped the thick pages with her knuckles, pointedly glaring and making the next letter sign with perhaps more aggression than was called for.

“Okay, finish the rest, we got it...” 

The rest of the section went by with few hitches. Cinder found it much more palatable to remember that it was just learning a new language, instead of relearning how to talk, of all damned things. It was...surprisingly calming, as well as interesting. This, however, only lasted until they moved on to the Basic Words and Phrases section.

Mercury thumped his chest with a flat palm and tapped both his middle and pointer fingers together — My name is... — and then looked over to Cinder and tilted his head in concern. “Uh...you think you’re gonna be able to do the rest of this okay with, um, your little buddy there?”

Both of them went tense in their chairs, as if trying not to flinch away, when Cinder shrugged her sleeve back and lifted the Grimm arm. She experimentally flexed the long-clawed fingers. They were stiffer than she would like, and still felt like whatever was inside the limb was actively fighting her when she tried to move it. It would be difficult to bend them to her will...but not impossible, she decided. Fine motor control practice, and all that. 

It took her several moments longer to do it than it did Emerald or Mercury, but she managed to perform the signs properly with both hands: My name is Cinder. She peered over at the book —Emerald helpfully turned it around so she could see more clearly — and added a slower, careful I learn MSL with both her arms. 

Emerald watched, copied her movements. “It took some digging, but we found an Upper Mistrali dialect book and a Lower Mistrali one, a Valerian one, and one with lots of dialects from all over. I wanted to focus on Mistral, but maybe the variety will help?”

Cinder nodded. Even after getting her voice back, it could come in handy to be able to communicate nonverbally when necessary...when they were back out in the field together.

Emerald and Mercury weren’t specifically trained for stealth missions like she was, but they could learn. Though the element of surprise regarding their Semblance and prosthetic weapons, respectively, had been spent, they could still be plenty useful. She could keep them by her side until the day they eventually exhausted their usefulness, however far in the future that ended up happening. 

It might even never happen at all, it occurred to her, and the thought brought a small smile to her face. Perhaps they would stay following at her heels for the rest of their natural lives, existing only for her use.

Emerald blinked, hands pausing mid-sign. “Cinder? What is it?”

Cinder glanced at the book once more — yes, she was reading it right — and her smile broadened. She rested her head in the Grimm hand, and she pressed the fingers of her human hand to her lips and then extended them towards Emerald, locking eyes with the girl as she did. 

As expected, Emerald startled and went wide-eyed, and Cinder could almost imagine a blush on her cheeks. “Uh...”

Mercury looked puzzled for a moment, then squinted at the book and sighed. “She’s not blowing you a kiss, Emmy. She’s saying ‘thank you.’”

“Oh! Thanks for...helping you? With this?” Cinder tapped the book and nodded, and wanted so very badly to laugh at the way Emerald’s face lit up. “Don’t worry about that, I’m happy that I can do this for you!”

Emerald subtly bit her lip to keep herself from rambling on further, as she used to do very early on, but Cinder still knew her well enough to hear the unspoken I would do anything for you. Now that she had her attention, Cinder checked the book again, looking to see how to construct the sentence she wanted.

Before she found her answer, her eye landed on another diagram, and stuck there for a moment. Without thinking about it, her hand rose to copy it...but stopped as her fingers brushed up against her throat, before it could say father. 

They faltered there for just a second, and she swallowed against them, remembering another pair of hands around her neck: warm and rough, fingers interlocking, so much stronger than her...

No. This was her hand, his no longer mattered. She gave herself an imperceptible shake, and focused her attention back where it needed to be. The first word, naturally, was easy enough.

I... 

Cinder pointed to herself with the Grimm hand while rifling through for the rest with her human one, so as not to shred the pages in her claws. This chapter didn’t seem to tell her any way to say she had something, so she ground her teeth in annoyance and went ahead even faster to the nouns section. And...there, that would work. She laid a flat palm on her chest, then pressed the tip of her pinkie finger to her forehead and pulled it back out into the air again.

My idea.

“Your...I know it was your idea, but —”

Ugh. Cinder cut her off with a frustrated shake of the head. “N...n-new.”

“Hey, I thought this was a no-talking game,” Mercury said with a smirk. Cinder didn’t think that hissing and slashing a clawed finger across her throat was an official MSL gesture, but it got the message across perfectly clearly anyway.

“You have...another idea?” Emerald guessed. “Do you want us to put the books away, then?” 

Cinder groaned again. This was going much less smoothly in real life than it had in her head. She searched through the book again: this was going to take so many words to explain...

[florbelles]

lyra and john for the ship ask?

thank you lovely! 💕

GENERAL

rate the ship awful | ew | no pics pls | i’m not comfortable | alright | i like it! | got pics? | let’s do it! | why is this not getting more attention?! | the otp to rule all other otps

how long will they last? as long as some part of either of them exists tbh

how quickly did/will they fall in love? when i say they have no chill and lyra moved into the ranch after living in hope county for two weeks i mean it

how was their first kiss? john’s nose bled, next question

WEDDING

who proposed? technically john. sort of. ( i’m sorry for this long answer but i haven’t really discussed it so ) lyra had already joined the project, lived with john, begun her training with jacob, and had taken up the rudimentary form of what would eventually become her role as the judge. it had only been a few months, but joseph believed he recognized her from his visions and wanted to bring her into the family Officially; at this point john and lyra were already 100% in it and he was straight up like if she’s going to become a seed it’s going to be through me, because, well, john. lyra just looked at him when he came to her with it and said “what of it? are you not my husband? am i not your wife?” and that was that; lyra doesn’t live by half-measures, she was married in every way that mattered to her the second she stepped across that threshold with her bags. ( well. shaggy carried the bags. but you get it. )

who is the best man/men? no one, but if you listened carefully you could hear shaggy sobbing outside the church. is he happy for them or crushed by the revelation he’s really stuck with both of them forever now? who can say!

who is the bride’s maid(s)? no one; faith was Not pleased when she heard lyra had gone and married her brother without telling her ( but it would have been her, if they’d had attendees. )

who did the most planning? there wasn’t much, but john ( and joseph, i suppose, since he officiated. )

who stressed the most? the only one who had any amount of stress was john.

how fancy was the ceremony? back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 ( i’ve been informed inflation adjustment was necessary by virtue of lyra’s aura ) | 4 | normal church wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

who was specifically not invited to the wedding? everyone, with the exception of joseph by necessity; while the significance of the two most extra drama fiends to ever step into the valley having the most understated ceremony in existence could be elaborated on with sentimentality — they can come as they are with each other, etc etc — it was partly a tactical move; lyra couldn’t fairly well maintain her cover with the locals if she publicly married john seed in an elaborate ceremony. they intend to have one officially in the new eden with all of the family and faithful; they never get that chance.

SEX

who is on top? either/or tbh

who is the one to instigate things? either/or

how healthy is their sex life? barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | they are humping each other on the couch right now

how kinky are they? straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head ( no horse head necessary in the sex dungeon. just kidding. they don’t have a sex dungeon they just hook up in the normal torture one )

how long do they normally last? before everything went to hell, as long as they want ( rip, get the ice packs ); after the reaping begins, as long as they have

do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? okay listen i’m going to be brutally honest, they fuck a lot, they’re not counting but they’re not complaining

how rough are they in bed? softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | the bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make dwayne johnson blush. also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it. ( their walls are premium )

how much cuddling/snuggling do they do? no touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | a little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | they snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory. ( lyra is actually the biggest offender but she blames his needy ass. also if she knows you know this she’ll commit homicide. this is not hyperbole )

CHILDREN

how many children will they have naturally? none. ( in aus they do; one in the cult wins verse because lyra’s iud expired but she was not willing to sacrifice her sex life, and fairbrookseed have three; the twins via wes and a younger son via john. )

how many children will they adopt? three at the beginning of the reaping — boomer, peaches & cheeseburger. ( john unwilling. )

who gets stuck with the most diapers? not applicable, but hypothetically shaggy

who is the stricter parent? it would have been john

who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? it would have been john; lyra would have taught them the dangerous stunts they’re doing after school

who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? it would have been shaggy

who is the more loved parent? the furbabies love lyra more. obviously.

who is more likely to attend the pta meetings? it wOULD HAVE BEEN JOHN

who cried the most at graduation? same answer; lyra would have waited until they got home and then cried in the shower for an hour

who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? either/both, but in practice probably john

COOKING

who does the most cooking? neither/shaggy; lyra if you count her Attempts when she staggers in at 3am after hunting sinners or gathering intel at the spread eagle

who is the most picky in their food choice? john; lyra behaves like she is but in fact thinks it will be a shame when casey’s non-testicle related recipes are lost when he burns in the collapse

who does the grocery shopping? neither; lyra’s the most likely to bring things back from town, but it’s usually liquor she swiped from the bar ( so that mary may can’t sell it, of course! )

how often do they bake desserts? they don’t bake

are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? whatever shaggy puts in front of them; it’s probably meat and it’s probably unfortunate

who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? john, but he’s only responsible for the theatrics; everything was 100% still prepared by the flock

who is more likely to suggest going out? for the truly exceptional hope county cuisine, served in businesses they definitely didn’t try to get shut down, in which they are most definitely both still welcome and could appear together without blowing her cover and/or getting shot on sight? neither. in a “let’s physically go out by the fire pit” sense, lyra.

who is more likely to burn the house down accidentally while cooking? honestly, both of them, because in the event they were cooking one of them probably decided to be distracting~ while they waited~ and oh no they forgot about it oh no everything’s on fire oh no shaggy put it out oh no shaggy how could you let this happen

CHORES

who cleans the room? shaggy

who is really against chores? both to an extent, but especially lyra

who cleans up after the pets? neither, but since john philosophically opposes their presence in the first place and tries to ship them off to jacob every tuesday, it sure as hell ain’t him

who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? if, inexplicably, they’re sweeping, it’s lyra, both proverbially and literally

who stresses the most when guests are coming over? if the guest is joseph ( or even jacob ), JOHN. otherwise they’re unconcerned.

who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? a dollar? one (1) dollar? john keeps literal stacks of thousands of dollars in cash just sitting around. the answer is hopefully not the resistance.

MISC

who takes the longer showers/baths? john ( but lyra usually joins. )

who takes the dog out for a walk? shaggy, boomer has almost taken his leg off on fifty separate occasions. ( it’s lyra. )

how often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? canonically they never have the opportunity, really, but lyra probably would have decorated for the winter holidays. some mistletoe on the antlers, a garland on that sinner corpse hanging out by the porch. beautiful.

what are their goals for the relationship? to make it to new eden, tbh. they found unconditional love in each other when that was an impossibility for them for most of their lives; they just want to keep what they have and prove themselves worthy.

who is most likely to sleep till noon? JOHN. lyra’s up before dawn every day ( and drags him out of bed to watch the sunrise with her; he’s very excited for the apocalypse. )

who plays the most pranks? pranks? lyra, but not the funny sort, it’s like...whoops, sorry, i forgot to mention i was roasting sinners out back, the grounds will smell like burning flesh for a bit! did you bring home any flayed skin today? <3 ( i jest, it’s more to the effect of “the sinners were terribly dull today so to amuse myself i told them i heard rumors about the judge and the reason they didn’t know you had a wife is because you kept her locked in a sex dungeon. also, adelaide wants you to spank her. how went the confessions?” )

[megatraven]

Heart of Gold, Stardust Soul

Summary: When Alex can’t make it to the charity art gala Deukalion invites MC to, she goes alone and discovers that Deukalion isn’t quite the innocent that he seems. Pairing: Alex x MC A/N: A what-if scenario, exploring what could have happened if Alex didn’t go with MC to the gala and she discovers Aphrodite’s Heart there. It’s got a lot of headcanons thrown into the pot.

AO3

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MC stares at her phone, disheartened by the message blinking up from her screen. Alex wasn’t coming. She understood- of course she did. Their mother’s Heart was out there, and despite everything, they were still working the case, suspension be damned.

There simply wasn’t enough time for them to go to the charity art gala with her. 

So, she goes by herself. She’s completely awestruck by all the beautiful works on display, and smiles brightly when Deukalion comes to greet her. He’s kind enough to show her around the room before bringing her to his masterpiece.

She doesn’t think anything strange of it at first, mesmerized by its beauty though she is. But the more she watches it, the more pieces click into place. There’s an undercurrent of power in it, that much she knows- it’s an artifact. She’s seen enough of them, been around enough of them, that she knows it’s an artifact.

Her smile starts to fade.

And then it hits her. The color- the exact same shade as Alex’s eyes, and Aphrodite’s. The shape, reminiscent of a heart. The power, familiar.

Horror dawns on her face as she turns to look at Deukalion, but he only smiles- a little too wide, too many teeth.

“That’s the Heart. Isn’t it?”

“Isn’t it brilliant?”

Her palms are slick from sweat and she has to swallow down a lump in her throat. She tries grabbing her phone without alerting the half-titan, so she can message Alex or May or somebody-

But he sees, and he reaches out quicker than she can react, grabbing her wrist in in a painful grip.

“Don’t.”

His hold tightens on her until she drops the phone and he kicks it away from them before he lets her go. She rubs at her wrist, knowing it’ll be bruised later, but knowing just as well that it’s the least of her worries now.

“Apologies, Ms., I didn’t intend to hurt you. But you must understand why I’ve shown you this.”

She doesn’t want to listen to him, she wants to go, get out, get to safety because she can see it, now. It was hidden before, or maybe she just didn’t want to see it, but there’s a certain madness in his eyes, one that chills her to the bone and sets all her fight or flight responses off. And by his show of strength earlier, she knows flight would win out. But she doesn’t flee. She can’t. Not with the hundreds of other people around them, innocent. In danger.

So she humors him, hopes she can think of some way to get the Heart, to get away from him, to call Alex.

“...Why, then? And why hurt all those people by giving them the artifacts?” she demands. She may be sacred, but she wasn’t going to just sit down and let him steamroll over her. She had to learn something.

His smile widens and she supresses the urge to shudder.

“You see, Ms., it all started so very, very long ago...” he begins, and he tells her about his wonderful wife, his own children. His smile drops then, and anger rolls off him in waves. He tells her how Zeus was angry, and chose to punish the humans for it, how the gods did nothing to stop him, even as Deukalion prayed to them.

How Zeus killed his human wife, Pyrrah, with a great flood

And then he explains why he’s targeting humans- he doesn’t want them hurt, truly. But the gods will only come down if there is chaos that demands them to. And still they haven’t come. Multiple humans now, with an artifact of pure godly power, and no god has come down to stop it.

He tells her that the gods don’t care about humanity, and he has proven it.

She feels some inkling of sympathy for him, and almost reaches out, but stops herself. He’s dangerous. He’s not afraid to hurt people. He was wronged so terribly, but it doesn’t excuse that he’s left people for dead, not knowing if they would be helped in time. Her mind flashes to the man in the park, that nearly died from the artifact around his wrist. She drops her hand back down to her side.

Instead, she asks,

“Why me?”

His smile returns and that feeling that she needs to run away comes back in full force. She takes a step away from him, but he nearly closes the distance between them in one step.

Reaching up, his hands frame her face- not touching, but so close that she can feel the heat of them on her skin. She freezes, eyes wide, torn between cringing back or pushing him away.

“Because, my dear...” that madness in his eyes grows, and dread washes over her. “This is Pyrrah’s second chance.” He gazes deep into her eyes. “Your  second chance.”

And before she can react, he grabs Aphrodite’s Heart and thrusts it into her hands, closing them over it with his own.

He’s speaking again- saying something about getting his revenge on the gods with his wife at last-

But MC can’t really hear him, not beyond the singing of her blood, the thrum of power that threatens to crush her under its pressure, her skull threatening to split apart as something far more ancient than she overcomes her.

No matter how she fights against it, the power of Aphrodite’s Heart lashes out, throwing the half-titan away from her as a scream builds in her chest. The aura comes out in waves of deep reds and pinks, striking out at tables and walls and other art pieces, thankfully, miraculously missing any humans.

The scream rips out of her throat and she drops to her knees, howling in agony. Her hands shake and she tries dropping it, tries letting it go- it’s not like the other two artifacts, wound around a part of her body.

But she can’t.

It burns her hands and wraps around them, travelling up her arms so that she can’t release it. Her blood feels like it’s boiling beneath her skin, her ring burning furiously as it tries to form its own aura to protect her, only to be snuffed out each time.

She looks wildly around the room, looking for something, anything to help her, but the only one near now is Deukalion, and she won’t give the Heart back to him, even if it kills her. She couldn’t let him have it again when it was hurting the person she loves. Rather than seek out his help, she holds onto the artifact tighter, and nearly suffocates at the surge of power that results from doing so.

Fighting against Aphrodite’s full power hurts, and Alex’s words ring in her ears, above the scream of the aura.

“You have to stop fighting the power. It’s going to lash out.”

They were calm then, when they had said it. She holds onto that feeling, and uses it to anchor herself against the tide of power.

It takes everything she has to stop fighting it, but she trusts Alex with that same everything, and so, against every instinct that says otherwise, she stops her struggle.

Once she lets it go, that building tidal wave of aura grows to brilliant heights, blinding her. She closes her eyes against it, not that it helps, and curls her body toward the ground, cradling the Heart to her chest.

It almost hurts less, this way. Letting it flow through her instead of fighting it. She tries to hold onto consciousness, but everything hurts, and she can feel herself fading. The edges of her vision go black, and she barely has the energy to lock eyes with Deukalion- his expression horrified, a mirror of her own earlier that evening- before she passes out. Or falls into a trance. Or becomes... not herself.

She whispers a name,

“Alex...”

And the darkness overcomes her.

She isn’t sure what happens then, only that she comes back to her senses, however briefly, when HERA agents swarm the building, and the Heart leaves her hands (finally), and Alex is there, holding onto her... crying?

Somehow, she musters the strength to smile at them. For them. Weakly, but it’s still a smile.

“Thank you,” she rasps out, and she thinks she hears them calling her name as she slips back under.

Time passes differently, when there’s nothing to measure it by. She’s in and out of consciousness, mostly floating in an empty space devoid of anything. Sometimes she hears a voice, one that feels familiar to her, like she’s known it her whole life, but that she swears she’s never hear before. It whispers secrets to her, soft apologies, promises that she’ll be okay. It tells her that Alex is waiting for her, and so are Josh and May.

It makes her heart ache, makes her restless in that empty place.

It seems to like it when she gets restless- those are the moments when she wakes up, for a quick minute, even if she never opens her eyes.

So she tries harder. She misses her best friends, her brother. She misses her job and her home and her life.

She fights against the tide of darkness that sticks to her and tries to keep her in that space where nothing else exists. And she gets closer, each passing minute, hour, day- whichever one passes.

The voice continues to encourage her, but it’s only when she finally speaks back, and asks it a question, that the voice answers her. And it’s not exactly hope that jolts her back into the real world once it does.

“Who are you?” she asks, not fearing the answer, but dreading it all the same.

The voice takes a long moment to reply, but she can wait- she’s been stuck for this long, anyhow.

Then, softly, so soft she thinks she might have imagined it if not for the terrible sorrow that fills her entire being at its words

“I’m Hera.”

And MC wakes up.

Her eyes fly open, and though it hurts, she draws in a deep gulp of air, bolting upright. Her chest heaves heavily and sweat drips down her forehead, over her lips, and down to the hospital gown she’s wearing. A multitude of tubes and needles are stuck in her arms but she hardly notices as she moves on, looking around the room like everything will make sense once she does, until her gaze settles on-

“Alex.”

Her voice is weak and it hurts to say anything, her throat dry and aching from not being used, but she doesn’t care. She reaches out for them, only to fall back against the bed when that sudden bout of strength leaves her.

They stare at her, not fully believing that she’s awake, but then they grab her hand- covered in bandages- and squeeze, so tight she might wince if she had the energy to. Her vision blurs a little, but she hangs on, refusing to slip away again, not before she’s had a chance to talk with them.

“MC... you’re awake, thank the gods. I- I’m so sorry,” they say, their voice breaking as tears begin to crawl down their cheeks. “I should’ve been there. I should have gone with you.”

She makes a sound of protest, and rubs her thumb over their knuckles, shaking her head.

“Don’t. Wasn’t your fault.”

Alex looks like they’re about to argue, but they take one look at her face, all the resolve she has, and slumps in their seat. They don’t seem convinced, but she’s thankful they’ll at least wait for her to feel better before they bring it up any more.

“I’m so glad you’re awake.” They swallow, and their next words come out in a whisper as they press their lips to her hand. “I couldn’t stand to lose you. I... just want you to know that.”

Warmth radiates from their sweet, gentle kiss, coursing through her body in a comforting way, so unlike their mother’s power. Where her energy had burned and blazed, Alex’s soothes and comforts. 

“I’m okay now,” she says, trying to comfort them in return. She takes a painful breath- even that is starting to hurt more. But still she hangs on, not quite ready to leave them again. “Is the Heart...”

“It’s back with my mother,” they answer her, knowing where her question would go. They look back up at her, searching her face for... something. She thinks they must find it, because they continue after a short minute. “Deukalion was captured. He had a breakdown when he was hauled up to Olympus- or so I heard. I came here with you after arranging for the Heart’s safe travel back. The gods... are working to rehabilitate him. Once they realized he was lashing out from pain they inflicted ages ago, it only seemed right.”

“That... That’s good,” she murmurs, and takes another ragged breath. Her vision swims, and she can feel her grasp on consciousness fading again. “‘M glad he’s getting help...”

“MC?” they ask, concern bleeding into their voice and expression both.

She blinks, slow, her eyelids heavy.

“Alex... wait for me?”

She watches them, watches their breath hitch and the tears come faster- and then they smile, and it hurts her heart in such a way that she knows they mean their next words with their entire soul.

“Always. I will always wait for you. No matter how long it takes,” they promise, leaning forward to place a kiss on her forehead. It settles something in her, and all that pain washes away as her eyes slip close.

On the edge of consciousness, just before she falls over, she hears them say one last thing.

“Rest, now. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And then she falls.

And falls.

And falls.

Until she’s back in their odd nothingness.

“Hera..?” she calls out, hesitant.

The goddess doesn’t respond, but MC can feel her there, in that same familiarity that carried through her voice before.

It’s almost comforting, to know she’s not truly alone.

She doesn’t try speaking to her again. Part of her wants to, but something intrinsic tells her that everything’s okay as it is, and she believes it. Maybe, she thinks, the goddess is resting, too.

At some point, she begins to stir again, or at least, it’s a similar feeling. Images flash before her very eyes, but something isn’t quite right about them.

They’re all painted in hues of red or pink, burning hot, deafening her with the sound of a beating heart. It pounds through her mind and her bones and her blood, calling to her in a way that makes fear clench at her heart. It’s like that moment with Deukalion, when all she wanted to do was run, but this is inside her head, and there’s nowhere for her to go.

Echoes of memories long past, that don’t belong to her, or even Hera, she thinks, fly across her vision- a man with a cruel smile that turned sweet for only her, an argument between her and her children, sorrow and loneliness emphasized by her empty estate, a child with bright eyes that hold a familar edge to them, hope and love that twists into grief when her mother dies, pain when she has to punish her youngest child.

“Aphrodite,” she gasps out, wincing as the pain doubles, bearing down on her, crushing her.

And almost as suddenly as it came on, it stops. Red is overrun by gold, its warmth kinder, reminiscent of the aura from her ring. It washes away all traces of those memories that had clung to her, and she feels lighter for it, as if that terrible darkness she existed in was receding at last.

Whatever traces of Aphrodite’s power were left in her fade away. It’s easier to breathe and she feels stable again. There’s a rumble from all around her, but she isn’t afraid of it, and trusts that when it washes over her, it’s doing something good. 

It seeps down into her bones, gentle, and as it does, something in her heals. The shadows of pain that had been haunting her are chased away, and she finally feels whole again.

Golden feathers float past her, brushing against her skin, beckoning her to follow. She does, walking with them until the light of the aura blinds her completely, and the world lurches around her.

One thought strikes her before she leaves- Hera. She was gone.

And then, she opens her eyes, and the world is more clear than it’s ever been,

Alex smiles down at her, eyes twinkling, and she braves a smile back. It’s easy this time, not draining at all- she feels refreshed.

“MC.”

They reach forward and take her hand in theirs, but there’s no painful squeeze- only joy that she’s awake again.

Their aura jumps from their fingertips to her own, and hers does the same, and it comes with the realization that her aura truly feels like her aura, now. Not something that comes from just a ring.

“Alex,” she breathes, and every worry she’s held onto since the art gala leaves her, nothing but pure, unadulterated joy in its place.

They push the call button on the bed so that a doctor can come in, but they take every second before their privacy is interrupted to kiss her- tenderly, with all the care and love in the world behind it.

When they pull away, they run their thumb across her cheeks, wiping away tears she didn’t know she’d been crying. They look at her as if she were the only other person in the world, and maybe, for that short little moment, she was. 

“Welcome back, MC.”

Nearly sobbing at their greeting, a fresh wave of tears come down her face, but they’re happy ones. She smiles so wide that it hurts as she reaches up with her free hand to cup their cheek.

“Thank you.” For waiting. For being here. She doesn’t say it, but she knows they know.

And then, they say something that catches her off-guard.

Words she’s waited a lifetime to hear, that send her heart beating wildly.

“I love you.”